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

CHAPTER I .............................................................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II ............................................................................................................................................5

CHAPTER III..........................................................................................................................................8

CHAPTER IV........................................................................................................................................12

CHAPTER V.........................................................................................................................................15

CHAPTER VI........................................................................................................................................18

CHAPTER VII .......................................................................................................................................21

CHAPTER VIII.....................................................................................................................................24

CHAPTER IX........................................................................................................................................26

CHAPTER X.........................................................................................................................................30

CHAPTER XI........................................................................................................................................34

CHAPTER XII .......................................................................................................................................37

CHAPTER XIII.....................................................................................................................................40

CHAPTER XIV.....................................................................................................................................44

CHAPTER XV......................................................................................................................................47

CHAPTER XVI.....................................................................................................................................50

CHAPTER XVII ....................................................................................................................................53

CHAPTER XVIII ...................................................................................................................................57

CHAPTER XIX.....................................................................................................................................60

CHAPTER XX......................................................................................................................................64

MAHATMA XANADU stepped from the purple curtains, bowed to his small but fashionable audience,

He was a singular personage, this bearded gentleman who claimed that he had brought the deepest wisdom

from Tibet, to retail it via the crystal ball. But perhaps the most singular thing about Mahatma Xanadu was

his ability to sell that same idea to swank New Yorkers at ten dollars a customer.

Since there were about two dozen clients in his fancy seance parlor, the Mahatma was doing all right or

would be until the police slapped down with a fortune telling charge, which was something always imminent.

That was why the gentleman from Tibet conducted his affairs with the same charm and finesse that

The barred door had a peephole, through which visitors could be eyed, and the man in charge was Akbar, a

huge Turk, who stood with folded arms and tilted fez. When not engaged in admitting visitors, it was Akbar's

duty to stare at Mahatma Xanadu as though believing that his Tibetan master had stopped in Egypt to pick up

Such was the opinion of Margo Lane on this, her first trip to the garish preserves of Mahatma Xanadu. Maybe

the mystic could be excused for having his headquarters over an East Side tailor shop, because even a

genuine vision in a crystal ball couldn't answer the present housing shortage in Manhattan. But to Margo,

His fancy turban and rhinestone studded tunic looked like fugitives from a costume shop that had raced here

under the leg power of the baggy pantaloons that didn't match them. The gleaming smile from the bearded

mouth, like the roll of the Mahatma's eyes, reminded Margo of a sideshow performer finishing a ballyhoo.

When Xanadu gestured to the crystal ball and finished with a hitch of his droopy purple sash, Margo almost

broke the tension with a laugh. Then, like the customers who formed the sucker trade, she finished with a

The Mahatma had just picked up a folded slip that a wanfaced gentleman had written. With a toss, Xanadu

flipped the wadded paper into a bowl that was filled with water, but which lacked goldfish. There was a

When Xanadu was resting one hand on the gentleman's shoulder, holding the crystal ball before him with the

other, asking the customer to concentrate upon the words that he had written on the vanished slip. In purring

tones, the Tibetan marvel was revealing the very question, while the stupefied client nodded.

"You are awaiting word from someone," pronounced the Mahatma. "Someone whose initials we can both

"Very clear," the customer interrupted. "Yes, just as clear as when I wrote them."

"And the letter K," purred Xanadu, "signifies the name Kathleen. Ah, the crystal clears and I see the other

"Is your niece," corrected Xanadu. "Not 'was' because they do not recognize the past in the spirit plane where

Mr. Jenkinson blinked and nodded wonderingly. As he turned his face toward Xanadu, the latter bowed and

stepped away. The crystal ball was no longer handy when Jenkinson took another look for the image of his

departed niece. Having delivered an honest ten dollars worth, Xanadu was attending to another customer.

Another flame puffed as a folded slip was tossed to mysterious oblivion. This time a Pekefaced dowager

was favored with information regarding her lamented dog Chan Chu who was drifting happily through

interstellar spaces somewhere in the vicinity of Procyon, according to Xanadu, who evidently had a dash of

humor. Margo tried to smile this off with the supposition that the dowager was merely getting a peek of her

Not considering the way that Mahatma Xanadu was piling up the evidence in favor of his occult powers. In

turn, the remaining customers were seeing their folded questions puff into flame, followed by accurate

readings from the crystal. They were viewing things in that mysterious ball and the subjects were becoming

Advice on stocks, matters concerning contracts, which relatives to trust all these and more were piping

through from spirit land under the helpful influence of the Mahatma. One shocker came when an elderly lady

began quoting passages from her will, while Xanadu, keeping his own eyes on the crystal sphere, nodded or

shook his head as the spirits recommended the retention or elimination of certain clauses.

Despite herself, Margo was very nearly sold when Mahatma Xanadu came her way. However, Margo was

determined first to gauge his results with Sheila Waltham, the skittish blonde who had suggested attending

this soiree. Margo had maneuvered a glimpse at Sheila's slip and knew its question, which read:

Sheila's eyes followed the slip as Xanadu tossed it to a blazing fate in the bowl of water that he wheeled on its

ornamental metal stand. Taking Sheila's elbow, he drew her gently forward so that she could stare into the

crystal ball; then, in a tone that was becoming musical the more one listened, Xanadu declared:

"You are thinking in terms of value, Miss Waltham. You want the spirit guides to decide that which you find

Eagerly, Sheila nodded, while Margo raised a puzzled, wondering frown. This business was getting too far

"The answer is in the crystal," assured Xanadu. "If you do not see what you believe you should, close your

eyes before you stare again. The spirits may question your sincerity but only at first."

Sheila squinted at the crystal, then shut her eyes with determination. Her eyes came open as she shook her

head, but they went shut again. As she repeated the process, Sheila winced and at last she began to sob.

"Only only jewels," the blonde blurted. "Every color like my own as I see them every night. But they

aren't what I value most" she looked up with dimmed eyes at Xanadu "or are they?"

"The spirits never lie," reminded the Mahatma. "Through the crystal they always tell. Look again."

Sheila looked and the image of those jewels must have glistened through her tears for she buried her face in

her arm. Xanadu turned away, shrugging as he hitched his fancy sash; pausing, he patted Sheila soothingly on

"Perhaps some day you may value something more," declared Xanadu. "When you do, the crystal will reveal

With that, Mahatma Xanadu turned to Margo Lane. He must have read challenge in her gaze and marked her

as the firm brunette type in contrast to Sheila, the sobbing blonde. For as Xanadu plucked up the slip that

Margo had folded and placed on the little table beside her, Xanadu delivered what was certainly a hypnotic

Black eyes glistened with an almost frightening power. Then, as Margo stiffened, the sharp gaze ended, and

she was attracted by the wave of Xanadu's hand as he lopped the folded paper into the fishless bowl. Margo

strained to see what happened and went back in her chair as the paper disappeared in another of those

Then, his hand on Margo's elbow, Xanadu was politely directing Margo's gaze into the crystal as he spoke

"You are thinking of a person someone very close to you a person whose name and face are often in your

Something was forming in the depths of the crystal but it remained only a blur. Noting Margo's intensity, the

eager tremble of her hands, Xanadu let her hold the crystal, but still the image did not form. All that Margo

"This person is not in spirit land," interposed Margo, triumphantly, thinking she had trapped Xanadu. "He is

"You mean of this plane," corrected Xanadu, suavely. "When you interrupted, I was about to say that the

spirits can not always develop the faces of mortals, particularly those who happen to be skeptics."

Margo bit her lip, wishing she hadn't tried to catch the Mahatma so quickly. Then, bluntly, she stated:

"You see something, though," reminded Xanadu, "and you must admit that it is significant."

Despite herself, Margo started a nod; then halted, with the guess that it was more significant than Xanadu

"The crystal is clearing," declared Margo, a bit sarcastic as she repeated the Mahatma's own pet phrase. "I

"Then I shall ask the spirits to reveal the name," asserted Xanadu, blandly. Taking the crystal from Margo he

Margo focused her eyes upon the crystal and gave a truly genuine gasp. In the depths of the sphere a name

appeared as if inscribed by a spirit hand, its letters huge and bold. It was the very name that she had written

With a salaam, Mahatma Xanadu polished the allrevealing crystal and placed it upon a stand to announce

the conclusion of a highly successful seance. Big Akbar unbolted the door and opened it so the customers

could leave, which they did silently, with Margo the most subdued of the entire party.

From the threshold, Mahatma Xanadu, the man who knew all, watched his departing clients with a gleaming

smile. But there was something in the flash of his dark eyes that Akbar understood. The Turk expressed it as

The turbaned head answered with an approving nod which could have meant that all was not well with the

Or perhaps all was too well. The future alone would tell, whether or not Mahatma Xanadu could or would

BREAKING into conferences at the Cobalt Club wasn't one of Margo's regular habits. It was a fairly simple

process though, after getting through the portals of the club itself, which Margo accomplished by default.

This happened to be an evening when the Cobalt Club was receiving visitors and the clerk was checking the

The brunette's entry created quite a stir. Sedate, conservative and exclusive, the Cobalt Club was distinctly a

gentlemen's habitat. One hundred and fifteen pounds of femininity crashing the gate was as startling as a ton

of dynamite bashing through the roof. Before the astonished hired help could rise to the occasion, Margo

sensed their dilemma and applied it to herself. Sighting the sign marked grillroom, Margo hurried down the

In conference with half a dozen industrial giants, Cranston was the first to recognize the familiar clatter of

high heels. Rising from the table he flagged Margo as she came flying through, wheeled her breathless to a

chair and politely introduced her to his friends with a series of gestures that ended in a sweep of dismissal to

Margo's smile of relief was reflected by Justin Cadbury, who sat on the other side of the table.

This wasn't the first time that Margo had met Cadbury, who was the most imposing and in a sense the most

important member of the group. So Margo looked at Cadbury as though inquiring what the conference was

Justin Cadbury arose to the occasion. From his broad, bland face, he fixed his gray eyes on Margo and spoke

"We are seeking advice, Miss Lane," he said. "We are looking for ways and means to increase legitimate

business at the expense of the black market. Rather a reversal of the usual procedure, but a noteworthy cause.

Behind Cadbury's dry manner, Margo could sense a probe as though he were actually questioning the reason

"What about fortune tellers?" she queried. "Is their business bothered by a black market, too?"

"All fortune telling is a racket," said Cadbury. "You wouldn't be referring specifically to crystal gazing?"

"I would," replied Margo, "and more specifically to a bearded gentleman who calls himself Mahatma

It was Cadbury who waved for silence. His face had suddenly become serious and again he was reflecting

Margo's expression, for many of her doubts had been dispelled by that strange seance with Mahatma Xanadu.

"Faker or not," declared Cadbury in crisp tone, "this so called Mahatma is becoming a very important

"He has evidently impressed Miss Lane," replied Cadbury, with a gesture toward Margo. "Is she merely the

"I'm afraid I'm the rule," admitted Margo. "The Mahatma gave some remarkable answers this evening. Why,

"Never mind Sheila," interposed Cranston. "Did the Mahatma make any actual predictions?"

Margo's eyes flashed sudden inquiry. She wasn't usually jealous where Lamont was concerned, but his

sudden switching of the subject from Sheila might have a purpose. After all, it had been through Cranston

that Margo had met Sheila and perhaps his suggestion that they attend the seance together had been with the

It was Margo's mistrust of blondes that gave her that idea, rather than any lack of confidence in Lamont. This

was no time to debate that subject, however, so Margo simply said: "I don't remember any actual predictions

"Then I'll make one," inserted Cranston. "Unless I usher you out of here, the whole Cobalt Club will be in a

furor. Come" rising he took Margo's arm "and let me conduct you to the ladies' reception parlor."

On the way upstairs, Cranston was rapid with his questions regarding Xanadu's seance. By the time they had

reached the secluded parlor, his calm, masklike face was tracing a slight smile at Margo's description of the

"So he fooled you with the old billet switch," said Cranston. "Here. Sit down and write something on this

paper from my notebook. Fold it the way you did with the paper the Mahatma gave you."

Margo obliged and Cranston picked up the slip from the table where she laid it. Transferring the paper from

"Yes," nodded Margo, "but the paper burst into flame when it landed in the fishbowl."

"Because he had a bit of potassium in it," explained Cranston. "The stuff forms hydrogen when water reaches

"He didn't. He simply switched the slips he picked up for others that were already prepared. Just like I did."

With his left hand, Cranston was unfolding the visible slip and Margo saw to her surprise that it was blank.

At the same time, she felt a nudge at her elbow and looking there, Margo saw Cranston exhibiting, the slip

"That's how Xanadu read it," stated Cranston. "At your elbow while you were staring at the crystal ball. So

you've written 'Lamont'. Very nice of you, but was that what you wrote on the slip Xanadu gave you?"

"They thought they did," corrected Cranston. "The potassium flare dazzled their eyes and gave them an

afterimage. It doesn't take much exaggeration to form those blurry shapes into imaginary images."

"That's what I tried to do!" exclaimed Margo. "Only the blur stayed and I well, I thought it represented you,

Cranston smiled at this description of himself as a big black wavering spot in the depths of a crystal ball.

Nevertheless, the analogy was accurate, for Cranston in his other self was a cloaked personage known as The

"The image faded," recalled Margo, "but then I saw your name, Lamont, right in the center of the crystal."

"A lot." Cranston made a gesture as though planting something on the palm that held the written paper.

"Xanadu laid the ball right on your own slip Margo. The name you saw was the one you wrote yourself, only

So it was as simple as all that! Piqued at her own stupidity, Margo tried to think of someone dumber than

"I think Sheila was looking for a face," declared Margo, "and it might have been yours, Lamont. She tried to

be smart by saying that she wanted to see what she valued most, but that was just to bluff me."

"Nobody's. She caught the blur effect all right, until Xanadu suggested that she close her eyes "

"Because a flash of light makes you see colors," explained Cranston, "provided that you keep your eyes at

"But Sheila said they were her own jewels," spoke Margo, reflectively. "The ones she looks at every night.

Margo went no further. Cranston was ushering her out through the side door of the Cobalt Club, undertoning

"Get over to the Cafe Marimba and stick close to Sheila. Maybe you'll need an alibi before tonight is over.

A taxicab was handy and Cranston put Margo right in it. As the cab started, Margo looked back, only to see

that Lamont was gone. He couldn't have returned into the club nor could he have become The Shadow so

That final factor meant that Lamont Cranston would at least change his identity before he reached his

destination, wherever it might be. Margo was wondering whether he'd need an alibi too, before the evening

Cadbury, too, had left the grillroom conference. He was in a phone booth in the lobby of the Cobalt Club,

gazing blandly through the glass as he spoke from the other side of his broad mouth.

"All set Fitz?" Cadbury was inquiring. "Good... Now get working in a hurry... Just one point, Fitz. Whose

"Better change it," he said crisply. "Go through that batch I gave you... You have the cards with you?

Excellent... You'll find one there with the name Lamont Cranston... Yes, use it."

With a dry chuckle, Justin Cadbury hung up the receiver, satisfied that he had added a neat touch to an

THE slim man in the smoothfitting tuxedo glanced around the foyer of the Allingham Apartments and saw

to his pleasure that Fred was absent. Fred was termed the elevator man, but his title didn't exactly fit, for a

Since Fred was absent, as expected, Fitz Crosset tucked a cellophaned bouquet of flowers under his arm, and

proceeded to light a cigarette which occupied the end of a long holder. The signal brought two men in from

Fitz Crosset, smooth, roundish of face and with a wellcombed flock of light, wavy hair, looked the part of a

visitor to the exclusive Allingham Apartments. His companions, however, didn't fit, which applied to their

tuxedos. The big man looked like a professional bouncer, which he was; while the stocky, hunchshouldered

chap couldn't hide the restless manner of an orchestra drummer who took life as a perpetual offbeat.

It was the big man who spoke first, his tone low and suspicious, like the glower on his thick, dark face. He

"Because it's automatic," replied Fitz. "You've been around the better places, Griff. You ought to know there

"You mean Fred?" Fitz laughed indulgently. "That's just his honorary title. He takes up visitors to announce

them and he assists the home folks when they're too drunk to push the right buttons. Besides, he answers calls

"That's right. The people here have their own private telephones, but there's a house system which keeps Fred

on call, except when he slides across the street for a quickie at the neighborhood bar and grill."

"A couple of friends he never met before," replied Fitz, "and never will again. They're taking turns buying

each other drinks and they're including Fred in every round. He won't be back until we're through, but the

Abruptly, Fitz handed the hunched man a bandanna mask. Teach gave a dirty look at the thing and inquired:

The elevator was stopping at the penthouse level. Instead of putting on the mask, Teach gripped Fitz's arm.

"The maid who works here," explained Fitz. "She will have to tell a sensible story to Miss Waltham, who

To set the example, Fitz produced a third bandanna and put it on. Teach and Griff silently did the same and

copied Fitz's action of drawing revolvers. Opening the elevator door, Fitz strode out with his companions

behind him. As they entered the penthouse they were greeted by a foreignlooking maid who lost her French

"You'll tell a lot," said Fitz, through his mask. "That combination for one thing. It's part of the bargain."

