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

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

CHAPTER II ............................................................................................................................................4

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

CHAPTER IV........................................................................................................................................11

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

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

CHAPTER VII .......................................................................................................................................22

CHAPTER VIII.....................................................................................................................................26

CHAPTER IX........................................................................................................................................30

CHAPTER X.........................................................................................................................................34

CHAPTER XI........................................................................................................................................37

CHAPTER XII .......................................................................................................................................40

CHAPTER XIII.....................................................................................................................................43

CHAPTER XIV.....................................................................................................................................46

CHAPTER XV......................................................................................................................................49

CHAPTER XVI.....................................................................................................................................52

CHAPTER XVII ....................................................................................................................................55

CHAPTER XVIII ...................................................................................................................................58

CHAPTER XIX.....................................................................................................................................61

CHAPTER XX......................................................................................................................................63

THE eyes were there again, cold grey eyes, as hard and merciless as the flack that had shredded the wings of

the Flying Fortress "Sweetie Pie" before Dick Whitlock had bailed out over Germany.

The thrumm of planes, the muffled burst of bombs with the odd, crackly echoes they produced, told Dick he

was somewhere in a target area that must be in Naziland, considering the pounding it was taking.

Being on the receiving end was different from handling the bomb sights, but Dick didn't mind taking it,

considering that it would eliminate a covey of undesirable companions, including the man with the grey eyes.

Dick was hoping, though, that the girl had left; the girl with the dark hair and the straight lips that were as

sympathetic as her eyes; those eyes that were a deep brown in contrast to the grey orbs.

The man behind the grey eyes was crispfaced, colored like longfaded ashes. His voice, instead of being

sharp, was smooth as a cat's contented purr, yet commanding in every word. It carried a nefarious

He was pointing across to his right arm when he found that he was raising it. Some of the numbness was still

there, but the sling was absent. Dick hadn't been wearing it for days, for weeks, perhaps for months.

"Wounded and hospitalized," picked up the purred voice. "Welltreated, given every consideration."

Dick's response was a mechanical nod. The voice hadn't lied, in fact it never did. Somehow its words were

friendly always so but too sure in their persuasion to be accepted. Behind their smooth suggestion was an

"Turn to the mirror," toned the greyeyed man. "See for yourself that you are well."

It was the same mirror, the broad one opposite the fireplace. Dick had lost count of how many times he had

studied his own reflection in that glass. It was getting to be funny, even with the greyeyed man around. Dick

"That is good." Despite the approval there was no smile on the crisp face that Dick saw staring with him.

Taking one from the proffered case, Dick placed it in his mouth and received a match. He snapped the head

with his left thumbnail, the trick that he had practiced recently, and watched the result in the mirror. Then

Dick was lighting the cigarette and at the same time peering over the match flame to watch the reaction of the

He was talking to one of the men who wore a green cap with a feather, the chap who looked as though he was

"We must hurry, Herr Doktor," the arrival was saying. "It will not be long before the bombers find the chalet.

The square room quivered from the force of a nearhit and the rustic furniture joggled. A picture frame

crashed from the wall and Hitler's face looked wrinkled up through the shattered glass. The greyeyed doctor

gave a depreciating shrug and for the first time Dick rather liked him. Then, on the chance that his broad grin

might produce an argument, Dick turned toward the mirror, letting the smile lessen gradually. The illusion

was odd; his lips looked straight, almost horrified, while the smile was still upon them. Dick's expression

turned to a puzzled frown which the reflection, returned in that same delayed fashion.

In the mirror, Dick saw the doctor turn and go out through the door by which the greengarbed yodeler who

Dick's knees gave, and he used his good left hand to brace against the table. He expected the mirror to crack

along with caving walls, but it stood the gaff. The door flew open, but the bomb wasn't responsible.

"Hurry!" she exclaimed, and the quick dart of those dark eyes meant it. "You haven't a moment to lose!"

"You mean you would trust Doctor Greug?" Tense though it was, the girl's face showed amazement. "Why,

Dick winced as the girl clutched his sore right wrist. Shifting her grip to his left arm, she hurried him from

the square room and through a corridor he'd never seen before. Opening a door to the left, she started down a

Right then, a bomb really scored. The way the surroundings dissolved was incredible. The walls should have

splintered, but instead they wilted like damp cardboard. They were pouring down the stairway, carrying the

twisted door with them and Dick was lying slanted on what had previously been the hallway ceiling.

The girl had vanished, to safety Dick was sure, since she had gained a headstart. But how Dick could ever

extricate himself from this debris was a mystery, or would have been, except for Doctor Greug.

Timbers yielded under hacking sounds and Dick went sliding to the right along with the caving floor,

squarely into the arms of the crispfaced doctor and a pair of men in green. Greug's guttural exclamation

carried a pleased note and before Dick realized it, he was being carried along a stonewalled passage of rock.

Halfdazed by the bomb's concussion, Dick didn't hear the next blast that must have obliterated the

remainder of the building they had left. From then on, the whole experience was a nightmare that outdid

Doctor Greug was climbing into a waiting automobile that already contained some occupants whose faces

Dick couldn't distinguish. The car gave what looked like a takeoff as it bounded down a steep gully. From

the window came Greug's dismissing wave and the men in green started Dick along a mountain ledge that

There were trees everywhere in the dusk except for jagged rocks and bare slashes where the bombs had

literally trampled down the forest. Then, reaching a platform that overhung a precarious crag, Dick found

himself being shoved into a crazy, dangling contrivance that he mistook for one of the Ferris Wheel cars that

The men in green were with him and they were starting the thing across a cable that faded into the blackness

of a lower cliff on the other side of the huge crevice. High above, the drone of bombing planes was dwindling

into the distance, but now Dick heard the jab of revolvers in his halfdeafened eardrums.

As marksmen, Dick's companions were good yodelers, nothing more. Or maybe they were shooting at an

Following the aerial tram in its trip across the mountain gorge was a cloaked figure, black against the grey

cliff. Like a whirligig in a breeze it was slithering down the slightly slanted cable, gripping it with upraised

In this haste for flight, Dick's companions were outdistancing this intrepid pursuer and thereby making their

bad aim worse. But there was a fresh reason for their hurry. Toylike bursts were punching the high rock that

the aerial tram had left; not bombs, but grenades, that sent sickening, singing quavers along the cable. Men

who formed tiny vengeful figures were throwing them, in an effort to blast the cable from its moorings!

The car stopped with a hard jolt that pitched Dick and his hounded bodyguards to the safety of the far

platform. On his feet, Dick was being rushed along another brink to a spot where the path turned between two

With a last look across his shoulder, Dick sought sight of the cloaked figure on the cable but failed to see him

in the gorge's gloom. Friend or foe, Dick hoped the amazing venturer had reached safety too. If he hadn't, he

never would, for a fierce whine from the darkness told that the cable had snapped loose. From far away and

below, came the tiny crash of the illfated aerial car as it reached wooded depths.

Into Dick's pounding brain floated a strange new recollection of a haunting laugh, which could only be the

creation of a fevered mind. Yet that weird, parting taunt persisted with the thrumm of the motor that sped the

The mental echo clung to the slap of waves, as they swashed and pummeled a jouncing boat which later

carried Dick through absolute darkness, along with new companions that he couldn't see or recognize. It all

seemed the continuation of an impossible dream which held Dick's reeling senses in its whirling midst.

All this motion leveled off at last. Out of an interminable lull, Dick found himself lying on a padded shelf that

was carrying him headon into the night. He never would have recognized it as the berth in a sleeping car,

but for the piping whistle that kept floating back from up ahead, the shrill note peculiar to a European

So Dick Whitlock was on a train, going somewhere, away from something he didn't want to remember, those

days and weeks, during which a greyeyed man called Doctor Greug had hurried him with probing questions

One newer memory had somehow wedged itself into Dick's tormented mind. He voiced it with mechanical

lips just as he was lapsing into sleep. It was a name, induced by another piping trill from the locomotive

THE Starview Roof Garden had imitation stars in the form of electric light bulbs that flickered in various

That was good enough for Dick, now that he was back in New York and among friends, though he doubted

that he would call them friends much longer if they persisted in asking him to relate adventures that he

"That's right," acknowledged Dick, speaking to the group impersonally. "Riding in a railway train, though

Men were leaning on their elbows, interested in hearing more, even though it might be delivered piecemeal,

"Let's have another round of drinks," suggested Jerry. "Maybe with a few more, you chaps will realize that

Dick gave Jerry a straight stare and a grateful nod. That would have closed the subject if it hadn't been for

Claire Austley. The blonde gave Dick a blueeyed stare that would have hurt, if Dick hadn't remembered

other eyes that could focus much more effectively. Dick's lips tightened hard, then relaxed into a sentimental

His first thought had been of piercing eyes, cold and grey; then those eyes of brown, warm, melancholy, but

understanding. Whose they were, what they signified, had become a blank to Dick Whitlock. It was as if the

grey eyes had so commanded when Dick received their last icy stare, but at intervals along the line there had

been rifts, pleasant interludes where brown eyes had broken the stern rigor of a strange psychological

In coming back to scenes and faces that he knew, Dick felt that he had returned to another world other than

his own. This was New York; but the surroundings were tinsel, the people putty. They'd thought they lived,

but they hadn't; in fact they never would until they experienced that endless drift in a descending parachute

with the searchlights working like pointers to pick out something on a mammoth blackboard formed by the

It made you big and little, all at once, with the ackacks whistling a hail that sizzled upward through the

chute. You lived everything all over at a time like that, everything plus a lot you'd never lived.

Maybe Claire took Dick's final smile for one of selfsufficiency; at any rate, she didn't like it. Her gaze roved

to Jerry, who made a quick warning gesture with his cigarette. So Claire threw a vacuous smile around the

table, which was her way of asking an invitation to dance. A sleek male member of the party took the bait and

Dick watched Claire and her party get swallowed by the throng that milled the dance floor.

They went to the Moonbeam Bar, just off the Starview Roof. Jerry ordered a couple of drinks; then tilted his

Dick gave a short, gruff laugh that befitted the tight set of his broad jaw. His eyes, staring steadily from

beneath his blocky brow, looked as black as their surrounding hollows. If Dick had any claim to being

handsome it was in a rugged way. Perhaps his toughening years of warfare had obliterated the lighter moods

"Maybe other people have changed," expressed Dick. "They certainly don't look the same to me."

That brought a mild smile from Jerry. Toying with his drink, he showed a sudden flash of firmness that

"It sounds like the old gag, Dick," said Jerry. "Everybody being out of step except one man."

The pointed question brought a straightlined furrow to Dick's forehead, much like a scowl. But it was an

"I lived a lifetime, Jerry," declared Dick, slowly, "a whole lifetime following that bailout. Not just past, but

"I remember things that were part of that experience because they couldn't be anything else. My arm for

instance." Dick thwacked his right forearm with his left hand and winced. "That's why I went to a hospital.

"You mean you thought you were at that lodge of yours up in the Adirondacks?" Jerry gave an indulgent

"Only it wasn't the lodge," admitted Dick. "It was just some place like it. I kept telling myself that in the big

"I guess not." Dick forced a laugh. "You know the place better than I do, Jerry."

"Coney Island, but what it was doing in the mountains, I don't know. It was a nightmare, Jerry, most of it,

"It seemed that way." Dick rubbed his forehead. "I wish I knew what the whistle had to do with it."

Dick's maudlin mood brought no alarm to Jerry. Instead, the sharpfaced chap showed a flicker of

"I thought it would be tough, getting the one you wanted. You probably didn't know about the shortage here

in New York. Funny, though, the fellow who had it didn't mind moving out. Of course he's making a profit

Jerry stopped short, because Dick wasn't listening. Those deepset eyes were turned toward the mirror

beyond the bar. Maybe Dick was thinking of something more important. Jerry decided to prompt him.

"The new place will be better," promised Jerry. "The trouble was getting workmen to install the furnishings

"It was all in the letter," reminded Jerry. "The one that came a few months ago from Paris."

"But I wasn't in Paris," argued Dick, "not even before that last bombing mission."

"Certainly," laughed Jerry. "He's right here in New York." Rising, Jerry clapped a hand on Dick's shoulder.

"Eric." Dick muttered the name as they walked along. "No, it couldn't be Eric. It's another name if any."

Jerry was holding out a case of cigarettes. Dick started to take one with his left hand, then shifted. He was

getting out of that habit on trifling things that didn't bother his right hand too much.

"There was a girl," said Dick, slowly, "but I don't know her name. I never heard it. A wonderful girl."

"Because of the way you've forgotten Claire. You really have, you know. I don't think she likes it."

Dick wasn't in a mood to care. They had reached their table and under the flicker of the artificial starlight,

Dick began to exercise his right hand with a pencil. His chat with Jerry had stirred one recollection, at least.

On the back of an announcement card, Dick was drawing a picture from memory, a portrait upon which all

Leaning on his elbows, Jerry was watching, much intrigued. The music ended, but neither noticed it, until

"Learned how, years ago," said Dick, still working on the finishing touches that were putting just the right

expression into the portrait's eyes. "Thought I'd forgotten how, but I hadn't. Funny, how many things came

"Maybe she'll come back to you. Or isn't she one of the things that you've forgotten?"

What Claire said didn't count. Holding the finished picture at arm's length, Dick sat amazed at his own skill.

His right hand had certainly gained something during its idleness, for the picture was a perfect replica of the

Unless the face had been a sheer fabric of imagination. Unaware of a stir at the opposite side of the table,

Dick kept staring at the sketch until Jerry's hand started lifting at his elbow. The men were getting up to meet

someone who had just arrived. A bit annoyed, Dick complied with the ceremony, raising his head as he arose.

Straight across the card that he still held, he saw the original of the penciled face, the girl with those deep

brown eyes and russet hair, who belonged in the whirl of impossible adventures that had never happened!

A DAPPER assistant manager was introducing the dream girl to Dick's companions, who, as members of the

social set that regularly patronized the Starview Roof, were entitled to meet any celebrity. In his confusion,

Dick didn't catch the girl's name, but he had hopes, for Claire, in a style subtly feline, invited the brunette to

take a chair between herself and Dick. By this process of selfeclipse, Claire actually won a ringside seat

"I'm sorry," began Dick, "but I missed the introduction. My name is Dick Whitlock and yours "

The girl was smiling, almost to the point of laughter, a contrast to the subdued creature who had floated

through the fog of Dick's nameless recollections. She wasn't looking at Dick, but at the card he held, and now

"How nice," she said, in a warm alto tone. "You must have sketched me while I was at the other table."

"Why, no," began Dick. Then, noting Claire's quickdarted glance across the brunette's shoulder: "I mean yes

"And how appropriate," the brunette added. "I really should have it printed on all the announcement cards."

She turned over the card which Dick had used by chance and on the other side, Dick saw the printed

"I suppose my accent surprises you," acknowledged Irene, as she nodded. "I'm not really French, you know. I

just happened to be in Paris for a long time. I was there when the war started, and I didn't get away."

Dick gave a quick look toward Jerry, wondering if this would help explain the Paris postmarked letter. Only

Jerry wasn't interested; his eyes were on Claire, as though seeking profit from the diversion caused by Irene.

And Claire, briefly forgetful of the scene between Dick and Irene, was meeting Jerry's gaze with a look that

Something seemed to explode in Dick's brain with a little puff and the mental jolt cleared his thoughts.

The people around Dick looked different now, more their own selves as he had remembered them. All Dick

had needed was the right perspective and now he was getting it. Claire's coy but pointed remarks; Jerry's

blunter statements, all had a significance. Things had changed, but so had Dick, or he would have noticed the

There was something between Jerry and Claire, something they were holding back. They wanted to exclude

Dick's lips tightened grimly. He'd settle that question later with Jerry, Claire, or both.

Right now, the best plan was to overlook the matter and concentrate on Irene, since Claire's jealousy if any

would be feigned. So Dick blandly offered Irene a cigarette, using his newly active right hand to supply the

light. Over the flame of the lighter, he watched the brown eyes raise to meet his own. Then:

"I didn't go there." Dick shook his head. "But possibly you met some friends of mine. You were singing

"Not very long." Irene's interruption was hasty. "I was so worried about some friends who had been stranded

"I'm not quite sure." Dick's smile was very serious. "You see, I'm a bit hazy on just where I was, and all the

Dick's voice was making a statement, but his eyes were questioning, hoping the girl would reveal some

forgotten clue. Jerry and Claire, their momentary indiscretion ended, weren't missing a thing. To them, Irene

was obviously a link in Dick's forgotten or wellguarded past and they were trying to learn more.

