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

CHAPTER I. DEATH AROUND THE CORNER.................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. THE LAW DECIDES ......................................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. THE MAN WHO CAME BACK ...................................................................................8

CHAPTER IV. ACCEPTED TERMS...................................................................................................11

CHAPTER V. AT THE AVENUE CLUB............................................................................................16

CHAPTER VI. THE DOUBLE TRAIL................................................................................................19

CHAPTER VII. DEATH ON THE MARCH ........................................................................................23

CHAPTER VIII. THE MISSING KILLER ...........................................................................................26

CHAPTER IX. CRIME'S PROOF .........................................................................................................29

CHAPTER X. CRIME'S INTERLUDE................................................................................................33

CHAPTER XI. WAYS IN THE DARK ................................................................................................36

CHAPTER XII. CHARGED BATTLE.................................................................................................40

CHAPTER XIII. AFTER THE BATTLE ..............................................................................................44

CHAPTER XIV. THE FORCED CHOICE ...........................................................................................47

CHAPTER XV. THE NEEDED TRAIL ...............................................................................................50

CHAPTER XVI. DROPS OF BLOOD.................................................................................................54

CHAPTER XVII. ELECTED: A KILLER ............................................................................................57

CHAPTER XVIII. THE GAME THAT TURNED...............................................................................61

CHAPTER XIX. DEATH AMONG FRIENDS ....................................................................................64

CHAPTER XX. PROOF OF MURDER...............................................................................................67

WHEN Dana Orvill stepped from the elevator in the Avenue Club, an attendant approached and handed him

a message. It was the sort of message that caused Orvill to lift his eyebrows and give his cane a casual twirl.

That was all, and it was quite enough. Orvill did not expect people to add their names to telephone messages

that they sent him. For Dana Orvill, dapper to the waxed points of his mustache, was the perfect

Not only was Orvill a member of the swanky Avenue Club and vice chairman of its governing committee; he

also belonged to an elite social set, which, like all such sets, had its petty ways and jealousies. Preposterous

though it might be, certain men in that group mistrusted Dana Orvill. They regarded him as a ladies' man a

Hence, rather than run into trouble from the male contingent, Orvill always advised his lady friends past,

present, and future to choose a quiet outoftheway meeting place whenever they felt that life was

Inasmuch as the trysting spots varied, Orvill always managed to avoid one girl friend while meeting another,

which made it all the better. This was the first time that anyone had suggested the side door of the Hotel

Bayberry, but Orvill approved it. The hotel was only a few blocks down the avenue, and there was a florist's

It was after seven o'clock, so Orvill was already wearing evening clothes. He frowned a trifle as he crossed

the palatial foyer of the club, for he remembered an appointment that might detain him. Pausing at the door,

"When Mr. Cranston arrives, ask him to wait until I phone him. I shall do so within a half hour."

Outside the Avenue Club, Orvill strolled jauntily away, and the doorman watched his departure. Few men of

Manhattan had the boulevard manner of Dana Orvill, and the doorman always liked to watch him stroll along

This, however, was to be Orvill's final stroll. He was on his way to a date with death!

In the florist's shop, Orvill ordered a dozen jonquils and a gardenia for his overcoat lapel. While waiting for

the flowers, his thoughts reverted to his appointment with Cranston, and Orvill became a trifle annoyed. He

Matters weren't just right at the Avenue Club. The members of the governing committee couldn't quite agree

on certain matters. It was all very troublesome, not only to Orvill but to Rudolph Delmot, chairman of the

governing committee. A fine chap, Delmot, but too inclined to heed everyone's opinion.

Delmot never tiffed with other committee members, as Orvill did. If a chap behaved like a bounder, Orvill

did not mind telling him so. Sometimes they became angry, such chaps, almost threatening; but when they

did, they simply proved themselves to be bounders. Which meant that Dana Orvill, in his opinion, was

The jonquils wrapped and the gardenia in his buttonhole, Orvill strolled along to the Bayberry. He did not

enter the hotel; instead, he went past it and strolled to the side door, just around the corner. There, Orvill took

A nice spot, this. The street was comparatively dark, and the light was not strong beneath the side marquee of

the hotel. Behind Orvill was a doorway into the lobby, but very few people used it. The door was of the

At those times, Orvill strolled over toward the curb and remained there, except when people came along the

street, at which times he stationed himself at the side of the revolving door and remained there.

Orvill's chief annoyance was his halfhour time limit. He didn't want his call to Cranston to interfere with his

date. Still, he would have to make the call, for Orvill was very precise in such matters.

Glancing at his watch, Orvill remembered that he hadn't checked it by the club clock. So he looked across the

street, hoping he might see a clock above the door of the office building opposite.

INSTEAD of a clock, Orvill saw the building's name, and he did not like it. It happened to be the Galba

Building, where James Laverock had his office. In turn, James Laverock happened to be the biggest bounder

His gaze lowering, Orvill saw Laverock's car, parked beside the Galba Building. You couldn't miss

Laverock's car. It was red and shiny, and it looked just as hideous here as it did whenever Laverock parked it

Maybe broadminded men like Delmot could excuse Laverock for owning such a car, but Orvill couldn't. It

simply proved that Laverock had no taste, and shouldn't be a member of the Avenue Club. Nor would he be,

if Orvill could have prevented it. The trouble was that Laverock already belonged to the Avenue Club when

Turning away, Orvill decided to ignore the garish car. He kept pacing a circle under the marquee, from the

curb, past the revolving door, and back again. A box of flowers under one arm, a walking stick hanging from

the other, Orvill was attracting more notice than he supposed from passersby. In fact, such pedestrians were

A shortbuilt man came briskly from the Galba Building and thrust himself into the garish red coupe. His

manner marked him as the owner of the car, which he was. But James Laverock seemed far too interested in

starting his car to pay any attention to Dana Orvill across the street. He twisted the key in the ignition lock,

pressed the starter, and yanked the coupe in gear, as he turned the wheel to pull out from the curb.

Dana Orvill swung about as he heard the car start. He saw James Laverock staring from the window, and

their eyes met in a mutual glare. Laverock's right hand was swinging up across the steering wheel.

With the roar of the car motor came, sharp reports that echoed loud along the narrow street. Witnesses might

have mistaken those repeated bangs for backfires from the car, if they hadn't seen the immediate result. Amid

Recoiling queerly, he struck the sidewalk, losing the box of flowers, which broke open, to strew the yellow

jonquils beside him. As witnesses dashed up beside the stricken man, they saw Orvill clamping his hands to

The red car was swinging the corner when the pack went after it. One man yelled to a cop across the avenue.

Others were waving excitedly at passing cars and cabs. In surprisingly swift time, a chase was being

A cab was cruising down the avenue. From its window a keeneyed passenger with hawkish face observed

the commotion and all that lay beyond it. He saw Orvill, prone amid the jonquils; he spotted Laverock's car,

picking up speed, as though the blares of a police whistle were giving it new impetus.

The cab's passenger was Lamont Cranston. The driver was Moe Shrevnitz, the speediest hackie in Manhattan.

Shrevvy knew how to overtake wayward cars like Laverock's. It was part of his business, because he was

Cranston demonstrated that point as the chase was getting under way. Reaching beneath the rear seat, he drew

out a hidden drawer. From it he whisked a slouch hat and a black cloak, garments which seemed to slide on

his head and over his shoulders of their own accord. His hands slipped into thin black gloves, and with the

same sweep one hand tightened in a fist that brought an automatic from a hidden holster.

Aiming the .45 from the window, The Shadow was prepared to halt Laverock's car the moment Moe

overhauled it, which promised to be at the next corner. Already a strange, weird laugh was phrasing itself

upon The Shadow's hidden lips. Suddenly The Shadow halted that mirth, rather than laugh too soon.

A CAR, starting from a side street, made a wide veer to avoid Laverock's flying coupe. The veering car

crossed the path of a truck, which promptly skewed across the avenue. Moe slung his cab about, sideswiped

another car that heaved in from somewhere. The cab took a jounce across the curb, heading the wrong way on

Someone, lurking in a parked car, either saw The Shadow or guessed that his cab was pursuing Laverock's

car, for shots rang out and bullets clanged the car. There were more shots from another direction, and The

He was gripping the handle of the cab door, ready to spring out and fade into darkness, from which he could

deal with those lurkers who favored Laverock's getaway, when the chase came roaring up.

Shouts from the drivers of stalled cars, bellows from truckmen were accompanied by pointing gestures, all

toward The Shadow's cab. These people, who hadn't seen Orvill's death, nor recognized Laverock's flight,

were taking it for granted that the police were after the cab from which the gunshots spurted.

In their turn, the new pursuers assumed that Laverock had left his red car and transferred to the cab. A police

car, spouting gunfire, became the spearhead of a drive for the cab, with other cars wheeling in to flank the

Dropping low, The Shadow spoke a word to Moe. Crouched behind the wheel, the cabby let ride. He was

zimming down the side street like an arrow, zigzagging from one side to the other, using the curbs as buffers,

Looking back, The Shadow saw the police car threading its way through stalling cars. It was losing ground in

the pursuit, and once Moe reached the next avenue he could begin a twisting course that would eventually

The Shadow was thinking of Dana Orvill, who had kept a date with death. He was also considering James

Laverock, the man who had escaped. Though The Shadow, at present, was busy shaking mistaken pursuers

from his trail, he was thinking of another trail that he personally intended to follow.

It might be long before The Shadow found that trail, but when he did, he would see it to the finish and bring

THE startling murder of Dana Orvill brought very swift results. So swift that they actually outraced The

Shadow in his routine task of shaking off the cars that had pursued him by mistake. By the time The Shadow

arrived back at the Hotel Bayberry, other investigators were on the scene ahead of him.

Naturally, The Shadow did not return in guise of black, nor did he come in Moe's cab. He arrived as

Cranston, in a chauffeured limousine. Stepping from the big car, the leisurely Mr. Cranston immediately

found himself shaking hands with his friend the police commissioner, Ralph Weston.

"Glad to see you, Cranston," spoke Weston briskly. "You've heard about poor Orvill, of course. We just

removed his body. I hear you had an appointment this evening. Tell me, what was it about?"

"Something to do with the Avenue Club," replied Cranston. "Orvill wasn't satisfied with the governing

"No. I think he intended to cover that this evening. He said that some members refused to cooperate with the

As Cranston mentioned Delmot's name, Weston turned and gestured. Looking that direction, Cranston saw

Delmot was a tall, broadshouldered man, of late middle age. He had a long, solemn face, that Cranston had

never seen so firmly set as upon this occasion. Delmot was carrying his hat in his hands in respect for his

dead friend, Orvill. Above his set face, Delmot's gray hair was spreading in the evening breeze.

Usually Delmot wore a kindly look; at present he lacked it. His whole countenance bespoke a grim

Cardona looked grim, too, but that was Joe's way. The stocky police inspector had a swarthy countenance that

always wore a pokerfaced expression. While Delmot was shaking hands with Cranston, Cardona turned to

"We're going across the street, commissioner," said Joe. "We want to have a look in Laverock's office. The

shots came from his car, all right. We've got half a dozen witnesses to prove it."

Weston nodded. But when Cardona started off with Delmot, the commissioner decided to remain a few

minutes, and gestured for Cranston to do the same. Weston wanted to know what else his friend knew about

the Avenue Club, but there was comparatively little that Cranston could tell him.

"I haven't been there in months," Cranston explained. "In fact, hardly in years. I bought a life membership

largely because of an insurance benefit that went with it. Orvill was going over the list of charter members,

and found my name. He thought I would agree with some of his ideas regarding the club, so he looked me

Finding that he could learn no more from Cranston, Weston decided to go across the street. He and Cranston

entered the lobby of the Galba Building and looked at the name board, to find that Laverock's office was on

the fifth floor. While they were buzzing the elevator button, Delmot came up a stairway from the basement.

"It's no use, commissioner," declared Delmot. "We'll have to use the stairs, like Inspector Cardona did. The

While the three were turning toward the stairway, a rumble came from the elevator shaft. They waited, and

soon the elevator arrived, piloted by a man in overalls who turned out to be the janitor. He said that Cardona

had met him on the third floor and had sent him down to get the rest of the party.

The janitor took the group by elevator to the fifth floor, where they found Cardona in Laverock's office,

which he had opened with the janitor's keys. Laverock's office was small and unimposing, but it represented a

"Laverock handles investments," Delmot explained. "His clientele is small, but select, and I understand that

his customers are well satisfied with the purchases that he suggests. Quite a few of his customers belong to

"Laverock and Orvill never did get along," said Delmot. "But I can't understand how personal animosity

would allow Laverock to go so far as to murder Orvill. Perhaps it was impulse, seeing the man he hated just

AT least, Laverock's desk and filing cabinets offered some chance of a clue, so Cardona began to dig through

them, though results were small at first. Most of Laverock's files consisted of printed matter, pertaining to

Joe came across some letters that Laverock had received from customers, and took down the names of the

senders, but such letters were comparatively few and, according to Delmot, could represent only a fraction of

Then came a real find a folder marked with Orvill's name. It contained several letters from Orville, with

Laverock's carbon replies. The letters had nothing to do with investments; instead, they pertained to the

In one, Orvill suggested bluntly that Laverock resign from the club. Laverock's pointed reply stated that he

would continue to be a member long after Orville was forgotten around the Avenue Club. This, in the light of

Orvill's sudden death, could be interpreted as a murder threat on Laverock's part.

Next, in Laverock's desk drawer, Cardona came across another piece of evidence. It was a permit for a

revolver, listing the make and serial number of the weapon in question. Since the permit had been issued by

the police, Cardona promptly pocketed it, but he left everything else as he had found it.

"I'll put a couple of men on watch outside," declared Cardona, "just in case Laverock decides to come back

here. Meanwhile" he gestured toward the janitor "this fellow can keep his eyes open, inside the building."

The janitor remarked that he would be leaving in another hour and that the building would be closed, with a

night watchman on duty. Cardona decided that would make it all the better. He said he'd stay around and talk

Cardona came to that decision while riding down in the elevator. Outside the building, he stood by while

They decided to go to the Avenue Club and investigate the phone call that had brought Orvill to the side door

of the Hotel Bayberry. In light of what had happened, Laverock could very easily have faked that call. The

test would be to check on all of Orvill's acquaintances, and find out if any one was responsible, thus reaching

Cranston was smiling during the discussion. Not only were Weston and Delmot taking on a wearisome task;

they were seeking negative evidence, only. If someone had merely played a practical joke, hoaxing Orvill to

the Hotel Bayberry on an imaginary date, the person in question probably would not admit it. No one would

So Cranston merely shook his head when Weston inquired if he intended to go along to the Avenue Club. At

that moment, Delmot was steering Weston up the street toward a taxicab, and the commissioner, looking back

Even as Weston stumbled, Cranston's keen eyes caught a glimmer from below the grating. But, seeing

Cardona spring forward to save the commissioner from a spill, Cranston let the inspector do the rest. Cardona

saw the gleam, too, for he was looking straight down at it when he grabbed Weston's arm.

Cardona jabbed a finger downward. Five feet below the grating lay the glittering object, a revolver!

BY the time Weston was through looking, Cardona was tugging at the grating. It was set too tightly in the

cement to be hauled loose by such tactics. Cardona called the janitor, who produced a length of thin iron pipe,

With some bricks serving as a fulcrum, Cardona and the janitor managed to pry the grating loose.

Dropping down into the pit, Cardona came up with the gun on the end of a pencil inserted in its muzzle. Joe

was using the right technique to avoid smudging any fingerprints. He held his prize into the light, noted its

There wasn't any mistake about it. The weapon was Laverock's revolver, and two of its chambers contained

"So he took two shots at Orvill," announced Cardona, "and then chucked the gun right out the other window,

down the grating, so we wouldn't find it on him if we caught him. Laverock brought Orvill here, all right,

with that fake phone message, and thinking about the grating was more than just quick headwork. Laverock

Cardona's summary impressed Weston and Delmot, but it made their trip to the Avenue Club all the more

imperative. Even negative evidence might count, with Laverock so clearly labeled as Orvill's killer.

But Cranston still declined to go along. He had a dinner engagement, so he said.

The statement was true enough. Cranston did have an engagement, though he hadn't yet informed the persons

with whom he intended to dine. He waited until the cab left with Weston and Delmot; then, in leisurely style,

Cranston strolled around the corner. His trip proved a short one; when he reached the front door of the Hotel

In a telephone booth, Cranston dialed a number. A methodical voice responded with the words:

No longer did Cranston use his calm tone. In the confines of the telephone booth, his was the whispered voice

of The Shadow, as he gave instructions to his contact man, Burbank, telling him to send two competent

For The Shadow was by no means satisfied with the law's decision. Just as complex cases usually had a

simple solution, so were simple cases apt to prove complex. The Shadow held to the definite idea that the

How far farther it would carry, The Shadow had not yet surmised. Facts were too few to point to further

crime. The death of Dana Orvill, man about town, had the aspects of an isolated murder, nothing more.

Strange, however, were the circumstances that The Shadow would encounter while on this case.

It wasn't just a matter of a man about town who had met with a violent end. It was to be death about town,

CRANSTON'S dinner guests at the Hotel Bayberry were Harry Vincent and Clyde Burke. Choice of those

two agents indicated that The Shadow might have gained an inkling of a long campaign ahead. He had picked

Harry Vincent was a cleancut chap who would be welcomed anywhere. Cranston's first act was to supply

him with a guest card and a membership application to the Avenue Club, thus making it possible for Harry to

introduce himself to the very environment wherein Orvill and Laverock had voiced their disagreement.

As for Clyde Burke, he already had a card that would admit him to the Avenue Club. Clyde's was a reporter's

Clyde nodded when Cranston told him what he had to do. It wouldn't take much argument for Clyde to

convince his editor that there might be a good story at the Avenue Club for anyone who sought the inside

angle. While getting his story for the Classic, Clyde would have plenty of opportunity to pick up data for The

All that lay in the future. For the present, The Shadow, in Cranston's quiet style, outlined the case for the

benefit of Harry and Clyde. Finished, he awaited their reactions. They gave them without hesitation.

"It's Laverock, all right," asserted Harry. "So much has piled up against him, that there is not much chance to

"When Joe Cardona hits a lucky streak," commented Clyde, "he doesn't have to crack a case. It just splits

"This case is too pat," he analyzed calmly. "Besides, there are points that dispute each other. Take, for

instance, the hoaxing of Orvill, the disposal of the gun, and Laverock's rapid getaway. All those indicate

"With all so smoothly planned," continued Cranston, "Laverock proceeded to commit two grievous blunders.

First, he left incriminating correspondence in his filing cabinet. Second, and far worse, he forgot the permit

that proved the death gun to be his own. I can assure you" Cranston's lips wore a smile "that the bullet in

Orvill's body will prove to be one from Laverock's gun, which will be just another reason to suspect another

The listening agents began to grasp The Shadow's logic. It did look as though Laverock's stupidity was far

too great for a man who had plotted a crime intelligently. Both Harry and Clyde were trying to find some

"We must give Cardona credit," declared Cranston, with another smile. "He expects Laverock to return to his

office. So do I. Even an innocent man wouldn't want the police to find the evidence that was lying there."

Dinner finished, Cranston led the way to the side door of the hotel. He stopped before they reached the

revolving door and pointed to two opposite spaces, one on each side. Those were solid doors that could be

At present, they were loosely barred, and formed small, dark pockets. Cranston motioned Harry into one and

Clyde into the other. When they were nicely tucked away, he went out through the revolving door.

Neither agent saw him reappear. Cranston had been carrying a cloak across his arm, a slouch hat beneath it.

He'd put them on during the trip through the revolving door; hence he emerged as The Shadow.