Momentarily the maid looked relieved. Fitz eased her further by gesturing for his companions to lower their

"I'll open the wall safe for you," the maid began. Then, her eyes worried, she added: "But how do I know you

"Because of these." Fitz gestured to the very masks which caused the maid's uncertainty. "Don't you get it?

Enlightenment wiped away the maid's scared look. She could tell that Fitz's voice was forced, another point

that would make it difficult for her to describe him. As for Griff and Teach, they were a pair of nondescripts

who could only be classed as average thugs. Griff was hunching forward to reduce his height to Teach's,

"Ah, certainly, m'sieu!" she said to Fitz. "You force me to geeve over the jewels of Mademoiselle Waltham?

"You can cut the chatter for one thing," snapped Fitz. "We want this to look real, on your account more than

"He won't, because he isn't down there. But the arrow will register on the call board. That's part of your

The maid suddenly understood. Turning to the wall, she pressed a button; then shuddered as she felt Fitz's

"You were just going out when we popped from the elevator," continued Fitz. "Better put on your coat as part

Trembling, the maid went to a hallway closet and produced a secondhand mink. From her shivers, she

seemed to need it. Prodding his gun through the fur, Fitz marched the girl ahead of him into a living room

furnished in rococo style. Pausing at a table, he dropped the cellophanewrapped bouquet.

"You remember me bringing these," stated Fitz, gruffly. "Later I'm going to forget them in my hurry. Get it?"

"Now the wall safe," ordered Fitz. "I don't know where it is, but you'll say I did."

The maid went through the living room into a modernistic boudoir, where she stopped at a wall which bore a

curious futuristic painting, set in a chromium frame. Her hands shook as she pressed the picture at the lower

There was a sharp interruption from Teach, much like a low whistle, which sounded plainly despite his mask.

Fitz turned to see Teach gesturing to a large square package on the dressing table opposite the picture.

"It came for Miss Waltham this afternoon," said the maid. "She never lets me open packages."

This was meant for Teach, but his curiosity wasn't satisfied. As soon as Fitz concentrated on the picture and

watched the maid find the hidden spring that swung it open like a little door, Teach began to examine the

package. Finding a spot where the paper wrapping overlapped, Fitz prodded a gap with his finger and tried to

look into the package. Seeing nothing he tilted the package up into the light and left it propped that way, upon

Meanwhile, the maid was pointing to a wallsafe set in a recess behind the opened picture. Before Fitz could

turn and call Teach, the hunched man shambled over, moved a floor lamp and turned its glare full on the wall

"Get busy," Fitz told the maid. "You know the combination. Working it is part of the deal."

Griff was crowding in to watch operations, so Teach went back to look at the intriguing package. As he gave

it another poke through the paper gap, something clicked, so Teach stepped back as though he had been

In the bright glare, the maid was working the combination with a hand that rapidly steadied. At last the safe

came open and Griff thrust his big hands inside to bring out the jewel cases. His gun already pocketed, Fitz

simply gestured the maid to a chair in the corner, where he proceeded to bind her with some sport belts that

Over the maid's shoulder. Fitz spoke to Griff without mentioning the big man's name.

Griff's pockets received the jewel cases. To dispose of finger prints, he took off his bandanna mask and used

it as a wiping cloth, keeping his back toward the maid. A snarl from Fitz told Griff that he had inadvertently

turned his face into the light, so the big man was more careful after that. His head turned away, Griff swung

the picture frame shut and it locked automatically. At the same moment, Teach picked up the package from

the boudoir table and another click came from it, only to be drowned by the louder sound of the latching

Nonchalantly, Teach came over to the lamp and turned it off. Griff was wiping the picture frame while Fitz

finished binding the maid. Circling through the dark, Teach gave a low whistle that guided his companions to

the door. It wasn't until they reached the elevator that Fitz noticed that Teach was bringing the package from

Before Fitz could reply, Griff gruffed a sudden warning as he heard a rumble from the elevator shaft. Fitz

"All the better," he said. "We're going down by the firetower, anyway. Come on."

As Fitz whipped off his bandanna, and used it glove fashion to turn the knob of the firetower door, Teach

heard a muffled click from deep in the darkness. Apparently it came from the boudoir, which was why Teach

It couldn't have been the same sort of click that Teach had heard before. Maybe the maid had knocked over

something, while starting a struggle in her chair, just to help the phony act. Probably she'd heard the

elevator's rumble, for it was coming closer; too close, in fact for Teach to worry about anything else.

With a quick sidle, the hunched man followed Fitz and Griff through the firetower door, which thumped

THE sound from the inner room came from one of the large curtained windows. It horrified the bound maid

when she heard it, but she couldn't scream because Fitz had gagged her after tightening the bonds.

Those windows opened above a sheer wall and the maid knew it. For a human being to scale that wall seemed

utterly impossible, and the fact awoke the maid's mind to thoughts far more frightening than those of

The parting of the curtains added to the maid's terror. Her ideas of vampires or other nightflying creatures

were crystallized by the figure which appeared. Against the dim outdoor glow it took on the shape of a

Such was The Shadow when he came posthaste to a spot where crime was due. Playing a hunch that Sheila's

mention of jewels might link with the plans of Mahatma Xanadu, The Shadow had headed here to forestall

crime. Unfortunately he hadn't traveled faster than Cadbury's phone call to Fitz which the latter had received

Expecting to be ahead of crime instead of after it, The Shadow misinterpreted the quiet scene. He was too far

from the elevator to hear its rising rumble, so he decided to investigate the apartment from this starting point.

A flashlight glimmered in a gloved hand; it's beam, sweeping the room, reached the futuristic picture on the

With all the features of a Dali nightmare, that picture looked out of place in this otherwise exquisite boudoir.

It wasn't the sort of mural decoration that The Shadow would have expected Sheila Waltham to cherish, since

her own fantastic notions, such as imagining jewels gleaming from a crystal ball, were bizarre enough to need

To The Shadow's observation the picture represented exactly what it was, a blind to cover something more

important. Without swinging his flashlight to the last corner, which was where the maid happened to be, The

Hearing the sound, The Shadow performed one of his patented moves. Instead of returning toward the

window, he wheeled in the direction of the sound itself. His plan was to fade into some hiding spot as near

the elevator as possible and let any arriving persons pass him. If they were crooks, The Shadow could then

trap them, leaving them only the window for an exit, an impossible outlet for anyone except The Shadow

The move didn't work because The Shadow flicked off the flashlight before he wheeled. He was guiding by

the dim connecting doorway and didn't notice the intervening corner. By this time, the maid had decided that

the uncanny visitor must be human, because ghosts or such would not resort to flashlight. In the interest of

her fellowcrooks, the maid decided to make trouble for the unknown who was sweeping through the

Something resembling a furbearing mammal came lurching through the darkness right across The Shadow's

path. He couldn't help mistake it for some singular creature, for the maid was still wearing her mink coat, and

being bound to the chair, it came with her. Tripping across the living obstacle, The Shadow bowled the maid

into a somersault and hooked his feet against the chair legs, which sent him into a lengthy sprawl.

More than a clatter resulted. Hitting the floor face first, the maid lost the gag that Fitz had so obligingly

Lights blazed suddenly in the living room, before The Shadow could reach his feet. They were turned on by

Fred, who knew where the switch was. The elevator man had ditched his new acquaintances in the

With Fred was a brawny citizen who had evidently helped him back to duty and decided that he needed

assistance operating even an automatic elevator. This husky saw the swirl of blackness on the floor and made

Seeing that his friend was after something, Fred voiced a loud "Grab him, Joe!" and came reeling forward to

The Shadow crossed his hands as he shot them to Joe's ankles and was thus the first to grab. In almost the

same motion, he performed a sideward roll that sent Joe into a crazy cartwheel. The person who was coming

up from the floor when Fred arrived wasn't his friend Joe. Fred found The Shadow.

It didn't take much effort to launch Fred at his friend Joe, who was starting to come back for more. It was

more a question of guiding him, though The Shadow did apply expert tactics in the form of an overarm

throw. Catching Fred on the lurch, The Shadow tossed him against Joe so hard that both smashed into a table

Big Joe still wanted to get at the cloaked fighter who never stayed in one place long enough to be grabbed.

Something came sliding from the table and Joe snatched it, thinking he had found a bludgeon. The object

proved so light that before Joe could really swing it, The Shadow had stopped him again.

This time The Shadow's system was an uppercut with the heel of his hand. It met Joe's chin squarely and

jounced the back of his head against the wall. Sagging to the floor, Joe sat there dazed, clutching the cudgel

that he hadn't used. The object was very appropriate, for it happened to be a bouquet of flowers.

Dangling from the posies was an envelope, swinging like a pendulum as if counting Joe out. The Shadow

stooped long enough to tear the envelope from the cord which held it; then, with long strides he reached the

light switch and turned it off. Reaching the elevator, he started the down trip while Fred and Joe were still

Stopping at the second floor, The Shadow reached a hallway window and dropped to an alley just below. He

heard the clatter of running footsteps around a corner and started after them in time to see a car pulling away

with its doors slamming. How many men were in the car, The Shadow couldn't tell, but he knew that they

Two shots thundered from a handy automatic that The Shadow whipped from beneath his cloak. In the open,

those wellaimed stabs would have knifed a rear tire and halted the fugitive car, but this Manhattan street

wasn't open territory. The Shadow's bullets were absorbed by a row of misplaced ashcans that some

wellmeaning janitor had placed near a corner curb. The car wheeled the corner and was away.

As though in answer to a signal, a cab arrived from the opposite direction. This cab was The Shadow's own;

its driver, a hackie named Shrevvy, had an ear that recognized the cough of his master's gun. But by the time

The Shadow was in the cab, it was too late to take up the chase. The other car had vanished when Shrevvy

Twenty minutes later, Lamont Cranston strolled into the Cafe Marimba, without the black regalia that marked

him as The Shadow. He found Margo Lane seated at a table listening to the soft, melodious music of a

"Sheila's table is the third from the left, across the way," confided Margo, as Cranston joined her. "But she

"They're probably phoning from the apartment house," returned Cranston, "to tell her about the robbery."

"It happened before I arrived there," explained Cranston. "I stumbled across the French maid, bound and

gagged. I dodged the elevator man and a friend of his, but I was too late to overtake the crooks."

"From somebody's flowers," he explained. "They were sent to Sheila. Of course it won't incriminate the man

who sent them, but whoever he is, he'd have to do a lot of explaining if I hadn't brought the envelope along."

Apparently Cranston had curbed his own curiosity to witness Margo's. He was smiling at the way she

hurriedly tore at the end of the envelope to draw out the card that it contained. Cranston expected Margo to

frown or look puzzled, according to whether or not she recognized the name. Instead, the brunette's reaction

Margo's fixed stare transformed itself into a glare that she raised straight to Cranston's eyes as she passed the

card across the table. One glance at the card told Cranston that his surmise had been wrong; that the man in

It was the third afternoon since the jewel robbery and so far the police hadn't gained a single lead. On each

successive day, Margo had sought out Sheila at her favorite haunt, the Cafe Marimba, to ask how the case

"The flowers were so unimportant!" she exclaimed. "Why, the police didn't even give them a second

"The police haven't given much thought to anything," argued Margo. "Or have they?"

"They say they haven't much to work with," declared Sheila. "They know there were three burglars, but the

men were masked, so my maid couldn't even see their faces. Poor Francine! They came just as she was going

"One of the burglars brought the flowers," continued Sheila, "and pulled a gun right out of the middle of

Margo was studying Sheila closely to sift this portion of the story. It made a lot of difference to Margo, that

question of how the flowers had come to Sheila's apartment. In fact, Margo was on the point of asking if she

"Then someone came in the window. At least that's what Francine said, but she was probably too scared to

really know what happened. Why, that window is so high up from the first ledge below "

"They don't think it was possible. Inspector Cardona said he was going to write it off to Francine's

Being well acquainted with Inspector Cardona, Margo could understand why, and the fact made her frown.

Cardona was a great believer in The Shadow and was careful never to embarrass the mysterious operator who

served as a living preventive of crime. Like Cardona, Margo recognized that The Shadow could quite well

Wherever The Shadow went, so did Lamont, the two being identical. But Margo couldn't fancy her boyfriend

staging a Romeo to Sheila's balcony, even in the interest of law and order. Still, Cranston had known that

Sheila was out; indeed, he had assigned Margo to watch her. Moreover, it would have been anything but

subtle on his part to hand Margo the flower envelope, had he known that his own card was in it.

These weren't Cranston's arguments; he'd let Margo figure them out for herself. Now, at last, the answer was

"Why, he's behind this," returned Margo. "You told him about the jewels and I told him about "

Margo caught herself before mentioning the name "Lamont." She was thinking for something to say quickly

if Sheila asked "About what?" only Sheila didn't. The fact that Margo had denounced Sheila's favorite crystal

"I didn't tell the Mahatma about the jewels," snapped Sheila. "I saw them in the crystal. That proves that

Mahatma Xanadu has mystic powers. Why, the robbers were probably stealing the gems at that very moment,

"I suppose so," nodded Margo. "Of course you told the police about Mahatma Xanadu."

"Yes," affirmed Sheila, "and Inspector Cardona said he'd find the Mahatma and have him look in the crystal

to learn what had happened to the gems. Do you know, Margo" Sheila became very serious "I'm sure

"The inspector said he was positive the Mahatma could tell us where the gems were. Only he hasn't been able

Sheila's statement wasn't news to Margo. The Shadow had already reported Mahatma Xanadu missing from

his usual haunt. Now, Margo's own thoughts were crystallized as solidly as Xanadu's famous gazing globe.

"I'm going to tell you something, Margo." Leaning forward, Sheila lowered her tone to the soft lilt of the

marimba orchestra. "Since you trust Mahatma Xanadu, I think you ought to know. I'm going to see the

"No. I mean he phoned me." Not realizing the reason for Margo's eager tone, Sheila continued to deliver

information. "He said he could solve the mystery if I paid him the reward I've offered."

"Five thousand dollars for the arrest of anyone responsible for the theft of the jewels."

Margo was about to say she wouldn't believe that the Mahatma would give himself up for that amount, but

"So I took the money out of the bank," asserted Sheila, "and I intend to pay it to the Mahatma after he finds

"You can come along if you want," invited Sheila, before Margo could start to talk her out of it. "The

Mahatma told me to come alone, but of course he wouldn't mind you. I really think there ought to be a

Margo was too flabbergasted to think of anything. Gradually as her thoughts cleared, she wished heartily that

she had invited Lamont to join her and Sheila at cocktails. It was only to humor Margo's stubborn mood that

he'd let her handle the Sheila question. Three days of it and now with Mahatma Xanadu practically in The

"Of course I can't start right away," said Sheila in a gloomy tone that provided Margo with a sudden hope. "I

"Then that will give me time to call Lamont," urged Margo, generously. "He'd be the perfect witness, Sheila."

Hurrying to the phone booth, Margo called the Cobalt Club. As she looked through the glass pane in the door,

she saw an attendant approach Sheila's table and give her a bouquet of flowers that was too reminiscent of the

What was worse, the flowers had an envelope attached. As Margo watched, Sheila opened it, drew out a card

and smiled. A sudden savagery swept Margo; she controlled it only by thinking of what she was going to tell

Worst of all, Cranston wasn't at the Cobalt Club. When Margo asked for him, she was told distinctly and

politely that he had left ten minutes before, without stating where he intended to go. By the time Margo had

tartly replied that Mr. Cranston could find her at the Cafe Marimba if she decided to stay there, something

Looking from the phone booth, Margo saw that Sheila had finished her drink and left. Of course she had

taken those precious flowers with her, which made Margo fume all the more. But there was one thing Sheila

That article was the card that had accompanied the flowers. It was lying right beside the envelope from which

Sheila had removed it. Another of Lamont's cards, no doubt. Maybe he'd just decided to show Margo that

Coming angrily from the booth, Margo reached the deserted table and snatched up the card. Her fingers were

faster than her eyes, for she had actually begun to tear it when she saw that it bore writing instead of a printed

IT wasn't Lamont's writing; that much was certain. Still, florists were obliging people who would write cards

Now the initials "M. X." unquestionably stood for Mahatma Xanadu, which was why Margo didn't believe it.

She happened to remember that among other choice possessions, Cranston owned a blue limousine that was

piloted by a chauffeur named Stanley. Maybe Lamont had learned a lesson about sending flowers with his

Sheila must have thought so, too, or she wouldn't have left the card just to irk her dear friend Margo. But the

"dear friend" had come from the phone booth sooner than Sheila expected and therefore intended to make the

Thrusting the card back in the envelope, Margo scrawled Cranston's name on it, while she was going to the

door. There she gave the envelope to the doorman and turned in the direction of the Hotel Martingale which

was less than two blocks distant. It was still daylight and Margo saw Sheila quite plainly, along with the blue

Sheila was getting into the big car that looked very much like Cranston's and with half a block to go, Margo

wouldn't have had a chance to overtake the limousine if a traffic light hadn't turned color just as it started.