"Maybe we weren't meant to meet," Dick told Irene. "It could be part of a plan, you know, a great plan. After

Even Claire was a bit amazed at the way Dick was rushing things with this girl. The blonde leaned forward

on the table, hoping to glimpse Irene's eyes and observe their reaction. That in turn was just what Dick was

Only it wasn't the future that counted with Dick except as it concerned the past. He'd put the statement the

other way about, confident that Irene would understand. Apparently she did, for she nodded emphatically,

Nobody thought to follow the direction of Irene's gaze. If they had, they'd have noticed two men seated at a

table near the broad entrance to the Starview Roof. Small men, both; one with a little mustache, the other

They were foreign looking, and they looked uncomfortable in their baggy tuxedoes. Dawdling over their wine

glasses, they were watching Irene without giving the fact away. Her nod was meant for them, for they

resumed a gesticulated conversation the moment they caught it, and in the course of things they called the

Meanwhile, snapping from her soulful mood, Irene was flashing the gaiety that suited her Parisian

"Such flattery!" she was saying, not to Dick, but to Jerry and Claire. "And he said he did not go to Paris. Ah,

well, I believe him!" she patted Dick's shoulder and tilted her head coyly. "About not being to Paris, I mean.

They say the American soldiers everywhere all ask the same questions like 'Where have you been all my

Irene was rising before Dick could reply; in fact, Irene was practically delivering him back to Claire, though

Dick shook his gaze from Irene's departing shoulders which were shrugging very gracefully as the assistant

"Maybe Jerry has suggestions," Dick told Claire. "Or if you wouldn't know, don't tell me."

"Only you haven't, Claire," put in Jerry. "After all, somebody had to look out for you while Dick was away.

Jerry was turning to Dick, but Claire was ahead of him, sliding a diamond ring so smoothly from her finger

"And here's one thing you've forgotten, Dick," Claire added. "Tie it around your own finger for a few years as

Dick slid it in his vest pocket and waved away the apologies that Jerry was making for Claire. True to her old

form, Claire couldn't be humored until the day after a spat, if Dick's recollections served him rightly. Before

Dick could wonder if his memory was good on that point, a waiter provided a timely interruption by handing

"From Eric Henwood," Dick told Jerry. "Says he'll be phoning me at the apartment later. Guess I'd better be

Dick rose and strolled nonchalantly away, conscious that Claire must be glaring after him and quite aware

that Jerry was trying to soothe her. But Dick was more interested in the other table that he passed, where he

was lucky enough to catch Irene's eyes and receive the same smiling nod that she had given him before.

The smallish men had left their table by the entrance. Even if he noticed them, Dick wouldn't have guessed

CERTAINLY no one going down in the elevator would have guessed that the squarejawed young man with

the wavy hair who looked so at home in his tuxedo, was Dick Whitlock, former bombardier.

There was a tall, calmfaced man in the elevator whose immaculate evening attire was a far cry from the

cloaked garb worn by a dangling figure that had navigated a cable crossing a chasm on the Swiss border.

Dick wouldn't have believed that the two were the same, even if he'd recalled the incident itself. Right now,

As for the man in evening clothes, he didn't have to guess who Dick Whitlock was; he knew.

That was why this gentleman, who called himself Lamont Cranston, had done an about face upon arrival at

the Starview Roof. He'd come there to find Dick Whitlock and meeting him going out, Cranston had followed

There was a side street exit on the ground floor and Dick used it, since the oneway thoroughfare promised a

cab going his direction. To get a cab at this hour, you walked to a lighted spot, waved your arm and whistled

Slinking suddenly from a darkened doorway, two men with upturned collars flanked Dick on either side and

prodded his ribs with knife points. So sharp were the points that a thrust could have proved fatal.

For a few surprised moments, Dick thought he was back in the outskirts of a German village under the threat

of Nazi bayonets; then, remembering that this was New York, he gave a hard, short laugh.

These must he some of the "muggers" he had heard about, human dregs who came into circulation when

demands of war had siphoned off the best of Manhattan's manpower. Dick thought the mugger question had

been dealt with, but apparently there had been a carryover. Something of a privilege, Dick decided, to do

Fists tightening, Dick didn't mind the twinge in his right arm as the ugly pair veered him toward their

doorway. One knife was lifting, obviously for Dick's throat. This was the time to swing hard.

It wasn't a mere jackknife, whetted to a needle point. The thing was a regular dirk with a fullfledged blade.

Its owner wasn't lifting the knife for a stab, he was bringing it to position for a crossslash. The face with it,

sallow and mustached, had eyes with a snake's glitter that said without words, that they intended murder, not

A halfstep backward and Dick was under the threat of a duplicate dirk which came up with scintillating

speed. A pastyface with darkstreaked cheeks, showed the same venomous purpose that the other had

displayed. Two snarls meant more than a demand for silence; they were mutual signals calling for a slash. It

A calm tone belonging to neither of the wouldbe murderers, was telling both to drop their knives. Between

the shove and the vicious faces, Dick saw the calm visage of Cranston, whose face he remembered from the

elevator but whose name he didn't know. Cranston's hands, at shoulder level, were behind the necks of Dick's

This was a cool antidote to murder, before the deed could be accomplished, but the savage pair did not long

tolerate the threat. Like a welldrilled team, they suddenly dodged from the gun muzzles and spun about with

One intended to stab Cranston; the other to give Dick the slash. If Cranston had fired his guns, he might have

stopped those deeds, but not with certainty. Instead he whipped into a twoway maneuver of his own.

A ward with one gun met the stabbing knife with a clang that knocked it from the attacker's hand. A swing of

the other automatic forced the second man to make an arm fling which in turn shortened his knife slash, since

his elbow was driven against Dick's chest. Bowled back into the doorway, Dick landed halfsprawled and the

Cranston didn't aim at the snarling pair, who seemed to melt down to the sidewalk, then come springing up

again like human mushrooms, the first reclaiming his lost knife in a deft, rapid scoop. Downward shots might

Neatly planted, Cranston's shots were just close enough to make the two men spread and Dick thought surely

Cranston was their mutual target now and guns or no guns, Dick wouldn't have given him a chance. He was

practically flattening himself, evening clothes and all, as though hoping he could drop right through the

sidewalk. Now Dick was coming to his feet intending to charge into a fray that was over before he could

Swinging arms, driving feet came up from the sidewalk to meet those flying dives. Instead of finding

Cranston, the baggy assassins were bouncing past each other like a pair of Indiarubber men. The amazing

Mr. Cranston must have met them with some tactics that carried these lightweights further on their way and

from the tumbles they took, Dick expected a couple of broken necks where they properly belonged.

This time, Dick didn't let astonishment hinder him. One of the men was rising out there by the lighted curb,

intent upon regaining a knife that had clattered into the gutter. Dick made a fast lunge of his own to intercept

the action, but he wasn't half across the sidewalk before Cranston's flinging foot stopped him with a

It wasn't that Cranston wouldn't have welcomed Dick's intervention. He was only thinking of Dick's welfare.

Straight across the street was a darkened alley and Dick was coming into deadaim from that passage. A rifle

spoke from the darkness with Dick as its target, but it spoke too late. The sniper wasn't counting on the

headlong pitch that Dick took from Cranston's foot. Sizzling half a yard above Dick's descending head, the

The whine of a passing bullet wasn't a novelty to Dick Whitlock. Hitting the curb, he kept flat and rolled

away from the lighted patch. From the sidewalk, Cranston punched shots at the alley opposite and forced the

sniper back for the next bark of the rifle was muffled. Dick heard a bullet crackle the sidewalk and ricochet

Dick was still on the roll. Coming against the bumper of a parked car, he shifted past the fender and came up

by the running board. Looking for the bouncing men, he saw that they were gone. More amazing was the fact

that Cranston had vanished too. In fact from the evidence at hand, Dick could have classed it all as more of

his dream life, until he heard shouts and police whistles as proof that things had really happened.

A car came scudding up the street and Dick's natural impulse was to get back to the doorway, since everyone

except the vanished Mr. Cranston seemed leagued against him. But now Dick had another ally, one who

appeared as suddenly as Cranston had melted, a figure that in that moment of stress awakened a peephole in

Out of blackness came blackness, alive. A cloaked figure embellished with a slouch hat, took Dick with one

sweeping arm, flung him around and across the curb, as though intending to carry him over to that alley

where death still lingered, for all that Dick knew. Punching the blackness and finding air instead, Dick was

relieved when his trip became abbreviated. The scudding car stopped with a shriek of brakes and proved to be

In a sense, the cab intercepted Dick, for his cloaked friend whirled him right into it and closed the door with

the same motion. Then, mounting the step, the being in black aimed an automatic as formidable as Cranston's

through one open window and out the other, and barraged shots at the death alley as the cab lurched past.

There was no response from the rifle. Evidently the sniper had fled under the probe of Cranston's shots and

was therefore well away when the blackclad marksman took over. From the window Dick heard a laugh,

then saw the blackness clear like a disseminating mist. Passing street lights told him that he was alone, except

for the cab driver, who was successfully leaving the sound of police whistles and patrol car sirens far in the

Somewhere in the course of things, Dick must have given his address for he arrived back at his own

apartment. Shakily he stumbled to the hallway telephone when he heard it ringing, expecting that the call was

It turned out to be Jerry Trimm, offering an apology in behalf of Claire Austley. So Dick accepted it very

nicely and laid the phone on its stand, grateful for this trivial interlude that assured him of his sanity.

In front of the telephone was a small round mirror that gave a reflection of the dimness between two curtains

Looking into the mirror just to make sure he was actually Dick Whitlock, the man who answered to that name

Over his shoulder, Dick saw a face, a crispfeatured face of a color that looked ashen compared to the cold,

brilliant glitter of steelgrey eyes that crystallized all of Dick's forgotten memories into one glowing focal

Odd that Dick Whitlock should speak that name, both strange and forgotten. As he voiced it, he found

himself staring at a mirror that was vacant except for his own disturbed countenance. Wheeling, Dick saw

only darkness between the wavering curtains. Flinging them apart he found the light switch.

On came the lights and Dick swept a look around his own living room, only to find himself alone!

BEING very proud of the famous sidewalks of New York, Police Commissioner Weston didn't like to have

them nicked by bullets, especially when a search of the area produced knives instead of guns. Such matters

were the sort that Weston liked to discuss privately with his friend Lamont Cranston, who sometimes came

So two knives which had either been flung or lost in haste were lying on a table in the grill room of the

Cobalt Club where Weston usually dined. They were getting attention from Cranston and a waiter, who

supposed that they were merely a subtle protest on Weston's part over the toughness of the steaks that the

"So I've been told," returned Weston, testily. "They're the kind commonly used by the denizens of the

"Souvenirs, probably," suggested Cranston. "The G.I.'s send home everything short of captured

"As good an answer as any," admitted the commissioner. "Come to think about it, we've had a lot of trouble

"You picked these up near the Starview Roof," reminded Cranston. "That's rather appropriate, since they have

a new singer there who is rather vague on the exact date when you ask her about the last time she saw Paris."

"In fact the Starview is going Parisian," continued Cranston. "I understand they may book some Apache

"Dancers don't use knives," argued Weston, "but maybe you have something. These cut throats may have

"Have your joke," snapped Weston. "The last laugh will be mine after our investigation discloses what last

Perhaps Cranston felt himself better qualified than Weston to pursue such an investigation, but if he happened

to be depending on Dick Whitlock, Cranston would be due for some disappointment. At present Dick was

sitting in the living room of his snug apartment, personally wondering just what it was all about.

At least Dick had company in the person of Jerry Trimm, who wasn't helping much.

"I've told you about the muggers," Dick was saying, "so let's forget them. Other things worry me more."

"Reading from left to right," returned Dick, "we'll take Claire Austley first. Or suppose you take her."

"You're gone on Claire, so why deny it? I don't blame you, Jerry. After all why should Claire have waited for

me to come back? For a while it must have looked as though I wasn't coming back."

"She should be, considering that my money has accumulated instead of lessening while I've been gone. Don't

argue the point, Jerry" Dick waved an interrupting hand "because it never did elude me."

"You mean you thought Claire was after cash when you asked her to marry you, Dick?"

"I wouldn't put it that bluntly," declared Dick. "Let's say that I knew Claire would want a lot but that I

"I've changed my sense of values. It didn't take me long after I was in the army to find out that loyalty and

friendship aren't counted in terms of dollars. So I suppose the same applies to love."

"I guess you really mean it, Dick," he said. "Anyway, tossing the cash around was your idea, not mine. I

Dick didn't notice the odd emphasis that Jerry put on the word "lose." He simply queried:

"By insisting on my renting this apartment for one thing," replied Jerry. "Rigging up the new place was even

more extravagant as you'll find out when you see it. I thought you'd really gone whacky when you insisted on

"It wasn't a bad idea at that," decided Dick. "I rode that scow once, back when she was regarded as deluxe. So

"And I got it cheap," put in Jerry. "At auction. It was a real bargain, Dick. Do you know I'd almost settle for

"Our little deal or big deal, whichever it is. You didn't make that part quite clear."

"Good old Jerry." Laughing, Dick clapped his friend on the back. "You'll always believe that some of my

crackpot notions will come through. Well, I have the capital to swing them and you're welcome to your

Jerry spoke hesitatingly, then halted. Apparently he was hinting for Dick to take up the details, but Dick

"That girl last night," said Dick. "I've seen her somewhere, Jerry. I didn't mention her when I wrote you, did

"Funny about last night, too," Dick continued. "Remember that message the waiter brought me?"

"Yes. Said he'd phone me here, only he didn't. You say you've met Eric. What do you make of him, Jerry?"

"I'd say he was a mental case," replied Jerry, "if I didn't hope he wasn't. He seems to have some vague ideas

"I met him in the prison camp," recalled Dick, "before they shipped me to the hospital. He'd been there a long

"About a lot of things, Jerry, but I can make it specific where Eric is concerned. I wonder why I should

remember him when I've forgotten so much else." "Why don't you ask him when you see him?" "A good

idea. He's coming around here tonight. Wants to talk privately about something." Jerry took the hint and with

relish. Something was bothering him and Dick hadn't explained it. The interview between Eric and Dick

might be the very thing that would jog Dick's memory, if it needed jogging at all. There was much of the sly

in the smile that framed itself on Jerry's sharp face as he turned out through the hallway.

"Claire is waiting over at the Celebrity Club," spoke Jerry, almost indifferently, as he paused at the door. "It

"I suppose so," nodded Dick, turning back to the living room. "I'll be there unless I think of something

Outdoors, a steady drizzle was taking on the proportions of a rainstorm. From his fourthfloor window, Dick

Whitlock could see the increasing storm above the roof of a threestory house opposite. The city lights

Odd, the fantasy that could be produced by the works of nature combined with those of man. Here was a

manmade chasm between a modern apartment house and an antiquated residence that might been a

mountain gorge. Electric lights, smothered by clouds through which sunlight could never have trickled, were

It was a twilight that Dick remembered, though he thought that he was simply picturing it. Looking down into

the street, Dick wondered if it would furnish the impression of a bottomless abyss, but it didn't. It was simply

a rainswept street, where Jerry, who had been unwise enough to go out without a topcoat, was scooting

into a cab that was stopping with the same sharp tactics exhibited by the cab that Dick had taken the night

Maybe all New York cabs acted like that, unless this happened to be the same one. Watching it turn the

corner, Dick's reflections were covering another factor in last night's adventure.

Well did Dick remember a valiant friend in evening clothes whose name he hadn't learned but whom he

hoped to meet again. Nevertheless, it wasn't Cranston on whom Dick's thoughts were focused. There was

someone else, as yet totally unidentified, a cloaked fighter who had relieved Cranston after the first stages of

Looking across the street, Dick wouldn't have been surprised if such a figure had come scaling from the

parapet of the old house opposite. Dick's recollections of the Swiss mountain gorge with the cloaked

adventurer crossing it by cable, had been subsequently obliterated, much as the abyss itself had swallowed

Turning from the window, Dick settled into an easy chair, smiling at his own imagination. Dick preferred to

believe that his mind was cluttered, not clouded to the point where he accepted the existence of singular

creatures that could materialize themselves like a chunk of night turning solid.

