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

CHAPTER I. SAN FRANCISCO NIGHT..............................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. FLIGHT IN THE FOG....................................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. DEATH TRAVELS EAST .............................................................................................8

CHAPTER IV. THE SHADOW SUBSTITUTES .................................................................................11

CHAPTER V. DOUBLECROSSERS .................................................................................................14

CHAPTER VI. DEATH AT DAWN .....................................................................................................18

CHAPTER VII. THE LONE CLUE ......................................................................................................22

CHAPTER VIII. THE CLUE REMAINS.............................................................................................26

CHAPTER IX. THREE ARE SUMMONED ........................................................................................29

CHAPTER X. DEATH ON THE SKYWAY ........................................................................................33

CHAPTER XI. CARDONA SEEKS FACTS ........................................................................................39

CHAPTER XII. THE HALTED CHASE ..............................................................................................42

CHAPTER XIII. CROOKS CONFER..................................................................................................46

CHAPTER XIV. THE DECISION ........................................................................................................50

CHAPTER XV. A MIDNIGHT VISITOR ............................................................................................54

CHAPTER XVI. THE NEXT NIGHT..................................................................................................58

CHAPTER XVII. CARDONA'S TRAIL..............................................................................................61

CHAPTER XVIII. FIFTEEN MINUTES ..............................................................................................66

CHAPTER XIX. THE SHADOW SURROUNDED .............................................................................69

CHAPTER XX. DOUBLE BATTLE ....................................................................................................73

CHAPTER XXI. THE CAPTURE........................................................................................................76

CHAPTER XXII. THE FINAL TRIUMPH..........................................................................................79

CHAPTER XXIII. THE SHADOW REWARDS ..................................................................................83

A squarebuilt young man came to his feet as he heard the bell boy's call. Striding across the hotel lobby, he

Miles Crofton nodded as he passed the boy a quarter. The bell hop turned smartly about and indicated a row

Miles Crofton sauntered to the booth. Stopping there, he looked quickly about; then entered and removed the

receiver from the hook. He gave his name to the switchboard operator. A click from the wire; a quiet voice

A pause. Then came a sinister tone, a whisper that held a strange reverberation as it quivered through the

The voice of The Shadow! An eerie tone that had caused grim men to falter; a whisper that was sinister, even

though it spoke but a single word. Miles Crofton's features tightened, then relaxed with an expression of

"Cruisers still near Hylap's," reported Crofton. "Tam Soak's watchers in the offing. No change since last

Crofton listened to the intonation that resumed. Steady words hissed through the receiver. Finally, The

Hanging up the receiver, the young man strode from the telephone booth. He headed for the door, gave a last

look at the lobby and continued on to the street. There he started briskly along the sidewalk, for the distance

of half a block. He slowed his pace, coming at last to a standstill in front of a darkened opening between two

Glancing back, Miles Crofton noted the marquee of the hotel that he had just left. Above the projecting roof

was an electric sign that flashed the name "Hotel Aldebaran." Crofton grinned. He had not registered at the

Raw, dank mist swept shroudlike about Crofton's shoulders. That fog was in from the Pacific; for this was

San Francisco. The open spot where Crofton stood held the ruined foundations of a building that had never

been rebuilt since the great fire. But off beyond, hazy through the swirl of sea fog, was the persistent orange

From one spot, only a few blocks distant, came a lower glare. That was Chinatown; and Miles Crofton's view

of those fogsifted lights was a reminder that time had come for action. For Miles Crofton, here in San

Francisco as an agent of The Shadow, had held important dealings with certain men who dwelt in the quaint

A TAXICAB was coming down the street. Its lights blinked from the fog; its tires sloshed along the

moistened thoroughfare. Miles Crofton stepped to the curb and delivered a hearty hail. The driver pulled up;

"Cut over past Chinatown," returned Crofton, gruffly, "then head for Telegraph Hill. I'll tell you where to

The cab started. Miles Crofton settled back in the rear seat. Crofton had come to the city, weeks ago, at The

Shadow's order. He had been delegated to remain in San Francisco as the appointed agent of a mysterious

chief. The Shadow, ever vigilant against crime, had needed a trusted man to serve in such capacity.

Soon after his arrival, Crofton had visited Tam Sook. This meeting had given him an important contact, for

Tam Sook was a crafty Celestial whose knowledge of San Francisco covered a much greater area than the

mere confines of Chinatown. Tam Sook was a friend of The Shadow; and he had promised to keep Crofton

A few days ago, the Chinaman had sent word of shady characters men who deserved suspicion, although

they had managed to dodge the law. Stealthy and slinking, they had chosen a focal point a residence on the

Crofton had visited the terrain. He had seen signs of prowlers. He had learned that the house was the

residence of Seton Hylap, a retired financier. Yet he had guessed no reason for the presence of the riffraff.

Seton Hylap, though a man of influence, was not enormously wealthy. His home, though large, was

Crofton had sent word to The Shadow. His chief had left New York by air. Tam Sook, meanwhile, had

cooperated in measures of stealth. Influential in his own quarter, Tam Sook had supplied Chinese watchers.

Craftily, these men from Chinatown were maintaining an outer cordon, ready to act should evil threaten the

The call that Crofton had so recently received was news that The Shadow had arrived at the San Francisco

airport. From now on, the period of vigil had ended. If something was wrong at Hylap's, the time had come to

His voice hoarse from the fogthickened night, Crofton gave a gruff order to the taxi driver. The cab changed

course; it labored on a steep incline. The cabby shifted to second gear in order to make the precipitous hill.

Half a block later, Crofton ordered him to stop. Alighting, The Shadow's agent paid the driver and stepped

IT was an ideal night for duty. Crofton was wrapped in fog and darkness before he had gone a dozen yards.

Crofton was proceeding shiftily. He intended to pass two thin groups of watchers: The Chinamen and the

Nothing disturbed his mission. Crossing a street at the middle of a block, Miles Crofton came within the

massive gloom of an old stone residence. Lower windows were but dimly lighted; the upstairs part of the

building was entirely dark. Treading carefully as he reached a flight of broad stone steps, Crofton ascended

and huddled in the darkness close to the large front door. Fumbling in the dark, he found a push button and

Footsteps sounded, barely audible. The door opened inward, but showed no light, for the vestibule was

darkened. Crofton saw the pallid face of a servant. Moving inward, he gave a friendly greeting that caused the

"Who who are you, sir?" queried the servant, his face startled and apprehensive. "I I had not been

"I've come to see Mr. Hylap," responded Crofton easily, as he drew a card from his pocket. "A matter of

important business. My name is Gwynn" he tapped the card as he handed it to the servant "and my

business is real estate. I have come to see Mr. Hylap regarding the purchase of some property."

The introduction was an apt one. Crofton had learned that Hylap was burdened with too much real estate.

Apparently the servant knew the same, for he nodded wisely and motioned the visitor to a chair.

CROFTON watched the servant waddle across the hallway, toward a door farther back and on the other side.

There the fellow stopped and rapped. A few moments passed; the door opened part way and a long, peaked

"Who is it, Sowbry?" questioned the man from within, his voice low, but nervous. "Some visitor to see Mr.

"Yes, Mr. Danning," nodded the servant. "A gentleman named Gwynn, here to see the master about real

"Impossible," returned Danning, with a shake of his head. "Mr. Hylap is resting. He does not want to be

"This may be important," protested Sowbry. "Only yesterday, Mr. Danning, I heard the master mention that

"Eavesdropping, eh?" Danning's interruption was a snarl. He swung fully into the hall. "I shall report you,

Sowbry. As for tonight, Mr. Hylap wants no visitors. As his secretary, I shall not allow "

This time it was Miles Crofton who offered interruption. He had risen from his chair; he was striding forward

"I have business here," interjected The Shadow's agent. "Since I have taken the trouble to come here, I feel

that it is up to Mr. Hylap to decide whether or not he intends to see me. I have no time to listen to petty

Danning shifted into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him. The secretary's nervous face showed

Crofton chuckled. He viewed the frail, longlimbed secretary and saw that the fellow was quivering with

consternation. Crofton turned abruptly toward Sowbry; considering the servant as an ally, he gave an order.

"Come, Sowbry," suggested Crofton. "You have my card. Enter your master's study and announce me."

"I shall be pleased to do so, sir," acknowledged the servant. "But Mr. Danning is blocking the way "

Another servant had appeared as Sowbry faltered. This fellow looked brusque and businesslike; his uniform

indicated that he was a chauffeur, who had probably been in the kitchen when he had heard the noise of the

argument. The arrival stepped up beside Sowbry; from his nod, his glare toward Danning, Crofton knew that

"So Danning is the obstacle, is he?" queried Crofton. "Well, Sowbry, I don't think that he will persist in

CROFTON took a step toward the secretary. With a wild cry, Danning leaped forward from the door,

thrusting his arms at Crofton's throat, beginning an unwarranted attack before The Shadow's agent had even

Crofton swung aside to avoid Danning's leap. He thrust out a brawny hand and clapped it hard against the

secretary's shoulder, giving a wide lunge with his arm. Danning spun around helplessly and sprawled to the

Unhurt, he whimpered and knelt cringing. Crofton gestured toward the door; Sowbry nodded solemnly and

A hysterical cry from Danning. With the servants, Crofton turned about. The three stood startled as they

viewed the insane bulge of Danning's eyes. Their faces showed alarm as they caught the glimmer of a

Frenzied, Danning had become a menace. Still intent to keep visitors from Seton Hylap's study, he had

brought a weapon into play. He was ready to shoot; ready to kill, should any man attempt to step across the

Danning fairly shrieked the words. Sowbry sidled along the wall; Crofton copied the action in the other

direction. Danning's glare fixed upon the chauffeur, now the most prominent of the trio whom he covered.

"You, too, Durfee!" ordered the secretary. "Get back from that door! All of you keep away from it! Far

The revolver wobbled slightly as Danning kept shifting it back and forth, making a semicircle that caused

The revolver was traveling with Danning's eyes. That was the fact that gave Crofton an opportunity. Sowbry

and Durfee were too alarmed to act; but Miles Crofton had faced situations of this sort before. His sinews

Crofton's leap was perfectly timed. It came at the instant when Danning's eyes had swung directly toward

Durfee, the farthest member of the trio. Danning did not hear the onrush; it was through nervousness that he

sensed it. Coming up from his crouch, the secretary tittered a cry and swung back toward Crofton.

DANNING was too late. The Shadow's agent was surging with full force. As Danning tried to aim his gun,

Crofton's right hand crisscrossed and clutched the secretary's wrist. Danning's finger pressed the trigger as his

hand went up. The revolver barked while pointing toward the ceiling. A bullet crackled deep into the plaster.

Danning's cry ended. Bowled backward, the secretary flattened to the floor. His head struck the upholstered

side of a chair; the blow half stunned him. Danning moaned as his fingers loosened. Crofton snatched up the

Rising above Danning's huddled form, Crofton looked toward Durfee and Sowbry. Then, as a gesture of

alliance, he extended the revolver to the chauffeur, who accepted it. That done, Crofton spoke briskly to

"You may announce me to Mr. Hylap," stated Crofton. "And when you do so, Sowbry, you can explain what

Crofton stepped forward as Sowbry opened the door. He saw the servant enter a small, lighted study room.

Crofton followed to the threshold. He heard a puzzled gasp from Sowbry. The servant was looking all about.

Crofton did the same. His face, too, showed perplexity, far Seton Hylap was not in the study.

"The the master has gone!" exclaimed Sowbry. "Of course of course he could have left while I was not

As if seeking an answer to his query, Sowbry stared past Crofton, toward the spot where Danning had fallen.

A sharp cry was Sowbry's next utterance. Crofton wheeled about; so did Durfee in the hall. They saw the

Danning had shown recuperation; coming up from the floor, the treacherous secretary was again showing

fight. Fiercely, he was springing forward to snatch the revolver from Durfee's hand.

MILES CROFTON acted instinctively. He shot his own hand to his pocket and yanked out an automatic that

he had brought with him on this mission. Gun in fist, he sprang forward to intervene.

At that instant, the door from the vestibule burst open. Into the hallway, shoulder to shoulder, came a trio of

huskies who brandished big revolvers. These were the riffraff whom The Shadow's agent had avoided when

Crofton stopped short, just outside the door of the study. With one arm, he hurled Sowbry back to safety.

Raising his gun, he shifted as he aimed pointblank for the invaders. Durfee had grappled with Danning; the

Shots roared simultaneously. Wild bullets zipped the plaster of the wall beside Crofton's shoulder. Leaping

invaders were coming forward to overwhelm this lone enemy. Crofton's automatic spoke along with the

One of his quick shots clipped a hoodlum's shoulder, for the invader staggered. But these three were not all;

there were others behind them. The next volley seemed slated to spell Crofton's doom.

Then came a mighty sound from the rear of the long, gloomy hall. It was the fierce cry of a strident mirth; a

proclamation of vengeance that made wouldbe killers swing with angry snarls. Backing that weird taunt,

blending with its echoes, issued the roars of new guns in the fray. The Shadow had arrived.

Invaders sprawled, firing vainly as they fell. Others dived for the doorway, flinging away guns in their mad

rush for safety. One alone persisted in wild shots toward that evasive, barely visible form. This rogue was

close to Crofton. With a jubilant cry, The Shadow's agent flung himself upon the fiendish raider.

As they sprawled, Crofton drove the gun's muzzle to the fellow's skull. Half groggy, the thug came up for

more, still clutching his revolver. As Crofton gave a grab for the man's wrist, someone sprawled beside him.

It was Durfee, downed by Danning's choking clutch. Hard upon that came Danning himself, fear forgotten in

Crofton lost his grip upon the groggy thug's wrist. He and Danning rolled in a mad grapple. A revolver

sounded a muffled bark as The Shadow sprang forward to enter the closerange combat. Danning groaned

and sank from Crofton's grasp. The groggy invader had shot his own ally. But now he was rising, that thug,

An automatic blasted its final stroke. The Shadow's shot singed an inch above Danning's sagging body. It

found the form of the thug who had aimed for Crofton. That wouldbe murderer sprawled upon the floor

Durfee had managed to crawl into the study. Sowbry dragged him farther and slammed the door. Weaponless,

these two men had found a place of safety, not realizing that they needed it no longer. Into the lull that

followed came the muffled tones of Sowbry's frantic voice. The servant was calling the police over the study

Eyes upward, Danning was coughing incoherent words. The Shadow was close beside the wounded secretary.

THE hissed word was a command. Danning's lips moved; they managed to eject gasped words. Mortally

"Mr. Hylap left," gulped Danning. "Left here a few hours ago. Going going East. Mountain Pacific new

Strength was spent. Danning's lips twitched; his glazed eyes bulged. The Shadow had gripped the man's

shoulders; he could feel Danning's body sag. The thug's bullet had completed its unintended work. Danning

From far out in the night came distant crackles of revolver fire. Fleeing men of crime had encountered the

From somewhere, a siren was delivering its faint whine. Police were already on their way. The Shadow's

gloved fist gripped Miles Crofton's shoulder. In obedience to his chief, the agent followed as The Shadow led

the way through this hallway where frustrated invaders lay silent beside Danning.

LATER, a plane took off from the fogfilled airport. Miles Crofton was at the controls of the swift ship,

rising for high altitude as he chose an eastward course. Visibility would be clear after the plane had cleared

The Shadow was aboard, resting silent in the cockpit. He had ordered his agent to pilot the plane; for Crofton

was a skilled aviator, and The Shadow was fatigued from the flight that had brought him to the Coast.

His plane was off to overtake the Typhoon, a swift streamlined limited train that had become the pride of the

Mountain Pacific Railroad. Through new flight in the fog, off to the clear atmosphere above the Sierras, The

Shadow was on his way to find Seton Hylap, the man in whose absence crime had struck.

FLOODLIGHTS bathed the airport at the little town of Falko. Located near the foothills of a towering

mountain range, this spot was of prime importance to transcontinental planes. Meeting place of air routes and

Hours had passed since The Shadow had left San Francisco. Miles Crofton, steady at the controls, had headed

the ship for Falko, hoping to reach the tiny town before the swift streamlined train that was traveling east on

Crofton had almost reached his goal; already eyes from the ground were viewing the lights that twinkled high

The plane made a rapid landing. Rolling along the ground, it came almost to a stop, then wheeled and taxied

toward a hangar. From the cockpit dropped a tall passenger who held a light suitcase in one hand. With the

other, he waved instructions to the pilot; then strode rapidly from the edge of the landing field, heading across

The arrival was just in time to make connection. Already, a gleaming headlight was whizzing into view from

beyond a curve. Then, into the lights of the railway station glided the Typhoon, a slithering, snakelike shape

Sliding doors opened. Passengers alighted from low steps and tramped the station platform. All of them were

planning to take planes that were due later; most of them looked about to find the direction to the airport.

There was one, however, a thickset man in gray overcoat, who needed no instructions. Coat collar turned

up; chin wrapped in a muffler, this individual strode past the others from the train and paced straight toward

THE SHADOW was just in time to spy that muffled passenger. A moment later the fellow was gone, too

Pausing on the platform, The Shadow glanced through darkness toward the airport. A small plane was visible,

moving forward, in preparation for a takeoff. It was obviously no commercial ship. Instinctively, The

Shadow linked this private plane with the muffled man who had departed from the station.

The conductor of the Typhoon was giving the final call. Forced to immediate choice, The Shadow delivered a

soft, whispered laugh; then boarded the train. Doors slid shut; the Typhoon glided from the station.

The Shadow gave no new evidence of curbed mirth as he walked into the club cafe that formed the

observation section of the Typhoon. He had recognized that the departing passenger might be a man who

needed watching; but he had gained no evidence that the muffled man was Seton Hylap. The Shadow's best

course was to take the limited, particularly since he had left a trump card at Falko.

The trump was Miles Crofton. A skilled agent in The Shadow's service, Crofton would allow nothing to slip

his notice. Still at the airport, Crofton would observe any passenger who took off in a private ship; hence The

The chances were still large in The Shadow's favor. Odds were that Seton Hylap had chosen to ride farther

east than Falko. The Typhoon was not due for another stop until it reached Ridgley, a station one hundred and

fifty miles east of Falko. All passengers would still be aboard at the next stop.

The Shadow seated himself by a window near the rear of the car. He rang for the porter and ordered

refreshments, then leaned back in his cushioned chair and smiled slightly as he stared at the blackness beyond

IT was long after midnight. Some passengers must have stayed up in order to leave the train at Falko; but

they were gone and all others had retired. Except for the porter, The Shadow was alone in this rear unit of the

A conductor entered the club car. He spied the tall passenger whom the porter was serving and approached to

collect tickets. The Shadow produced a wallet, extracted a stack of currency and paid his fare from Falko to

Chicago. The Pullman conductor arrived during the process; he prepared a receipt and assigned the new

The conductors took seats opposite The Shadow. They began to check off the tickets that they had collected.

Forgetting the passenger who was dining across the aisle, they entered into a discussion that concerned the

"Five hours from Falko into Ridgley," grumbled the railway conductor. "That's no better than the Eastern

"Only one hundred and fifty miles," observed the Pullman conductor. "It ought to be clipped to two hours

"Not quite. The grades would slack us a bit. But right at present it's the curves. We can't hit them at top

"They can't touch that stretch over the rise," the railroad man declared emphatically. "Not a chance of

changing it. The pike was laid for heavy hauls and that's how it will stay. Let's see" the railroad conductor

paused to speculate "fortyfive miles to the K and R junction that could be stepped up a bit.

"But from the Junction into Ridgley, the freights have it tough enough as is. That traffic still has rights, even

though we're trying to compete with airplanes. Any monkeying with the curves would play hob with the

"Couldn't be done. There's one bet, though." The railroad conductor leaned forward and spoke confidentially.

"You know the old K and R, don't you? Cuts off from the junction, goes through Altamont and terminates at

"Well, there's a rumor about," stated the railroad conductor. "I heard it for the first time when I was in Frisco

"No, for passenger service. There's going to be fortunes made out of high speed trains like this one. If the

"They'll be out of luck competing with the other transcontinental lines. Three hours lost is going to be plenty

THE railroad conductor gave his head another emphatic shake. He became silent as he counted through a

"Fellow getting off at the K and R Junction," he remarked. "Let's check this one. Where did you locate him?"

"Lower 8, Car 3," returned the Pullman conductor. "Charged him same fare as for a berth into Ridgley. No

"It's not a regular stop for any through train," mused the railroad conductor, "but we've got an agreement with

the K and R in case a stop is called for. Funny how that bird knew about it. First time any passenger ever

"He'd have been traveling on a pass if he was. No, sir, this chap was a straight fare. He said K and R; and

"Yeah. To Altamont, where the power dam is under construction. Like as not this fellow is switching to the

The conductor placed the ticket aside. He went on with his other details. Neither he nor the Pullman

conductor glanced across the aisle. The Shadow had completed his light repast. He was rising silently,

Walking forward, The Shadow passed the corner where the porter was dozing. He walked through the short

vestibule into the car ahead. This unit of the articulated train was the portion to which the Pullman conductor

had referred as "Car 3." The Shadow's unit was one ahead; but he did not continue on to Car 3.

Instead, he stopped at curtains that read: No. 8. This was the berth occupied by the passenger whom the

conductor had discussed the man who was due to leave the train at the K and R Junction.

The Shadow had learned much from the short conversation that he had overheard. He knew that the occupant

of this berth must be a man who had some unusual purpose. He could be no chance traveler, for he would not

The Shadow had deliberately passed by the muffled passenger who had alighted at Falko because he had

conjectured no reason for Seton Hylap leaving the limited there. Conversely, The Shadow was stopping at

The retired financier was close to affairs in San Francisco. It was quite probable he had learned of a deal that

CAREFULLY, The Shadow spread the curtains. Beyond them, he encountered a metal barrier; the berths of

these streamlined trains were equipped with such doors for passengers who chose to use them. The Shadow

slid one hand along the barrier. He found a slight space. The door was not fastened from the inside.

Smoothly, noiselessly, The Shadow slid the steel sheet open. His hand moved through the darkness; it found

a switch beside the window. Covering the little bulb of the berth lamp, The Shadow pressed the switch. His

palm covered the glow; carefully, he moved his hand sidewise, to let light trickle into the berth.

Keen eyes were staring toward the man whom they saw lying in the berth. The glow increased as The

Shadow continued the motion of his hand. Then, with suddenness, The Shadow removed his hand entirely.

The man in the berth was dead. The burning lamp revealed that fact in all its horror. Lying face upward, his

body half out from the blankets, the victim was staring toward the bottom of the berth above. The dead man's

The Shadow had seen such death before. He knew what had caused it. The victim had been poisoned; the

killer had taken no chances in making sure of certain death. The man had died amid fierce pangs that had

However the killer might have administered the dose, it was evident that he had made no visit here to view

his handiwork. That would have meant too great a risk; furthermore, two articles of clothing indicated that no

intruder had been here. These were coat and overcoat, both neatly hung on hangers, carefully buttoned from

CALMLY, The Shadow searched the pockets of both coats; he found only a handkerchief, a pack of

cigarettes and a pair of gloves. Through the cloth of the dead man's suit he could feel the slight bulge of a

wallet. The Shadow unbuttoned the coat and removed the object; then unfolded it in the light that filled the

Through the celluloid front of a pocket in the wallet, The Shadow viewed a photograph that matched the dead

man's face. An oldish countenance, wrinkled with lines, bluntnosed and thinhaired. On the same card was

The Shadow's search had ended with a thwarted mission. Death had gained its way before The Shadow. The

THE SHADOW had completed a brief examination of Seton Hylap's wallet. He then replaced the wallet and

Immediately after that action, The Shadow swung about to face the aisle. His action was timely; the porter

had appeared at the end of the car and was coming along the aisle. The Shadow's hand found the sliding door

of the berth and drew it shut. Then, as the limited lurched on a curve, he swung about to face the closed berth.

