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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER IX........................................................................................................................................27

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XIV.....................................................................................................................................43

CHAPTER XV......................................................................................................................................46

CHAPTER XVI.....................................................................................................................................49

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

CHAPTER XVIII ...................................................................................................................................55

CHAPTER XIX.....................................................................................................................................58

JUST before he reached Treft's mansion, Steve Kilroy saw The Harlequin. Steve didn't realize it at the time,

for his mind was on other matters; besides he'd never heard of The Harlequin, that curious criminal character

In fact, The Harlequin himself was confusing at first sight. Even in the glare from the headlights of Steve's

car it was impossible to identify him as a human figure, for his costume formed a perfect camouflage in its

present setting. Treft's curving driveway was flanked with magnolias and the blossoms of those trees

produced a colorful weave with which The Harlequin blended. He simply seemed to shake himself loose

from them and the glare of the lights as well, as Steve swung the car around the final bend and out from under

Steve laughed at what he thought was a brief illusion. Here was Treft's mansion looming large in the Carolina

moonlight, which though somewhat clouded was bright enough to show the open lawn. The living thing that

had scudded from the driveway must have been imaginary, otherwise Steve would have spotted it again.

So at least Steve thought, without considering the huge azalea beds that flanked the mansion. They, much

more than the magnolias, were made to order as a background for the figure that Steve had actually seen. In

the moonlight the flowers formed a patchwork of black and white, but when the veering headlights swept

them, they became a galaxy of purple, pink and crimson, with splotches of pure white. Where the bed was

thickest, there were a few dabs of colors not common to azaleas, but Steve didn't picture them as belonging to

More important to Steve Kilroy were the lighted windows in the corner of the mansion, just above the nearest

flower bed. He was sure that they must represent the room where Milton Treft was waiting to discuss a sale

As he brought the car to the big pillars that fronted the mansion, Steve jammed the brakes in real alarm. This

time there was no mistaking the figure that sprang into view; it was human and it carried a doublebarreled

shotgun. A moment later the muzzles were poking in through the car window and a gruff voice was

Very gingerly, to show he wasn't reaching for a revolver, Steve dipped his thumb and forefinger into his vest

pocket and brought out a coin about the size of a silver dollar. He held it in the dashlight so that the man

with the shotgun could see the symbols stamped on it. One side bore a feather, the other the initials M. T.

The shotgun muzzles gave a nudge, indicating that Steve was to get out of his car and enter the mansion,

instructions which the watchman amplified with his gruff tone. So Steve got out and went up the wooden

steps between the pillars, where his footfalls must have announced his approach for the big front door opened

as soon as he arrived. Confronted by a brawny servant who was wearing what appeared to be a butler's

uniform, Steve showed his lucky coin and was immediately conducted toward the corner where he had seen

Everything in this huge house seemed geared to clockwork precision, for as the butler opened a large door to

usher Steve into a reception room, another door opened on the far side and a tall, grayhaired man stepped

into sight. Obviously this was Milton Treft, coming from a smaller room in the corner of the house. As Treft

saw the coin that Steve displayed, he gave a wave that dismissed the butler; then, with a gesture to the coin,

Impelled by the flip of Steve's thumb, the disk whirled upward as any coin would have, but it began to lose its

impetus very rapidly. For a moment the coin seemed to hang in air; then it came turning lazily downward

until it actually fluttered like a bit of paper. When Steve held out his hand he had to wait for the metal token

Treft smiled at the result. His eyes, keen and narrow, studied Steve's squarejawed, youthful face. Treft had

expected Steve to be an older man, but the spinning of the coin had satisfied him. It would be easy enough to

stamp a duplicate coin with the emblem of a feather and the initials M. T., but only one coin in all the world

would behave in that tantalizing fashion. That coin happened to be the one that Steve was carrying to

"Well, Kilroy," said Treft, affably, "I take it that your company is satisfied."

"They're satisfied on one thing," acknowledged Steve. "This alloy you term alumite is so much lighter than

"It means they would be if you delivered enough alumite for them to give it the required tests."

Treft nodded as though he had received the very answer that he expected. Gesturing Steve to an easy chair,

Treft stepped to the corner of the room and pointed out a lifesized bust that stood on a marble pedestal.

"An excellent bronze," remarked Treft. "It represents Absalom Pettigrew, the man who invented alumite, or I

"In this case, yes," replied Treft. "Pettigrew was a sculptor and he came across a process of inflating metal,

which works only with a certain alloy. That is the real secret of alumite; it is an expanded substance,

honeycombed with microscopic air pores which in no way reduce its tensile strength, because of their

As he finished, Treft lifted the bust from its pedestal and with a sudden fling sent it straight at Steve. Ducking

involuntarily, Steve looked past his upraised hands to see the object practically drifting at him. Grabbing, he

"Solid alumite," chuckled Treft. "Old Pettigrew gave it a bronze spray, as he did with the Twelve Hours."

"Twelve fullsized statues representing the hours of the day," explained Treft. "Being a sculptor, Pettigrew

naturally turned his discovery to statuary. It remained for us to recognize its commercial possibilities."

"I mean myself and my associates. In my letter to your company I stated that I could supply a sufficient

quantity of alumite for whatever tests might be demanded. I take it that you supposed I had the alumite here."

"I have purposely furthered that impression," continued Treft, with a smile, "even among my servants, in

order to protect my fellowinvestors, who own the statues that I have mentioned. I have the formula"

Treft finished with a gesture to the bust that Steve was holding, to indicate that it represented his only supply

of the priceless alloy. Then, folding his arms, Treft demanded in his blunt tone:

"Have I made my terms clear? If your company receives every ounce of alumite in existence and finds that it

Slowly, Steve nodded. Clamped between his hands, looking up at him with accusing eyes, was the bronze

sprayed face of old Absalom Pettigrew, the real inventor of alumite, the substance in which his own likeness

had been perpetuated. Somehow Steve had the sinking feeling that Milton Treft, along with his unnamed

associates, had filched the old sculptor's discovery. Treft must have seen something in Steve's expression, for

"Poor Pettigrew is dead." Treft shook his head sadly. "Otherwise he would share in this good fortune. He left

no relatives, more's the pity, or we would see to their future welfare. But we paid Pettigrew handsomely for

his sculptures and he entrusted his formula to us, hoping we would use it to benefit the world of the future.

Steve understood too well. First to benefit would be Treft and his associates to the tune of a million dollars.

Next would be Steve's company, Associated Metallurgy, which would pay the million and promptly double

its investment. An obscure inventor named Pettigrew would be forgotten, so far as profits were concerned.

"Since you will first receive all the alumite there is," reminded Treft, narrowly, "no one can dispute your

claim to the formula, once you acquire it. We stand in back of our guarantee, to the full amount that

Associated Metallurgy will pay. In fact I suggested that the clause be included in the contract."

Clever of Treft to put it that way. It was up to Steve to take it or leave it and if he left it some other company

would probably buy alumite on his terms, since he held the formula that might be anybody's. Since Steve was

working for the interests of Associated Metallurgy, his only choice was to take it.

"It's in the contract," said Steve, stiffly. "I have it right here in my pocket."

Steve couldn't reach in his pocket because he was burdened with the featherweight bust. He extended

Pettigrew's image to Treft, but instead of taking it, the tall man stepped to the door in the far corner,

"Bring Pettigrew with you," said Treft, in a tone which Steve branded as mock sincerity. "It is too bad we

cannot have the man himself as a witness to this transaction that he would certainly have approved. Right

here in my study" Treft was opening the door as he spoke "I have all the letters from my associates along

"I shall give you the letters so that you can contact the men personally and obtain the twelve statues. As for

the formula, I shall show it to you, but it will stay in my possession until your company requires it. I might

add that it is the only copy of the formula in existence. That yellow envelope on my desk is worth exactly one

Dramatically Treft gestured toward the desk, turning as he did. At that moment, Steve was stepping through

the doorway, so his gaze naturally swung in the same direction. But the sight that froze them both was not the

envelope that Treft had just mentioned. In fact they didn't see the envelope at all.