In the dim light beneath the marquee, his cloaked shape escaped the eye. But Harry heard his chief's whisper,

when The Shadow stopped near the narrow barrier beside the revolving door. The Shadow was asking Harry

Receiving a similar report from Clyde, on the other side of the central door, The Shadow told both agents to

watch the Galba Building. Should they see anyone enter it, they were to call Laverock's office, for that was to

Therewith, The Shadow glided across the street, so elusively that Harry and Clyde caught only a fleeting

NEITHER agent saw The Shadow enter the Galba Building, because he didn't use the door that led in from

the street. The Shadow chose a better route, one that Joe Cardona had unwittingly provided.

Close against the darkened wall of the building, The Shadow squeezed his fingers between the slats of the

grating that Joe had pried loose earlier. Lifting it, he slid to the space beneath and let the grating lower

Noiseless, too, was The Shadow's attack upon the cellar window. It was held by a catch, but The Shadow

soon worked it open. Clanking sounds came from above: a detective tramping across the grating. There was a

By then, The Shadow was through the window, fixing the catch from within. The patrolling detective gained

From there, The Shadow went directly to Laverock's office. Since it opened on a court, and the building was

deserted except for the night watchman; who was keeping to the hallways, The Shadow turned on a light. He

began an inspection of Laverock's files, hoping to find some clue that Cardona had missed.

All the while, The Shadow listened for footsteps, and finally heard their beat: the heavy tread of the night

watchman. He turned out the light, waited until the tramping sound reached a stairway, and then restored the

light, to resume his search. His ears tuned to the situation, The Shadow kept close tabs on the distant sound of

Sometimes, The Shadow's very faculty at distant concentration could trick him. This was one of those

occasions. A creeping sound, much closer, was subdued enough to escape The Shadow's detection, until it

was too late. The creep was outside the door of Laverock's office. It ended when the door suddenly slapped

Wheeling from behind the desk, The Shadow saw the man who lunged through the doorway. There was no

mistaking his short build and his blunt face, which showed a glare approaching fury. The man who had thrust

Though the police had appropriated Laverock's revolver, the man was still armed. He was carrying a weapon

that could be classed as an antique, a Sharps fourbarreled pistol that dated back to the '60s.

Such a weapon, the final development of the "pepper box" style of gun, was noted for its lack of accuracy,

Laverock voiced a triumphant snarl, pleased by the luck which had enabled him to trap an intruder in his

office. It happened, however, that Laverock was luckier than he knew. The Shadow's hand, sweeping to his

cloak, was actually gripping an automatic, ready to flip its muzzle in Laverock's direction when something

That something was Laverock's glare. In the man's eyes, The Shadow saw more than a murderous glint; he

caught a calculating flash which told him that Laverock would go easy with a trigger, if such policy promised

results. Playing a sudden hunch, The Shadow let his hands move away from his cloak and come up toward

It was a better plan, on The Shadow's part, than shooting it through with Laverock in a quick fray that might

bring bullets to both. A long risk, in a sense, for The Shadow was placing himself in Laverock's power; but

the cloaked fighter was playing a chance that in a game of wits he could outmatch his opponent sufficiently to

Indeed, giving Laverock the full advantage helped throw the fellow off his guard, as Laverock promptly

"I THOUGHT as much," clucked Laverock. "Whoever murdered Orvill would have reason to come here,

"Your supposition supports the police theory," spoke The Shadow, in sibilant tone. "With this difference,

"You accuse me of murder?" Laverock was drawing closer to the desk, thrusting the gun ahead of him, so

"On better grounds than could be applied to my own case," parried The Shadow. "I had no quarrel with

"Let us assume that a murderer has returned," suggested Laverock. "I don't need to prove that I didn't kill

Squinting upward, Laverock was trying to probe the face beneath The Shadow's slouch hat, but the brim cut

off the light. All that Laverock observed was the burn of keen eyes, a glow that should have warned him of

But Laverock was too anxious to identify the man that he accused of murder to be impressed by the burning

"By the same logic," The Shadow began, "I could eliminate myself and declare you to be the killer "

"You murdered Orvill!" accused Laverock harshly. "If you want to live, you will write a full confession!" He

waved his fourmuzzled gun toward pen and paper that were lying on the desk. "Write and sign!"

Briefly, The Shadow hesitated. Then, slowly, he reached for pen and paper. Under Laverock's close scrutiny,

Small wonder that Laverock's features were triumphant as The Shadow's pen moved onward. Often had men

of crime sought victory over The Shadow, but never on such a scale as this. Totally at bay, the master of

justice was confessing to a murder committed by another, under the inflexible insistence of the very man

THE SHADOW'S hand paused wearily, as though the writing of a single, fateful paragraph had robbed him

of all strength. There, in glistening blue, lay words that could mean the death chair. All that the confession

The Shadow's hand swerved from the paper, dropping the pen beside it, both within Laverock's easy reach.

For answer, Laverock seized the pen with his free hand and thrust it The Shadow's way. To emphasize his

action, he jabbed his antique gun toward the cloaked figure. Laverock wasn't ready to shoot; he wanted the

confession signed. But it was policy for The Shadow to recoil from the gun thrust, and he did.

He went back from the desk, his hands dropping to its edge, as though to halt their tremble. Laverock let his

Like a missile unleashed from a catapult, The Shadow drove forward, sending the desk ahead of him. His

hands began to drive, but his knees supplied the followthrough. Half across the desk, Laverock was on a

His feet flipping from under him, Laverock took an involuntary lunge across the desk, making a grab for the

far edge, only to find it gone before he reached it. The desk was under him, and gone; Laverock was clawing

air, in his headlong trip to the floor beyond. All that saved him from a hard landing was the hand of The

That hand took Laverock's wrist with a viselike twist that doubled it. Laverock's arm and body followed,

spinning in midair, to be stopped by The Shadow's upthrust knee. Rolling sideward as The Shadow released

him, Laverock reached the floor. His fall was broken, but his head took something of a thump as it fell back

against the filing cabinet. No wonder Laverock was dazed. His whirl had included a somersault, which left

him staring back at the desk across which he had come. Badly muddled, Laverock couldn't even locate The

Shadow when he looked for him; further, when Laverock raised his gun hand, hoping, at least, to have a

The Shadow's wrench had numbed Laverock's hand along with his brain. Somewhere during the spin, the gun

had dropped from nerveless fingers. Where it had landed, Laverock learned when he heard a strange, sinister

laugh off to his right. Looking, Laverock saw The Shadow holding the fourbarreled Sharps on the palm of a

Having neatly plucked the gun as Laverock dropped it, The Shadow was examining it as a curio. He laid it on

the desk, and as he did, he drew a .45 automatic, compared to which the Sharps looked like a toy. Then, with

the big gun as a persuader, The Shadow stooped and hauled Laverock up to a chair, where the man stared,

Producing the unsigned confession, The Shadow extended it to Laverock, along with the pen. His wits

returning, Laverock folded his arms and stared grimly, shaking his head. He wasn't going to sign that

WITH a lowtoned laugh that worried Laverock, The Shadow crumpled the sheet of paper and thrust it

"Scarcely necessary, your signature, considering the evidence that the police have already discovered against

"They found your revolver, Laverock," The Shadow continued. "Under the grating, where you dropped it.

"That revolver was stolen!" he exclaimed. "Stolen, I tell you! I kept it in my locker at the Avenue Club. If

"It was here," admitted Laverock. "I came to get it, along with the correspondence that I had with Orvill. But

"I thought I might need it," Laverock replied. "It belongs to a friend of mine, who collects old firearms. He is

Laverock hesitated, then nodded. The Shadow's voice had taken on a tone which struck Laverock as friendly.

Tension suddenly ending, Laverock began a verbal outpour, and his words carried the ring of sincerity.

First, he admitted that, while pulling his car out from the curb, he had seen Orvill across the street. Next,

there had been sounds like shots, which Laverock took for the backfire of his own car, which had been acting

Seeing Orvill fall, Laverock realized that the man might have been shot. By then, Laverock was almost to the

corner, and a panic seized him when he heard a hue and cry behind him. It had occurred to him that people

might be blaming him for the shots, but he was also stricken with the fear that whoever had shot Orvill might

So Laverock had fled, abandoning his car later. Reaching the apartment of his absent and unnamed friend, he

There, in sum total, was Laverock's story. Concluding it, Laverock added a determined statement.

"I'm not giving myself up," Laverock announced. "I've been framed, and I'd be playing right into the hands of

There was a pleading note in Laverock's final words, and his eyes lighted when he saw that The Shadow was

"Rudolph Delmot would," he said. "He's an impartial chap, Delmot. Still, I wouldn't want to let him know

where I am staying, because be might feel honorbound to tell the police. I have another friend, though, at

There, Laverock halted, fearful that he was saying too much. Singularly, The Shadow picked up the very

"You would like to go back to the place where you are staying," spoke The Shadow, "and remain there until

you receive the allclear signal. Should you be allowed to do so, you will cooperate, as far as you are able,

While The Shadow spoke, Laverock was nodding with increased eagerness. After a brief pause, The Shadow

Half doubtful, Laverock arose from his chair and walked around the desk. Forgotten was the antique gun that

Halfway to the door, he was looking back over his shoulder, still amazed by the fact that The Shadow was

calmly letting him leave. If ever The Shadow had built confidence into the mind of a hunted man, he was

Then, at the most critical juncture, came the interruption that spelled near ruin to The Shadow's purpose.

THE door of the office swung inward. On the threshold stood the building watchman, a toughfaced man

who held a flashlight in one hand, a revolver in the other. He'd seen the light in Laverock's office while

Unleashed blackness launched across the office. The astonished watchman was caught in its swirl. Under the

forceful drive of The Shadow, the watchman took a headlong pitch, his flashlight flying one way, his gun the

other. Like Laverock before him, the watchman hadn't time to fire a single shot before his gun was gone.

The Shadow was abiding by his terms. He was giving Laverock safe conduct. Here was Laverock's

opportunity to dash from the office and out of the building, while The Shadow was keeping the watchman

Springing back to the desk, Laverock grabbed his antique gun. He wheeled toward the corner, where the

watchman, coming up on hands and knees, was groping for his lost revolver. For the first time, the watchman

saw Laverock, and gave a bellow. On impulse, Laverock aimed the Sharps and pulled the trigger.

With the first cough from the pepperbox gun, The Shadow reached Laverock with a long lunge. He wasn't

close enough to grab the gun, but he jarred Laverock so that the shot went wild.

Suddenly mistrusting The Shadow, Laverock sprang for the door, with the cloaked fighter after him. There

was a spurt from another muzzle of the fourcornered gun, but this shot went high, for The Shadow was

The two whirled out through the door, into the gloomy hall, their running grapple punctuated by two more

blasts from the Sharps, shots which exhausted the weapon. Those bullets found their mark in the ceiling, and

Laverock, flinging the empty gun at The Shadow, suddenly found himself staggering clear.

He thought that he had crippled the cloaked fighter, but he hadn't. Actually, The Shadow was sending

Laverock along his way. From The Shadow's viewpoint, Laverock's folly did not nullify their agreement.

Laverock reached the hallway window opening on the court. Wrenching it open, he sprang out to a low roof,

to retrace the route by which he had arrived. By then, the watchman was coming out into the hallway, and

The Shadow swooped to meet him in the gloom. Again, the watchman found himself spinning from wall to

From a front window, The Shadow saw flashlights blinking below. At the same time, Laverock's telephone

began to ring furiously. The lights meant that detectives had heard the shots from Laverock's old gun and

were coming into the building. The ringing telephone told that The Shadow's agents had spotted the invaders

Starting downstairs, three steps at a clip, The Shadow heard the watchman coming after him. The watchman

couldn't see the figure in black, but he heard the clatter that The Shadow purposely made. By the time The

Shadow reached the second floor, The Shadow heard detectives coming up. From above, the watchman was

Perhaps the detectives expected to see Laverock. Certainly, they weren't looking for blackness to materialize

itself into a human shape, which it did. As they sprang around a corner from the stairs, The Shadow met them

with a low charge, so sudden and surprising, that it seemed as though he grew from the floor itself.

The dicks went sprawling, their guns spurting high and wide. From past the corner, they heard the taunt of a

departing laugh. They were coming to their feet when the watchman overtook them. All three charged down

A trio of guns ripped in unison. Their bullets found the blackness and what it represented. There were sharp

crackles as the slugs smashed the tiled floor. That inky path wasn't The Shadow; it was merely a corner of the

lobby, where the light was cutoff. Like a living ghost, The Shadow had disappeared.

THE pursuers hurried to the street, but couldn't find the fugitive there. They guessed correctly that The

Shadow must have doubled his trail and gone down to the basement, so they raced back through the lobby,

Hardly had they dashed into the building, before the grating lifted itself from the sidewalk beside the

Setting the grating back in place, he glided across the street and blended with the revolving door that led into

the Hotel Bayberry. That was the last appearance of The Shadow upon this eventful evening if it could be

Five minutes later, Lamont Cranston strolled from the side door of the Bayberry, accompanied by Harry

Vincent and Clyde Burke. Cranston waved for a cab, and Shrevvy's arrived from the next corner. As the three

passengers entered the cab, they gazed curiously from the window at two detectives, who were climbing out

Already puzzled, the detectives were baffled further by the vague, trailing laugh that reached them after the

cab had swung the corner. They didn't connect it with the cab; the tone was too elusive for its source to be

To the men who heard it, that mirth came from the thin air into which The Shadow had so mysteriously

IT was another evening, and the police were still hunting for James Laverock. So was The Shadow, although

he was making no visible effort in that direction. At present, The Shadow preferred to be Lamont Cranston,

for it gave him the scope he needed. As a member of the Avenue Club, Cranston was seeking clues to the

The conference of the other evening, in Laverock's office, had been all too brief. The Shadow had learned

two points: first, that Laverock was staying at a friend's apartment; second, that Laverock especially trusted a

certain member of the Avenue Club other than Rudolph Delmot, the man whom everybody trusted.

Whether those two friends were the same, Laverock had not specified. Until The Shadow found out who one,

or both, might be, it was impossible to reach Laverock at the place where he had gone.

As Cranston, The Shadow didn't seem to be bothering much about his problem. He was more interested in

pointing out the merits of the Avenue Club to a friend named Harry Vincent, who had a guest card and who

seemed very anxious to become an active member. After all, the Avenue Club offered many advantages.

The lavish foyer, the club library, the dining room, its spacious lounges and its billiard room were merely the

surface evidences of prosperity. Across the foyer were elevators that led to the upper floors, and those floors

On the top floor was one of the finest gymnasiums in Manhattan, equipped with everything from fencing

rooms to squash courts. The only thing lacking on the gym floor was a swimming pool, and there was one of

those in the basement, so the Avenue Club, from an athletic standpoint, was absolutely complete.

The personnel also rated highly. During a trip to the gymnasium, Cranston introduced Harry to the physical

director, a chunky, affable man named Tom Rydal, who had done wonders with his job. Rydal had formerly

owned his own gymnasium and had trained many boxers, until the Avenue Club had made him a better offer,

"Do you know, Mr. Cranston," he said, "I'm glad I sold out that place of mine. I wasn't, at first, even though I

made a profit, because one of my hobbies was teaching fellows how to punch and I didn't think you Avenue

"But it's surprising how boxing instruction has picked up. The membership drive is bringing in lots of fellows

who like to use their fists. Take Vincent here" Rydal looked approvingly at Harry "he'd make a boxer.

Rydal took a stance, and Harry immediately responded with instinctive footwork, that brought another nod of

approval from Rydal. As the two lowered their fists, Rydal clapped Harry on the back, then swung around.

Rydal's fists were up again, but Cranston was standing, flatfooted, his own hands lowered. Rydal swished a

fist past Cranston's chin, purposely missing by a fraction of an inch. Cranston dropped away, bringing his

"You'd better join a boxing club," suggested Rydal critically. "Any palooka could finish you with a single

"I do, where fencing is concerned," returned Cranston stiffly. "I prefer the foils, because they allow better

"You'd better carry a cane then," advised Rydal. "Still" the physical director gave a headshake "I don't

know how you'd make out, if somebody grabbed the stick and came in with a punch. You ought to learn to

"I might," said Cranston indifferently, "when I find time to get around to it. For the present, you can confine

CRANSTON strolled about while Rydal was assigning a locker to Harry. He wanted a look at Laverock's

locker, and managed a glimpse, but it offered no clues. If Laverock had spoken correctly, in saying that his

revolver had been taken from his locker, it would be very difficult to learn who was responsible.

Members weren't supposed to keep anything valuable in their lockers, and a lot of them had a habit of

forgetting their keys. While Cranston was still in the locker room, he heard one member shouting for a

passkey, asking why it wasn't hanging on the hook inside the lockerroom door. Someone finally produced

the master key, remarking that it had been left in the door of another member's locker.

By that token, almost anyone could have sneaked into the locker room and stolen Laverock's gun, if it had

This slipshod situation certainly wouldn't help Laverock's alibi, if he talked to the police. They would take it

that Laverock was simply bluffing his way out. He would have to prove, first, that the gun had been in his

locker; otherwise, his story would sound thin. However, The Shadow was still inclined to give Laverock the

Downstairs again, The Shadow continued his Cranston pose by introducing Harry to Rudolph Delmot. The

three retired to a committee room on the mezzanine floor, where Delmot, at Cranston's request, acquainted

To aid the drive for new members, initiation fees had been discarded. The club depended entirely upon

annual dues, which ran to approximately one hundred dollars, plus a few minor charges. There was a special

Membership in the Avenue Club carried an insurance benefit of five thousand dollars, payable upon the death

of a member, regardless of cause, with a double indemnity of ten thousand dollars in the event of accidental

"That's quite a benefit!" exclaimed Harry, in surprise. "Why, I should think that the premiums on the life

"They did, originally," stated Delmot. "In fact the club lost heavily on life memberships, which cost only

fifteen hundred dollars, but gave the same benefits, so we had to discontinue them. However, we soon learned

"A separate corporation was formed, known as the Allied Benefit Association. Though the Avenue Club

directs the affairs of the A.B.A., the latter has extended its work to other cities. There are approximately a

dozen clubs on the subscribing list, and Allied Benefit has accumulated a strong reserve to tide it over any

While Delmot was still speaking, someone knocked on the door. Delmot finally called for the person to come

in, and a tall, stoopshouldered man entered. Harry noted a sharp, hatchet face and quick eyes that were

thorough in their rapid scrutiny. Then Delmot was introducing the newcomer. He was Louis Buram, manager

Buram had met Cranston before, and gave him an affable nod. When Delmot stated that Harry was a

prospective club member, who wanted to know facts about A.B.A., Buram's eyes showed a pleased gleam.

He shook hands with Harry, sat down and gave a brief sketch of the A.B.A. and its functions, reeling off facts

Members of the Avenue Club, and similar societies, were insured on a group basis, at a cost much less than

ordinary life insurance. Buram's figures showed that the cost per member was under forty dollars a year,

including the doubleindemnity proviso. One reason was that the club members were all good risks, for the

"Of course, we require a large number of policy holders," said Buram, in conclusion. "The more, the better,

because numbers protect us against sudden losses. For instance" Buram drew a check from his pocket and

handed it to Delmot "here is ten thousand dollars, payable to the estate of Dana Orvill because of his

"Ten thousand is a mere trifle to the A.B.A., but we do need more members. That is why we are selling the

idea to clubs in other cities. When we have fifty or a hundred subscribing organizations like the Avenue Club,

Buram was looking at Delmot, who nodded approvingly. Apparently, the two had business to discuss, so

"No need to go," he said. "This matter can wait. The executive committee will have to reorganize, now that

CRANSTON still insisted upon leaving, taking Harry with him to see more of the club. But Buram decided to

stay with Delmot. It wasn't that Buram particularly wanted to talk business; rather, he was anxious to avoid a

pesky reporter who had camped in the foyer of the Avenue Club and wanted an interview.

As they left the committee room, Cranston and Harry exchanged smiles. The reporter to whom Buram

referred was Clyde Burke. When they reached the foyer, they saw Clyde, and Harry heard Cranston

"Stay around awhile, Vincent, and get acquainted with the members. But don't recognize Burke. Ignore him

When Cranston rode away from the Avenue Club, he was alone in his limousine. From a pocket of his

evening clothes, he drew a small gun, quite unlike the famous automatics which he carried as The Shadow.