The porter, arriving, saw stooped head and shoulders as The Shadow closed the curtains. He mistook The

"Just coming to give you a call, suh," informed the porter, thinking that he was speaking to the occupant of

the berth. "We're due at the junction in 'bout twentyfive minutes. Ah'll get your suitcase, suh. Right from

As the porter pulled a small dress suitcase into view, The Shadow reached down to take it from his hand. He

spoke in a voice that was slightly querulous, a tone that might well have fitted an elderly traveler like Seton

"I'll carry the bag, porter," informed The Shadow. "I intend to go back to the observation car. My overcoat is

back there and I have nothing to pack. Do not disturb this berth, however. I might decide to return."

With that, The Shadow thrust a dollar bill into the hand of the rising porter. Turning about, he walked toward

That role of Hylap had to be dropped, however, when The Shadow entered the club car. The conductors were

Just inside the club car was a little writing desk. The Shadow saw the attendant, dozing on the opposite side

of the aisle. He stowed Hylap's suitcase beneath the writing desk. That done, The Shadow awakened the

"Another cup of coffee," ordered The Shadow, quietly. "Bring it back to my chair."

FIVE minutes later, the conductors arose. As soon as the conductors were gone, The Shadow rang for the

porter and told the man to bring the suitcase that he had left beneath the writing table. The porter obeyed, a

He had not recalled two bags coming aboard with this passenger. The porter found the bag, however, and

brought it to The Shadow. As soon as the attendant had left, The Shadow opened Hylap's suitcase.

Except for a few articles of clothing, the only item in Hylap's bag was a timetable of the K and R Railway.

The Shadow perused the pages of the schedule. He discovered that a local was due to leave the K and R

Junction about fifteen minutes after the Typhoon would arrive there. There was only one station of

consequence on its route. That was the town of Altamont, where the local's run ended.

The timetable listed names of officials of the K and R Railway. The president and general manager was

Gifford Barbridge. His office address was Altamont. That town was obviously headquarters for the K and R.

That fitted with facts that The Shadow already knew concerning the jerkwater line that paralleled the

The K and R Railway had but one present reason for existence. It served the town of Altamont, which had

become important because of a new power development. The K and R afforded transportation for supplies

Seton Hylap had been on his way to Altamont. He could not have intended a visit to the officials of the

Altamont Power Company, for they were located in Chicago and New York. Obviously, his purpose had been

to meet someone who represented the K and R Railway, probably Gifford Barbridge.

Seton Hylap was dead, however. The Shadow had gained no clue as to how the deed had been done; but he

did have an idea of its purpose. The murderer of Seton Hylap had wanted to keep the financier from meeting

HYLAP'S death, however, was not the only mystery. Tracing back, The Shadow found contradictions in the

happenings at San Francisco. First Hylap's house had been surrounded by potential killers; yet none had

attempted to stay Hylap's departure from his home. The combination was paradoxical.

Next was the case of Danning, Hylap's secretary. Danning had tried to keep Miles Crofton from entering

Hylap's study. On the face of it, that would have indicated Danning to be a protector of his master. But

Crofton's discovery of an empty room had proven that Danning had played a bluff.

Last, the actions of the crooks had shown that they were with Danning, not against him. The secretary's death

had been an accident so far as the hoodlum raiders were concerned. The Shadow could see the answer now. A

weakling, the secretary had succumbed to bribery. Danning had let Seton Hylap travel East to doom which

With Hylap dead, The Shadow's present course was a single one. Hylap was expected in Altamont. It would

be morning before the porter would discover Hylap's body. The law would institute an investigation in San

Francisco; days would elapse before investigators would decide that the trail might lead to Altamont.

Therein lay The Shadow's advantage. By arriving at Altamont as soon as possible, he could study conditions

there and gain an answer before the law was on its way. Seton Hylap had intended to go to Altamont; in the

dead man's place would be a substitute, but an unexpected one. That substitute would be The Shadow.

Minutes alone remained before the dieselpowered limited would make its stop at the K and R Junction, the

The Shadow's course was plain. Rising, he picked up his own satchel; in its place he put the flat suitcase that

had belonged to Seton Hylap. Strolling past the unwatchful porter, The Shadow placed his own bag by the

THE speed of the Typhoon began to slacken smoothly. The Shadow strolled back and again aroused the

porter. He remarked that he was getting off at the junction. The porter nodded; the conductor had told him

Lights blinked beyond the blackened window as the Typhoon glided to a stop. The glimmers of a station

platform; the dull illumination of the depot itself; beyond that the glare from the headlight of a locomotive

that was waiting on another track. The porter joined The Shadow. Sleepily, he slid open the car door just as

Picking up his bag, The Shadow brushed by the porter as the man stepped to the station platform. The porter

turned to look for luggage; then saw that the passenger was carrying a grip close to his body. The conductor

then came back through Car 3, to learn from the porter of that car that the passenger from Lower 8 was in the

Reaching the door that the club car attendant had opened, the conductor saw a hunchedup figure striding

away from the train. He asked the sleepy attendant if that was the passenger for the junction. The reply was

an affirmative. Swinging to the platform, the conductor waved to a brakeman who had stepped from a front

Both clambered aboard. Doors slid shut; the Typhoon slid forward. Gathering speed, the streamlined limited

bent fantastically as it reached a curve. Seconds later, its rear lights had twinkled out of sight. The Shadow's

ruse had worked completely. Individually, conductor and porters had believed that the right passenger had

Had Seton Hylap been alive to leave the Typhoon, his first act would have been to enter the station waiting

room and buy a ticket for the K and R local. The Shadow, however, had no such intention. He had stepped to

Depot loungers had come over to learn why the Typhoon had stopped; but the limited had left too soon for

them to make inquiry. None had seen the alighting passenger. Later, should investigation be made, there

Conductors and porters of the Typhoon would swear that a passenger had alighted. People at the station

would declare they had seen no one; furthermore, the crew of the K and R local would testify no stranger had

Stooping in the darkness, The Shadow extracted blackened folds of cloth from his satchel. Gloves encased his

hands; then two fingers grasped automatics. Next, the bag itself flattened and spread out like a knapsack.

Then The Shadow affixed it to his back, and the satchel had become an untroublesome burden.

GLIDING from darkness, The Shadow headed toward the K and R local, reached the second baggage car,

then followed it to the coupling. Rising upward, The Shadow huddled into a fixed position between the cars.

Minutes passed. The conductor gave the cry of "All aboard!" Last to ascend the steps of the passenger car, he

pulled the bell cord. With bell clanging, the K and R local started its run to Altamont. With it rode an unseen

passenger. The Shadow was heading forth to learn the cause of murder, his purpose to thwart the schemes of

crooks. But even now, while The Shadow was riding blindbaggage on the K and R, crosspurposes were

still at work. New and insidious crime was in the making, beyond The Shadow's reach!

MOUNTAIN blackness spangled with twinkling lights. Such was the town of Altamont as viewed from the

platform of the railroad station. Small though the place was, it seemed to maintain an allnight vigil. Dawn

Men were on the station platform, huskies who were garbed in flannel shirts, with khaki trousers tucked into

the tops of high boots. They were clustered beneath a glow of light, exchanging jests, these early workers

A ruggedfaced man stepped up to the platform. Firmjawed and coldeyed, he looked over the chatting

group. Better dressed than the other men, he appeared to be someone of authority. His arrival brought

"Running about ten minutes late, Mr. Barbridge," replied one of the men. "She ought to make it up, though."

Barbridge grunted. He produced a pipe and pouch. He stuffed tobacco into the pipe and dug some matches

"Thought maybe he could've come in by plane. There was a ship went over here about half an hour ago."

"Couldn't tell. It passed the brow of the hill up yonder, where the emergency field is located. I couldn't see it

Barbridge lighted his pipe and puffed furiously. He shrugged his shoulders; then spoke in a casual tone:

"If anyone asks for me, tell him I'm in the temporary office. I expect some friends of mine to come in on

THIS instruction given, Barbridge strode across the tracks and took to a muddy road that ran close to the

railway. His course carried him straight toward the blackened hillside that the man on the platform had

mentioned. The rails veered somewhat in the opposite direction. By the time that Barbridge had covered a

Coming to a darkened building, Barbridge produced a key and fumbled for a lock. He opened a door and

stepped into an empty room. He pressed a light switch to reveal a little office with shuttered windows. The

Barbridge pressed another switch. A large incandescent glowed outside the crude frame building. The rugged

Stepping back into the office, Barbridge closed the door but did not bolt it. From off of the hillside, directly

behind the shack came a muffled blast, one that made the crude building quiver. Barbridge grunted.

The night shift was finishing with a series of blasts before the day men came to work. A second roar of

Ensuing silence; Barbridge closed the shutter. He turned as he heard an unexpected sound. It was a rapping at

a side door of the temporary office building. Barbridge stroked his chin; then went to the door and opened it.

BARBRIDGE watched the arrival remove coat and muffler. He found himself staring at a visitor whom he

did not recognize. The newcomer was thickset; his face formed the shape of a square. Sallow in the light,

the man's features were not pleasant. The smile that he delivered revealed jutting, fanglike teeth.

"Dropped in to see you," returned the stranger, his voice a smooth purr that did not fit his expression. "You

are Gifford Barbridge, aren't you? President and general manager of the K and R?"

Barbridge watched the fangtoothed man sit down in a chair beside the desk. Zullick's grin persisted; again

"Saw the light out front," he chuckled. "That's why I came around to the side door."

Barbridge, seating himself behind the desk, said, "But that doesn't answer my question. What's your business

"Let's talk turkey," suggested Zullick. "First of all, Barbridge, I'm going to state some facts that I know. After

"All right," agreed Zullick. "Here's the situation. You're president and general manager of the K and R. Up

until a short while ago, you had a lemon on your hands and a bad one. This jerkwater line was in the red, just

"You had dough tied up in the K and R. You knew the road needed something more than a stuffedshirt

president who spent his time behind a mahogany desk. That's why you came up here and made yourself

ZULLICK'S tone was not uncomplimentary. The man's smoothness had a note of persuasion; at the same

"You saw a good proposition," continued Zullick, "and you grabbed it. A deal with the Altamont Power

Company to handle their business and to use their juice to electrify your line. You landed a swell break on the

contract, too. But it meant laying new tracks, building sidings along the hill. That called for cash.

"The Altamont Power loaned you the dough half a million to be paid back in five installments, They let

"And your railroad is in hock. If you don't come through with the whole amount on a specified date, you lose

Zullick paused. Barbridge had unclenched his fists; he was drumming the top of the desk.

"The Mountain Pacific may want the K and R," purred Zullick. "If they do, they'll pay plenty. It might mean

"They'll still pay. Not to you, but to the Altamont Power. What's more, they'll pay more than they'd pay you,

"No racket," was the smooth reply. "Just a suggestion. An easy one, too. Let the works slide, Barbridge. Let

the Altamont Power get what they want. Nobody can blame you; it would look all right. Just forget the

stockholders of the K. and R; and pull in a cool bonus of one million dollars for yourself."

"So that's it!" Barbridge came to his feet; his glare was savage. "You're the undercover man for the

Altamont Power! I knew they were in on the dirty deal that I've been getting! Trouble with the workers;

mistakes that took days to correct; anything, everything that caused delay and cost money! Zullick, I'll give

you my answer! I'll make no deal with the crooks you represent; and when I see them personally, I'll give

"You'll never find the men you want, Barbridge," Zullick assured, in his suave tone.

"It doesn't matter who they are," challenged Barbridge. "I've beaten them already. They will have their half

"Unless," supplied Zullick, "is a good word. In this case, it means you've won out unless your angel fails to

show up. You're waiting for him right now; Seton Hylap, due in on your jerkwater local. Well, Barbridge,

"Let me tell you a few facts. You wrote to Hylap and arranged a deal with him. He was to lend the half

million at interest, and with it a flock of loose shares of K and R stock. A big profit for Hylap when the

"But Hylap had a secretary a fellow named Danning who didn't mind telling me all he knew. I paid him

for the information; and I watched him at the same time. I've been keeping a strongarm squad around

"Danning did all that was required. Kept me posted on the details. Destroyed all the letters that you wrote to

Hylap. Danning did that right after Hylap left his home this afternoon. My squad was posted to let Hylap

"Danning was rather short on nerve, so I didn't take any chances. Yes, Barbridge, Seton Hylap left aboard the

Typhoon, intending to get off at the K and R Junction. But I was aboard the train with him."

"You you threatened him?" stammered Barbridge. "Made him go on, while you while you took his

"Not exactly," leered Zullick. "I left the limited at Falko. I had a plane waiting; I flew in here. My ship is still

up at the emergency landing field. No" Zullick paused to deliver an insidious chuckle "I didn't have to

talk to Hylap, but I fixed him so he'll never be around to arrange his deal with you. There won't be anyone

BARBRIDGE had come to his feet. His face showed fierce understanding. His hands were gripping the edge

of the desk. He knew the significance of Zullick's coldblooded statement. Barbridge's voice rose in

"You murdered Hylap!" denounced the railroad president. "I understand your innuendo. Hylap cannot come

Zullick threw a nervous glance in that direction, then rose to his feet. The door swung open.

Barbridge never looked toward the door. Instead, he yanked open the drawer of his desk and jerked forth a

revolver. Pointing the .38 straight toward Zullick, the railroad president gave the command:

Zullick complied promptly. This time it was Barbridge who chuckled as he shot a glance toward the door and

saw the ungainly, hardfaced man who had entered. Still covering Zullick, the railroad president spoke:

"Close the door Findlay." Then as the hardfaced man complied, Barbridge added to Zullick: "This is one

man you couldn't reach, Findlay, my special supervisor. He's one of the loyal workers who made your rats dig

"This man is a murderer," informed Barbridge. "He is going to pay the penalty for the crime that he has

practically admitted. I'll watch him, Findlay, while you go out and spread the word. I want you to bring "

Barbridge's sentence ended as a husky form hurtled hard upon the railroad president. The attacker was

Findlay, springing in while Barbridge's attention was centered on Zullick. A rough fist landed on Barbridge's

rugged jaw. The revolver clattered to the floor; Barbridge sprawled and tried vainly to rally against this

Then Zullick leaped forward. His pounce ended Barbridge's resistance. The two attackers subdued the

railroad president; then hoisted him, limp and overwhelmed, into the chair behind the desk.

Half groggy, Barbridge opened his eyes; he was staring into the muzzle of his own revolver; the gun was

gripped in the fist of Findlay. Zullick was leaning upon the front of the desk, a sneer upon his ugly

"Let me make the introduction," jeered the crook. "This man's name isn't Findlay. It's Ramsted they call

him "Soup" Ramsted, because he knows plenty about blowing safes. He was just the fellow we wanted here.

A fellow with his talent could fit in with your blasting crew. Of course, you didn't wise to his racket. His job

Gifford Barbridge groaned groggily from his chair. Doublecrossers had sprung their trap; and Barbridge

Foy Zullick gave the order harshly. His suave purr was no longer evident. While "Soup" kept Barbridge at the

gun point, Zullick started his search of the desk. He calmly fished out a stack of correspondence, went

"These are all that Hylap wrote," sneered Zullick. "Danning slipped me the copies, so I know. Well, old

Barbridge was staring coldly, though bound. Zullick observed Barbridge's expression. The crook knew that

The crook's tone was significant. It meant that death could be his only verdict. Barbridge remained

"I wish there was still an out for you," spoke Zullick, resuming his cultivated purr. "Not because I mind

croaking you, Barbridge, because I don't. But nobody's ever going to lay the Hylap job on me. I don't leave

Before the safe cracker could reply, a new sound reached the ears of the three men. It was the distant whistle

of a locomotive, blaring from beyond the bend. The K and R local was approaching Altamont.

A sudden expression showed on Barbridge's face. It was halfhope, half anxiety. Zullick spotted it; his grin

"So that's it," he said smoothly. "You still think that maybe I've been bluffing about Hylap? Well, I'm going

to give you a break. I'll wait until that local pulls in. I'll let you see for yourself that Hylap doesn't show up.

Then maybe you won't be so independent. That offer of a million bucks may look good enough then to take."

Again the whistle. Zullick leered wolfishly. Barbridge remained cold in expression; but Soup Ramsted began

"It's mighty close to dawn, Foy," remarked the dynamiter. "The day shift's due to go on inside half an hour.

You're going to put us in a bad spot. I've got some of the night crew all set the way you wanted them. What's

"We'll wait until the local comes in," retorted Zullick, his tone a sudden rasp. "Don't get jittery, Soup.

Barbridge knows the proposition. He'll have about three minutes to make up his mind, after he's sure that

BOASTFUL, hardened to crime, Zullick intended to show Barbridge that he had made no bluff concerning

Hylap. The crook's quirk seemed to strengthen his game; not balk it. Actually, the delay was a timely one

for Barbridge. Rescue was aboard that rattling local. A superfighter had neared his goal. Hylap was not

Chance, however, was due for a sudden change. Crooks had chosen their course; their intended victim was

the one who was to alter it. As the stopping local blared for the final crossing, a surge of thoughts drove

A double murder! The thought was overwhelming to Barbridge. He pictured Hylap believing him still alive

walking into this very trap. He could fancy Zullick chuckling as he and Soup performed a double killing.

Thoughts of his own danger had not inspired Barbridge to action; but his imagination concerning Hylap did.

WITH a fierce cry, Barbridge launched himself forward, squarely upon Soup. Zullick snarled as he leaped in

to intervene. Barbridge had caught Soup's wrist; the henchman was going down beneath his drive. Then, as

Zullick arrived to wrestle with the grapplers, a muffled report sounded from the floor.

Barbridge's body went limp in Zullick's grasp. The railroad president rolled upon his back. Soup, his gun still

smoking, came up on hands and knees to stare at the body. Zullick delivered a triumphant snarl.

"You've croaked him, Soup," rasped the crook. "Well, that ends the argument. He thought I was bluffing

"Weren't you?" queried Soup, coming to his feet. "Say, Foy, I was thinking that maybe "

"You're as goofy as Barbridge," interrupted Zullick. "Sure I croaked Hylap. Dosed his coffee while he was

"Sure thing," acknowledged Soup. "We'd better scram by that side door, Foy. Listen I'm pulling out with

you. I've got it fixed so it won't look phony. I'm supposed to have left for another job."

Zullick nudged toward Barbridge's body as he spoke. Soup nodded. Zullick motioned toward the side door.

Together the murderers made their way from the shack. They ducked to the rear of the office shack and

The locomotive of the local was clanging its bell as the train jolted slowly into the station. Faint dawn had

streaked the sky; the loungers at the depot were looking over the cars as the train rolled in. But they saw no

The Shadow had dropped from the train just after it had made the final crossing. From his perch between cars

AS he approached the front of the building, The Shadow could not see the door on the side, due to a slight

angle of his course. He had failed to witness the departure of Zullick and Ramsted. The Shadow then reached

The door was unlocked. The Shadow opened it and entered. He saw Barbridge's body immediately. He

stooped to examine the dead man's form. The Shadow could smell the pungent aroma of powder. One bullet

only had slain Gifford Barbridge. The shot had been fired only a few minutes before.

The halfopened drawers of the desk showed that the office had been rifled. The bolted front door was proof

that the killers had left by the side. Though he had arrived too late; The Shadow still had opportunity to pick

He understood why Barbridge had been here; why the light was on at the front of the building. An

But as he studied Barbridge's dead body, The Shadow recognized that certain facts needed explanation. The

killers must have known that Hylap was dead; that no one was coming promptly to the office. They had still

possessed opportunity to cover up their crime, either by removing Barbridge's body or by making the death

The answer came in the form of silence. The Shadow's mind had the precision of clockwork; as he studied

Barbridge's form he expected a sound which did not arrive. A new time blast was due from the slope. None

To an ordinary investigator that might have meant simply that the night shift had ended its duty. But to The

Shadow, it meant more; he knew that silence and inactivity could often carry grim foreboding.

Without an instant's hesitation, The Shadow yanked open the front door of the shack. He leaped out into the

light; with long, swift bounds he sprang away into the increasing glow of dawn. He had traveled a full fifty

A TERRIFIC roar shook the hillside directly in back of the office shack. Accompanied by a volcanic spew of

flame, the thunderous roar hurled forth a huge area of soil and rock directly above the doomed building.

The Shadow flattened to the ground, dropped by the concussion. Staring upward, he saw the hillside loosen

its huge burden. A mammoth landslide deluged the office building, shattering the crude shack and burying it

As the echoes of the thunder ended, the shouts of men arose. The cries came from the station, where glass had

crackled from the windows of the standing train. Witnesses had viewed the havoc of what they had taken for

The Shadow arose, unsteadily. His tall figure was plain against the whitened mass of tumbled rock which

caught the direct rays of the rising sun. Shouts announced that he had been discovered. Mistaken workers had

instantly connected the presence of this phantom figure with the overwhelming crash that had buried

They knew that the railroad president must be dead. They thought that The Shadow was responsible. Ready

revolvers crackled as loyal men sought vengeance on the tall intruder who had appeared so suddenly upon the

Shots were wide; but The Shadow had no time to tarry. Vengeful men were closing in; his only course was to

leave without attempt at explanation. Swinging across the space toward the railroad, The Shadow brought

forth automatics and opened a return fire. His fire was wide, for he had no quarrel with these men.

A chugging sound caused The Shadow to turn. A tiny car was coming around the railroad bend. Three track

walkers were aboard the gasoline car, following the local into Altamont. A whispered laugh escaped The

Shadow's lips as he whirled about and swung toward the crossing. He had found the means of departure that

Revolvers barked as new pursuit began. The Shadow sent back a brace of shots, purposely wide. The gasoline

car coasted to a stop. Its alarmed occupants were looking past the darkened ground over which The Shadow

sped. Their attention was centered upon the horde of pursuers who were coming toward the tracks.

The Shadow swung up suddenly from a low embankment. He delivered a fierce laugh of challenge as he

As The Shadow bounded upon the end of the car, two men dived to the right of way, fearful of the looming

The last man leaped forward to put up a fight. He encountered The Shadow; the cloaked arrival sent him

sprawling to the ground beside the tracks. Grasping a lever, The Shadow put the car into reverse. Rising, he

delivered a last round of high shots over the heads of the running men who were nearing the tracks.

REVOLVERS crackled; spent bullets dug into the ties of the railroad track. The gasoline car was rolling

away, the space increasing between The Shadow and those who had given chase. Aided by the downgrade,

Past the bend, speeding through the dawn, The Shadow saw something that no others could arrive in time to

observe. From behind the brow of the hill, an airplane was rising from a low plateau.

Murderers were on their way. They had buried the evidence of crime. Crushed beneath the ruins of his office,

mangled beyond recognition, the body of Gifford Barbridge might never be found. If it should be uncovered,

the chances were that no one would learn that the president had been shot before the hillside had tumbled

An airplane had come in from the night. It had left at dawn. Its arrival and departure were known to but one:

The Shadow. Murderers had covered their trail; temporarily they were free, while The Shadow was sought as

That situation soon would change. His own dilemma ended, The Shadow would seek a new trail to some lair

that harbored men of crime. Alone, aboard the speeding track car, The Shadow delivered his grim laugh of

THIRTYSIX hours had passed. It was early evening in Chicago. The Midwest metropolis lay glittering with

myriad lights, its mighty buildings undisturbed by chill winds that whistled inshore from waveswept Lake

Viewed from the window of a room in an antiquated hotel, the city seemed lacking in menace. Half a dozen

stories below, an elevated train was curving lazily as it swung about the loop, the lights of each car blinking

Beyond were the gleaming headlamps of automobiles on Michigan Boulevard, toylike sparkles that continued

in ceaseless procession. Even farther off were quivering glows that betokened vessels on the blackness of the

Yet to Miles Crofton, standing by the window, these sights were scarcely noticeable. The Shadow's agent was

tense, listening while he waited. Only four feet away was a closed door that connected with an adjoining

A buzz sounded from the side of Crofton's bed. Quickly, The Shadow's agent sprang across the room and

picked up the telephone. He had fixed the bell so it would not even give a stifled ring.