What they did see was a leveled revolver, gripped in the fist of a man whose singular costume jogged Steve's

It was all in one piece, that costume, the attire of a harlequin, made up of varicolored patchwork. Even the

hand that held the gun was covered with a glove that formed an extension of the costume's sleeve. As for the

intruder's face, it was completely hidden by a tightfitting hood that came snugly below the wearer's chin,

Through those slits peered eyes that reflected the light with stabs, but they were but samples of the flashes

that The Harlequin would deliver. Without a word, without a flicker of his ugly, villainous gaze, The

Harlequin swung his gun toward Milton Treft and fired twice, sending both bullets straight to the victim's

TO Steve Kilroy those two quick shots seemed widely spaced. The time between them was only that required

for a second trigger pull, but the horror of the interval gave it intensity. Besides, Steve was watching Treft.

With the first shot, Treft rocked backward; then began a forward topple. The second bullet caught him before

he could collapse and gave him another spasmodic jerk. To Steve, those involuntary motions were tokens of

life, not death and the wild hope that this was all unreal produced in Steve's mind the prolonged effect of a

Reality struck home when Treft's body curled to the floor and flattened in a distorted sprawl that no living

man could have duplicated. As motionless as the bronzedyed bust that he clutched in his already clammy

hands, Steve stood staring downward at the human evidence of murder, gradually ceasing to wonder why

At least it seemed gradually, but the slowmotion was really the effect of Steve's spedup brain. When he

suddenly took Treft's death for granted, Steve looked for The Harlequin and saw him behind the desk, the gun

still smoking in his hand. Odd, that gray wisp curling from the muzzle, for The Harlequin hadn't fired since

With a surge, Steve's wit returned. All these happenings that were spreading themselves into the events of

hours, shriveled suddenly into brief seconds. And with that return of reason Steve felt the impulse that if he

Driving straight for the desk, Steve expected to see The Harlequin behave in the slow, labored fashion that

had dominated those previous sensations. Instead, The Harlequin whipped away from the desk with a speed

that outdid Steve's drive. The Harlequin's objective was an open window in the side wall of the room, but he

Two gunstabs, close together. This time Steve heard them in terms of rapid fire. With the reports came

echoing clangs as Steve reeled back, wondering why he wasn't dead, like Treft. There was a reason, and a

Alumite was taking its first test and meeting requirements. Pettigrew's bust, still clutched in Steve's arms, was

the target of The Harlequin's tooperfect aim. It stopped the bullets and it stopped The Harlequin too.

As Steve staggered from the impact, the man at the window paused to clap his hand against the side of his

tightfitting costume. There, a bulge discernible amid the patchwork, represented the papers that he had taken

from Treft's desk; letters, formula and all. But The Harlequin knew now that he was missing something; that

bust, wavering so lightly between Steve's numbed hands, was certainly alumite and not the bronze it looked

With savage smoothness, The Harlequin sprang toward the desk again, so swift and lithe that he clearly

intended to clear it in a leap. Urged by selfpreservation, Steve hurled his only weapon, the alumite bust that

Dodging the flying bust, The Harlequin fired wide. A moment later, Steve was at the desk, shoving it at his

murderous foe. The Harlequin fired another shot off balance as he dropped back to the window and his eyes,

tilted upward, saw the bust still in the air. It was slowmotion in reality, a detail which Steve had forgotten,

the way that featherweight metal drifted, despite its bulk. But there was nothing slow about The Harlequin's

With one hand he flung his gun full force at Steve, who dropped back with a warding arm. No longer

menaced by the desk, The Harlequin caught the bust with his free arm, then used his gun hand to vault the

windowsill with a leap that cleared the azalea bed beyond. All in one lithe operation, the murderer was off

What Steve had was The Harlequin's gun. Snatching it up, he was turning toward the window, when men

came pounding through the door from the reception room. Looking around, Steve saw the husky butler

followed by the watchman who bore the shotgun. Excitedly, Steve pointed to the window, but they didn't give

They had seen Treft's body. They had heard shots and they were finding Steve with the gun.

The butler grabbed Steve first. Together they went reeling toward the window. Oddly it wasn't any thought of

escape that made Steve swing the struggle in that direction. His own plight seemed mild compared with the

fact that The Harlequin was escaping, and he hoped that at the window, they might spot the fleeing murderer.

But when the butler tried to haul Steve back, using his throat as a handle so he couldn't even talk, the folly of

Driving the heel of his hand right to the butler's chin, Steve sent the fellow back against the desk. Finding

himself free, Steve vaulted the sill in The Harlequin's style, beckoning, for Treft's men to follow.

What followed was a bigthroated blast from the shotgun. Fortunately Steve was below the window level

when it came, but he remembered that the shotgun had two barrels. Rather than take chances with the second,

Steve made for the magnolias and was flattening among them when the second blast came roaring from the

The tree boughs crackled overhead and amid a shower of withering blossoms, Steve decided not to wait until

his pursuer reloaded. Besides, Steve wanted to find The Harlequin, so he took off down the driveway, which

Treft's premises were more amply guarded than Steve supposed and the gunfire from the mansion had roused

all drowsing retainers. Dashing down the driveway, Steve saw flashlights glaring from a gateway through

which he had driven on his way here. Turning, he fled back to the house, just as shotguns ripped; thanks to

But there were other lights ahead and they meant gunners from the mansion, so Steve took to a side driveway

that he fancied would lead him to a distant gate, which it would have, if he followed it. He didn't because he

saw other lights approaching him, so in desperation, Steve stumbled off among the trees, hoping he would

By then, Steve had lost all sense of direction. He was combining two policies; one, to keep going as fast as he

could run or stumble; the other, to avoid all lights. As a result, his course became a swift but uncertain zigzag

that must have turned him full about. For the lights seemed everywhere, blinking distantly through the trees,

There were shouts, too, that seemed to indicate some diabolical design on the part of Steve's misguided

hunters. They were trying to box him somewhere and wherever it was, Steve didn't want to find the place. He

remembered that Treft's extensive estate was fenced with high iron pickets, because he had driven half way

around it to reach the front road. Obviously Treft's aggregation was trying to corner him somewhere between

All Steve wanted was to find that fence. He didn't want a gate, because he was sure somebody would be

there. Judging by the lights, Treft's men were sufficient to replenish a regiment, unless Steve had been

spotting the same searchers six times over. But if Steve found the fence, he'd be willing to scale it, pickets or

Out of the range of lights, plunging between trees that he could see in the struggling moonlight, stumbling

across rocks that the glow didn't show, Steve was still wondering where the fence was when his flight ended

There was horror in that plunge. It began with a black void that would have warned any other fugitive, but to

Steve, whose fear was registered in terms of light, blackness was welcome and the deeper the better.

Steve was right out in it when the ground gave. In a sense, what happened was that Steve jumped clear of the

ground and it came along to catch him. Next he was spilling downward at a sharp angle that he recognized as

Carolina clay, because he had seen huge banks of it while driving along roads that bore signs reading:

This was a slide and Steve was part of it. He was going over the equivalent of a waterfall in terms of soft,

flowing earth. Already picturing himself as trapped, Steve felt like an insect sliding into one of those curious

sand funnels provided by a more conniving species to receive unwary prey. All about the earth was stifling,

for more of it was overtaking Steve, much like a torrent. Madly he was struggling to climb out of it and going

Out of a rush that sounded like padded thunder, Steve heard a mournful blare from far away, approaching like

a horn of judgment. In the midst of a repeated shriek, his plunge ended, much more happily than he had

Steve stopped with a jolt that at least was softened by the mass of clay that had preceded him. As he caught

his breath, he was flung forward by the increasing mass that followed him and he landed harder, headlong.

This time the jolt produced a terrific, clattering shock, that jarred Steve's nerves more than his body. Wiping

clay from his mouth, he came to his hands and knees, then sagged back as the clang was repeated almost

Something really shocked him that time, something that caused him to recoil as if he had clasped a slimy

snake. It was something that he did clasp, as cold and hard as steel, because it was. Dropping back into the

subsiding clay, Steve clapped his hand to his chest, glad that he still had it. A slow, hard grinding sound,

creeping in front of him, made him realize that instinct, plus luck, were still factors in his favor.