Panting, Margo reached the corner before the red light ended. Through the window she saw Sheila staring

rather vacantly toward the chauffeur's window. At least Sheila was still alone, and she turned to look at the

Sheila was looking right through Margo, as though she either didn't see her, or didn't care to notice her. That

was just too much for Margo, so she yanked the door open and hopped into the car just as the light went

green. As Sheila gasped an excited cry, the limousine started forward, so Margo slammed the door and began

With that slam of the door, Margo had taken herself right out of this world. Of a sudden she was in a

complete void of absolute blackness. The effect was horribly frightening until Sheila's voice came with a

"It's happened again, Margo! I saw you just for a moment, then everything went black, like it did before. If

Madly, Margo tried to rectify that error, but she couldn't find a knob inside the door. When she pounded on

the glass window in front of her, a gruff voice responded. It was the chauffeur, talking through a twoway

"Turn on the light, lady," the voice said. "You'll find the switch up by the dome."

Margo found the switch and clicked it. Staring at Sheila, she saw a face as scared as her own. Then the voice

"It's only on account of the boss," the chauffeur informed. "He ain't anxious to have nobody find him, that is,

nobody he don't want to see. If you don't know where you're going, or how you got there, you won't be able

The car made a right turn as the chauffeur finished and Margo calculated that it had gone two blocks by that

time. Taking a little notebook from her pocket, she began to jot down the data, when the voice warned:

"I wouldn't do that, lady. You ain't the one that's supposed to be taking this trip. The boss mightn't like it."

Just what the boss wouldn't like, Margo wasn't sure, but it might be both the notes and herself. So she decided

to eliminate one count against her by putting away the notebook. At least she could keep mental tally on the

trip, which wasn't very difficult, because Margo had cultivated a memory system that Cranston had taught

The real problem was Sheila who kept up a running conversation that occasionally threatened to throw off

"It must be twoway glass!" exclaimed Sheila, now quite herself again. "How clever of the Mahatma to think

of it! People can see us, but we can't see them." She paused doubtfully. "But why couldn't the windows just

"Oh, I see! Black windows would make people suspicious, particularly traffic cops. But as it is, we're just

riding along comfortably in a nice big car, except that we're silly enough to have the dome light turned on,

Margo was doing alright with her calculations, despite Sheila. She counted another turn to the right; then one

to the left, with an estimate of several intervening blocks. Then came another right, another left, so close

Since the Cafe Marimba was on a side street with oneway traffic West, this gave Margo the following

As for blocks, her numbers ran: Two, Five, Five, Four, One. After those approximations came the present

stretch, due North, and Margo began timing it as well as she could count the seconds, at which she was fairly

The limousine was moving along at a regular, uninterrupted speed, which meant that it must be keeping to the

time regulated lights of an avenue. If Margo could clock it correctly or even closely so, it would be easy to

calculate the approximate distance covered. From that, Cranston could gauge the general location of Xanadu's

For by this time, Margo's last flurry of suspicion had ended and she regretted her undue resentment toward

Sheila. The right thing now was to treat Sheila as a friend in need, a term that certainly applied to anyone

One very harrowing thought temporarily overwhelmed Margo. Certain unworthy characters had been known

to commit murder for such a sum, but Margo finally decided it wouldn't apply in the Mahatma's case. At least

nothing serious had happened to Francine when the gems were stolen. Not yet familiar with the crime's inside

story, Margo didn't realize how badly her rule applied, so the thought lulled her.

Minutes passed as the limousine rolled monotonously toward its unknown destination. At last it gave a slight

forward spurt and made a left turn which Margo registered as West. From then on, turns were frequent and

close together until at last the car reduced to a crawl, with its wheels jouncing a curb on its final turn.

From this Margo decided that they had entered a narrow alley and she was right. The car stopped; in a few

moments the door was opened by the chauffeur, who wore a muffler around his chin and kept his cap down

over his eyes. These precautions were hardly necessary, for dusk had settled during the long ride and it was

Tall walls, blank like those of warehouses, cut off most of the view. It was a blind alley with a connecting

brick wall between the buildings and the car itself crowded the outlet. There was a little space beside the car

leading right to the steps of an old brick dwelling and it was into that modest residence that the chauffeur

As at Xanadu's former headquarters, the seance parlor occupied the second floor. At the top of the stairs,

Margo and Sheila found the open door of a reception room, containing the familiar furniture that they

connected with the Mahatma. There was another door beyond, but before they could approach it, the door

Maybe the dim light was the reason, but Margo was sure she detected a pallor under the Mahatma's heavy

beard. The seer was quite pleased to see Sheila, but his courtesy was a bit stiff toward Margo. Maybe the five

thousand dollars was the difference, but the Mahatma didn't bring up that subject right away, though he did

For some curious reason, the Mahatma seemed especially interested in Sheila's bouquet, for with a bow he

took the flowers from her. Margo watched him dip his head as he scented the odor; then, with a gleaming

"An excellent passport, these gardenias. You will forgive me for sending you my favorite flowers. I do not

know yours because you never asked for it to appear in the crystal. Indeed" there was a smooth subtlety to

Gesturing to two chairs, Xanadu turned back into the seance room and spoke through the door as he closed it.

"You will wait a few minutes," he said. "I must concentrate upon the subject that brought you here. Akbar

Those final minutes were grueling to Margo, who emphatically did not share Sheila's enthusiasm over the

coming demonstration. Outside, the sky must have completely darkened, though there was no way of telling,

since in this room the shades were drawn. At last the door opened and Akbar, complete to his fez, gestured

It was like a trip into some fabled chamber publicized in the Arabian Nights. Akbar was grim enough, but in

the gloomy seance room, Mahatma Xanadu outdid his formidable servant. The bearded master was seated

upon a divan in a crosslegged yogi pose. His eyes were like glittering orbs, white bulges that seemed to

In front of Xanadu was a pedestal upon which rested a crystal ball far larger than his former gazing globe.

Slowly Xanadu pointed to the great sphere and the effect of his own trance real or faked produced a

Like Sheila, Margo stared into the crystalline depths and a strange sensation swept her. In a trice, Cranston's

Margo Lane felt that she was standing upon the threshold of the unknown, where the unbelievable was soon

Reflections, perhaps of those that peered into those depths, for somehow the great ball had the magnetic

power of drawing persons closer. Margo's dark hair was brushing the blonde locks of Sheila, while Xanadu

Something flickered before Margo's eyes. She was fancying figures in the crystal, like forms remaining from

a dream. But instead of dwindling or wiping themselves into oblivion, those forms took shape.

Margo was conscious that Sheila was breathless also. They were both coming under the peculiar spell and

this wasn't trickery. It couldn't be, for neither of the girls had written any questions; nor had Mahatma Xanadu

resorted to his blinding flashes. Fantasy was being realism both to Margo and Sheila.

One question only crept through Margo's mind: Were those forming images the same to all who discerned

them? Xanadu must have caught the thought, for as if in answer, he declared aloud:

"Gaze! What you see you will remember, for this is no dream. It is a vision of the past, a scene indelibly

Light glimmered in the crystal, strong light too powerful to be reflected from the shaded bulbs around

Xanadu's sanctum. But that brightness didn't dazzle; instead, it revealed. To Margo's amazement, she clearly

saw a woman's figure, wearing a fur coat, reaching a hand into what seemed an opening in a wall.

The vision was equally clear to Sheila, but to her the scene was recognizable. Still breathless, Sheila gasped:

With that pronouncement, Margo recognized what this must be. The, mental picture included not only

Sheila's maid, but the wall safe in the penthouse boudoir. A deed of crime was being wrenched from its

"But it couldn't be Francine!" gasped Sheila. "Somebody must have bound her; those masked men she

In interruption, the masked men stalked into the distorted scene. There were two of them in tuxedos and

Margo felt a sinking fear that Sheila would declare that one was Cranston. At least one man's appearance was

faultless, except for the mask; unless it simply happened that he profited by contrast with his larger

But Sheila, eyeing the crystal narrowly, was more interested in the woman in the case. The latter seemed to

be opening something in the wall and as she finished, her face came into the light.

"It is Francine!" exclaimed Sheila. "Why, the nerve of her! After my giving her my old mink coat. Look,

Mahatma! You can recognize the coat yourself. It's the one I wore when I came to your first seances!"

"It is the crystal that reveals, not I," spoke Xanadu. "From this clairvoyant vision of the past, you must form

Francine's face had vanished, which annoyed Sheila, but Margo felt relieved because the man in the faultless

tuxedo was gone too. Only one image remained in the singularly bright light that was concentrated within the

crystal, that was the figure of the thug who was busily stuffing jewel cases into the pockets of his illfitting

jacket. Then, while Margo's eyes remained strained on the gazing globe, the lone actor made the mistake of

Briefly, the big man's face came into the vivid light, but that was sufficient. Those coarse features, blunt in

profile, glowering when they turned toward a fullface pose, were easy to remember. They were tawny even

"Why it's Griff Thurver!" identified Sheila. "You've seen him, Margo. He works at the Club Hayrick. He's the

Griff helped them out all right, but there were frequent customers that he pitched across the curb when a cab

wasn't waiting there. Always having money to pay her checks, Sheila wasn't acquainted with bouncers and

their functions. Having witnessed Griff in operation, Margo could have supplied a few more details, but they

Apparently Mahatma Xanadu thought so too, for he roused from his trance and the scene in the crystal

dimmed, to vanish as though the life had left it when Xanadu brought himself back to par. But in the final

"It was the wall safe," she told Margo. "Empty just the way I found it after I opened it for the police. You saw

it, too" Sheila clutched Margo's arm eagerly "in the crystal, I mean. You'll remember it, won't you?"

Margo nodded, a trifle too emphatically. Her agreement brought a sharp stare from Mahatma Xanadu, whose

eyes denoted something more than worry. But the seer was reverting to his dreamy stare when Sheila looked

"It is not my policy to talk to the police," interposed Xanadu. "They are skeptics and narrow in their opinions.

They cannot differentiate between prophetic vision and what they term fortune telling. But you will not find

my testimony necessary. In fact the less you speak of this experience, the better."

Apparently Xanadu included Margo in his speech, but his gaze was set on Sheila, or more specifically upon

her wellstocked purse. With a nervous laugh, the blonde opened the bag and counted out the money, all in

crisp bills of high denomination. As she reached the five thousand dollar mark, Sheila hesitated, saying:

"They will be proven." Xanadu gave a gleaming, confident smile. "Simply say that you suspect your maid,

but do not give the real reason why. Mention the man whose face you saw and let the police do the rest. They

"You will hear from me. I shall either return your money or invite you here for another study of the crystal.

Good night, Miss Waltham" Xanadu gave a profound bow; then turned to deliver another "and good night

There was a hard, cold glint in Xanadu's eyes as Margo saw their final glance. It seemed that the selfstyled

Mahatma was silently expressing a warning, indicating that his own policy was to apply in Margo's case.

Perhaps it was simply that Margo added the facts logically. If Sheila wasn't to mention the crystal gazing

seance, obviously Margo couldn't add her testimony. In any event, Margo didn't like Xanadu's parting

As soon as Akbar had gestured Sheila and Margo to the stairs and had closed the door behind them, a low,

quick call sounded from the entrance of the seance room. Turning, Akbar faced his robed master, Mahatma

The bearded seer gave a quick nudge in the direction of the seance room, ending with a downsweep of his

thumb, all indicating the existence of a back way out, which he expected Akbar to use at once.

What Xanadu said wouldn't have pleased Margo either. His tone was cold, hard, and most of all practical as

The grip that Akbar gave to a knifehilt projecting from his belt was sufficient proof that he understood what

LAMONT CRANSTON was lounging at a table in the Club Marimba, with his fingers dangling idly inside

the pockets of his tuxedo jacket. Seated with him were three friends, the most important being Justin

That was, Justin Cadbury tried to be the most important. He always did, and usually succeeded. His broad

face and shoulders marked him as a man of strength; his gray hair gave him dignity. The contrast of his sharp

eyes and bland smile kept most persons uneasy in Cadbury's forceful presence, though the rule didn't apply to

To Cadbury, Cranston was a keen man who didn't show it. The reason why Cranston preferred an indifferent

pose was the puzzle. Until a few nights ago, Cadbury hadn't held any theory on that subject; even now he

A man of long and varied experience, Justin Cadbury was not inclined to overemphasize coincidence. At the

same time he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to a certain calling card that a smooth character

named Fitz Crosset had placed with a certain bunch of flowers, three nights ago.

Cadbury should have been thinking in more recent terms; namely of a card that had come with another batch

of flowers right here to the Club Marimba, this very evening. That card, with its message and initials "M. X."

Keeping one eye open for Margo, Cranston was using one ear to listen to Cadbury's usual theme, the menace

"Here I am with a million dollars to invest," brooded Cadbury, "but with nowhere to place it. I talk with men

like yourselves, manufacturers of legitimate products, and I find that you can't get materials to produce the

"Yet all the while I am receiving mysterious offers from persons who say they will supply those very

products at a price. It isn't the money that matters; with me it's a question of ethics. I'm not buying or

Cadbury's listeners nodded their approval but their faces remained mournful, signifying that they knew no

"Ways were found to smash bottlenecks in production," he insisted. "Why not do the same with bottlenecks

"That means," remarked Cranston, casually, "that you'll have to smash the black market."

"And why not?" Cadbury's tone was defiant. "I'll spend half my fortune trying it, if enough other people will

Looking from man to man, Cadbury found them lukewarm to his proposition. They agreed with Cadbury in

principle but felt that his plan was impractical. They argued that the authorities were handling the situation as

far as was possible and that additional regulations plus more arrests of violators would accomplish more than

It was Cranston who gave Cadbury a practical suggestion, apparently hoping that it would soothe his ruffled

"Why don't you buy into some retail enterprises?" questioned Cranston. "For instance, you might acquire a

group of independent jewelry stores and make a chain of them. People have money nowadays; they'd be good

"And where would they get them?" boomed Cadbury. "From those jewelry stores? No, sir! Try to look into

the manufacture of new jewelry and you'll find it dry! Stocks are getting more and more depleted, that is of

"Of course you can buy through the black market" Cadbury's tone was becoming savage as he aired his

favorite hate "the same as in any other businesses. Goods delivered and no questions asked. What do you

"The black market, of course. Being crooked, it's a stimulus to crime. That girl whose jewels were stolen the

other night, Miss Waltham I think her name was, will never see her geegaws again. They don't fence stolen

gems nowadays; they peddle them straight through to hungry customers who can't find what they want in the

stores. I've looked into the jewelry situation along with my general survey of the black market."

Getting up from the table, Cadbury lifted a fat briefcase which was filled with data covering his pet peeve. He

strode haughtily out of the Cafe Marimba as though it had been an insult to even invite him to such a place.

With a shrug to the others, Cranston accepted the blame. He'd personally transferred this conference from the

Cobalt Club on the ground that the Cafe Marimba had an informal atmosphere. His real reason for holding

Actually Cranston felt that it was time he looked in on Margo's hobnobs with Sheila. He'd given Margo just

about the proper time limit in which to regain her common sense. In fact, he'd allowed her a trifle too much.

All Cranston had to show for patience and consideration was a mysterious card that told him he'd arrived too

late. The business of a secret trip to see Mahatma Xanadu was something that Cranston had personally hoped

to handle as The Shadow. Indeed, his interest in the question was far greater than before and the need for

action was imperative. Cranston hadn't revealed his mood to his companions, but he'd played Cadbury's

Not that Cranston wasn't acting while he waited. He was doing so by proxy, as he was soon to prove.

Meanwhile, however, the members of the other camp weren't failing to keep tabs on Cranston.

Hardly had Cranston strolled out of the Cafe Marimba before a figure stirred from the far corner of the bar.

The man in question was Fitz Crosset and he went directly to a telephone. Dialing rapidly, he obtained his

What Fitz had to say to Teach was both pointed and confidential, his tone so low that all of his words were

Meanwhile, Lamont Cranston was finding himself a cab. There was always a demand for cabs at this hour

and people crowded ahead of one another whenever they had the chance. But for some reason, an odd cab

A minute later, he was riding around the corner and Shrevvy was making a report from behind the cab wheel.

"It sounded easier than it was, boss," declared Shrevvy, "or maybe it was harder than it sounded. There's not

many limousines on the streets, particularly blue ones, but finding guys that noticed them is tough."

"Yeah, that's the funny part," replied Shrevvy. "Different hackies remember seeing one of them over toward

the river apartments, but the cabs that hang around the fancy deadend dumps don't know anything about it."