Following the fray in the Galba Building, The Shadow had scooped that empty weapon from the hallway

floor, to prevent either the watchman or the detectives from finding it. He was glad that he had done so, for

the antique shooting iron was a lead to James Laverock, a man whom The Shadow wanted to interview again,

So far, the lead was barren, but with Harry Vincent installed at the Avenue Club, and Clyde Burke also on the

Sooner or later, the trail would lead to Laverock. The whispered laugh that came from Cranston's lips was

A BLUISH light was glistening upon the surface of a polished table. Beneath that glow, longfingered hands

moved like separate creatures that crept from blackness. Upon a finger of the left hand gleamed a rare gem of

That stone was the symbol of The Shadow, and its fire compared with the burn of his amazing eyes. As for

the blue light and the surrounding blackness, those denoted The Shadow's sanctum, the hushed headquarters

The hands crinkled a sheet of paper. It contained a long list of names, some typed in blue, others in red. All

were names of persons who knew James Laverock; those in red type stood for the men who were members of

the Avenue Club. This list had been compiled for The Shadow by an agent named Rutledge Mann.

Like Laverock, Mann was in the investment business, and had been able to tally the persons with whom

Laverock was acquainted, both as friends and customers. So far, however, Mann had been unable to trace

anyone club member or otherwise who made a hobby of collecting old guns. Thus, The Shadow's main

So was the bluish light, when The Shadow turned it off. A whispered laugh crept through the Stygian depths

of the blackened sanctum, announcing that The Shadow was leaving, to pursue his own investigation. That, in

turn, told that his destination would be the Avenue Club, where new clues might be in evidence.

IN the gym at the Avenue Club, Harry Vincent was finishing a workout under the approving eye of Tom

Rydal. As Harry started toward the locker room, Rydal suggested that he stay around a while.

"We're going to have some exhibition bouts," said Rydal. "Not by club members, but by employees. I've been

letting the boys use the gym in their off hours. Some of them are very nice scrappers."

"Sorry, but I have an appointment," returned Harry. "Let me know in advance, the next time, and I'll make it

In the locker room, Harry reflected on his appointment. It was to be with Cranston, and Harry hadn't a thing

to tell. As his acquaintance with the Avenue Club grew, the less likely it seemed that any of the members

could be involved in the feud that seemingly had laid between Dana Orvill and James Laverock.

There was just one club member that Harry mistrusted, and the man was Louis Buram. The fellow impressed

Harry as an upstart, who had crashed the exclusive Avenue Club for reasons that were definitely commercial.

But Buram, in his way, had just as much at stake as Rudolph Delmot, the muchliked gentleman who was the

To both Delmot and Buram, the death of Orvill had meant a cash loss of ten thousand dollars at a time when

they were seeking to expand the funds belonging to the Avenue Club and the Allied Benefit Association.

Hence Harry, despite himself, was inclining more and more to the theory that some personal grudge lay

It looked as though some unknown person, secretly an enemy of Orvill, had committed the crime and tossed

In the foyer of the Avenue Club, Clyde Burke was getting the interview that he had missed on a previous

evening. Clyde had cornered Louis Buram and was battering him with questions, that the quick man tried to

"What about the A.B.A.?" demanded Clyde. "How about its expansion program? How many more cities are

"Here is the whole story, Burke," he declared. "In order to establish a branch in any city, we must first

guarantee a given fund, enough to provide for an unexpected run of sudden deaths. Is that clear?"

"On that account," continued Buram, "we are drawing in the reserve funds from clubs already on our lists, so

that we can establish the required minimum for each new club that subscribes to our service."

"That's why I can't tell you, Burke," replied Buram frankly, "because I don't know. The decision rests with

the executive committee of the Avenue Club. It must pass on the stability and general worthiness of the

various local clubs that would like to affiliate themselves with Allied Benefit."

"After it reorganizes. It lacks two members. One, Orvill, is dead; the other, Laverock, is missing. See for

yourself, Burke" Buram gestured across the foyer "there goes the committee up to the meeting room.

Despite Harry's sentiments to the contrary, Clyde was beginning to like Buram, now that the chap had opened

up. So Clyde gave a nod to show that he understood Buram's problem, and proceeded to watch the committee

Among the group, Clyde saw a few keen faces, but the rest were very drab. They looked like men who would

simply vote "yes" to any required measure. That fact took Clyde back to the matter of Orvill and Laverock.

It was easy to understand how those two could have come to odds, considering that they were both

aggressive. Probably the sight of dull and stodgy faces among the rest of the committee had been enough to

Clyde was considering that point, when he suddenly realized that Rudolph Delmot was not with the passing

parade. Turning, Clyde saw Delmot near the foyer desk, shaking hands with two newcomers.

Those arrivals happened to be Police Commissioner Weston and his capable ace, Inspector Joe Cardona.

"There you are, Burke," remarked Buram. "The bloodhounds are still bothered about Laverock. They're going

to take up all of Delmot's time, and the committee meeting will go right to pot. Which means that my

With a shrug, Buram settled back in his chair. Drawing two cigars from his pocket, he handed one to Clyde,

suggesting, with a tired smile, that they might as well sit it out, to which Clyde agreed.

Delmot was turning, to invite Weston and Cardona up to the executive office, when another arrival entered

the foyer. The newcomer was Lamont Cranston; he seemed quite surprised to see his friend the police

commissioner. After a short exchange of greetings, Cranston went along with the group to the office, which

"I won't keep you from your committee meeting very long," Weston told Delmot. "What we're here for, is to

"I wish you could locate him," returned Delmot ruefully. "We don't know what to do about his case. He's still

"Yes, but he hasn't been convicted," reminded Delmot. "If he should be tried, and found innocent, the Avenue

Club would be in for a huge lawsuit for defaming Laverock's character. However" Delmot's eyes showed a

beam of hope "to remain on the committee, Laverock must attend meetings or else give a suitable excuse."

"Hardly, commissioner, but it is quite possible that we shall hear from him. If we do" Delmot was glancing

at his watch "it should be shortly, because the meeting time is almost at hand."

Weston began to rap the arm of his chair, impatiently. Then, to kill time, he said:

"That call to Orvill the other night, the one that decoyed him to the Hotel Bayberry you haven't been able to

"Only to the point that a man made the call," replied Delmot. "A man not a woman, as might have been

The phone bell interrupted. Weston looked as though he wanted to pounce for the instrument, but he waited

and let Delmot lift the instrument instead. As a voice came from the receiver, Delmot placed his hand over

From then on, all were listening, for Laverock's voice was sharp and easily heard. Cranston was standing

back, so that Weston and Cardona could crowd close, but he caught everything and recognized Laverock's

Laverock was excusing himself from the committee meeting, and Delmot was handling it very coolly,

suggesting that he meet Laverock privately and talk things over. The suggestion did not register.

"I like you, Delmot," came Laverock's voice, abruptly, "but you're too hidebound. If I told you where I am,

you might let it slip to the police. There's only one man I'd be willing to meet. That's Wilfred Secane."

"Secane hasn't arrived yet," informed Delmot. "He's coming in from Washington, by plane."

The receiver clicked, and immediately Weston and Cardona began to talk about tracing the call. Delmot went

out to see if Secane had arrived in the committee room. Meanwhile, Cranston idly fingered the list of names

Secane's name was on that list. Obviously, the man must be the club member in whom Laverock had

expressed trust when talking to The Shadow. But that didn't mean that Laverock was staying at Secane's

apartment. On the contrary, it indicated that Laverock must be somewhere else. Again, The Shadow was up

Several minutes later, Delmot returned, to state that Secane hadn't yet arrived. Delmot's advice was to wait,

and Weston and Cardona decided upon that policy. But neither of them nor, for that matter, Cranston

DOWN in the foyer of the club, a tall, brisk man entered and was flagged by the attendant at the desk. Clyde

Burke didn't see the arrival, for the reporter was busy talking with Louis Buram. It was Harry Vincent,

Secane took the message, read it, crumpled it and threw it into the wastebasket. Turning abruptly, he strode

out to the street. There was a buzz from the switchboard behind the desk; the attendant turned to answer it.

"But I can't tell Mr. Secane that you want him, Mr. Delmot. Because Mr. Secane just came and left... On

account of a message, I believe. One that was phoned to him, a few minutes ago... Yes, I have a copy "

Harry was already reading that message, having filched the crumpled sheet from the wastebasket while the

In the mezzanine office, Cranston was hearing Delmot read that same message aloud. Weston and Cardona

both recognized that "Jim" must be Laverock, but who "Bill" was, they hadn't an idea. Cranston's problem

On the sheet of names, which he was opening deftly from his pocket, Cranston read two, both in blue, that

began with William. One was William Denkel; the other, William Candrew. One or the other must represent

Eager to find Laverock and witness his interview with his trusted friend, Secane, The Shadow was confronted

STILL clutching the crumpled message that he had thrust in his pocket, Harry Vincent turned toward the

mezzanine stairs and saw Lamont Cranston coming down them. Relaxing, Harry waited until Cranston joined

It was Cranston who spoke first, and his words were as apt as if, by Xray vision, he had spotted the paper in

"Bill is one of two men," undertoned Cranston. "Either a chap named Denkel or one named Candrew. Both

happen to be out of town, otherwise Mann would not have included them on his list. Unfortunately, most of

"I shall go to Denkel's first," came the steady tone, "because it is closer. Your destination will be Candrew's.

Here is the address." Imperceptibly, Cranston edged a slip of paper into Harry's hand. "Keep watch there until

Cranston was gone with that swift though leisurely stride of his, and Harry was about to start on his own

mission when he heard an attendant's voice paging him. It appeared that Mr. Vincent was wanted on the

The call was from Rutledge Mann. He'd been unable to reach Cranston on the phone. Mann had just found

out something important. A friend of Laverock's, named Candrew, collected old guns. It happened that

Candrew kept his guns in Florida where he was at present. Very few persons in New York knew of

Mann's information furnished Harry with the grim realization that he, and not The Shadow, was going to the

place where Laverock actually was. True, The Shadow would arrive later, but the detour to Denkel's would

Coming from the phone booth, Harry saw Clyde shaking hands with Buram, who was going up to talk to the

committee members. So Harry slid out front and paced there anxiously, knowing that Clyde would shortly be

Since Secane had already gained a head start, all the haste in the world would not overtake him. To Harry, the

Meanwhile Delmot and Cardona were coming down to the foyer. They were on their way to the main office

to weed through the long list of club members in hope of learning who "Bill" was. They'd left Weston in

Delmot's office at the commissioner's own insistence, on the chance that there might be another call from

The main office was at the rear of the foyer. There, while Cardona was checking the long list, Delmot began

to thumb through recent membership applications. In that process he came across a real find.

"Here's something, inspector!" exclaimed Delmot. "An application from a man named William Candrew,

Cardona grabbed the application, read Candrew's name and address, and came to an immediate decision.

"I have some men out front," declared Joe. "I'll send a squad to Candrew's place. Call the commissioner and

Delmot lost no time. He was ringing his upstairs office while Cardona was going out through the foyer.

Getting Weston on the wire, Delmot heard a disappointed grunt when the commissioner learned that the

Giving the commissioner the brief facts on Candrew, Delmot stated that Cardona was going to the man's

apartment in hope of finding Laverock there with Secane. Inasmuch as Cardona had already started, Weston

decided that the plan was a good one and that he would follow to Candrew's in his official car.

Meanwhile Clyde had joined Harry out front. Both were getting into Moe's cab when they saw Cardona come

from the club to gather together his squad members. This placed The Shadow's agents in a quandary. As they

rode along, they agreed that their only course was to wait outside of the apartment house and notify The

If there proved to be a way of getting in to see Laverock, with the police practically on the scene, The

IT so happened that The Shadow was faring better than his agents supposed. Given good traffic conditions,

his limousine could cover ground rapidly, and his detour around by Denkel's didn't take him long.

During the ride, The Shadow changed from Cranston into his blackclad self, for the limousine, like Moe's

cab, was equipped with a hidden drawer that contained a cloak, a hat, and other accouterments.

From his car, The Shadow spotted Denkel's apartment, saw that it was dark and that the window shades were

not drawn. So he kept on to Candrew's, reaching the place only a few minutes after Harry and Clyde.

However, it chanced that The Shadow came from the opposite direction and dismissed the limousine in back

of the apartment house. The Shadow planned to enter from the rear and contact Harry, who would be coming

Thus The Shadow did not learn that Moe's cab was parked around the corner, with Clyde and Harry keeping

sharp lookout for the limousine, which, in its turn, failed to appear within their range of observation.

Coming up through a fire tower, The Shadow found a back door to the apartment that he wanted. He tried the

door but discovered that it was bolted. Listening there, he caught the faint buzz of voices from within.

Though indistinguishable, they seemed to be coming closer, so The Shadow waited and listened.

Those voices belonged to James Laverock and Wilfred Secane. The two were standing in a small living room,

not far from the door to the kitchen. At present The Shadow did not see them, but he was later to picture

matters very accurately, almost as precisely as if he had been upon the scene itself.

The living room had a door which led out to a front hall on the third floor of the small apartment building. It

was through that door that Laverock had admitted Secane. The door itself was bolted by means of a chain

Laverock's face was strained, and its unshaven condition added to its haggard look. In turn, Secane was very

"You're doing the worst thing possible, Jim," Secane was telling Laverock. "Hiding out this way is only

"It's all right for you to talk that way," retorted Laverock bitterly, "but if you found yourself in the same sort

"Suppose you heard some shots and saw a man fall dead," argued Laverock. "You'd clear out, wouldn't you?

Well, that's what I did, otherwise the killer might have bagged me, too. You don't think I murdered Orvill, do

"Frankly, I don't know," replied Laverock slowly. His eyes took on a stare that was suddenly suspicious.

"I received your message at the club," Secane replied. "Naturally, I wanted to help you "

"My message?" interrupted Laverock. His voice had become noticeably thick. "Oh, yes, the message." Then,

with a new stare of suspicion, he added: "Delmot doesn't know where I am, does he?"

"Then... how" Laverock swayed unsteadily "how did you find out? Still, I didn't tell Delmot "

"You've been drinking too much, Jim," said Secane. "Better steady a bit, and get rid of the fog. Then we can

"Get me another drink," he suggested. "It's what I need to get rid of these jitters. Pour yourself one, too.

THOUGH The Shadow could not catch that conversation, he clearly heard Secane come into the kitchen. The

clink of glasses followed, with the gurgle of liquid. Secane took a tray of ice cubes from the refrigerator and

The Shadow followed his actions by the sounds. Then Secane was going back into the living room, for The

The thing that came was a gunshot, muffled by the kitchen door. There was the thud of a fading body, a

startled cry that must have been Secane's, for it was accompanied by the smash of falling glasses. It sounded

much as though Laverock had shot Secane, but The Shadow detected factors which indicated that it could be

First, the thud seemed more distant than the cry, and it preceded the clatter of glasses by a full second. If

Secane had taken the bullet, he must have clung to the glasses, even after he collapsed. Hence The Shadow's

That question could be settled later. It was The Shadow's job to prevent a killer from leaving the apartment. It

wouldn't do to stand by the kitchen door while someone went out through the front. So The Shadow started

rapidly along the long hallway, looking for the corner that would give him a view of the apartment's front

Reaching the turn, The Shadow wheeled abruptly, a drawn automatic in his fist. The hallway here was well

lighted, but it didn't show the door The Shadow wanted, for a stairway blocked the view. Those stairs led

They, too, had heard the muffled shot. They were dashing up with drawn revolvers. Against the light, they

saw the black shape of The Shadow and took him to be the intruder that they sought.

Only by a quick swerve and a drop to the floor did The Shadow avoid the fire that tongued from ready guns.

Thinking that they had blasted their opponent, the attackers lunged from the steps, shouting as they came.

Of all the times for The Shadow to precipitate himself into an unexpected fray, this was the worst. New

murder had been done. Death was again on the march. And now The Shadow, the one being who could have

trapped the killer, was confronted with problems of his own in the form of two brawny assailants who were

Forgotten for the moment were Laverock and Secane. The Shadow was in for trouble of his own!

SO rapid was The Shadow's fade that he lacked time in which to identify his foemen. They were coming from

the gloom of the stairway, while The Shadow was in the light, and his immediate purpose was to reverse that

As he struck the floor, The Shadow heard bullets pound the wall above him, then he was rolling for the rear

wall, past the corner, coming deftly to his feet to meet the attackers when they turned his way.

Recalling Laverock's flight after Orvill's death, The Shadow remembered the tangle of automobiles, with

snipers in the offing. This looked like a similar circumstance. Murder had been done again, and here were

Those reserves were asking trouble for themselves as they swung the corner of the hallway, brandishing their

smoking guns. Rising to meet them was a blackcloaked fighter who had found his habitat, darkness. The

Shadow was one against two, but the odds favored him. The intrepid fighter in black could have taken on half

The Shadow caught flashes of gleaming metal as his assailants wheeled blindly his way. Four gleams, not

just two. At quick glance it might have been supposed that those four sparkles meant that each opponent was

Not to The Shadow. With him, a quick glance could mean a thorough survey. He understood the gleams and

acted accordingly. Instead of leveling his automatic, The Shadow drove forward, shoulders first, with his

Guns ripped loud above The Shadow's shoulders. Only two guns spoke, for the other gleams were badges!

These men were the advance members of Cardona's squad, men who had headed here without The Shadow's

knowledge. Lucky it was for them that The Shadow recognized them when he did, for they had thrown

themselves into a trap. The Shadow could have withered both of them with his own gun while they were

delivering those wild shots, and would have done so had he still mistaken the pair for crooks.

As it was, The Shadow dealt differently with his opponents, though it meant hazard to himself. Hooking the

headquarters men, he spun them against each other, rolling them to the floor while their guns, flying upward,

were barking wilder than before. In their ears, the detectives heard the low mirth of a whispered laugh, which

But this pair had never before encountered The Shadow. They had been fed too fully with the theory that The

Shadow was a myth, an official attitude on which Commissioner Weston insisted, despite evidence to the

contrary. Finding that their shots weren't reaching their assailant in black, the detectives tried to sledge him

The result was a clash of metal as The Shadow battered back, parrying every stroke so skillfully that, before

they realized it, the detectives were hammering at each other with every third stroke and missing The Shadow

Meanwhile, Inspector Joe Cardona had reached the top of the stairs. He heard the struggle in the rear hall, and

the clash of metal led him to believe that his men were suppressing some antagonist, particularly as the clatter

drowned The Shadow's lowtoned taunts. So Joe kept to his original objective the apartment where Secane

The apartment was along the front hall, just short of a continuation of the stairway that led up to floors above.

The knob was at the right, so Joe grabbed it with his left hand, taking his gun in his right.

The door yielded, but only for a few inches, then the chain bolt stopped it from going farther inward.

ON the floor lay James Laverock, a very gory figure. A single shot had sufficed to kill him, for it had been

Beside Laverock lay the death gun, a most unusual weapon for a murder. It was an automatic of very old

style, a longhandled thing that appeared to have a .45 frame. The barrel, however, was thin and very

lengthy. It looked like a .22 job rigged on a heavier frame, a weapon designed for longrange target practice.

Only briefly did Cardona study the gun. He was more interested in the man who was stooping beside

That man was obviously Wilfred Secane. His features looked as harried as Laverock's bloodstained face.

Hearing the clatter of the door as Cardona shouldered it against the resisting chain bolt, Secane looked up,

saw Joe's swarthy visage, and made a reach for the exaggerated automatic that lay on the floor beside the

Simple was the system that Joe used. He poked his own gun, a Police Positive, through the crack of the door.

It was easy enough to get the muzzle through, though Joe's fist couldn't follow.