This was a railroad cut, away down below a high clay bank that flanked Treft's premises. The distant blare

was a locomotive whistle, around a bend, announcing that a halted train was about to start. The jolting shock

so close to Steve had been the clatter of couplings, taking up slack. The cold, hard steel that Steve had

clutched was the near rail of the track underneath a car. The creeping, grind was a wheel, beginning an

Lying back against the clay, Steve could see the big black hulks of cars moving slowly and laboriously above

him, like great stupid creatures that considered him too insignificant to notice. He had counted three of them

when he realized that to ignore them wasn't the proper way to return their indifference.

Coming to his feet, Steve felt one leg bend under him, but he clamped his hands into the clay to gain

additional support. One shoulder nearly buckled under the strain, but Steve fought off the stabs of pain until

his weak leg could do its part. With the clay giving under foot, he was in danger of toppling forward, but he

Only there weren't any boxcars. Nothing but flats, with great shrouded shapes upon them, silent monsters

being carried through the night. But flats had ladders, short ones, and Steve saw the glistening rungs he

wanted. He grabbed with his good hand and as the ladder dragged him from the clay, he remembered that one

foot could still serve him. Kicking for a toehold, Steve found it on the bottom rung and with a corkscrew

motion rolled himself on top of the flat, glad that it wasn't a boxcar which he never could have climbed

Crawling toward one of the shrouded monsters, Steve touched its skirt and recognized it as canvas. Probing

further, he found the spokes of a wooden wheel. The thing was a wagon, braced with cleats so that it wouldn't

roll. Satisfied that the cleats were solid, Steve crawled between the wheels and encountered something that

Replying with an apologetic grunt, Steve let the jarring of the train roll him the other way. His numbed senses

yielded all at once, under his sudden relief from strain and the knowledge that he had found the safety that he

Soon the musical clatter of the wheels was driving all other thoughts from Steve's tired brain, including his

LAMONT CRANSTON sat in a corner of Treft's reception room and listened idly to the reports concerning

Outside, the afternoon sky was darkened by heavy rain clouds that maintained an incessant drizzle, the

continuation of a downpour that had begun the night before. In the room, the local coroner continued to

Of the several strangers present, all were stockholders in Associated Metallurgy, the company that had

delegated Steve Kilroy to negotiate with Milton Treft regarding the purchase of a wondermetal called

alumite. Having missed their opportunity to acquire that important prize, these men were naturally interested

Outwardly, Cranston appeared bored, which led his companions to wonder why he had come all the way

from New York over a matter which didn't interest him. It began to strike them that Cranston had another

reason; perhaps he felt slighted because the directors of Associated Metallurgy had not informed him

Cranston didn't feel slighted on that point; he was regretful. If he had been notified of this deal in advance,

Treft wouldn't have been murdered, for Cranston would have come here ahead of Steve Kilroy, not as

himself, but as another personality known as The Shadow. Therefore Cranston's present purpose was to

rectify an oversight on the part of others and he was bored because the investigation had stalled.

The stalling point was Steve Kilroy. Sheer weight of evidence caused the directors of Associated Metallurgy

to yield to the local opinion that Steve was the murderer. To Cranston, such a theory was nonsense. In his

mind's eye, he could picture an unknown factor in the case, though he had never met nor heard of the piebald

There came an end to the coroner's report and with it, Cranston's indolence lessened, though his tone was still

"Robbery, suh!" returned the coroner. "Downright robbery. Downright and outright."

"Of Mr. Treft's strongroom in the cellar. It's clean empty, bare as a parcel of burntout out timber land."

"Whatever Mr. Treft kept there. Nobody would have an empty room under lock and key with a dozen

Everyone nodded except Cranston. His indifference had gradually faded and he was ready to dispute the

"An active chap, this Kilroy," commented Cranston. "In the course of staging a complete disappearance, he

unlocked the strong room, took whatever was in it, and locked the door again. Where were the keys, by the

"They were on Mr. Treft," replied the coroner. "But you aren't allowing for the proper facts, Mr. Cranston.

"Not last night, suh, but previous. That was why Mr. Treft had put new men on duty. Suspicious characters

were seen about these premises a few nights ago, soon after Mr. Treft had written to your company in New

"Suppose we allow for something else." Rising from his chair, Cranston was strolling over to the table where

the coroner had spread a map. "Assuming that Treft's strong room did contain something, the contents must

"That's hard to say," returned the coroner doubtfully. "It's not a question for snap judgment."

"I'm using your own logic, coroner. A man wouldn't lock an empty strong room, would he?"

"Then there's your answer, coroner. The robbers must have stolen at least a truckload of goods."

The coroner swelled as though he had personally completed the deductive argument. Immediately, the men

from New York chimed in with supporting opinions. Cranston's term "truckload" fitted with the thing that

Treft had promised to deliver, a large supply of alumite. Bulky, it would have required a large store room;

light, it could have been easily carried from the house to wherever the truck was waiting.

Cranston let all these opinions gather and establish themselves, without betraying that he didn't share them.

Exacting in every detail, Cranston still held to the premise that the locked store room must be considered

empty all along, until proven otherwise, just as Steve Kilroy should be regarded innocent unless actual facts

Through frequent analysis, Cranston had long since learned that circumstantial evidence was a product found

in clusters; that one false fact was often paralleled by others. Cracking one would throw doubt on another;

hence to prove that robbery hadn't happened would be the right step toward selling the idea that Steve Kilroy

might not be the murderer. Certainly the part didn't fit the young but welltrusted legal representative of

"So the robbers must have trucked the goods away," remarked Cranston, as soon as comment had subsided.

"Very well, coroner, perhaps you can show me the road they would have followed."

Rubbing his chin, the coroner began to run his finger here and there upon the map, muttering that the rains

had been right heavy lately and that the clay roads would have mired even a light truck. He was considering

"Remember, coroner, these prowlers were seen. It follows that their truck would also have been seen or heard

That caused a change in the corner's calculations, forcing his finger to range wider on the map. Little dots

worried him, marks representing the gates in Treft's very extensive fence, until suddenly the coroner brought

his finger to a line that looked like an endless centipede, running within a quarter mile of the mansion.

"They railroaded the goods!" exclaimed the coroner. "That's what the varmints did. Put the stuff right on a

freight that was waiting while the crew went ahead to look for landslides. They stop right here in the cut on

"Mondays and Thursdays," replied the coroner. "That's when the freights run southbound. They come north

Tuesdays and Fridays, so they stop further below. Last night was Wednesday, the day there isn't any freight."

"You're getting results, coroner," complimented Cranston. "Perhaps you ought to inform the sheriff."

The coroner had a dash of nonchalance. He demonstrated it by turning over his coat lapel. On the under side

was a glistening badge that bore the word "Sheriff." That reminder of his double capacity put his mind on a

"We've covered all this area hunting for Kilroy," declared the coronersheriff. "Been working innard, fixing

to miss nothing. He couldn't have got outside the circle ahead of us, not without his car and we've took care

of that. The deputies came back through the railroad cut and they searched the caverns down by Blue Creek.

"Kilroy must know this locality to be dodging us still and that proves his accomplices must have told him,

since he was never hereabouts afore. Looks like we've narrowed it down to Big Mud Swamp as the only

place he could be hiding and if the water moccasins haven't done him in already, our bloodhounds will.

"We found the gun he threw away after killing Treft and we'll be keeping it for evidence. Funny thing, his

chucking that and hanging onto the little statue that he must have stole off that stand there in the corner,

Fully devoted to his duty as county sheriff, the erstwhile coroner was tracing marks on the map while the

visitors from New York looked on. Being responsible for having sent Steve Kilroy here, they too were

interested in the capture of the man who had so completely betrayed their trust; again with one exception.

The exception was Lamont Cranston. Imbued with a new theory or at least the possibilities of one, Cranston

was strolling out from the reception room and through the hallway to the front door. A waiting deputy saw

him pass but did not challenge him, because he recognized him as one of the New York delegation.