"That's right. North and east, with kind of a blind area in between. Only somebody would have seen the car if

it parked in that halfway district. All the hackies have to drive through when they take fares to the river

Shrevvy was heading for what he termed the blind area, as it formed a logical jumping off point. Meanwhile,

in the darkness of the cab, Cranston was undergoing a smooth transformation. From a secret drawer beneath

the rear seat he was drawing a black cloak that blurred him from sight the moment that its folds shrouded his

shoulders. Adding a slouch hat, planting a brace of automatics in holsters under his tuxedo jacket, Cranston

Despite his long service with this mysterious chief, Shrevvy gave a nervous quiver when he heard a low

whispered laugh from the rear darkness. Maybe it was the sudden way the laugh came, plus the fact that

This was the sort of sector where muggers were apt to crop whenever an epidemic of holdups began. It

made Shrevvy jittery when driving through after dark and he'd forgotten momentarily that he had The

Shadow with him. In a trice, Shrevvy's confidence was back, which was well, for he wasn't going to leave

"Keep from avenue to avenue," ordered The Shadow. "Zigzag the side streets, working northward."

The Shadow didn't add instructions to watch for the missing limousine. He wanted Shrevvy to keep glued to

his driving. Keen though Shrevvy was at spotting anything lurking in the darkness, better eyes than his were

ALL sense of distance and direction had slipped from Margo's mind when the limousine stopped at the end of

its return trip. She had jotted down her original notes, during the few minutes' wait in Xanadu's reception

room, so they were safe enough, but the business with the crystal had knocked out future calculations.

It was like a strange dream, Sheila claimed, and Margo definitely agreed. That was what Sheila was going to

call it when she talked to the police; just a dream. However, while Sheila was dwelling on that fact, Margo

The mysterious limousine had done a lot of twists and turnings which bothered Margo badly. It was odd for

the chauffeur to throw Margo off the track after having gone to Xanadu's rather directly. All of which made

Margo feel that these new tactics were for Sheila's benefit rather than her own.

That was proven when the limousine stopped. The door opened and the muffled chauffeur thrust his hand into

"Why not stay with me, Margo?" queried Sheila. "I've still got a lot to talk about."

"But Mahatma Xanadu didn't say so," argued Sheila. "We went to his place together "

Sheila stopped with a slight gasp as the chauffeur put a heavy hand on Margo's arm.

"It's all right, Sheila," assured Margo. "Remember, that was before we looked into the crystal. What we've

"Because it was just a dream," replied Margo, getting out of the car, "and two people don't dream the same

Sheila was staring rather blankly as she nodded. The chauffeur helped Margo to the curb, slammed the door,

"You'll find a subway a couple of blocks west," he gruffed to Margo. "Sorry I couldn't drop you any closer."

The big car pulled away and when its taillights vanished, Margo realized that she was standing on what was

probably the darkest and most uninviting street in all Manhattan, presuming that this was Manhattan. After

all, she couldn't blame Xanadu for detaching her from Sheila and a darkened spot was certainly proper for the

parting, considering that Xanadu might have foreseen an argument with the chauffeur.

So Margo started westward, and crossed an intermediate avenue, which she recognized by name. It was quite

dark, but there was enough light at the corner for Margo to see the street sign. What surprised her was the

street number. She'd expected it to be something in the Hundreds, instead it was much lower.

That in itself was odd. The thought struck Margo as she was entering the next block, which was even darker

than the first. Traffic on this oddnumbered street should be westward, according to the oneway system.

Yet Margo was going in the opposite direction to that which the limousine had taken when it pulled away.

The question halted Margo in her tracks. He'd wanted her to think she was getting out of trouble instead of

into it. The mere misnaming of the direction proved that Margo had been tricked, but that was only part of it.

If she'd recognized this general vicinity which by now Margo had she'd know that here the East Side was

Turning abruptly, Margo started back to the corner she'd just left. As she did, a figure bulged into sight,

cutting off retreat. One glimpse of that huge, formidable form, during its brief blocking of the street lamp,

was quite enough for Margo. The man's face wasn't recognizable, but his head gear was.

Akbar, the giant Turk, should have laid aside his fez before taking up Margo's trail. As high as an average

hat, but with the close fit of a skullcap, the fez did all but shout its owner's name.

Pivoting on one high heel, Margo started eastward on the run as though a flock of devils were coming after

her. Akbar didn't waste a moment; over her shoulder, Margo caught a glimpse of him as he lunged from

darkness into which he had briefly ducked. One look was enough. Margo's intention now was to reach the

next corner and turn it, for she was sure she wouldn't find safety anywhere along this horrible street.

Before she reached the corner, another figure lunged to meet her. For a brief instant, Margo though that it was

Akbar; that in some unexplainable fashion, the Turk had maneuvered ahead of her. Then she saw that

What he did wear were two thick gloves that he clamped to Margo's neck. As the clutching hands stifled

Margo's screams, she lashed away and reeled this enemy into a spot of light. He didn't seem to mind her

Voicing a snarl, the man recoiled and in that instant Margo saw his face. It was like a vision from Xanadu's

The tawny face that was leering into Margo's belonged to Griff Thurver, the man whose complicity in

Margo didn't try to reason whether Griff knew about the recent seance. She simply took it for granted that he

did and therefore was determined to kill her. Equally anxious to live at least a little while, Margo took

advantage of Griff's shyness toward the light. Clutching the gloved hands, she broke their hold just long

Then, before Griff could pounce forward to regain his hold, Margo was confronted by a human menace much

This was Akbar, lunging hard, with one hand high. Apparently he was trying to get around in back of Margo,

to use the weapon which he carried in that lofted fist. Akbar's weapon was a knife, all set for a downward

Not that Margo was bothering about such definitions. It was just that strangulation seemed such a peaceful

death compared to a stroke from that bigcaliber dirk. Wildly, Margo flung herself around and into Griff's

Even the brakes of Shrevvy's wellkept cab could complain under the shock he gave them. Turning an

obscure corner in the midst of his zigzag quest, Shrevvy hadn't expected to come upon a human tangle

wherein a frantic girl was trying to beat off a driving knife with one hand and stop two choking fists with the

All this was happening in the middle of the street, under the glare of Shrevvy's headlights. One life at least

was worth preserving, slight though its chances seemed, so Shrevvy did the right thing in jamming the cab to

a sudden stop. But he came close enough to the struggling three to break up any notions of immediate

Instinctively, Akbar and Griff flung themselves aside, which allowed Margo a path of escape between them.

Also instinctive, she dived away from the threatening cab and was lucky enough to find an opening. Griff's

howl explained why, for in the sudden shift of things, his arm had crossed in front of Akbar's slashing knife.

Nevertheless, both men bounded after Margo, who darted across the sidewalk at an angle where she thought

she saw a sheltering doorway. That action proved in Margo's favor, for it brought her almost in line with

Shrevvy's cab. Already the cab was disgorging a new fighter, who came with an invisible swiftness.

Momentarily the cloaked figure formed a whirl of blackness only to be lost in the gloom beyond the curb.

Coming full about, The Shadow loomed suddenly in the converging paths of Akbar and Griff, meeting the

pair with a flay of guns that he brandished like a pair of Indian clubs. Akbar's long knife, coming slantwise,

was stopped with a clang that nearly buckled the blade into its owner's fist. Griff's good arm rose to form a

Akbar didn't wait for further treatment. The laugh The Shadow gave must have filled the Turk's mind with a

flood of fears; perhaps he believed he had met some phantasm of the sort that Mahatma Xanadu described as

residents of other worlds. As a net result, Akbar turned and fled, leaving Griff to battle The Shadow alone, or

Halfcrippled, partly stunned, Griff clutched The Shadow drunkenly, fighting only with the strength induced

by rage. In a few moments, The Shadow would have subdued this adversary through the use of skillful

Margo was the first to sense the creeping danger, for it was coming up behind her. Hearing a slight stumble,

the girl turned in time to see a stocky figure coming past a pair of stone house steps. Whoever he was, the

In the man's upswinging hand, Margo saw a gleaming revolver. She didn't wait to view his face; instead, she

shouted to The Shadow and made a dive on her side of the steps. Purposely perhaps, The Shadow reeled

This was to attract the attention of the new attacker and it did. Instead of starting after Margo, the man by the

steps aimed for The Shadow, who caught the glitter of the veering gun. With amazing speed, The Shadow

whipped Griff around and used him as a shield, aiming his own automatic across the fellow's shoulder.

It should have happened faster than the other man could fire but something went awry. Instead of taking to

his heels, the huddled man delivered belated shots. Those bullets lodged in Griff's back, almost jouncing the

big man from The Shadow's grasp. Only then did the man by the steps dart back into the alley from which he

Luck went with him, for Griff's contortions disturbed The Shadow's aim and the cloaked marksman fired

wide. Nor could The Shadow disentangle himself from Griff in time to take up the pursuit. Through the alley

and out the other end, the fugitive crossed the next street at an angle to gain another passage on the opposite

Only then, when he was in the clear and where he couldn't be observed, did the fugitive's face come into the

light. The man who had fled The Shadow's fire was Teach Morgan, Griff Thurver's partner in crime!

Its deepest wilds can be transformed to places least remote, once the proper impetus is given.

This rule applied to the dismal area wherein The Shadow had just scattered an opposing trio. This was

regarded as a neighborhood to be avoided; the people who lived hereabouts stayed indoors during periods

If householders heard sounds of scuffles, screams, or running feet out in the street, they gave such tokens no

concern. Whoever had found trouble should have stayed away from this district according to the local

They might be the prelude to anything, such as bashing doors, armed invasions, housetohouse battles.

Until Teach's shots from the dark had staggered Griff and produced a return fire from The Shadow, the

houses along this street had seemed deserted. But now the residents were rallying to a mutual cause.

Windows were slashing open. People were shouting, blowing whistles. Mingling with these sounds were the

loud crackles of oldfashioned burglar rattles, things which had been novelties when these old houses were

new. People who had telephones were using them to call the nearest police precinct, which wasn't really

Already the whine of a siren told that the bedlam had been heard. A patrol car was on its way.

Easing Griff's groaning figure to the house steps, The Shadow gripped Margo's arm and whisked her into

Shrevvy's cab which was already on the move. So swiftly did The Shadow follow that Margo thought he had

Shrevvy's course was swift, but as devious as that of Xanadu's limousine. It was Shrevvy's policy to drive by

ear when he heard sirens in the offing. Such minor traffic violations as using a oneway street in the wrong

direction were not only excusable in these circumstances, but useful. As for traffic lights, Shrevvy could go

In a matter of five minutes, this clever hackie had wangled enough zigzags to confuse a snake. He was back

within three blocks from where he started, but by that time the police cars had reached the street of trouble

What was important was this: Shrevvy's cab was now entering this general area instead of leaving it, which

made all the difference in the world. What was more, he was simply bringing two respectable passengers to a

As the lights of that establishment came in sight, Cranston smiled at Margo's bewilderment. His black garb

stowed away, Cranston was no longer The Shadow and could therefore relax into his more leisurely self. As

Margo had forgotten that the Club Hayrick was near the border of the disreputable neighborhood in which

cutthroats, stranglers and gunmen had all been individually represented in quick succession. That was

because Margo had always approached the Club Hayrick from the west. Every taxi driver who knew his

It was dawning on Margo why the limousine's chauffeur had dropped her at the spot he had. It was all for the

convenience of Griff Thurver, the steady bouncer at the Hayrick. Just a few blocks through back alleys had

placed Griff exactly where he could meet Margo when she came along. A quick strangle job and Griff could

Margo threw a grateful glance at Cranston in appreciation for his hindrance of Griff's secret duty.

Fitting Akbar into the picture was very simple, as Margo saw it. The terrible Turk had simply followed the

limousine in order to cut off Margo's retreat. The only factor that puzzled Margo was the stocky man who had

popped up from darkness, fired a few shots at the wrong target and immediately fled.

So far, even Cranston didn't have the answer, yet both he and Margo saw the missing assassin the moment

they entered the Club Hayrick. The orchestra had just finished a popular swing number called "Lady in the

Light," and the leader, a moonfaced gentleman named Dickie Wimbledon, was gesturing his baton at a trap

The trap artist's name was Teach Morgan and he looked like the original marijuana kid. Associating him with

the marksman from the alley was something that wouldn't have occurred to anyone at that moment; not even

In Cranston's style, The Shadow was surveying the customers and hired help around the Club Hayrick and

finding none who might tally with the missing gunman. The logical assumption was that the fellow had fled

That theory tallied all the better after Cranston heard Margo's story. Her description of the scene in Xanadu's

crystal was most illuminating, though Cranston made no comment. It seemed logical that the masked man in

the crystal revelation, the one who tallied so closely with Cranston himself, was the alley marksman whose

This threw the trail further from Teach Morgan, for the man in the crystal had been Fitz Crosset, who was

still at the Cafe Marimba building himself an alibi. Certainly a man whom Margo pointedly described as "a

wellgroomed figure" could not be Teach Morgan, who was standing up to take a bow with Dickie

Teach's tuxedo jacket was rumpled; his black tie was awry; his hair was shaggily dropped across his eyes. All

this was attributable to his gyrations with the traps, rather than a mad race through back alleys. Besides,

"Lady in the Light" was a prolonged number, which must have begun about the time when shots were

The atmosphere of the Club Hayrick irked Margo, particularly after the music stopped. Leaning across the

"Don't upset your drink," warned Cranston. "You need it more than the tablecloth. These notes of yours aren't

bad" he referred to the paper that Margo had given him "only I'm sorry you didn't check the return trip."

"It was all mixed up," said Margo. "I lost all sense of direction, because I didn't even know East from West."

"If you mean in terms of time," replied Margo, "it was about half as long as the original ride. I'm only

guessing in a way, but I ought to be right. I can remember everything Sheila said and I know about how long

"The limousine probably took her home," replied Cranston. "Don't worry about Sheila."

"Because she was meant to see them. You weren't and that makes all the difference."

"She probably has already. We can expect her here later. How soon depends on two people."

"Inspector Cardona and the maid," replied Cranston, calmly. "It all depends upon how long it takes Cardona

It couldn't have taken very long, for in about half an hour, the stocky police inspector strode into the Club

Hayrick accompanied by fluttery Miss Waltham. Cardona was looking around for the manager, who

happened to be at the telephone. The inspector interrupted his quest when he saw Cranston. Before Cardona

"It was Francine!" blurted Sheila to Margo. "When I described what I saw, she suddenly broke down and

"Exactly like that silly dream of yours?" put in Margo, sweetly. "What a coincidence, Sheila."

"Why, yes." Blank a moment, Sheila suddenly caught on. "Only I didn't say anything about Mahat "

"About your hat?" snapped Margo, before Sheila could add the final syllable. "What has a hat to do with it? I

Blank again, Sheila gradually understood and beamed a smile at Margo. Sheila's nod meant that she would be

careful not to make any further slips. This one had passed Cardona completely, because the ace inspector was

"Dreams are crazy," Cardona was telling Cranston, "but sometimes they come through. This one scored a

tenstrike on Francine the maid. Now Miss Waltham claims she dreamed about Griff Thurver, the big

bouncer who works around this joint. Have you seen him here tonight, Mr. Cranston?"

Cranston was giving his head a truthful shake when the club manager arrived in a complete dither.

"There's been a shooting, inspector," informed the manager. "Somebody waylaid Griff Thurver a couple of

blocks from here. A patrol car took him over to the hospital. They say Griff's in a bad way."

They reached the hospital to find Griff in a worse condition than Cranston expected. It was plain that the thug

was dying and knew it. To Inspector Joe Cardona, that situation spelled opportunity.

"Come clean, Griff," urged Joe, as he leaned beside the cot. "We know what's in back of this. That jewel

Getting nowhere so far, Cardona played a hunch. He simply transcribed Sheila's alleged dream into terms of

"The one who saw you take off your mask," stated Cardona. "That was a dumb stunt, Griff, after everything

was in the bag. You were supposed to fix things so the maid could stick to her story, only you muffed it."

"One look at that mug of yours," continued Cardona, "and the dame couldn't forget it. Her description tagged

"Who else was in it?" demanded the inspector. "That's what we want you to tell us, Griff."

With a sudden effort, Griff Thurver propped himself on his elbows, shoved his face close to Cardona's and

That effort did for Griff Thurver. His propping elbows failed him and without a groan, Griff sagged back

JUSTIN CADBURY spent five days a week in a great big sumptuous office that was reached through a door

That was only the first door. There were three or four others, leading through outer offices before coming to

an inner door marked "Private." Those offices were occupied by a skeleton staff of workers, all as idle as

By turning right and following around an inner corridor, Cadbury's office could be reached by a side door

without passing any of the hired help. Cadbury had specially provided this secret route and it was the one Fitz

Smoothfaced Fitz was still the fashionplate, even in street clothes. He played the manabouttown

handsomely, though today there was a troubled look on the face beneath the marcelled hair.