If Dick had been staring from the window of a place called the Cobalt Club, he might have changed that

opinion. There, entering a waiting limousine, was the very figure that Dick regarded as a figment of his own

imagination. Lamont Cranston, delayed by a dull conference with the police commissioner, was becoming his

The whispered laugh that The Shadow gave was meant specifically for Dick Whitlock, the man who doubted

his existence. But it wasn't the sinister mirth that The Shadow uttered when he planned to cloud the minds of

Dick Whitlock was a man whose mind needed clearing and The Shadow was on his way to supply that

A RAINY night could play hob with almost anybody's plans. In Dick Whitlock's case, it meant he wasn't

going out at all, regardless of how Claire Austley might feel if he didn't show up at the noisy nightspot

From the shallow closet in the corner of his living room, Dick was taking a garish dressing gown which Jerry

Trimm had provided along with the apartment. A horrible combination of bloodred crimson and jaundiced

yellow, the gown reminded Dick of an oldfashioned awning, nevertheless it was more comfortable than coat

Thinking of awnings reminded Dick of the windows, so he stood there as he filled his pipe, staring across at

the rainflecked roof of the old house. Something much like a head and shoulders poked itself above the

parapet and Dick's eyes narrowed at the sight; then he decided that the object was simply a stubby chimney,

Curiously though, it vanished and reappeared like some optical illusion and Dick was so intrigued that he

forgot how plainly he could be viewed from the other side of the street. The living room lights were bright,

etching Dick in the framework of the window so sharply that even the colors of his dressing gown, the

But Dick wasn't caring about danger from without. There was something about the apartment itself that gave

him the creeps. Any place where grey eyes looked across your shoulder into a mirror, then vanished before

you could turn around, was a spooky place indeed. That was the reason Dick preferred to keep the living

If the casement window hadn't been partly open, the room's reflected lights would have prevented Dick from

seeing that stubby chimney opposite. Right now, the thing seemed to steady in the halfmist that rose from

the pelting rain, but before Dick could study it further, a buzz from the door interrupted. Dick went out

through the hallway to answer it and found Eric waiting there, his hat brim dripping water on his rainsoaked

"You're as bad as Jerry," laughed Dick. "If you'd looked at the sky when you started out, you'd have had

They didn't go anywhere near the living room window on their way to the closet beside the door to the

kitchenette. There Dick found a pair of slippers for Eric and peeled off his dressing gown so his friend could

wear it. Putting on coat and vest instead, Dick gestured to a pipe that was on the mantelpiece.

"Why, yes," laughed Eric. "I must have left it here. How do you like the diggings, Dick?"

"By all sorts of funny sounds. Maybe they carry through the building, but I don't see why they should. The

"I thought I saw a face, with odd grey eyes. It would have been a firstclass ghost face if I hadn't remembered

"I don't know." Sitting down, Dick watched Eric fish in the pockets of the dressing gown, then turn to fill his

pipe from Dick's humidor. "There are some things I want to ask you, Eric, but let me take a good look at you

Eric nodded as though he understood and made allowances for the vague mood of Dick's mind.

One thing was certain to Dick Whitlock, the more he studied Eric Henwood. This man, with his thin,

weatherbeaten face, wasn't part of the dream fabric. He belonged to the part of Dick's later life, the period

following the parachute descent. Though Dick had met Eric only at the prison camp, he hoped the fellow

"Where did they send me?" queried Dick. "After I was shipped from that prison camp?"

Eric took the pipe from his mouth with his left hand, blew a cloud of smoke and looked through it, as he

"Only that I thought I was back in my old mountain lodge, but I couldn't have been. I met a girl there. Her

"Only I never heard her name," argued Dick. "Not until I met her again last night, at the Starview Roof."

"Come, come," put in Eric, a trifle annoyed. "Don't tell me some Nazi nurse would be here in New York."

"She says she is French," returned Dick, "but, she talks like an American. Maybe she was a prisoner, too."

"If she did, she didn't say so. I wish I could recall some names that I did hear in that place. But I spent most

"At myself. That must have been how all my illusions began." Dick's hand swept his forehead as though to

brush away the straight lines that crossed it. "I keep thinking of myself in slow motion, Eric, as though I were

"Perhaps you were something of a mental case, Dick." Pipe in hand, Eric was watching Dick closely. "I was

"I was shot down early in the war, you know," he said. "Very silly of me, and I brooded about it. So I was

"Quite a famous chap, I understand," continued Eric. "Maybe you've heard of him Doctor Kurtz Greug."

"That's the name!" Dick's fingers came up with a snap. "Greug! The man with the grey eyes!"

"Imagination, probably, like those sounds you've been hearing. Remember anything else?"

"No. Wedged in my mind like a fishbone in the throat. A whistle, piping shrill, from one of those European

"Not mine, I hope." Eric laughed indulgently. "I wouldn't want to believe the banshees were howling for me."

"No, it wasn't Eric." Dick pondered, feeling the stir of recollections. "Not Eric, but something like it

Eyes halfclosed, Dick tried to close the link. It was the way he'd been working with all his memories, only

to have gaps widen, the more he fought to bridge them. This time, however, something clicked.

Eric's teeth set hard upon his pipestem. It was only the smoke that trickled from his lips that prevented Dick

"It's a name they called me," spoke Dick slowly. "I don't know when or why, but I associate it with myself.

"In a way, yes," admitted Dick. "Only I never had a chance to question him. He put all the questions and I

Eric Henwood stepped out to the hallway telephone and while he dialed, he drew out a letter that he had

transferred from the pocket of his coat to the borrowed dressing gown. The number that he called was Grand

Central Station and Dick heard him reserve a Pullman berth for a place called Rocky Point, using Dick's

What Dick didn't see was the way Eric slipped the letter under the telephone. As Eric turned, Dick asked:

"In the Berkshires," informed Eric. "You'll like it better than that Adirondack lodge of yours, only you'll go to

Eric handed Dick a folder that bore the name of "Rocky Point Sanitarium" and with it an application blank

that bore the title "Guest Membership." Under the picture of a grim stone building, Dick saw the legend:

"And you need a drink," laughed Dick. "It will do you better." Turning toward the kitchenette, Dick paused to

"Neither." Crumpling the application blank with his right hand, Eric was reaching to his left hip. As Dick

swung about, Eric's left hand appeared with a glittering revolver. "Stand just where you are," Eric added. "A

Though ready to take the thing as a joke, Dick was letting his hands rise and it was well he did, for he saw

promptly that the glare in Eric's eyes meant business. Then came rasped words in a tone that denoted a

"What little you've remembered," announced Eric, "is too much. You'll be guessing things next, about me for

example. I was in the R.A.F., yes, but I deserted before they found me out. I wasn't shot down over Germany,

Eric's leer vouched fully for his tale of treachery, and that he intended to add murder to his crimes was plainly

evident. Close by the doorway leading into the kitchenette, Dick found his elbow grazing the front of a

dumbwaiter that formed part of the short passage. He was wondering if he could wheel the other direction

and dive into the kitchenette, but Eric had already anticipated the move and was shifting to prevent it.

Moving over to his right, Eric picked up the pipe he had discarded, hoping his nonchalance would lull Dick,

which it did for the needed moments. Pipe to his lips, Eric was doing more than get his left hand into full

play; he was sidling past a chair in order to have a straight path toward where Dick stood.

Another step and Eric would be able to advance, gun ahead of him, keeping Dick under such complete

control that a dive for safety would be impossible. It would then be a death march Dick's death march.

Eric was right by the window now, vivid in the striped dressing gown that Dick had lent him, his gun aimed

Tuned to a distant crackle a rifle bullet sizzled through the window, met Eric just behind the ribs, and the

THE SHADOW heard the rifle shot and located it on the instant. Just arrived at the apartment house, he was

in the ground floor doorway, an excellent observation spot, not for sighting the window of Dick's apartment

but the roof top opposite. Though he couldn't see the marksman, The Shadow knew his identity, for the shot

The hidden man's shot had been a trifle late the night before. On the chance that there had been another

miscue, The Shadow repeated his own tactics. Sweeping the dripping rain from his slouch hat brim, he

whipped an automatic upward and chipped the stonework of the parapet with three wellplaced shots.

One rifleshot had evidently performed its mission. Nevertheless, remembering last night's methods, The

Shadow calculated on finding other foemen. Swinging into the apartment house he ignored the elevator and

took the stairs at a rapid lope. Almost at the top, he heard the scurry of feet and stopped short as two men

They were the Apaches of the night before, as quicksighted as they were witted. Spotting The Shadow

against the white wall that flanked the stairway, they pirouetted in amazing style and darted for the elevator.

Their nimble feet carried them around the corner and into the elevator before The Shadow could overtake

them. All he saw were their glaring faces, and their hands brandishing ugly knives; then the door slammed.

It was a long trip back to the stairs and to try to intercept the Apaches by a mad race down would be taking

on ridiculous odds. On the chance that Dick hadn't fared too badly, The Shadow hurried to the door of the

apartment and began working on it with a set of combination keys and picks that promised rapid results. But

Rooted in the exact center of the living room, Dick had been watching the way the red stripes of the dressing

gown merged with the yellow. It was Eric's life blood that caused the queer illusion, but the fact had hardly

Coldly commanding, those eyes, as they had been ever since Dick first saw them, but they were hypnotic,

rather than evil. In fact, Dick could feel a friendliness in the strange man's stare.

Memories were coming back, those of Dick's last meeting with the man, when Greug had rescued him from

the wreckage of a bombed chalet. It was Greug who had sent him on the road to safety and apparently the

With his oneword command, Greug included Eric's body with a gesture and a few moments later, Dick was

helping Greug lift the burden, not toward the door, but in the direction of the kitchenette.

There, where his own elbow had been not long ago, Dick saw a gaping cavity, the front of the dumbwaiter.

Inside was a sizable elevator, large enough to hold a person, which it promptly did, in the shape of Eric's

body. Greug rapped a signal and the elevator slithered down with such rapidity that Dick was still staring

Obeying Greug's order, Dick felt the lift drop like a plummet. The trip ended with a modified jolt that rolled

him out into the waiting hands of a pate of squarefaced men who sat him in a chair beside Eric's body. Then

His face a study in utter rigidity, Greug was standing between two open doors, one the door of the living

room closet, the other, the windowlike entrance to the dumbwaiter shaft. Over his left arm, Greug was

In his right hand, Greug gripped a Luger automatic, aimed toward the curtains leading to the hallway. He was

prepared, though, to make a sudden shift, for he was sighting in that same little mirror above the telephone

Greug was listening for sounds from the outer door and if they brought any of the enemies that he expected,

this frozenfaced doctor would instantly go into action. He was using the mirror to increase his angle of

vision and if the door should shove inward, it was obvious that Greug would accept it as the gauge of battle.

What relieved the tension was the sudden arrival of the dumbwaiter, up for its final passenger. Hearing the

clatter of its arrival, Greug heeled about, entered the lift and slid the sash down. Muffled taps sounded from

Still seated in his chair, Dick was watching the squarefaced men place Eric's body in a pinewood box that

had the general appearance of a coffin. They must have found it somewhere in the cellar, Dick decided, and

they were putting it to good use. At least Greug thought so, for he nodded his approval as he stepped from the

Turning toward Dick, Greug tilted his head slightly and listened. The slight change in the doctor's rigid lips

might have been termed a smile; if so, it was a selfcompliment on his skill at longdistance hearing. Glaring

guttural orders to his men, he waved them out through a doorway with their pinewood box, while he

They were actually in the rear street, before Dick heard the sounds that had registered earlier on Greug, the

whine of approaching sirens. Windows were clattering around the neighborhood indicating that the reports of

Past the next corner, Dick saw a truck that looked like a hearse, as it made a rapid departure, and guessed that

it was carrying Eric's body in the improvised coffin. What would happen when the truck encountered police

Very methodically, Greug raised his Luger and fired three echoing shots in air. Then, with the same

triphammer precision, he drew Dick rapidly across the street and into a passage where they moved

unmolested by the rain, thanks to the high walls on either side. The police cars must have been attracted by

the bait of fresh shots, for Dick could hear the wailing sirens change direction and converge to the spot

Then, drawing Dick across the next street, Greug gestured him into a barroom and bluntly ordered two

beers. They drank them in silence, Greug plunked the change on the bar, and bowed Dick out through a rear

door leading into another alley. Around a corner, they came to a subway entrance and the methodical Greug

There was more than mere coincidence in the fact that so many sirenbearing cars had arrived outside Dick's

apartment house. Before the local patrol crew could learn where the shooting had begun and what it was all

about, they found themselves under the command of Commissioner Weston, who was alighting from an

With the commissioner was a very earnest young lady, Irene Breslon, who was insistent on the point that

Dick Whitlock could have been the object of last night's attack outside the Starview Roof. Before the

commissioner could check on the number of Dick's apartment, another patrol car wheeled up, pacing a cab

"You see?" Claire was telling Jerry. "I said you shouldn't have left Dick here alone. Something may have

happened to him already, or all these police cars wouldn't be here. If something has "

Clipping it short as she saw Irene, Claire stopped accusing Jerry and concentrated on the other girl.

"I wouldn't be here if I was," returned Irene, coldly. "Suppose you tell us where to find Mr. Whitlock. I don't

Jerry supplied the information and they crowded into the elevator to go upstairs. On the fourth floor, Weston

led the procession with drawn gun, and when he found that Dick's door was unlocked, he strode through like

a hunter intent upon a kill. Entering the curtained living room, the commissioner stopped short, his revolver

Seated in a comfortable chair, blandly confronting the commissioner, was Lamont Cranston!

"Hello, commissioner," Cranston greeted. "I was expecting you, but not so soon. I intended to call you after I

"The notion occurred to me," returned Cranston, indifferently, "but I thought I should inquire first."

"Whitlock wasn't here when I arrived. He must have gone out some time ago. By the way, commissioner, I

"So did a lot of other people," snapped Weston, "but it couldn't have happened in this apartment. Not unless

you slept through it, Cranston, but I credit you with more intelligence than that."

Claire and Irene weren't crediting anybody with anything, particularly each other. They were looking around

for traces of Dick, even to opening the door of the living room closet. While Claire was letting her glance

rove from one piece of furniture to another, Irene took a look at the telephone table in the hallway, but found

Weston could have interfered with that process but since Dick's rival girl friends were doing his work for

him, he let the matter pass. Meanwhile, Jerry Trimm was seated quietly in the corner, wearing a troubled

"I guess Dick left for the Adirondacks," said Jerry at length. "He was getting bored with town life. Felt rather

cramped in this apartment, so he said. We'll hear from him after he reaches the lodge."

Agreeing that he'd been brought on a fool's errand, Commissioner Weston decided to leave and beckoned the

others along. It was Cranston who proved thoughtful enough to close the closet door. Since that made him the

last to leave, he had no difficulty removing a black cloak and hat that he had stowed out of sight, behind some

"I left Dick before the rain started," Jerry was telling the commissioner, as they went out through the hall.

A low, whispered laugh was Cranston's summary of that departing statement. Taken on face value, it could

explain an odd fact. Not the various papers, including a letter addressed to Dick that Cranston had found on

the telephone table, all pertaining to a place called Rocky Point. They were evidence of a future sort, whereas

Lack of a dressing gown and slippers in Dick's closet might be negative evidence, but they fitted with

Dick Whitlock couldn't have come into his apartment wearing wet shoes if he hadn't gone out before the rain

started. Some visitor was connected with recent events in this apartment; how deeply it would be The

DICK WHITLOCK was learning the human side of Doctor Kurtz Greug, so far as the latter would or could

They were in the hotel suite where Greug lived and as usual the greyeyed man was putting questions, but he

was running out of them, hence Dick was looking forward to a reversal of the process.

"So Henwood came there to murder you?" Greug gave a slight headshake. "I am not surprised. Were you?"

Shaking his head at that one, Dick waited politely for another question; then, finding Greug at a loss, started

"If it's the same to you, Doctor Greug," began Dick, "could you tell me just a trifle of what this is all about?"

"You seem to have learned that for yourself," he reminded. "The man who called himself Eric Henwood was

"An equally obnoxious character, wanted by every legitimate government in Europe as well as the

"Because he thought that Henwood was you." Greug kept his trace of a smile. "Hadn't that dawned on you?"