Besides, there was complete complacency on the handsome though hawklike features of Mr. Cranston, a

calm that masked the keen thoughts of the brain behind it. Stepping into a car, Cranston drove down the

rainsoaked driveway without for an instant relaxing the immobility of his expression.

There was something prophetic in that pokerfaced demeanor. It told that Lamont Cranston might soon

THE Sorber Greater Shows hauled into Hilldale with its personnel in a mood as sullen as the dripping skies.

Whenever the Sorber Show hauled in anywhere, it did it in a big way, for this carnival was one of the largest

in the business. Its long train carried about every item of equipment imaginable in the outdoor show business.

Two dozen flats were loaded with menagerie cages, concession booths, sections of portable Ferris wheels,

carousels and other standard attractions, with wagons in which to haul them from the siding to the lot. The

roughnecks who handled the unloading were bunked under the canvascovered wagons and they had been

It was bad enough for those really outdoor men, but they minded it less than the more privileged passengers

who rode in the rear cars, where they slept in berths and drawing rooms. The roughnecks didn't share in the

"take" when the carnival was doing business, whereas these folk did, except for a few lesser freaks who were

One and all, they were chiding Pop Sorber, the redfaced, bullheaded manager of the show who had drunk

himself out of ownership into the purely vocal portion of a silent partnership in which someone else kept

The only graft that Pop controlled in full was the concession car used as a diner when meals were due, but

otherwise served as a motheaten Monte Carlo where grifters who swindled the outdoor public would

indulge in such indoor sports as roulette, faro, and chuckaluck, equipment which Pop had salvaged from a

gambling boat back in the days when people talked of ocean shores in terms of a sevenmile limit.

Everybody lost when they played Pop's games, but they didn't ordinarily blame him for it. This trip the

carnival folk had occasion to grouse because instead of unpacking in the morning, they had been traveling all

day with nothing to do but toss away more money and the fault was definitely Pop's.

Drago, the sword swallower, told it all in a few words when he angrily flung the last of his chips at the

"Keep 'em!" snarled Drago. "You're chiseler enough to deserve 'em. Picking up a little side money for

yourself by canceling a date in one town and hauling us a hundred and fifty miles to another."

"It wasn't my fault," argued Pop, as he gathered the chips so he could spin the wheel. "How did I know that

"It's your business to know." This came from Benzone, the knifethrower, as he stacked some chips for a

"That gives me an idea," put in Panchini, the tattooed man. "What this show needs is a new advance man."

"Kid Klaudey is all right," exploded Pop as he spun the wheel and tossed the ball. "Best advance agent in the

The answer came just as the ball was clattering into a pocket. It was Pythias who gave it.

Pop Sorber turned angrily toward Pythias, bringing his big fists to a clench. As suddenly he relaxed, though

his face showed a wince. He couldn't even be sure that Pythias had made the pointed comment. It might have

been his twin brother, Damon. The two looked alike and spoke alike. They were always together and always

Siamese Twins, some people called them, but they preferred the title "Inseparable" because they weren't

natives of Siam like the original twins that Barnum had first introduced to the American public. They sat on

two chairs close together; Damon and Pythias, because they themselves were very close. Damon had a right

hip, Pythias a left hip, and they shared a middle hip from which they both sprouted.

Otherwise the Inseparable Twins were normal and rather handsome with their dark eyes and tawny faces.

When one grinned so did the other, in a very disarming style which they demonstrated at present for Pop's

benefit. As an added gag, Damon reached across to look at his brother's wrist watch while Pythias used his

right hand to pluck another timepiece from Damon's vest pocket. Doublechecking the time, the pair chimed

The other freaks began to rise and the Inseparable Twins followed. They managed it quite readily and each

buttoned his portion of the curious double coat that came together in a joined waist. Their companions,

meanwhile, were following up the smart suggestion that one Inseparable had given.

"I'd say he was Kid Klaudey," put in Panchini. "If the Kid is as smart as Pop gives him credit, he ought to

Gathering in the chips that he had won on the final spin, Pop Sorber neither denied nor admitted the

"The Kid is all right," claimed Pop. "It wasn't his fault that the fix was queered. The tins smelled out the hype

Freely interpreted, Pop's statement meant that the "fix," or license, had been denied the carnival in Newtown,

because the "tins," otherwise local police, had discovered that the show was carrying "hype guys," who in

more cumbersome parlance were termed shortchange artists. Specialists in the hype were very helpful

toward increasing a carnival's gross receipts, especially on a final night, since they worked on a percentage;

In planting blame on the hype workers, Pop Sorber was more than usually clever. The hype crew rated almost

as low as the roughnecks, hence were ordinarily denied the privilege of the concession car. But the bad

weather had reminded Pop that hypers weren't as hardy as roughnecks, so he had invited them in from the

flats where they usually traveled. As a result, the hype crew was present to receive any criticism that the

Immediately, Pop was forgotten amid the epithets that such worthies as Drago, Benzone and Panchini

supplied to a motley huddle of men seated on benches at the front of the car. When Alhambra, the snake

queen, added a few of her favorite comments, even the cigar smoke began to turn pale. The whole car became

a turmoil, with even the midgets jumping on benches and piping shrill threats at the unwelcome guests, who

There was a door at the front of the car and through it they went, followed by the jeers of the throng, who

ridiculed the fact that one of the hype men limped in what they thought was a fake play for pity.

The limp was genuine enough, for it belonged to Steve Kilroy, who was glad enough to get out before anyone

took a good look at his face. Not being a roughneck, Steve had accepted Pop's invitation to the hype workers,

but learning who his companions were, Steve was pleased to be back on the flatcars where he could switch

The train was switching while Steve did. It was swinging onto a siding amid a thick dusk studded with a few

meager lights which represented the town limits of Hilldale. As soon as it stopped, Steve dropped off and

limped along with the men who were scheduled to unload. There wasn't much to learn, for most of the

roughnecks were irregulars, who simply took what they were told and placed it where someone pointed.

At least there was to be no extra haul, for the carnival lot was right beside the railroad tracks. For the present,

however, the only lights were lanterns, until the electricians could rig wires from the power plant that

occupied a boxcar at the front of the train. That process was delayed while a switch engine shifted most of

Along with the emptied flats went one that was covered with a long, irregularly humped canvas that included

both ends of the car itself. Steve didn't notice that the flatcar was a special job, considerably larger than the

rest. He took it for granted that the canvas covered some extra equipment that wasn't going to be unloaded.

Steve's next sight of the oversized flatcar came when he was in the middle of the sidetrack. A big hand

thwacked him in the middle of the back, lifting him right across the rail, while a voice bellowed in his ear:

"Watch yourself, roughneck! Here comes WallaWalla!" What was coming was the flatcar, shoved by the

switcher. Steve saw a lantern waving frantically from the end of it, so close he thought the flame was going to

sear his nose; then he landed on his back, clear of the track, beside the man who had hooked him there.

The man was Pop Sorber, and he went on about his business as though saving the life of a roughneck was a

take it or leave it proposition, according to whether he happened to be close enough to have a hand in it.

Coming to his feet, Steve found himself behind the panting switcher, which had braked to a sharp stop and

was about to unhook from the flatcar. Finding his game leg no further impaired by Pop's heroic tactics,

It was then that Steve found out what WallaWalla was. In fact he would have been looking WallaWalla

The canvas covering had been removed from the flatcar and perched in open sight was something that even

the Carolina rains couldn't have washed into Hilldale. WallaWalla was a fiftyfoot whale, riding high and

Whoever had stuffed the creature deserved credit for the job, because the whale looked almost alive. In fact it

still quivered slightly from its sudden trip to the siding, and as the drizzle began to fleck its heavy hide, the

thing gave more of the impression that it had just emerged from the briny ocean.

After this, Steve Kilroy could say that he had seen everything almost. He was just beginning to laugh away

his troubles at the expense of WallaWalla, when the thought of that "almost" really hit him. There was one

thing that Steve hadn't seen so far while riding along with the Sorber Greater Shows, but hoped he would

The thing in question was a harlequingarbed figure that Steve had encountered the night before; or rather,

which had encountered him. All day Steve had been looking for someone who answered to that general

So far Steve hadn't been able to lay suspicion upon anyone in particular, but he had hopes that he soon would.