"Xanadu must have played a hunch," declared Fitz. "Solving that robbery was something I didn't figure he

"He didn't solve it," returned Cadbury, with a bland smile. "The stolen gems have been unloaded through

"Letters from people who peddled the gems for us." Cadbury gestured to a locked file cabinet in the corner.

"Checks, bills of sale, telegrams and other incriminating data. I'm keeping it just to make sure the various

"But it might bounce back on us," admonished Fitz. "You're taking a big risk keeping that stuff here."

"No risk at all," disputed Cadbury. "Why should anyone suspect me as the brain behind crime? I'm shouting

down the black market and offering to spend a fortune in fighting it, if others will do the same."

"They won't," chuckled Cadbury, "and that leaves me clear to supply the black market with all the gems we

Fitz nodded, but his heart wasn't in it. Stalking to Cadbury's window, he looked down at the street a dozen

floors below. Fitz was jittery, as if he expected to see a fleet of police cars suddenly surround the building.

"It's easy, Fitz," assured Cadbury. "Let me show you how he fits. That's a good one: Fitz and fits."

"I'll be having them," snapped Fitz. "Fits, I mean, unless you boil down this Xanadu business."

"Very well," declared Cadbury, dropping his broad smile. "We picked Xanadu for the fallguy, because he's

a fake and crook combined. That made him a natural. All we had to do was throw a scare into him and he had

"We knew two things," continued Cadbury. "First, where Xanadu would go, because Teach Morgan helped

us to arrange it, by tipping off Xanadu that the heat was on. Again, we knew that Xanadu would continue to

operate with special customers in order to make money and Teach helped that angle too."

"Teach did a swell job," complimented Fitz. "He dug up Dingo Bandorf, the guy with the old limousine and

"I know all that," interrupted Cadbury. "Now let's consider what happened last night. Xanadu did exactly

"Of course," nodded Fitz. "He wanted to convince her that he didn't steal her jewels. It was a bad

"It's only the first coincidence," reminded Cadbury. "There will be several, because we intend to rob other

people who are on Xanadu's sucker list. By then the police will see the connection and blame Mahatma

There was something in the lift of Cadbury's eyebrows, the suave note of his deep voice that made Fitz stop

"I get it!" exclaimed Fitz. "They'll think that Xanadu is getting rid of people who know too much. That is,

"Exactly so," agreed Cadbury. "A faker of Xanadu's caliber would be just smart enough to cover up a robbery

by exposing it afterward and collecting a reward for that service. What did Francine know? Nothing, except

that someone phoned her saying it would be profitable if she learned the combination of that wall safe.

"Griff was the type of man who wouldn't talk, even if Teach hadn't accidentally shot him instead of The

Shadow. It would be wise to replace Griff with another worker of equal merit, Fitz. You know the type:

Fitz grinned at that one, for he was becoming much relieved. Then, reverting to his troubled mood, he

"Correct. As such, he makes a practice of furnishing people with information that they think he couldn't

"Yes, and sometimes he tells them things that even they don't know at the time he spills it."

"There's the answer," announced Cadbury triumphantly. "You called the shot yourself, Fitz. Xanadu can only

pick up facts through stooges. He's been using them for months, ever since he opened shop."

"I am convinced she was," chuckled Cadbury. "Probably she mistook our offer as one from Xanadu. Well,

she can look to him for payment instead of to us. We told her that cash would only go with silence."

"That's probably Xanadu's line, too," laughed Fitz. "Say we're framing this better than we thought! What

about the next job? Maybe we can play through one of Xanadu's stooges again. How do you pick them?"

"By choosing the person most easily reached," declared Cadbury. "I think the apartment janitor will be the

"We are. Not only is he on Xanadu's sucker list, I happen to know that his antiques include jewelry, a fact

"You won't." Cadbury folded his arms with the important air of a man delivering orders. "This will require a

"That's something I can't risk," argued Fitz. Then, hastily he added: "Not on my account, but yours. I'm the

only man who knows you're back of this. So I have to play things pretty safe myself."

"Of course," agreed Cadbury, smoothly. "I'm not asking you to take the risk, Fitz. Send Teach; he's our ace in

"And because he knew Xanadu," reminded Fitz, "which is still a big help. Only we've got to watch ourselves,

"Where people like the Lane girl are concerned. Trying to knock her off wasn't a good idea. I'm just as glad it

"It appeared necessary," Cadbury's eyes were sharp, his tone pointed. "I shall make the decisions, Fitz. It is

"And the final conclusions will be mine," added Cadbury. "In this case we happen to coincide. I am just as

pleased as you are that Margo Lane survived. Our object was to keep her from talking about the trip with

"Which is one reason why I am glad she is still alive. Nevertheless, my policy was sound. Evidently Xanadu

agrees" Cadbury relaxed into one of his hearty chuckles "because he planned to murder Margo too.

"I see your other reason," he said suddenly. "If you find you have to get rid of the Lane girl later, maybe you

"Everything will be blamed on Xanadu eventually," assured Cadbury, "but that is not my reason, Fitz. Facts

have come to my attention which convinces me that Margo Lane is valuable in dealing with a certain

The statement brought a look of consternation to Fitz's handsome face. Knowing that his henchman had

caught the startling answer, Cadbury worded it in an insidious tone that he felt would lessen Fitz's fears

"We can use Margo Lane," emphasized Justin Cadbury, "because she is the one person who can lead us to a

greater rival than Xanadu; to an enemy who must be eliminated before our schemes can be called complete."

Pausing, Cadbury delivered a sneer that fitted the contempt in his tone as he added the name that Fitz so

A PARTY was in progress at Lenfield's apartment, if it could be called a party. When Arthur Lenfield

entertained, he did it in a stodgy way which suited the environment. For Arthur Lenfield lived in a world of a

The Lenfield apartment occupied the third floor of an old Greenwich Village mansion, which formed part of

a row. It was a curious hodgepodge of choppedup rooms, with windows only at the front and back. These

There was a third room with a skylight which was also barred on the underside. The rest of the rooms had

solid walls, in fact they gave the general appearance of closets built to an exaggerated size.

All this enabled Lenfield to subdivide the various antiques which so filled the apartment that in some places it

was impossible to squeeze between them. But Lenfield didn't confine his collecting to furniture. He liked old

glass, ancient pottery, oldfashioned clocks, in fact about everything that wasn't modern.

Afternoon tea was being served in the front room when Margo Lane arrived and found herself an unwelcome

contrast to the lavender and old lace that dominated the reception. All the other ladies present were dowagers

and elderly spinsters who had known Arthur Lenfield since his boyhood days when this had been the family

They were talking about how "daring Arthur" used to climb the cherry tree in the back yard and wave to them

from its highest boughs. From the look on Lenfield's face, Margo decided that the tree must have borne pie

cherries, for his expression was very sour. It turned out, however, that it was the chatter, not the recollection

that pained him, for his withered face beamed a smile the moment Lenfield saw Margo.

Having wangled a roundabout invitation to this party, Margo had never met Lenfield. But despite his love for

the antique in everything else, Lenfield preferred the modern in femininity. He immediately deserted the

"Come, my dear," cackled Lenfield. "Let me show you my treasures." Scarcely taller than Margo's shoulder,

Lenfield tilted his head to let his eyes roll upward. "As if you weren't a treasure yourself!"

Lenfield's playful banter brought a rattle of lorgnettes as the dowagers and spinsters surveyed the hussy who

was stealing their hero of the cherry tree. Until Lenfield captured her, Margo had assumed that her afternoon

frock was really quite conservative, but in this company its trim fit seemed positively outre. Wishing that

she'd worn a hoopskirt and whatever paraphernalia it demanded, Margo let Lenfield escort her from the

Nevertheless, Margo didn't appreciate Lenfield's company, even if he had spoken of "treasures" which were

the very things she'd come to learn about. In looking over the list of Xanadu's known clients, Cranston had

In brief, Lamont Cranston was following the very course that Justin Cadbury expected the law to take later.

He was linking Mahatma Xanadu with crime on the very basis that a man who knew enough about a robbery

Nothing had been heard of Sheila's jewels, yet she felt that Xanadu had earned the reward that she had paid

him. If one of the Mahatma's dupes could be taken that easily, another might logically follow. Picking

Lenfield had seemed a long shot to Margo until Cranston had brought out the obscure fact that certain types

of jewelry which included some of the most highly valued came under the classification of antiques.

Perhaps Lenfield's rapid method of making himself acquainted would enable Margo to divert the subject to

antique jewelry. It was difficult though to talk to him and at the same time avoid his ogling glances. Hence

Margo was glad when they met an elderly butler hobbling from the front door to announce that three

"You must show them your glassware, Mr. Lenfield! That's what you said would interest me most, wasn't it?"

"I suppose so," returned Lenfield, glumly. "Only maybe these gentlemen don't like glassware."

"I'm sure they do," insisted Margo. "They're interested in antiques, or they wouldn't have come here. Since

you prize the glassware most of all, it must be exactly what they want to look at."

Margo recognized the men the moment they arrived. The three consisted of Justin Cadbury and two friends

who had been with him at the Cobalt Club the night Margo had bolted in from the night. This same trio were

with Cranston at the Cafe Marimba on another evening while Margo had been making a secret trip by

Those facts added up to Cadbury's credit, should he ever be doubted. Cadbury's constant denouncement of

crooked practices removed him far from Xanadu's category. In fact Margo felt a new confidence with

Cadbury had good reason to be confident, even on a scene where he had ordered crime.

To Fitz Crosset, Cadbury had expressed the belief that Mahatma Xanadu used stooges to good advantage. If

anyone should know, it was Cadbury, for he was adept in that practice. His two companions, gentlemen of

high standing in the business world, were Cadbury's stooges without knowing it. So far they had sustained

Cadbury's imposing bluff so well that he was using them as unwitting assistants in a coming crime.

Things were to happen right under the eyes of Cadbury's friends, without their becoming one whit wiser.

Booming a welcome to Margo, Cadbury asked if she expected her friend Cranston. When Margo replied that

Lamont would be calling for her, old Lenfield's face renewed its crabapple expression. Lenfield was a bit

testy as he showed his visitors through the gorgeous glassware collection. Taking Margo's delighted

exclamations for granted, Lenfield threw a dour glance at Cadbury, and demanded:

"I'm trying to start a business," explained Cadbury, "but I'm finding it impossible in these times when new

materials are not available. It finally struck me that antiques would be a good line, as they are always

"If you can find them," clucked Lenfield, suddenly becoming interested. "You'd specialize in one variety of

"Yes, but not in glassware, because it's too fragile. I would have to ship all over the country."

He ushered his visitors into a room where they were greeted by ticking sounds from every wall. There were

hundreds of clocks in the place and they seemed to be engaged in a wild, maddening race. Cadbury fairly had

"Clocks won't do! You can't get parts to keep them in repair, particularly the oldfashioned kind."

Lenfield beckoned the group out through another door. Following the hallway, they came to a door on the

other side. Unlocking it with a special key, Lenfield introduced them into the room with the barred skylight.

All about were tables; stacked on them were caskets of assorted shapes and sizes. They were musicboxes as

Lenfield demonstrated, when he went about, pressing their springs. Tinkly tunes blended, then became

discordant as too many notes conflicted. Lenfield might have an eye for musicboxes, but he certainly had no

Wondering how far the sound would carry, Margo glanced upward to the frosted pane above the skylight's

bars. It was dim, that pane, for dusk was settling, and Cadbury had been forced to turn on the lights here in

the music room. Nevertheless, there was still a trace of outdoor glow, coming through the skylight.

Against it, Margo saw something flit. It was a shadowy something that slid away as if alarmed by the

clashing tinkles from below. It was too large to be a bird or even a prowling cat. Though her glance was only

fleeting, Margo was sure that the disappearing blackness must be something human.

Margo's mind jumped instantly to thoughts of Cranston's other self, The Shadow. With nightfall almost at

hand and a sense of menace in the air, Margo was comforted by the impression that crime's greatest foe was

Margo Lane might not have believed the truth if it had been told her. Instead of being what she thought, that

JUSTIN CADBURY waved his hands unhappily and shouldered toward the door while Arthur Lenfield was

"They're worse than clocks," shouted Cadbury. "Besides, nobody wants musicboxes!"

"Clocks? Musicboxes?" Lenfield cackled the questions in a high, shrill tone. "Yes, I have a combination of

He pointed to a grandfather's clock against the opposite wall. Under its long pendulum was another

compartment with a square glass door which Lenfield opened to bring out some large brass plates that looked

"Very rare," shrilled Lenfield. "A grandfather's clock with a music box combined. I used to keep it in the

Retiring to the hall so that others could do the same, Cadbury gave a polite nod. Lenfield was welcome to the

Nor did the others, particularly Margo. She retired to the hallway too, while Lenfield was replacing the brass

disks in the bottom of the tall clock. His happy cackles audible above the din, Lenfield couldn't resist the

temptation of playing with his favorite curios. He started another circuit of the room, winding some music

boxes, starting others. At last he reached the door and paused as though loath to close it.

Shuffling footsteps were coming along the rear hall. Lenfield suddenly forgot his music boxes when he saw

two men bringing a small organ in his direction. One was an expressman; the other was evidently the

"It just came by the back way," replied the janitor. "I'd say it was an organ, Mr. Lenfield; only it don't look

"It's a melodeon!" exclaimed Lenfield. "I've been advertising for one all this month! Where is it from?"

"In there, of course." Lenfield gestured to the music room. "There's plenty of space between the tables over in

Lenfield watched the two men work the melodeon into the stated corner. They came out looking back over

their shoulders as though they minded the tumult of the music boxes much more than their recent effort.

For the first time, Margo noted that the door was very strong and thick. but it didn't cut off the penetrating

tinkles of the musicboxes. All were audible, though muffled, and the sound carried clear to the front room,

where the group went next. Remaining long enough to pay off Jerome and the expressman, Lenfield followed

Amid the gradually decreasing tinkle of the musicboxes, a singular thing was happening within the room

that Lenfield had locked. Two doors kicked open at each side of the oldfashioned organ which Lenfield had

termed a melodeon. A contorted figure did a sideward roll and came out to the floor, straightening its arched

The man arose and stretched himself. In the light which Lenfield had forgotten to turn off, this visitor's face

grimaced into a hard, fixed leer. The man was the trap drummer who made crime his sideline: Teach

The clangor of the musicboxes didn't bother Teach at all. He could make more noise and worse when he

bandied the drums, bells and cymbals in Wimbledon's orchestra. Kicking the doors of the melodeon shut with

a bassdrum motion of his foot, Teach opened the top and dipped down into the center. From it he produced

Stepping to a table opposite the big grandfather's clock, Teach placed his own musicbox there. The table

being already crowded, Teach set the box on two of Lenfield's, finding that the pair differed in height, he

That done, Teach went to the door and carefully opened it an inch. Trying to listen for anything was

impossible, with so many musicboxes still running, so Teach peered through the crack of the door instead.

With his other hand, Teach was drawing a bandanna handkerchief from his pocket, but he waited while he

As soon as that figure moved Teach's way, the stocky drummer stepped back and slid the knotted

handkerchief down across his face so that its folded edge stopped on the bridge of his nose. As the door

opened, Teach heard the ringing of a bell; nevertheless, he was quick to close the door as soon as a man in

"That was lucky," gruffed Teach, through his mask. "I'd say the doorbell drowned most of this racket when I

The other man nodded nervously. He was the janitor, Jerome. He thumbed toward the closed door as he

"It chased Harvey, too, the doorbell did. He's the butler. He don't see too good, he don't, but still I was kind of

leery about moving through while he was in the hall. His answering the doorbell helped."

"Ain't you the guy that phoned me?" he queried. "Didn't I tell you how I saw old Lenfield set the clock at

"It must have been somebody else," replied Teach in the same forced tone. "So show me."

Stepping to the clock, Jerome opened the top door, which covered the large dial. As the janitor began to move

the hands, Teach stepped over to the table and clicked the switch of his musicbox. Most of the other tunes

"What's the idea?" queried Jerome. "Ain't that noise bad enough, without making a lot more?"

"We've got to keep a few going," growled Teach. "You don't want old Lenfield to get unhappy and come

Eyeing the tilted musicbox, Jerome shook his head. Sight of the new box intrigued him.

"That's a funny one," said Jerome, referring to the box. "Looks like ebony, all black, with brasswork around

From beside the table, Teach gave an impatient gesture. He was wearing gloves, otherwise Jerome might

Turning to the clock, Jerome set the hands at twelve. From there he moved one, then the other, to different

numbers on the dial, as though operating the combination of a safe. There were moments when he paused and

Jerome didn't have trouble until the final numbers. There, he made quick tests around the dial, was suddenly

rewarded by a click. A moment later, the whole dial was swinging outward like a door.