"Very ugly," Greug defined. "He has a long scar here." Running his right hand from temple down to chin,

Greug made the gesture all the more graphic by giving it a zigzag. "A scar from a knife" those eyes of

"That links him with the pair last night," nodded Dick. "Or does it? If Apaches are out to carve up Dolbart,

"In the underworld of Paris," explained Greug, "it is a common practice for bands to fight among themselves

with the same intensity that they exhibit when combating the authorities. Dolbart's scar was a trophy of years

ago and he regarded it as distinction. He has found it a handicap since he ventured into a larger world."

"Exactly. Among the scum who are roving Europe, selling their services to the highest and therefore the

most heinous bidders Dolbart was perhaps the worst. In a sense he became the most dangerous when forced

to rely on others in order not to reveal himself. He is a lone hand turned brain."

It was interesting information, but it was leading further from the main fact that Dick wanted. Hoping to

Cold, unyielding was the fixed expression in Greug's eyes, but they were helpful, not spiteful. They seemed,

by their hypnotic stare, to be opening Dick's field of forgotten memories. He remembered now, meeting that

Then, as Dick's memory returned, he knew he had been listening to a shrill, fierce voice delivering what

seemed to be an oration in a language he didn't understand. It had penetrated to the room where he had been,

there in the lonely mountain chalet, and Greug, arriving at the time, had given Dick a hypnotic treatment.

Greug asked the question impassively, but pride in his hypnotic prowess was evidently at stake. Dick felt he

"It was only because Eric reminded me," stated Dick. "Just before he drew the gun."

"A great fool, Eric," declared Greug, relaxing his gaze. "Did he mention the rest of Friedrich's name?"

"It was Friedrich Von Reichfrid," spoke Greug, solemnly. "It stood for freedom of the state, the sort of

freedom that would mean new slavery. Friedrich Von Reichfrid, the Future Fuehrer."

The grim significance of the statement was gripping Dick. Observing it, Greug added:

"If you would like to see the perfect portrait of this man Friedrich, look there!"

Facing the frame toward which Greug gestured, Dick Whitlock stopped short in unfeigned horror as he met

It couldn't be a joke, not coming from Greug, the man who didn't jest. Moreover, Dick could see Greug's

eyes, gazing across his own shoulder as they had so often before, fixed in that same solemn manner.

"Yes, you are Friedrich's double," spoke Greug. "There were another hundred who might have done as well,

Shaking off his own reflection rather than Greug's hypnotic stare, Dick swung from the mirror.

"He recommended you," replied Greug. "Eric was just one of numerous agents deputed to find a double for

Friedrich. The coming generation of Nazis do not intend to make the mistake that their fathers did with

"Very much. It was decided that the future Fuehrer should be allowed to thrive on foreign soil and return as a

conquering hero, wellacquainted with the world, at the time his day arrives. To accomplish this, he would

"You overestimate your importance," interposed Greug, his tone cold in its irony. "Your existence was to

cease immediately. Friedrich Von Reichfrid was to become Richard Whitlock in fact, until the day when he

It was clear now, except for Dick's abandonment in the doomed chalet, and Doctor Greug was coming to that

"My task was more distasteful than yours," stated Greug, in that dry way of his. "I was requested to probe

your past and it was one of those requests I could not refuse. I was also to groom Friedrich for the part he was

"If he was to be me," put in Dick, "why did I hear him squealing like a stuck pig?"

"He was looking to the future," replied Greug, "practicing some of the speeches he expects to make about the

"He was trying to imitate his idol, one Herr Hitler, but he realized that the example might not exist long

Greug's smile of contempt brought a flashback to Dick's mind. He was remembering the crash of Hitler's

picture when the bombing knocked it from the wall and he recalled the disdain that Greug had registered

Still smiling, Greug was pouring two glasses of wine. He extended one to Dick, raised the other to his lips,

"Yes, Friedrich is dead," completed the crispfaced doctor. "It was your life or his. I found my opportunity to

"You need not be." Greug's tone was crisply indifferent. "Lacking sympathy with the scheme, I took the one

course which I knew would destroy it. The Underground had learned that there was something important

happening at the obscure mountain chalet and through them, bombers were sent there.

"I was prepared for the occurrence, thanks to my connections with the Underground. I arranged for Friedrich

to be in the chalet and I removed you in his stead. Since I was considered to be a loyal Nazi a

misconception which I encouraged among my associates my ruse was not suspected."

At least Dick could offer Greug a handshake, which he did, and found it warmly received. Then:

"That makes twice you've saved my life," Dick affirmed, "but if Eric was working on Friedrich's side, why

"Because Eric suspected the truth. He was the one man that I feared might recognize who you really were."

"That's right." Dick rubbed his chin as he gave a reflective nod. "Eric saw me at the prison camp. I suppose I

didn't change enough or Friedrich couldn't have become quite enough like me to fool Eric."

Greug's bow acknowledged the accuracy of Dick's analysis. The doctor was pouring a refill from the wine

"Much. Very much," specified Greug. "It would have been quite easy to prove your true identity after death.

Your army fingerprints, for instance, are records which so far have not been reached. The Nazis would have

"Which might not have been very long," declared Greug, as though that was some slight solace. "Hence it

"Unfortunately not." Greug's tone was a trifle sad. "I should have arranged that little plan myself, all for Eric's

"Of course. Because of the dressing gown. Only they have already mistaken you for Friedrich, just as I

understand they did when you were crossing the mountain gorge into Switzerland."

No wonder that gap across the street had seemed familiar. Dick realized now that the shape on the parapet

hadn't been a chimney, but an assassin like those who had tried to blast the cable line. Linking this fact with

"To reinstate themselves with the Underground, yes," replied Greug. "But they would probably kill you

instead, if they were offered the right price. The difference between Dolbart and Henwood is that Dolbart

With that, Doctor Kurtz Greug delivered a convincing smile, an expression that he had reserved until he was

sure Dick Whitlock would not need it and therefore would appraise it at face value.

Dick Whitlock was already convinced that in Doctor Greug he had a powerful friend, though not the only one

WHATEVER Dick's opinions on the subject might be, Commissioner Weston was quite convinced that Irene

With his usual onecell logic, Weston argued mentally that the girl wouldn't have insisted on a rush trip to

the apartment unless she really feared that something serious had happened there.

It didn't occur to the commissioner that Irene could have hoped the thing had happened; that by playing the

opposite game, she would not only be giving herself an alibi but would have a chance to do some coverup

Those were the sort of details that would occur to Lamont Cranston, so lately The Shadow.

Obviously a deaththrust had been welltimed. The knife men had gone to Dick's apartment while their

sniper friend was stationed at a keyspot opposite. His work was to get in a longdistance jab should close

Seeing some opportunity, the sniper had played the first hand and his rifle shot, to say nothing of The

Shadow's answers, had served as a signal for the other Apaches to be on their way. They'd known,

unquestionably, that Irene was already coming here, under auspices that would keep her own escutcheon

Even Claire Austley was fooled by Irene's solicitude for Dick, but Jerry Trimm was another story.

There was a twitch to Jerry's sharp face which told he was puzzled over something, and badly. He wasn't just

annoyed with Claire, who for once was actually apologetic. He had something deeper on his mind and at

All this took place in the lobby of the apartment building, where Weston finally left the decision to Irene.

"If you think Whitlock is in danger," declared Weston, "we'll send out a flier for him. It would help if you had

a description of those men last night, so we could round them up. If you know anything "

"Nothing, nothing at all," interposed Irene, quite hastily. "It was only that it happened well, so soon after

Irene turned appealingly to Jerry and Claire, who couldn't very well deny that she'd been with them just

before Dick left the Starview Roof. Jerry gave a quick nod, because it helped his own dilemma; while Claire,

"Dick's taken a trip," assured Jerry, as soon as Claire had murmured a few words in Irene's behalf. "Like he

said he was going to, that's all. Guess we'd better be getting back to the party, Claire, if it's all right with the

It was all right with the commissioner, so they left in their cab, while Irene, abashed at having caused all this

trouble, insisted on taking the subway rather than returning in Weston's official car. Cranston in turn decided

That was why Cranston soon was on Irene's trail. She didn't go by subway; he didn't stay at the apartment

house. Only Irene didn't know she was being followed, for Cranston had again resumed his guise of The

The rain had lessened to a misty drizzle, the best of elements for enveloping the blackness of The Shadow's

cloak. He was a living blot in darkness of which he seemed an actual part, as he stalked the dimly lighted

At a little drug store, the girl turned to make sure that no one had followed her. Thinking in terms of police,

she soon decided that she was quite clear. It didn't occur to her that the blackness forming the frame of the

Through that same window, the keen eyes of The Shadow watched Irene dial a number and read the motions

of her lips as she talked to someone she called Leo. When the girl came from the booth, her face was quite as

Irene had insisted that there hadn't been a body on the floor of Dick's apartment; Leo's retort was that there

must be. How anyone so lackadaisical as Cranston could have had a hand in changing things, Irene didn't

know. At least Leo said he was where he could find out something and had left it for Irene to do whatever

At present Irene was in a quandary; hence it was better that The Shadow should be checking on Leo, which

was exactly the mission he had undertaken. Gone from his post outside the window, The Shadow was

In the heavily subscribed telephone exchanges of Manhattan, certain numbers were traceable within range of

a few blocks. If The Shadow didn't find Leo Dolbart where he expected, he could check it closer by a call to

Burbank, his contact man, who kept a special phone book with reversed listings, giving numbers in order, and

Perhaps Doctor Greug had some inkling as to Leo's present location, for he was showing new tactics in his

Turning out the lights in one room, Greug beckoned Dick into the darkness and lifted a windowshade at a

"They're around," assured Greug, grimly. "Trust Leo Dolbart to guess that I might have brought you here."

"Leo would never murder me," stated Greug, "not while he thinks I am a lead to Friedrich. But afterward "

"Remember, please." Greug spoke the words like an order. "This man Dolbart has no status. He is wanted as

a criminal, everywhere; that is why he curried the favor of the Nazis when they came to Paris. They would

"He pretended to, yes," replied Greug, "but the Maquis did not want him. In Germany, where he went as a

worker, he managed to contact the Underground because it was feeble and poorly informed. As a Frenchman,

Dolbart was accepted; his game was to betray the German Underground to the Nazis, for a price and the favor

"Fortunately his schemes were too slow. The turn in the tide of war made him change his mind. Hearing the

rumor regarding Friedrich, he saw his chance to return to Paris as a hero. How poorly informed he was, can

be proved by the fact he did not know the part I really played. So he contacted the girl instead."

"She is to marry the future Fuehrer," chuckled Greug. "As an American, of European parentage, she was an

"Of course that was to happen after Friedrich became you and was living on your fortune."

Dick caught himself before saying more. After all, as the double of Friedrich he wasn't flattering himself by

excusing Irene for wanting to murder anybody who had a face like his. Greug must have caught the humor of

"Irene really tried to rescue you," Greug told Dick. "If she had succeeded, it would have helped matters. But

"She would believe you even less," said Greug, with a shake of his head. "She, for one, is convinced that you

are Friedrich. You must avoid her until all this can be straightened. I have saved your life twice; I can hardly

"I think so," nodded Greug. "Yes, there is a way, which my men have apparently avoided, rather than have

Dolbart notice them. It leads through to the annex of this hotel, as I shall show you. But you must leave New

When Dick Whitlock reached Grand Central after successfully slipping past the notorious Dolbart faction, he

had gained another notion. Dick had reasoned out one thing which he hadn't discussed with Greug, a thing

If Eric had managed to murder Dick, he would have been smart enough to build a false trail. That, to Dick's

mind, explained the chatter about Rocky Point with all the sanitarium propaganda. By leaving literature

around the apartment, Eric could have sent the police to a place that didn't count.

Just as a neat blind, Eric had ordered a Pullman berth to Rocky Point in Dick's name. It meant nothing now,

since Eric's body had disappeared along with Dick's departure. The fact that it meant nothing, made it

valuable. To be smart in his own right, Dick could do nothing better than go to the Adirondacks by the

So Dick stopped at a ticket window, called for the Pullman reservation that was waiting in his name, and

received it. He jostled a man who was standing next in line; made a passing apology and hurried in the

The man that Dick jostled was bulky, enough to well conceal the slender person who was waiting just beyond

him. In his hurry, Dick didn't even glimpse the girl who turned away, though she would have found it quite

As soon as she heard the cry of "All Aboard," the brunette hurried to a phone booth and made another phone

The only person that Irene Breslon would logically be phoning was Leo Dolbart, the archassassin whose

squad of notorious Apaches were only too anxious to make up for past failures where Richard Whitlock

DULL, grey dawn greeted Dick Whitlock when he alighted at Rocky Point. It was misty, here beside the

It had been an all night trip, because the sleeper had made a layover in order to be picked up by a rambling

mail train that served this local line. The slow train had stopped everywhere; Rocky Point was proof enough

of that, because otherwise Dick couldn't see any reason why this station was a stop at all.

The station had a forlorn waiting room, with its ticket window tightly shut. No agent on duty, no telephone in

the place; only a potbellied stove that wasn't needed at this season. A mail sack was lying out on the platform,

dumped there from the train, and Dick could only wait until somebody came along to pick it up.

Probably the sanitarium had a station wagon that met trains when customers were expected; in that case, Dick

should have sent word ahead. Still, he had no interest in the sanitarium for he was convinced that Eric

Henwood never had stayed there. As a proper blind, Erie would naturally have picked a place where he

wasn't known; naming a sanitarium was equally smart, because it had fitted with Eric's story.

What Dick now regretted was that he hadn't driven here instead of coming by train. He could have made it in

less time, even with night driving, and he wouldn't have to wait until afternoon for another train to come

The railroad was on the east side of the river and beside the station ran a rutted road that showed some gravel

patches as it climbed into the fog bank representing the hills on the right. A short stretch of road led down to

the river and there Dick saw a ramshackle excuse for a pier with a cable running out over the river, into even

Probably an oldfashioned ferry for taking cars across to a good road on the other side. To anyone but Dick

Whitlock, that cable would have looked anything but ominous, but Dick was allergic to cables and all that

A frank gentleman named Doctor Greug had refreshed Dick's mind on a cable adventure across an Alpine

gorge, and Dick couldn't help but be wary, even of this innocuous river cable. Moreover, last night's whistling

death, caused by an arriving bullet, was a further reminiscence of the sort that Dick didn't like.

Pacing inside the station, Dick kept staring through the grimy window, with the rather sickening hunch that

should some menace come out of the fog, it would be from the river, at the exact spot of the cable crossing.

Maybe the cable was to blame for what happened. At least it kept Dick's mind away from other sources of

danger. The wheeze of an arriving car, on the road beside the railway track, was something that Dick

Too many footsteps on the platform; the peculiar creaks that accompanied them, were the elements that

The door suddenly clattered inward and with it came two men, who seemed to be shaking off the fog. Both

carried knives, as was to be expected, for they were the same pair of Apaches who had so persistently crossed

Shouldering through the doorway behind them was a man with a nicelypolished rifle whose ugly face

answered the exact description furnished by Doctor Greug. Here was Leo Dolbart, scar and all, leering in

such distorted fashion that it was difficult to tell where his mouth ended and the scar began.

Behind Leo, Dick saw the person who was the archtraitor of this occasion: Irene Breslon.

This wasn't a time to be thinking of beauty; nevertheless, Irene was something to delight the eye, as she stood

there in the doorway, her brown hair catching the struggling sunlight with a radiance all its own.

Perhaps she wanted to give Dick an idea of what the angels were going to look like, but at least she wasn't

singing, which was a help. Seeing Irene was bad enough. He knew now that Greug was right; no explanations

Through Dick's halffrenzied brain was running the thought that he couldn't blame them for the deed they

intended; at the same time, he was looking for a way to prevent it. His only shield was the potbellied stove,

Like creatures from a nightmare, the two Apaches stepped quickly to the corner of the room, ready to flank

Dick should he attempt an escape. Working around the stove, Dick saw them poise their knives and change

positions rapidly, always with that same light step that formed a terpsichore macabre.

A harsh order from Dolbart stopped them. Turning, Dick saw himself squarely in front of the rifle muzzle.

The terrible Leo was ready to kill personally. Only he preferred for the moment to hold Dick spellbound with

Irene had moved in from the doorway. Her eyes were flashing hate, mild compared to the expressions of the

Apaches, particularly Leo. At least Irene was better to look at, so Dick faced her, as he let his arms spread, in

Dick's arm struck something that clanged to the floor. It was an old poker which belonged with the stove and

was leaning beside it. Dick's eyes followed the clattering object, came up again, and met Irene's stare.