His problem now was to keep his voice unheard. Crofton settled that by carrying the telephone into a closet

just beyond the bed. Closing the door after him, he spoke in a low but steady tone.

A whisper answered. Eerie though it sounded; the words were plain. The Shadow was on the wire. Crofton

spoke tensely, his utterances but brief corroborations of facts which The Shadow apparently already knew.

From a suitcase, The Shadow's agent produced an automatic. He thrust it into his coat pocket, flattened the

cloth so the gun did not show; then stepped to the door. Cautiously, he emerged into the hall. His own room

There he stopped to listen again. A bell was ringing inside the room; a partly opened transom gave clarity to

the sound. Crofton heard someone move about; then the occupant of 712 began to speak in an undertone.

"Hello..." The voice was a bit strained. "Sure thing, Finger... Yes, I'm all ready. Just been waiting to hear

from you... What's that? The car will be waiting for me? Good... Sure, I'm glad to save taxi fare...

"No, no, I'm not worrying any longer... Sure, I must have been goofy... Yeah, I saw the evening newspapers...

Sortta clear things up, don't they? All right, Finger... Sure. All I've got to do is call the porter and check out

Crofton heard the receiver click. He placed his hand upon the knob of the door and gave a slow turn. The

door was unlocked. Carefully, Crofton entered, his right hand ready at his pocket. Just inside the door, he

stopped to observe the stooped form of a man who was strapping a large suitcase.

Crofton closed the door just as the fellow finished his task. He saw the man reach for the telephone, to make

his call for the porter. It was then that Crofton gave audible sign of his arrival, by reaching backward and

THE man whirled about, away from the telephone. Crofton saw a pale but wellfeatured face. He caught the

gleam of startled eyes. The occupant of 712 gave a hoarse gasp; then stood riveted. Crofton advanced slowly

"Your name is Jolles, isn't it?" questioned The Shadow's agent. "Newell Jolles?"

The man hesitated; then nodded. His fists were half clenched; they loosened suddenly as he saw Crofton's

fingers dip into the right coat pocket beneath them. Jolles delivered another gasp.

"I I haven't done anything," he stammered. "If if you're a dick, you don't want me. Honest "

Jolles complied. His fingers plucked nervously. Crofton stretched out his left hand and drew up a chair. He

"My name is Crofton," he stated. "Miles Crofton. Don't worry; I'm not a dick. Here this will explain."

He reached into a vest pocket and produced a card. He extended the pasteboard to Jolles, who studied it, then

"I flew a ship out of Falko two nights ago," remarked Crofton, casually. "the same night you were there. I

landed just before you took off. I learned who you were and found out later that you were in Chicago.

Jolles began to twitch his lips. His restlessness had returned. He chose to listen, however, as Crofton

"A friend of mine just landed at the airport," resumed Crofton. "I had left a message there for him. He called

me up; I made sure about something that I'd looked into when I was out there. I came to ask if you were

"That ship went out this afternoon," declared The Shadow's agent. "You're flying it no longer, Jolles. What's

"Why Finger told me," began Jolles in excitement that ended with a sudden correction. "A friend told me that

Jolles hesitated. Crofton was shaking his head; the gesture was emphatic. Jolles could not help but believe the

"Tell me about that trip from Falko," suggested Crofton. "Why did you make a landing near a place called

JAW set, with nervousness curbed, Jolles picked up the telephone. Crofton lighted a cigarette and sat back in

his chair while the aviator got the airport on the wire. In brief conversation, Jolles corroborated Crofton's

"You're right, Crofton!" exclaimed Jolles. Then, in a worried tone: "This business looks bad. It's worrying

me; because I was scheduled to fly down to Kansas City. You look like a fellow who is on the level, Crofton.

"That's what I've come to ask you," grinned Crofton. "I saw you take off from Falko. Later, a friend of mine

reported seeing your ship take off at Altamont. He called me by long distance. I'm here to find out about that

"He had nothing to do with that explosion at Altamont," declared Jolles, nervously. "Look at this evening

newspaper. They're after a fellow who made a getaway on a gasoline railroad car."

"I know all that, Jolles. I also know that they are on the wrong trail. The man responsible for that Altamont

business was your passenger. What's more" Crofton took the newspaper that Jolles had picked up "your

passenger did this job. It wasn't any suicide; no mysterious person who left the Typhoon at the K and R

Junction figured in the death of Seton Hylap. The murderer, Jolles, was the man who joined you at Falko!"

Crofton was pointing to a photograph of Hylap. A newspaper story told of the financier's mysterious death

aboard the streamlined limited. Hylap's body had been discovered in the morning; the authorities were

investigating, but they had seen no apparent link between the death of Seton Hylap and that of Barbridge.

Jolles gaped as he heard Crofton's denunciation. A look of fear showed on the aviator's face. Crofton

JOLLES gulped and nodded. He had trouble finding his voice but finally managed it.

"I've been flying private ships," explained the aviator. "Out of Chicago, mostly. Carried some retired

racketeers at different times. Fellows who thought they were big shots in their day; some of them still have

"Finger Lurbin was along on one trip. He's a tough egg who's in wrong in New York; but that doesn't keep

him from going back there. In fact, he's not in Chicago often. But he was here about a week ago; that's when

"I was to fly to Falko and stay there. I was to get word when a friend of Finger's was coming through; to pick

the fellow up and follow his instructions. Finger assured me there was nothing phony about it; and Finger

"I picked up the passenger in Falko, two nights ago," resumed Jolles. "Couldn't see his face; he was all

muffled up. As soon as I took off, he shoved me a note, telling me to head for the emergency landing field

"I heard blasting on the hill while I waited for the fellow to come back. Last of all, that big blast the

newspapers spoke about. Right after that, this passenger of mine showed up, another muffled man with him.

"They left me at the local airport," returned Jolles. "But Finger Lurbin was here when I arrived; he knew I

stopped here at the Coliseum Hotel. Told me to keep my trap shut, Finger did; I was to fly to Kansas City

"Reading the newspapers made me think there was nothing wrong after all. I was just starting down to meet

"Finger Lurbin has you slated for the spot. He wants to put you where you'll never have a chance to squeal."

Jolles paled. He sank back in his chair, gulping. Miles Crofton picked up the telephone and called for the

porter. Calmly, he hoisted the bags that belonged to Jolles and carried them to the hall.

The porter arrived almost immediately; Crofton ordered him to get the bag in 714 and send all three suitcases

to the airport by taxi. He tendered the porter a fivedollar bill; then went back into 712. He found Jolles

"Buck up," snapped Crofton. "You've shot square, Jolles. I'm getting you out of the mess. Our bags have

started out to the airport. We'll head there in another cab. My ship's waiting; we'll fly it to Frisco."

"We will?" Jolles looked up, hopefully. "You'll keep me out of sight, Crofton, so Finger won't get me?"

"He'll never know where you are," assured The Shadow's agent. "Come along" he clapped Jolles on the

JOLLES arose and gripped Crofton's hand. The aviator started to speak; suddenly he gulped and tried to point

straight ahead. Miles Crofton wheeled about; then became rigid. The door of 712 had opened; on the

The center of the trio was a glowering ruffian whose face showed malice. Miles Crofton needed no word of

introduction to this leader of the intruders. The man in the doorway was "Finger" Lurbin.

Wondering at the delay made by Newell Jolles, Finger had come to seek the man whom he had slated for the

spot. He had brought two tough thugs with him; a trio of killers, they were ready for business.

But instead of one potential victim, they had found two. Finger Lurbin's leer was proof he knew that Jolles

had been talking. Finger Lurbin had a cure for that. He was ready to rub out Miles Crofton along with Newell

"TRYIN' to stage a runout, eh?" snorted Finger Lurbin, in an ugly voice. "Thought maybe you was pulling

something like it, Jolles, when you didn't show up out front. Who's this bozo with you?"

Finger gestured toward Crofton. Rigid, hands half up, The Shadow's agent made no reply. Jolles spoke

"He his name is Crofton," stammered Jolles. "A another pilot friend of mine. He's all right, Finger. Just

just showed up to say hello. I was talking to him asking him to fly down to Kansas City with me "

"Yeah?" Finger snarled the interruption. "Well, he's going where you're going, Jolles. And that's with us.

Jolles advanced unsteadily. Crofton followed. Finger's two aids stepped back into the hall, still keeping their

revolvers leveled, while their chief shifted to the side, to let the intended victims pass.

Miles Crofton stared sourly at Finger as he edged by the fellow. He noted the hand that held the leveled gun.

One finger the little one was missing. That was probably the reason for Finger's nickname.

INWARDLY, Crofton was fuming. His past had been a checkered one; circumstances had forced him in with

brutes of Finger's ilk. That period past, Crofton had become an agent of The Shadow, to do his part in balking

men of evil. Twice The Shadow's agent had been stopped from following a trail. Present circumstances made

it appear that this single clue the mention of Finger Lurbin would never reach The Shadow.

That thought rankled Miles Crofton. As he and Jolles reached the hall, he felt a wild desire for action. Finger

growled to the prisoners to face the stairway at the end of the corridor. They turned in that direction while

Straight ahead was blackness, the littleused stairway that descended to a spot secluded from the lobby of the

Hotel Coliseum. That was the route by which the killers intended to march their proposed victims.

That stairway offered a chance for escape, could a man reach it ahead of the assassins. One could gain the

exit if another could momentarily handle Finger and the thugs. One man safe would mean a clue preserved

Jolles was the man who could run for it. Unarmed, already terrorized, he would make a bolt if he had the

chance. Crofton decided to give Jolles the opportunity, even though to do so would mean Crofton's own

Crofton was a step ahead of Jolles; both were holding their arms upraised. With a slight shift, Crofton edged

to the right, a trifle in front of the aviator. He dropped his right hand to his pocket, unseen by the thugs

As he gave the mumbled command to Jolles, Crofton wheeled about, yanking his automatic from his pocket.

He pumped shots as he turned, hoping by luck to down an adversary; as he delivered his wild bullets, he

SNARLED oaths were the rejoinder. Both of Finger's henchmen aimed for Crofton. One fired wild in his

hurry; then Crofton grappled with the second. Finger himself came plunging from the room, bellowing an

Jolles had started for the stairway; then faltered. He had spread himself against the wall, staring openeyed at

the men by the door. The rowdy who had missed Crofton heard Finger's order, then saw Jolles. With a harsh

At that instant, a fierce challenge came from the blackness of the stairway. A wild, outlandish laugh, it

riveted the aiming crook. Recognizing the cry as a menace, the thug forgot Jolles. Swinging toward the

A roar from the stairway; a spitting tongue of flame from an automatic. After the burst came a weaving figure

cloaked in black, a fighter who delivered another token of defiant mirth. The Shadow, arriving from the

airport, had chosen as means of entrance the very route that Finger had picked for exit.

The thug was sagging as The Shadow forged forward. Downed by the cloaked fighter's single shot, one

ruffian was out of the fray. His pal was still grappling with Miles Crofton; behind the pair was Finger Lurbin,

But Finger knew The Shadow's laugh. He had heard of that fierce cry; he knew the menace of this cloaked

foe from darkness. Dropping back, Finger snarled viciously as he aimed past the strugglers and fired toward

The Shadow replied with a quick shot. His bullet, too, was inches from its mark. A shift made by Crofton and

the thug had disturbed The Shadow's aim. Oddly, neither Finger nor The Shadow could take a potshot at

that grappling pair. The thug's back was toward Finger; Crofton's toward The Shadow.

Finger ripped a volley of shots as The Shadow weaved across the hall. All were wide and high; moreover, in

his effort to clip The Shadow, Finger had no chance to bag Jolles. The Shadow had swung away from the

Again an automatic spoke. This time, it was Finger's chance drop back that preserved his life. The Shadow

had picked a space between the struggling men for a quick shot at Finger. Luck alone had spoiled The

Finger dived farther back, against an elevator door. Furiously, he fired the last two cartridges that his revolver

contained. Bullets flattened against the wall; The Shadow had already driven forward, closer to Crofton and

UP came an automatic, aiming, its muzzle thrust toward Finger. Frantically, Lurbin clicked the trigger of his

emptied gun. The Shadow's fierce laugh formed a mighty whisper that seemed to presage the killer's end.

Crofton and his antagonist lurched toward The Shadow. The thug pulled one hand free and jabbed the muzzle

of his revolver against Crofton's forehead. His own face bobbed suddenly past Crofton's shoulder; The

A roar echoed through the hall. It did not come from the wouldbe murderer's gun; the ruffian failed to press

the revolver's trigger. The Shadow, changing aim, was there to beat the thug's shot. The thunderous burst

came from The Shadow's automatic; the flash that accompanied it was arrowlike in its direction toward the

Shot through the brain, the thwarted murderer toppled in Miles Crofton's grasp. The Shadow's agent

staggered free, to see his enemy sprawling on the floor, loaded revolver clattering from his useless hand.

Yet the leader of the killers was still due for luck. As The Shadow downed the thug, a clang sounded by the

spot where Finger stood. The elevator door jerked open; a dumbfaced operator stared into the hall. Finger,

The crook lost no opportunity. Jolting the astonished operator, he slammed the door shut just as The Shadow

opened fire with both automatics. Zimming bullets thudded the steel barrier too late. Finger Lurbin was on

Within the elevator, the crook had jabbed his empty gun into the operator's ribs. The dumb fellow was

dropping the car in obedience. Once the lobby was reached, Finger would have a free road for a dash to

UP in the seventhfloor hall, The Shadow stood with lowered automatics. He knew that Finger Lurbin had

made a getaway. There was no use to follow. Instead of taking up pursuit, The Shadow turned to Miles

Crofton. The agent spoke tersely, telling what he had learned from Jolles, naming Finger Lurbin as the aid of

The Shadow whispered prompt instructions. Crofton understood. Swinging across the hall, he gripped Jolles,

who had slumped half to the floor, completely bewildered at sight of the fray. Jolles braced as Crofton spoke.

The Shadow saw the aviator nod; then both Crofton and Jolles scudded toward the stairway that offered

One thug was dead; he was the rat who had grappled with Crofton. The other was gasping from the floor. The

Shadow approached the man and stared into the ruffian's glazing eyes. In a cold, fierce whisper, he spoke

The thug coughed as he tried to gulp out the name of Foy Zullick. With a halfgasped groan, he rolled over

on the floor, unable to complete his sentence. The second of Finger Lurbin's henchmen had paid the price of

One clue only had remained. Newell Jolles had told all that he knew; the aviator had named Finger Lurbin,

and the crook had shown up to corroborate the statement. Finger had escaped; he would have to be trailed

again, should The Shadow hope to gain a further step to the identities of those men whose names he had not

The Shadow's laugh was grim a weird, whispered tone that quivered in that hall of doom. Rising from

beside the dead thug's body, the cloaked avenger turned and swept toward the stairway that Crofton and

The Shadow, too, was on his way. Crofton and Jolles were flying to San Francisco; The Shadow's course

would lead to New York. That was the city from which Finger Lurbin had come; The Shadow knew that

crosscountry crime must have been fostered in Manhattan. Eastward would be The Shadow's route

AFTERNOON in Manhattan. A chubbyfaced man was seated at a mahogany desk, staring morosely from

the window of a high situated office. This complacent individual was Rutledge Mann, prosperous investment

With Mann, business was always good, even when the market was lethargic. For Rutledge Mann was not

dependent upon security sales as a sole means of income. He served also as secret representative of The

Proof of Mann's special calling lay on the desk. Newspaper clippings, typewritten pages, mimeographed

stock reports, printed bulletins these were Mann's present tools. Through their use, the investment broker

Of all persons in New York, Rutledge Mann was best equipped to learn the facts that The Shadow wanted.

The Shadow had arrived in New York this very morning; he had communicated with Mann and had given the

investment broker the task of gaining certain names: those of the chief stockholders in Altamont Power.

At the end of a day's work, Mann found himself balked. Already early lights were beginning to glimmer in

the windows of skyscrapers. Manhattan's sky line was becoming dim against the background of a hazy

Clippings told a consecutive story. Fingering them, Mann studied the continuity. Thuggish raiders had

attacked the home of Seton Hylap in San Francisco. Danning, Hylap's secretary, had died in the fray. Seton

Whether the financier had committed suicide or been murdered was still a mystery to the law. No evidence

There had been an explosion at Altamont. Gifford Barbridge, president of the K and R Railway, had been a

victim, presumably through accident. Posses were searching for a supposed dynamiter who had outdistanced

Last night, according to brief items in the newspapers, two toughs had participated in a gun fight in a Chicago

hotel. They had remained on the field of battle while others had departed. The fray was classed as a chance

Neither the law nor the newspapers had linked this cavalcade of events. But Mann had learned through The

Shadow that the four episodes formed a sequence. Behind it lay an obvious plot to those who recognized

A plot had been fostered to gain control of the K and R Railway. With Barbridge's death following the

demise of Hylap, nothing could prevent the K and R from falling into the possession of Altamont Power.

Mann's task had been to find the names of those who controlled the power company. That was the point on

which the investment broker had encountered a stone wall. The unlisted securities of the Altamont Power

Company had faded completely from the market. Mann had been calling brokers all day, offering to purchase

Mann shook his head as he turned on the desk light and studied a list of names. He was going through a

process of elimination, checking off persons whom brokerage firms had mentioned as possible shareholders.

The only truth that Mann had guessed was that certain wealthy men must have acquired a corner on Altamont

Unquestionably that unknown group held an abundance of proxies through straw men. But as to the identities

of the actual men concerned, Mann had no clue. Nor could he guess the number in the group.

WHILE Rutledge Mann was engaged in studying his list, another New York broker was also occupied at a

desk in a lavish office. Shrewdfaced, wrinkled of forehead, this individual was located in the fiftieth floor of

He was Hosea Selger, a man whose sharp sense of the security market had long been a source of envy to his

competitors. At present, however, Selger was not concerned about the stock market. He was reading a

telegram that had been delivered at his office. The telegram had come from Philadelphia. It stated merely that

Selger pressed a button on his desk. A wearyfaced man appeared and stood waiting in the fashion of a

patient secretary. Selger looked up from the desk. He lifted the telegram so that the secretary could see it.

"I am leaving for a cruise, Widdop," stated the shrewdfaced broker. "The Elite Travel Bureau obtained the

"Tonight. My destination, Widdop, is unimportant. I shall be gone for several days. I do not wish to be

Selger smiled dryly as he tore up the telegram and tossed the fragments into the wastebasket. This was not the

first time that he had left on such a trip. Widdop was used to the procedure. The secretary, however, had

"About Mr. Mann," stated Widdop. "He called again, sir. He wanted to make certain that we had no record of

"That I had made a thorough search, sir," replied the secretary. "That our files showed nothing concerning the

"Quite right," acknowledged Selger, rising from his desk. "I was positive that I was correct about the matter,

Obtaining hat and coat, Hosea Selger bade the secretary good night. He stalked through a large outer office

and reached the hall. There the shrewdfaced broker descended by elevator. When he arrived upon the street,

Entering the car, Selger started the motor and headed in the direction of the Holland Tunnel. He was driving

AT the time of Hosea Selger's departure from the financial district, another episode was taking place in a

gloomy office of a large uptown store. A stoopedshouldered, longfaced man was standing by a large desk

This individual was James Dulkin, prosperous merchant who had gone into semiretirement. The management

of Dulkin's store was in the hands of younger men; as president of the concern, Dulkin found it necessary to

Dulkin had finished reading the telegram from Philadelphia. A seated stenographer watched the merchant tear

the yellow sheet and toss the fragments into a wastebasket. Dulkin smiled wearily.

"No answer, Miss Willis," announced Dulkin. "This merely means that I can leave for Florida tonight. I

wanted reservations at hotels in various cities. They have been obtained; that means that I can arrange my

"Yes," nodded the merchant. "I have my Pullman reservations, and I shall go from here directly to the

Dulkin donned hat and coat. He left the gloomy office and descended to the ground floor of the store. His

long face showed a troubled expression as he walked toward an outer door. The closing hour had passed; the

store was like a mausoleum. Dulkin did not brighten until he had reached the street. Even then, the smile that

Like Selger, Dulkin walked along the street. The merchant also stopped at a parked car; his vehicle, however,

was a much larger one than Selger's. It was a long, heavily built coupe of expensive make. Dulkin entered the

car and drove southward. He, too, was heading for the vehicular tunnel beneath the Hudson.

ABOUT this time, a third episode was forming into action. It concerned a tall, grayhaired man who was

reading a telegram as he stood by the window of a sumptuous living room. A Filipino valet was in

The grayhaired man was Peter Widpath, a retired banker. His family was absent from New York; he was

living alone in the apartment where he now stood. Finished with his reading of the telegram, Widpath tore up

"Well, Jose," remarked the banker in a tone that lacked enthusiasm, "my plans are completed. A Philadelphia

travel agency has arranged my reservations at a mountain hotel in Pennsylvania. I shall start out tonight; you

"Yes," returned Widpath. "You may pack my luggage for a week's trip. Then summon Burrett; have him

The Filipino departed. Widpath plucked a panatela from a glass humidor; as he lighted the thin cigar his eyes

stared thoughtfully from the window. In methodical fashion, he reached to the table and picked up the torn

pieces of the telegram. He lighted the papers, watched them burn and finally dropped the flaming fragments

Puffing his cigar as he studied the burnt residue of the telegram; Widpath continued his reverie. His

meditation came to a sudden interruption when a telephone bell began to jangle. Widpath strolled over and

"Hello..." The banker spoke deliberately. "Mr. Mann? Rutledge Mann? The name is not familiar.

"Ah, yes, I recall you now... Rutledge Mann, who handles specialized investments. Yes, I remember. We did

Widpath paused. As he listened, his face tightened. There was a distinct dignity to the banker's thin

countenance; an expression that Widpath usually retained. On this occasion, tenseness caused a change; but

despite his strained expression, Widpath, spoke easily as usual when he made reply.

"I have heard of the stock." Widpath gave an informative tone to his voice. "Yes, the Altamont Power

Company was recognized as sound. An excellent concern, so I was told... No, I made no purchase, nor do I

know of any actual buyers... Western utilities frequently become speculative no matter how soundly the

"Yes, State control boards are the trouble. Once they begin to bear down, profits are clipped. Some of the best

companies prove hazardous... I see... Well, I wish you luck in supplying your customer. I would suggest

negotiation with brokerage houses on the Pacific Coast... Yes, they are most likely to have shares available..."

Widpath hung up. He strolled across to the window; there, he enjoyed a smile as he puffed his panatela. Jose

entered and put in a call for Burrett. Widpath walked to a hallway; there the Filipino helped him on with hat

and coat. Widpath left the apartment, Jose following him with two large suitcases

IN his office, Rutledge Mann was making a final checkup of his lists First, the names of brokers. From this

list, Mann crossed out those which he felt sure could give him no facts regarding Altamont Power. Among

Next, the list of individuals. James Dulkin did not appear thereon; but Peter Widpath did. Mann crossed out

several names, among them Widpath's. He compiled a new list of remaining names; then wrote out an inked

report and sealed it in an envelope. Darkness had settled over Manhattan. Lights were glowing everywhere

when Rutledge Mann reached Broadway. The investment broker was carrying his sealed envelope; he was on

his way to Twentythird Street, to drop it in a special door box from which The Shadow collected such

Tomorrow, Mann would begin where he had left off this afternoon. There were other names to call, in search

for holders of Altamont Power stock. Mann's quest, however, was already doomed to failure. The investment

Hosea Selger James Dulkin Peter Widpath these three alone could have told him who the hidden

stockholders were. Of the trio, Mann had tested the broker and the banker; he had not guessed that the

Mann had been bluffed by the two whom he had called. Though both Selger and Widpath had believed that

the investment man was actually working for a customer; they had taken no chances. The pair had covered

A trail had failed. While Mann speculated on the morrow, men who shared the secret of Altamont Power

were already on their way to a hidden rendezvous there to discuss the fruits that could be plucked through

HIGH hills lay black beneath the thickened midnight sky. Rising winds were whistling through swaying tree

tops, as lowscudding clouds left trails of whirling mist above the wooded slopes. Only the whine of the

Though less than thirty miles from New York, though flanked by large towns and skirted by express

Termed mountains because of their steep and rugged aspect, the Watchungs form a pair of separated ridges

through New Jersey. To north and south lie populated districts; but the valley between the twin ranges has

Railroads swing wide to avoid the Watchungs. The one good road between the ridges had but occasional

connections with the outer highways. The stretches between, heavy slopes and thickened woods, are reached

only by rutted, rocky byways. In one such stretch of wilderness in miniature lay the focal point of this

Lights were glimmering from the windows of a flattened building perched high upon a mountainside. The

place was an isolated lodge, supposedly vacant at this time of the year. Completely surrounded by a broad

Visitors entered it from a level patch of clearing; but above one side of the house rose the mountainside,

while the lower side and rear of the building stood high above the ground, propped by twentyfoot pilings.