A few inches to the right of the door was a wall extending straight inward about two feet, evidently the side

wall of a closet. Cardona turned his hand to aim along the wall in question, for Laverock's body lay beyond

Seeing the threat, Secane didn't wait to snatch the obsolete automatic that had brought death to Laverock.

Though suitable for cold murder, the clumsy weapon couldn't compete with Cardona's modern revolver.

Seized by an urge for selfpreservation, Secane made a leap beyond the short corner of the wall along which

Joe blasted two belated shots, then gave a savage growl. Secane took the growl as a signal that Cardona

wasn't ready to shoot again, and the guess was right. Springing out into the open, Secane leaped across the

path of fire so unexpectedly that Cardona was again behind time when he pulled his trigger.

There was a smash from the far side of the living room as Secane hurled a metal ash stand through a

windowpane. Cardona didn't see it happen, for the door blocked his view. But he heard the crash and the

scramble that followed. Secane was making a mad and rapid exit through the broken window.

All the while, more footsteps had been pounding up from the stairs below. Stepping back from the door,

Cardona heard an excited voice beside him; he turned and saw Delmot, halted half way from the stairs.

Delmot was breathless, for a man of his age could be easily winded by a dash up three flights of steps.

"What... what's happened, inspector?" Delmot panted. "Was that Laverock... shooting it out with you?"

"Laverock is dead," snapped Cardona. "Secane just murdered him! Come on and we'll try to head him off!"

Grabbing Delmot, Cardona steered him for the stairs, where another man came storming upward. The new

arrival was Commissioner Weston, as much out of breath as Delmot. Behind the commissioner were the other

members of Cardona's squad. Joe had left them outside, but Weston had ordered them to come along.

It was Delmot who blurted the news of Laverock's death and Secane's flight, for Cardona was looking for the

detectives in the rear hall. Joe found them, sitting on each side of the passage, staring groggily at each other.

They were realizing for the first time that they had finished by slugging it out together, for there was no

The thing was a momentary mystery to Cardona until he heard the departing tone of a vague, grim laugh that

trailed back from the fire tower. Therewith Cardona knew who it was that his men had encountered in the

hallway. But that wasn't all that Cardona garnered from The Shadow's fading mirth.

Unquestionably, The Shadow, too, had heard the crash of Secane's exit from the living room where Laverock

lay dead, for the sound was loud enough to carry through closed doors. The Shadow's laugh was a call to

Cardona, an invitation to join in a chase that might result in the capture of a missing murderer!

BY the time he reached the street below the fire tower, The Shadow could hear the thump of following

footsteps. From their number, he assumed that Cardona had divided his squad, for the foot thumps were not

many. The rest of the inspector's men must have gone out by the front; and it was good judgment for Cardona

to send them in that direction, because Secane could easily double his course if he so decided.

From the street, The Shadow saw the route that had furnished Secane with immediate escape. The brisk man

had dropped to a low roof less than a floor below the livingroom window. It was the roof of an old garage,

and it probably had a skylight in the top, one that Secane could easily have smashed or pried open.

There was a rear door to the garage, so The Shadow cut in through it. He came upon a mass of cars, all of

which looked as though they had been left in the place on a deadstorage basis. There were no attendants in

the garage, but the place certainly had an occupant, for The Shadow heard a clatter near the front.

Hurrying through, he saw a little door come slapping shut and knew that Secane must have fled by that exit.

Why Secane had gone out through the front instead of the back was a riddle that explained itself as soon as

A car was scooting around the corner, and from its hurry, The Shadow knew that Secane must be in it.

Evidently Secane had come by car to call on Laverock and had left his vehicle in front of the apartment

Thus had Secane nullified The Shadow's effort to block his escape. Had the fellow been fleeing on foot, he

would doubtless have taken the garage's rear exit, right into The Shadow's clutch.

As for pursuit, The Shadow had a means at his disposal. A cab wheeled up from another corner to begin a

chase. The Shadow flagged it with the blinks of a tiny flashlight that gleamed red from its colored lens. Then

The Shadow was springing into the cab, Moe Shrevnitz's cab, and both Harry and Clyde were hopping out the

In a few words The Shadow was telling them what to do. He wanted them to take cover and keep watch on

the smashed window of the upstairs apartment to make sure that no one else went in or out of it. Seeing

Secane in flight, The Shadow was quite sure that Laverock was the victim, but he hadn't forgotten Laverock's

Laverock had been wanted for Orvill's death, a point on which The Shadow still differed with the law. Now

Secane was wanted for killing Laverock, and the similarity of the cases forced The Shadow to keep an open

As Moe's cab whirled the corner, with The Shadow as a passenger, the whir of police sirens sounded from in

back. It was like the pursuit of Laverock, this chase of Secane. The Shadow was leading the van, with the law

CARS were jerking to a stop at a crossing just ahead to let Secane's car whiz through, which it did. A truck,

mixed in the traffic, went partly out of control. To dodge other cars, it swung broadside, directly in the path

Moe slapped the brake so hard that the rear of the cab hopped. With a yank of the wheel, Moe had the cab

This time there was no question where the shots came from. They barked from within the truck, with the cab

as the target. Had the gunners been equipped with a machine gun, they might have riddled the cab before The

Shadow could have dragged Moe from it; but they didn't have so devastating a weapon.

The reason: this was supposed to be a neat coverup, one that the police wouldn't suspect. Revolver shots

were preferable, for witnesses wouldn't be able to tell where they came from, and the police would probably

think that Secane had done some shooting during his getaway. But in trying to be clever, these men who

Before they could get the proper range on The Shadow's cab, his automatics talked. Slugs of .45 caliber

began to chop their way through the blank sides of the truck. The driver didn't wait for the gunners to receive

theirs, with interest, from The Shadow. Bawling for them to lie low, the trucker roared the big vehicle for the

The taunting laugh that followed the fleeing truck was the promise of a chase to come. If only Moe could

have gotten his cab around, The Shadow would have gone through with such pursuit. By then, however,

police cars were pouring into the confusion, with Weston's official limousine among them. To avoid denting

the big car's precious fenders, the chauffeur banked it across the street where the truck had gone.

Only The Shadow realized that pursuit of the truck was vital, now that Secane's car was away. In fact, he

With a low word to Moe, The Shadow slid from the cab and merged with the blackness of a sidewalk. When

police began to investigate the traffic tangle, the cab was just part of it. Like the drivers of other cars, Moe

Returning to the apartment house, Commissioner Weston found his friend, Cranston, waiting there.

Cranston's mood was a rather chiding one. He wanted to know why Weston and Delmot had left the Avenue

Club without him. Certainly they should have taken him along, since he had been a party to their conference.

"I'd have brought you, Cranston, if you'd been around," snapped Weston brusquely. "Apparently things

happened too rapidly for your wits to keep up with them. Inspector Cardona left first, and Delmot went with

him. They were both gone when I reached the foyer, and when I looked around and failed to see you, I simply

Cranston gave a rueful nod, remarking that he was sorry he'd been out of things. To which Weston shot the

retort that Cranston was no worse off than the rest of them. All that remained was the investigation of the

apartment where Secane had slain Laverock, and Cranston could be present during that procedure.

To reach the apartment, they went up through the garage next door at the suggestion of Cardona, who had

returned with Delmot. The last to take the stairs to the garage's skylight, Cranston paused to light a cigarette

near the door. As he did, a man slid up from between two of the closecrammed cars. He was Harry Vincent,

"Burke and I kept watch," Harry informed, "until the police returned; then we slipped in here. No sign of

In The Shadow's whisper, Cranston told Harry that he could return to the Avenue Club, and that Clyde was to

go off duty for the evening. Instructions given, The Shadow went up to the garage roof in the leisurely

DETECTIVES had found a short ladder, and were using it to climb into the apartment through the window

that Secane had smashed. Weston and Delmot were inside when Cranston joined them through the window

route, but the commissioner was leaving the details of investigation to Inspector Cardona, who proceeded in

Cardona's first task was to make sure that no one, other than Secane, could have been in the apartment with

Laverock. Having left two men in the upstairs hall, to listen at the chainbolted door, Cardona like The

The kitchen door was bolted on the inside. The windows were tightly locked, including the one that Secane

had smashed, rather than waste time with the catch. As for the door to the hallway, Cardona proceeded to

prove that it could not have been used as an exit by some person unknown, granted that such a person had

Opening the door, Cardona stepped through. From the hallway side, he closed the door, until only his fingers

showed past the edge. Cardona made valiant efforts to pull the chain bolt into place, but failed. His hand,

In order to get the chain bolt into the end of the grooved socket, the door had to be closed, and Cardona,

couldn't close the door because he had to use his fingers to try to put the chain bolt where he wanted it.

As Cranston, The Shadow watched the process as though quite disinterested. He already knew the difficulties

of chain bolts, and recognized that no one could possibly have managed the thing in question. But there was

another angle to this case, that Cranston would soon have mentioned if Weston hadn't suddenly expressed it.

"One moment, inspector," asserted the commissioner. "You say that you fired shots at Secane through the

partly opened door. Perhaps someone other than Secane could have shot Laverock through the doorway."

"You've struck it, commissioner!" exclaimed Delmot, with enthusiasm. "I've felt, all along that it was

preposterous to accuse Secane of murdering Laverock. Why, the two were good friends! Suppose we test the

Delmot put the chain bolt in place and then pulled back the door, so Cardona could get the fewinch leeway.

From the other side, Joe demonstrated how he had aimed his gun through. By then, Weston was as

"I'm Laverock," he said. "I hear someone at the door. I open it and peer through. You're the party unknown,

Cardona, didn't furnish the last part of the demonstration. Instead, he simply withdrew his revolver and spoke

"All right, commissioner," said the inspector. "I've shot you. What do I do next?"

"You toss the gun in here," informed Weston. "That's what the killer would have done."

With some difficulty, Cardona managed to squeeze his police revolver through the door and let it fall to the

floor beyond, where it fell beside the death gun. It was Joe, himself, who mentioned the thing that everyone

promptly noticed: namely, that the revolver looked like a mere toy beside the oldfashioned automatic that

"Hand me the big bun, commissioner," suggested Cardona. "I'll have to see if it will squeeze through, too."

Weston tried to comply, but couldn't. The longbarreled automatic simply wouldn't go through the door; at

least, not from Weston's side. So the commissioner unbolted the door; he and Cranston stepped into the

TRY as he could, Cardona couldn't get the long gun through the door space. It would have been easy enough

to fire a shot from it, right through the crack, but tossing the gun itself was quite another proposition.

Like the barrel, the handle was long. Any way that Cardona, shoved the gun, lengthwise or point upward,

either the barrel or the handle encountered the wall that was no more than four inches to the right of the door.

Laverock could have poked his face into that space, but the bulky automatic wouldn't work through.

Cardona tried to shove it in V fashion, with muzzle and handle at angles to the right, but he had no luck. Joe

finally conceded that there could only be one wary to accomplish the task: that would be to take the gun apart

Naturally, no killer could have used that method, for Secane, within the room, would have had to obligingly

Weston made some tries, but with no more luck than Cardona. He was about to pass the clumsy gun to

Cranston, when Delmot unbolted the door and came out. He had an idea and wanted to test it, so Cranston

First, Delmot made some thrusts with the gun at the door edge, just to learn how Weston and Cardona had

"I'm going to try it over the top," explained Delmot. "That's the only way it could possibly have gone

Cranston saw the long muzzle of the gun come poking over the door top, but the handle didn't follow, for the

angle was too sharp. Delmot tried it handle first, but the system also failed when reversed. He tried to work

Then Delmot made his final attempt. He worked the gun sideward, its barrel on a line with the door top.

Cardona had tried the same system at the side of the door, where the wall had stopped it. In this case, there

was nothing inside the room to stop the gun's progress; nevertheless, it failed to come through.

The reason was simply. The handle was too thick. The space at the top of the door was narrower than at the

side, because the door, like all hinged doors, opened at an angle. The slight dearth of space was just enough

to ruin Delmot's experiment. Reluctantly, Delmot returned the gun to Weston, who asked Cranston to unbolt

Watching casually, Cranston saw Cardona wrap up the odd automatic as "Exhibit A" in the case against

Wilfred Secane. The verdict was as good as final. Since Secane had been in the apartment alone with

Laverock, only Secane could have killed the hunted man, inasmuch as the death gun must have been in the

True, Secane might claim that Laverock had committed suicide in his presence, but such an argument would

not carry far. Had Laverock decided to end his own life, he would logically have done so long before

Secane's visit. If ever circumstantial evidence of murder bulked large against a man, it was true in the case of

It was odd, therefore, that when Lamont Cranston left the apartment, alone, his lips should phrase a

whispered laugh that carried a prophetic note. Usually, when The Shadow undertoned that strange mirth, it

Nevertheless, The Shadow laughed, as though his lips were thereby expressing something that he, for reasons

ON the next evening, assembled members of the Avenue Club went through the motions of electing two new

candidates to the executive committee. As usual with such elections, the procedure was cut and dried. It was

customary for the committee to suggest the candidates, and there being no objections, the suggested men

All during the meeting, Rudolph Delmot presided with bowed shoulders, his face set in a strained expression.

Those close by could detect the droop of sadness in his eyes, steady though they tried to be.

It was easy to understand Delmot's mood. These men who were being voted into office were replacements for

The meeting over, Delmot talked a short while with the new committee members, then went up to his office.

He found Lamont Cranston waiting there and greeted him with a nod. Then, closing the door, Delmot sank

"It's horrible, Cranston!" he exclaimed. "You were at the meeting, and you saw it. This business of filling the

Cranston's opinion didn't quite coincide with Delmot's, for he had some words to say about it.

"It struck me as rather unimpressive," spoke Cranston. "Those two candidates are not established members,

like Orvill and Laverock. They are newcomers, who know little about the Avenue Club."

"Like all the rest of the committee," groaned Delmot. "There were only three capable men on it: Orvill,

Delmot halted, shook his head. He was wondering about Secane. Understanding, Cranston put the question:

"I don't know," replied Delmot. "Laverock should have resigned, but he didn't. I hope that Secane will show

more sense. All that I can do is call a committee meeting for tomorrow night and have the commissioner

"And then," repeated Delmot seriously, "we shall have another election. The committee members will

propose some new man, as stupid as themselves, and he will accept the honor. After all, what else can we

expect? We had a good committee once, but some of its members dropped out, through various causes, until

"Thanks for the compliment, Cranston. At least, I've done my best to keep the committee active. The trouble

was, Orvill and Laverock were too active. They never seemed to trust anyone, each other least of all."

"I wonder, could Secane have been the same way? He's a closemouthed chap, Secane, and he could have

been keeping a lot to himself. If we could only get to the bottom of it, Cranston!"

IT so happened that Cranston was digging for the bottom of it, perhaps more deeply than Delmot recognized.

The fact was evidenced, later the same evening, when Cranston met with Harry Vincent in a secluded corner

Harry had been reading over the bylaws of the Avenue Club, preparatory toward applying for membership.

"Study this carefully, Vincent. Perhaps you may some day become eligible for the executive committee."

"That won't take much study," returned Harry, "considering the caliber of the two who were elected tonight.

From what I've seen around this place, the employees are a smarter lot than the members."

"Yes, and the boys have been doing a lot of workouts in the gym. They go in for the toughest sort of

acrobatics. One fellow nearly broke his neck on the horizontal bars, last night, but managed to get by with

Cranston smiled. Harry was learning more about the Avenue Club than his chief knew. So Harry proceeded

with further information. Most of the hired help lived at the club, taking up the slack in rooms that the

members didn't use. Those rooms were on the third floor, where the club wall banked against a row of old,

The personnel was large, for the club had taken on many new attendants in anticipation of the coming

membership drive. Harry regarded that as good policy, because plenty of hired help meant a wellmanaged

organization. However, new members weren't coming in very rapidly, and the trouble seemed to be with the

"It doesn't seem to matter who the members are," stated Harry, "so long as the committee functions. Even

with Orvill and Laverock replaced, things can't move until something is done about Secane."

Again, Cranston smiled. The Shadow knew what Harry was driving at. Harry was anxious to know what his

"It is a duplicate of the former case," came Cranston's analysis. "Laverock was accused of murdering Orvill;

now, Secane is supposed to have killed Laverock. The law thinks it has solid evidence in both cases."

"Only as far as the law knows," returned Cranston, with a steady gaze. "One step farther in each case, and the

whole theory may be reversed. Of course, there is another factor that the police have entirely overlooked. In

each case, a similar band of men covered the getaway of the supposed murderer a most illogical

Harry understood. It wasn't likely that men who worked for Laverock would switch to Secane. Therefore, it

followed that they hadn't worked for either. But that inference was the last that Cranston expressed to Harry.

If he had other points in mind, The Shadow intended to hold them until some later occasion.

LATE the next afternoon, The Shadow met Clyde Burke, the other agent who was working on the cases of

death about town. The meeting took place outside the Avenue Club, since it wouldn't do for Lamont

Cranston, as a reputable member, to be seen chatting with an upstart reporter like Clyde Burke.

"I've been hounding Louis Buram all day," informed Clyde, "but he just won't talk to me. Buram says he

doesn't want anything printed, right now, about the Allied Benefit Association."

"He says it would mean undue publicity," returned Clyde, "which is Buram's term for notoriety. But it doesn't

make sense to me. The A.B.A. paid off double when Orvill died, and it's going to do the same on Laverock's

account. I should think that Buram would he proud to have people know that his concern is solvent."

Cranston's eyes showed keen interest in Clyde's findings, so the reporter explained that he had learned about

the Laverock payment while sitting around the office of the A.B.A. waiting for an interview with Buram.

Clyde was more than ever anxious for that interview, and he asked if he should persist in getting it, to which

"All right, then," assured Clyde. "I'll crash the sacred gates of the Avenue Club again. Buram is coming there

this evening with Laverock's tenthousanddollar pay check. I'll flag him, and get my story."

With evening, Cranston was at the Avenue Club ahead of both Clyde and Buram. He found Weston in

conference with Delmot, but Cardona wasn't present. Weston explained that his ace inspector was scouring

town, seeking some trace of Secane. It appeared that Secane was a man of many parts, and many friends,

though little could be learned about either. However, Weston had picked up some interesting data.

"We communicated with Candrew," stated Weston. "He's in Florida, and he remembered that Laverock had a

key to his apartment, one that he loaned him once, but which never was returned. Another thing: Candrew

"An important point!" exclaimed Delmot. "Perhaps Laverock found that odd automatic in the apartment.

"All of Candrew's guns are in Florida," declared Weston, "except for a fourbarreled Sharps that should have

been in the apartment. It may have been the gun that Laverock brought to his office when he met up with the

watchman. What became of it, we don't know. What is more important, Candrew didn't own the big

Glumly, Delmot shook his head. His efforts to whitewash Secane were thinning badly. Weston decided that it

"We found letters from both Orvill and Laverock at Secane's hotel," stated Weston. "Each has been trying to

enlist him against the other. Even if we assume that Secane felt impartially about it, he would naturally have

"Nothing less," returned Weston. "I'd say he gave Laverock a fair chance to talk, but that Laverock did not

convince him. Secane had that old target automatic with him, probably the only gun he could pick up. So he

It was so concisely put, that Delmot couldn't disagree. He was about to speak again, however, when a knock

came at the door. It was Buram; the representative of the A.B.A. was bringing Laverock's check.

He produced it from a brief case that he carried, and, for a moment, Buram was flustered when the others saw

Then, realizing that the witnesses were the police commissioner and a trusted friend, Buram smiled wanly.

"I was taking this cash to the A.B.A. office," stated Buram. "It's money that came in from outoftown clubs

toward our new sinking fund. Maybe I'd better not carry so much cash at night. Suppose you keep it in your

Delmot took the cash, and obliged with the receipt. Actually, the funds belonged to the Avenue Club, since

the A.B.A. was its subsidiary, but since the cash was earmarked for insurance, a proper record was necessary.