He wasn't going out without a fight, not Dick Whitlock. Diving for the poker, he snatched it up, transferred it

to his strong left hand, and made a wide, terrific swing through the air that sent the knifebearing Apaches

dodging. Then, coming about, Dick raised the poker as a bludgeon and drove straight at Dolbart, intending to

Rushing Leo's riflemuzzle wasn't sense, not the way that man could shoot, but amazingly, it worked. For

With a sudden, frantic shriek, the girl threw herself against Leo's gun, turned its muzzle upward, and made a

mad wrestle to prevent him from firing. She was exclaiming something half in French, half in English, that

was probably as incoherent to Leo as it was to Dick, for the scarred man was savagely trying to beat Irene

Dick whirled with the poker, ready to slug the Apaches away. He didn't realize that he should have been a

dead duck, despite Irene's interference with Leo. Dick had given the nimblefooted Apaches a wideopen

Literally, blackness had swarmed in from the open doorway, in the shape of a cloaked attacker who was

hurling aside the two Apaches. It was The Shadow again, in action at dawn instead of twilight, and his

They were diving behind the protection of the fat stove, hoping to be there before The Shadow's guns began

to rip. Rather than waste time with his automatics, The Shadow delivered a defiant laugh, swooped upon

Dick as he had done that other time, and gathered him in a whirl that carried them both out through the

Next, they were around the corner, with Leo's savage snarls far behind them. They went down the ruts to the

river bank and onto a flat boat that was planted there. Then, they were out on the river itself, using the cable

A window smashed in the station; from it came the sharp crackles of rifle, and Irene's excited cries. She was

still trying to stop Leo from shooting, and perhaps she did her part in making his fire wide. Then the fog

Along with the lap of water, Dick Whitlock heard The Shadow's trailing laugh, flinging back a departing

A creature from the depths of the river fog, The Shadow was returning to that element, triumphant!

LAMONT CRANSTON took the steep, sharp turn leading up to the bridge across Leyden Kill and sped his

trim car onto the old wooden bridge. There was a sharper turn on the other side, but Cranston made it in the

Then they were twisting for the climb beside the old flume, toward the place where the road ran around the

cliff edge, the most dangerous stretch of all, but still Dick didn't talk. When Cranston drove, you sat back,

Dick Whitlock had been finding that out all day. They were far from the Berkshires, where this trip had

begun and were now deep in the loftier Adirondacks, on the final lap to Lake Sheen, which nestled in a high

Briefly, Dick's thoughts drifted back to the start of this ride, where Cranston had taken over in place of The

Shadow. So far, Dick hadn't even begun to define The Shadow and Cranston as one.

Darkness had covered the switch of identities the first time; today, the fog formed the blanket. Safely across

the river at Rocky Point, Dick had found himself in a car where Cranston joined him.

Obviously, The Shadow had gone back to settle matters with Leo Dolbart and his Apache crew. It was the

only way The Shadow could have rescued Irene Breslon, who deserved consideration for giving Dick last

His thoughts troubled, Dick put the question to Cranston, while the car was covering the last stretch of the

"That question was answered beforehand," replied Cranston. "At least so you said."

Having told Cranston about Greug's rescue and the subsequent interview, Dick felt the subject had been fully

covered. Cranston's calm statement was therefore sufficiently cryptic to puzzle Dick. While pondering, he

waved to some logging men who were working at the side of the road; then, as the car sped on, Dick rejoined:

"That wasn't all," reminded Cranston. "He said that Irene was to marry Friedrich."

"Well, no." Dick gave a short laugh with the admission. "I didn't even know that Friedrich existed until Greug

Cutting himself short, Dick flashed Cranston a look that combined anger with amazement.

"Say!" Dick's voice came sharply. "You don't mean that dame could have suddenly fallen for Crown Prince

"Such things have happened," observed Cranston, veering the car to avoid some hunters who were plodding

along the road. "After all, with Friedrich's future, your money and your mutual looks "

Dick had swung to wave a greeting to the hunters; now he was watching Cranston again, to see if he were

"You mean Friedrich would be a good bet," growled Dick. "That is, Friedrich as me. Yes, I have money, but

"You have enough for a front," remarked Cranston. "It's easier for wealthy people to hide their spendings

"So that's why I was handpicked!" expressed Dick. "Friedrich was going to live as me, tapping barrelloads

"It gives us something to investigate," stated Cranston, "now that you're in circulation instead of Friedrich.

Maybe we can learn how the diehard Nazis intended to finance their Cub Fuehrer."

Dick drove his right fist into his left palm, winced a trifle at the twinge his right wrist gave. Cranston noted it

"And plenty," acknowledged Dick. "I used the old left mitt when I handled that poker. And did I swing it!

Say, maybe Irene thought I was a modern Siegfried, out to slay a parcel of dragons. That could have changed

"That's right," nodded Dick. "It's the only way he could have copied my style. I should have asked Greug

"Yes, she'd know too, because she was around a lot. Things have cleared in my mind" Dick was giving his

forehead a habitual sweep "but I still can't fit Friedrich into it. Seems that most of my time was spent in

selfadmiration in front of a big mirror. But getting back to Irene; she's fallen for Friedrich, has she?"

"It would appear so." Cranston swung the car between the gates that bore the name of Rook's Retreat. "Only

"She certainly picked a bad time to stage the rescue act," continued Dick, reverting to Irene. "I guess that

finishes her with Dolbart's cutthroats. Or to be precise, they've finished her unless a friend of ours went

Dick was practically asking Cranston to give an opinion on The Shadow, but Cranston was busy swinging the

car where the narrow road bent among the trees. So Dick took the hint and stared ahead, too, changing his

gaze only to wave to a stolid man who was coming down the pathway from the lodge, and who didn't bother

"Funny about that woodsman," remarked Dick. "The same with the hunters and the loggers even those fire

"Around this region?" returned Dick. "I'll say. They always used to give the highball. Maybe the section is

getting too populated, but that's odd too, considering the man power shortage. I'll have to ask Foxcroft about

Cranston halted the car in front of an attractive lodge built of halflogs and from Dick's pleased expression it

was plain that the place hadn't changed. The same however did not apply to Foxcroft, a gaunt man in rough

clothes, who was hurrying out to meet the car. One look at Dick brought a low but hoarsetoned exclamation

"Now go on, Foxy old fox," interrupted Dick. "Of course I'm myself and this gentleman is "

"Don't tell me his name," broke in the caretaker. "I just want to say two strangers came by, but didn't stop. If

you're going to Bald Knob, sirs" Foxcroft raised his voice to a high pitch "you'll have to go down the hill

again, over the bridge by the flume, and around to your right. Up past the old dam, you'll find "

Foxcroft was making an odd series of gesticulations which Dick promptly interrupted by climbing out of the

"Swing up in back of the water tank," directed Dick, "and you'll find a shed that will do for a garage. I'll have

a drink when you come down to the lodge, if Foxcroft hasn't used up all my Scotch, though it sounds like it

"But I haven't seen you, Mr. Dick," insisted Foxcroft. "Leastwise I'm not going to say so. You and your

"Which I won't." Dick was already striding toward the lodge, with Foxcroft following in helpless fashion.

Pondering a few moments at the wheel, Cranston decided his best course was to take the car to the shed

garage. He found it readily amid the gathering dusk and stepped to the path from which he could see the

ledge below. As he paused to study the mountain landscape, Cranston heard a rustle in the brush behind him.

No snake could have been more furtive, but the sound was too ample to be of reptilian origin, unless this

Adirondack region happened to be infested with tropical boa constrictors. Another crackle answered from the

other side of the path; this time it was more like a Cooper Indian stepping on a favorite broken twig.

Snakes or humans, it was good policy to stand one's ground, so Cranston did, drinking in the gorgeous view

as though it alone intrigued him. It was indeed a rare sight, this mountain setting, the sunset throwing a

singular area of light upon the broad clearing that fronted Rook's Retreat, while darkness loomed high above,

Across a lower range, thunder clouds were gathering, grumbling, their ominous approach with reflected

lightning flashes, but the muffled roar wasn't sufficient to drown the other sound that Cranston heard, the

Then Cranston spotted it, above the near side of the lowering peak. On the heels of the thunder's mumble,

brush crackled nearby and voices, too guttural to be whispered, reached Cranston's ears from directly behind

Those lurkers from the brush thought that Cranston could neither hear them nor understand their language if

he did, but he was doing both. From what he caught, he was making calculations while he watched the

hovering plane. Then, from the climbing ship came a puff that looked like grey smoke against the darkening

sky. It billowed outward; filled itself into the shape of a parachute and floated downward toward the lighted

Lamont Cranston didn't watch it long. Two heavyset men sprang suddenly upon him, showing surprising

speed in their attack, thanks to the steepness of the path on which Cranston stood. Wheeling too late to even

A few moments later, the two attackers were lifting a figure that lay silent and inert. If Dick Whitlock still

depended upon Lamont Cranston as a friend in need, his hopes had faded faster than the dying sunlight!

THE old lodge looked the same and the approach of a heavy thunderstorm wasn't unusual in these parts. To

Dick Whitlock, the only thing that looked different was Foxcroft, and he still couldn't understand it.

In fact, to prove his sobriety, Foxcroft hurried into Dick's own room, just off the center hall, and came out

with an untouched bottle. With a smile, Dick laid the bottle aside and questioned:

"What's come over you, Foxcroft? It can't be the storm. You've weathered dozens of them."

"I've just been worried, Mr. Dick," explained Foxcroft. "So many things to be managed, so few people to

"I know," put in Foxcroft hastily, "but they're all busy. When the old dam needed repair" Foxcroft pointed

from the window to the blue bowl of Lake Sheen "I was afraid it would burst before I could get helpers. At

A heavy pound of thunder interrupted Dick's reply. The lightning was flashing now, in vivid competition with

that last strong show of sunlight. To Dick, the glowing patch that fronted the lodge was something like a

bombing target, and as he smiled at the whimsical comparison, he heard an odd echo of the thunder's rumble,

"I don't know, sir." Foxcroft's eyes shifted. "Maybe some boxes that the thunder jarred loose from the pile."

"You're talking in terms of earthquakes," retorted Dick. "Now if thunder knocked something loose from the

Dick didn't go a word further. Through the window he saw the very phenomenon he mentioned. With the

pound of louder thunder, the target of sunlight took a missive squarely in the bull'seye, not in the shape of a

Rolling down the slope, the arrival cleared his chute, came around rapidly to gather it in before the arriving

"What goes on here?" Dick demanded. "Who would be flying over this country, let alone bailing out? Come

Dick's hands were clutching the stammering caretaker but before Foxcroft could really get a word out,

Turning, Dick looked into the muzzle of Greug's Luger, with the dryfaced doctor right behind it.

"You heard half the story last night," declared Greug. "Certain facts eluded you, and fortunately. It was odd

that you didn't put one and one together to make two: Eric Henwood and his coffin."

Odd in itself that Greug should mention that combination. In telling Cranston how Greug and his two huskies

had packed Eric's body in a handy sixfoot box, Dick had noticed a curious interest on the listener's part, but

"If you had been a trifle less naive," continued Greug, fitting his words between thunder peals, "you might

have realized that the coffin was meant for you. Unfortunately, we couldn't have bodies found around the

Gesturing at the word "we" Greug indicated two men who had stepped from a doorway leading down into the

lodge's slanted, hillbank cellar. Eric recognized the pair of the night before and they took over long enough

"Your friend is nicely roped down in the cellar," said Greug, turning to Dick. "My orders are to keep

strangers alive until we have questioned them. Don't worry" Greug's gesture referred to Cranston

Getting Cranston to talk might be a problem, but it was Greug's, not Dick's. Right now, Dick sensed that his

own plight was probably worse than that of his new friend. As lightning ripped, making the oil lamps of the

Thunder bashed while Greug waited patiently. Then, as the fierce pelt of rain began, the doctor answered:

"Certainly. He was our man all along. He was to call me so that he and I could remove your body as we

actually removed his. We couldn't afford to have you found dead, the way Dolbart and his Maquis would

Footsteps were pounding the broad porch of the lodge, like something left over from the thunder clap. With a

pause, Greug gestured to the door and it opened at that moment, revealing the man who had parachuted from

the passing plane. As lightning flashed again, Dick saw his own face etched in every detail, as though a

Greug's two followers clicked their heels and delivered a Nazi salute to the newcomer. His gun trained on

Dick, Greug couldn't copy the move, but bowed; then, at the finish of another powerful rumble, Greug

"Friedrich Von Reichfrid, come to take his temporary heritage, to which he shall add certain resources our

agents have supplied for him. Friedrich left the border chalet before you did, Whitlock. He was waiting for

Quite puzzled, Dick kept staring at Friedrich, who obligingly explained further.

"Our good friend Greug is clever," declared the coming Fuehrer, in perfect English. "He decided not to let

"To say 'as soon as' would be better," corrected Greug. "It is the phrase that Whitlock would use."

"As soon as we originally intended," spoke Friedrich in a tone which Dick realized was a replica of his own

voice. "You were good bait for the Maquis, Whitlock, and besides, it was better that you should return to

"To avoid complications," put in Greug, "and for a final checkup, or adjustment if necessary."

"Not at all. Whitlock behaved quite according to expectations. Unfortunately Eric failed us. The Maquis

A spasm came over Friedrich. His expression became a crazed distortion that Dick could never have

duplicated. Breaking into German, Friedrich delivered it in the piping shriek that the Swiss locomotive had so

"We were able to dispose of Eric's body," stated Greug. "To have it found in Whitlock's apartment would

have left you the heritage of becoming a suspected murderer, mein junger Fuehrer. Unfortunately the Maquis

Vicious, triumphant was the leer that a sweep of lightning livened on Greug's face. In opposite was the

morose gaze that Foxcroft gave to Dick, who realized now how helpless the old caretaker must have been.

"Don't be downhearted, Foxcroft," admonished Greug. "We shall allow you to collaborate, as you have to

Foxcroft turned a pleading look toward Dick, who nodded his approval of the caretaker's action in accepting

the only terms by which he could have aided Dick. In the whine of wind, the fierce batter of the rain, Dick

could sense his own death as something imminent, judging by the tightening of the pistol in Greug's hand.

"I am not sure," returned Greug. "We must learn later, for a certainty. At least she believes that Whitlock is

you, Friedrich, for she is sure she saw him die, the night when I arranged his escape. We shall discuss the

Lightning blazed and thunder crashed, all in one momentous instant, during which Dick Whitlock knew that

this was it. He was going out on his feet, but not without another fight. Madly, Dick rushed Greug's gun,

knowing he could never beat the cold, merciless finger that was on the ready trigger.

The gun jolted upward as Dick charged, and if he'd gone a trifle faster, he'd have beaten the lift of the muzzle.

As it was, the gun hoisted ahead, and the nine millimeter shell breezed the fringe of Dick's rumpled hair.

Greug was sprawling backward, struggling to strike out with his gun, but he couldn't get at the attacker whose

firm forearm was hooked around his neck. As for the two squarefaced men who formed Greug's very special

murder squad, they were staring more amazed than Dick at the face they saw beyond Greug's snarling,

THE fray in the hunting lodge became so kaleidoscopic that it seemed out of this world and into unreality.

As a man back from the dead so often that it had become a chronic habit, Dick Whitlock could count this

Cranston was flinging Greug against the doctor's stupefied pair of stooges and in the same sweep, he was

upsetting a table that held a burning lamp. Foxcroft, starting to Dick's aid, was saved by Cranston, putting

The crashing lamps spilled their kerosene and the flames gobbled it with ravenous licks; but with the ending

of those flares, there were only the lightning flashes, and the scene seemed dreamlike.

Sprawled in the corner where he had landed, Foxcroft began to see why he wasn't needed.

The real dreamstuff was the struggle in the center of the room, where a frenzied fighter seemed to be

grappling with himself. Actually there were two participants, but they were too much alike to be

Friedrich had foolishly lunged for Dick who had accepted the gag without realizing how smart the procedure

was. For as it stood, there was no telling Dick from Friedrich, which left Greug and his gunners at a total

Of course there was a target that all three wanted, as a temporary substitute for Dick; namely, Cranston. But

he knew it and was keeping behind the grapplers who held the main attention. Neither Greug nor his

squaremugs could get around to flank Cranston, the way Dick and Friedrich reeled.