WITHIN the lodge, a group of men were seated by a fireplace. The living room was on the upper side of the

building; its windows were shuttered and barred, to avoid glimpses of entry from the slope above.

The lights that did show were those of windows on the lower side and rear; tall, intervening trees prevented

The living room was comfortably furnished. The hearth was warm and inviting, thanks to the crackling fire.

The occupants, however, had little thought of their surroundings. They were engaged in serious, lowtoned

discussion. There were three men seated. Hosea Selger, his shrewd lips set; James Dulkin, his long face

haggard; Peter Widpath, dignified and meditative. Two other men were present, standing.

One was Foy Zullick, his countenance showing its wolfish leer. The other was Soup Ramsted, whose hard

face wore a scowl. Apparently, Soup had just joined the group, for Zullick was speaking to him in a tone of

"It's time for you to listen in, Soup," stated Zullick. "I've been beefing with these bozos long enough. I'm

going to get down to tacks, with you on hand to hear. How's everything outside?"

"Right enough," returned Soup. "The outfit's ondeck. Keeping watch like you ordered."

Peter Widpath showed sudden interest at Soup's statement. The banker started to come to his feet. Zullick

"Let me do the talking," purred the murderer. "I'm going over the facts that we've discussed. I've listened to

all this batting back and forth; it's brought us nowhere. Let's see where we really stand.

"You fellows wanted the K and R. Since you controlled Altamont Power, the railroad was slated to be yours,

unless Barbridge raised the dough. That's why you put me on the job; why I sent Soup and his crew to

"That is true," agreed Widpath, in dignified tone. "We suggested, Zullick, that you use discretion in your

"Which I did," inserted Zullick, smoothly, "until we got wind of it, through Soup, that Barbridge was trying

to get dough from Hylap. That's when I hopped to Frisco and fixed Danning. You paid me the dough to line

"To act as an informant only," reminded Widpath, "Such were our instructions, Zullick."

"Your instructions, yes," retorted the wolffaced killer, "but your purpose was to keep Hylap from loaning

"Through murder," objected Widpath, as spokesman for himself and his companions. "A terrible procedure,

"I bumped Hylap because it was the only way to stop him," insisted Zullick. "The only guy who could have

pinned it on me was Barbridge, after I'd talked to him. I thought a million buck offer would shut him up. It

"He's right," agreed Soup. "We had to croak Barbridge, too. It was the only out."

"And Soup covered it," grinned Zullick. "He was all set for the emergency when it hit. Nobody knows who

we were, not even that dumb flier, Jolles. We had him slated for the spot, too. He was lucky to get away."

"All this proves premeditation, Zullick!" accused Widpath. "Wanton premeditation. Crime thought out and

"Trying to pass the buck?" snarled Zullick, his query showing the change of voice that he introduced when

angry. "Crawling out of it, are you? Sit down, Widpath. Let me tell you what's what!" Then, as the banker

Soup had stepped forward to Zullick's support; Zullick waved his fellow murderer back. Resuming his suave

"You're going through with this deal," he told the three men before him, "just like you planned. Those office

boys who pass as executives of the Altamont Power Company will get hold of the K and R just as you

"When the Mountain Pacific wants to buy the line, those dummies will have to call for a shareholders' vote.

You've got the lists of proxies, Widpath. The straw men will do what they're told.

"The three of you will have your split; but before you divvy, I get my cut. Ten percent was what you

promised; but I'm counting on more than that. Just what belongs to me the dough that you were ready to

Zullick paused, expecting a protest. It came, from the logical man: Peter Widpath.

"Outrageous, Zullick!" exclaimed the banker. "Our offer to Barbridge was a legitimate transaction. You are

"I'm getting what I'm asking for," interrupted Zullick, maintaining his smooth tone. "No more argument,

Widpath. You three had expected to buy out Barbridge and still have millions to split among you. I finished

"But that's not all. I'm not taking chances on any of you getting cold feet. No runouts, get me? I was

working for the three of you; you're all staying in the game. Take a look at these papers that I've fixed up for

ZULLICK produced three typewritten sheets from his pocket. He passed them out among the three men, who

stared at the unsigned statements. A gasp came from Dulkin, an oath from Selger. It was Widpath who spoke.

"You mean," demanded the banker, "that each of us must sign a statement admitting responsibility for the

"You'll wait here until you decide to sign. Those long vacations you told people about will make it just right.

You've all pulled that stall every time you've come out here. This trip, I'm getting my innings."

"You have tricked us, Zullick," he denounced. "You led us to believe that Hylap and Barbridge were victims

"And when you showed up," supplied Zullick, "I spilled the real lay. Well, that was shooting straight, wasn't

it? I wanted to see how you birds took it. I thought you'd welsh and I was ready to handle it.

"We've got plenty of time to sit here. That K and R deal won't ripen for a month or more. Meanwhile, Hylap

and Barbridge will be forgotten so far as we're concerned, anyway. I've got nice quarters here for all of you;

and Soup has brought on his strongarm workers. You'll sit tight, all of you, until you sign those papers."

"I shall never sign," stormed Widpath, rising. "Here, Zullick, take back your paper. I prefer to remain a

"Good enough," smirked Zullick, receiving the statement. "I'll keep it for you, Widpath. You'll change your

mind later. Meanwhile, I'm bunking you in the big room with your chauffeur. He'll stay here, too, since he

Widpath stood glaring, fists clenched. Zullick nodded to Soup; the lieutenant produced a revolver and

brandished it in threatening fashion. Widpath winced at the sight of the gun; Zullick extended the paper with

a questioning glance. Widpath shook his head defiantly; Soup nudged the banker with the revolver and forced

After bestowing Widpath in his temporary prison, Soup returned. He had pocketed the revolver; nevertheless,

both Dulkin and Selger looked restless. They could hear the pacing of men on the outer verandas. They knew

The longfaced merchant was quaking. He lacked the dignity that Widpath had maintained; nevertheless, he

showed courage as he rallied. There was decision in his tone, despite the stammer that he could not control.

"I I cannot sign," announced Dulkin. "It would be be a falsity. I was not party not at all a party to the

Lips twitching, Dulkin passed the paper to Zullick. For a moment, the murderer showed signs of anger; then

his suavity returned. He shrugged his shoulders with a gesture of indifference; then motioned to Soup. The

Nervously, Dulkin backed away as Soup forced him to a second room. On the threshold, he paused, gasping,

and Soup waited, expecting the merchant to change his mind. Again Dulkin rallied and shook his head

THE broker smiled weakly; yet his expression showed his natural shrewdness. Bringing the paper into the

"Why do you ask that I admit full responsibility?" he queried. "Dulkin and Widpath are in on it, too. Why are

"Granted," admitted Selger, after a moment's thought. "But what about yourself, Zullick? You are not named

"Why should I be named!" purred Zullick. "The three of you hold the Altamont Power Company. I've got to

have something, don't I? All I want is my cut, after you've swung the deal. If I hold your statements, signed, I

"If I mentioned myself in the statements, I'd nullify them. After all, I did the bumping, didn't I? Suppose you

gave me the goby where would I be if I threatened to make statements public, with those statements

"What's more, I'd be a fool to ever use those statements against any of you unless you tried to doublecross

me. You've all got alibis covering the actual killings. You'd all name me and I'd have to take it on the lam.

"Stands to reason, doesn't it, that when I get my dough I'll prefer to take life easy? Why should I spring any

Selger smiled and nodded. His qualms were ended. The avaricious gleam that appeared upon his shrewd face

"We can't bring back Hylap and Barbridge," observed Selger, his voice a partial sneer. "They are dead; and

that fact does not alter the situation so far as we are concerned. I am inclined to sign this document, Zullick. I

"It would have plenty," assured Zullick, suavely. "Come on, Selger; sign up. I'll show the paper to those

"Certainly. Provided you go straight back to New York. I'll have to keep in touch with you."

AN evil chortle came from Selger's lips. It was plain that he was willing to compromise with the murderer,

once Zullick had explained himself. The broker appeared to have none of the abhorrence that both Widpath

and Dulkin had evidenced. Drawing a fountain pen from his pocket; Selger signed the paper and handed it to

"Sure thing, Foy," grinned Soup. "I parked it for him when he came in. Here's the key. The gas is kind of low,

"All right, Selger," said Zullick, passing the key to the broker. "On your way. Don't fill the tank, though, until

you've gotten close to the Lincoln Highway. We don't want anybody to notice people who come from up

"You'll hear from them soon enough. Don't worry about them. They'll sign. Nothing out here for them no

newspapers, no radio, no telephone they'll get itchy soon enough. Particularly after they see this."

He flourished Selger's signed statement. The broker grinned; then shook hands, almost with admiration at

Zullick's cleverness. Accompanied by Soup, Selger left by the front door. The two followed a path down to

Selger's car was parked in a clearing. He entered it and turned on lights and ignition. Soup remarked again

KNOWING the way out to the isolated lodge in the Watchung Mountains, Hosea Selger had no difficulty in

retracing his route along the valley road and over to the express highway. Half an hour after his departure

from the lodge, the broker drove beneath the bridge of the Lincoln Highway and came on to the main artery

He stopped at a filling station, cutting across the road to do so. Traffic was light at this hour; Selger lost very

little time in getting gasoline. Waiting until a few trucks rumbled past, he drove back on to the highway and

He passed the turn by the Newark Airport; traveling at forty, he covered the few miles between that point and

the exit where trucks were forced to take the downgrade from the bridged highway. Bearing right, Selger

began the ascent of the great highlevel viaduct. He was on the celebrated Pulaski Skyway, swinging into

Glimmering lights of lower ground dwindled far beneath. From a few miles ahead came the glare of

Manhattan, a manmade aureole against the mist of night. Sight of that distant radiance was pleasing to the

returning broker. His chuckle was a scheming tone as he drove his light coupe under the superstructure of the

A mile ahead lay the bridge across the Hackensack, twin of this great structure, with the dipping surface of

the Skyway between. High, concrete curbs, massive rails of steel gave security to the sides of the matchless

Glittering lights fought enveloping blackness. On this clouded night, the cars on the Skyway seemed actually

to be riding in the upper reaches of the air. Yet to Selger, at the wheel of his coupe, this stretch of

The speedometer clicked past a thousand mark as the car neared the midpoint of the onemile stretch

between the bridges. Again, Selger chuckled, as he thought of the warmth awaiting in Manhattan, a much

Then, while the chuckle was still on the broker's lips, catastrophe came with fell swiftness. The speeding

coupe gave a sudden jolt upward and forward. With that bounce, a mighty blast resounded through the night.

A huge flare of flame ripped up in volcanic fury as the rear of the coupe split with the explosion.

AS the wheel jolted from Selger's hands, the front of the car dived at a crazy angle; the whole rear shattered;

the radiator drove hard into the rail, steel posts twisted; wheels jarred against them and went rolling free. The

bulk of the car, still hurtled by the impetus of that thunderous explosion, lopped off a portion of the rail and

The steel structure of the Skyway scarcely quivered from the tremendous blast, but cars, approaching, came

to quick halts as their drivers applied screaming brakes. A cloud of smoke had come with the explosion; it

Terrified observers stared, believing that they had witnessed the crash of an airplane making a forced landing

on the Skyway. Then, as the thick smoke faded, cars came into motion. Three vehicles arrived at the spot;

Wheels, fenders, fragments of glass and steel these were the only relics of the crash that remained upon the

Skyway beside the twisted rail. Peering below, those on the viaduct could see the flattened bulk of the coupe.

A truck had stopped upon a road below; from its toylike front, pygmy men were dashing over to view the

The burst of flames had died when they arrived; but those above could make them out by the fading glare.

The troopers saw the truckmen examining something that looked like a human form; then they observed the

Hosea Selger had taken his last ride. First of the three men to sign Foy Zullick's required statement, the

broker had headed forth to doom. That object that the truckmen had found upon the ground was the broken,

Hosea Selger, inspired by avarice, had placed himself on written record as a sponsor of crime. He had hoped,

thereby, to gain a fortune; instead, he had merely played into the hands of a supercrook. Plotters had been

A brawny detective sergeant spoke the news from the doorway of an office. Acting Inspector Joe Cardona

"Can't make it, Joe. Just going out on special duty. I came by to tell you. How about getting Casey to go with

"I'll go alone. It won't take me long. I'm going out to Selger's home when I get back. But it don't look like I'll

Cardona paused to sit down on the edge of the desk. Stocky of build, swarthy of countenance, the acting

inspector appeared to be a man of both purpose and action. Long known as the ace of New York's detectives,

"Here's the layout, Markham," explained the ace. "We know that Selger was supposed to have gone on a

cruise. Booking passage from some Philadelphia travel bureau that doesn't even exist. We got that by

"What we want to know is: Where was Selger and what it was about. He had his own car. It bore the proper

New York license plates and he had his licenses and all that. The explosion came from the back of the car. It

"That fellow Caulkens at the gas station," resumed Cardona, "filled the tank. He remembered the car and told

the Jersey State police about it. They let it go at that; they had already guessed that Selger came in by the

"But I've been thinking it over. I'd like to talk to Caulkens and see if he remembers anything else. It's all dead

at this end; and even though it happened in Jersey, Selger was a New Yorker, coming home. That's why I'm

"Why don't you take Burke?" questioned Markham, with a slight grin. "You know the Classic reporter. He

"Burke wasn't interested. Anyway, I don't want a newshawk tagging along when I'm going over to Jersey. I

told the troopers I'd like to talk to Caulkens. They said to go ahead, but they might be sore if they saw me

Cardona strolled over toward the door; he and Markham walked together through the hall. Outside of

headquarters, they parted. Cardona climbed into his parked car and started his trip to New Jersey.

The ace had dismissed the matter of Clyde Burke. As Joe had stated to Markham, the reporter had appeared

disinterested at the time when Caulkens had been mentioned. That, however, was simply proof that Cardona's

hunches were sometimes lacking. Clyde Burke had actually seen important possibilities in Cardona's

For Clyde Burke was secretly an agent of The Shadow; Clyde's real job for the present was the tracing of

information that concerned Hosea Selger. The Shadow had recognized that the broker could well have had a

connection with the Altamont Power Company, despite Rutledge Mann's contrary guess.

OUT on the Lincoln Highway, a car was stopping upon the wideshouldered road on the near side of the

filling station that Hosea Selger had visited the night before. The figure that alighted was not that of Joe

Cardona. Instead, it was a phantom shape that lingered close beside the trim coupe, out of the glare of passing

The Shadow had learned Cardona's plans from Burke. He had arrived ahead of the ace. His purpose,

however, was not to interview Caulkens. The Shadow intended to leave that to Cardona. His own plan was to

The highway here was built along a stretch of meadow, with low embankment on each side. The filling

station occupied a square of ground that also stood above the lowland. Its lights fronted on the highway; at

the rear of the space was the service station itself, fringing upon the darkness of the meadow.

Fading away from his car, The Shadow descended the embankment and approached the rear of the filling

station. Arriving at the back of the house, he edged past the corner and peered through an opened window.

Away from the lights of automobiles, The Shadow had gained a perfect observation post.

He had not long to wait. A roadster rolled up and stopped by an obscure gasoline standard. A stocky man

alighted; in the light, The Shadow recognized the arrival as Joe Cardona. The New York sleuth walked to the

"Let your pal out there attend to the customers for a minute. I want to talk to you inside here. I'm Inspector

"I know that. I'm not here officially. I just want to hear your whole story. My job is to find out all I can about

Selger. He was a New Yorker; and I'm trying to get a line on where he was last night."

"Wish I could help you," he stated. "All I know was that the guy was low on gas and sort of sore about it.

"I thought maybe his tank was leaky," explained the attendant, "but I found it wasn't after I filled it.

"Yeah. In one end, high up. Looked like somebody had cut out a chunk of the tank, then patched it up. But

that couldn't have accounted for a leak, because it was at the top of the tank. Good repair job painted over; I

Caulkens stopped. A man was rapping at the halfopened door of the service station. His face half muffled,

Caulkens could not make out the fellow's features. Nor could The Shadow, for the door blocked his view

"Out of gas," replied a thick voice. "Fellow brought me in with him to get some. Only thing is, I may have

trouble startin' my old boat. Thought I could make it worth while if you'd come along with me."

"I don't think I can," returned Caulkens. "Two of us are supposed to be on duty right now. Anyway, I can

With a nod to Cardona, indicating that he would return immediately, Caulkens walked out front. The car that

the man had come from was at the far end of the filling station space, almost on the edge of the road.

Cardona strolled to the door and watched Caulkens fill a twogallon can for the stranger. The two walked to

the car; there the can was passed into the rear seat. Caulkens started to turn away. Cardona saw the stranger

Joe Cardona was not the only observer of that scene. The Shadow had deserted his place by the window; he

had rounded the little house and was peering from the farther side. From his position, he could witness

something that Cardona failed to see. The Shadow had spied the reason why Caulkens was stepping aboard

The man who had spoken through the service station door had turned so that Joe Cardona could not spot the

glimmer in his hand. That glimmer was a revolver; with firm fist, the stranger had jammed the gun against

Caulkens' ribs. He was growling a low command for his victim to get aboard the car.

Caulkens had talked too much. His memory of a repaired gasoline tank was proving his undoing. Men in this

cruising car had recognized Joe Cardona. They had rolled up to deal with Caulkens before the innocent

The Shadow edged forward from darkness. He was skirting the embankment, crouching low as he neared the

touring car. The man with the gun was pushing Caulkens aboard. A moment more and the intended victim

IT was then that The Shadow rose from darkness. With a mighty spring, he shot forward into the light. With

one terrific swing, he sent the armed thug sprawling, before the rogue realized that an attack had come. With

Whirling about toward the darkness that he had left, The Shadow sent the rescued man spilling down the

embankment to a spot of safety. Completing his twist, he pulled two automatics from beneath the folds of his

Delayed action had terminated none too soon. The sprawled thug was coming to his feet, rasping a command

to those aboard the touring car. New revolvers flashed into view. Quick shots spat into the darkness as

snarling fighters sought to stop the attacker who had wrested a victim from their grasp.

In reply to those wide stabs of flame came the sudden boom of automatics. In answer to fierce snarls, the

armed thugs heard the strident tone of a mocking laugh. From darkness, The Shadow was delivering his

challenge to men of crime; his taunt was a weird tone that told those skullcaps who their foeman was.

From his vantage place beside the highway, The Shadow had gained new opportunity. Once again, he was

dealing with hired assassins, minions of murder who had come from their lair to kill.

TO Joe Cardona, just outside the door of the service station, the blaze of shots was a signal for action. His

attention momentarily misdirected, the ace detective had been startled at the sound of scuffling by the touring

Joe had looked up just in time to see the sprawling form of the thug who had threatened Caulkens. He had

caught a glimpse of the filling station attendant toppling over the edge of the embankment.

For the moment, Cardona had not realized that The Shadow was present. Instinctively, Joe had yanked a

stubnosed revolver from his pocket. The weapon was in Cardona's hand at the instant when shots began to

boom. Amid the bark of guns, the sleuth heard the challenge of The Shadow's laugh.

Spurts of flame from the touring car were answered with jabs of fire from the edge of the embankment.

Cardona leaped forward to lend The Shadow aid. One man saw him coming; that was the thug whom The

Cardona aimed for the standing crook. Hasty in his fire, Joe sent two bullets wide. The thug blazed back;

Cardona dropped away as bullets whistled past his ear. Stumbling over the concrete base of a gasoline

standard, Joe lost his footing. Before the ace detective could arise, his lone antagonist aimed pointblank.

Sudden shots ripped from the edge of the embankment. Hot bullets from The Shadow's automatics staggered

the thug who sought to slay Cardona. Coming up to one knee, the detective delivered two quick shots into the

toppling rowdy's body. Joe had found the range; but his bullets were unnecessary.

Cardona's blunder was due to cause misfortune. It had come hard upon the opening shots between The

Shadow and the occupants of the touring car. In that preliminary fire, The Shadow had sought to draw the

He wanted to send crippling shots, aimed at flashing revolvers, to wound these enemies and thereby hold

them for the law. For through these marauders could be learned facts concerning those higher up; facts that

To save Cardona, The Shadow had diverted his aim. That deed had ended the career of the wouldbe killer

who stood beside the touring car; but it gave a momentary respite to those who were still in the automobile.

The driver was quick to take advantage. He jammed the car in gear; the vehicle leaped forward to the

Traffic had stopped all along. A clear path lay ahead for thwarted killers. Cardona saw the situation and

blazed wide shots at the departing car. The detective's effort was useless. Only The Shadow could have

stopped that fleeing automobile. Swift in aim, sure with the trigger, The Shadow had that opportunity.

Yet the Shadow never fired after the departing car. He was facing toward Cardona as the thugs started their

getaway. To aim, The Shadow would have been forced to wheel in darkness. Before he could perform a

swinging action, The Shadow saw an arriving menace; one that meant more than the flight of defeated

JOE CARDONA was squarely in front of the service station, a conspicuous figure. Twenty feet beyond the

stalwart sleuth was the other service station attendant; this fellow was wisely diving for the far embankment,

Still farther on, from a mass of halted traffic, The Shadow saw a speeding touring car. It was the mate of the

one that had fled, an automobile manned by thugs. A coverup squad was coming in to back up the departing

Danger lurked in that approaching car. The men in the first machine had been picked merely to take Caulkens

for a ride. Yellow in the face of fire, they had sped away once their game was challenged.

But these newcomers would be shock troops, killers equipped for massacre. Directly in their path, oblivious

to the coming threat, stood Joe Cardona, finishing his futile fire toward the car that had fled.

A surging mass of blackness, The Shadow sprang forward from the embankment. With long, bounding

strides, he reached Cardona; with incredible swiftness, The Shadow hurled a long, cloaked arm about the

startled detective's body. Unhalting in his stride, The Shadow swept on toward the farther embankment,

Shouts from the touring car as it swung in from the highway. A clatter, like that of a riveting machine,

accompanied by rapid jabs of flame, aimed too late for the two who were hurtling toward the embankment.

Cardona, carried away by The Shadow's swift sweep, realized that he had been jerked from the path of a

Coming out from the direction of the city, the gunners in the coverup car had pointed their "typewriter" at a

forward angle, intending to blaze away as they approached. The Shadow's quick endeavor had not only

beaten the opening clatter of the machine gun; it had carried Cardona away from the path of death.

Snarling gunners swung their weapons, hoping to loose a deluge of bullets back toward the embankment

which they had passed. Their effort was too late. Already, their wouldbe victims had reached the edge.

Flinging headlong, The Shadow and Joe Cardona were rolling to the mushy soil below the embankment.

The machine gun clattered a useless rattattat; its bullets, aimed for the embankment, were sizzling high.

Some of the shots struck the gravelly edge and ricocheted; those bullets, too, went over the heads of The

Shadow and Cardona. The two had rolled apart; but both were lying low in darkness.