Tucking the brief case under his arm, Buram showed a relieved look on his hatchet features, and lighted a

Compared to Buram's rapid look, Cranston's actions were painfully slow. Rising in his most leisurely fashion,

he announced that he was going up to the gym for some exercise, which brought smiles from both Weston

and Delmot. Neither guessed what was in Cranston's mind, for his slow motions completely concealed it.

Indeed, Cranston couldn't have analyzed his own thoughts at the moment. He was simply following one of

those mental flashes that came to him as The Shadow. Buram, of course, had supplied the spark. His

insistence that Delmot keep his cash, the darting look he gave in parting, combined to form the flint and steel.

With that flash, The Shadow knew that crime's interlude had ended. Another stroke was on the way. It was

time for a gentleman named Lamont Cranston to drop his identity and become that master of mystery, The

ONE man watched Louis Buram when he strode across the foyer of the Avenue Club; that watcher was Harry

Vincent. He noticed that Buram seemed in quite a hurry, and that he was clutching his brief case very tightly.

What worried Harry was the fact that Clyde Burke wasn't around. According to plan, Clyde should have been

Outside the door of the club, Buram stopped. Walking over toward the attendant's desk, Harry saw the

reason. Clyde was outside, too, and he was halting Buram. It looked as though the two were due for an

One hand on the door, the man in uniform was pushing it open, as though to summon aid if an altercation

Buram took the situation with a smile. Removing his cigar from his lips, he said to Clyde:

"I still want a story," returned Clyde. He gestured toward the doorman. "If you chase this fellow, we can go

"Very well," decided Buram. "You can come over to my office. I'll have to make a few stops on the way, but

The two moved away, quite amicable, and the doorman went back to his post. By then, the attendant at the

desk was eyeing Harry quizzically, wondering what he wanted. So Harry asked for paper and envelope.

Receiving them, he wrote a brief note, sealed it, and told the attendant to deliver it to Mr. Cranston.

Cranston was strolling down from the mezzanine when the note reached him. Harry had just gone out the

door, but the note disclosed the fact that his departure was very recent. The reason Harry hadn't addressed the

note was because he had written it in a special ink which The Shadow and all his agents carried in their

To prevent any chance prier from learning the note's contents, Harry had to put it in code, which Cranston

read rapidly. The note stated that Clyde had met Buram, and that the two were going on a roundabout trip that

would finally land them in the Zenith Building, where the A.B.A. offices were located.

Thinking that Cranston was tied up with the commissioner, Harry was going directly to the Zenith Building

to be there when they arrived. Crumpling the note, as though it were quite unimportant, Cranston tossed it

Had anyone picked up that sheet of paper, they would have wondered why Cranston had bothered to study it

It was remarkable, the way in which Cranston retained his leisurely manner at a time that required action.

Things had happened with a rapidity that fully established The Shadow's conjecture regarding imminent

Buram's aboutface, where Clyde was concerned, fitted perfectly with the situation. Harry had sensed it;

otherwise, he wouldn't have been in such a hurry, taking off to the Zenith Building.

But The Shadow, as Cranston, showed no hurry at all. Passing the front windows of the foyer, he saw

Moe's cab should have been out front, but wasn't. It was certain, therefore, that Clyde had gone in that cab,

with Buram. Harry certainly would not have commandeered Moe for a direct trip to a known destination. So

Crossing the foyer, he took a chair near the telephone booths, and would have remained there if Delmot

To avoid him, Cranston stepped into a booth and put in a call to the person he was waiting to hear from his

contact man, Burbank. When Burbank responded, The Shadow's whisper informed him to keep the line open.

Meanwhile, in the placid fashion of Cranston, The Shadow watched Delmot enter the downstairs office.

Delmot was carrying the money that Buram had left in his custody, because the safe was in the downstairs

office. He must have taken time to count it, for it was several minutes before he reappeared and went up to

rejoin Weston. By then, Burbank was announcing that he had gained the contact that The Shadow wanted.

Moe had just reported. His cab was parked near Times Square. Buram and Clyde had gone into a hotel to

pick up some bundles, and had a few more stops to make. Moe calculated that they would reach the Zenith

Building in about half an hour. In fact, he could see to it that they didn't get there any sooner. So The Shadow

THIS was getting to be a curious game, combining blindman's buff with hide and seek. As Cranston left the

phone booth, he heard himself being paged. Probably Weston and Delmot wanted him to rejoin them, and

had called the gym, only to learn that Cranston wasn't there. Nor was he in the foyer when attendants began

Though he lacked his black hat and cloak, The Shadow did a perfect glide across the foyer to a very

convenient door, the one leading into the lower office. He was through the door, closing it behind him, before

In the darkness of the office, he was more The Shadow than Cranston, even in the way he blinked a tiny

The Shadow found one that suited him. It was a bolted door at the rear of the office. Unbolting it, he stepped

into a storeroom, which, in turn, had a bolted door that opened into a small passage leading down into the

There was a delivery door a few steps down, and The Shadow used it to reach an ally behind the building.

There wasn't time to bother about the unbolted doors. Anyone who found them could worry over them. The

Shadow's problem or it could have been termed Cranston's was to reach his limousine, which was in a

Ordinarily, he could have summoned the limousine, but not while he was being paged in the foyer of the

Meanwhile, Clyde Burke was continuing his delayed trip to the Zenith Building, and was finding Louis

Buram in a confiding mood as they rode along in Moe's cab. The packages that they had picked up were

"You want a story, Burke," stated Buram, "so I'm going to give you one. Only, it isn't to be a personal

"Others will stand for them," assured Buram. "When we reach my office, I'll show you correspondence from

the outoftown clubs that are going to sign up with the A.B.A., and that will give you an idea of how huge

"You're talking sense," said Clyde. "If this expansion is the milliondollar proposition that you claim, why

worry about small matters like tenthousanddollar payments that might mean notoriety? Orvill and

Clyde stared. Buram's face, usually shrewd, had changed to one that bore a frightened expression. The man

was staring from the cab window, and when Moe began to pull up for the next stop, Buram leaned forward

Then, turning to Clyde; Buram spoke in a hoarse voice, so frantic in its tone that Moe could also hear it.

"I don't want to give you a story, Burke," Buram confessed. "It's poor policy, that's all. The insurance

business, handled as a private benefit, requires no advertising to the public. But I'll give you a story, because

"Can't you see?" persisted Buram. "I'm in danger! It began before I reached the Avenue Club, but I tried to

"I don't know," groaned Buram. "They must have spotted me when I drew fifty thousand from the bank!"

"That's where I put the money," nodded Buram. "But I was smart enough to leave it with Delmot. The cash is

"So you figured you ought to have company," laughed Clyde. "O.K., Buram, I'm game. But what's given you

BURAM explained. He'd seen suspiciouslooking persons at the hotel where they stopped; men who had

given close looks at the bundles that Buram picked up. True enough, the bundles contained nothing but

application blanks for outoftown distribution, but the spotters couldn't have known that. The printer had

left the blanks in the hotel office, which made it seem that the bundles might be valuable.

"They probably think I'm loaded with cash," moaned Buram. "Not just fifty thousand, but a whole lot more!

Clyde was looking back through the rear window. He saw some cars on the same street, but couldn't tell

whether they were trailing or not. Clyde decided to end Buram's worries. Leaning to the front seat, he spoke

"This fellow with me has the heebies," said Clyde. "Thinks a couple of snoops are tagging him on an alimony

job. Gets the jitters every time he ducks into town. Shake it up a bit, before he gets to seeing little men

Moe shook it up. He zigzagged the cab in and around side streets in a fashion that would have lost a troop of

policepatrol cars. Sliding back and forth across the rear seat, Buram kept chattering gratefully to Clyde.

"Thanks lots, Burke," said Buram. "I'm glad you didn't tell the cabby what was really worrying me. Here have

Clyde grinned to himself. He hadn't needed to tell Moe what was really worrying Buram. Moe had heard the

man's own worried whines. So Clyde accepted the cigars and was actually trying to light one, when the cab

As they tumbled out, with brief case and bundles, Buram thrust a few dollars into Moe's hand, then said to

"Around by the side door, Burke. Nobody will see us going in there. It's too dark."

The door was dark, as Buram said. So dark, that Clyde could hardly see it. He finally groped his way through

with Buram, and they reached a turn that showed them the lighted lobby where the elevators were located.

"Well, Buram," he said, "you're out of the jungle. You're back where you belong, safe and sound."

Buram turned to answer, and stood stockstill, voicing a frightened gasp. Clyde swung, too, under a prod that

reached his ribs. Backing into the light with Buram, Clyde saw the realization of the other man's fears.

Out of the gloom behind them had emerged six masked and muffled men, all armed with revolvers. Lurking

along the very route that Buram had chosen, these men of crime were intent on robbery and, if need be, death.

In the glint of revolvers, and of eyes above the masks, Clyde Burke saw the threat of doom. In that moment

of menace, Clyde could only hope that The Shadow had foreseen this thrust of crime!

TO Buram's credit, Clyde noted that he didn't wilt under the strain of facing masked men with their guns. The

strain seemed over, where Buram was concerned. He'd been imagining things for hours, and the arrival of the

Slowly, Buram backed away from men who confronted him, eyeing them as though for future reference. In

fact, Buram was somewhat cooler than Clyde, who was more anxious to find an avenue of escape than to

Clyde wondered why he and Buram were being backed out into the light. It didn't seem good policy on the

part of the masked gunners, until Clyde noted that there were other persons in the same fix as himself and

One was evidently the night man of the Zenith Building, for he wore a badge. The other was an elevator

operator staring from his car, both standing with their hands raised, and in that feature they differed from

Clyde and Buram, who were carrying burdens in the form of the packages that they had brought from the cab.

Masked raiders approached and snatched the packages. While four kept their guns aimed, the other two

ripped the bundles open, only to find what Buram had told Clyde was inside batches of application sheets.

Snarls sounded through the handkerchiefs that served as masks, but those tones were forced. The crooks were

One robber thrust forward and made a snatch at Buram's brief case. It was then that the stooped man showed

his mettle. He wrenched away, snatching the brief case open of his own accord. Contemptuously, he flung its

contents pellmell on the floor. Only papers fluttered out. There wasn't a sign of a bank note in the flurry.

Then, while Clyde, forgetful of his own plight, was staring in real admiration, Buram demonstrated further

how well he had foiled robbery. Raising the brief case, he shook it in the light; showing it to be quite empty.

Their chance of robbery ended, men of crime naturally veered to thoughts of murder. There wasn't a doubt

that these men were the tribe that had been on hand covering the respective flights of Laverock and Secane.

Death had played a hand on these occasions, and these ruffians were prepared to see that it was dealt again.

Hearing the snarls that came his way, Buram recognized their threat. His panic returned, but he still retained

the vestiges of his forced courage. With a sudden sweep, Buram swung the empty brief case at the masked

face of the nearest man. As the fellow dodged, Buram leaped for the elevator, yelling for Clyde to come

Masked men were pouncing after Buram, but he flung the brief case at them and dodged farther. Clyde was

shouldering to Buram's aid, and the elevator door was starting shut, ready to receive him and cut off the

opposition. The night man was diving for the front door of the lobby, intending to call in aid. For a moment,

it seemed that crooks were to be thoroughly foiled; but that was asking too much.

With one accord, the whole group wheeled on Clyde, who, at that moment, was the only person offering hand

to hand battle. Clyde was drawing a gun that he carried, and some of the masked men must have seen it.

From the way they jabbed their guns in Clyde's direction, it looked as though he had about two seconds left to

The clang of the elevator door, slammed by the excited operator, was like a tocsin bell of final doom. It meant

that there could be no more aid from Buram, whatever little he might be able to supply.

Other aid was arriving, however, of a more potent sort. Guns suddenly swung from Clyde, toward another

CLYDE'S rescuer was Harry Vincent. His automatic was already drawn, and he was using all the lessons that

he had learned from The Shadow. The trick in this case was to carry the fight into the middle of the

He came in slugging, so hard that the opposition had to scatter in order to open gunfire. Furnished with a

needed respite, Clyde found his wits and started slugging, too. Guns spoke, wildly, and their shots were

music to Harry and Clyde. They intended to show this masked outfit how battle should be conducted at close

The trouble was, it had no longer become close range. The lobby was large, and the masked men spread like

chaff. While Harry and Clyde were looking for someone to slug, guns spoke anew, this time with an approach

Springing for the man who had winged his fellow agent, Harry fired in return. But the crook was dodging,

and other guns were aiming Harry's way, promising him a more serious dose than Clyde had received.

It was Clyde who saw the blackened shape that seemed to form itself in the gloom of the side passage behind

the aiming killers. So swiftly did it come, that it could be likened only to the approach of a tremendous storm.

That blackness gave an announcement of its approach in the form of a fierce, challenging laugh that impelled

The sweeping mass materialized. It came like a living cloudburst, in the person of The Shadow! A cloudburst

that delivered hail in the form of metal. Its lightning was the spurt of guns, its thunder their echoes.

Sweeping in from the side passage, The Shadow was raking the lobby with bullets, and masked men were

diving to escape his fury. Their own guns, answering frantically, were too hurried even to annoy the intrepid

fighter, whose attack had all the power and motion of a cyclone. The masked foemen could never have

escaped that deluge, but for the presence of Harry and Clyde. The Shadow was shooting high, rather than

include his agents in the distribution of the bullets, and crooks, dropping low, were under the path of fire.

Like a horde of rats, they made for the front door. Four went first; the other two grabbed Harry and Clyde,

not only to stop them from joining the gunfire but to keep them as shields against The Shadow's attack. That

A cloaked catapult, The Shadow precipitated himself across the lobby, reached the grappling group and

landed full force. Harry rolled one way, Clyde the other, and the last two thugs went scurrying through the

As they went, The Shadow aimed, and the taunt he gave was a promise of doom more sudden than any that

This freak was personified by the night man of the Zenith Building. He'd yelled for help outside, and he was

coming back. Caught in the whirl of fleeing bandits, he was thrown back through the door as their last peace

offering to The Shadow. By the time the fellow had reeled out of the way, the last of the masked men were in

The Shadow paused only to shove Clyde in Harry's direction. In brief words, he ordered Harry to rush his

crippled comrade out through the side door, to Moe's cab. Then The Shadow was gone through the front,

Masked men were scrambling into two cars with waiting drivers. In his turn, The Shadow spied the cab that

brought Harry from the Avenue Club. Springing into the handy vehicle, The Shadow ordered its scared driver

to chase the other cars. The fellow obeyed, for The Shadow's commands were voiced in a fashion that

Reaching Moe's cab with Clyde, Harry ordered the cabby to take them to Dr. Rupert Sayre's. This was the

MOE started off, and as he wheeled along the streets, Harry, with Clyde propped beside him, could hear the

The Shadow was doing more than pursue the masked men. He was giving them a running battle, and from

what Harry had seen of such frays, he knew that if anyone was hurt, it would not be The Shadow. There was

There wasn't a better hackie in all Manhattan than Shrevvy, and he was trained to handle the wheel, while

Nor had Moe forgotten that point. Harry could see him cocking his head behind the wheel, as though

smelling out the gun smoke. When the shooting finally faded, Moe gave a disappointed shrug. He thought

Things happened out of nothing, so it seemed. Sayre's office was on the Avenue, and Moe, in taking the

shortest course to his objective, swung through familiar terrain. He came to the very neighborhood where the

Avenue Club was located, and as he crossed a street, two cars came roaring right at him.

They were the mobstermanned cars. They'd slipped the chase, due to the laxity of The Shadow's

secondrate driver. Seeing Moe's cab, they mistook it for the other and began to blast away. The cab scudded

a corner, but the cars were gaining, due to their hurtling speed. It was then that Harry, on a mad hunch, did

Without a word to Moe, Harry flung a door open, and slammed it shut as he dived for the curb. He was letting

Moe take Clyde on to Sayre's. To himself, Harry was assigning the task of slowing the chase in order that the

cab would get away. Coming to his feet, Harry staggered for the building wall, turning to fire as he went.

Somehow, his own shots seemed very distant. He didn't realize that he had taken a very heavy fall. He'd

caught his foot on the curb and had wrenched his ankle, which accounted for his stumbles. He'd thumped his

Cars were stopping; that much, Harry knew. Shots were answering his wild fire, and he wanted better cover.

Jabbing away with the ammunition remaining in his automatic, Harry dropped back against the wall; only to

Hitting flat on cement, Harry lost his gun as he fell. He rolled over twice, tried to come to hands and knees,

only to sprawl again. From somewhere in the darkness, guns were pumping, and over Harry's head bullets

This was to be a finish fight, with Harry on the receiving end. That thought was drilling through Harry's head,

along with the blast of guns and the whine of slugs. Like Clyde not long before, Harry was wishing that The

Shadow would arrive, but his brain was pounding with the realization that his chief had lost the trail and

All that remained to Harry as solace during those last few moments was his imagination. Strained to the

utmost pitch, it gave him the illusion of a weird laugh echoing amid the batter of murderous guns.

With that last happy impression, Harry Vincent felt his senses swim into a gulf of oblivion!

SPRINGING from their cars, shooting as they came, masked men were intent upon disposing of their human

prey. If Harry Vincent had stopped against the wall he expected to find, he would have been a perfect target.

But he'd gone farther, despite himself, and the men who sought his life knew why.

What Harry had stumbled into was the entrance of an alley, and it was there that his enemies expected to find

and riddle him. So far, they were still shooting at random, on the chance that such fire would reach their

target and save them time. But haste, even when dealing with a helpless foeman, was never a sound policy.

In this case, it prevented the marksmen from hearing the sound that Harry thought he had imagined. Their

own guns crashing loud in their ears, masked men didn't catch the tone of an arriving laugh. It took

Slugs smacked the pavement underfoot. One crook howled as a ricocheting bullet nicked his leg. Another,

turning, caught a shot that was aimed higher and took an immediate sprawl. Then all the rest were full about,

shooting for blackness that outlined itself at the corner against the headlamps of a halted cab.

Harry had actually heard The Shadow's laugh. Now, other ears were listening to its sinister knell. Men of

crime were learning that The Shadow had picked up their trail anew. He was giving them all the odds they

The life of an agent was at stake, and The Shadow intended that it should be saved.

The crooks were dropping into darkness, dragging their wounded with them. The Shadow was daring them

too far, and this was the opportunity they had long desired. Forgotten in the alleyway, Harry could escape for

all that they cared. Sharpshooters saw a perfect target the silhouetted figure of The Shadow, so plainly in

Vicious gunners blasted with all the bullets they could give. Not for an instant did the black shape of The

Shadow waver. Even if clad with steel, The Shadow couldn't have taken the barrage in such style; at least, the

Rather, it seemed that the whistling pellets had gone right through The Shadow, as through a ghostly shape.

There were sharp pockpocks as the bullets smacked a wall beyond The Shadow. Those sounds, and the

recoils of their guns, told the marksmen that they were shooting real slugs, not blanks that might have

somehow gotten into their revolvers. Such evidence, however, only proved that the rapid fire must have gone

Strident was the laugh that responded to the echoes of the useless gunfire. The tone announced that The

Shadow relished the bullets which the opposition had fired at him. Having heard that mockery before, The

Not being equipped to laugh off gunfire the way The Shadow had, crooks scattered, rather than have their

ghostly foe pick them off by shooting at the spots where their guns had spurted. Those who were looking

back across their shoulders expected to see the tonguing flame of The Shadow's guns. Instead, another

One instant, his shape was plain against the focused headlights; the next, it was gone. A dozen bullets, aimed

straight at him, had failed to fell The Shadow, yet he had erased himself in a twinkling. All that remained was

his laugh, coming from nowhere, bringing new startlement to the men who were fleeing from his wrath.