Repressing an urge to start forward, Teach let Jerome produce the contents of Lenfield's strange, secret

strongbox. The janitor's fists came around loaded with an array of vivid gems. Lenfield's tastes were like

Jerome's hands showed the hues of sapphires, amethysts, garnets, studded with the amber tint of topaz. These

were stones that could be divided into smaller jewels suitable for modern settings, instead of the heavy gold

that now contained them. Teach's eyes glittered above the mask, but he didn't budge from where he stood.

"Dump them in here," ordered Teach. "I like musicboxes, so I'll take this big one with me. The skylight

Several musicboxes were still running, but Jerome was worried because his masked companion had stopped

the black one. Noting Jerome's look, Teach started one of Lenfield's music boxes. Satisfied, Jerome climbed a

table and brought a screwdriver from his pocket. Rapidly he removed the threadbolts from the metal frame

As soon as the bars came loose, Jerome lowered them. Climbing the table, which was strong enough for two,

Teach hoisted himself up through the skylight, which shoved open as he reached it. With him he took the

There was work for both as soon as Teach was through the trap. The masked man's job was to lower the

skylight and replace the outside screws that normally, kept it tight. Meanwhile, Jerome was putting back the

Of the two, Jerome worked faster. This was a janitor's business, and he had good light. Besides, Jerome was

worried because all the musicboxes had stopped except the one that Teach had finally started. A single tune

was like a single thread to Jerome. He didn't reason that it would be good for several minutes more; he'd lost

When that one musicbox halted, Lenfield might come back, which was something Jerome certainly didn't

want to happen. Finishing his job in rapid time, Jerome dropped to the floor, shoved the table where it

belonged and started for the door. Opening the barrier, the janitor slid through, reaching his hand back to

Not the light switch, for Jerome was leaving it on. What the janitor pressed was the switch on the nearest

musicbox, close beside the door. Letting the door come shut, Jerome started along the hall, reaching in his

Crime stood completed and there was no need to worry about Lenfield. With that thought, Jerome took it that

IT was Lamont Cranston who noted the change of tune. He was the guest who had arrived when Harvey

In entering, Cranston had observed the hallway, but all was clear by that time. Hearing the confusion of many

musicbox tunes, he had looked inquiringly at Margo, after joining the other guests in the front parlor.

While Lenfield had been talking antiques, Margo undertoned the details of the music room, but only in terms

of musicboxes. The melodeon seemed unimportant, largely because Lenfield hadn't decided to play it.

Anyway, it was just another addition to some rather quaint instruments in the room which Lenfield was so

Despite the cackle of Lenfield's incessant voice, Cranston heard the rise in volume of a single musicbox.

That change marked the moment when Jerome was coming from the room. Then, as the sound diminished,

The effect was deceptive, even to Cranston's keen ear. The pins on the cylinder of the second musicbox did

not reach the prongs immediately and the slight interval gave the impression that someone had started the

Instead of starting rapidly into the hallway, Cranston maintained his leisurely pose. So casually did he leave

his chair that Margo didn't realize he was gone until she looked around. As for Cadbury, he didn't notice

Cranston's departure at all. Like his friends, Cadbury was giving polite attention to Lenfield's vapid harangue

Once in the hallway, Cranston paused to pick up a briefcase that he had left with Harvey. Inverting the

briefcase, Cranston opened a secret compartment in the bottom and from a division that formed an inverted V

This hallway, darkening with the dusk, was a perfect spot for a rapid transformation, but Cranston was in no

hurry. Smoothly rather than swiftly he became The Shadow; gliding along the hallway, he reached the door

The janitor had reached the back stairway just before Cranston's advent to the hall. He'd pulled a door shut

behind him and was now knocking at the apartment below, where he had some chores to finish. From the

As one music box finished its chime, The Shadow heard a sound above the tinkle of the other. It was a

scuffling sound, of footsteps that were unquestionably from the roof. How anyone could have reached there

so rapidly was a question that The Shadow didn't stop to argue. Abandoning his work at the strong room

door, he started toward the rear of the hallway, the direction that the faint scuffle had gone.

Old Harvey, who neither saw nor heard too well, came blundering from the clock room just as The Shadow

was about to pass it. Before he could twist away, the cloaked investigator jostled Harvey and the effect was

Seeing nothing, hearing nothing, but feeling plenty, Harvey thought some wandering spook was loose. If any

house deserved to have ghosts, it was this old Village mansion and Harvey had often claimed he sensed their

The servant's cry brought Lenfield from the front room, with others close behind him. In fact, Cadbury was

almost shoving his host aside, a fact that Margo noticed and considered very impolite, though she was too

startled to give it much attention. Shoulder to shoulder with Lenfield, Cadbury suddenly eased away as

Harvey was waving toward the door of the back stairway. Reaching it first, Lenfield wrenched the door open

and heard sounds from a floor below. As Lenfield shouted down, voices answered; one was Harvey's, the

other belonged to a man who lived on the second floor. Apparently they hadn't seen any one, for they wanted

They should have been looking at the roof. The Shadow was gazing in that direction from a fire escape, to

which he had swung from a window on the back stairs. Still at the level of Lenfield's apartment, The Shadow

It was too dark to make out the man's features. Huddled, he looked more ape than human, except for a white

splotch that formed an open shirt front. He was clutching something under one arm and was adjusting what

seemed to be the cord of a knapsack over his shoulders. Otherwise The Shadow gained no impression of

Apparently the huddled man was going to leap straight down to the fire escape and there wasn't a chance that

he could see The Shadow in that lower, thicker darkness. One hand gripping the rail, The Shadow drew an

automatic with his other, intending to use it as occasion called. There would be a surprise for that jumper

when he landed. Either he'd find a gun muzzle pressing him or he'd receive a neat, wellplaced rap that

There wouldn't be a witness to that silent, sudden meeting unless one counted Lenfield's cherry tree, which

now reared higher than the house in whose garden it had originally been planted. Stirred by a passing wind,

the tree formed a great, grotesque figure weaving its limbs like a multitude of arms.

Tilting to what seemed an impossible angle, the man from the roof lurched forward. Then, and only then did

The man didn't leap; he swooped. Something carried him on a long, fantastic dip that curved above The

Shadow's head, missing the fire escape entirely. Lunging up from the rail. The Shadow tried to halt that ride,

but the swing was too forceful. A pair of hardhitting feet kicked aside The Shadow's gunhand and the

Halftoppled across the rail, The Shadow saw the speeding man disappear in the darkness below. Hanging at

an angle, The Shadow jabbed two shots as a deterrent to further flight, aiming them close to where the fellow

should have landed. But Teach wasn't making stopoffs along this remarkable journey.

As if he had bounced, the fugitive reappeared at the limit of Lenfield's yard, riding up and over the high fence

that marked the end of a blind alley just beyond. He was following the same swift curve and the open

Teach's knapsack was a double rope, looped over a high limb of the cherry tree. It must have been measured

from limb to roof edge, which was slightly shorter than from limb to ground. For a whirlwind getaway, Teach

The finish of that elongated swing carried the flying man across the fence with plenty of footage to spare. He

dropped from sight with a peculiar twist before The Shadow could again take aim. Shots into the darkened

alley would have been useless if The Shadow had dispatched them, which he didn't. The Shadow was

Those shots from the fire escape had been located by people in the house and they were coming with great

hue and cry. Moreover, somebody was shooting from the rear street, using the spurts from The Shadow's gun

as a target. Obviously these shots were intended as a barrage to cover the escape of the man who had dashed

The Shadow offset these complications by some acrobatics of his own. Instead of using the steps of the fire

escape, he dropped down the outside, catching at rails and braces as he jolted toward the ground. It was like

As The Shadow reached the ground, something flogged down from the tree limb. Lashing across the ground

like a snake, the thing disappeared across the fence. It was the rope; Teach had slashed it with a knife when

he dropped off. Keeping one end, he'd brought the other after him. A car was speeding from the rear street as

The Shadow scaled the fence. Wild shots blazed back and as The Shadow dropped into the alley, there were

answering echoes from Lenfield's house, along with spurts of reflected flame. Those shots were actual,

In the fleeing car, Teach Morgan was hauling in the last stretch of rope and growling to the driver, Fitz

"You should have got some other guy," unburdened Teach. "If I hadn't pulled the rope trick, The Shadow

"That's why we needed you," returned Fitz. "A specialty like that was your meat, Teach. Don't worry, well be

"You won't be using anybody," argued Teach, "if you don't hop me back to the Hayrick fast. Dickie

The Shadow meanwhile was returning to Lenfield's apartment by a circuit around the block. The front way

was to be preferred, because with his pick The Shadow could open Lenfield's main door and stow the black

garments in the special briefcase. A normal return as Cranston was The Shadow's present policy with the

The door of Lenfield's music room was open when Cranston reappeared in the front hall. All attention was

focused upon that room, because Lenfield had gone there, much worried, after the confusion ended.

There, Lenfield's guests had watched in wonderment while the little man stood on a chair and tinkered with

the hands of the grandfather's clock. Most of the people thought that Lenfield had gone crazy; when the dial

Coming in from the hallway, Cranston heard the ardent howl that others took as proof of Lenfield's stark

THE robbery at Lenfield's was classed as strictly unaccountable. At least that was the police verdict based on

According to Inspector Joe Cardona, anybody coming down through Lenfield's melody room couldn't have

tightened the skylight on the roof, because that was an outside job; whereas a crook working up through

It was one of those things that fiction writers term a "sealed room mystery" except that this happened to be

There was none of that bunk in the Lenfield case. Lenfield had closed the door of a room containing nobody

as several witnesses could testify. The door had latched automatically, a proven fact because Lenfield had

been forced to unlock it later, with a key that never left his possession. When Lenfield had looked into the

That was the word Cardona used to finish his description of the case for the benefit of Police Commissioner

Weston and the latter's friend, Lamont Cranston. However, Cardona didn't realize that he was building up the

very thing he was trying to crack down, namely the sealed room angle, until he saw the commissioner give a

"You'll be talking about ghosts next," declared Weston, "the way that butler did. Unless, inspector, you are

"That somebody had a duplicate key," returned Weston. "That simplifies the whole thing, inspector."

"Lenfield did it himself," announced Cardona. "Among other things he collects locks, thousands of them.

About every week or so, he chooses another one at random and installs it. Incidentally, commissioner"

Cardona drove this home bluntly "Lenfield knows the lock business. You install them from the inside of the

"I'll tell you the real answer, commissioner," said Joe. "Lenfield admits he hadn't looked at those gems in the

last week. Yet occasionally he did get careless and leave the door open because he thought nobody knew

about the trick clock. Actually the gems were stolen a few days before the supposed robbery, though Lenfield

That theory rather satisfied Weston except for one point, which he promptly put.

"To blame the job on somebody who was there," replied Cardona. With one of his rare grins, Joe gave a

Cardona was hinting closer than he realized. The Waltham robbery had nearly bounced back at Cranston, and

the Lenfield case had been similarly planned, except that crooks had omitted flowers, for which Cranston

"I guess that closes it," decided Weston. "Your job now is to find the jewelry, inspector."

Considering the nature of the gems, Cardona was being assigned to an almost impossible task, as Cranston

told Margo when he met her later. But Margo was thinking in terms of crime rather than loot when she

"They didn't," replied Cranston, "because Lenfield forgot it after he found that the instrument had been

shipped from a very reliable secondhand dealer. The janitor had the express receipt."

"But somebody could have gotten into the melodeon while it was in the express wagon. You know" Margo

frowned reflectively "that melodeon looked pretty heavy. I'm sure somebody was inside it, pulling the same

"It wasn't Achilles who planned the Trojan Horse," smiled Cranston. "Only I'm glad you mentioned him. This

"That's a good way to put it," returned Cranston, retaining his smile. "Let's suppose a criminal was shipped

"Then what was he doing on the roof? I told you about the trapeze act that I couldn't quite break up. It was

"You're right, Lamont," she admitted. "It does look like a skylight job after all. But how?"

"How is easy enough," replied Cranston. "Our friend in the melodeon admitted an accomplice to the room.

That made the skylight business easy, since they could fix everything from top and bottom. The accomplice

simply left by the door. What I want to know is why they went to all that trouble."

"Maybe the thief couldn't afford to be seen," she said, "but the accomplice might have been able to take that

"I've thought of that," stated Cranston, "but the accomplice might have well have done the whole job. Unless

The pause meant much to Margo. She waited a few moments, then exclaimed eagerly:

"Jerome, the janitor," replied Cranston with a positive nod. "He had to help lug the melodeon, so he couldn't

"It won't lead anywhere," decided Cranston with a head shake, "any more than it did with Francine. Besides,

"You mean through Mahatma Xanadu!" Margo exclaimed. "You're wondering if he's going to reveal crime in

"Absolutely," the girl replied seriously. "Maybe I was hypnotized, Lamont, but I saw them very plainly. If

there is any way of explaining it except by hypnosis, I'd like to know, because it's had me worried ever

"There is another way," assured Cranston, slowly. "It is beginning to come clearly," he gave a slight smile

"like something in the crystal. It explains why the crime was committed the hard way. I think that Arthur

That worried Margo as she looked from the window of Cranston's limousine in which they were riding

"We ought to be going toward Lenfield's then," insisted Margo, "but we're headed the wrong way."

"Shrevvy is at Lenfield's," replied Cranston. "That's why I had Stanley bring this big car out of storage.

"Make it the Marimba," she said. "I'll get enough of Dickie Wimbledon's music without going to the Hayrick,

It started almost as Margo spoke and the first rendition was "Lady in the Light." Remembering the bangup

finish that characterized Wimbledon's orchestration, Cranston showed slight surprise at the mildness of the

"Nice, isn't it?" queried Margo, sitting back. "If Wimbledon didn't spoil every number, he'd be really good."

"You should stay in the groove, Lamont," chided Margo. "I see you aren't up on Wimbledon's latest. No

boomboom for him until the very finish; then he makes up for it by giving over to the traps. Listen and

Cranston listened and did more than see. For better than five minutes there wasn't the slightest token of a trap.

Then came the clatterbang of everything that Teach Morgan could give. Amid the din Margo cut off the

It was easy for Cranston to picture a scene that could have been of an orchestra platform stocked with all the

necessary musicians except one, the drummer, who might have stepped up from the back just when his solo

Maybe it hadn't been that way tonight, but Cranston was thinking of an evening when crime had struck very

JUSTIN CADBURY was working late in his office. Having no work to do, this meant he was holding a

conference with Fitz Crosset, the only man with whom Cadbury actually conducted business.

"That's right," answered Fitz. "Flowers wouldn't do for Lenfield. He likes locks and the box has one. He likes

"I didn't open it because I couldn't. It's too tricky even for Lenfield to open. Teach says he got it from the

"That's the idea. Lenfield will be so curious about the box that he won't pass up Xanadu's invitation. Of

course Xanadu will keep the box and we can turn it into evidence against him later."

Cadbury leaned back in his chair, quite satisfied. As a matter of course, he gestured to the filing cabinet that

"Along with the genuine letters," remarked Cadbury, "I've forged a few with Xanadu's name. They're under

"Good enough," replied Cadbury, "considering that we'll let the police build their own case first. Xanadu

won't be able to dispute the letters when we spring them as a followup. He'll be in too deep by that time."

There was a pause as Cadbury leaned forward and propped his elbows on the big desk. Then:

"Now tell me about Teach," suggested Cadbury. "How does he feel after the other night?"

"First rate," replied Fitz, "except that he didn't like mixing it all alone with The Shadow. He says he'll need

"Yes, with a couple of strongarm boys. I did it by telephone of course. They'll have their tryout tonight,

"Very good," decided Cadbury. "We wouldn't want The Shadow to trail Lenfield when he visits Xanadu.

"Because he isn't where he can watch Lenfield. At present, The Shadow is at the Cafe Marimba, having

dinner with Margo Lane. I told the headwaiter to phone me if Mr. Cranston arrived there. In fact, I left the

"Who else could he be?" queried Cadbury, blandly. "No one else has been so close to matters as Cranston,

except ourselves, of course. I can assure you that I am not The Shadow. Are you?"

"Not a chance," laughed Fitz, as he rose to leave. "Well, I'll lazy over to the meeting place and call off the

The meeting place was a building on Fortysecond Street which had an entrance leading through the block.

In the daytime, this arcade was thronged, but after office hours it was practically deserted. Pedestrians used it

as a thoroughfare, but they were comparatively few. Most of the persons entering the building were those

The front street was bright, but the arcade was dim at night, which was why it discouraged foottraffic. In

addition, the rear street was very dark, so nobody cared to go there. That was, nobody except Arthur Lenfield.

Alighting from a cab in front of the arcaded building, Lenfield showed that he was in a hurry. The reason was

that the cab he had picked up outside his apartment had proven very slow, partly because the driver had

Of course Lenfield didn't know that the cabby was nicknamed Shrevvy and that he worked for The Shadow.