A growl came from the leader of those aboard the touring car. The voice was that of Soup Ramsted, in the

front seat beside the driver. The man at the wheel responded; he had applied the brakes to aid the machine

Soup's brawny fist shot out from the side of the car. It bulged with a bulbous object that the driving paw

released. As the touring car cut back toward the highway, a blackened spheroid curved through the air and

A TERRIFIC roar sounded; bursting flames rent the night as the bomb exploded. Soup had chucked a

pineapple in hope of producing havoc. He succeeded in that effort. The blast completely wrecked the

standards and penetrated to the tanks beneath. Like answering echoes came the muffled explosions of stored

A heavier blast shivered upward. With it, the ground shook as the vacated service station was hoisted into

fragments. Flames roared upward as gallons of spattered gasoline produced a holocaust. Huge flames threw

Joe Cardona took to the meadow, fleeing from the scorching edge of the embankment. Beside him ran the

attendant who had dived for shelter. Over beyond was Caulkens, scrambling to his feet and getting away

across the softened ground. Long lines of automobiles had halted, all far enough away for safety.

The stretch of highway in front of the filling station was completely deserted; and luckily so. It was covered

Up ahead, continuing its path from New York, was the second touring car commanded by Soup Ramsted.

The stopping of traffic had given the crew an open path along the right side of the highway. Joe Cardona

fumed as he clutched his useless revolver, while he stared at that speeding car a half a mile away.

Then, from the side of the highway, came the grind of a starting car. Joe Cardona stared as he saw a coupe

leap forward from the shoulder of the road, to cut in front of halted traffic. It was on the near side of the

burning filling station; Cardona gasped in amazement as he saw the car dart forward toward the flames.

The Shadow! He was taking up the chase. In that pursuit, he was risking death. The coupe sped forward in

silent second; it had attained a speed of forty miles an hour as it shot into the scorching sector of the highway.

Broad pools of flaming gasoline seemed like living things as they flared up in challenge. The coupe drove

into the blaze; for a moment it was enveloped by a furnace of furious fire. Then it emerged, still speeding,

beyond the roaring sheets of burning fuel. The Shadow had run the gantlet of the mighty conflagration. He

was on the trail of evildoers, his objective that car that carried the second band of malefactors.

Devouring flames died down; the spattered fuel had been rapidly consumed. Still, the fire resembled a living

thing; its flaring tongues might well have been acknowledging defeat in their effort to thwart The Shadow's

chase. Up ahead, the coupe was driving along beneath the subsiding glare, cutting down the space between

IN high gear, hitting eightyfive miles an hour, The Shadow could see the car ahead. It had stayed on the

Lincoln Highway, doing close to seventy as it sped on past ranks of stopped cars. It was reaching a place

where traffic was still moving in toward Manhattan, where vehicles were slowly piling into a farther jam

The Shadow saw the touring car swerve, skid at the side of the road and resume its course. A moment later,

he saw the reason for the action. A large truck had swung out from the opposite traffic; its impatient driver

The Shadow's speed had exceeded ninety. He was cutting down the space as the truck continued out into the

road, its driver thinking the way was cleared with the passage of the touring car. A cloaked shape above the

wheel, The Shadow held the coupe at top speed, counting upon the truck to press toward the center of the

But as the distance dwindled, The Shadow saw a sedan shoot out in front of the truck. Its driver, too, had

been struck with the idea of bucking traffic. The truck was lumbering down upon the sedan; the driver of the

car jammed his brakes. So did the truck driver, as he swung the wheel. The vehicles sideswiped with a jolting

The Shadow gave the brakes to his coupe. The car swayed wildly as he slackened its terrific speed. The

Shadow was hurtling down upon the locked vehicles. Another crash seemed imminent. To the right lay a

steep embankment, the shoulder offering space for nothing wider than a motorcycle. To the left was the

Just as his coupe was almost on the blockers, The Shadow saw opportunity. The inbound cars had halted at

sound of the crash between truck and sedan. A few ahead had been moving slowly; a twelvefoot gap had

The Shadow swung hard to the left. Tires whined as the coupe raised on its two right wheels. Releasing the

brake momentarily, The Shadow piloted the car through the opening, his speed cut to below thirty miles an

hour. Then, with a terrific pull of the wheel, he skidded right, to gain the far shoulder of the road.

The embankment there was lower; moreover, the shoulder was not crowded by the widened bulk of a crashed

truck. The right wheels of the coupe hung to the road, while the left tires pounded along sloping ground.

Controlling the coupe despite its crazy tilt, the indomitable driver brought the car to a safe stop.

The left rear tire had blown at the finish, taking the final strain of the swifttwisting maneuver. Startled

inbound drivers were staring from behind their wheels. Traffic here had gapped as well as up ahead. The

He started the coupe forward, slowly; then, reaching an opening, he pulled the edgeclinging car in from the

The chase was off. The murderous vandals who had wrecked the filling station had gained a full two miles

through The Shadow's forced delay. With flattened tire, the coupe was useless for further pursuit. The

Shadow spied an obscure road that led off a hundred feet ahead. Piloting his limping car along the outbound

DARKNESS huddled over the jouncing coupe as The Shadow watched for a secluded space where he could

stop to change the tire and begin a return trip to Manhattan. He knew that he would not be troubled during his

stay on this isolated byway; excitement back on the highway would be concentrated on the damaged truck

Circumstances had once again blocked The Shadow in his search for murderers. He knew that those fiends of

the road had come out from hiding at the order of an evil chief. The trail of crime had centered near New

As in Chicago, the necessity of rescue had forced The Shadow to give enemies a chance to make their

getaway. Meanwhile, another wellplanned murder had been accomplished. Like Seton Hylap and Gifford

Last night's murder on the highway had brought The Shadow to this present quest. Balked in pursuit, he was

ready to seek new trails. For The Shadow could see further murder in the offing. To prevent new crime, he

TWENTYFOUR hours had elapsed since The Shadow's fight against the attackers of the filling station.

New cloud banks scudded low above the Watchung Mountains. The whistling of outside winds made the

Foy Zullick was seated alone before the fire. His wolfish face was sour; his eyes showed an impatient glitter

as they watched the crackle of sizzling logs within the fireplace. At odd moments, the murderer glanced

toward the outer door; then, at last, he paused to listen. He had caught the sound of footsteps on the veranda.

The door opened. Soup Ramsted entered. The dynamiter doffed a rainsoaked overcoat; he grinned as he

came over to enjoy the warmth of the fire. Zullick snorted angrily; Soup maintained his grin as he pulled a

"Lamp that," suggested Soup. "All the latest news about last night. I was right, Foy. Nobody got on our trail."

"Maybe not," grumbled Zullick, as he scanned the headlines, "but it wasn't brains that pulled you out of a

"Yeah? Well, if I hadn't have throwed that pineapple, the story might have been different. It was the only out,

"Well, then, what was the use? You only messed it worse by heaving the pineapple."

Zullick shrugged his shoulders. He began to read the details in the newspapers. Soup put a query:

"No, you sap. Do you think I'd let them know what's been going on? They're talking about Selger."

"Say, Soup, you are dumb." Zullick folded up the newspaper and pitched it to a table. "All they know is that

Selger signed the paper. I've been grinding that into them, so's they'll weaken."

ZULLICK arose and stalked to the door of Dulkin's room. He listened a few minutes; then returned.

"You've muffed things, Soup," declared Zullick, reverting to the theme of last night's attack. "Just because it's

blowing over is no reason to think you pulled a smooth job. Look at it this way. First there was Hylap. I

"Yeah?" queried Soup. "What about Danning? Things went haywire there, didn't they?"

"No. It was a strongarm job. The crew was to have snatched Danning in a pinch; instead, they must have

bumped him by accident. Anyway, Danning isn't around to squawk. Now take it with Barbridge. You fixed

things good there, Soup. That explosion was a real payoff. We rubbed out the guy we wanted; we covered

"Yeah. He should have gotten Jolles; but he didn't. Anyway, Jolles has scrammed and won't show his nose. If

"Seems like you're stretching things, Foy, when you figure I pulled a muff last night. I didn't do no worse

"You don't see the difference yet? Well, I'll make it clear to you. First off, Selger was handled right. I figured

he'd be the first to sign up. That's why I had you drain his gas tank and cut it open. That was a good stunt of

"Glad you're giving me credit for something, Foy. I knew it would work. After I soldered up the tank, the

capsule was stuck up there near the top. It wouldn't work until the gas came up close to the patch. That's why

"Yeah, the capsule melted nice enough after Selger filled up on gas. The phosphorous mixture got working at

the right spot, too between those big bridges, An explosion in a full gas tank does the trick, with a light car

ZULLICK eyed Soup steadily; then picked up the newspaper and glanced at it for a moment. He shook his

"We heard that the guy at the filling station remembered Selger," stated Zullick. "We knew which bozo it was

Caulkens and there was a chance that Selger might have said something to him. That's why I staged last

night's job. Jake to pull in and invite Caulkens for a ride. You to cover up just in case you were needed.

"Jake flivved. Of all times to pull into that joint, he picked the worst when Joe Cardona was there. Joe

plugged him and the bunch with him used their noodle when they forgot Caulkens and traveled.

"Then you came along. First you try to chop down Cardona; then you heave a pineapple, with no chance of

getting either Joe or Caulkens. Then you come blowing in here to tell me all about it."

"Nobody tailed us, Foy," insisted Soup. "We didn't use the regular road, neither. We must have rode over half

"Sure to that Trenton hideout. I said to let it cool for twentyfour hours. Well, it looks like we've had a

break. This newspaper says that Caulkens thinks Selger's gas tank was tampered with; but he don't know

Zullick sat down. His scowling face looked somewhat relieved. This time it was Soup who showed signs of

"I brought the crew in with me," remarked the pineapple thrower. "Left Jake's outfit up in Trenton. I've been

"Who it was that queered the job," returned Soup, "and from what I saw of Joe Cardona when he was diving

ZULLICK swung about; his fanglike teeth were set. The murderer's breath came with a harsh hiss, followed

"It was The Shadow who started it," assured Soup. "He snatched Caulkens away from Jake. It was him that

plugged Jake afterward, not Cardona. He grabbed Joe and hauled him to the bank when I was coming up. I

"Never mind, Soup. You're right. It fits in with what Finger wrote me, to the Trenton hideout. It was The

"Say maybe he was the bird the newspapers talked about at Altamont the guy that beat it on a rail car "

"Yeah and he could have figured at Frisco, too, Soup. Well, with The Shadow in it, the lay looks bad.

"How?" Zullick snorted. "Say if The Shadow hit Frisco, Altamont, Chi, then New York right on our heels,

there's no telling how close he'll be within a couple of days. Look here." Zullick snatched up the newspaper.

"Read this about a daring motorist running through that fire! Who do you think it was?"

"No if he had, maybe you wouldn't be here. I'll tell you why you outdistanced him. He was blocked by that

Zullick pointed to a paragraph; then scowled and tossed the newspaper back on the table. He produced a

cigarette, lighted it and puffed nervously while Soup watched. Whining winds whooed weirdly from the

mountainside. They seemed to portend disaster, even to such an unimaginative brute as Soup Ramsted. The

THEN Zullick spoke. The wolfish crook had regained his sangfroid. His nervousness ended, Zullick was

resuming his smooth purr, the tone that gave confidence to the rogues who served him.

"It means a smooth job, that's all," assured Zullick. "Different from any we've tried before; yet near enough to

make The Shadow hook it up with what's happened previous. A job with a new trail, leading away from here.

"What's more, the sooner we pull it the better. Maybe not too soon; but at the first opportunity. It's got to be

timed right on schedule. Well, that's the way we'll handle it. Keep them guessing."

"If you're getting rid of Dulkin and Widpath," suggested Soup, "why don't you croak 'em here and be done

Zullick eyed Soup coldly; then repressed a toothy smile. He followed with a smoothtoned objection.

"First of all," he stated, "they both won't sign. Not together. Dulkin will be the first to weaken. He'll go out of

"That's right," admitted Soup. "You've got the chauffeur, too, to think about. But if you rubbed 'em all out

"If any crime is done here, it would mean a coverup. With The Shadow in it, that's bad stuff. He's smeared

Zullick sat down before the fire. He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and began to make notations with

"We'll be hearing from Dulkin and Widpath soon," assured Zullick, smoothly. "They'll be finished with their

confab. Then we'll know what's what. Meanwhile, don't disturb me. I've got an idea that'll beat The Shadow

Soup nodded. He picked up the newspaper and began to read the sporting page. Zullick continued his

calculations, marking the sheet with diagrams as he proceeded. The fire flickered intermittently as wailing

As minutes passed, Foy Zullick's grin increased. It became an evil leer; the crook's lips delivered subdued

In his mapping of new murder, this killer was developing a scheme which he believed would outmatch the

WHILE FOY Zullick was completing plans for crime, two men who figured in his calculations were engaged

in conference. James Dulkin and Peter Widpath, companions in plight, were seated in the chill of Dulkin's

"We've heard nothing from Selger," Dulkin was declaring. Wearing overcoat and muffler to offset the chill,

the merchant was huddled pitifully in his chair. "Nothing from Selger, Widpath. I had thought surely that he

"Hardly," returned Widpath. The banker's tone was calm. "Do not forget that Selger has signed an

incriminating document. He is now in an unenviable position one from which he can make no thrust against

"No worse a position than the one we occupy," affirmed Dulkin, in a miserable tone. "Look at us, Widpath.

Widpath smiled. He, too, was wearing his overcoat; but he did not mind the slight chill of the room.

Moreover, he knew that Dulkin's second reference was an exaggeration. The merchant was a dyspeptic;

finicky about food. He had objected to the simple fare that Zullick had provided his forced guests. Yet the

"Our choice of this room," remarked Widpath, "was our own preference. We wanted to talk matters over,

without Zullick hearing. He told us to go in either of our rooms; we chose this one so as to avoid Burrett, who

"Once we have come to some decision, Dulkin, we shall be free to return to the comfortable fire. Therefore, I

"I have definitely decided what I shall do. I have told you, Dulkin, that I shall not compromise. But at the

same time, I am cherishing no false hopes. I do not think that we shall hear from Selger. I entertain no hope

"Then what will be the climax, Widpath? Are we to remain here forever? To see our plans forestalled, while a

THE merchant nodded, in troubled fashion. His long face looked peaked; his hands rubbed together

"We had our test, Widpath," affirmed Dulkin, soberly. "You and I and Selger. In a sense, I was the only one

who really faced a test. You and Selger, simply responded according to your natures. It was a revelation,

"Fancy it, the three of us engaged upon a speculative enterprise. An enterprise, I may add, that was

questionable. Suddenly we were faced by the truth; we learned that our plans had produced murder. We were

"Frankly, I was torn between two phases of my nature. I had a choice to make; I saw two examples before

me. Selger, avaricious, was willing to condone crime since it had been done. He was as bad as the murderers

"But you, Widpath, showed nobleness. You feel remorse because of what has happened. You preferred

forced imprisonment to any admission that you had to do with crime. And I, Widpath, have come to the same

"The choice has been a difficult one. I have heard Zullick's persuasive arguments. I know that he will not

produce the incriminating paper should I sign it not if I 'play ball,' as he expresses it. Wealth will be mine,

Widpath nodded; his dignified face was serious. The banker lacked the elation which he had shown before

starting on this trip. Dulkin eyed Widpath's countenance and observed an expression of firmness and

"I wish that I had your courage, Widpath," declared Dulkin, rising. "You have met facts and have accepted

them. You have held no illusions concerning our present plight. But I am weak and miserable. Like a fool, I

have counted on Selger; all along I should have realized that he is a complete scoundrel. You have driven that

"Yet something must be done. I am losing my courage, despite the inspiration that you supply. Therefore, I

intend to do a drastic thing; but before I take the step, I want to convince you of my true intention."

"Yes," returned Dulkin, "but only because it will mean freedom. Once I am clear of here, like Selger, I can

"It may not matter, Widpath. Once you are free, you can testify to this present conversation. You can assure

WIDPATH nodded his solemn agreement. Yet his face showed worriment over Dulkin's position. The

merchant observed the fact and spoke again. This time his voice carried firmness.

"I shall bring the law upon Foy Zullick," he affirmed. "With Zullick's capture, your rescue will be made. You

deserve such assistance, Widpath. If one of us must suffer unjust accusations, I should be the person. I

"But, after all, it would not be unjust if I gained punishment. Some amends must be made for the deaths of

Hylap and Barbridge. So I am going through with it, Widpath. I shall sign the paper that Zullick is holding

Dulkin was rising wearily. Widpath arose also; he clapped his left hand on the merchant's shoulder; then

"You are the one who has shown courage, Dulkin," commended Widpath. "Because of it, my qualms are

ended. Your plan is a sound one; it is up to one of us to agree to Zullick's terms. Let me be the one to pretend

"The duty is mine, Widpath," he maintained. "I intend to take it. Your place is here, where you can maintain

your decision in spite of all the arguments that Zullick can marshal. Come we shall go out and speak to

"One moment, Dulkin," pleaded the banker, cautiously. "In going through with this, use great discretion. Do

"There is that possibility. Your own change has convinced me that Selger might also undergo a mental

The two men went to the door of the room. As they opened the barrier, they were met by the warmth of the

living room fire. Foy Zullick looked up from his diagrams; he thrust paper and pencil in his pocket.

"Take off your coats," he purred. "Make yourselves at home, gentlemen. Well, I hope your long conference

"I am still maintaining mine," declared Widpath in a tone of dignity. "I do not intend to sign that paper,

"Suit yourself, Widpath," sneered the crook. "Well, Dulkin, what's your verdict?"

"I feel differently," returned Dulkin. "If you give me time, Zullick, I may accede to your terms. Suppose

"Certainly. Why not? All I want is my own protection. Selger wised up to that quick enough. What's been

eating you mugs, anyway? But say, just a minute" Zullick eyed Dulkin sharply "how do I know you're

not going to be thinking different tomorrow? Maybe you'd better sign the paper now."

DURKIN looked to Widpath, who gave an imperceptible nod; the dignified man spoke coolly to Zullick.

"Dulkin and I have both made our decisions," informed Widpath. "He intends to sign; I do not. That will be

"And that's good enough for me," snorted Zullick, convinced. "One thing about you, Widpath, you aren't

jumpy. If you're so sure about what Dulkin intends to do, I'll take your word for it. Sit down, the two of you.

As the prisoners divested themselves of coats and took the chairs by the fireplace, Zullick edged Soup to the

outer door. They stepped out to the veranda; Zullick closed the door and spoke in a harsh whisper, that Soup

"Stick around tonight Soup," ordered Zullick. "In the morning, I'll spill you all the dope. I'm going to do some

talking to Dulkin, alone; I'll talk to Widpath, alone, too, so's to make it look like I'm putting pressure on one

"But it's Dulkin I want to make sure of, so's he won't back out on signing. No use in working on Widpath; his

mind's madeup. But it will have an effect on Dulkin. Maybe he'll sign up tonight even."

"But if he does sign up tonight, it won't make any difference about when he leaves. He's not going to pull

"You'll fix his bus?" queried Soup. "Want me to gimmick the gas tank, like I did with Selger's?"

"Not a chance, Soup. This is going to be different. Dulkin will have a clear route on the way in until he

reaches a certain point. There he's going to get his but from the other direction."

"Sure. You can reach him by long distance. But you'll have to go to Trenton first. I've got something waiting

"You'll know that tomorrow. Take one of those rooms downstairs for the night. I'm going in to chin with

Dulkin and Widpath, each by each. But I'll tell you this much, Soup. I'm going to make this new job look

"You guessed it, Soup," affirmed the murderer. "And the coverup will be on deck when the job is pulled.

WITH that, Zullick turned about and entered the lodge, leaving Soup standing openmouthed. It was a full

minute before the dynamiter moved away; when he did, he snarled an unpleasant laugh. For Soup Ramsted

To Soup, the murder of James Dulkin was already a foregone conclusion. He could picture it only imperfectly

at present; but he knew that tomorrow would bring his full enlightenment. Soup would have bet his bottom

There was a further reason, however, for Soup's harsh laughter. He could see beyond the elimination of

Dulkin, to the conquest of a foeman who had risen more formidably than the law. That enemy was the one

Foy Zullick had not forgotten The Shadow. The henchmen who set forth tomorrow night would be prepared

to deal with that cloaked avenger should The Shadow, grim hunter of crime, be on hand to interfere with men

WITHIN the confines of Manhattan lay a spot as secluded as the Watchung wilderness. A room that harbored

Stygian darkness, that caught no sound of the city's tumult. A place that held the stillness of a tomb, save

when a living presence chose to make it his temporary abode. Such was The Shadow's sanctum.

Here, on this night when crooks had conferred, a single light was gleaming. Bluish rays cast their eerie glow

upon the surface of a polished table. White hands moved beneath the focused rays; from the finger of one

Clippings, reports from agents these were the papers that The Shadow studied. No trace had been gained of

the broken trail left by Soup Ramsted's squad. Not even the identities of the marauders had been learned.

Jake, the lone fighter left on the field of battle, had been scorched to a crisp by the ravaging flames from the

The Shadow had not forgotten other possible trails. Miles Crofton was still busy in San Francisco, seeking

facts concerning the riffraff who had battled there. Nothing of value had been learned on the Coast.

Meanwhile, agents in New York were seeking Finger Lurbin. Two capable aids were at work: "Hawkeye,"

clever spotter who knew Manhattan's underworld; Cliff Marsland, who had acquaintances in the bad lands.

Clyde Burke was also on the job. Frequently the reporter had gathered tips of consequence. Clyde had

contacts with headquarters; he rated high with Joe Cardona. Yet Clyde, like the others, had gained no results.

The Shadow must scour districts also; he must contact the police commissioner to learn if facts had been

gained higher up. In the feigned guise of Lamont Cranston, millionaire globetrotter, The Shadow numbered

Rutledge Mann had slipped up in his first investigation. He had failed to fathom Hosea Selger's possible

connection with Altamont Power. But Mann had used his lists again; this time, he had learned an important

Peter Widpath, retired banker and heavy investor in various stocks, had taken a journey from New York. Yet

neither Mann nor Harry Vincent, an agent deputed to visit Widpath's apartment, had gained an inkling of

From this, however, The Shadow knew that a second man might be in the same circumstances that had

gripped Selger. The facts of Widpath's departure from Manhattan resembled those of Selger's. The Filipino

valet, talking to Harry Vincent, had stated that his master had engaged reservations somewhere out of town;

Selger Widpath were there others? If so, were they due to meet a fate similar to the broker's? Those were

the problems that confronted The Shadow; and as he studied them, he found no satisfactory answer. Further

search for men connected with crime was the only course that could bring results.

THE bluish light clicked off; a signal of The Shadow's immediate departure. But on this occasion, The

Shadow lingered in the thick blackness of the sanctum. An instant after he had extinguished the light, a tiny

bulb glittered from the wall beyond the table. In the dark, The Shadow produced earphones. He spoke in a

"Report from Marsland. Facts regarding Finger Lurbin. Formerly engaged in racketeering with Duke Harley,

"Tony Pascini linked with the racket. It ended when Tony left New York, wanted for murder. Finger and

The Shadow hung up the earphones The little bulb went out. Moving through darkness, The Shadow reached

a corner of the sanctum; there he turned on another light that revealed a jetblack filing cabinet. A drawer

glided outward; The Shadow referred to a folder that bore the name of Tony Pascini.

Police officials would have been amazed had they seen the information that The Shadow's file contained.

Along with enlarged photographs of Tony Pascini were typewritten facts that covered numerous details of the

racketeer's career, Minute points of information that made police records no more than a condensed version.

Despite that fact, The Shadow's file was not complete. Though it told of Tony's quirks and numerous

activities, though it named dozens of the fellow's friends, it did not mention the racketeer's brief association

with "Duke" Harley and Finger Lurbin; that was one connection that had escaped The Shadow.