IN their haste, those enemies failed utterly to guess The Shadow's ruse. They hadn't been shooting at the

cloaked fighter, at all. The headlights of the halted cab were slanted in the other direction, with The Shadow

off at an angle. Gunmen hadn't noticed that The Shadow was crouched close to the headlights, themselves,

In turn, The Shadow had cut off that light from a wall some twenty feet away. There, projected like an image

on the screen, was the phantom silhouette that marksmen had chosen as their target. True, it was enlarged by

the spread of the lights, but The Shadow had allowed for that factor by his crouch.

Only a trifle larger than life size, that false image of The Shadow had deluded foemen who saw it. No wonder

that The Shadow had been immune to the concentrated fire. Nor was it any wonder that he had responded

His taunt was too evasive to disclose his actual position, but the spurts of his automatics would have. So The

Shadow simply vanished, instead, by the expedient of dropping below the level of the headlights. Such

action, transcribed to the false image against the illuminated wall, gave the effect of a sudden vanish from the

Beside the cab, The Shadow was telling its scared driver to get started. The fellow obeyed with alacrity.

Alone in the darkness behind the swiftdarting taillamps, The Shadow was weaving toward a new objective,

the alley where Harry lay helpless. His weave was swift amid the gloom. He wanted to reach that spot before

Curiously, the scattered men returned The Shadow's compliments by tricking him in their own fashion.

By rights, they should have headed for the alley, too, because it was the one spot that afforded shelter.

Instead, their footsteps broke out with rapid clatter from a position some fifty yards away. With one accord,

masked men had sneaked off to the next corner and were starting a sudden dash around it.

At the same time, two automobiles snorted into motion. The cars swung the corner, and in the passing

headlights The Shadow saw the running crooks, lugging two staggery men with them. Evidently, they were

trying to round the corner and let the cars pick them up where The Shadow couldn't reach them.

Instead of wasting a few wild shots, The Shadow sped for the corner to prevent the rendezvous between the

Much happened while The Shadow was covering those fifty yards. From the corner, he expected to see cars

halted midway along the block, with men clambering on board. Instead, he witnessed the aftermath of a job

The masked men were gone. Ahead, the two cars were veering another corner, a full block away. It was a

getaway so thorough and so rapid, that The Shadow hadn't a chance to take up pursuit. As for the speeding

cars, they were past the corner and out of range while The Shadow was leveling his guns.

The Shadow's laugh throbbed sinisterly in the darkness. Where the masked raiders had gone, was something

to be determined later. For the present, The Shadow was remembering the plight of his agent, Harry Vincent.

RETURNING to the alley, The Shadow flicked a flashlight and saw Harry lying there.

Harry stirred as The Shadow gripped his shoulders. He was coming back to his senses, Harry was, though his

ears still fancied that they heard the boom of guns, and he couldn't believe that The Shadow's lowthrobbed

laugh was real. No shots had reached Harry while he was lying in the alley. The Shadow's intervention had

On his feet, Harry felt The Shadow guiding him deeper into the alley. Again a whispered laugh, and its note

was significant. The Shadow recognized this alley. He'd been here not long before.

Steering Harry straight ahead, The Shadow worked him through a doorway, then left him to find his own

Taking the line of least resistance, Harry groped down a flight of steps, reached a door and stumbled through.

From above, The Shadow heard the exclamations of excited voices when Harry precipitated himself into a

Harry Vincent had arrived in the basement kitchen of the Avenue Club. Chefs and waiters were crowding

forward to pick him up. The Shadow, crouching on the darkened steps, heard someone use the telephone to

Entering the storeroom, The Shadow bolted the door behind him and parked his cloak and hat upon a high

shelf. Going through the lower office, he bolted the door connecting with the storeroom; then made his way

Appearing there as Cranston, The Shadow witnessed considerable excitement that terminated when Tom

The physical director beckoned when he saw Cranston. They entered an elevator, that dropped promptly to

the basement. In that brief interval, Rydal explained matters, so far as he was able.

"It's your friend Vincent," stated Rydal. "He ran into some sort of trouble on the street and staggered in the

Harry wasn't badly hurt. He was sitting up, talking in dazed fashion, when Rydal and Cranston arrived. What

had happened, Harry couldn't quite remember. Catching a nod of approval from Cranston, Harry stuck to his

On the telephone, Rydal was summoning Delmot and Weston from their conference room on the mezzanine.

Meanwhile, the kitchen help were telling Harry that he needn't worry. They were sure that the police would

No wonder a smile showed on the lips of Lamont Cranston. The Shadow did not have to worry about tracing

THE next day, Clyde Burke found himself an accepted person at the Avenue Club. Orders to admit no

reporters had been rescinded in his case. To make it all quite ethical, Clyde was provided with a guest card,

The one that Harry had held, was the preferable term. For Harry Vincent was now a fullfledged member of

His bandaged right arm hanging in a sling, Clyde was lounging about the foyer of the club, when a polite

attendant approached and said that his presence was requested in the conference room on the mezzanine.

Rising, Delmot extended his hand, then smiled when he realize that Clyde couldn't return the shake. Instead,

"Well, Burke," began Buram, "I gave you the story that you wanted, but you don't have to thank me for it. I'd

"You did well enough," Clyde complimented. "It was my own fault that I couldn't get into the elevator with

"You'd have been killed, Buram. You were the man they really wanted. So it all worked out for the best."

Clyde didn't give the details of his own escape, which Buram hadn't seen through the closed door. It would

have involved mention of Harry, whose own trouble was supposed to have happened in back of the Avenue

It would have meant mention of The Shadow, too, though that didn't matter. The night man at the Zenith

Building had testified that a blackcloaked avalanche had finally scattered the masked horde that had tried to

"About the insurance story, Burke," resumed Buram. "I'd rather wait a week or so, before going into it. The

statistics are still incomplete, and would give only a partial idea of the expansion which the A.B.A. has

"There are letters today from more clubs that want to join. That, in turn, entails the creation of a larger

Clyde nodded, signifying that the story could wait. Delmot seemed quite as pleased as Buram. In fact,

The thing that Delmot handed Clyde was a letter. It was dated the day before, and it was addressed to

Rudolph Delmot as chairman of the executive committee. The letter was from Wilfred Secane, announcing

"I think so," returned Delmot. "But first, I must get permission from Commissioner Weston. He is coming

"Note the postmark on the letter," put in Buram. "Ten o'clock last night. That was after those thugs attacked

Delmot intervened with a headshake. He said that the question was something for the law to decide. As for

Delmot, his proper step was to call a prompt meeting of the Avenue Club members and have them elect

another man for the executive committee, to fill its roster. As usual, there would be a committee meeting first,

LEAVING the conference room, Clyde went up to the gymnasium, and there met Harry. As two men who

had both undergone serious experiences, it was quite natural that they should get together. Further, as a

Rydal was in the gym, and Harry introduced him to Clyde. The physical director smiled broadly when he saw

Clyde's bandaged arm. "You look like you belong in one of my gym classes," chuckled Rydal. "They've been

banging themselves up badly, missing mats when they somersault over horses and losing their holds on the

horizontal bars. I'm trying to curb the epidemic by limiting them to exercises."

Clyde wasn't interested in such minor casualties. As soon as Rydal had gone away, Clyde told Harry about

Secane's resignation. Harry stared reflectively, and Clyde thought he understood.

"Secane could have been in back of that mess last night," asserted Clyde. "It's time a profit motive was

cropping up among those deaths about town. Secane could have learned that Buram left the bank with a

bundle of cash. But he wouldn't have known that Buram left the money with Delmot."

"I'm thinking of something else," he said. "The election that's coming off tonight. Get into the meeting, if you

Between that time and the meeting hour, Clyde saw Harry meet Cranston in a corner of the foyer. Cranston,

of course, had already talked with Delmot. Watching the two separate, Clyde couldn't learn a thing from

Cranston's impassive face, but something in Harry's unguarded expression assured Clyde that things were

Just before the meeting, the members of the executive committee came from their own conference. Their

entrance to the assembly room was a signal for the ordinary members to follow, and Clyde joined the throng.

He went through on his guest card, though a man at the door reminded him that he had no voting privilege.

Rudolph Delmot was seated on the platform. Behind him, in a row, were the members of the executive

committee. Seeing them together, Clyde realized what a drab lot they were. Clyde didn't wonder that Delmot

A keen man like Delmot appreciated brains. He wouldn't be finding any among the executive committee.

They were the sort who would leave everything to Delmot, while they basked in the glory of their

Hopefully, Delmot opened the nomination slip that was handed to him, as though wishing it contained a

name like Orvill, Laverock, or Secane. Whatever their demerits, those three had been aggressive. They'd kept

Then, the slip opened, Delmot frowned. His tone was dull as he read the nomination:

Simon Jorfer stood up. At least, he was capable of that much, though two men had to prop him so he wouldn't

fall. Jorfer had come from the club bar, where he had been drinking to his coming election as a member of the

Like the others on the platform, Jorfer appeared to have the intelligence of a stooge; no more. But the

committee men beamed at sight of him. They were pleased at having another dullard join their select group.

"Simon Jorfer has been nominated," he announced. "If there are no other candidates, we are ready for a

motion that the nominations be closed. I shall then instruct the secretary to cast a single ballot."

Before anyone could close the nominations, a bombshell struck. Harry Vincent supplied it, when he sprang to

INSTANTLY, there was a hubbub. From a dozen spots came voices seconding the nomination. Those tones

were cultured; they belonged to the longterm members of the Avenue Club, the thinning few who

represented the early days, when the club had been the most select organization in New York.

Though Delmot was supposed to be impartial, he showed enthusiasm, too. He wasn't interested in Cranston's

social status; rather, he admired the candidate's keen thinking. When Cranston arose and quietly announced

Then, pounding his gavel, Delmot restored order. The nominations were promptly closed, and ballots were

In his corner, Clyde settled back, studying the faces about him. Just why Cranston was going through with

In recent months, the Avenue Club had taken in scores of new members, who were treated like upstarts by the

old guard. Those upstarts weren't interested in the merits of the executive committee; they merely wanted to

slap back at the ritzy crowd. Outnumbering the old conservatives by five to one, the newcomers would swing

the election overwhelmingly in favor of Jorfer. Clyde could hear voices buzzing everywhere, all saying to

Harry was on his feet again, asking to be heard. Delmot pounded his gavel to gain quiet. Harry produced the

little book that had come with his membership application. The paragraph that he proceeded to read was one

that he had skipped over, only to have Cranston tell him to give it closer attention. Harry was reading from

"'In nominations for the executive committee,'" quoted Harry, "'preference must be given to charter members

of the Avenue Club, should any such accept the candidacy. Should only one nominee be a charter member,

all others must be stricken from the list and the election of said nominee must be declared unanimous.'"

Other persons were snatching out the books, which they had so constantly overlooked. Even Delmot showed

surprise when he found the smallprint paragraph in question. The proviso was one of those rare rules that

had never before been a point of issue, and had therefore been completely forgotten, until The Shadow

Decision rested with Delmot, and he had but one choice. For the moment, his face was meditative; then it

spread into a smile. His gavel swung down and struck the table with a decisive thump.

"The nomination of Simon Jorfer is withdrawn," announced Delmot. "Since the nominations are closed, the

only remaining candidate is Lamont Cranston. The secretary will cast the single ballot confirming his election

As the meeting finished, Delmot was the first to congratulate Cranston. Then, the old guard swept away their

Harry and Clyde saw Cranston when his friends were taking him across the foyer. The group was on the way

to the bar, where the corks of champagne bottles were already popping for the coming celebration. The look

that their chief gave them conjured something in the minds of The Shadow's agents, as plainly as though they

Those popping bottle corks were a faint impression of louder sounds to come. They represented the blast of

guns that would pop in the near future. For Cranston's acceptance of executive membership linked the past

Guns had entered the careers of Orvill, Laverock, and Secane, all charter members of the Avenue Club.

Chances were that guns would be figuring in Cranston's affairs, too. But Cranston differed from the other

And The Shadow thrived on gunfire. To him, it would be the steppingstone to solving the riddle of death

IT was singular, how much of a sensation was created by the election of Lamont Cranston to the executive

committee of the Avenue Club. People read about it who had never heard of the Avenue Club before.

Hitherto, the newspapers had softpedaled mention of the club in connection with the deaths of Orvill and

Laverock, and the mystery of the missing murderer, Secane. Those three had simply been defined as

Now, however, the facts were out. Naturally, Clyde Burke couldn't be blamed. He had a guest card at the

Avenue Club, and wouldn't have let matters be known. Indeed, Clyde's paper, the Classic, was the last to

Nevertheless, it was Clyde who had let the story ride or, rather, slip. He'd mentioned it casually to reporters

However, Clyde wasn't worrying. Those other papers were merely trying to make up for Clyde's own

exclusive yarn on the holdup at the Zenith Building. More scoops would be coming, bigger ones, and Clyde

had assured his city editor that the Classic would get them. As Clyde defined it, the story of Cranston's

What that something was, Clyde honestly did not know. Nor did Harry, when Clyde talked it over with him.

To them, the mystery was simply deepening, particularly when they received strict orders to stay around the

As a result, Harry had taken a room at the club, and Clyde was sharing it with him. Clyde spent some of his

time in the gym, carefully exercising his recuperating arm, and the only other amusement in which he and

Harry indulged was shooting pool, since Clyde's hand was sufficiently strong for such a pastime.

The two were in the billiard room on a certain evening when Inspector Cardona called to see Rudolph

Delmot. As soon as Cardona stated his business, Delmot called the foyer and told the clerk to page Cranston.

Soon, Cranston arrived, and Delmot promptly informed him of the subject under discussion.

"It's about Secane," Delmot declared. "We'll have to find him, Cranston. All this scandal is making it harder

"Secane trusts me," continued Delmot, "but he knows that the police trust me, too, and that's the trouble. You

"I?" Cranston's tone was one of mild surprise. "Why, I'm a friend of the police commissioner!"

It was a copy of the Classic, carrying a story of a dispute between Commissioner Weston and his old friend,

Lamont Cranston. According to the account, the two had quarreled over matters concerning the Avenue Club.

"Was the commish boiled!" expressed Cardona. "He was going to raise an awful squawk, when I said to lay

off. This thing might help, Mr. Cranston. Maybe you'll hear from Secane. The way Secane heard from

Cranston wasn't paying attention. The story annoyed him. He told Cardona to come along, while he talked

with Burke. They went down to the billiard room, to find Buram joining the pool game with Harry and Clyde.

"I didn't phone this in," said Clyde. "It looks like a gossip job. Suppose I call the office."

"Never mind," returned Cranston. "I believe you, Burke." He turned to Cardona. "While you're back with

Clyde thought hard after Cranston left, and began to understand. Clyde had been sending his copy in from the

Avenue Club. He'd been using one of the club's typewriters, and somebody could have included a spurious

sheet, done on the same machine. Nodding to himself, Clyde decided that The Shadow was the person

Whatever The Shadow's opinions on the subject, he wasn't expressing them. As Cranston, The Shadow was

running into something more important. Before he could put in his call to Weston, he was notified that he

"Certainly, Rick," was Cranston's calmtoned reply. "How is business at your place, the Galaxy Cafe?"

"The Cafe Galaxy," corrected Rick, putting the title in reverse. "That way, it brings a better class of trade. I'd

"A little matter that I think would interest you. Nothing to do with cash. A personal matter, that I'd prefer to

Leaving the phone booth, Cranston postponed his call to Weston. Instead, he decided to ride in Moe's cab

Things were popping, and they weren't champagne corks. That squib in the Classic was bringing results.

Almost as good results as if The Shadow had framed the story himself, which he hadn't. But he hadn't been

The Shadow had been retaining the Cranston pose, rather than rush an issue which he was sure others would

push of their own accord. The piece in the Classic was a definite build toward a meeting between Lamont

Cranston and Wilfred Secane. Unless the Shadow's guess was miles wrong, Rick Stanner, owner of the Cafe

Scarcely had Cranston left the Avenue Club, before another call came through for him. It must have been an

urgent one, for the message was sent up to Rudolph Delmot, inasmuch as Cranston wasn't there to receive it.

"It's for Cranston," stated Delmot, in a puzzled tone. "It says: 'Must see you. Urgent. 618 Westbury Court.

"But Cranston couldn't have seen Secane before this," expressed Delmot, "and the note refers to the same

"You don't know Cranston," assured Cardona. "He tries neat things, now and then. Sometimes he coaxes

"I mean just that, Mr. Delmot!" Cardona gave a decisive nod, "This looks like another squad job for me. I've

got some men out front, so I'll go out and join them while you're calling the commissioner. Tell him to meet

IT wasn't far to Westbury Court, which was a short street tucked between two avenues. When the squad cars

The house was an oldfashioned one, narrow, but very tall, and Cardona could count five stories, all with

unlighted windows. Indeed, the house looked quite deserted, as did the similar mansions which adjoined it.

The front door was unlocked, so Joe entered. He found himself in a dimly lit hall, where a steep staircase led

upward. It was one of those oldstyle stairways that formed an ovalshaped spiral clear to the top floor, with

Cardona went to the second floor and looked over the banister, down to the space below.

There, Joe saw a table, a telephone on it. Beside the phone was a directory. The telephone was something for

future reference, though Cardona didn't think he'd have to use it, not with a squad outside.

Reaching the front room, Cardona found the door unlocked. Entering cautiously, he went to the window and

blinked his flashlight, to tell the outside watchers that he had safely reached his goal.

When he made a further survey with his flashlight, Cardona wished that he had brought Delmot to this room.

For Joe immediately uncovered letters and personal effects which indicated that the room belonged to

Secane. But Joe finally decided that this was a job that should be handled alone.

It was better that Delmot should stay outside, to keep Weston occupied, for the commissioner would certainly

For, Joe was playing the hunch that Wilfred Secane might soon return to this room of his, and therewith place

himself in a snare. All that Joe would have to do was wait, and become the jaws of the closing trap. It seemed

very simple, and that was why Cardona liked it, for simple plans were always the best.

It should have occurred to Joe Cardona that there might be other factors in the case. There usually were, when

a pathway cleared itself as easily as this one had. Factors that would bode ill, rather than good, unless

Had Joe Cardona realized that Lamont Cranston was The Shadow, and that he had already been led along a

different trail, Joe's confidence of capturing Secane would have vanished, hunch and all!

IN his own way, The Shadow was quite as confident as Joe Cardona, and with better reason. At least, there

was nothing phony about the trail that The Shadow had taken, as Lamont Cranston. That was, nothing phony

Men like Rick Stanner were apt to be "in the know" on certain matters that pertained to crime, constituting as

So when Cranston sauntered into the Cafe Galaxy, his manner was both leisurely and impassive. From the

way he looked about the place, he seemed to be just another guest, seeking a table in the extravagant night

It wasn't long before Cranston was recognized. Instead of being conducted to a table, he was ushered to

A hatcheck girl, waiting to take the hat and overcoat which Cranston was carrying on his arm, received a

smile, instead. Visitors didn't check their hats and coats when going to Rick's office. Rick let his business

Rick Stanner was a tall, sleek man, with a sallow face topped by a sloping forehead. He looked quite as

smooth as his voice had sounded over the telephone. Receiving Cranston, Rick's handshake seemed to

balance between firm and flabby, ready to veer either way at a moment's decision. He offered to take

Cranston's hat and coat, but by then his visitor had laid them on a chair, so Rick proffered cigars, instead.

Supplying a light across the desk, Rick let the flame reveal Cranston's eyes. Their expression struck him as

receptive, for Rick came to business immediately after he withdrew the light. As bluntly as his smooth tone

"Here's why." Rick produced a copy of the Classic. "From this story about you being at odds with the

commissioner, I'd say that you didn't fully agree with him on the Secane question."

"Hardly that," returned Cranston calmly. "The evidence certainly points to Secane as Laverock's murderer."

"But Laverock asked Secane to came and see him," put in Rick. "What would you have done in that case, Mr.