For Steve had come to the firm conclusion that his accidental escape from Treft's premises had taken him

It was too much luck to have found the carnival train waiting when it was so badly needed. The thing had all

the earmarks of a planted situation that had played a final part in a design for death. All Steve wanted to

THE lounge car of the Carolina Special was a marked contrast to the tawdry concession car of Sorber's

carnival train, had anyone cared to make the comparison. Few persons would have, for the passengers on the

Special, fastest train on the line, weren't the sort who would be shifting from a deluxe limited to a train that

Nevertheless, two of those passengers were greatly interested in the question of the carnival train that had

One passenger was Lamont Cranston, who was continuing his trip through the Carolinas. The other was a girl

named Margo Lane, who had overtaken him by plane after receiving a longdistance call in New York.

"So that's the story, Margo," Cranston was saying. "Circumstantial evidence points to Steve Kilroy as a

"So I am," completed Cranston, "because I think he took the same route as the murderer. The one thing

certain is that Kilroy couldn't have learned that a train was going past Treft's last night."

"Last night was Wednesday," objected Margo, "and you just said that trains only ran on that branch line on

"And Tuesdays and Fridays the other," added Cranston. "But this happened to be a carnival train that was

"And neither did the carnival train. It switched to Hilldale, which is why we're going there. Just relax and I'll

"When the coroner was so sure that there was no Wednesday train," explained Cranston, "I decided to find

out how right he was. I didn't look at a timetable, because it wouldn't have included freights anyway.

Instead, I called the general traffic agent and let the railroad tell me. They said the Sorber Greater Shows had

"Because every time they add another attraction such as a snake pit or a fat lady, the shows become greater.

Margo smiled at the digression, which wasn't as trivial as it seemed. According to experience, Margo felt

quite confident that she was being decoyed into another of The Shadow's adventures, which would mean that

she'd be learning carnival life before she finished, so the more she knew, the better.

"Whoever routed that trip had something else in mind," continued Cranston, "for there were better ways for

the carnival to get to Newtown. So I called up Newtown to find out what happened when the carnival arrived

"Then Newtown was a bluff!" exclaimed Margo, "so people wouldn't guess where the carnival was really

"No, I think Newtown was originally planned. Something happened that made Sorber change his mind. He

made some calls to Newtown while the train was lying over at Roderick Junction and an hour later the train

was being routed to Hilldale. Carnivals have to make changes if they find they aren't wanted, which may have

"What's wanted in Hilldale is population. The place has only a few hundred inhabitants. No show could do

"You surprise me, Margo. Just for that remarkable bit of deduction" Cranston was timing his smile to the

blare of the locomotive's whistle "I will let you go to the carnival yourself. The engineer is blowing for

"Not even that, for the Carolina Special. It took a telegram from the general passenger agent to arrange it."

"Of course. But while you're at the carnival, I'm going to inquire around and learn why it's in Hilldale."

Whatever the status of the Sorber Greater Shows, it brought life to Hilldale, as Margo Lane could testify from

the moment she left Lamont Cranston at the little depot. The carnival lights outnumbered those of the town

by at least a dozen to one, and the shouts of the barkers, the wheezy music of the carousel, produced a spirit

The entire town was out, but still the lot was poorly filled, which fitted Cranston's estimate of the population.

Not being used to carnivals, the Hilldalers were all in their best attire, as if holding a festival, which was a

break for Margo. Her city clothes were fairly wellmatched by the newest creations from the mailorder

catalogs, so by staring widemouthed at the spielers and shying away from the game booths, she managed to

Next to the Ferris Wheel, the tallest thing on the lot, was the High Striker, where brawny Hilldalers were

invited to swing a sledgehammer at a springboard which sent a heavy weight scudding up a wire toward a big

bell fifty feet above. The object was to ring the bell and the powerful gentleman who owned the High Striker

could do it every time. But when the locals tried at a dime a swing with a dollar coming if they rang the bell,

There must be a catch to the thing, Margo decided. The boys from Hilldale packed enough beef to duplicate

the stunt. So while other witnesses shook their heads and termed it "just bad luck," Margo tried to find the

The thing was Steve Kilroy. He was learning the carnival business fast and in a way that suited him. After

dodging a few odd jobs from other concessionaires, this one had appealed to Steve. He was standing thirty

feet away from the High Striker in a spot that was quite dark, leaning against one of the guy wires that held

That guy wire happened to be a continuation of the one that formed the runway for the weight. When Steve

leaned back heartily, he drew the runway wire taut, so the weight would sail up to the bell whenever the

owner of the High Striker swung the sledge. When the locals tried it, Steve relaxed and so did the wire. The

weight couldn't make the grade because it wobbled the loose wire until the vibration stopped it. The harder

It was nice for Steve because the High Striker man had told him not to let people notice him. That was just

what Steve wanted, no notice, for he had seen an evening newspaper, tossed off from the Carolina Limited,

bearing one of his old photographs under the caption "Wanted Murderer." But Steve was noticing other

The more he looked, the more Steve classed the brunette as nonHilldale. She was trying to spot the gaff on

the High Striker, which was enough, but she also lacked the naive unconcern of the local femininity. She

sensed she was being watched and began to glance in Steve's direction, so he turned his attention elsewhere.

When Steve looked again, the brunette was gone. Margo had remembered that Lamont wanted her to cover

Across from the High Striker was the TenInOne Show, the largest tent on the lot. On the bally platform

that centered its broad front was Pop Sorber, blandly revealing his identity with the whimsical remark that he

wasn't to be mistaken for one of his own freaks. They were all inside awaiting his introduction, and for the

price of one dime, ten cents, anyone could see them all and listen to the educational lectures that went with

In most such shows, the freaks were on open exhibition in their pits and on their platforms, but Pop Sorber

preferred it different, being a showman of his own school. With him, each human exhibit was an artiste, as he

declared when he came in to give the lectures. All that the spectators saw were curtains, which Pop drew

Along the line, Margo and a few dozen other spendthrifts were introduced to Drago, who swallowed his

swords and took a bow. Alhambra was next, in a pit of snakes, while Benzone rated as the third attraction,

throwing knives at a girl called Juanita. The man who was all tattoo, Panchini, was revealed in his full glory,

while the fifth attraction, seated on a platform, proved to be Damon and Pythias, the Inseparable Twins.

They spoke together, bowed together, lived together, both as one. In chairs that were set at an angle to give

the spectators a complete "perspective," as Pop termed it. Instead of closing the curtain on the Inseparable

Twins, Pop prolonged his lecture, hoping that his listeners would tire and depart before discovering that the

Across from the "big show" Steve was watching the tent where Pop Sorber was killing time inside. Steve was

watching for Margo, not having seen her elsewhere. He wanted another look at the city girl when she came

out, for she was the only person on the lot whose presence bothered him. As he stared toward the big tent,

Steve saw a moving bulge of canvas close to the ground, and grinned because he thought some kid was

Suddenly, Steve's eyes narrowed. Instead of sneaking in, somebody was sneaking out, in the form of a figure

that preferred darkness and kept to it, clear to the edge of the carnival lot where some cars were parked. Just

when that figure was sliding into the front seat of a car, it came into the chance glow of a strongly reflected

Steve's breath came with a zing like the hiss of the weight that traveled the High Striker wire. Something

donged through his head like the tone of the big bell at the top. He took a quick look at the starting car and

the direction it was going. Out past the entrance to the lot, a couple of men were getting into a truck that was

The big shouldered grifter who operated the High Striker was making a fresh spiel, telling how easy it was to

ring the bell. He took a swing with the sledge and the weight whooped up the wire, to slacken at the halfway

mark and drop with an ignominious plop. Angrily, he swung again and the weight did another fluke, which

The grifter didn't laugh. He glared at the guy wire wishing he could heave the sledge and wake up the stooge

who should have been tightening the gaff. But it wouldn't have been any use; the man who did the leaning act

HALF a mile ahead, two headlights gave a quick flicker off among some trees. The truck driver didn't notice

it nor did the man beside him, for they were busy discussing carnivals and using the term "gyps" to define all

The truck was hauling one of those very gyps in the person of Steve Kilroy, who was perched on the rear and

hanging from one side. It was Steve who spotted the tricky headlights and marked them as belonging to the

It seemed that the truck never would complete that last half mile, but when it had, Steve saw what he

expected. Off from the highway veered a winding dirt road which The Harlequin's car must have followed.