Out of the twoman tangle came the piping, hysterical orders that Dick could neither duplicate in tone nor

language, but the flicker of the departing lightning wasn't enough to fully identify the future Fuehrer. So the

With thunder rumbling dully in the distance, the terrific sweep of the torrential rain was the main sound now

in progress, but it didn't drown the hammer of new footsteps from the porch. Cranston knew what they

signified, as did Foxcroft. Reserves were arriving to aid Friedrich's cause. All those phony rangers, loggers,

hunters and woodsmen, who didn't know how to wave a greeting without going into a Nazi salute, were

coming here to rally around the future master they had seen descending from the sky.

Having drawn them in by prolonging the battle, Cranston now saw opportunity for escape. If alone, he might

not have chosen that course, but it was the healthiest prospect for Dick as well as Foxcroft.

A gesture to Foxcroft brought the caretaker over to Cranston's vantage spot beside the cellar door. As the

grapplers reeled past, Cranston flung into their fray and broke them apart, grabbing the one he thought most

likely to be Dick. Getting no opposition, Cranston knew that he was right, and spun Dick into Foxcroft's

Before Cranston could turn to deal with Friedrich, Greug and his two huskies were on the surge, augmented

by others who were charging in through the door from the porch. Finishing his whirl, Cranston whipped wide

the cellar door, flung himself bodily upon Dick and Foxcroft. With a combined sprawl the three went hurtling

down the cellar stairs, Cranston's flying foot hooking the door into a closing slam behind them.

It was Dick who took the hard brunt of their landing, but Cranston and Foxcroft brought him to his feet. With

their groggy burden between them, they shoved out through a door beneath the porch, sidestepping some

Amid the wailing lash of the rain, Foxcroft thought he heard a singular laugh, but his overwrought nerves

never connected it with Cranston, the man who had used his own capture as a route to rescue, without

adopting his customary character of The Shadow. Up on the slope, Cranston had translated the statements he

had overheard and learned that his captorstobe intended to bind and gag him in the cellar of the lodge.

So Cranston had simply played the comeon and let them use their clumsy roping methods, which he knew

The race up the steep path, with Dick mushing in the mud, was a longer task than Cranston had anticipated.

He knew that pursuers wouldn't overtake them, but bullets were another problem, particularly as the business

of maneuvering Dick put Cranston and Foxcroft on the flanks of a target that was three men wide.

Two elements helped: the lightning, because it lessened; the rain, because it increased.

There weren't enough chances for Greug's sharpshooters to spot their broad target; when they did, the

visibility was ruined by the downpour. Under the shed, Cranston had Foxcroft help him dump Dick's groggy

figure into the roadster; then Cranston was shoving Foxcroft down into the rumble seat, telling him to keep

Sweeping gestures in the darkness put Cranston into the guise he now needed: The Shadow's.

Out from the shed roared the roadster, looking like a selfdriven vehicle in the occasional flicker of the

dimming lightning. The Shadow was practically invisible; Dick was slumped in the bottom of the car, while

By rights, the roadster should have run the gamut of Lugers and shotguns, but only a few weapons barked.

Foxcroft, too, must have recognized the discrepancy, for he kept poking his head up from the rumble seat as

The Shadow whizzed the car down the zigzag turns that he'd committed practically to memory.

Foxcroft didn't see The Shadow at all; but then, the old caretaker wasn't looking toward the front seat.

Foxcroft was thinking of the lower end of Lake Sheen and a chance lightning glare gave the view that

"They've pulled the old dam! The water will reach the bridge before we get there! It will take the bridge out

sure!" That Foxcroft was right was proved by the mighty roar hitting the straight route down the gorge, while

the speeding car was making its roundabout turns. But to stop would mean that Greug and his whole tribe of

massacre artists would overtake the car before The Shadow could get Dick and Foxcroft to any sort of shelter.

Swinging above the gorge, The Shadow saw a white wave sweeping almost to its brink. Foxcroft spied it too

and turned his face away. Catastrophe was certain, as Foxcroft realized when he looked to the other side.

They had reached the last turn, the spot where the log flume slanted away from the bend of the gorge.

The flume, a great triangular trough on struts, was the landmark just before the bridge. Head raised, Foxcroft

listened for the thing he didn't want to hear, and heard it. A mighty crackle past the bend, and as they reached

that turn, Foxcroft saw the flay of flying timbers that were proof too graphic that the bridge had gone.

It was too late now, even to stop the car. The mad driver had tried to beat the flood and had failed. Foxcroft

The effect was a terrific, wavering slide, in which the doomed car seemed literally to be swept along on the

water's surface. To be skating the brink of a mighty flood was just too much for the imagination, so Foxcroft

At the bend, The Shadow had taken to the flume. A crazy track, but a straight one, the sides of the big

wooden V were holding the wheels within its angled confines. The result was a continuous skid, at so terrific

a speed that every moment threatened outright disaster, but the climax never came.

The very insecurity of this slimy, slanted trough was the feature that rendered it secure. Each time the wheels

tried to climb one bank, the reliable old law of gravitation functioned in greater proportion and hauled those

Up the other side, down again; the car rollicked happily, but with diminishing returns, until the ride leveled

into a smoothly perfect slither, to a road a full mile away from the gorge. There, The Shadow jounced the car

from its track by bearing all his weight upon the wheel until the roadster went broadside.

As an improvised highway, the problems of a flume were getting out of it, not into it.

Cloak dropped from his shoulders, slouch hat laid beside him, The Shadow had again become the calm Mr.

Cranston, telling Foxcroft that Dick was reviving from the effects of the swift fresh air. Then, driving

leisurely along this road, Cranston reached the lower stretch of the gorge and paused that his companions

Along with fragments of the splintered bridge were great boulders, huge masses of turf and mud, along with

the debris of uprooted trees. The gorge was strewn with such trophies, which might have completely buried

or obliterated an unfortunate car, if carried with the flood. Cranston's whispered laugh The Shadow's was

drowned in the raging tumult, but it stood as a marker to the road of future victory.

To all intents, three men Cranston, Dick and Foxcroft had been washed out permanently. Their enemies

would count them dead and forgotten. No situation, even of his own design, could have better suited The

IRENE BRESLON looked up from her dressing table and felt her eyes freeze from the icy grey that gripped

Here, behind scenes at the Starview Roof Garden, she was meeting a man she had hoped never to see again:

The sympathy between Irene Breslon and Dick Whitlock could be attributed if for no other reason to the

fact that they had both undergone a similar psychological experience; that of coming under the dominating

Irene couldn't even shudder, but she did steel herself for the ordeal. Fortunately she'd been preparing for it

and unless Greug probed too deeply, her replies to his coming questions might prove superficial.

Irene turned in her chair, her face as white as the soft shoulders beneath the dressing gown which the girl had

carelessly donned before preparing her makeup. Greug's crisp grey visage was visible only to his chin. He

Like a living head, floating in midair, such was the illusion of Doctor Greug; in the manner of some Teutonic

As the closeup effect of Greug increased, Irene felt more conscious of her own entirety, but with it she

seemed to have calcified into a statue of solid marble, proclaiming itself by its own chill. Only Irene's eyes

remained warm, the lone fact which told her she might still fight off Greug's spell.

"Only to save his life." Irene's lips moved as though mechanized. "They would kill him if they could."

Which Irene meant by 'him' Dick or Friedrich she did not specify. To Greug, it could only mean

Friedrich, since Greug was reasonably sure that Irene thought she had seen Dick die, back in that chalet on

Perhaps Greug recognized the sympathy which the warmth of Irene's eyes displayed and it certainly wasn't

sympathy for Greug himself. Knowing nothing of the episode at Rocky Point, Greug was unaware that Irene

had already displayed her feelings toward a certain man by risking her own life in a turnabout against the

It was better perhaps that Greug was unacquainted with that incident involving the real Dick Whitlock!

"Love does not matter," Greug's lips relaxed into a sneer, "except as it influences your loyalty to our right

cause. Friedrich was honored when he was named to be our future Fuehrer. You are merely privileged to be

chosen as his consort. Guard that privilege, for you are replaceable; Friedrich is not."

A sudden chill was Irene's only reaction to this declaration of her chattel status. Greug must have sensed it for

he gave one of his heartless smiles. Eyes coldly appraising of the girl's motionless form, Greug added:

"Friedrich is displeased, but I shall talk to him. Since it is better that all should proceed as planned, there is a

"By making what the friends of Dick Whitlock would term a "play" for him. It would simplify matters

"With Dick!" interrupted Greug, his eyes glaring like livid orbs. "Use that name only! You understand?"

"The other girl wants Dick back," explained Greug. "Your task is to end all thought of such folly and at the

Greug's tightening smile specified the rest and with it, the strange doctor wheeled, strode from the dressing

room and swung the door shut behind him. The slam brought Irene to her feet; springing to the door, she

Then, with mad afterthought, the girl caught up her dressing gown from the chair, bundled it tightly about

herself with one hand, while she used the other to scoop a small automatic from the dressing table drawer. A

moment later, Irene was out in the corridor, ready to deal with Greug if she found him.

The man of Faustus bearing had disappeared. Not realizing the moments she had wasted, Irene was amazed at

what seemed an absolute vanish. All that was needed to make it perfect was for the devil to pop up in Greug's

He appeared suddenly in flaming red, with costumed tail and a boot resembling a cloven hoof. His features,

streaked with the color of brimstone were truly demoniac beneath the horns that jutted from his forehead. At

sight of the glaring image, Irene choked a grateful sob and sank into the arms of his Satanic Majesty.

The devil took off his mask to prove how handsome it was in contrast to his own face. The man who was

wearing the Mephistophelean outfit was Leo Dolbart, the scarfaced leader of the Maquis.

"Why not?" Despite its ugliness, Leo's smile was kindly. "It is time that he came to thank you."

"I don't mean Dick. I mean Greug! And he talked about Friedrich, as though Friedrich were here too!"

Leo looked sharply about; then tapped lightly at the door of a dressing room. In a low tone, he said: "Pequin!"

The two Apaches promptly appeared, wearing fancy pantaloons and tunics of gaudyhued velvet, with berets

tipped over their eyes. Nobody would have recognized Pequin and Franchot, dancers newly added to the bill

at the Starview Roof, as the lurking assassins who had previously stalked Dick Whitlock.

In French, Leo ordered them to search the dressing rooms on the chance that Greug might still be around. Leo

personally went to a large window at the end of the corridor and stared along a narrow ledge, but saw only

Joining the man who could facially give the devil more than his due, Irene said solemnly:

"It seemed like Greug; but I've seen his face so often, floating into those hideous dreams of mine!"

"Sometimes I think his influence carries," continued Irene. "It may be that his thoughts can reach me like

"That I throw myself at Friedrich, to convince him that I belong to the Future Order!"

"I thought we were dealing with the man you call Dick. We believed you when you said he used his left hand

"How can you tell?" Leo gave a hopeless shrug. "It is only when excited that Dick will use his left hand, now

Pondering as they walked to the final dressing room where Pequin and Franchot were concluding a fruitless

"I must do as Greug wishes or as I think he wishes. Should it be Dick I reach instead of Friedrich, there will

The last dressing room was empty. It belonged to Karnak, the Egyptian Fakir, the main attraction at the

Starview Roof. But neither Karnak nor his assistant, Abu, had arrived to prepare for their show. All that the

room contained was an empty oval basket, a large coil of rope, some incense burners and a compressed steam

In the corridor, blackness was moving inward from the window that led to the ledge. It was cloaked

blackness, the living shape of The Shadow. Close enough to hear Leo Dolbart speak to his men and tell them

to end the foolish search, The Shadow suddenly reversed his course and merged with the window's blackness.

A soft laugh whispered from the figure that moved along the outside ledge, a shape which Leo had only

Though too late to learn whether Greug's visit had been real or a product of Irene's imagination, The Shadow

UNDER the twinkling lights of the Starview Roof, Jerry Trimm and Claire Austley were watching the

Montmarte Trio finish their Danse du Diable. Claire sat back and reigned a polite yawn as Irene Breslon took

The other members of the party weren't bored. They regarded Irene as the most captivating singer of recent

months. In fact it was rumored that several important producers were present nightly, largely on Irene's

At least Dick Whitlock wasn't present, though Claire wasn't too solaced by the fact. Dick had been keeping

close to his new and lavish apartment, the one that Jerry had decorated with the unusual interiors including

Dick's excuse was that he had caught a cold during a hunting trip at Rook's Retreat, but when Claire talked to

him on the phone she hadn't noticed any thickness to his voice. Maybe Dick was avoiding her, but he seemed

A camera man was taking flash shots of Irene as she sang, and Jerry turned to Claire to say:

"They're rating Irene as the most photographed star in New York. With all the magazine publicity she'll be

"I can't see that Dick cares," returned Claire. "At least he isn't interested in protecting his priority."

Whether Claire meant Irene or herself, Jerry wasn't sure, but his expression showed some sort of

determination. Evidently Jerry wasn't setting too fast a pace in his own wooing of Claire and he seemed to

When Irene's song ended, the orchestra left its platform and a huge drum was pushed away from the side

where it protruded. Claire saw other photographers gather and was pleased that Irene had a rival until the

person turned out to be a brownfaced mystic wearing Egyptian robe, headpiece and other regalia.

This was Karnak, the celebrated Fakir, starting his routine with the basket trick wherein he intended to vanish

his tawny assistant Abu and make him reappear. Magic bored Claire because it made her think, so she was

"Oh, hello," said Claire, sweetly. "I've heard you've been taking the photogenic laurels lately, Irene."

"Mostly for publicity," returned Irene, modestly. "Of course there have been a few requests from show

"To be really popular," suggested Claire, "you should turn yourself into a human pincushion like that Abu

chap. He's probably hiding in the basket where Karnak is punching all those swords. Or is he?"

"I really wouldn't know," said Irene. "Only the photographers aren't here to shoot the basket trick. What

"You mean the thing from India where the boy actually climbs a rope and disappears?"

"Exactly. Karnak claims he brought it here by way of Egypt. Anyway, Karnak does it, and nobody has caught

"Dickiebird is moping, poor dear," informed Claire. "After all, I'm hardly to blame. I wasn't adamant, you

know, when I gave him back his ring. Jerry says he sits staring at it all day, without a thought for any other

Irene flashed a look at Jerry to learn if Claire's statement might be in any sense reliable.

"Perhaps Dick is just waiting to be invited here," suggested Jerry. "He wouldn't like to unbalance the party,

"Why not?" Claire tossed her pretty shoulders. "After all, I hold no claim on Dick not now."

That declaration pleased Jerry, who shifted his chair closer to Claire's. Seeing how matters stood, Irene gave a

"Dick might not remember me very well," decided Irene. "I'd better let Jerry take along some of my latest

"Why not?" smiled Claire. "I know he'd just love those gowns of yours, what there are of them."

"These are outdoor pictures," explained Irene. "He'd like them better, being the more rugged type." She

turned and gestured toward the floor. "Here comes the rope trick, so we'd better watch it. Don't ask me how

As the others faced the floor, Irene glanced about to see who else was there. She didn't expect to see Dick

Whitlock, but she was wondering about a certain friend of his, Lamont Cranston, who had something of a yen

Cranston wasn't present, but there were other men whom Irene noticed; stolid, setfaced individuals, whose

expressions were the sort of blank she didn't like. They had been here regularly and their repeated attendance

One man that Irene scarcely noticed was a doddering old chap who was turned in his chair and leaning on a

cane. He came here often, too, and Irene didn't care to notice him for fear she'd encourage him. His name was

Isaac Twambley and he was worth a lot of money, so Irene had heard, and could believe.

What she couldn't have believed was that the senile Mr. Twambley was none other than Lamont Cranston in

disguise. Considering it an absolute certainty that Kurtz Greug or his representatives would be around the

Starview Roof, The Shadow hadn't considered it good policy to appear there in his character of Cranston and

A rope was actually rising in air above the front of the orchestra platform, at the magic command of Karnak

who despite his pose, looked a lot like a camel driver. Then Abu, wearing a loin cloth, went climbing the

Karnak's more imposing self came to the fore. With only the twinkle of the ceiling's fake stars as

illumination, it might be easy to deceive people with the business of the rising rope; but to vanish Abu from

Yet when Karnak spread his broad hands, all witnesses were hushed; the photographers tense, hoping they

wouldn't muff their flashes if all this happened to be hypnotism of the mass variety.