"I believe I should have gone," came the quiet tone. "Every man, who is hunted as Laverock was, is certainly

entitled to speak in confidence to a friend. The law recognizes it; otherwise, attorneys would not be allowed

"The human element still exists." Cranston's tone had taken a serious note. "If I had talked to Laverock, I

would have retained discreet silence, unless questioned, and if no one knew that I had seen him, no one

Rick took his cigar from his mouth, so that he could properly display a gleaming smile. He didn't realize that

Cranston was stating an actual case, from his experience as The Shadow. Rick was simply fishing for an

"Laverock is dead," declared Rick. "'Secane is the fellow who is on the spot at present. Would you be willing

"Secane owns a chunk of this night club," explained Rick, rising. "Silentpartner stuff, you know. When he

landed in his jam, he was headed here. I've been hiding him out, and if you'll wait a few minutes, Mr.

THE moment that Rick stepped from the office and closed the door behind him, Cranston was in action. He

The overcoat had a lining which happened to be black. One sharp tug, and the lining was free; more than that,

Cranston's hat was also gray. It underwent a real transformation. It had a lightcolored lining, which

Cranston pulled out and stuffed in a pocket of the overcoat. The interior of the hat was black, so Cranston

The hat had two bands, one around the outside; the other within the brim. Their positions were reversed when

the hat turned inside out, but that point proved trifling. Cranston simply flattened both bands, so that they

covered separate sides of the hat brim, and adhered there under pressure, because the gray brim was slightly

When the slouch hat settled on his head, Lamont Cranston had become The Shadow in the space of less than

half a minute. Opening Rick's door, he glided from the office, covering the light by raising a cloaked arm. A

few moments later, the door was closed and The Shadow was moving along the wall of the night club.

Though tables were close, The Shadow's glide was quite invisible. Only dim light reached the wall, and the

At moments, The Shadow paused, rather than elbow his way through passing waiters. They didn't see him

when they walked by, and The Shadow was further pleased when he observed a man in a Tuxedo near a

The fellow was a lookout, and he was keeping watch on the office door. It was plain, from his carefree stare,

The Shadow was playing the hunch that Rick Stanner had gone to the deepest corner of the night club. It

proved correct, for when The Shadow turned a darkened corner, he saw Rick at a telephone beyond the end of

the bar. To Rick's left was a curtained doorway, and The Shadow moved to that objective.

Easing between the curtains, he found a heavy door. Waiting there, he listened while Rick pressed a buzzer

Unwittingly, Rick Stanner had roused the suspicion of his visitor, Lamont Cranston.

By rights, Rick should have discussed matters with Secane beforehand, but it was obvious that he hadn't. His

excuse that he would have to talk with Secane, was the sour note that betrayed him. It meant that having

Cranston meet with Secane was Rick's own idea. So The Shadow was going to that meeting beforehand, in

While listening to hear what Rick might say, The Shadow was trying the doorknob. It yielded, so The

MEANWHILE, Rick's buzz was sounding in the house on Westbury Court, but not where Cardona could

hear it. The buzz was happening in a small parlor, which had its windows covered with blackout cloth.

There, Wilfred Secane, in shirt sleeves, was reading the latest copy of the Classic. Hearing the buzzer, he

pressed a switch that cut it off. Then, laying the newspaper aside, Secane went to the door, opened it gingerly,

Satisfied that no one was about, he went to the telephone table, by the stairs, and sat down in a chair.

Evidently, Rick answered, for Secane's expression became reassured as he crouched down above the

telephone. So intent was Secane, that he didn't notice a strange thing that happened close beside him.

A drop of liquid splashed the edge of the stairs. Another drop followed, just missing the table edge. The third

drop landed on the telephone book, which was lying open at Secane's elbow. Against the white page of the

Red drops, like blobs of blood! Tiny crimson pools, that stood for death! Falling from somewhere above,

those splashes could have been evidence of murder already done But, singularly enough, those crimson drops

Secane did not see them. Nor could he hear the pygmy splashes when they fell. He was talking again to Rick.

"Certainly, I'll see you, Rick," Secane was saying. "Come right through, of course... What's that? You have to

Whatever Rick's reply, it kept Secane too concentrated for him to notice the bloodhued drops that were

creeping closer. One crimson blob flicked Secane's elbow as he pushed the telephone book aside, dumping it

to the floor beneath the table. Another struck Secane's shoulder, but the only sign that he felt it came when he

"You're coming alone, aren't you, Rick?" voiced Secane. "All right; I'll wait... Yes, hurry. If you don't have to

go to the office, so much the better... I'll listen for the bell when you come through "

The reference to "coming through" indicated that 618 Westbury Court was directly behind the Cafe Galaxy,

and could be reached from the night club by a connecting door. That might have had something to do with the

A crimson splash struck the lower edge of Secane's collar, which deadened it. The next was lower, toward the

center of Secane's back, but it fell while he was hanging up the phone, so he didn't notice it.

A third drop splashed, its tiny crimson dye in the very center of Secane's back, as he stiffened, to stare toward

That drop was repeated. Seconds seemed to linger, while others dripped slowly to the same spot, enlarging

the crimson blot that Secane was too strained to know about. From the door at the rear of the hall came the

Still crouched in his chair, Secane was looking for Rick. Instead, he saw a swirl of blackness that of a

No longer were the drops of blood trickling upon Secane's back. As the hunted man voiced an inarticulate

cry, something else arrived to sully his white shirt. As though from nowhere, as remarkable in its

materialization as the figure in black that came from the hallway's gloom, a knife flashed home to the middle

Driven as if hurled by a powerful hand, the long, thinbladed dirk stabbed clear to its hilt. Secane's sharp cry

became a hideous shriek as he sprawled forward, arms stretched, toward the grasp of an arriving being who

was too late to grip him. Headlong, Secane struck the floor at The Shadow's feet.

No longer were mysterious drops of crimson flecking the whiteness of Secane's shirt. His whole back was

stained with the red gush of his own lifeblood, produced by the knife with which an unseen hand had

THE dong of the bell had produced a stir from the front room on the floor above. Secane's death shriek turned

that stir into the pound of footsteps, coupled with the shrill blast of a police whistle. Then Inspector Joe

Cardona was hanging over the banister of the second floor, totally amazed at what he saw below.

On the floor by the telephone table lay Wilfred Secane, a knife handle sticking from his back, his shirt stained

with gore. Half crouched above him, a hand extended toward the murder weapon, was a figure cloaked in

If ever murder lay on full display, with a killer gloating over his handiwork, this was such a time. It seemed

incredible to Cardona that The Shadow could have dealt death in cold blood. Reaching for his revolver,

Cardona was struck with the grim thought that the man in black must be an impostor.

A laugh trailed upward. It was a grim, reflective tone, the sort that The Shadow gave when inspired by ideas

of vengeance. Inimitable mirth, that could only be The Shadow's. There had been times when that strange

taunt gladdened Joe Cardona. This time, the sinister whisper gave the ace inspector a thing he didn't think that

The Shadow's head tilted upward, delivering the burn of steady eyes. Those eyes spied Cardona and caught

the swarthy inspector's frozen expression. With a sudden bound, The Shadow wheeled away from beside

Instantly, Cardona lunged down the stairs, hoping to box him in the hall below. As he came, Joe blared the

The shrill note was unneeded. Already, the front door was slashing open, with Joe's detectives springing

through. Cardona howled for them to grab The Shadow, and they made an awkward lunge. Instead of driving

for the back of the hall, the fools were heading for the stairs. Cardona paused, to point his gun across the

Then Cardona learned that his men were right, and he was wrong. The Shadow wasn't heading back; he was

coming up. Ahead of aiming guns, he met Cardona midway on the steps, and before Joe could wheel around,

Cardona tumbled into the arms of detectives who lunged up to stop him. Catching his balance, Joe bawled for

Guns blazed at blackness atop the steps, only to prove that The Shadow wasn't in the gloom. He'd made the

turn on the second floor and was throwing back a taunt, as though inviting pursuit. Cardona and the rest took

the invitation, but by the time they reached the second floor, The Shadow was on his way to the third, still

Floor by floor the chase continued, with The Shadow gaining all the way. He needed a larger lead when he

reached the fifth story, as was proven when the pursuers took the last flight of stairs.

There, they saw The Shadow in a dimlit hall, where he had just finished stacking a chair on a table, and was

There was a roar as the clamp gave under a ripping spurt from an automatic; then, as if the jolt of the .45 had

turned him into a cloaked catapult, The Shadow vaulted through the opening to the roof, with police guns

Boldly, Cardona and his men took the same route. As they emerged on the roof, they heard The Shadow's

laugh again and saw the spurting tongues of two big guns. Thinking the shots were meant for them, they

scattered, some of them tripping over a short ladder that lay upon the roof. Then, seeing that The Shadow was

THAT ended The Shadow's battle with a foe that no one saw. Cardona wasn't falling for any bluff, nor were

Police guns rattled so defiantly, that The Shadow had to take notice in a hurry. He took to the shelter of a

From that chimney, The Shadow dodged to another. Detectives glimpsed his silhouetted outline as he went,

and changed their aim. Then The Shadow became more elusive. He began to stage his famous vanishing act

Out from behind a chimney, he blended with a parapet, and was gone from the low wall before the police

He reappeared upon the nextdoor roof, and led the pursuers a merry chase along it, until they suddenly

found that they were on a barren trail. By then, The Shadow had dropped to a lower roof, in back. There,

At least, Cardona thought it was a desperate leap, but he was amazed at the way The Shadow cleared the

twentyfoot gap. Spreading his arms, the cloaked catapult made a batlike swoop through air, and landed with

What revealed The Shadow was the dim light from the slanted window of a studio. Getting through one

window, The Shadow was gone when Cardona began to shatter the panes of the other windows with bullets.

Pursuing, the police found they couldn't bridge the gap. There was a long board lying on the other roof, but it

So Cardona shouted from the roof top down to patrolmen who were with a crowd that was gathering in the

street, ordering them to head off The Shadow. While he shouted, Cardona kept seeing the flickers of a light

That light was the electric sign of the Cafe Galaxy. The Shadow had taken a short cut back to the night club.

Patrolmen were piling in from the street when The Shadow reached the ground floor. Coming from a

stairway, the cloaked fugitive was caught in a spotlight that a helpful electrician turned his way.

With a laugh, The Shadow fired one shot, purposely high, to scare the fellow from his post. The electrician

scampered away, and in his hurry he knocked the release of a revolving blinker device.

Across the floor went The Shadow, amid the flickering lights that cut from red to green to orange, running the

entire gamut of the spectrum. Men were shouting, women screeching, while The Shadow, changing from one

hue to another, made for the door of Stanner's office. He was out of the spotlight's colorful glow when he

Savagely, Rick tried to stop The Shadow, only to be caught and flung as a shield against the aiming

patrolmen who were coming The Shadow's way. Rick had started this, and The Shadow intended to have him

Dodging away as guns began to shoot, The Shadow grabbed tables and flung them at the patrolmen who

dropped back. However, Rich was in action, coming at the head of surging men patrons and employees of

Guns spoke again. The patrolmen weren't the only ones who fired. Some shots came from amid the charging

throng. Rick, in his hurry, was too far ahead. He overtook the barrage that was directed toward The Shadow

and sprawled flat, a bullet in his back. Other men were stumbling over Rick, and in the confusion The

In from a side door came Cardona and his detectives. Passing a pair of patrolmen, Cardona ran into

Commissioner Weston, who had just arrived. Near Weston was Rudolph Delmot, who was gesturing the

They reached the nightclub owner just in time to hear his dying coughs. Rick tried to point upward; he

Then, as Rick succumbed, the office door opened and Lamont Cranston stepped into sight. Though no one

realized it, his appearance accounted for the vanish of The Shadow. By sidestepping into Rick's empty

office, The Shadow had gained time to change his cloak into a coat lining and twist his black hat inside out,

As Cranston, The Shadow was more puzzled than anyone else present. He explained how he'd come to see

Rick, and had waited in the office. Rick had said something about meeting a friend, but the nightclub owner

Cranston didn't add that he hadn't been in the office when Rick came back; on the contrary, he gave the

opposite impression. With Rick dead, there was no one to testify otherwise. Instead, witnesses substantiated

Cranston's story. They had seen Cranston go into the office, some time before, and he hadn't come out until

So Cranston joined the investigators who went through to the other house. When they found Secane's body,

Cardona gave the details of the murder, glumly admitting that The Shadow must be the guilty party. No other

killer could possibly have fled the place with Joe atop the stairs and detectives coming through the door.

The windows of Secane's little parlor were all locked from the inside. When Weston tried the door at the rear

of the hallway, to find out if anyone could have gone back to the Cafe Galaxy, he found that the door was

Just as the law was positive that Laverock had murdered Orvill, because of the gun beneath the grating; just

as Secane must have killed Laverock, because no one else could have carried the unwieldy automatic into the

apartment; so was the knife in Secane's back sure evidence that only the hand of The Shadow could have

Commissioner Weston was bringing up the fact that The Shadow had mixed in affairs before. He was even

inclined to argue that The Shadow had made the thrust at Buram, using masked hirelings to help him, then

The upshot of it all was that The Shadow, for some reason known only to himself, had slain Wilfred Secane.

While Weston chattered thus, his friend Cranston was quietly watching Cardona's men remove Secane's body

Odd, those tiny splashes of blood upon Secane's collar and his shoulder. Such flecks could hardly have

spattered from the knife wound in Secane's back. When the body was carried away, Cranston noted the

Stooping, Cranston lifted it carefully, so that the directory remained open at the same pages where it had

On one page, Cranston saw another crimson drop. He studied the blob carefully; then, making sure that no

one watched, he tore the page from the directory and closed the book, as he folded the torn sheet into his

Hat and coat across his arm, Lamont Cranston strolled outdoors to rejoin his friend, the police commissioner.

Only a few nights ago, Lamont Cranston had been elected to the executive committee of the Avenue Club.

This evening, The Shadow, by unanimous vote, had been elected a killer. Quite a contrast, those two offices.

Perhaps Cranston should think it an honor to belong to the executive committee. Similarly, The Shadow

Yet, between those two degrees there might be a very little difference. It was possible, in fact, that both had

been meant for the same man. Fortunately, Cranston and The Shadow passed as two personalities; therefore,

Between them, Lamont Cranston and The Shadow were figuring it all out, very nicely.

The hue and cry was everywhere, except in the one place where The Shadow could be found. That happened

to be a hideaway so perfect that no one could hope to unearth it, as they had the refuges where Laverock and

The Shadow was in his sanctum, making a test with an ultraviolet lamp on little drops that showed ruddy

under normal glow, but which did strange things when the ultraviolet rays struck them. It was very easy to

A whispered laugh throbbed amid blackened walls, as The Shadow extinguished the light and departed.

When he reappeared, The Shadow had become Lamont Cranston, and was stepping from his limousine in

It was evening, so Cranston found Harry Vincent and Clyde Burke at the club. They called their pool game

when their chief arrived, and Cranston drew them to a quiet corner for a brief conference. What he had to say,

"I knew that you both would be safe, here at the club," declared Cranston. "Nothing startling ever happens at

the Avenue Club. When its members are murdered, they always die outside the place. I think it is time that

Pausing, Cranston noted the expectant looks on the faces of his listeners. Then:

"I am going to make something happen," he proceeded. "To do so, a reason must be established, and an issue

must be forced. Those things, combined, can work marvels. Ten minutes from now, I want you both to meet

Ten minutes later, Cranston was coming from a phone booth, where he had just called Commissioner

Weston. The first persons he encountered were Harry and Clyde. Thrusting Harry aside, Cranston caught

There weren't many members in the foyer, to hear the dispute that followed, but plenty of attendants gathered

around. The thing was so unusual to see the complacent Mr. Cranston, distinguished member of the executive

He'd found out, so he claimed, that Clyde was responsible for the slander published by the Classic: the

statement that Cranston and his friend the commissioner were at odds. Cranston challenged Clyde to deny it,

so, taking the cue, Clyde did. Whereupon Cranston voiced threats of physical violence and dared Clyde to

By then, Harry was drawn into it, and Cranston was accusing him of taking Clyde's side. When such friends

as Cranston and Vincent lost their heads, matters could get hot indeed. The pair nearly came to blows, before

Turning away, Cranston contemptuously suggested that Vincent take Burke to the gym and get him into

condition for the beating that he soon would take. To that, Harry answered that he, personally, was in proper

Going up to the mezzanine, Cranston found Delmot in conference with Buram. Giving Cranston a reproving

look, Delmot inquired what all the trouble was about. When he heard, Delmot shook his head.

"Why not forget Burke?" he inquired. "After all, you and Weston are still friends "

"I'll forget neither Burke nor Vincent!" Something in Cranston's steady tone made it all the more dangerous.

"When Weston arrives, I'm going up to the gym and bring them down. That is, I'll bring Burke down. Vincent

Delmot reached for phone, as though to call the gym and tell Rydal to warn Harry. Cranston's hand shot

"Let's attend to our own business, Delmot," spoke Cranston, in that hard, firm tone. "As a member of the

executive committee, I want to go over the financial reports. The other committee men have been leaving too

WITH a shrug, Delmot produced the reports, hoping that they would make Cranston forget his feud with

Vincent. It was plain that his threat was one of violence, when he had stated that Vincent might have to

remain where Cranston met him. Upon reading the reports, Cranston did forget Harry for the time.

"These mean nothing," stated Cranston coldly. "They do not include the statistics on the Allied Benefit

"Buram handles the A.B.A.," explained Delmot, with a gesture. "He can furnish you with those reports."

"They're over in my office," explained Buram nervously. "I can have them here tomorrow, Cranston."

Fury blazed from Cranston's eyes. His voice, though even, carried a sharp, accusing bite.

"Tomorrow will not do," Cranston declared. "Nor will the reports suffice alone. I must see the funds they

represent. This expansion program is a huge thing. You have spread the A.B.A. to at least twenty cities.

"Averaging a hundred members each, that makes a total of two thousand. With each man insured for ten

thousand dollars, in case of accidental death, you need a sinking fund of twenty million dollars!"

Buram began an ardent protest. He explained that nothing like the absolute total was needed to guarantee

insurance benefits. He was quoting the figures compiled by insurance actuaries, as proof of how matters

First, he inadvertently stated that Cranston's estimate of insured members was very much below the actual

number. Then, in speaking of funds, he let slip that the A.B.A. had already drawn in the reserves from the

By the time Buram finished, he found that Delmot had swung to Cranston's way of thinking.

"You have gone farther than I supposed," stated Delmot. "I must compliment you upon your industry, Buram,

"I intended to," returned Buram, "but you were too busy with matters here at the club."

"No longer," rejoined Delmot. "With Cranston to help me, I shall have no further trouble. We shall go to your

office later, Buram, and examine the books. Tomorrow, we can check the funds that you have in the bank."

Cranston gave a satisfied nod. But his eyes showed another flash as he rose from his chair. Turning to the

door, he told Delmot to notify him when Weston arrived. Cranston was going to the gymnasium, to settle

Rydal was just finishing a telephone call when Cranston reached the gym. Cheerily, the physical director

gave greeting and asked what Cranston wanted. When he learned that Cranston was looking for Harry and

"I think they're in the locker room," said Rydal. "If they aren't, I'll find them for you."

Clyde was in the locker room, where he had just changed to a gym suit. His locker door was open, and before

Clyde could close it, Cranston stopped him. From the look that his chief gave him, Clyde knew that Cranston

wanted the argument to begin again, for the benefit of listeners about the locker room.

Their voices had just started, and they were bringing Vincent's name into the dispute, when Harry entered,

swinging a pair of Indian clubs. Seeing what was up, as he turned the corner of the lockers, Harry laid the

Cranston was backing Clyde against the inner corner of the locker door as Harry stepped forward. Hence,

What Clyde saw was the thing that came whizzing from Harry's direction, so suddenly that Clyde could have

sworn that Harry had thrown it, but for the fact that Clyde knew that Harry's quarrel with Cranston was

The whirling thing was an Indian club, flung in expert style. Skilled club throwers could hurl those objects

with tremendous speed, with an aim that would drive a nail home. But the heavy Indian club, flying at full

force, wasn't directed at a nail head. It was driving straight for Cranston's skull!