As the truck swung the other way, Steve dropped off the back and took to the dirt.

Alone amid the croak of Carolina crickets, Steve found the setting much more to his liking than last night's. It

was the sort that would have ordinarily supplied the shivers, for the darkness was complete and the sigh of

the wind through the overhanging pines was as ghostly as the spray that slapped from the drizzleweighted

tree boughs, like the flick of a watersoaked shroud. Moving along the road, Steve could hear the tree trunks

groan and creak while his coat was plucked by spooky hands, which proved to be only protruding branches.

Yet all this was welcome in contrast to Steve's recent nightmare in a background of magnolias and moonlight.

The darker it became, the better Steve liked it. In this blackout he could be the hunter instead of the prey.

Steve's only problem was how to overtake a car that had already left him five minutes behind. That called for

For one thing, the road had veered off from the highway half way up a grade, which indicated that it probably

curved around the side of the hill. Steve recognized this hill because he had noticed it right after the carnival

pulled into town, before dusk blanketed the landscape. It was a large hill, but shaped like a broad nob, with a

low ridge off beyond it. From that, Steve conjectured that the road could not lead very far beyond the hill

Therefore a short cut was in order. The hiking couldn't be any worse among the trees than along this mucky

road. Steve's leg had limbered from the exercise he'd gained in helping unload the flatcars, so he clambered

off through the brush, guiding himself by the sloping ground on the basis that the longer he kept going up, the

sooner he'd be going down the other side of the hill. The ground was soggy, but it gave a suction grip that

counteracted the slippery pine needles. Stones were the main thing to avoid, at least so Steve thought, until he

The few dozen formed a section of an old stone wall, something of a rarity in these parts, where rail fences

were still the fashion. What was more the stone wall was in good repair, as Steve discovered when he

examined it with a dull flashlight that he had borrowed from a concession booth that he had helped set up.

A stone wall indicated that there must be a house on the other side of it, so the question was: Which was the

other side? To gain the answer, Steve climbed the wall and used his flashlight to pick a course along the top,

occasionally halting to peer among the trees on either side. At last he gained a glimmer in the form of a light

Dropping from the wall, Steve headed for the lights. The ground became level and the trees thinned, until

Steve found himself in the open, with the wind whistling by. Ahead lay the light and from its position, several

feet above the ground, Steve recognized that it must come from the cracks of some shuttered window, even

Steve became somewhat acquainted with the house before he even saw it. As he approached, the wind

became a furious medley of swirls and eddies, producing heavy gusts that were offset by areas of absolute

calm. This could only be due to a large, irregularly shaped house, and Steve came to the conclusion that he

Either Steve's eyes became accustomed to the thick gloom, or some moonlight managed to creep through the

heavy clouds, enough to produce a trace of visibility, for the house gradually disclosed itself like something

materializing from a dream. It grew like a weird monster, so misshapen that Steve actually shied away until

he had turned a corner that blotted out the chink of light that seemed too much like an evil, observing eye.

The building looked big enough to cover half an acre, though Steve soon chopped down that exaggerated

estimate. Nevertheless, it was huge and as oldfashioned as it was grotesque. The building was a sprawly

thing, three stories high, with wings and els that stretched everywhere like monstrous arms. Even now, two of

The structure was built entirely of wood as were the verandas that surrounded it. Steve didn't see the verandas

until he stumbled over the steps of one. It was as if a chunk of wall had reached out and tripped him, for

Steve couldn't understand why these steps should be far from the house. That was, he couldn't understand

until he felt the surface of the veranda and recognized it for what it was; after which Steve felt more

Next, Steve was sneaking along the veranda itself, not worrying about its creaks because the wind was

producing a dozen similar sounds to drown his footfalls. Reaching the wall, Steve felt his way along past an

inner corner and decided that if he continued this type of navigation he would eventually come to the window

What Steve reached first was a big front door. Something creaked a warning from directly overhead and

Steve dropped back in alarm. The flashlight being his only weapon, he pointed it upward. Then he was

moving the light slowly from left to right, tracing the words along the creaking thing, which happened to be

an old sign hanging on rusty hooks. The sign had two lines, in faded paint, which said:

Just an old summer hotel, bearing the ravages of time, and beginning to show them badly. Whether Judson

Talboy had similarly met the march of years was another question, but one that could be answered by going

indoors. Certainly someone was in the place; the light indicated that much. Whether the present resident was

the proprietor or simply some caretaker, Steve could learn when he talked to him.

Steve had sufficient reason for making entry, forcible or otherwise, considering that The Harlequin had come

this way. For through Steve's mind was pounding the constant theme that Talboy must be one of the men

mentioned by Treft, an owner of certain statuary molded by a defunct sculptor named Pettigrew from an alloy

Trying the front door, Steve found that it had been barricaded for the duration, which probably meant the

duration of the hotel itself. To go around the corner and crack the lighted window wasn't a good plan, because

it might bring the wrong kind of welcome, such as a blast from a shotgun. What gave Steve an idea was a

It must be a loose shutter on the second floor in the general direction that Steve wanted to go. So Steve

guided himself toward the sound, listening intently as he went, until he walked right off the end of the

veranda. As he spilled, Steve grabbed badly at the wall, hoping to clutch something, which by luck he did.

What Steve caught was a mass of ivy, so strong that it halted his fall. As he hung there, Steve heard the

shutter bang again, and he gave a low laugh that lost itself amid the wail of the wind. Since this ivy was

strong enough to hold him, it would serve perfectly as a ladder. Acting on the thought, Steve worked his way

upward and reached out just in time to keep the shutter from thwacking his head as a capricious puff of wind

Swinging around the shutter, Steve found the windowsill. He could hear the rattle of the flimsy

windowsash and when Steve tried it, he found that it yielded to his touch. Opening the window, Steve

wormed inside and as a matter of course slid the sash down to its original position.

Right then, Steve was looking out through the window. Things were clearing more than ever, for the wind

was really thinning the clouds. Away down front, Steve could see the pillars of an old gray gate, forming the

Curious blackness streaked the gray, then evaporated with the glide of fading smoke. But in that brief

moment, either Steve's eyes or his strained imagination gave the passing blot a human shape. Some stalker

Instantly, Steve was impressed with the importance of finding the person who lived here, and at once. It was

up to Steve to warn that person of the menace that was on its way. For Steve held the notion that the gliding

figure from the distant gate could be none other than that specialist in murder, The Harlequin.

The notion was wrong. Even in the flickery moonlight, Steve would have recognized the patchwork of the

killer's piebald costume. It wasn't The Harlequin who was moving up from the old gateway.

OLD Judson Talboy was muttering to himself as he thumbed through the pages of a weekold newspaper,

which was lying on the hotel desk in front of him. Beside the newspaper was the hotel register, wide open, its

pages blank. Across what formed an alcove of the main lobby was an easy chair beside a potbellied stove,

its pineknot fire banked. In the chair sat the hotel's only steady guest, a huge black cat.

This was a temporary lobby which had been partitioned off from the rest in order to conserve heat. Thus it

formed a sort of room and it was from this room that Steve Kilroy had seen the chink of light. The

illumination was provided by some oldtime kerosene burners known as student lamps. One was on the desk,

just above a pile of newspapers that were stacked irregularly on the floor. Another was on a table near a row

of wooden boxes filled with excelsior from which poked specimens of old crockery, matching some plates

The vague light did not favor the features of Judson Talboy. His face, unpleasant enough at first sight, would

have driven away customers the longer they saw it, had there been any customers at this hotel. For there was

a conniving squint in Talboy's eyes; his sharp features denoted the scheming mind behind them; while the

pasty hue of his tightdrawn, bloodless face gave the impression of a man who had starved his conscience to

Evidently Talboy knew all this, for he was bragging openly about it, to a listener who couldn't talk back and

"They call me a fool, Snowball," crackled Talboy, still thumbing through the paper. "A fool for living here in

a hotel that does no business, those fools in Hilldale who can't realize that their town is just as dead as this

"They can't even realize what this property would be worth if I improved it. Their minds can't grasp that far

ahead, for when I tell them, they just laugh and ask where I am going to get the money to begin with."