A halfcircle of incense burners disgorged a mighty curtain of steam from the pipes that connected with the

compression tank. Abu's clinging form was bathed in solid cloud that dispelled itself a few seconds later,

under the blinking of the artificial stars. Down fell the rope, coiling as it came, but the audience was still

Even Claire was too impressed to think it could be done with mirrors, so she said "Hypnotism" as though she

knew what such a force could really be like. Studying the blankfaced men, Irene saw that their faces, too,

had actually registered amazement. Of course old Twambley was utterly bewildered, but that was to be

"Dick certainly wouldn't miss that wonderful ropetrick. I'm sure he'll accept your invitation, Irene. Don't

forget to give Jerry your camera studies, but include a picture of the ropetrick, if you can get one!"

"I probably can," returned Irene. "I know several of the photographers who took them. I'll have one for Jerry

Back behind the scenes, Irene stopped the red devil who figured in the Montmartre dance. Nobody else was

close, except Karnak, the silent Egyptian who never spoke anything except his native tongue. Ignoring the

"Tres bon!" assured Leo, through the devil's mask. "We shall use the routine, our Danse de la Morte,

From the way Leo Dolbart sliced his hand across the throat of his devil's mask, Friedrich Von Reichfrid was

Playing the part of a dead man was beginning to prove a bore to Dick Whitlock, even though he had another

alleged corpse for company in the person of Foxcroft. Though Cranston had installed them in a comfortable

hotel suite, Dick was getting tired of the place. Particularly he couldn't understand why Cranston felt it safe to

At last, however, the lid was off. They were riding in a cab with Cranston, whose only admonition was not to

face the windows, since dusk had hardly settled. Arriving at an old house, Cranston took a quick look up and

down the street; then ushered them through a door, up a flight of steps and into what Dick thought was the

There, the most singular of scenes revealed itself. They were upon what seemed to be a narrow balcony,

walled with velvet, except for one side, which constituted a great sheet of clear glass. Through that pane,

Dick saw a lighted room which he recognized, by its furnishings, as the exact replica of the Petite Salon of

A man was in the room, his back halfturned. He was shaking a drawer that he had removed from a large

cabinet; angrily, he threw it on a cushioned lounge. As the man turned toward the great glass pane, Dick drew

back instinctively. The man's face was his own; the room's occupant was Friedrich Von Reichfrid!

"Don't be disturbed," remarked Cranston, calmly. "Friedrich can neither see nor hear you. The sheet of glass

"Yes. A oneway affair, except when lights are turned on from this side, which they won't be."

"I get it now!" exclaimed Dick. "Friedrich was behind a job like this, in that mountain chalet! He was

"Even more than that," said Cranston. "When the rear lights were switched, Friedrich replaced your image, so

The last vestiges of the dream were clearing from Dick's mind. He realized now why some of his motions had

seemed slow or delayed. Friedrich hadn't quite been up to snuff on certain imitations.

Friedrich was drawing a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and for the fun of it, Dick started to copy the

"Nice picking on Eric's part," laughed Dick. "He found Friedrich the perfect double, a chap who was only

"That's why I looked for this Argus mirror," he explained. "From what you told me about Greug's methodical

bent, I surmised he'd have one installed here too, in case he felt that you and Friedrich required further

"He won't. Since you're supposed to be dead, the mirror is just an ornament. Stay here a while and report

whatever you learn, after you come back to the hotel. It's dark now, so you won't be running any risk."

Whatever Cranston's other business, Dick didn't inquire. It promised good entertainment, staying here and

watching Friedrich act Dick's part, with Foxcroft as an added witness. Soon after Cranston's departure, a

thing happened that increased Dick's glee. Somebody knocked on the door and the sound carried plainly to

the velvetpadded balcony. The hidden watchpost was wired to carry sound from the salon that Friedrich

The man who knocked was Jerry Trimm. Laying aside a large square package, he began to talk earnestly to

"I've waited long enough, Dick," began Jerry. "I must have some of the money you promised me."

"Be patient," returned Friedrich. "You will be paid in due time. Come, help me straighten this room."

"When you will have the money?" Friedrich's teeth gritted in a fashion that wasn't quite Dick's. "I should be

"Then why not?" Jerry's face went anxious. "Didn't that deal go through? The one you wrote me was sure,

"Look, you fool!" Friedrich gestured to the disarray around the room. "Can't yon guess?"

"Something I haven't found," impressed Friedrich. "Something that should be here. Why else do you suppose

I would have asked you to buy these fixtures? Bah! These French furnishings, so delicate, so effete, are

distasteful to me. This bar!" Friedrich stepped to the corner and pounded a small bar until its wine glasses

"Only you don't drink beer," reminded Jerry. "Anyway, Dick, this rig was built for champagne parties."

Friedrich gave a shrug; then eyes narrowing in a fashion that Dick used often, he demanded:

"Why, there were cases of the stuff," explained Jerry, "earmarked for the Petite Salon and reserved for the

"Of course. It was bought by a famous French restaurant, the Cafe Bourbon, right here in New York. They

Friedrich was gripping Jerry's lapel with an eager right hand. He relaxed now, much as Dick might have.

Giving a wellpracticed laugh, Friedrich picked up the telephone; as he dialed, he said:

Dick raised his own eyebrows. That sum just about constituted his own fortune. Friedrich however didn't bat

"Good." Jerry sank to a chair. "That clinches Claire. I can tell her that my imaginary uncle died at last and

that I'm as rich as you are, Dick. It isn't that Claire just wants money" Jerry was insistent on the point

"she just doesn't want regrets. Having been engaged to you once, Dick, she's sort of planned her budget "

Friedrich wasn't listening. He was talking on the telephone and gesturing for Jerry not to interrupt.

"Yes," Friedrich was saying. "Four will be enough... We'll bring it all here and wait for you... After the last

show, of course. We couldn't expect you sooner... The invitation? No. Jerry didn't get around to it yet... Oh, I

see... Yes. I'll tell him I'll be there a little later... Of course. That changes everything."

Friedrich hesitated only momentarily; then nodded. His back was toward the Argus mirror, hence Dick

couldn't see the smile on his double lips. It was one of Dick's best, the kind he gave people when they were

"Tell her nothing," came the interruption. "Give that uncle of yours time to die properly."

Friedrich gave a careless nod. His eyes were on the package, though Jerry hadn't yet mentioned it.

"I guess Irene mentioned that I brought along these camera studies. Claire wants to see them too." Jerry

turned as a knock sounded at the door. "There's Claire now. Help me along, won't you, Dick? After all, I

Dick could have crashed right through the Argus mirror when he saw Claire enter. To think of that blonde

snip playing Jerry for a dope so that Dick would get the runaround until their respective cash questions were

Any man except Friedrich, of course. In Dick's estimate, Friedrich wasn't human any more than Claire. What

a pair they'd make, except that Friedrich was to be counted out completely. It was better that Jerry and Claire

Which brought Dick's thoughts right back to himself and his own rivalry with Friedrich, the real question

being Irene. If Friedrich thought he was going to win Dick's dream girl under false colors, he was wrong.

It bothered Dick badly to think that Friedrich had actually talked to Irene and made arrangements to meet her

later, probably at the Starview Roof, though he had said something about coming back here. Those points

Though he didn't recognize it, Dick Whitlock was planning a play right into the enemy's hands!

FRIEDRICH was stiffly courteous when he bowed to Claire, but he had sense enough to refrain from clicking

his heels. Apparently Claire expected such a reception for she gave him one of her vacuous smiles which she

Then the blonde's inquiring eyes turned upon Jerry, asking if he had delivered Irene's invitation for Dick to

visit the Starview Roof. Already unwrapping the package, Jerry came promptly to the case.

"You remember Irene Breslon, of course," Jerry said to Friedrich. "She wonders why you haven't been

"And admire her costumes," put in Claire. "She changes gowns every show. In fact, she simply insisted that

The pictures were bound in a largesized album, which Friedrich had begun to open. The book was fairly

The scenes were laid in a gorgeous outdoor garden, with Irene forming the loveliest flower in all the natural

resplendence. Whatever Irene happened to be wearing wasn't visible amid the brilliant foliage that intercepted

her from the camera, so to all appearances the blossoms themselves formed the varied gowns that Claire

Friedrich evidently had an eye for color photography, as did Jerry, for they continued right through the book,

passing over a few blackandwhite inserts which showed the different stages of the Indian Rope Trick as

One study presented Irene twined in honeysuckle, pressing vines aside to the right and downward to the left.

Another showed her on tiptoe amid an interlace of magnolia branches, her left hand tilted lightly against a

bow, while her right stretched its fingertips to a blossom that was tantalizingly out of reach above her head.

Halflost among the sunflowers, Irene was reaching downward to the right to pluck one flower that coyly

bent its head; again, she was pressing cautiously through a bower of rambler roses that encroached downward

Other photographs showed Irene decked with lilies; they included her among the hollyhocks and

chrysanthemums, all in their pristine beauty. Claire observed that several of the pictures were duplicates, but

neither Friedrich nor Jerry seemed to notice it, their appreciation of flowers causing them to overlook the

When Friedrich closed the album, his eyes narrowed to a distant stare as though he were visualizing the

"Come along! I'm going over to the Starview Roof and talk to Irene. I want to know who she had in mind:

Foxcroft threw a restraining clamp on Dick's arm, long enough for Dick to pause and watch Friedrich consult

"Tell Irene that I shall see her later," Friedrich said to Jerry in Dick's most blase tone. "Meanwhile thank her

for letting me judge these excellent photographs. Here" he planted the album in Jerry's arms "you may

Claire was a bit piqued by Friedrich's hauteur, which was a considerable departure from Dick's manner.

Knowing nothing about Friedrich's sudden desire to stock his new premises with champagne, Claire decided

that Irene's bid for interest had failed, so she gave a smiling farewell to the man she mistook for Dick.

Meanwhile, the real Dick was hurrying out through the door of the other house, dragging the protesting

Foxcroft along. The caretaker's pleas for Dick to be less foolhardy found a slight response, for Dick did

Then, with Foxcroft still in tow, Dick overtook his former fiancee and her present boyfriend; without ado,

"Maybe I'm supposed to keep that souvenir," asserted Dick. "Anyway, I'll leave it with Foxcroft until I learn

if Irene wants it back. Since you're going over to the Starview Roof, I'll come along and ask Irene what

As a keeper of a hunting lodge, Foxcroft had considerable experience with wild life, but not of the Manhattan

variety. Standing on the sidewalk, watching a taxicab depart with his three companions, the old caretaker

However, he'd seen Dick hail the cab and say "Starview Roof" as he got into it, so Foxcroft felt he'd grasped

the formula. Clutching the picture book under one arm and frantically waving the other, Foxcroft stopped

another cab, gave the name of his hotel as soon as he could remember it, and sighed gratefully at being on his

Reaching the hotel suite, Foxcroft placed the unwieldy album on a table and paced back and forth, clucking

to himself over the impetuousness that had caused Dick to cast off Cranston's explicit instructions. There was

some way of reaching Cranston, but Dick not Foxcroft knew the telephone number, a fact that increased

Then, sooner than Foxcroft had hoped, a rap sounded at the door. Recognizing Cranston's knock, Foxcroft

admitted this muchneeded friend and began to pour the story of Dick's disobedience.

Calmly, Cranston opened the album and steadily turned its pages, pausing only on the pictures of the famous

rope trick, which evidently fired with some theory of his, for his slight nod increased. Then, running rapidly

through the garden scenes, Cranston turned to Foxcroft, who was staring over his shoulder and queried:

"Why no, sir," replied Foxcroft. "He only saw them through the Argus mirror, at a considerable distance, and

"The latter was decidedly so," agreed Cranston. "He could hardly have recognized that several were

"I didn't notice it myself," expressed Foxcroft. "At least not until just now, Mr. Cranston."

"As an army man, Dick would be familiar with the semaphore code," said Cranston, "Are you, Foxcroft?"

"Decidedly so, sir. Mr. Dick insisted that I learn it, long before he entered the service. I used it to send him

Turning the pages one by one, Cranston heard the amazed Foxcroft call the letters "STAY." Then came a

picture of Karnak beginning the rope trick, marking the space between two words.

The next four pages, which included two duplicates of Irene plucking a sunflower, as letters one and three,

with a replica of the rambler roses for the fourth letter, spelled the word "AWAY." Again, a picture of the

rope trick in progress spaced a word; then came more of Irene's poses spelling "FROM," next "THE"

"The Starview Roof," specified Cranston, tersely, "which is where you said he went."

"Call this number." Cranston dashed it on a slip of paper. "A man named Burbank will answer. Tell him to tip

off the police to a crime that will be occurring on the Starview Roof by the time they get there."

With that, Cranston was gone. Five minutes later, Shrevvy's cab was nearing the Starview Roof with a

different passenger than the one with which it had started. Dick Whitlock might consider it safe to play the

part of a dead man come to life, perhaps on the chance that with his double in circulation, he'd be mistaken

When Lamont Cranston played dead, he went around as someone else entirely. During this cab trip, he had

The man who clucked a crackly laugh as he saw the lights from the cab window was that most ancient and

Too late to catch the first turn of the Montmartre Trio, Dick Whitlock was at least in time to hear the silvery

voice of Irene Breslon. Dick was more fortunate than he realized in missing the dance of the men in velvet

and their devilmasked companion; but he acted as though he'd rather have seen them than listen to Irene.

Both Jerry and Claire noticed Irene's glances toward their table, but she didn't indicate that she intended to

join them later. It wasn't necessary that she should, for as soon as Irene's turn was finished, Dick started back

Karnak the Fakir was on the floor, starting the basket stunt with Abu, when Dick arrived at Irene's door and

knocked so hard that the latch jounced loose and sent the door inward. At the dressing table, where she was

It was bad judgment on Dick's part again, using his right hand to pound the door. As usual, he hurt it and

gripped his sore paw with his left hand so instinctively that even Friedrich couldn't have duplicated the trick.

In a flash, Irene's face underwent a complete change, beginning with alarm and ending with alarm, but of a

Dick scarcely noted the glance that Irene flashed across her shoulder toward the door, but it was lucky that

she gave it. Two velvetclad men with drawn knives drew back to join a masked red devil, as they saw

"I hoped Friedrich would come," replied Irene earnestly, "but I was sure you wouldn't." Then, realizing that

"This." Irene stepped back and stretched her arms. Her wigwagged gestures were reminders of honeysuckle,

"Stay away from the roof!" interrupted Dick. Then grimly: "If I'd only had the right angle when I saw that

album! But why couldn't you have gone heavier on clothes and lighter on flowers?"

"Because of Friedrich, stupid! Suppose he'd received the book instead of you? If I'd been wearing yachting

costumes and riding habits, wouldn't he have wondered why my arms were sticking out like clothestrees?"

"I suppose he would have," decided Dick. "He probably knows semaphore, too. Only I don't think he got it,

Dick nodded; then briefly explained the business of the Argus mirror. Brief though the time required, Irene's

"But Friedrich should have come here!" Irene exclaimed. "We expected him anyway. Maybe he did

Out on the floor, Karnak had finished the basket trick and Abu had bowed off. As an interlude before the

celebrated rope miracle, the fancyrobed fakir was performing a lesser wonder with colored sands reputedly

from the Sahara. Everyone was watching Karnak, except old Isaac Twambley, who had just arrived at the

Old Twambley, looking up from the head of his heavy cane, was studying the flickery artificial stars that

Clever indeed for a girl to pose semaphore codes in the setting of a modern Eden; but flashing Morse

messages with stars that were already delivering irregular blinks was even more ingenious.

It couldn't be Irene's idea. She could personally contact Leo Dolbart and his Apaches. This smacked of the

The fake stars were repeating it as though no more were needed. Old Twambley could understand why,

considering that the audience was honeycombed with flatfaced gentry who looked very like the hunters,

Getting up from his table, old Twambley used his cane to steady his tottering walk in the direction of back

The man was Abu, Karnak's tabbed helper. Working the switch deftly, Abu stopped as he heard a sharp hiss

behind him; turning and seeing Twambley, the fellow snarled and clutched for the old man's throat.