FORGETTING the bluff that he was supposed to play, Clyde voiced a warning, that didn't leave his lips until

Cranston's action was ahead of Clyde's words. He'd been watching Harry's arrival, in the mirror on the locker

door. Cranston was full about and shifting to the left when the murderous missile reached him, but he didn't

let it ride on past. Instead, with the skill of an expert juggler, Cranston plucked the Indian club from midair.

In that brief space, Harry did a natural thing. The club was past him before he could shout, and he saw The

Shadow grab it. But Harry performed the same action that he would have if the club had felled Cranston.

Swinging around to learn who had thrown the missile, Harry saw the other club lying on the bench. Grabbing

it for a weapon, he turned the corner of the lockers, hoping to find the culprit.

What a frameup it was! Men, turning from their lockers, saw Harry swinging one club, where, only a few

moments before, he'd entered with a pair. They didn't guess that Rydal had snatched up one club, the moment

that Harry had laid both aside; that it was Rydal who had made the expert throw.

Harry's one club, instinctively regained, marked him as the culprit. Not a single witness would testify in his

behalf with the possible exception of Clyde, who was already prejudiced in Harry's favor.

It would have been a murder charge for Harry Vincent, if the ghost of the dead man hadn't suddenly

appeared. At least, Rydal thought it was a ghost that came around the corner, until he saw that Lamont

Rydal gestured frantically at Harry, but Cranston didn't stop. He came for Rydal instead, and with a wild

Rydal's shout started things. Others lunged in from the gym. They were Rydal's amateur boxers, employees

of the Avenue Club. They weren't wearing boxing gloves; instead, they were digging for guns.

But their attack broke when a pair of Indian clubs flew their way. Cranston and Harry let go together and

Battle was on. The Shadow had disclosed the truth. The Avenue Club, with all its pretense, was a habitat of

thugs! As Cranston, The Shadow was breaking up this house of evil, starting from its core!

But Cranston's action was only the beginning. As The Shadow, he would finish his combat in crime's

BEFORE Rydal's crew could rally, Cranston was steering Harry down the alley of lockers, and turning to

follow on his own. Cranston threw a look for Rydal and saw the stocky man coming.

Rydal had a gun, but there wasn't time to draw it. He thought he wouldn't need it, dealing with a gentleman

Rydal took a roundhouse swing at Cranston, the long type of punch that was sure disaster for those who didn't

know how to ward it off. The blow never landed. Instead, Rydal received on the jaw what he mistook for a

Slammed back against a row of lockers, Rydal slumped to the floor, too blank to realize that Cranston had

Overtaking Harry and Clyde, Cranston beckoned them to a corner locker, the only one in its row that had a

special lock. Opened, the locker revealed itself as an arsenal. Cranston shoved automatics into the hands of

his companions, and took a double brace for himself. Then, thrusting his shoulders into the locker, Cranston

Lamont Cranston, staid member of the Avenue Club, was dropping out of the picture. The Shadow was

When the blackcloaked fighter appeared from among the lockers, Rydal was on his feet again. Rydal put his

feet to use, as did the rest of his crowd. They fled out through the gymnasium, toward elevators and the

Waving for Harry and Clyde to take over another elevator, The Shadow chose the stairs. All the way down,

his laugh and the occasional blasts of his guns spurred his opponents to faster flight.

On the third floor, The Shadow turned along a hallway which the fleeing men hadn't found time to follow. He

heard the clang of an elevator door, and came upon half a dozen crooks who were speeding for the quarters

where the employees lived. Blocking off their course with rapid gunfire, The Shadow dropped a pair of them

He'd proven one point, The Shadow had: namely, that the third floor had an exit to an old house next door.

He'd guessed that fact the night of Harry's plight, when masked men had so suddenly disappeared.

Cars had fled from the vicinity of the Avenue Club, but they had gone empty. For the hired help that trained

around Rydal's gym were the coverup men who had blocked off pursuits of Laverock and Secane, and had

later staged the holdup of Buram. They hadn't wanted The Shadow to know that they belonged here, so they

Continuing down the stairway, The Shadow heard shooting in the foyer, and when he came in sight, he saw

men sprawling on the marble floor. Harry and Clyde were in the other elevator, using it as a pillbox to cut off

Things were getting hot for The Shadow's agents. Clerks, other attendants, even the fancydressed doorman,

were drawing guns to reinforce Rydal's tribe. The Shadow put a quick stop to that process.

His big guns talked. With their bursts came his mighty laugh. The Shadow's devastating aim spilled every

foeman who waited long enough to become a human target. There was only one other way out: up to the

mezzanine by a different flight of steps than those The Shadow occupied. So Rydal and the remainder of his

Again, they met with opposition. Two men appeared with revolvers: Commissioner Weston and Inspector

Cardona. Both had been waiting with Delmot and Buram, until Cranston returned from the gym. Their

gunfire stopped the rush, and more shots roared from the front door of the club, winging the thugs who were

Cardona hadn't forgotten to post a squad outside. He'd been making a habit of taking along a flock of

IN the midst of all that, Rydal was huddled on the stairs, shooting at a target of his own. He saw The Shadow,

down from the side steps, helping mop up in the lobby. But Rydal, jabbing the few shots left in his gun,

Expecting just such a fire, the cloaked fighter was weaving; in a fashion too elusive for Rydal's aim.

Then Rydal saw The Shadow coming his way. Low in his crouch, Rydal sidled up the stairs, using the forms

of his sinking followers as shields to help him reach the top. There, passing Weston and Cardona, Rydal ran

into Delmot, who grappled with him. The two were sidling along the rail of the mezzanine as The Shadow

Weston and Cardona saw the cloaked fighter coming and displayed their guns. They hadn't forgotten that

they wanted The Shadow for Secane's death. The laugh that they received was more significant than words.

Sight of detectives gathering guns from wounded crooks was convincing indeed. The fact that the majority of

It was The Shadow who had unmasked the hidden business and rounded up Rydal's horde. From that fact,

Weston and Cardona reasoned that The Shadow could disclose other things as well, among them, proof that

So Weston and Cardona stepped aside to let The Shadow pass. Noting the direction that he took, they saw for

the first time that Delmot was grappling with Rydal. Deciding that they would be needed, too, Weston and

Another man took quick advantage of their departure. That man was Buram. So far, he'd kept quite in the

background. Now, he was stealing down the stairs, looking back furtively, hoping he wouldn't he spotted.

But he was, by Rydal. Breaking away from Delmot, Rydal made for the stairs, escaping The Shadow when

Cardona blundered in front of the cloaked fighter. After Rydal went Delmot, so close behind him that it

Seeing Rydal brandishing a gun, Buram cut across the foyer, into the lower office, which was dark. Rydal

was next, and Delmot just behind the two, as The Shadow reached the door. From within came the muffled

The Shadow reached inside and pressed the light switch, revealing the scene within. Across the cloaked

Buram was lying dead upon the floor. Staring from beside him was Rydal, holding his gun. Delmot was

stooping, wrenching a revolver from Buram's unresisting hand. Turning, Delmot displayed the weapon.

"Buram drew this gun," stated Delmot solemnly. "I suppose we can say that Rydal killed him in

selfdefense." Swinging to Rydal, Delmot added: "But I can't see how that will help you, Rydal. You'll find it

Rydal didn't try to explain. He stared savagely at Delmot, who thereupon demanded:

"What was Buram's part in this? If you talk, Rydal, it may prove better for you!"

The Shadow's laugh toned from the doorway, as though supporting Delmot's statement.

WITH a frantic glare, Rydal broke suddenly away and made for the deep door of the office, the one leading

to the storeroom where The Shadow had once left his cloak and hat for a short period.

Sometimes that door was bolted; this night, it happened to be open. Rydal yanked it wide and dived through.

Delmot was close after him, so close that, as before, it wasn't possible to shoot Rydal without hitting Delmot,

too. This time, however, Delmot was properly equipped for the pursuit, for he was carrying the gun that he

The Shadow was following, urged on by Weston and Cardona, who were coming right behind him.

There was a scuffle in the darkness, the clash of swinging guns, followed by a hard, resounding thwack. A

Then Delmot reappeared, dragging Rydal along. Cardona helped him with his burden, and they dropped

Rydal into a chair. The stocky man was using one hand to rub his head, where Delmot had slugged him. In

"There is your man, commissioner," declared Delmot, "and here is Buram's revolver. Fortunately, I was able

to slug Rydal before he could shoot me, as he did Buram. Probably his anxiety to escape was the thing that

His own guns away, The Shadow stood with folded arms, looking from man to man. He saw Delmot's solemn

expression and Rydal's stupefied look. A strange finish to crime, this. Not quite in keeping with The

Shadow's expectations, though he understood the situation fully. With a little priming, perhaps more results

Weirdly, his throbbing tone jarred ears that feared it. That mirth was the sort that could drive men to

madness, particularly those who dealt in evil. It made them do things against their better judgment, for the

laugh declared The Shadow's knowledge of hidden facts facts that he might disclose at will.

The Shadow wasn't to be tricked, as the law might be. That was the message behind his mirth. When The

Shadow finished crime, he did it thoroughly, never with halfway measures. Nor could such measures suffice

Crime's game was over. The Shadow knew! So did those who heard his sinister taunt!

COMING from his chair, Tom Rydal took a tightened grip upon his gun, swinging it The Shadow's way. At

that moment, Rudolph Delmot sprang forward, with the same verve that he had shown before. Delmot still

Though groggy, Rydal acted fairly swiftly. He saw that The Shadow's arms were folded, and therefore took

Delmot for the immediate menace. Rydal flung his chair at Weston and Cardona and turned to meet Delmot's

Delmot tugged the trigger twice. Then came a blast from Rydal's gun. It was Delmot who struck the floor, his

finger still pulling away, with only clicks responding. He'd tried to down Rydal with an empty gun, only to

Delmot's wound was mortal. His face showed a dying look. As for Rydal, his bluff features were displaying a

puzzled expression as he stared at the gun in his hand. It seemed that the sound of the shot had awakened

Rydal's dazed memory. Dropping the revolver, as though its very touch burned him, Rydal turned to

Rydal was blurting those words to The Shadow. All that came in answer was a parting laugh. Rydal's staring

eyes saw only a blur of blackness, that cleared so suddenly that he wondered whether his own gaze had

tricked him. For the storeroom, where The Shadow had gone, was empty. The cloaked avenger was leaving

"Yes, empty, Rydal," voiced Delmot. "I was a fool not to guess it! But The Shadow knew "

There was no compliment to the final phrase. Delmot spat it viciously, as though longing for a return of

strength and life, that would enable him to settle scores with the cloaked fighter.

What little effort Delmot still had left was exhausted by the words he uttered. The shudder that his shoulders

gave was purely the result of a convulsive spasm; with that shiver, his life was gone.

"Don't you see, inspector?" Rydal queried, pointing to the gun he had just dropped. "This is Delmot's

revolver. He killed Buram with it, here in the dark. He only pretended to be taking the gun from Buram.

Cardona caught on. He was wondering why he hadn't seen it before, as The Shadow had. Rydal's gun was

larger than Delmot's; it didn't have the snug pocket fit that Delmot's needed, to be carried unnoticed.

"I get it," Cardona told Rydal. "Delmot wanted to stay out of it, like he didn't even own a gun. He had to

switch, after he'd killed Buram, so the slug would tally with the gun we took from you. But when the pinch

"He was certainly making it look justified," added Cardona, as he studied Delmot's body. "But he forgot that

you'd have used up all your bullets fighting The Shadow. You forgot it, too, so you clipped Delmot with the

RYDAL poured forth his story. Delmot was the bigshot of the entire racket. Once the hidden brain of a

lawless ring, he had seen his chance to take over the Avenue Club with tremendous profit: the money drawn

He was managing that end of the job through his tool, Buram. Rydal's business was to build up an

organization of triggermen, who could use the Avenue Club as their headquarters through the simple

expedient of posing as employees. Rydal, himself, had been a fake fight fixer, and had found his business

Not only had Delmot undermined the club, he had honeycombed it with criminals. It was to be the future

citadel for as powerful and hidden a gang as had ever marauded Manhattan. How long Delmot expected it to

last, how far he intended to go with it, only the dead ringleader could have told.

Standing in the doorway from the foyer was Lamont Cranston, the club member who had paved the way to

The Shadow's triumph. Remembering that Cranston packed a punch of his own, Rydal shifted back in his

"Delmot packed the executive committee with stooges," said Rydal, "so they wouldn't get wise to his game.

He pretended he wanted somebody smarter, but he really didn't. Everybody took orders from Delmot, like I

did tonight, when he phoned me to knock off Cranston and see that it was blamed on Vincent."

"One thing I don't get," put in Cardona. "How could Delmot have afforded to let you live, Rydal, after he'd

"From what I have just heard," said Cranston, "I am sure that Delmot was building to his climax, all along.

He was waiting until Rydal came from his daze, so he could start him off to an escape and shoot him on the

"But The Shadow forced it!" expressed Weston. "That is the answer, Cranston! Yes, with Buram dead, we'd

have blamed him for missing A.B.A. funds, which must be here in Delmot's safe. All the thuggery would

Weston's ability at analysis was improving, in The Shadow's estimation. It was too bad, however, that the

commissioner didn't carry his reasoning further. So it devolved upon Cranston to prompt him.

"Since Delmot's strong point was placing guilt on dead men," spoke Cranston coolly, "we may be able to

"Impossible!" exclaimed Weston. "Why, those cases were proven and I haven't forgotten something."

Weston's face stiffened grimly. "The Shadow was responsible for the last death in the chain!"

With one hand lowered to his side, Cranston was wigwagging a signal across the foyer. Harry Vincent saw it

from a phone booth, and acted promptly. The phone on the office desk began to ring. Cranston answered it,

"It was The Shadow. He has given us the clues we need. Get ready, commissioner; we are going on a tour. As

for you, inspector" Cranston turned to Cardona "you will oblige us by bringing along the exhibits in the

ON their way to the Galba Building, Cranston brought up the point that Delmot, in taking over the Avenue

Club, must have found it quite necessary to dispose of capable committee men. Hence, the chain of deaths

could logically have been delivered personally by Delmot. The first murder was that of Dana Orvill.

When they stopped at the Hotel Bayberry, Cranston studied the revolving door, and nodded.

"Suppose that Delmot was posted alongside one of those little side doors," suggested Cranston. "He could

easily have killed Orvill when Laverock's car pulled away, across the street. If Laverock's carburetor had

"We'll grant that much," said Joe. "But what about this gun of Laverock's? The one he chucked down the

They walked across the street. There, Cranston held the revolver, muzzle first, and tried to drop it down the

grating. It stopped with a clang. The bars were too close together for the gun to pass between them!

"I'll be " began Cardona, "Say that's something I never thought about! Laverock couldn't have murdered

Orvill and gotten rid of the gun the way we thought he did. Delmot planted it, and I'm beginning to see how!

When he went downstairs to find the janitor, he opened a basement window and shoved the gun in the space

They went there, and Cardona produced the clumsy automatic responsible for Laverock's death. They sent a

detective inside to throw the chain bolt. Cardona opened the door as far as it would go, and went through his

"It won't do," said Cardona. "Between the barrel and the handle, it's too big to go around the side or over the

top. Delmot couldn't have knocked on the door and then plugged Laverock when he answered it. Not from

"Barrel and handle," he mused. "Too large for side or top. Let me see. What did The Shadow say about it?

Holding the gun with its handle upright and the barrel level, pointing to the left, Cranston carried it up the

The gun was shaped exactly like the corner. Hence, the upright handle went through at the side of the door;

the level barrel found space along the top. Releasing the weapon, Cranston let it thud the floor inside the

En route, Cranston explained that he had a personal interest in the final investigation. It was becoming quite

apparent that Delmot, in disposing of Orvill, Laverock, and Secane, had been playing a doubly smart game.

When he reached the end of his run, one man would still be alive, but wanted for murder, which was enough

"When I was elected to the executive committee," declared Cranston, "I became one more link in the chain.

Unquestionably, Delmot had bought up Secane's friend, Rick Stanner, and ordered him to frame me.

Fortunately, The Shadow moved in ahead of me. This bit of evidence that he supplied may help in clearing

CRANSTON, produced a folded sheet from a telephone book. Cardona was still staring at it when they

"Red ink always does," assured Cranston cryptically. "I brought a bottle of it along, for our test. Give me the

knife, inspector, and while I'm on my way upstairs, see if that torn page fits in Secane's phone book."

Cranston reached the fifth floor and leaned across the rail of the stairway well. Cardona called up that the

page fitted. Cranston nodded, and told Cardona to keep looking up; that he wanted Weston to do the same.

Dipping the point of the long, thin blade in the ink bottle, Cranston held the very top of the knife handle, so

that it dangled at his fingertips. A drop of ink dripped from the knife point and fell straight downward, to

"We'll call the table Secane's back," decided Cranston. "Watch me find the mark, the way Delmot did with

Cranston proved it when a drop hit the opened telephone book. Carrying his hand a trifle farther, he landed a

red marker on the table itself. The next was very close to the table center. A slight move of Cranston's hand,

Every splash of red fluid plummeted to the selfsame spot, thanks to the unerring law of gravitation. Then, as a

He let his fingers leave the dangling knife. Perfectly weighted, it followed the exact course that the bloodred

Like a thing from nowhere, striking with the powerful momentum gained by a full drop from the fifth floor,

the knife drove deep into the very center of the table and quivered there, between the astonished faces of

Such was the explanation to the riddle of the third death about town, the final in a chain that the law had

Weston and Cardona were talking excitedly when Cranston joined them. They were cracking Delmot's alibis.

He hadn't actually had an alibi for the time when he murdered Orvill, but he had used some fake ones later.

"I thought that Delmot went with you to find Laverock," said Weston to Cardona. "He said he did."

"He told me he'd come with you," returned Cardona. "He must have beaten us both there by using the back

way from the club. I guess, after he shot Laverock, he ducked to the stairs up to the next floor, then slid back

Much the same was true in Secane's death. Delmot had pulled the same dodge, letting Weston and Cardona

"Delmot went out by the roof," he analyzed. "He used a ladder and a plank, drawing them after him, thus

reaching the Cafe Galaxy. He was there when The Shadow arrived, and in the shooting Delmot put a bullet in

What Cranston didn't add, was that Delmot must first have ducked into Rick's office, where Cranston's

absence had given him a clue to The Shadow's double identity. No wonder Delmot had decided to clear

house, beginning with Rick, and later trying to dispose of Cranston at any cost!

BACK at the Avenue Club, they opened Delmot's safe. It was stacked with vast bundles of cash and

securities, totaling the very round sum of two million dollars, all pillaged from the heavy treasuries of

While the wealth was being loaded into an armored truck in the alley behind the Avenue Club, Weston and

The point was this: through planted aids, all about the Avenue Club, Delmot had learned every habit of his

victims. He knew how, and where, each would flee under stress. He used fake messages to send them along

"Only one thing more," mused Weston. "Why did Delmot send Rydal to murder Buram, at the Zenith

"Ask Rydal," returned Cranston. "He'll tell you he wasn't after Buram. The victim was to be Clyde Burke."

"Exactly! I think Buram slipped Delmot a hurryup note with the fifty thousand dollars. So Delmot pressed

the button, to get rid of Burke. Quite a show, Buram leaving that cash with Delmot. We were witnesses,

commissioner, and we'd hardly have blamed Delmot for an attempted robbery of funds he already had!"

Commissioner Weston wondered if The Shadow had told that to Cranston, too. Weston was still thinking it

over as he rode away in his big official car, behind the armored truck. It was then that Weston heard an

The answer was a strange, distant laugh, a floating tone that Weston didn't couple with the alley where

Cranston had remained. It was always so with that weird, trailing mirth. Though near, it gave the effect of

The triumph laugh of The Shadow, marking the end of death about town, symbolizing another conquest over