Nor did he guess that Shrevvy had been waiting specially to pick up this particular passenger in an area where

First, Shrevvy had swung past a drugstore where Burbank, another of The Shadow's agents, had been

waiting with a phone booth handy. There, Shrevvy had timed himself to a red traffic light so that he could flip

a wad of paper from the cab, bearing Lenfield's destination. The rest of Shrevvy's stalling had been to give

The Shadow time to get there ahead of Lenfield after receiving a call from Burbank.

As Lenfield hurried into the dim arcade, a piece of the granite wall detached itself. At least the effect was

such, though curiously the wall remained whole. What really happened was quite different. In actuality, a

figure slid from the shelter of the wall and glided after Lenfield, but nobody would have believed it.

The streaky darkness that followed Lenfield through the arcade looked like a shadow of his own, except that

it violated all the usual rules. It traced one wall, then the other, occasionally when the light was between it

When Lenfield looked back, however, he didn't glance along the walls. He was thinking in terms of ordinary

followers, as his nervous glances told. Not believing in ghosts, Lenfield wasn't looking for anything that

As he reached the rear street, Lenfield halted, startled by its darkness. For a moment he was drawing back

into the arcade; then, as he saw a limousine wheel invitingly to the curb, he realized that it was the car he was

Behind Lenfield was a loom of blackness, which could easily have been Lenfield's own shadow, except that it

didn't move during the next halfsecond. Lenfield's actual trailer, The Shadow, had drawn back at his pause

and was a step late when the man made his sudden forward stride. Across the street, a quickeyed observer

A low, quick call came in a tone that might vaguely have been identified with Fitz Crosset. At the signal, two

hulking men sprang from the pillars that flanked the rear entrance of the arcade. They came blindly, those

huskies, like the human machines they were. Their orders were to cover Lenfield, so they did.

Through sheer luck, the pair struck substance. What they took for a flicker of blackness turned out to be The

Shadow. An instant later the strongarm duo were slugging hard with guns and getting results. Barely in time

Instead, The Shadow grappled, sagging in the process. Lenfield was hopping into the limousine which was

ready to get underway and despite the thuds that reached his head, The Shadow realized that the path would

then be open for gunfire from across the street. With a savage wrench, The Shadow broke from his attackers.

Reeling right into the path of the limousine, he would have been run down if they hadn't pounced after him.

Snarling because he'd missed an opportunity, the driver, big Dingo Bandorf, decided to hold back the car.

As Dingo did, the figures veered into the darkness of the street, The Shadow beating hard with his arms to

stave off gunstrokes. Rounding the limousine, he was lost against its dark body, so Fitz didn't have a chance

to fire; but The Shadow's attackers were grabbing him again and from the sounds, Fitz thought he could

Right then The Shadow needed help and it came. Around the corner rolled Shrevvy's cab. True to custom,

Shrevvy was checking on matters as far as he could and was also putting himself where The Shadow could

use his cab if he needed it to trail the limousine. The corner was where Shrevvy would have stopped if he

hadn't glimpsed The Shadow's struggle. On that account, he bucked the oneway traffic to give all possible

Fighters broke apart at the cab's approach, as they had the night of Margo's rescue. Fitz was blocked off as the

cab came to a halt, while the limousine was forced to wait until the cab cleared its front. Reeling against the

cab, The Shadow whipped its door wide and gave a hurried, halfgasped order. The cab spurted ahead as the

Fitz was the first to fire and his two huskies copied his example. All three were lunging after the cab as they

aimed and its sudden zigzag made them think they had scored hits. But Shrevvy was merely springing the old

During the shooting, Dingo started the limousine in the other direction. His job was to take Lenfield on a

special trip to Xanadu's, so it wasn't good policy to wait. The limousine whisked one corner while the taxicab

was rounding another. With one going East, the other West, the chances of their trails crossing again were

Realizing that the main job had been accomplished, Fitz snarled for his new men to stop blasting with their

guns. Beckoning them along, Fitz hurried through the darkness to find an obscure subway entrance where

There were two things Fitz could tell Cadbury: one, that predicting The Shadow's whereabouts was an

uncertain policy; the other, that wherever The Shadow had gone, he wasn't on Lenfield's trail.

Crime's game was still safe, despite The Shadow. Battered by Fitz's strongarm recruits, the cloaked fighter

MAHATMA XANADU bowed from his doorway and received the curious box that Arthur Lenfield handed

him. The box was cubical, measuring about three inches in each direction and it had a knob on top, like the

Having toyed with that dial without result, Lenfield was anxious to see what Xanadu did with it, but the

Mahatma simply retired to the seance room, stating that he would receive Lenfield shortly. As soon as his

back was turned, the Mahatma began to tilt the box, which gave away the real secret, though Lenfield didn't

The dialed knob was simply a dummy. To open the box, a series of tilts were necessary. Those tilts worked a

little ballbearing from one hidden channel into another groove and thus released the catch. The box was

While Lenfield waited, he worried. This dim reception room bothered him. As he looked about, he shied

away from shadowy walls as though they were about to creep forward and seize him. Lenfield was in his

most nervous mood, when the Mahatma returned. Ushering Lenfield into the equally gloomy seance room,

Xanadu merely glanced at the dim corners. He was more interested in watching Lenfield. In fact, Xanadu had

seated the visitor in front of the crystal ball, before remembering to go and close the connecting door.

"You are troubled," purred Xanadu. "You must relax before you gaze into the crystal."

Lenfield stared sharply at Xanadu's question. The visitor's manner became suspicious.

"Only when I gaze into the crystal," declared Xanadu, impressively. "Even then, I prefer that the visions

should relate to the unknown, because such is true clairvoyance. We must not waste time; hence I would like

Lenfield gave his version of the affray near Fortysecond Street. He explained that he had heard much more

than he saw because he was in a car with windows that blanked any outside view. He finished by describing

"All during that pitchblack ride, I stayed huddled in my corner. I feared that some secret presence was with

"No. He said it wouldn't be safe after what happened. Do you know, Mahatma, at moments I was sure I could

"Yes, I was scared," he admitted, "and the ride was a long one. Why, that one stretch must have covered at

Ignoring Lenfield's comment and the look of inquiry that accompanied it, Xanadu gestured to the crystal.

"Concentrate on whatever is in your mind," purred the Mahatma. "The crystal will reveal the answer."

"I might see something shadowy," he said plaintively. "I felt shrouded, surrounded by blackness when I came

"But the impression followed me up the stairs," argued Lenfield. "It was all around your reception room, as

though some demon were hovering close. Tell me, Mahatma" Lenfield looked up restlessly "do you ever

"Never," returned Xanadu. "Come, Mr. Lenfield, gaze into the crystal. Concentrate upon the less recent past.

Lenfield complied. Soon both he and Xanadu were studying the gazing globe as though they expected to see

something in its exaggerated depths. The mild light of the room was focused on that crystal and both men

became more closely geared to it. Indeed, the very blackness that Lenfield had mentioned, seemed to creep in

That effect was lost upon the gazers. The crystal commanded their full attention for a scene was forming in

its midst. A face appeared deep in the globe and Lenfield gave an amazed exclamation:

It was certainly Jerome and more. Lenfield could see what the janitor was working at: the grandfather's clock

with the special dial. Breathless, Lenfield checked Jerome's frantic efforts with the last part of the

combination; then saw the janitor paw into the secret strong box, the moment that it opened.

What impressed Lenfield most was the conclusion. Jerome turned about, with hands ahead of him, he grew

until those laden fists became a veritable closeup. The gazing globe scintillated with the varied sparkles and

colors of Lenfield's antique gems; then, as if completing a confession, the hands vanished in a vivid splash.

All was gone so suddenly that the crystal seemed to swirl with darkness. Gripping Xanadu's arm, Lenfield

"Look, Mahatma! There it is, the phantom thing that was at my house the thing that followed me here."

Xanadu's eyes went upward, startled, as though he expected to see a shrouding shape close by. Lenfield's

stare was equally swift and to his strained imagination, the figure looked real, except that it evaporated as no

living thing could have. Still, the corners of this seance room were very deceptive in their gloom, a natural

contrast to the central glow above the solid pedestal that supported the crystal ball.

For the moment, Xanadu was nervous, but he regained his calm. Coolly, the Mahatma reminded Lenfield that

a reward was proper for the service just rendered. From a fat wallet, Lenfield counted out ten thousands

"It's worth it," affirmed Lenfield, as Xanadu ushered him out. "I must trace those gems before they are cut

into modern styles, which would destroy their value as antiques. The crystal vision shows the way,

Closing the door, Mahatma Xanadu crossed the seance room alone, pocketing the money beneath his garish

robe. He reached a large chair that was much like a throne and sat there, arms folded chin high. Behind the

Mahatma were two scimitars, crossed to form an X upon the wall. Their handles were downward, so placed

His eyes fixed straight across the crystal ball, Xanadu stared rigidly at the door. Between two purple curtains,

the dark wood showed black and as Xanadu gazed, he could have sworn he saw the barrier move. A faker

like Xanadu wasn't the sort to believe in the unreal, but he was being convinced despite himself.

"I warn you, Shadow, I can see you, so step forward! If you do, I shall receive you as a friend. If not "

"If not," the Mahatma continued, "I must treat you as an enemy. The choice is yours; the moment has

It was a long moment, a matter of several seconds in fact. Xanadu was giving an imaginary listener ample

opportunity to accept the ultimatum. His eyes moving left and right, Xanadu was watching to see if either

curtain stirred as indication that a figure was trying to slip from sight. Then, his eyes centering on the door,

The chance wasn't taken. Xanadu allowed just the interval that it took for him to clamp his right hand on the

handle of the scimitar that was nudging his left shoulder. Then, with a terrific crosswhip of his arm, Xanadu

snatched the curved sword from the wall and with the same sweep sent it whizzing straight across the room.

Striking squarely in the center of the door, the scimitar buried itself inches deep. Its long blade, shivering,

whined back that it had done its work, but found no target waiting it. Sagging deep in his throne, Xanadu

removed his turban and used the sleeve of his robe to mop the perspiration from a baldish head.

The door opened and Akbar entered, leaving the barrier wide behind him. As he advanced toward the throne,

Xanadu gave a slow shake of his lowered head. He wasn't watching the curtains and Akbar's back was turned

toward them. For the first time, one curtain stirred. From its folds, blackness emerged; filtering through the

open doorway, it took the brief semblance of a cloaked shape that faded immediately into the darkness of the

"I was seeing things, Akbar," admitted Xanadu. "Seeing things that weren't in the crystal. Close the door and

bring the scimitar that is imbedded in it. Replace the scimitar where it belongs."

Down below, moving blackness had blended with the blind alley. As it glided from that culdesac, the form

became The Shadow. Unseen lips, hidden by cloak folds, whispered back a strange, revealing laugh.

Though he had sensed The Shadow's presence in the seanceroom, Mahatma Xanadu had only imagined that

he saw a cloaked shape against the door. He didn't suspect that The Shadow had stayed behind a curtain until

That earlier blackness, encroaching upon Xanadu's pedestal table, had been The Shadow. Like Lenfield, the

The things seen in that crystal were real, not imaginary; real in the sense that they were records from the past.

IT was late afternoon and Margo Lane was listening in amazement to Cranston's story as they rode through

Central Park in Shrevvy's cab. This was their first real chat in three days, since Cranston had been busy with

"So you slammed the cab door and hopped into the limousine instead," exclaimed Margo. "How clever,

"Not exactly clever," smiled Cranston. "I was too groggy to get into the cab before Shrevvy started. Dingo

"Yes, the bruiser who drives the special limousine. I've found out all about him. Anyway, I went with

"He did." Cranston smiled at Margo's breathless question. "He saw Jerome and so did I. The crystal vision

Margo gave a reflective frown. She'd read in the newspapers about Jerome's confession, which the janitor had

made when confronted with startling facts by Lenfield. But Jerome had also told about the twoway job with

"An odd thing," remarked Margo. "Sheila and I saw two masked men in the crystal, working with Francine.

But when Francine confessed, she said there were three. Why" Margo brightened suddenly "it's the same

"And other things were missing," reminded Cranston. "Francine mentioned a package that had been on

"According to Jerome's confession," continued Cranston, "the masked unknown put the antique jewelry in a

Cranston didn't answer. With a slight smile he changed the subject. The cab was out of the park and traveling

"When you rode in that limousine," said Cranston, "how many blocks did you cover during the long stretch?"

"Except for one thing," stated Cranston. "You can't get forty blocks of green light anywhere in Manhattan. By

"But it began with a sharp double turn in less than a single block. There was a bit of a jolt at the start and

Shrevvy veered the cab around a corner, went half a block and made another twist toward the closed door of

an old garage. Something clicked under the cab wheels; Margo saw the garage door slide open, very swiftly.

There was another door in front, opening into the next street, but the cab didn't reach it. Instead, as Shrevvy

eased the speed a trifle, the cab kept right on going without getting anywhere. It was a smooth but amazing

At Cranston's suggestion, Margo looked from the window and saw the reason. The cab had reached a

leatherbelted treadmill that occupied the center of the garage floor. Wheels were rolling, giving the

"Forty blocks!" exclaimed Margo. "It certainly seemed like it!" Shutting her eyes, she added: "Yes, it's just

Cranston told Shrevvy to spurt the cab. It lurched from the end of the rollers, tripped another gadget in the

"No wonder the limousine slipped from sight so easily!" exclaimed Margo. "All it had to do was keep rolling

"Looking for Xanadu's place was quite as hard," added Cranston. "Instead of being forty blocks north, he is

"So that's why I lost direction coming back!" expressed Margo. "Instead of using the treadmill Dingo just

"Partly from your story," replied Cranston, "and partly from my own trip. I found the treadmill a little too

monotonous to be mistaken for a real ride. Besides, when I left Xanadu's, I didn't come by car. I just walked

"What have you been doing these last few days?" she queried. "Watching Xanadu as The Shadow?"

"I've been checking on other people," replied Cranston. "First on a man whose alibi won't stand: Teach

"Yes. He had time to be in on that block party from which I rescued you, Margo. He was back at the Hayrick

soon enough to beat the finish of 'Lady in the Light' as rendered by Dickie Wimbledon."

"Yes," replied Cranston, "and I also saw him contact Fitz Crosset. So I trailed Fitz and where do you think he

At first, Margo couldn't believe Cranston's finding, but gradually the details fitted. Reminded that she'd

mentioned Sheila in Cadbury's presence, Margo could see why the master brain had planted something on

Cranston. It was a good blind to get Margo suspecting her friend Lamont and it was something for the police

"He's framing Xanadu," explained Cranston, "but he didn't want to bear down too hard until after a lot of

"More than facts, Margo. He is actually revealing crime in operation, which probably bothers Cadbury no

There was something faraway in Cranston's tone as though he were considering the different sides of an

unfinished story. Margo caught the significance; the duel between Cadbury and Xanadu was the sort that

promised new developments. Until it reached a climax, much might remain unsolved.

As The Shadow, Cranston could not afford to let crime continue rampant. Yet his duty to his cloaked self

demanded that he make the most of all he had so far discovered in this case. Margo knew the only answer,

The only answer was that The Shadow would have to anticipate crime and literally crack another robbery

before it happened. Unquestionably, Cranston's silence meant that he was thinking in such terms. Then:

"Mrs. WillisWillingham likes pearls," declared Cranston, quietly, "and pearls are very valuable, Margo."

"Pearls are valuable?" echoed Margo. "Why, I thought they'd gone down to almost nothing since cultured

"Cultured pearls come from Japan," reminded Cranston, "so they are no longer on the market. Real pearls

"Yes, they can, Margo. As they have done with everything else, the Japs outsmarted themselves when they

raised cultured pearls. Instead of forcing sand grains into oyster shells so that pearls would be formed

naturally, the Japs used chips from motherofpearl as a nucleus in order to produce finer specimens."

"To outward appearances, yes. But when a pearl is xrayed the core becomes visible. Anyone can tell

whether it is natural or cultured. No real pearl lover wants the cultured type; besides, it would be trading with

"She is buying more and more of them," replied Cranston. "So many more, that a friend of ours is going into

"Justin Cadbury. He will be at the Willingham mansion this evening with a fine assortment of allnatural

"That is his ostensible purpose. I would assume that Cadbury is out to learn where Mrs. WillisWillingham

The cab was crossing an East River bridge, bound for Long Island where Mrs. WillisWillingham lived.

Margo Lane needed to ask no more. She knew that crime was going to meet its real test tonight.

MRS. NICHOLASRINEHART WILLISWILLINGHAM gave a broadarmed gesture that included her

Everybody was supposed to laugh and did. The reason the lady with the doublebarreled name used the term

"shipshape" was because her sprawling mansion was furnished in the manner of a yacht. Having donated her

halfmilliondollar craft to the government, Mrs. WillisWillingham had decided to go to sea on shore.

The mansion overlooked Long Island Sound, which gave it a smack of salt air, but tonight the chat concerned

interior decorations only. In keeping with the occasion, Mrs. W. W. conducted her guests into a room that

"My pearl room," she said, showing a fatfaced dimple. "Notice anything unusual about it?"