What Abu took was a triple somersault that carried him out into the corridor to the door of Irene's dressing

room. Following rapidly, Twambley pinned him with the cane, but it wasn't necessary. Abu was out cold.

Attracted by the sprawly clatter, Dick arrived with Irene. New amazement gripped Dick when he heard

"Get him into Karnak's dressing room," was the order. "Switch to that onepiece costume of his. You're

"Not after you use the liquid dye," came Cranston's tone. "It's quickdrying stuff."

"But this fellow is really brownskinned," began Dick. "He doesn't need any dye."

"Greug does," was Cranston's retort. "He couldn't be passing as Karnak without it."

Further explanation was superfluous. Dragging Abu into the dressing room, Dick slammed the door. It was

Irene who gripped The Shadow's arm and stared wideeyed into the face of Twambley.

"Of course," came the calm acknowledgment, still the tone of Cranston. "He coiled inside the basket, the way

"The plans I made with Leo. About trapping Friedrich here. That's why Friedrich didn't come! Karnak

received a phone call just before the show. It must have been from Friedrich, checking on a warning Greug

"Tell Leo," was Cranston's next order. "Have him be ready. He and his men will be needed."

As Irene left, The Shadow tilted his head and listened for sounds from the floor. They were coming, the

faceless men who had watched the star signals and had noticed where Dick had gone. The Shadow rapped the

door and Dick came out, wearing the loin cloth and finishing the rubin with the dye. "Get to the floor,"

ordered The Shadow, in Cranston's tone. "Keep looking down after you have climbed the rope. You will see

Gesturing Dick ahead, The Shadow had brought him to the short passage leading directly to the nightclub

floor. The men who had read the flashes given by Abu were coming around the other way. All Dick had to do

Only the chance for bluff was over. Right in the middle of the passage, Dick stopped short. Recognition

passed between the faces of the false Abu and the faking fakir who had come to summon his tardy assistant.

Doctor Kurtz Greug, alias the Fakir of Karnak, had suspected the very thing that had happened and was here

to close the trap on the doomed man whose life was to be lived by Friedrich Von Reichfrid!

GREUG'S triumphant glare included not only Dick Whitlock, but Isaac Twambley, the doddering old fool

who had somehow blundered his way back stage. Not for a moment did Greug connect Twambley with

His eyes fixed in their powerful stare, his hands moving ahead of him, Greug was showing full force of his

hypnotic command, aided by the booster that his present guise supplied. As Karnak; Greug looked the part of

A strange force, the power of suggestion. Already in a mood to follow whatever was told him, Dick

succumbed in a totally inept fashion. Backing away from those eyes of Greug's, he would have found himself

in the midst of the Nazis who were hounding him, if Twambley hadn't blocked him. Seeing Twambley's

scared face just past Dick's, Greug thrust the false Abu aside, to give the old man a real hypnotic jolt.

Cold as steel were those eyes of Greug's. Equally so was the object that confronted him, as he brushed Dick

from his path. Looking straight at Greug was the muzzle of a .45 automatic which the surprising Mr.

And now, from Twambley's disguised lips, came the whispered laugh that told all that Greug didn't want to

Looking from the muzzle to the eyes behind it, Greug knew too well that this man was The Shadow, a being

whose own use of hypnotic influences rivaled Greug's own. The question of superiority didn't matter; there

One blast of the .45 and there would be one less master hypnotist, and he wouldn't be The Shadow.

"Proceed with your performance." The Shadow's sinister tone brooked neither argument nor delay. "Your

Greug's hand went to his throat as though thinking in terms of a different sort of rope. His dyed face knotted

into a scowl, Greug turned and stepped out to the floor, followed by Dick, who came back to his senses when

From the dressing room corridor, prowling men saw Karnak and Abu starting the rope trick. They knew that

Karnak was Greug and they learned that Dick was playing the part of Abu. But they totally ignored old

Twambley, who was leaning on his cane, in the gloomy passage. They took him for what he looked to be, a

What Greug was up to, his followers weren't sure, but they buzzed a bit among themselves. Then, going

around the long way, they paused while one of their number worked the switch. New flashes came from the

The flashes resumed their normal twinkles as the investigating crew stole back to their tables. They had given

the word to the rest of their tribe, who were beginning to understand. They knew Greug to be Karnak; now

What they didn't know was the secret of the Indian Rope Trick as performed by the Fakir of Karnak.

For Greug to go through with it would be ridiculous. Doubtless he would fail for once in his amazing

experiment. There would be a bowoff, with Karnak drawing Abu along. If this fake Abu tried to make a

break, ready Nazis would overwhelm him and spirit him away, letting the real Abu replace him.

The dye was beginning to run down Greug's face, actuated by the perspiration from his usually sweatless

forehead. Greug alone knew that the huddly man back there in the darkened passage was keeping him

In true Karnak style, Greug tossed the rope. Dick clambered up the suspended line, a bit slower on the uptake

Up came the curtain of steam from the battery of incense jars. Maybe Greug was hoping Dick wouldn't know

what to do next, but Dick did. Looking down, Dick saw what happened; remembering The Shadow's order,

Coiling downward the rope struck the floor while all eyes were staring toward the evaporating steam. Greug's

eyes, too, were riveted with horror. The false Abu had taken the cue and had vanished!

Never before had a hunted man made so startling and complete a getaway. To be trapped on the top of an

upright rope, surrounded by a dozen hostile guns, was an experience in itself. To be gone before those guns

Greug's men had held their fire, awaiting his signal. It hadn't come; their prey had gone; and the fakir who

called himself Karnak was taking a bow, as if mocking the very followers who served him. Through every

That word applied to Greug. He'd kept the secret of the rope trick to himself, which could only mean he'd

Greug saw it coming, as the men rose from their surrounding tables. He couldn't take to the passage, because

The Shadow was there to stop him. Wildly flinging away the robe and headdress that cramped him, Greug

The mad dash only proved the case against the fearcrazed doctor. Guns blasted as he tripped from the edge

of the low platform. Amid excited cries from patrons, Greug flattened between the tables.

From the exit door, a squad of men surged upon the scene. They were the police who had come here

suspecting a publicity stunt, but taking no chances, none the less. If Greug had been a setup, so were his

Under the twinkly light, every Nazi follower in the place had declared himself by joining Greug's firing

squad. Still on their feet, smoking guns in their hands, they were marked as plainly as if they'd been waving

They took to the floor that Greug had left, hoping to reach the short passage that led back stage. Old

Twambley was no longer there; he'd crossed rapidly to his table, where he was tossing aside his cane,

No matter what his guise, The Shadow saw no reason to stay in the groove that police bullets were to follow.

Half of the swastika tribe hit the floor before they reached the passage. Others were clipped while dashing

through. Beyond, the mad wave of fleeing men was met head on by a threeman crew of Apaches, two in

They took their toll, Leo and his fellow Maquis. Still, there were Nazis surging onward, confident of escape,

He was there, his big guns ready. His muzzles pumped while snarling foemen were trying to tug their

triggers. The last of that murderous throng became a spent wave, plunging to its finish at The Shadow's feet.

From the blackened window that led out to his favorite ledge, came the departing laugh of The Shadow.

DICK WHITLOCK opened the curved top of the immense drum, thrusting its hinged sections outward. The

floor of the nightclub was deserted, as Dick expected it would be, from the way sounds had lessened.

A clever trick, this product of Greug's ingenuity, which he had performed as Karnak.

Only The Shadow had heeded the fact that the orchestra never used the huge drum that was moved out of the

way before Karnak's act began. Likewise he'd noticed and checked by the pictures that the instrument's

new position placed it just within the circle of incense jars that formed outlets for the steam pipes.

From the rope, the thing was plain. You looked down into the vortex of the surrounding steam, saw the drum

lift open, and tossed yourself right down inside it, while the jets still formed their curtain.

That was Abu's job and Dick had taken over. The drum had clamped shut when he landed on the actuating

lever in the bottom, the same lever that the steam pipes operated on the uptake.

Dick went back to the dressing room, found his clothes and put them on. Then he came out to see who else

They were in Irene's dressing room, talking it all over, the three Maquis who included the devil who could

now show his face, scar and all. It was Irene who gave the glad cry when Dick entered; then, halfsobbing,

halflaughing, she handed him a big jar of cold cream, so he could remove the dye that he'd forgotten was

"We didn't know what happened to you!" Irene exclaimed. "We almost thought that Karnak I mean Greug

"Only temporarily," returned Dick. "It was Greug who took the permanent treatment or did he?"

"We don't know," declared Leo, solemnly. "As one who played the devil, I give Greug his due. How many

bullets reached him" Leo shrugged, as though he couldn't tell "we may never know. But he picked up

those robes of his and staggered out, so they say, after the police came through."

"Nobody thought to stop him," added Irene. "He looked like a victim, not a killer. He went down in the

"Greug is still the devil. He could do anything. But come, mes amis. The lost has returned." He clapped Dick

"There is at my place, if Friedrich managed to get it. Stuff that came over on the Bretagne, when she made

The statement produced an effect that to Dick was totally unanticipated. Irene exclaimed the common

"The diamonds," declared Irene. "What did you think Friedrich intended to live on for the next twenty years?

"The diamonds came from Holland," explained Leo. "They were sent to Paris, when Amsterdam was

threatened. But of course, the Nazis knew that such would happen. The messenger was their man" Leo's

tone lowered sorrowfully "and an Apache. That was how we learned. We settled scores with him, but we

did not find the diamonds." "Neither did The Shadow," added Irene. "He arrived in Paris before the Nazis

were driven out and did much to prevent their taking loot. But the diamonds, three dozen of the finest, were

"Each worth a ransom," stated Leo. "Only Bouchard, the traitor, knew their hiding place. We disposed of

him, thinking we could learn from someone else. But no one knew; not even the men who hired Bouchard."

"The high Nazis behind Friedrich," specified Irene. "They have no other way of financing him, except with

Remembering Friedrich's deal with Jerry, done in Dick's own name and the thorough but unsuccessful search

that Friedrich had made of the furnishings from the Bretagne, Dick saw how the whole thing fitted. Bouchard

must at least have informed his Nazi sponsors that the Petite Salon was a clue to the riddle of the missing

When they reached the apartment, it was Irene who knocked at the door, prepared to lull Friedrich when he

answered it. The others were waiting in the background: Dick and Leo with guns; Pequin and Franchot

preferring their knives. A thick voice muttered: "Come in!" Then the door itself was hauled open, to reveal

Everybody went in, all at once, bowling Friedrich ahead of them. All about were opened champagne bottles,

on the tables, on the bar in the corner. Apparently Friedrich had poured out what he hadn't drunk, but there

Staggering to a couch, Friedrich looked at his visitors as though he didn't recognize them. He brushed some

champagne corks to the floor, leaned back against the cushions, and began to laugh crazily. His laugh began

to worry the listeners who halfsurrounded them; then Friedrich sobered suddenly.

At Friedrich's accompanying gesture, the group turned around. It was then that Dick recalled some mention

of the number "four" in the phone call which Friedrich had made to Greug, but which Dick thanks to Jerry's

Four members of Friedrich's elite guard who hadn't gone to the Starview Roof along with the rest. They'd

accompanied Friedrich to purchase champagne; they'd been drinking it with him, but divided proportionately,

"And now," snarled Friedrich, "tell us where those diamonds are. We can't find them in the champagne

Covered by the Nazi guns, Dick and the Apaches remained silent, their own weapons lagging in their hands.

Coming to his feet, Friedrich caught Irene's arm, flung her around and about, with a final thrust that staggered

"She'll be the first to go," promised Friedrich, "unless you answer my question."

"It's one we can't answer," stated Dick. "We came here hoping to ask you about it."

"And if you think you're threatening me," defied Irene, "you're only giving me a happy choice, compared to

the other plans you had. I talked my way out of Germany, by making you think your grand promises flattered

me." Irene paused, took another breath and laughed straight at Friedrich. "And I'm never going back there,

"No?" Friedrich's tone was vicious. "So you would rather die? I am glad to know that. I shall make better

plans for you; long term plans. But first" his tone rose to its hysterical pipe "those diamonds!"

Dick was ready to tighten his grip on the dangling gun, but Irene flashed a warning look to wait. It was a tight

spot, but still with hope, as long as the diamonds remained unfound. Then, breaking the tense silence that

held all nerves taut came a slow, dragging sound from the hallway; slow, ominous, like a death beat.

As all eyes turned, a ghastly figure dragged itself into the room. Clad in his heavy robes and headgear,

Karnak had returned. His bowed face lifting momentarily, he showed a dyed face streaked with bloodstains,

so distorted in expression that it no longer resembled the crisp countenance of Doctor Kurtz Greug.

Sagging to his elbows, this man who had clung to the last shreds of life, wormed across the floor. His fingers

plucked the tufted rug, then found something that bobbled away, only to be caught again.

The thing was a champagne cork; with fumbling fingers, Karnak began to twist it. Then, from the lowered

face came the deep intake of a triumphant hiss. The cork had unscrewed and from between its sections

popped the contents of a hidden cache, a brilliant, scintillating bauble the size of a child's marble.

With fiendish triumph, Friedrich put the prisoners to work, picking up corks and unscrewing their neatly

fitted caps. It was perfection in the art of smuggling, this concealment of gems that mounted to millions of

On the floor lay the man whose mind had guessed the forgotten secret, Karnak, silent in his robes, his

strength so spent in this final effort that death seemed his at last. As a knell for Kurtz Greug, the diamonds

were rattling on the table, while popping corks, handled by Friedrich personally, were bringing new mines in

And for the finish, Friedrich was pouring fresh glasses of the golden champagne to let his prisoners taste it as

a bitter fruit. With every cork accounted for, the diamonds piled in as amazing a heap of gems as the human

eye could wish, Friedrich ordered a toast, with a glare that signified his captives must drink.

Reluctantly the vanquished raised their glasses with the victors. The toast was drunk; it remained for

Friedrich to break the first glass. The future Fuehrer turned with a snarl, as someone usurped that prerogative;

Doctor Kurtz Greug had risen to drink the toast to himself. There he stood, in the full regalia of Karnak, as

though the champagne had been the elixir of life itself. Yet for a brief moment only did this new illusion

With a fling, the robes of Karnak were tossed from the shoulders that bore them. They revealed, instead, a

black cloak, shrouding a figure more limber than Greug's. The oversized headgear, in its turn, disclosed a

It was The Shadow who had borrowed these borrowed robes to produce the most startling climax of all this

strange series of adventures. He was here to take back the borrowed wealth that he had personally uncovered.

One against five, The Shadow still had the odds. Having deluded his enemies to the absolute, he was holding

them transfixed by the mere hypnotic influence of the jutting gun muzzles with which he covered the whole

Friedrich was the first to break. With one of his shrill screams, he sprang for the massed diamonds, hoping to

grab them during the melee. Dick went after his double with mad desire to prevent him from laying hands

upon those baubles. That broke the spell, but as Friedrich's followers sprang to action, The Shadow was

already among them, sweeping hard with his guns, beating down the weapons that they raised in return.

Leaving Irene in the comparative safety of her corner, Leo and the other Maquis rallied to The Shadow's

cause. Friedrich's men went reeling, helpless against the human tidal wave that came with its cloaked leader.

Tangled with Dick, who was struggling to gain his gun, Friedrich was calling for a last effort from his

followers. He wanted them to give their dying hands to the cause of their future Fuehrer, that he, that leader

They gave those followers, even as The Shadow and Leo withered them with the shots they deserved. They

used the old, sure formula of distinguishing between Friedrich and Dick. The man who clutched the disputed

gun with his right hand could only be Friedrich; the man who worked lefthanded must be Dick.

Of four bullets, three reached the mark. Dying men saw their target sprawl, the gun gripped in his left hand.

The Shadow recognized the ways of Friedrich Von Reichfrid; hence he had let the man's followers go

From the right hand of the figure on the floor spilled the hoard of diamonds. Friedrich had used his firmer

The Shadow had observed the clumsy result; had known that Dick's success with his own right hand, to

which he now gave proper preference, had been due to Friedrich's great mistake in thinking more of wealth

The weird laugh faded and with it, The Shadow was gone, merged with the blackness beyond the doorway,

Dick Whitlock heard that parting laugh. So did Irene Breslon, as she met the face of the man she loved and

recognized that only he could be Dick Whitlock. Those two and their friends, the Maquis.

But the ears of Friedrich Von Reichfrid were deaf to that victorious mirth, which proclaimed that the menace