Pausing, Talboy raised one hand and gestured his thumb across his shoulder to a door that bore the word:

"If I told them the money was in there, they would laugh. If I showed them those four statues of Pettigrew's

they would think it all the funnier. So why should I mention that I own a quarter share in alumite, the

"I don't think Milton Treft likes it, Snowball" Talboy's cackle showed that the thought pleased him "but

he can't do anything about it. When he sells alumite, as he may have done already, he will have to deliver all

Talboy was busy now, with a pencil, making notations in figures on one blank sheet of the register. He was

calculating the profits that the Happy Hill House could produce if revived with an endowment of a quarter

million. Talboy's figures were going on the page that bore tomorrow's date, but it didn't matter. He always

Perhaps not tomorrow, but there would be one tonight and maybe more. There was a pen and inkwell on the

far side of the big register book. A hand took the pen, dipped it in the ink, and wrote a name across the sheet

Talboy must have heard the scratch of the pen, for his face became a trifle baffled. He was used to hearing

things round this decrepit hotel, but to have ghosts register was a new experience. Talboy stared the moment

With that, Talboy looked up. He saw the same figure that had confronted Treft, a limber man clad in a garb as

tightfitting as a jersey, but as fanciful as a Mardi Gras costume. Colorful even to the patch work hood that

covered his face so smoothly, The Harlequin was ready to do business with another man who had inherited a

Ugly eyes glistened through the hoodslits. Their menace was strengthened by the glisten of a revolver

muzzle just beneath them. The Harlequin said nothing, but his free hand spoke for him. It pointed to the door

Shakily, Talboy turned with hands at shoulder level. He lowered one to a shelf beside the door and in palsied

fashion produced a bunch of keys. He swayed as he tried to fit the key into the lock and to steady himself he

gripped the shelf with his other hand. At last he managed to get the key in place and turn it. The door creaked

The creak from the office door drowned the more distant groan from a stairway that led down into this

alcove. The stairs were just beyond a hallway through which The Harlequin had arrived without Talboy's

notice. At present, neither Talboy nor The Harlequin were conscious of the new arrival from the second floor:

At a turn on a small landing, Steve had just reached the right position for a long lunge down the last half

There was a sharp click from Talboy's hidden hand. His shakes ended, the old hotelowner was twisting with

whippet speed, bringing an oldfashioned pistol that he had snagged from the shelf. The click was the

cocking of the gun and Talboy's finger, already on the trigger, was set to beat The Harlequin to the shot, no

It happened that The Harlequin wasn't in a responsive mood. Such wasn't his method.

Having seen The Harlequin in action at Treft's, Steve should have known it. Talboy was a different case,

because he was totally ignorant of The Harlequin's way. Wasting time was something The Harlequin avoided;

He'd given Talboy time to unlock the door and had also allowed him to open it. Beyond the gaping doorway,

The Harlequin had seen what he wanted, not an office, but a storeroom, stocked with lifesized statues

showing a dull silver glimmer through the nicks in their coating of bronze paint.

Having thus uncovered Talboy's treasure, The Harlequin wanted no more of the man himself. It was as easy

to dispose of a victim by shooting him in the back, so The Harlequin was beginning the process at the

moment of Talboy's spin. Swift though it was, the old man's rapid turn couldn't beat a trigger finger that was

The first shot literally hooked Talboy in the side and gave his spin a jounce. The next caught him close to the

heart and staggered him backward against the shelf. As his elbow struck, Talboy's gun went off, but it was

pointed high and wide. All it did was punch the ceiling over the stove and during the deluge of plaster that

Pinned against the shelf by the recoil of his own gun, Talboy took The Harlequin's final bullet squarely in the

heart and pitched forward to the desk, to sprawl with arms extended. Steve saw that sequel as he finished his

One pair of hands flung him into another which in turn pitched him headlong toward the stove. Steve would

have smashed skull first against the ironware, if the big chair hadn't intervened. Steve somersaulted and the

chair did the same, while out of the whirl came Snowball, no longer a black cat but a white one, thanks to the

As he landed, Steve saw the men who had flung him. They were the truckers who had obligingly but

unwittingly brought him to this place that was miscalled Happy Hill. Working for The Harlequin, they must

Again The Harlequin's hands were as busy as those of a radio director giving cues from a soundproof

control room. One hand was pointing the truckers into the room where the statues were. The other was

turning its gun toward the top of the overturned chair, waiting for Steve to dumbly crawl up from behind it.

Steve would have done it promptly, if he'd been able. Without knowing it, he was gaining a few more

moments of life purely because his sprawl had dazed him. Meanwhile, The Harlequin was waiting patiently

for his human target to set itself as he wanted it. This was to be murder on the same cold basis.

His daze ending, Steve came up, gripping the chair to help. He saw The Harlequin and halted; remembering

Treft's desk, Steve thought he could use Snowball's chair to some advantage, then realized that he couldn't.

That thought really smashed home. It came with a crash resembling a wholesale breakage of glass and

woodwork, followed by a whining blast of wind. It was as if all outdoors had come launching through to

gather and carry away Steve's spirit when The Harlequin released it with bullets.

It was the window that had smashed and the wind was actually whizzing through. But something surged

ahead of it, in the shape of grotesque blackness which might have been a demonbearing segment of the inky

Steve didn't see the shape that came, but The Harlequin did. With a quick sidestep, The Harlequin turned

savagely to deal with a new avenger who dealt in justice instead of evil. As a man of murder, The Harlequin

must have known what was represented by the blackness that became a cloaked shape with eyes that burned

Bigger, more formidable than The Harlequin's bright revolver was the dull, gunmetal automatic that jutted

PRESENT company was much too fast for Steve Kilroy. If he'd known it, he could have helped matters by

Guns were talking very suddenly, one with sharp jabs and the other with a mightier blast. Steve mistook those

shortpaced shots for hasty marksmanship, not realizing that these were fighters who could parry as well as

thrust with their guns. It was more like a duel with rapiers, the way The Harlequin and The Shadow tried to

force each other to a misstep, or lay a shot that would disturb his adversary's aim on the next try.

Such technique had never occurred to Steve, hence from the moment that he glimpsed The Shadow, he took it

that this stranger needed aid. For Steve had not forgotten that The Harlequin held two aces in the hole, those

fake truckmen who were in the office picking up the statues. Unless The Shadow could settle The Harlequin

before that pair returned, this fight would be as good as over, with victory on the wrong side. So when The

Harlequin made a sudden dart toward the bulging stove, Steve took it upon himself to stop him.

The shot that the mottled murderer had just fired was his third and last, for The Harlequin hadn't forgotten the

three that he had used in dispatching Talboy, even though Steve had. The Harlequin knew that he couldn't

reach the stove, so he had hoaxed Steve into serving as a substitute. The Shadow almost had to waste a shot

as Steve came lunging past the stove right into the path of the aiming automatic. At least the cloaked

marksman managed to restrain his trigger finger while he diverted his aim, but before he could bring his gun

to bear again, The Harlequin had locked with Steve and was keeping him toward the center of the room.

He was wiry, this Harlequin, and his quick feints with the revolver kept Steve dodging as they grappled. He

still didn't realize that this fighter was out of ammunition and couldn't risk slugging down the man who was

serving him as a human shield. Nor did Steve guess that The Harlequin was taking him in the direction that

they seemed to reel by chance, namely toward the desk where Talboy's body still lay sprawled.

They hit that counter with a jolt that sent the dead man spilling toward the door beyond it. A deft twist from

The Harlequin and Steve was full about, again blocking The Shadow as the latter finished a rapid flank

maneuver which he'd hoped would give him an angle of fire at The Harlequin. By then, the thing that Steve

so feared was happening; the men from the disguised store room were coming out, attracted by the gunfire.