The walls were decorated with paintings of oysters, which was unusual enough. At one end was an enormous

oyster shell that apparently fronted what had been a fireplace. The chairs and tables were inlaid with

Very plainly the big oyster shell was the door to a vault, for snuggled in the rough exterior was a

motherofpearl dial. It followed therefore that the shell was actually metal, surfaced to fit the setting. But

Everyone looked at the port holes. They were brass and tightly clamped to the wall. Boltheads proved that

they would be difficult to remove, even from this side. As for entering by one of those port holes, it would be

None of them were windows. Instead, they were simply mirrors and the doublechinned lady with the double

name laughed heartily when her guests stared at those port holes and saw themselves.

"I can't use windows here," she explained, "because this is my treasure room. In here" she leaned

Lamont Cranston stared casually at the decorations as though he hadn't heard the news. Margo Lane did the

"You must show us your pearls," he insisted, "but first my dear lady, I want you to examine those that I have

They went back to the living room where Mrs. W. W. became promptly interested in a set of fine pearl

earrings that were in Cadbury's selection. When she inquired if they were natural pearls, Cadbury suggested:

This took the party to the room adjoining the treasure room. Here the furnishings were plain, though the room

had port holes for windows and in one wall, a mirror porthole served to balance the arrangement. Most

important, however, were the xray machines and other paraphernalia. This room was where the pearls were

While Cadbury was putting the earrings under the xray, Cranston strolled to the corner to inspect a large sun

lamp that had evidently just been delivered, for it was still tagged. It had the appearance of a small searchlight

projecting from a horizontal cylinder that was set on a metal post. Through the plain glass of the lamp,

Though it had no bulb, the lamp was attached to a long extension cord, plugged in the wall. Cranston didn't

need a bulb to produce the light that dawned upon him; in fact it was the absence of the bulb that produced it.

Motioning to Margo. Cranston met her back in the living room. There he gestured to an enclosed porch where

"Fitz Crosset is with them," stated Cranston. "They're playing it strong tonight, Cadbury and his good man

Friday. Cadbury will do the coverup, while Fitz handles the job. Stealing into that treasure room is easy."

"But what about stealing something out? Only Mrs. Double Doubleyou knows the vault combination."

"She'll be putting away those earrings," reminded Cranston. "That's when somebody will spot it."

"Yes. To see who else is trying it and how. If I know Cadbury and Fitz, they'll be making perfect alibis for

"Staying right with them." Cranston gave a slight smile. "Just to put the 'A' in 'alibi' and let them think I'm too

Cranston's arm did more than gesture. It literally propelled Margo into the treasure room, because she didn't

try to slow the start he gave her. In fact, Margo was just nicely through the halfopened door when she heard

voices coming from the room with the xray machines. People were coming back to the living room and,

since the pearls had stood the test, Mrs. WillisWillingham was buying them from Cadbury.

Getting out of sight behind a pearly chair was fairly easy for Margo. Waiting tensely, she could hear the

approach of Mrs. Willingham's voice, which then receded maddeningly. Always slow about making up her

mind, the portly lady was stopping to say something else every time she started toward her treasure room.

At last footsteps arrived and Margo watched Mrs. Willingham close the door. She didn't lock it, but simply

came past the chair and started over to the oystershell vault. Working up behind the chair, Margo looked

Mrs. WillisWillingham was actually opening the vault, yet no one was watching her as Cranston had

It didn't make sense to Margo, although she had looked everywhere. Perhaps her confidence that Lamont

must be right inspired Margo to her next move, even though it seemed superfluous. The one place where a

person couldn't be hiding was behind Margo, for she was very close to the wall; nevertheless, she turned to

Up from the chair, Margo's face came on a level with a mirror porthole right behind her. She'd seen her

reflection in one of those before and expected another look at it. Instead the face that strained from the mirror

There was a clang as the vault door slammed. Mrs. WillisWillingham flounced about with pearls dripping

from her hands. Seeing Margo she rushed over and seized the horrified girl by the shoulders. Margo hadn't

even tried to run; instead, she'd recoiled from the impossible sight in the mirror.

Margo had seen a twitch of Teach's face, a poisonous look from his darting eyes. As she'd thrown her own

hands out wardingly, his had appeared like strangling claws, itching to clutch Margo's neck. Being shaken

was a pleasure compared to the clutch that Margo had expected. All Mrs. W. W. was doing was bringing

Margo's scream brought help. Men came dashing into the room, Cranston and Cadbury among them. Turning

"I caught her spying here! She watched me open the vault! Turn her over to the police at once!"

"Wait!" Margo caught her breath. "I was in here looking for spies." Excited, Margo didn't catch Cranston's

warning motion for silence. "I saw one and that's why I screamed. A man's face was looking through that

Pointing, Margo thrust her own face forward and stopped astonished. She wouldn't have feared Teach's face

had she seen it in the presence of all these people, but it didn't appear. Instead, Margo's own amazed

It was Lamont Cranston who undertook to solve the riddle. Calmly, he stepped forward and pressed his hands

against the brass circle surrounding the mirror. Finding it tight, he told Margo to stay with the others; then

bowing to Mrs. Willingham, Cranston invited her to come with him. He gave a nod to Cadbury that meant the

Conducting his companions into the testing room, Cranston stepped to its one mirror port hole and gripped

"This seems to be directly in back of the mirror where Miss Lane saw someone else's face. Watch."

Under Cranston's twist the brass frame turned. The mercury that formed the mirror disappeared, its level

falling like water draining down a sink. No ordinary mirror could have acted in that fashion, but this wasn't

It consisted of two circles of glass each mounted in a brass frame, one on this side of the wall, the other in the

port hole of the pearl room. The frame on this side was the only one that turned; when it did so, a supply of

mercury between the circular panes, found an outlet down between the brass frames.

Through the double glass, Cranston was looking at Margo who stared back amazed. She had seen Teach's

face before, because he had been here looking through to watch Mrs. WillisWillingham work the

And now Cranston reversed the process just as Teach had when he realized that he, the spy, had been spied.

A turn of the port hole in the other direction forced the quicksilver up to its former position between the

panes. Each room again contained a port hole mirror. It had taken Cranston's keen eye to gauge the potential

connection between the two, along with the logical fact that the device would operate from the spy's side,

Mrs. WillisWillingham was gasping something about workmen having recently installed these portholes,

which meant of course that criminals had paid them to do the special job. Cadbury, still playing his game of

bluff, was highly sympathetic. He was neatly covering the fact that he or an accomplice intended to use the

spy's information to complete the robbery. It was Cranston who put an end to Cadbury's sham.

"That's only part of it," remarked Cranston. "The business of the double mirror, I mean. Tell me what you

At Cranston's gesture, Cadbury noticed that the new sun lamp had been drawn over to a spot near the port

hole and that it was focused toward the rounded mirror. Obligingly, Cranston removed the glass front and

Cadbury stared at something quite different from a bulb socket, once it could be clearly observed.

A sudden change swept Cadbury's broad face. This was something he hadn't heard about, an item introduced

by Teach as an important adjunct to crime. It explained the followup of the previous robberies; how

Purpling at the thought that he too had been tricked, Cadbury started to give himself away.

Such reference to Teach wouldn't do in the presence of Cranston, the man whom Cadbury had labeled as The

Shadow. Knowing his game was up, Cadbury gave Mrs. WillisWillingham a swing that sprawled her in the

doorway through which he darted to the living room. Shouting for Fitz, Cadbury dashed for the front door

and was lucky enough to encounter Margo, coming around to join Cranston. Catching the girl in their rush,

Cadbury and Fitz hauled her out through the front door, before Cranston could hoist Mrs. WillisWillingham

When Lamont Cranston reached the front door, all he saw was the vanishing tail light of the blackwindowed

limousine, as the special car, piloted by Dingo, sped away with Margo and her captors!

SEATED behind the pedestal with the crystal ball, Mahatma Xanadu said "Come in" when he heard a rap at

the door of the seance room. Xanadu expected to see Akbar, and it was Akbar who entered, but the Turk

Behind Akbar was a gun muzzle clutched in the tight fist of Justin Cadbury, who gave Akbar a shove to a

corner and covered Xanadu instead. Then Fitz Crosset entered, marching Margo Lane ahead of him. Her

hands tied behind her and her mouth tightly gagged, Margo was unceremoniously thrust in the corner with

His eyes showing a whitened stare, Xanadu silently inquired the purpose of this visit, while he slowly raised

his hands. Cadbury came right to the point after introducing himself on the chance that it was necessary.

"So you thought you could outsmart me," sneered Cadbury, "just because I was letting you stay in

"It appears I did outsmart you," returned Xanadu, coolly, "by giving my customers their money's worth."

Cadbury stepped forward and lifted the crystal ball from its pedestal. He gestured for Fitz to glance at what

"A movie projector," defined Cadbury. "That's why he made Teach take films, the way he intended to do

"Like he did at Waltham's," nodded Fitz. "He must have had the camera in that box somebody left there. I

Cadbury stared at Xanadu for the answer to these riddles, but the bearded Mahatma only shook his head.

"Getting the pictures was Teach's job," stated Xanadu. "He sent me one reel in a bunch of flowers; the other

"And how was he to send those he intended to take tonight, when Fitz and I were stealing the pearls?"

Cadbury spoke as though the robbery had actually been accomplished, which it hadn't. Xanadu merely

"That would have been up to Teach," he said, "but the pictures had to be developed first."

"It wasn't. Teach was probably trying to bluff you into thinking I'd ask her here tonight. I couldn't, because

By that, Xanadu meant when he would be able to show an actual camera record of robbery as he had with

Sheila and Lenfield. Hearing all this, Margo could understand why both she and The Shadow had seen such

graphic scenes in the crystal ball. Projected up into the globe, the movies magnified and appeared to be

These facts didn't lessen Cadbury's glare. All it brought from Xanadu, however, was a gleaming smile. Quite

"I was going to frame you," retorted Cadbury, his mood changing. "I thought you'd just be using hokum when

Teach suggested that we let you work the crystal stuff. We forced you into hiding because we thought you'd

"I still have the papers that would do it," continued Cadbury. "I'll stop at the office for them along with

Cadbury's eyes hardened at Xanadu's query. Then, with a short laugh, Cadbury admitted:

"I guess not. I'm afraid I gave the game away. It's put us in something of the same boat, hasn't it?"

"Brain meets Brain," chuckled Cadbury, suddenly. "Maybe we should have worked together from the

"That we clear out of here immediately. Then we can arrange to dispose of our one real rival, The Shadow.

Slowly, Xanadu nodded as though the terms suited him. He was taking on an impressive pose, quite that of

his old self. Suddenly Xanadu halted his nod, his eyes gave a quick, sidelong glance toward a panel at the

inner corner of the room. Before Cadbury could realize what was due, the panel opened and Teach Morgan

Like Cadbury, Teach had a gun and he was backed by Dingo, the crooked chauffeur. In the rush of events,

Cadbury had forgotten that Dingo was Teach's man and not one of Fitz's recruits. Catching both Cadbury and

Fitz off guard, Teach was at present master of the show, but he didn't overdo it.

"Relax," suggested Teach, with a gloating chuckle. "I heard that crack about Brain meeting Brain. Only you

didn't get it just right, Cadbury. There's only one Brain and I'm it. Ask Xanadu."

"You thought that Teach convinced me that I ought to drop my regular trade and go in for this," said Xanadu.

"But why should I have dropped a neat sucker racket to become involved in actual crime?"

As Xanadu put the question, Margo stared from the corner where she had landed rather helterskelter. She

was looking at the main door, thinking she saw it move, but she decided that hope had deceived her.

Remembering how the darkness of the door had tricked Xanadu on The Shadow question, Margo sighed as

"I'll tell you why," said Xanadu, while Cadbury pondered. "Because Teach had enough goods on me to spoil

"My stooges were the suckers themselves," said Xanadu. "I rarely pumped them about themselves. I talked

them into telling me about each other. That's the real secret of the crystal gazing business, Cadbury. It builds,

"By telling the police. He'd been my assistant once and knew the works. He could have made it quite

"I didn't like being made a sucker," laughed Xanadu, "but it's all squared now, Teach. I knew you were lying

when you said I'd really be helping crack crime by using your movies, because you never sent them until the

last minute. I could see enough of the future to know that a frame would be the payoff, but I had to play

"But now that you've put Cadbury in the sucker class, I'll call it even. The police want him, so how can he

frame me? You're the Brain, Teach, and a smart one. All I want to know is: how did you get as good as you

Teach looked from Xanadu to Cadbury and saw real admiration in the latter's gaze. Cadbury's offer of a

partnership to Xanadu obviously was open to Teach on even better terms. Teach could be the mainspring if

he wanted, for Cadbury's original plans were washed up. In short, Cadbury was a big enough crook to

"I thought in terms of an old but honorable racket," declared Teach. "I mean piracy, the greatest of all games

when it comes to playing one person against another. You've heard of Henry Morgan, the famous buccaneer.

"There was another famous pirate among my ancestors. They called him Blackbeard, but his real name was

Teach. That's where my name came from Teach Morgan. I'm the prize black sheep of a family that always

Blackness was moving in on Teach. Margo could see it actually, for the door had definitely gone ajar. She

wondered why Xanadu hadn't noticed it, being doorminded. Probably Xanadu was too interested in listening

"The law of piracy was to band together," declared Teach. "The bigger the band, the bigger the profits. They

always picked the smartest man to run the show, when he proved his title to it. That's what I've done."

There was one objector. He stood just within the doorway and his laugh came in sinister sibilance. His was a

lone, defiant challenge to the power of Teach Morgan, who knew the author the moment he heard the

Teach didn't wait to argue. He snarled an order that he expected all to follow. It was death to The Shadow, as

Teach indicated, when he swung his gun toward the doorway from which the taunt came. Dingo copied

Teach's example, but it was on Cadbury and Fitz that Teach depended chiefly, because both were armed and

They swung, Cadbury and Fitz, eager to show their evil loyalty to the leader they accepted. In turning, they

formed a screen for Teach, with a gap where he could shoot between them. Dingo's gun was almost beside

Margo Lane could see The Shadow's finish. Two guns against four, he couldn't expect to reach the men

Of course Margo didn't count Mahatma Xanadu. He wouldn't be needed, so she thought, but he was.

Even before The Shadow's gun blasts stopped Cadbury and Fitz in their tracks, Xanadu's hands were clasping

the scimitar handles by his shoulders. Staggering, Cadbury and Fitz were tugging their triggers too late, but

With a terrific crisscross the Mahatma had flung the curved scimitars, one with each hand, in the swift

accurate fashion that The Shadow had witnessed on his last visit here. But Xanadu's target wasn't the door.

As Teach and Dingo fired, they were falling forward, their guns going wide ahead of them. To the echoes of

The Shadow's laugh, they sprawled face down on the coiling figures of Cadbury and Fitz. Straight up from

the backs of Teach Morgan and Dingo Bandorf were the tilted handles of Xanadu's longbladed weapons.

It had all happened so swiftly that Akbar the Turk, was caught with his knife halfdrawn, lacking time to

play a part in the fray. With a surprised shrug, Akbar promptly showed his status by helping Margo to her

Shots had brought shouts from the alleyway below. Inspector Cardona's voice accompanied the pound of feet,

coming up the stairs. With long strides, The Shadow caught Margo's arm, hurried her across the room to the

Mahatma Xanadu, his arms folded, was waiting in the throne, with the patient Akbar standing beside him,

both ready to meet the law. Xanadu threw a hopeful glance toward the closing panel and in return received a

The tone told that Mahatma Xanadu would have a friend in court if he needed one.

It was doubtful that Xanadu would need one after Inspector Cardona heard his story, which the facts, plus

confessions from two wounded crooks, would prove. The Shadow had only crippled Cadbury and Fitz,

Teach Morgan and Dingo Bandoff were dead, as they deserved, for Xanadu hadn't been able to go lightly

with the scimitars he hurled. Why they deserved their fate was something The Shadow told Margo, after they

"They were murderers, both," declared The Shadow, in Cranston's tone. "Teach Morgan deliberately killed

"Why, so he did!" exclaimed Margo. "Only I didn't realize it then! Teach tried to murder me, too, and Dingo

"By Akbar," corrected Cranston, "under orders from Mahatma Xanadu. I merely came along in time to stop

"He intended it for Griff," completed Cranston. "The cab made everybody dodge, but Akbar did manage to

"That's why you could depend on Xanadu tonight," said Margo, suddenly. "I never would have realized it."

"You should have," returned Cranston. "Xanadu practically stated his case. He said he wanted no connection

with crime and practically intimated that he'd run the crystal movies hoping they'd produce clues that would

Though no longer cloaked, Cranston finished his brief speech with the whispered laugh of The Shadow. To

Margo that tone was a commendation of Mahatma Xanadu and Akbar, the fakers who had redeemed