To offset the lack, however, were facts of Tony's subsequent career following his abrupt departure from New

York. The Shadow had gained news of him through informants; and those latest details were points that not

even Tony's former pals had heard about. That discovery suited The Shadow. His laugh whispered strangely

through the sanctum as he retained the file and closed the drawer. The light clicked off.

It was not surprising that The Shadow's information had failed to link Tony Pascini with Duke Harley. Of all

the pokerfaced rascals in New York the proprietor of the Club Diabolo was the smoothest. Duke's criminal

connections were few and well spaced. He avoided such alliances, except when they promised large gain with

ON this night, Duke was standing at the entrance of the Club Diabolo, a secluded bright spot that he had

opened on the twentieth story of a Manhattan office building. Duke gained his clientele from former patrons

of speakeasies that he had managed. His customers liked the thrill of coming to a place that others did not

Midnight had arrived; some fifty guests were enthusiastically applauding a team of dancers who provided a

floor show. Waiters were scurrying back and forth between the tables and the bar. The cash was rolling in;

Duke felt satisfaction, even though his face did not express it. It took a real jolt to change the apathetic air

Satisfied that business was being properly handled, Duke turned to cross the hall to his office on the other

side. As he did, the door of an elevator clanged open; the proprietor turned to see who was arriving. A

solitary passenger alighted; at sight of the newcomer's face, Duke forgot himself. For once a gasp came from

With a hasty glance over his shoulder, Duke saw that no one was watching. He turned to the arrival, whose

sallow, pockmarked face displayed a twisted grin. Duke nudged his thumb toward the office door; the

Once in the lighted office, Duke thrust out his hand. As he did, he uttered a lowvoiced exclamation that

"Tony!" gasped the proprietor. "Tony Pascini. Say I might have taken you for a ghost!"

"Thought I was dead, eh?" snorted Tony; then, in a grating tone: "Well, I've been gone long enough to be. But

I ain't the only mug who's come back to the big town. Whatta they been saying about me?"

"Some thought you'd been croaked," returned Duke. "Other wisenheimers had it that you'd taken a rap

somewhere; that you were doing a stretch under a phony moniker. But I didn't figure you were in a big

"I wasn't. I'll tell you where I've been, Duke, Saint Looie for a while; after that I headed for Mexico. I picked

a spot called Ensenada, a town below the California border. I'm going back there to clean up."

"Anything. Ensenada draws a lot of chumps from Tia Juana and Agua Caliente you know, Americans who

think it's grand stuff to take a drive down into Lower California. Most of 'em have dough. Soft pickings for

"Sure. I look like a Mex. I talk the lingo; the good old Espanol. The greasers don't count me as a gringo. But

what I need down there is a guy to work the front, while I take care of the inside. Finger is the bozo I want."

DUKE nodded wisely. He had a hunch that Tony was hinting at a snatch racket, a game in which Finger

Lurbin had figured in the past; from which, in fact, Finger had gained his nickname. After he had finished

"Sounds good, Tony," he declared. "Trouble is, I don't know how to get hold of Finger. He's hiding out, here

"Couple of times a day," responded Duke. "Keeps asking me if anybody wants to call him. He's waiting to

hear from somebody; when that other guy calls, I'm to put Finger wise when he asks me."

"That's the idea of it, Tony. But I don't know who the other bird is. It's none of my business, anyway. I'll get

"I doubt it, Tony. Not until this job's finished. It wouldn't be good for him and you to get together both

wanted by the bulls. Not just yet, anyway. Finger is playing them close. He's even finicky about getting guys

"Yes. Wanted me to dig up a couple. Said he'd tell me what they were to do. But I couldn't think of any that

A broad grin showed on the sallow face of Tony Pascini. Reaching forward, the visitor picked up pad and

"Tell Finger to call there," he suggested. "Have him ask for Jack. Tell him what he wants, when he wants it."

"Sure. Him and another guy. Both aces. Jack ain't the fellow's real name; but that don't matter. It's the

"You bet it is. These bozos are heading West with me. I lined 'em up, soon as I landed in town. Just tell

"Sure. An' they know how to handle their rods. They can swing a typewriter if they need to. You know the

DUKE nodded. He tucked the sheet of paper under a corner of the desk blotter. Rising, he nudged his thumb

"Help yourself to a slug, Tony," proffered the proprietor of the Club Diabolo. "After that you'd better scram.

The harness bull on the beat blows in here every night, off and on. I don't want him to spot you. He might

"I'm moving, Duke," grinned the visitor, rising. "Never mind the drink. I don't need it."

Duke accompanied his visitor to the hall. He watched Tony enter the elevator; then went back into the office.

Though his poker face did not express it, Duke Harley felt relief. He was glad to work with Tony Pascini, as

he was with Finger Lurbin. He saw profit through the possibility of bringing the two expartners together

again; but he preferred not to have either of them visit the Club Diabolo in person.

DOWN on the street, Duke's visitor was entering a taxi. A slight grin still showed upon the sallow features of

Tony Pascini; it faded as the cab rolled from the curb. Lips changed their contour; they delivered a whispered

Duke Harley would have been troubled had he been there to hear that laugh. Tony Pascini could never have

delivered such mirth as that. Duke Harley had been deceived by his midnight visitor. The supposed Tony

Master of disguise, The Shadow had made up to represent the exracketeer. From his file he had taken

photographs, descriptive data, points of information that had depicted Tony Pascini to a "T." Moreover, The

Not only had The Shadow dropped remarks that had brought back Duke's recollections of Tony Pascini; he

had also given points concerning Tony's actual journeying after the sallow crook had fled New York. Tony

But The Shadow had topped those statements with his story of why he, supposedly Tony, had come back to

New York. He had taken no risk in doing so, for the final fact which The Shadow knew concerning Tony

Pascini was one that Duke Harley had never learned. It was a point that Finger Lurbin, likewise, did not

Tony Pascini had started a racket in Ensenada, lining up a crew of bandits from the mountains of Lower

California. A troop of Mexican cavalry had annihilated the budding outlaws in a shortlived fray. They had

buried the slain men without troubling themselves as to their individual identities.

The Shadow had taken no chances in his visit to Duke Harley. The nightclub proprietor could not have heard

from the former racketeer within the past twelve months. The Shadow, in posing as Tony Pascini, had played

The Shadow was in his sanctum, earphones clamped to head. Twenty hours had passed since his visit to the

Club Diabolo. During that interval he had awaited reports from agents. One had come in midafternoon.

Hawkeye, answering to the name of "Jack," had received a call from Finger Lurbin at a hangout called the

Black Ship. The telephone number of that scumland dive was the one that The Shadow had given to Duke

Finger had told Hawkeye that he and his pal would be needed. That was all that the crook had stated; but

Hawkeye had lingered at the Black Ship for another call. It had come with early evening; Burbank was

"Finger calls for two men," came Burbank's monotone. "To be at a restaurant called the Knife and Fork, one

block north of the Holland Tube. Telephone number is Dorset 63811. Both to be there by half past eleven,

"Someone will call after that time, asking for Jack. That will mean to be ready in the car. Watch for a sedan

with green stoplights. Follow it into the Holland Tube. Tail it through to the Skyway.

"Hawkeye and Marsland to hold back traffic, allowing front car to gain distance, until it has passed the first

large bridge. Then to speed up, come in as coverup crew between the two bridges. Follow the sedan through

"Report received. Instructions: Shrevnitz and Vincent to cruise in taxicab near the Knife and Fork. Vincent to

have suitcase, also airplane tickets for all ships leaving Newark Airport between twelve o'clock and two.

The light on the wall went out after Burbank's statement. The Shadow removed the earphones; his whispered

laugh sounded foreboding amid the blackwalled sanctum. Into the bluish light, his longfingered hands

The Shadow had not located Finger Lurbin. The crook whom he had thwarted in Chicago was still safe in

some New York hideout. But Finger had fallen for The Shadow's game. Something was up; Finger was

ready to use the aids whom he thought Tony Pascini was providing through Duke Harley.

A sedan with green stoplights. The size of the car indicated that Finger must have some men of his own.

The Shadow had disposed of the two torpedoes in Chicago; evidently Finger had managed to acquire a few in

New York. He had needed others to man a second car if needed. That was why he had put in a request to

STUDYING his map, The Shadow gained inklings of deep strategy. He knew that Finger Lurbin was simply

a piece upon the board. The real brain was the man who had planned and executed the murders of Hylap,

There had been coverups in San Francisco, in Altamont, in Chicago. Another had been that wild attack upon

the Lincoln Highway, when thugs had tried to silence Caulkens. New murder was due; the problem had been

to pick the spot for crime. Particularly since by this time, the master crook knew that The Shadow was

Of all places, the most unlikely one had been chosen. That was the spot where Hosea Selger had died. It was

merely by chance that the broker's coupe had been wrecked between the two great bridges of the Skyway.

The gas tank had been fixed to explode after filling; it had blown up at the middle of the highlevel viaduct

By rights, that spot should be avoided by men of crime. Instead, they were to use it for new murder. A daring

ruse to trick The Shadow and the law; more than that, a scheme that would throw doubt upon the correct

Joe Cardona had advanced the claim that Selger had died through a prearranged explosion. It was already

conceded that the broker could not have started his inbound trip from a point very far outside Manhattan.

New Jersey State police were working on that assumption. It would be a smart move by a master crook could

New crime on the Skyway would produce that very result, particularly if it involved the presence of

murderous men, fleeing to a getaway. Selger's death would be likened to this coming one; moreover, crooks

would be ready to eliminate any witnesses who might make future trouble. They had missed a bet in not

trailing Selger in along the Skyway. Had they done so, they could have rubbed out Caulkens immediately

A break had come in The Shadow's favor. It was not just luck, however, that he had gained this opportunity

to deal with men of crime. His own indomitable persistence; his rescue of Jolles; his stroke in behalf of

Caulkens and Cardona these had forced a hidden enemy to concentrate full force upon tonight's event.

Though The Shadow had lost certain trails, he had maintained diligent search for Finger Lurbin, knowing that

the man might be used again. The Shadow had gained news that he wanted. He had used it to advantage in his

Time was short for The Shadow. He needed to map a quick campaign. Studying his diagram of the Skyway,

he made notations beside it, in ink of vivid blue. Written words, tiny arrows and other indicators that faded

after their inscription. These were visible expressions of The Shadow's thoughts.

Someone was slated to die tonight; someone whose position resembled that of Hosea Selger. Perhaps it

would be Peter Widpath; possibly it would be another also in the web. Whoever it might be, that man would

FINGER LURBIN'S time of departure was as yet unstated. That meant that Finger was still awaiting word

from someone outside New York. The victim would be driving in about midnight. Finger would know when

At midnight or thereafter, traffic would be light on the Skyway. Cars would hold to the established maximum

of forty miles an hour. It would be an easy matter for Finger to reach the onemile stretch between the giant

Would crooks be heading inward as well? The Shadow, drawing arrows that came points together, delivered

a whispered laugh that spelled the answer. His finding was in the affirmative. Tonight's crime was one of

The whole game could be stopped by a tipoff to the law. But The Shadow knew that such an action would

merely mean postponement of crime. In all probability, cars of innocent appearance would first ride over the

Death for the victim elsewhere. Lost opportunity for The Shadow. Again, the whispered laugh sounded; its

sinister tones betokened that the task of thwarting murder would be The Shadow's own. Already he possessed

an advantage that would serve him. Hawkeye and Cliff, designated to hold back traffic, could arrive at the

vital moment. It was plain that they were supposed to shift from one traffic lane to another, keeping down to

thirty, thereby blocking impatient motorists should any be close behind them. But they were also to speed up

They would do just that. Moreover, a second car would travel up close behind them, bringing two more of

The Shadow's agents: Moe and Harry. These four could nullify Finger's crew, by striking unexpectedly.

Keeping on, they would then be free to encounter the inbound thugs whom The Shadow anticipated.

The Shadow's pen moved outward along the line that showed the Skyway on the map. The pen stopped as it

reached the space between the bridges. Stretching forth his hand, The Shadow made another line inward;

He was forming his own plan; his whispered laugh was sinister as he observed the highlevel stretch upon

the map. With that tone of sardonic mockery, The Shadow's plan was formed. He folded the map and brought

forth the earphones. To Burbank, he gave new instructions, final word to waiting agents.

Crime was due to click in clockwork fashion, timed to the minute. That factor was to The Shadow's liking. It

would enable him to estimate when crime would be due and to act accordingly. The Shadow had full details

of the Skyway and its terrain; moreover, he would be able to supplement that knowledge through later contact

Vital to The Shadow's plan would be the action of his agents. Through those trusted aids, The Shadow could

gain the opportunity he needed. Men of crime were concentrating strength, to give battle to The Shadow

Tonight, their hope would be to eliminate their superfoe. At the same time, the crooks would feel surety as

well as hope; surety that they would be able to do as they had done before prevent The Shadow from

THE SHADOW knew the surety that crooks must feel. That was why his laugh resounded after he had given

final instructions to Burbank; it was also the reason for the persistence of his sardonic mirth after he had

In tonight's counterstroke, The Shadow could leave battle to his agents. Supposedly coverup men for Finger

Lurbin, Cliff and Hawkeye would be able to strike from within the ranks. They, in turn, would be backed by

Moe and Harry. With surprise as their advantage, The Shadow's agents would hold the odds.

The Shadow, himself, would be free clear to take up the chase, ready to handle the aftermath of frustrated

crime. His indirect contact with Finger Lurbin had given him sufficient knowledge to form a workable plan

Shortly after The Shadow's departure from his sanctum, a speedy coupe appeared on a Manhattan avenue, en

route to the Holland Tube. It was the same machine that had chased Soup Ramsted's car along the Lincoln

Highway, two nights before. At the wheel of his swift automobile, The Shadow was Jersey bound, aiming for

The Shadow's purpose was established. His counterstroke was ready; crooks would not suspect it. As

circumstances stood, all was in The Shadow's favor. Yet even as The Shadow traveled westward, events were

Chance was bringing a new factor into the Skyway game. Unknown to crooks, unreported to The Shadow, an

eleventhhour entrant was joining the contest. A freak of luck, arriving on the eve of conflict, was bringing

THE SHADOW, in his survey of the coming situation, had definitely chosen his course. Murder was in the

making; prevention of crime, not mere postponement, had become The Shadow's aim.

A swift counterstroke; a rapid followup; after those accomplishments, the law's cooperation would be

welcome. It would come soon enough, as a matter of natural course. Too early an intervention would be

The crooks, themselves, evidently had confidence in their ability to avoid suspicion of New Jersey highway

patrols, at least up to, and including the time that crime would strike. That left Joe Cardona as the one

remaining factor; and The Shadow had been wise enough not to underestimate Cardona's ability.

As detective and as acting inspector, Cardona had frequently shown skill in tracking down deepset crime.

To keep tabs on the stocky sleuth's findings, The Shadow had deputed Clyde Burke to visit headquarters,

On this evening, Clyde had sent in a positive report that Cardona had temporarily dropped the matter of

Hosea Selger's murder. Finding no new evidence in New York, Joe had left the case in the hands of the New

Not long after The Shadow's departure from Manhattan, Joe Cardona strolled into his office at headquarters.

The ace went to his desk, opened a drawer and began to study a stack of report sheets. They, together with

accompanying documents, concerned a series of warehouse robberies. Cardona was deep in his task when he

"A story," responded Clyde. "Looks like you might have one in that pile of junk."

CARDONA chuckled. He studied the wisefaced reporter; then held out the batch of papers. Clyde had been

lounging in the doorway; at Cardona's gesture, the reporter's indolence ended. His slender, wiry frame

became active as Clyde stepped forward eagerly. Then a look of chagrin appeared upon the reporter's face.

"This stuff!" ejaculated Clyde. "Say I thought you'd finished with this investigation, Joe! Just a bunch of

"I know," nodded Cardona, "but there's still a few points to be cleared. The commissioner wants a completely

summarized report by morning. It may take me until two in the morning to finish it. But he'll get it, provided

Clyde took the hint. With a slight grin, he handed the papers back to Cardona; then strolled from the office.

Clyde knew Cardona well enough to know that the detective was not bluffing. On his way back to the

Joe Cardona had not bluffed. At the time of Clyde Burke's departure, nothing could have been further from

the ace detective's mind than the matter of Hosea Selger's recent death upon the Skyway. It was not until two

unexpected visitors came suddenly into his office that Cardona's mind reverted to that theme.

Hearing footsteps, Cardona looked up angrily, thinking that another reporter had arrived. Instead, he saw the

bulky figure of Detective Sergeant Markham; with Markham was a scrawny, pastyfaced fellow whom

COFFER looked nervous. From his pasty lips hung the unlighted stub of a handrolled cigarette. His face

was twitching; his ragged attire indicated that his recent luck had been bad. The dip tried to make a protest as

"Found this on him," informed the detective sergeant, producing a wallet. "Got about forty bucks in it; Coffer

"It's my own kale, Joe," whined Coffer. "Markham didn't see me doin' nothin'. The leather's mine, too."

Cardona examined the wallet. It was a shabby one, more likely to have been picked from an ash can than

The detective produced a large, oldfashioned watch. Cardona grunted as he received it. The silver case was

in battered condition; Joe marveled at the fact that the timepiece was still running. Coffer managed a grin as

"The turnip's mine, too," informed the dip, nudging a thumb toward the watch. "I been tryin' to soak it; but

"Been savin' it," returned Coffer. "It's gettin' cold out, Joe. I was goin' to blow myself to a new benny."

"You need an overcoat, all right," admitted Cardona. "Well, Markham, it looks like the pinch was a bum bet."

"I'd have thought so, too," agreed the detective sergeant, "if it hadn't been for the way that Coffer took it. He's

The dip eyed his inquisitor. He saw that he was on the verge of freedom. He knew also that Markham had his

number. Coffer had had a reason for trying to duck the detective sergeant. After a moment's consideration,

"I ain't no stoolie, Joe," he whined, "an' that's why I was leery when Markham grabbed me. There was

somethin' I knew about wasn't none of my business an' I thought maybe he was wise. I didn't want to get

shoved on no parade along with a bunch of other mugs. Maybe it wouldn't have been good for me."

"I ain't said I won't talk. Listen, Joe. I was down at the Black Ship, see? I was on the Erie listenin' in to

"Well, they was talkin' about Finger Lurbin," resumed Coffer. "One guy figured Finger was in town. Said

maybe Finger could have been in on that rubout over in Jersey, It started like it was goin' to be a snatch

"Then another guy spilled somethin' none of 'em knowed. Said Finger used to be partners with Duke Harley,

who's runnin' some ritzy joint uptown. Well, Joe, figurin' that you nearly got bumped over in Jersey, I was

afraid you'd have it in for any mug like me that knowed maybe Finger was mixed in it."

CARDONA eyed the dip steadily. Coffer had steadied; his tone was truthful. Slowly, the detective handed the

"All right, Coffer," ordered Cardona. "Scram. Ease him out by the side, Markham, so nobody will see him

Coffer nodded as he went out with Markham. The pickpocket knew that silence was his only course; for he

feared both the underworld and the law. Cardona had wisely counted on that fact. Knowing that Coffer had

When Markham returned, he found Cardona ready with hat and overcoat. Joe had bundled away the

warehouse reports. Markham nodded as Cardona beckoned toward the door. The detective sergeant needed

no information regarding their destination. He knew that they were starting forth on a surprise visit to Duke

IT was close to eleven o'clock when Cardona and Markham left headquarters. At approximately half past,

Duke Harley was seated at the desk in his office when the telephone bell rang. Answering the call, the

"All set, eh, Finger? Good... Sure, I'll put in a call there for you... Knife and Fork Restaurant... Ask for Jack...

Tell him to be outside at ten minutes of twelve... Wait a minute, I'll write down the number..."

Duke reached for the piece of paper that was under the corner of his blotter. There, with the number that The

Shadow had given him, he wrote Dorset 63811. Then: "Sure, I understand, Finger... It's a bum idea for you

to stop anywhere and telephone, once you get started... Yeah, it's better not to tip Jack off for ten minutes

Duke hung up the receiver. He strolled from the office and wandered into the night club, where midnight

hilarity was just beginning. The proprietor held a short chat with the barkeeper; then walked back into his

office. No one was in the hall when Duke went by; just seven minutes had elapsed since Finger's call.

Approaching the desk from in front, Duke pulled out the paper that bore the telephone numbers. He picked up

the telephone, waited for a full minute; then raised the receiver and dialed the Dorset number. A cautious

"Fellow named Jack there?" queried Duke. Then, in return to an affirmative reply he added: "So you're Jack,

eh? Well, fellow, the time's set... Ten minutes of twelve, on the dot... That's right, outside, you and your

buddy, in your bus... And don't forget follow the buggy with the green stoplights..."

Duke's lips formed a half smile as the nightclub proprietor hung up the telephone. Then the expression faded

suddenly from the night club proprietor's face. Bluff in countenance, Duke swung about and dropped his right

hand to the pocket of his tuxedo. His fingers froze as he looked toward the door.

Duke had sensed that someone had entered the room. He was right. While his own voice had been drowning

sounds, an intruder had cautiously invaded Duke's office. The pokerfaced proprietor was staring into the

muzzle of a bluntnosed revolver, held by a man whom he recognized: Detective Joe Cardona.

"All right, Markham." Cardona opened the door with his left hand as he spoke. Markham shouldered into

view. "Frisk Harley while I keep him covered. Meanwhile, Harley, you can tell me what that phone call was

DUKE raised his hands but made no comment. Cardona advanced and picked up the piece of paper that lay

on the desk. He grunted as he noted one number, the first that had been written.

"So you were calling the Black Ship, eh?" queried Joe. "Well, that fits in with what we're here about. But it's

not the Black Ship that this fellow Jack is going to be outside. Cars don't hang around there. More likely it's

Duke gave no response. Cardona picked up the telephone and put in a call to headquarters. He called for

immediate information regarding the Dorset number. The man at the other end consulted a reversed telephone

directory. He gave Joe the name of the Knife and Fork, together with the address.

Clicking the receiver, Cardona gained another connection and snapped emergency orders. Duke Harley

"Patrol car to the Knife and Fork Restaurant," ordered Cardona. "Investigate car parked there; two men, one

named Jack. Waiting to tail a car with green lights. Stop that car, too, after making arrest."

Hanging up, Cardona grinned at Duke. Pocketing his revolver, the acting inspector strode toward the door;

"If Duke knows what's best for him," jeered Joe, "he'll do some talking. If he does, Markham, take it down.

Keep him here until you hear from me, anyway. As far as I'm concerned, he's talked enough already.

"It's quarter of twelve. The boys will queer that bunch down by the Knife and Fork. I'll be there in a hurry, to

find out what it's all about. Two of them in a car outside, ready to chase a buggy with green stoplights. I

Still grinning, Cardona left the Club Diabolo, confident that he had wrecked the hopes of crooks. Like Duke

Harley, the ace had no inkling of the real identities of the men whose arrest he had ordered.

Cardona had instructed concentration upon the car parked outside the Knife and Fork, thinking that it

threatened ill to an automobile that was due to pass that spot. He had mentioned stopping the car with the

Following a lucky break, Joe Cardona had entered the game just before the zero hour. Speeding a radio patrol

to a hurried task, he was following up another stroke of luck his chance overhearing of Duke Harley's

In these quicktimed efforts, Joe Cardona thought that he was blocking men of crime. Instead, he was putting

a crimp into a wellplanned counterstroke. Those whom Joe Cardona was out to get were agents of The

Shadow men upon whose aid the superfighter had depended in a battle soon due upon the Skyway!

IT was Hawkeye who had answered Duke Harley's call. A huddled, wizenedfaced little man, Hawkeye had

stationed himself in the rear corner of the hashhouse known as the Knife and Fork. He had been close beside

the telephone; he had answered it almost unnoticed, the moment that it had begun to ring.

After that, Hawkeye had promptly shambled to the front counter and paid his check. From there he had

shuffled to the street, to join a man who was waiting in a parked coupe: Cliff Marsland. A short interval, then

A clock on the wall showed quarter of twelve as Cliff dropped a nickel in the pay telephone. Husky and

broadshouldered, Cliff kept his back to the few patrons in the cafe as he dialed a number and gained

"Elevenfifty," informed Cliff in a muffled voice. "Zero from the Knife and Fork."

Cliff walked out to the street and boarded the car. Seated at the wheel, he started the motor and waited while

Hawkeye, beside him, peered backward along the street. Three minutes passed; a taxi coasted to the curb a

Cliff knew that Moe Shrevnitz must have been near by, awaiting a call from Burbank. He knew also that the

same information must have been forwarded to The Shadow, wherever the chief might be. Then Cliff began

Fifteen minutes was his guess regarding the time that it would take to reach the bridges on the Skyway.

A HISS from Hawkeye. Cliff peered from the window of the driver's seat. A car was swinging down the

avenue, cutting over toward the curb. It looked like a patrol car. Worried, Cliff shoved his own car into gear.

A uniformed officer leaped from the car. Yanking a gun, he bounded forward; at that moment, another

machine swung from a corner and sped past Cliff's coupe. As Cliff took a glance at it, the car jolted slightly

with the application of brakes. Green stoplights blinked from the rear of the large sedan.

Cliff shoved the accelerator pedal, just as the officer from the patrol car barked a command to halt. The coupe

shot forward in pursuit of the sedan, as green stoplights blinked a new signal from half a block ahead. The

officer on the curb paused, about to fire after Cliff's car; then stopped as he heard a shout from his patrol

The patrol car was already speeding to the chase. The cop with the revolver sprang to the running board as it

passed. As the driver shifted from second into high, the officer with the revolver opened fire, blazing wild

The sedan had swung from view a block ahead. A chase was on, Cliff and Hawkeye fleeing in the sedan,

pursued by cops in the patrol car. Behind them came a third car, following; it was Moe's taxicab, with Harry

Driving grimly, Cliff Marsland recognized his dilemma. His original duty had been to follow the sedan. To

do that would be to spoil The Shadow's plans. Once the sedan had dipped into the Holland Tube with the

coupe after it, the law would be on the trail. Moreover, Cliff, pursued by a patrol car, could not get by the toll

To abandon the original plan would be to shift a hopeless burden to The Shadow. Well did Cliff know that

his chief was relying upon the aid of his agents. In those tense moments, Cliff struck upon the only scheme

He must escape the patrol car; that was most pressing at present. By leading the police away, he could still

aid The Shadow's scheme and see to it that his chief gained aid. For Cliff knew that Moe's taxi could keep on.

Moreover, Cliff had the quick hope that he could elude the patrol car by a twisting course; that given a break

he could bob back and head for the tube. It would mean that he and Hawkeye would arrive after Harry and

Bullets whined close as Cliff managed the sharp turn. The patrol car was close; its siren was whining

furiously. Cliff pressed the accelerator to the floorboard as he reached the side street. The coupe roared its

response, speeding up in high gear. More shots sounded from in back. The cop on the running board of the

BACK on the avenue, Moe Shrevnitz was keeping on. He was doing so in response to a quick order from

Harry Vincent, in the back seat. Harry had guessed Cliff's game. The present job was to take after the sedan.

But Moe was due for trouble. As he shoved the brakes for the next corner, planning to veer left and approach

Moe looked back quickly at Harry, who gave a nod. The taxi driver slowed the cab, the cop leaped to the

running board and gave a quick glance into the back. He saw Harry. "Better jump out, fellow "

As Harry shook his head, Moe jerked the car into gear. He swung right and sped along a side street, the

direction which the officer wanted, for the chase had gone that way. At the next avenue, Moe swung right

again; as he neared the next side street, he veered suddenly to the left, without warning.

The officer had picked the running board on the right, to be ready with his revolver. He was looking straight

ahead when Moe curved left. The swing sent him lunging out to the middle of the avenue. Harry had been

leaning forward, ready to loose the cop's hold on the door. The action had not proven necessary.

The policeman sprawled unhurt in the middle of the crossing, his revolver clattering upon the asphalt. Moe

had reduced speed; it was the suddenness of the jolt that had enabled him to get rid of this unwelcome

passenger. As the cop sailed clear, Moe rammed the accelerator. The cab whizzed down the side street to the

Moe was grinning shrewdly. He would have a swell story, if ever called to task. This was the street that the

patrol car had taken; his turn here had been a natural one, despite the fact that the cop, a bit bewildered, had

decided to keep up the avenue. Moe could explain later that he had thought the officer was still aboard. Harry

There was no sign of coupe or patrol car as they neared the next avenue. Moe swung left again, his purpose to

travel south a street, then head back for the Holland Tube. But as they neared the crossing, a car cut in from

the right, skidding straight across their path. Moe jammed the brakes as he recognized Cliff's coupe.

One tire flapped completely off its rim as the coupe climbed the curb. The patrol officer had winged it at long

range, firing down the street from which the coupe had come. The siren of the patrol car was whining wildly

as Moe made the crossing. As the taxi driver stopped, Cliff and Hawkeye came tumbling from their wrecked

Harry Vincent had thrust open the door. Cliff dived into the cab, Hawkeye just behind him. Moe stepped on

the gas as the patrol car shrilled its arrival. As they turned the corner, the policemen saw the abandoned coupe

ANOTHER siren was blaring, coming in from the direction of the tube entrance. Police cars were

converging; an attempt to gain the tunnel would be hopeless. Moe sped southward, his taxi showing amazing

speed. He picked a street to the left and negotiated a quick turn that enabled him to increase the space

In the exciting minutes that followed, Moe Shrevnitz displayed the driving skill that had caused The Shadow

to choose him as an aid. Three patrol cars had entered the pursuit; they were taking varied courses to block

off the fleeing cab. But Moe knew every crisscrossed thoroughfare of this downtown area. He whirled along

beneath elevated structure; he yanked the cab about between the dangerous pillars.

He chose side streets that seemed to open as he aimed for them. He threaded a zigzag course that had his

three passengers rolling, sprawling and floundering in the back seat. At last he reached the vicinity of

Brooklyn Bridge and swung into a mass of traffic. Following northward, Moe cut over to another avenue and

In a dozen minutes, he had eluded his pursuers. Outdistancing them, Moe had lost himself in the shuffle and

had come out again, free from the chase. His cab was just one of the thousands rolling uptown in Manhattan.

Moe had done all that was possible in the pinch. They had landed in too deep. The loss of the coupe did not

matter; it was not registered by either Cliff or Hawkeye. Escape had been paramount in the emergency; The

Shadow himself would have ordered it. But there was no chance now for these agents to aid The Shadow. A

DOWN by the Knife and Fork, a fuming man was standing by the curb. It was Joe Cardona; the acting

inspector had just arrived to learn that his plan had failed. The coupe had been spotted; its occupants had

Moreover, Joe had received a negative report regarding the sedan with the green stoplights. The first patrol

car had taken after the coupe; the others had not even seen the sedan. To add to Cardona's disgruntled

feelings came an arrival whom the ace had not expected. It was Clyde Burke, stepping from a taxi.

"Hello, Joe," greeted the reporter. "Say you pulled a fast one on me, didn't you? Telling me nothing was up

"Can it, Burke," interposed Cardona, angrily. "This is no time for a lot of gab. Some tough gorillas just staged

a getaway, and I'd like to know who was in that other car. I'm betting now that it was the main outfit. Those

"We heard the row up in the newspaper office. Sirens shots the Classic office isn't far from here. That's

Clyde said no more. He could have added that he had known what must have happened; for Burbank had

informed the reporter of the situation at the Knife and Fork, prior to the excitement. Clyde was tensely

"Ten minutes of twelve," growled Cardona. "That's the time the car with the green stoplights went by. It's

five after twelve now. Say I'd like to know where that car went to. We chased the coupe and the taxi "

"How about the. Holland Tube?" queried Clyde. "Maybe the car you're talking about beat it for Jersey. If it

Cardona spun about, his dark eyes agleam. The detective whacked an approving hand upon Clyde's

"Come On!" Joe nudged toward a police car. "We're going through to Jersey. Get the other side of the tube on

the wire. Notify the Jersey patrol. Maybe that car's going out by the high level stretch.

"We're going in two cars you can come along, Burke. Join up with the Jersey police when we hit the other

side. Tell them to come in from the other end of the Skyway. Make it snappy. You, Leighton."

AS a detective scurried into the Knife and Fork to make the telephone calls, Cardona bounded into the first

car. Clyde jumped in beside him. Officers joined the pair; others sprang aboard the second car. Sirens

Clyde Burke had acted well in a pinch. He knew that The Shadow was bereft of aids. Clyde had given the

suggestion that would bring the law into the game with promptness, coming as The Shadow had been willing

Yet Clyde was tense and unelated, for he could see the grim danger that circumstance had produced. Fifteen

minutes had elapsed; the climax of crime was due. The Shadow, unaided, would have to deal with murderous

WHILE wild chase had carried scouring patrol cars through lower Manhattan, all had been quiet along the

Skyway. It was a light night for traffic; the four lanes of the highlevel viaduct had been singularly clear of

That driver was James Dulkin. The longfaced merchant had signed his confession of complicity. Foy

Zullick had returned him his big coupe; Dulkin had said goodbye to Peter Widpath and had started in from

Dulkin had followed a route as advised by Zullick. He had found driving easy until he had reached the

Lincoln Highway. At that point, a large truck had started up from the side of the road. It had lumbered ahead

It had been impossible to pass that truck. Not only was the old vehicle bulky; it was also dragging a trailer

that equaled it in size. The truck was traveling at thirtyfive miles an hour; it was staying half in each traffic

lane. Dulkin could not blame the driver; he knew that the fellow was worrying about the sway of the trailer

But the situation was annoying, for Dulkin was anxious to reach New York and did not like the thirtyfive

mile an hour pace when he knew that he could do forty and perhaps above without being halted by

As Dulkin recalled the Skyway regulations and his surmise was correct trucks were allowed to follow it

only as far as the Skyway proper. Just before the Passaic River, there was a tunneled ramp in the center of the

viaduct. That was where trucks were forced to descend; conspicuous signs acquainted the drivers with that

So Dulkin had restrained his temper, thinking that the truck would soon be gone. He had noticed that there

were few patrollers on the viaduct; that was natural, since traffic was so light. But when the truck reached that

INSTEAD Of descending by the ramp, the truck and its trailer had taken the lane to the right. Following the

curve, the driver of the truck was disobeying regulations. He was deliberately routing himself over the

The truck was slowing on the incline as it neared the Passaic, first of the two rivers. Dulkin, noting that it

would still be difficult to pass the swaying trailer, looked from the window of his coupe in hope of spying a

motorcycle patrolman. He saw none; moreover, he noticed that no other cars were close to him.

The nearest lights of automobiles were far behind, almost back by the turn at the airport. Evidently some

other vehicles were clogging traffic, an oddity on this night when few drivers were coming into New York.

The truck rumbled beneath the massive girders of the Passaic Bridge, Dulkin keeping a reasonable distance

behind it. The merchant chuckled half sourly, half hopefully. He felt sure that when the truck reached the

other end of the highlevel Skyway, it would be spotted and the driver arrested. He decided that he would

Distance widened as the truck took the easy, downward dip between the bridges. Dulkin thought for a

moment of passing it; then noted a troublesome spot in the center of the road. It was the rail that fenced off

another ramp, coming up into the center of the Skyway, a little more than midway between the two immense

Dulkin, like many who travel the Skyway, had forgotten about the existence of that ramp. He had fancied that

the stretch was absolutely clear along the mile space between the rivers. He realized now that he had seen the

It opened westward and served as an exit for westbound traffic as well as an entrance for eastbound. Dulkin,

The truck passed the ramp. It took the upgrade to the bridge across the Hackensack. Dulkin went by the ramp

also, slowing the speed of his car, for the truck, veering oddly to the left, was blocking the Skyway worse

than it had before. Moreover, it was stopping. Dulkin brought his coupe to a halt and stared in puzzlement as

UP ahead, a hardfaced driver was peering from the wheel of the truck. Another rowdy was beside him. The

driver had the truck in gear, the front wheels were swung to the left so that he could shove the big vehicle

straight across the road if occasion demanded. But these two were not the only men aboard.

There were others, at the rear of the truck. They were yanking at the big pin that held the trailer. The

connection came loose. Slowly, the trailer slid backward. A man aboard it cut away a rope and yanked a

lever. As curtained sides flapped loose, a motor chugged beneath the front of the trailer. The loosened vehicle

began to swing about. Dulkin, at the wheel of his car, saw it coast, then jolt backward as it skidded down the

slope. The lights from railings revealed the contents of the transformed trailer.

It was a machine of death. Motorized to give it impetus, the trailer was also equipped with eccentric wheels, a

fact which had accounted for its constant swaying while in tow of the truck. That was why it skidded about as

it came, floundering from one curb to the other, covering the full width of the Skyway.

That was not all. The contents of the bulking trailer formed the sight that made Dulkin gasp, aghast. Dropped

curtains had revealed a load of heavy, crushed stone, bulging against tipsy posts and loosened crossbraces

A mighty Jagannath was swaying down upon a doomed car Dulkin's coupe. Frozen at the wheel, the

Dulkin had no chance to swing about and flee; the crashing monstrosity would arrive too soon. Nor could

leaping save him while that huge device was still in motion. He would be overtaken before his legs could

Up ahead, a sedan, westward bound, had swung into view upon the Hackensack bridge. It was the car with

the green stoplight. Finger Lurbin driving with another thug beside him. As the sedan stopped beside the

truck, the men on the bridge scurried to join it. The fake truck driver, the men who had loosed the trailer all

Crime had struck on schedule, timed to the exact minute. Men of murder were on hand to witness the death of

James Dulkin, hopeless in the path of that descending load of stone. His motor stalled in his excitement; his

hands trembling as they tried vainly to open a door of the coupe, Dulkin seemed totally doomed.

But crooks, like their victim, had forgotten that one avenue in the center of the Skyway. That ramp led up

Though Dulkin was unable to wheel his car about and seek the ramp as an exit to safety, the incoming incline

was still destined to serve him. As the wheeling trailer rumbled with a mammoth skid, the wail of a car in

OUT from the depths sped a powerful coupe, driving upward at forced speed. Behind its wheel was a

blackened shape that drove with fury, a figure invisible in the confines of the car. Grim in the face of disaster,

Wisely had he kept from the Skyway, to avoid the observation of spying crooks. He was making his entrance

at the crucial moment, timing his arrival to a perfect estimate after receiving a call from Burbank at a waiting

The Shadow had expected a mass attack of murderers. Instead, he came hurtling into the path of the death

that the killers had prepared for Dulkin. As his car whizzed past the merchant's stalled coupe, The Shadow

The truck was wheeling toward the high curbing at The Shadow's left. Half spinning, it was due to jounce

back and pitch straight toward Dulkin's coupe, no more than fifty feet from its oncoming path. Its work would

Blazing eyes saw the situation in an instant. His own car traveling at fortyfive, The Shadow possessed the

opportunity to cover the intervening space between himself and the trailer before it made that last drive

against the curb on the left. Already chunks of stone had fallen with each jar; those blocks of evidence gave

Straight for the twisting trailer. The Shadow, too, was aiming for the curb. His hand flung the right door

open; as his car drove head on for the trailer, The Shadow dived from the driver's seat. The gearshift lever

was forward; it offered no obstruction. Moreover, the fact that the car was in second gear served as additional

The accelerator pedal bobbed up as The Shadow's foot deserted it. In gear and on the climb, the motor

responded like a brake. The speed of the car was lessening as The Shadow's cloaked form emerged headlong

from the opened door. Yet the coupe still possessed the force of a battering ram as it covered the last twenty

The impact was amazing. As prelude, The Shadow's diving form struck the surface of the Skyway and rolled

over in acrobatic fashion. At the same instant the lunging car rammed the hurtling trailer at an angle as the

two vehicles reached the curb. What the car lacked in size and weight, it possessed in speed and impetus.

The trailer could not have toppled from its own force when it struck the curb; but the smash of The Shadow's

car gave it the required urge. The coupe mashed as completely as if it had struck a stone wall; the trailer,

STOPPED dead by the shattered car, the massive vehicle careened. Balanced on two wheels it wavered;

beneath its bulk, The Shadow lay crouching, barely recovered from his fall. Had the big trailer resisted the

impact; had it come back to all four wheels, it would have sprayed blocks of stone upon this being who had

But The Shadow's quickgauged estimate had been a good one. The wrecking of his car had accomplished

what he hoped. As the trailer balanced over the curb, its loosepacked burden shifted in the right direction.

Stays burst; a deluge of rock smashed down upon the Skyway rail. Huge steel guards had been built to stop

the wildest driven car. But they could not resist this downpour of loosed tonnage. Battering blocks crashed a

pathway through the thickset rail. Carried along with the huge release, the trailer clattered sidewise over the

A flood of pouring stone roared from the Skyway level. The trailer, overturning, struck the opening that the

rock had cleared. It turned turtle, like a toy tossed from a child's haphazard hand. Its lowest layer of stone

followed the torrent that had ruined the guard rail; then, like an unwilling monster, the trailer itself went over

Wheels still spinning from their motor, the trailer plunged downward to the Kearny flats. A terrific crash

announced its arrival upon the shattering heap of stone that had once formed the death machine's own

contents. All that remained within the flattened guardrail was the pitifully mashed ruin of The Shadow's car.

The Shadow had conquered the Jagannath. With a supreme endeavor, he had prevented death upon the

Skyway by a counterdrive against the killing messenger that crooks had launched. No longer in the danger

zone that he had eliminated, The Shadow came to his feet with a mocking cry of defiant triumph.

He had disposed of a mighty instrument designed for cruel slaughter. He had saved James Dulkin, intended

victim of the killers who had set loose that driving monster. The Shadow was ready to deal with the evil

JAMES DULKIN was staring, stupefied, from his coupe. His dull eyes saw that cloaked figure on the

Skyway. His ears could catch the unreal peal of The Shadow's challenging mirth. Looking beyond; the

merchant could see the stalled truck; beside it the glaring headlights of a stopped sedan.

Men of crime still lingered; headed toward their prey. But blocking them was the same fierce fighter whose

craft had foiled them once. The Shadow had pitted the frail structure of his automobile against the towering

bulk of the deathdesigned trailer. He had won; now, a lone fighter, he was ready to match his prowess

Like Dulkin, crooks were stunned. They knew that odds meant nothing to The Shadow. For a moment, their

thoughts were those of fear. Then came the growled assurance of their leader, Finger Lurbin.

"We're here to get Dulkin," snarled Finger. "To rub him out anyway, if the trailer flivved. An' we're figuring

for a getaway, ain't we? An' not back through New York, where the coppers nailed our coverup crew. Well

"Yeah?" jeered Finger. "Well, he goes first. Gats ready, you bimboes. We're going."

Finger drove the sedan in gear. The car jolted forward as thugs flourished their revolvers. Pulling the lever

into high gear, Finger coolly yanked forth a gun of his own, ready to join in the coming fray. Stepping on the

accelerator, he sped the sedan straight forward toward that lone figure on the Skyway.

THE SHADOW had produced two automatics. Ready with raised weapons, he stared beyond the driving car.

He had expected to see two others a coupe and a taxi bringing in the agents upon whom he had counted.

No headlights gleamed from beneath the blackened outline of the Hackensack bridge.

The Shadow's laugh rose fiercely above the roar of the oncoming motor. As thugs fired wild, opening shots,

leaning from the windows of the sedan, The Shadow's leveled automatics flashed their answer, each with

Simultaneously the sedan's headlamps shattered. The Shadow had picked those glaring targets for his first

bullets. His perfect aim gained its result. The sedan swerved as Finger Lurbin emitted a hoarse oath. No

Instead, they saw The Shadow only by the lights along the Skyway. The sudden contrast showed him as an

evasive, whirling figure, sweeping toward the curb beyond the opening that the crashed trailer had cleaved in

Finger Lurbin, still hoping to run down The Shadow, responded instinctively by jolting the wheel to the right.

The Shadow had expected that act; he had purposely stayed his fire. But as the sedan veered, he opened a

ripping volley with one automatic, his target the tire of the right, front wheel.

The tire flattened as the bullets ploughed it. The car swung from Finger's control. Wild shouts from frenzied

mobsters. Their car was hurtling straight for that broad gap in the Skyway rail.

It was unlikely that the sedan would climb the curb; but that fact did not occur to the maddened occupants

not even to Finger Lurbin. As their leader jammed the brakes, his henchmen thrust open doors and dived out

in hope of safety. As they came to hands and knees, they aimed wildly for The Shadow. Automatics volleyed

Two thugs sprawled wounded. They were the ones on the near side of the sedan, which had twisted about as

Finger stopped it. A crook bobbed up from behind the hood of the sedan; The Shadow's next shot dropped the

Three were left, all beyond the sedan. That spot of security was not sufficient. Yellow in the pinch, no longer

hopeful of a getaway in the sedan, these three who had left the truck turned heel and fled, dashing back up

The Shadow's next shots quickened the scurry of those rats. Fight was gone from them; The Shadow was

willing to let them flee. They would find no lurking spots upon the bridge. Already distant sirens were

The Shadow had wheeled away from the curb. Swinging across the traffic lanes, he was looking for Finger

Lurbin. He knew that the chief foeman was still in the fight. Finger had dropped low in the front seat when

The door on the left was closed. No head or hand appeared there. The Shadow stopped short; he looked

beyond the front of the stalled sedan. His hunch was a timely one. It located Finger Lurbin.

Crouching low, the dangerous crook had slipped through the door which his torpedo had opened on the right.

A CLOAKED form whirled. An automatic pumped quick shots that skimmed the polished hood of the sedan,

just as a revolver spoke twice from Finger's fist. Two bullets whistled through the folds of The Shadow's

But Finger Lurbin gained no such respite. Snarling, crippled by The Shadow's quick shots, he staggered

Towering, with left hand clutched against his chest, Finger aimed again, his frenzy carrying him to

superhuman effort. Had he loosed another shot, it would have clipped The Shadow, for the cloaked

marksman was plainly outlined against a rail light on the other side. But Finger gained no opportunity. The

An automatic spoke its just message. Finger Lurbin blurted a sharp cry. Staggering backward, he dropped his

revolver and clutched both hands to his chest. Slumping, the crook rolled to the edge by the broken rail; there

Slipping backward, Finger sprawled from the brink. His body spun like a tiny pinwheel as it whirled to the

Motorcycles had reached the bridge; this was the vanguard of the law. Troopers were stopping, to level

revolvers at the surrendering trio who had fled The Shadow's wrath. Turning away. The Shadow saw the

glare of approaching headlights, driving down from the westward bridge across the Passaic.

JAMES DULKIN had seen them also. Frantically, the merchant had leaped from his coupe. He was running

toward The Shadow, crying out his dread. Instinctively, Dulkin had guessed the meaning of those oncoming

cars. They were the ones that had been following so far behind. Dulkin knew that they must mean belated

The Shadow knew it also. As Dulkin scurried up the incline, The Shadow swept forward with swift stride. He

dashed past the coupe; he reached the rail of the ramp by which he had reached the Skyway. Dropping behind

Wild shots answered. Bullets flattened against steel posts. Cowering crooks emerged from their car, only to

hear the fierce burst of The Shadow's challenging laugh. Too late did they realize the identity of their foe.

Ruffians dropped as The Shadow's quick shots clipped them. Writhing wounded on the bridge, they served as

examples of what would happen to the others. Two men dived beyond the car and dashed back to a second

automobile that had stopped many yards behind. Out of range, they clambered aboard. The car swung about

Soup Ramsted was one of those who had fled from the first car. In charge of the inbound cars, he had been

deputed to head the reserves. With chaos on the Skyway, Soup chose flight. His guess was not a bad one.

Madly, Soup and his henchmen were heading back across the Passaic, to reach a westbound exit just beyond

Dulkin was still running for the Hackensack bridge. He could see the troopers; he wanted their protection.

The Shadow, lingering, saw the glare of motorcycle lights bob up from beneath the superstructure that

Soup's band had made a lucky getaway. Perhaps some troopers had pursued them; but others were certainly

coming on. New motorcycles were arriving from the east; two groups were converging toward The Shadow.

From now on, the law would hold this area where strife had ended. The Shadow had other tasks to consider.

The Shadow sprang to Dulkin's coupe. He had it in reverse as he pressed the starter. He swung the car

backward; then forward. With a burst of speed, he shot the car straight down the center ramp of Kearny. The

As he arrived, so did The Shadow leave, by that center ramp that he had chosen as his avenue of action. He

had come in one car; he was leaving in another. He had come to conquer crooks and leave the law in charge.

UP from the ramp came the last echoes of a departing laugh; a cry of mirth that carried a note of triumph.

Though he had gained no new trail, The Shadow had deprived villains of their victim. With an informant

State troopers made no chase of that departing car. It had left at terrific speed; there was no sign of it when

they reached the ramp. Moreover they knew without the need of telling that the fighter in that car had

Dulkin's blurted statements; the gaping space along the rail; the surrender of three cringing crooks those

Victory for The Shadow meant triumph for the law. The hardest thrust of crime had been stopped and broken.

Yet a supercrook was still at large. Other victims might be in his grasp. The law would learn; the law would

After that tremendous battle atop the skyway, any task to come would lie within the range of possibility. For

A PANTING man was scrambling up a narrow path. Stumbling over underbrush, he faltered; then regained

his footing. He blinked a flashlight, then continued onward. After him followed others. The leader stopped as

he struck the flooring of a veranda. He managed a laugh as he noted the glow of dull windows.

The laugh was Soup Ramsted's. The dynamiter paused for breath then blinked his flashlight on a watch that

he had drawn from his pocket. The time was half past one. Soup had returned to the lodge in the Watchung

Faint winds produced subdued whistles. Storms had passed; though the air was still, a calmness was settling

over the lonely retreat. Soup showed confidence in his voice as he growled to his men.

"Come in with me, you fellows," he ordered. "Foy's liable to be sore when he hears how things turned out.

Affirmative growls from the others. One man flashed a light along the veranda. Soup snatched it from the

"No glims," he reminded. "Use your brains, all of you. There's nobody around here, Foy is doing duty himself

SOUP opened the door and strode into the living room of the lodge. Zullick was seated at the fireplace; he

looked up puzzled at the entrance of several men. A glower showed on the murderer's face; but when Zullick

"Well, well," he remarked smoothly. "Bringing them all in, eh, Soup? That's a new wrinkle. Where's the

"These are all that's left," returned Soup abruptly. "The breaks went against us, Foy."

Zullick came angrily to his feet. He stared at his lieutenant, expecting an explanation. Soup gave it.

"The Shadow muscled in," stated the lieutenant, uneasily. "Took a crack at Finger and his outfit after they'd

"Laying back, like I was supposed to be. We had the two cars side by side, so's to block off other cars; but

"Yeah. But we didn't know it at the time. It was when Finger didn't come along that we breezed up to learn

"We didn't lamp him; but we heard him. He handed us the haha and opened up with those gats of his.

"The cops was on us, Foy. We only had time for a getaway. The Shadow had crippled one buggy we

Mumbles of approval came from Soup's companions. Zullick eyed the hard faces; then forgot his suave tone

"What about Dulkin?" demanded the crook. "Finger got him all right? Pulled the rubout, even with The

"Sure," returned Soup, with an attempt at bravado. "Finger must have plugged Dulkin. That's why The

"Wait a minute," interposed Zullick. "What about the trailer? Did it ride down on Dulkin?"

"It must have. We saw the truck, way up on the Hackensack bridge, when we was coming across the Passaic.

The trailer wasn't on it. There was a car wrecked at the edge of the viaduct. Looked like the trailer must have

"Must have gone through the fence. Big hole there past the busted car. Then there was another bus, sitting in

"I figured the one that had been in the smash. Both of the cars were coupes, though "

A SNARL was Zullick's final interruption. The murderer had heard enough. Glowering at Soup and the

"Palookas, the pack of you," stormed the wolfish crook. "You don't get close enough to see anything. You

know the job's been queered; yet you take it for granted that Dulkin was rubbed out. What if he's still alive?

"We had to beat it, Foy," pleaded Soup, while his companions stood silent. "We made a getaway in time to

shake the cops. I was foxy enough not to come straight here. I went clear past the hills and doubled back

"What's this you're telling me?" demanded Zullick. "You didn't come straight here?"

"Sure not, Foy. Dulkin wasn't losing no time going into the city. When I spotted him on the express highway,

I put in that call to Finger; then took after Dulkin, knowing the truck would be on the lookout. But it was a

"Twelvefive. I figured his speed from where he passed us on the express highway. The truck was posted to

hold him back. Finger must have got there, all right, Foy. Even if the trailer didn't crack Dulkin's buggy, you

"With The Shadow there? Listen, you dumbbell, suppose Dulkin wasn't bumped! Don't you get it? He'll be

"I figured that, Foy. I was thinking of heading straight here; but I was worried for fear somebody was close to

us. That's why I cut around the mountains. I wasn't counting on any trouble from Dulkin, anyhow. You've got

Foy Zullick was shaking both fists, maddened to a heat of fury. The murderer could no longer restrain his

"How do you know Dulkin won't squawk?" stormed Zullick. "Now that he knows we tried to bump him,

things are different. He's been on the spot, Dulkin has. He can swear that signature of his is phony or that

he signed the paper under threat and the bulls will believe him. Particularly if he says we put on the heat.

"He'll be thinking of Widpath, too. Telling them that Widpath's in a jam and needs to be helped out of it.

Meanwhile, you've been chasing all around the county. Say they've had an hour to listen to Dulkin and get

"We'd better take it on the lam, Foy," suggested Soup, weakly. "Bump Widpath and that chauffeur of his, or

snatch them along with us. Say" hoping to defend his own mistakes, Soup shot a criticism at Zullick "are

you sure you've still got Widpath and the other bozo? You've been here alone, Foy that window of theirs

"I've got both of them," snarled Zullick. "They still think there's watchers posted outside. I'm getting the pair

of them right now, to drag them along with us." He turned toward Widpath's door but stopped as he reached

"Meanwhile, you sap, do something!" Zullick's tone was hoarse with fury. "Get outside talk to any of the

"I didn't leave anybody down there," protested Soup. "This is all of us that's left, Foy. I told you that already

Soup broke off as Zullick bounded away from Widpath's door. Angrily, Zullick dashed across the living room

and grabbed the knob of the outer door. He faced the crew that stood in front of the fireplace.

"Outside, all of you!" shouted Zullick. "Beat it down where we keep the cars! Get ready while I bring

ZULLICK was drawing a revolver as he spoke. He turned the doorknob as he delivered furious epithets.

"You've shown yourself a dimwit, Soup! Get busy and make up for your dumbness! Nobody outside say,

the cops could be here already, without our even guessing it! Maybe they're driving up the hill with Dulkin

Zullick had opened the door. He was still facing his henchmen. He stopped his command abruptly as he saw a

change come over the group. Hands had already started for gats, copying Zullick's example. Those hands had

Zullick swung toward the door, snarling as he aimed his revolver. Dropping back, he let the weapon fall as

he, too, shoved his hands upward. There was no chance for fight. Crooks had been trapped in their lair.

Bristling from the doorway was a quartet of revolvers; the weapons were held by Joe Cardona and a trio of

New Jersey troopers. The law had done what Foy Zullick had feared. James Dulkin had told of Peter

Widpath's plight. Rescuers had arrived; they had captured the lodge by surprise.

Joe Cardona delivered the ultimatum as he shouldered in through that doorway. Beside him was a lieutenant

of New Jersey troopers; behind them a pair of State policemen. The four spread out; motioning with their

revolvers they forced Zullick and the other crooks to line up in surrender along the walls.

The State officer took charge. This was his job, although he had allowed Cardona equal share in staging the

surprise arrival. A fifth man had entered behind the others, brought in by the call that all was well. This was

"The building is surrounded," spoke the State police lieutenant. "If you try a break for it, my men will shoot

Like Cardona, the officer addressed his remarks to Zullick. Dulkin had given a good description of the

Zullick heard the next demand. He shrugged his shoulders; then nudged an uplifted thumb toward the door

"In there," informed the crook, "with his chauffeur. They're guests not prisoners."

A trooper strode across and opened the door. He spied two haggardfaced men and beckoned. Peter Widpath

came out into the living room, followed by Burrett. The grayhaired man smiled happily as he saw Dulkin

with the officers. Burrett, blocky and droopfaced, managed to give a pleased grin.

Dulkin nodded to the troopers, to indicate that these were the men whom they had come to rescue. The

"Mr. Widpath," he stated, "a few nights ago, a man named Hosea Selger was killed on the Skyway while

driving into New York. Tonight, an attempt at murder was made on James Dulkin. He told us that both he

"That is correct," acknowledged Widpath. "We were held by this man, Foy Zullick, who is a selfadmitted

murderer. Zullick is responsible for the deaths of Seton Hylap and Gifford Barbridge."

"Are former members of a blasting crew that worked for the K and R Railroad. Zullick enlisted them to serve

him in crime. They were under the command of Soup Ramsted, the prisoner beyond the fireplace."

There was a pause; then Widpath advanced toward the uniformed lieutenant. With a gleam of satisfaction on

"I have proof of their perfidy," he announced. "Documentary evidence which these scoundrels did not know

was in my possession. I have been holding it in hope that I could deliver it to the law."

From his inside pocket, Widpath produced a long envelope. He handed it to the officer; then stepped back.

Instructing the troopers to keep the prisoners covered, the police lieutenant opened the envelope and drew

forth a wad of folded papers. As he uncreased the documents, Joe Cardona stepped forward to view them.

As he ejaculated the words, the officer looked up. At that instant, he heard a fierce, triumphant snarl. The

troopers behind him became rigid, unable to move despite the fact that they held loaded revolvers.

TWO men had acted as one: Widpath and Burrett. Stepping back to rejoin his chauffeur, Widpath had yanked

a gleaming .38 while Burrett had produced a similar weapon. They were aiming straight for the armed pair of

troopers; and their guns also covered Cardona and the Jersey lieutenant, caught flatfooted in the foreground.

Only Dulkin was out of range; but the astonished merchant was too startled to make a move. Widpath, his

face betraying venom, was brisk with a snarled command. The troopers let their revolvers clatter, knowing

that they had no chance. Their lieutenant dropped his lowered gun; Cardona did the same.

"Hold it, chief," purred Zullick, lowering his arms and stooping to pick up his revolver. "There's a bunch of

cops outside. They'll barge in here if they hear a blowoff. Better make a deal with these mugs before we

"We shall let Dulkin talk," decided Widpath, in biting tones. "Come, Dulkin, speak. We know that you were

"I I told them to come here," stammered Dulkin, his voice weak and pitiful. "I trusted you, Widpath; I I

thought you were in danger. I was taken to a State patrol headquarters. That's where where I talked."

"To to the lieutenant; and to Cardona. There was a reporter there, too, from the New York Classic. His

"He went back into New York, to write a story about the fight on the Skyway. He had to go in order to get it

"I came to show the way. We were careful coming up the road. We were all on foot; and I pointed out the

"A dozen all back in the woods watching. They I told them that maybe guards would be on the veranda."

Widpath delivered an insidious chuckle. While he, Burrett and Zullick still covered their quickly taken

"Zullick has suggested that we make terms," stated Widpath. "In order that we do so, I must explain the

circumstances. Three of us: Selger; you, Dulkin; and myself were a group that expected to acquire the K and

"Zullick notified me privately that murder might be necessary. I told him to proceed with it in case of

emergency; that if he chose to commit crime, I would deal with my squeamish associates.

"Zullick chose murder. We followed by holding a conference here. Zullick handled it for me, treating me as

one of the trio, simply to curb all doubts. It was quite apparent that Selger was undesirable; and you also,

Dulkin. So Zullick and I, in private conference, arranged to dispose of the two of you."

WIDPATH paused. His face showed a reminiscent expression, tinged with evil. His voice was cutting in its

"Signed confessions of complicity!" snorted the selfadmitted master of crime. "Bah! What would they have

"You failed to see that, Dulkin, just as Selger did. Perhaps, to put it the other way about, you did see that the

confessions lacked value, because both of you expected to live. But there was something that you failed

utterly to realize: That was Zullick's inability to handle the sale of the K and R Railway should he be

"Only one of us could do that, Dulkin. Zullick was no financier, no dealer in big business. He was a bluffer,

though, and he fooled you as I thought he would. Those confessions could not serve him, a murderer; but

Again Widpath paused. Understanding was dawning on Dulkin's terrified face. Cardona and the State

policemen were grasping the elements of the scheme, despite the fact that they lacked knowledge of the

"With you and Selger gone, Dulkin," remarked Widpath, "I alone would have access to the straw names of

shareholders in Altamont Power. I could swing the entire sale of K and R to the Mountain Pacific. All profits

"Did I say 'would be'?" Widpath chuckled. "I should have said 'will be'; for my game is still safe. Should I be

subjected to investigation later, I shall let those confessions come to light through some unsuspected source.

"It will never be known that I was associated with Hosea Selger and James Dulkin. They will be marked as

men whom I blocked in a transaction; they will be the ones upon whom the law will place the charge of

"I do not need all the proxies that I now hold. I shall leave some planted, to be pinned on my supposed rivals,

Selger and Dulkin, should I be forced to bring the confessions into light. But I doubt that such heroics will

"Full profit will be mine. I shall pay off these henchmen who have supported me. You, Zullick and Ramsted,

Foy Zullick's wolfish face showed a troubled look. The murderer spoke as Widpath paused.

"Don't tell them too much, chief," purred Zullick. "Maybe you've done it already. How can you make terms,

"Terms?" Widpath's query showed sarcasm. "Why make terms, Zullick? There is only one course a break

for safety by you and your companions. There are less than a dozen men outside. They are scattered; and they

"Drive through them. Gain the cars and take to flight. Some of you may fall; but the risk is worth it.

Remember, Zullick, your own share will be great; as for your men, they will gain half a million to divide

"Large portions each" Widpath was smiling dryly as he glanced at Soup and the others "for there are but

FOY ZULLICK nodded as he gave a wolfish grin. The others grunted their willingness for conflict. Then

"We shall remain here," replied Widpath, calmly. "To be rescued by the troopers who escape your bullets.

"But what about these mugs?" Zullick spoke savagely as he indicated the prisoners. "You've told them the

Zullick paused. His grin was fiendish. The murderer saw the answer; but Widpath proceeded to give it aloud

"The fight will begin here," explained the grayhaired chief of crime. "It will be quick and effective, with no

survivors among those who represent the law. Which, I may mention, include James Dulkin."

The grayhaired fiend had delivered his final terms. To Joe Cardona and the troopers, it meant one lone

chance; to dive for their guns and go down shooting. That, despite the fact that Widpath had been calculating

Widpath saw the sudden tension that gripped the helpless prisoners. He knew that a wild break was due to

start; he was prepared to end it as it budded. In a quick, sharp tone of command, the crook snapped the word:

At that instant, a startling sound broke free in weird crescendo. Above the supercrook's sharp order rose a

Peter Widpath, swinging toward the direction from which the laugh had issued, was the first to view its

author. The supercrook stared toward the room wherein he and Burrett had faked imprisonment.

On the threshold stood The Shadow, his cloak a flowing shroud. From beneath his hatbrim gazed eyes

burned with challenge. Looming from his gloved fists were mammoth automatics, their muzzles cannonlike

INTO the last scene had stepped The Shadow, as weirdly present as before. As he had been on the Skyway to

Systematized method had marked The Shadow's quest. Departing the Skyway, he had headed westward,

knowing that he must take that direction to find the headquarters of crime. Reaching a secluded New Jersey

town, The Shadow had contacted Burbank. He had learned that Clyde Burke had called shortly before.

The reporter had served his chief well. Once he had heard James Dulkin's statement to the State police, Clyde

had faked a reason for returning to New York. He had told Joe Cardona that he wanted to make the last

Actually, Clyde had wanted to relay word to Burbank. He had heard Dulkin locate the lodge in the

Watchungs. He knew where the law was heading. That news reached The Shadow, nearer the goal than the

starting State police. The Shadow had set forth, to arrive ahead of the invading squad of State officers.

Finding the lodge, The Shadow had scaled the veranda. Through Widpath's window, he had seen two

unguarded men. Knowing through Clyde that he rescued a man named Dulkin, The Shadow had guessed that

he was viewing Peter Widpath; for Dulkin had also mentioned Widpath as a fellow prisoner.

The lack of guards told The Shadow that Widpath was no prisoner. Burrett, friendly with his master, had

Moreover, The Shadow had seen a deep game behind the dealings between Altamont Power and the K and R.

He had known that someone more brainy than Foy Zullick a hidden murderer would be necessary in the

swinging of the final deal. The Shadow had bided his time so as to allow the law's arrival.

After Widpath had left his room, The Shadow had entered by the window. Delayed in such action, he had

been just in time to see the tables turn. Knowing that Widpath would gloat in evil triumph, The Shadow had

Evil schemes had been revealed by their maker. Threats of death had been delivered, bringing prospective

victims to a pitch of tension. With the crisis imminent, The Shadow had made his entry. Once again he had

With one exception, crooks faltered momentarily as they heard The Shadow's taunt of challenge. The one

PETER WIDPATH, wheeling, pressed the trigger of his revolver as a signal for the fray.

Widpath's shot was first; but the bullet found the frame of the doorway. Widpath was still spinning, lunging

Automatics roared. One bullet caught Widpath in his surge. A shot from the other .45 clipped Zullick as the

murderer aimed. Burrett was slower than the pair. As The Shadow's next shot crippled the chauffeur, Joe

The troopers, led by their lieutenant, were hurling themselves upon Soup Ramsted and the men by the

fireplace. Those rogues were snatching their revolvers from their pockets; but they had no chance against the

With bare fists the fighting troopers smashed down rising gun arms. They drove hard punches to unshaven

Peter Widpath had reached The Shadow. Though mortally wounded, the fiend had still charged onward. A

gloved fist swung; an automatic knocked away Widpath's revolver. The grayhaired crook lunged forward

Flinging Widpath about, The Shadow swung inward to the livingroom. With his right hand free, he took

quick aim beyond the fireplace, where one lone crook had ducked a trooper's punch. Soup Ramsted, back to

A trooper leaped up to grab the murderer's gun arm. The officer was too late; Soup's finger was already on

the trigger. But The Shadow's automatic boomed as Soup tried to fire. The crook sagged, his trigger finger

Joe Cardona had grabbed Burrett's revolver. He had easily subdued the crippled chauffeur; Joe found

Burrett's gun nearer than his own. Swinging up, Cardona saw Foy Zullick, wounded, on hands and knees.

Two guns roared simultaneously. One was The Shadow's; the other was the revolver that Cardona had

grabbed from the floor. Both bullets found their target. Zullick floundered, dying. Credit for that able deed

JAMES DULKIN had dived for the outer door. Opening it, the merchant stopped on the veranda as a flood of

reserve troopers came bounding to the lodge. The Shadow heard the shouts of the arriving officers. Wheeling,

he swung back into the inner room, with Peter Widpath still clinging to his cloak.

The supercrook's hands were rigid in a death grip. They loosened as The Shadow broke their clutch.

Widpath's body rolled face upward on the floor. The Shadow saw the white edges of folded papers,

With a quick move, The Shadow gained the creased sheets. Swinging about, he placed the papers beneath his

cloak as he took long strides toward the open window. Vaulting the sill, The Shadow reached the veranda. He

Chaos had ended in the captured lodge. An evil chief had perished; with Peter Widpath's body lay the

remains of the murderer who had served as his lieutenants: Foy Zullick and Soup Ramsted. One had paid for

Like Finger Lurbin, they had met the end that they deserved. Of lesser henchmen, some were dead; others

wounded and all who lived were in the hands of the law. Like those pretended truckmen who had fled

Rising winds sighed from the wooded slope of the Watchung mountainside. Even the elements had found a

paean of victory. But to listeners in the lodge came a note that was more triumphant than the moaning of the

wind. It was a cry that sounded from the darkness; an eerie gibe that might well have been uttered by some

A long, trailing laugh; mirth that rose to a fierce crescendo, then shivered into startling echoes that persisted

with the whining winds. Such was the sound that finally faded into nothingness, leaving only the vivid

memory of its chilling notes. The Shadow, departing, had delivered his triumph laugh as knell to men of

THERE was a sequel yet to follow. It came days afterward within that abode where intervals of time

seemed meaningless, where darkness enshrouded the passage of events: The Shadow's sanctum. There;

beneath the glow of the blue light, the victorious master was making his final summary of the crime that he

Authenticated clippings told of James Dulkin, the sole survivor of a grasping trio. The merchant, tested in the

crucible of honor, had proven himself a man of worth. He was different from Hosea Selger, who would

willingly have reaped his share from crime; different from Peter Widpath, the archplotter whom The Shadow

James Dulkin had recognized and certified a list of straw men found in Widpath's suitcase at the lodge.

Dulkin had handled the proxies to openly call a meeting of stockholders in the Altamont Power Company.

The debt of the K and R Railroad had been written off. The stockholders whom Gifford Barbridge had sought

to protect were due to receive their rightful shares from fair sale of the K and R to the Mountain Pacific.

Dulkin had been cleared of complicity in crime. His truthful story placed the blame where it belonged: on

Peter Widpath. No evidence had been produced to blemish the name of James Dulkin, nor that of his

murdered associate, Hosea Selger. The law had not found the confessions which the two had signed for Foy

Into the light of The Shadow's lamp came folded papers; long fingers uncreased the documents. Beneath the

paragraphed statements were signatures. On one paper was Dulkin's on the other, Selger's.

The Shadow's hands brought the papers together. The girasol gleamed in the light as long, white fingers tore

the documents. One hand struck a match; the other held the fragments while the tiny flame ignited them.

Increasing fire consumed the papers; they were ashes when The Shadow let them flutter to the table.

Hosea Selger had been slain by vicious enemies; he had paid for his avarice. James Dulkin had been saved

through The Shadow's prowess; he had shown his appreciation of his rescue. In return, The Shadow was

Those ashes represented the remains of the documents which The Shadow had taken from Peter Widpath's

body; they had been turned over to the master crook by his underling, Foy Zullick. Incriminating documents,

from now on to be forgotten; not even to exist among the secret archives of The Shadow.

"The greatest highway project in the United States today," and "the most outstanding highwayengineering

achievement in history," are but two of the phrases descriptive of the worldfamous Pulaski Skyway, that

highlevel roadway which takes the neverending stream of cars which leave New York City through the

Holland Tunnel, or come south from the George Washington Bridge or the many ferries, and carries it above

homes, factories, rivers, drawbridges, railroads and crossstreets, past Jersey City, out toward Newark

Twenty million cars may travel over this superhighway each year and still not overjam it. Two lanes in each

direction, with an extra lane for emergency. Continuous traffic, without a stop light or crosstraffic to

interfere. Ramps or rightturn elbows take care of traffic getting on or off the Skyway in such a way that it

The viaduct section of the Skyway was constructed at a cost of seven million dollars a mile! But even that

tremendous cost has been found justified in the time and trouble it has saved for traffic. It is fine vindication

Although at places it is necessary to bring the road level up high enough to give an underclearance of 135

feet, at no point on the skyway is the grade more than 3.5 per cent. All curves are so constructed as to offer

absolutely no danger. The viaduct is built upon pairs of reinforced concrete shafts linked together with

reinforced concrete and capped by steel "shoes" which support arched spans of lattice steel. A record depth

for pneumatic drilling was established in the excavations for the foundations which were carried, 147 feet

below meanhighwater level for the bridge piers. In order to speed the construction of the highway, more

than a score of contractors were working simultaneously on the project, making record construction time.