Each was bringing a lifesized statue. These were bronzecoated maidens representing two of the twelve

hours. They were so light that one man could have carried all four, but they had to be brought singly to be

gotten through the door. Seeing The Shadow, the first of the statuebearers hurled his burden and with the

The statue came flying through the air like a spinning blimp and as The Shadow knocked it away, he saw

another sailing at him. By the time be brushed the second missile aside, the men who chucked them were

going back for more. The Harlequin meanwhile had decided on a better bludgeon; suddenly dropping his

yielding tactics, he showed surprising strength by hurling Steve forward, straight at The Shadow.

They met headlong close beside the stove and as Steve twisted away, hoping to turn on The Harlequin, the

man in motley launched right past him and reached The Shadow. Guns clanged as the two fighters swung

them and Steve pitched back into the fray, just as another brace of statues came tandem fashion through the

air. There wasn't much weight to those lovely Hours, but they were jolting nevertheless. Along with Steve's

The whole melee crashed into the stove and overturned it. The weight of the iron potbelly cracked

Snowball's chair into kindling, which caught fire from a shower of burning pineknots. Darting away, The

Harlequin pointed toward The Shadow and the men who had thrown the statues made a lunge at the fighter in

black. Again Steve was tangled in a brawl where he was more hindrance than help.

Slugging blows from gun barrels; sharp reports from muzzles were the last of Steve's sensations for a while.

The swinging guns reached his head, but the shots didn't harm him, for by then The Shadow was slugging

back at the heavyhanded pair, saving bullets for The Harlequin, who knew it. That was why The Harlequin

had taken to a certain corner, where a lamp was burning on a shelf above some boxes loaded with crockery.

With a sweep, The Harlequin dumped the lamp into the nearest box and with the crash of dishes, a pile of

While the groggy truckers were dropping away from The Shadow's swings, The Harlequin reached the desk

and overturned the other lamp, crashing it beside the stack of newspapers, which he kicked into the spreading

flames. Remembering how Pettigrew's bust had shielded Steve at Treft's, The Harlequin grabbed up one of

Talboy's statues to stave off The Shadow's shots. Coming to another, he grabbed it with a rapid stoop, and

protected by a double armful, The Harlequin was on his way through a broad door leading out through the old

There and then, The Shadow made his only mistake, which was excusable since he was unfamiliar with the

results of similar tests involving alumite. Wheeling over toward the desk, The Shadow gained the proper

angle to follow The Harlequin with bullets and gave him all that were left in his automatic. It was just another

The statues took the gunfire as The Harlequin turned toward it and when the bombardment ended the mottled

murderer was again on his way. So were the two truckers, going out the other door, each with a statue, but

they didn't stop to ward off bullets. They preferred to make fast time during the interval when The Shadow

Immediate pursuit was impossible because of Steve who was too weak to reach his feet. There was no

stopping the flames that The Harlequin had started, the excelsior boxes were not only in full blaze, they had

spread their fire to the old drapes along the windows. The burning newspapers had started the dried wood of

the hotel desk and that blaze was licking at the paneled walls. Along with all this, the coals from the

overturned stove had turned the grass rug into a field of flame that was turning other furnishings into a pyre

like Snowball's chair. Since Talboy was no longer alive to want the old hotel that nobody else did, The

Snowball went darting out through the hallway ahead of them as The Shadow kept Steve to his feet and

piloted him along. Outdoors, the tang of the wind revived Steve as its drizzle lashed his face and he showed a

brief return to form when he heard a car go spurting down a driveway. That car meant The Harlequin, the

murderer whose score was still unsettled and the thought brought Steve erect, with both hands clenched. But

when he tried to stagger forward, he would have fallen, if The Shadow hadn't caught him.

A whispered voice steadied Steve as it spoke close to his ear. It carried command, rather than query, though it

was asking what Steve knew about The Harlequin's helpers. Steve found himself muttering a reply:

"They've got a truck it came around the other way maybe they'll be using the back road "

That was enough for The Shadow, who seemed to know where the back road was. Dragging Steve along, he

reached a stone wall and followed it. There wasn't any trouble finding the stone wall, because by now a

They could hear the truck starting from further down the road and Steve's numbed thoughts grasped the idea

that they were on their way to intercept it. At least The Shadow was, as Steve found out when his cloaked

companion left him halfslumped on a steep bank where the wall ended. Just below was the road, hewn in

the side of the hill, making a sharp turn along the brink of what Steve took to be a cliff.

The Shadow couldn't have chosen a better place to halt a pair of men who were wanted as accomplices in

murder. Stepping out past the center of the bend, he was where the headlights would disclose him the

moment that they took the curve, to say nothing of the greater glare that was creeping to the road as the rising

And the truck was already on its way. Steve could hear the roar of its approaching motor; a few moments

later, he saw its lights come slacking past the curve of the embankment. Next, Steve expected to hear the

Horrified, Steve saw what the driver intended. The fellow had seen The Shadow and was giving the truck the

gun. Like a massed thunderbolt, its whole bulk seemed to lift for the blackcloaked shape that barred the

road, with such speed that Steve thought The Shadow was doomed. At almost the last moment, The Shadow

twisted toward the inner edge of the curve, but the truck was already veering to crush him against the bank.

What Steve didn't estimate was the difficulty of swinging a truck that sharply at the speed the vehicle was

The truck lifted to its outer wheels before it reached The Shadow. It didn't pause there long enough for the

driver to begin to right it. Over it went, crashing the saplings that lined the brink beyond, striking a big tree

that turned it really askew. The rear wheels clung in some curious fashion as they struck the road together and

Steve was looking right through the open bank, as if viewing a scene through the tunnel.

Rising flames showed everything. There weren't any statues in the truck, which meant that they must have

packed them in The Harlequin's car, which Steve remembered was an old convertible. The truck was empty

except for two men who were flouncing about on the front seat as though they intended to scramble back

It didn't occur to Steve that the truck was still moving; not forward, but in teeter fashion. He was a bit puzzled

when he saw the rear wheels come upward, spinning to the very angle where he had been looking through the

back. Then Steve was looking at a lot of broken saplings, grotesque in the glare from the holocaust. There

From somewhere far below came a muffled crash. The monstrous crackle of the fire absorbed the echoes of

that clatter. Then Steve felt The Shadow's firm grip on his arm; heard a calm, commanding voice telling him

to come along. Once down the embankment, Steve found himself turning in the direction of Hilldale, his

The Shadow too had seen the empty truck and knew that the side issue of the stolen alumite had become a

ONE day was enough in Hilldale. The carnival was tearing down and packing aboard the flats in the light of a

dreary dawn, which to Steve Kilroy would have represented the conclusion of a very impossible nightmare, if

he hadn't seen the firescarred side of Happy Hill, which had been intact the evening before.

What made it seem a nightmare was the way that it had tapered off. Steve had been nearly blotto when he'd

reached the carnival lot after a trip through woods and fields to avoid the people coming up to the fire. The

Shadow had guided him not only to the carnival, but into a bunk car where the privileged characters slept.

There he had said things that Steve was now trying to remember as he stared from a window of the

He'd remembered enough to come in here when he woke up, but there was something he was supposed to tell

Pop Sorber. Still trying to recall it, Steve felt a heavy hand pound his shoulder and he looked up to see the

That was it. Steve remembered now. The Shadow had told him to introduce himself as the new geek.

"Yeah," replied Steve. "Kid Klaudey sent me. I got in last night too late to work. The Kid said you needed

"We need any freaks," snapped Pop. "Last night the home guard was penny counting. The chumps thought

they ought to be getting ten attractions in the TeninOne because I told them so on the bally. I counted the

"So what?" This came from Drago, who was eating breakfast at a table. "Customers don't count in a dump

like Hilldale. They're always minches instead of live ones. Why bother what happens when you play a

"Because they'll all be bloomers," retorted Pop, "the way Kid Klaudey is messing up the route. We don't even

"So you're starting us on a dukie run," sneered Alhambra, from across the aisle. "An all day ride to nowhere.

Why hop from Hilldale if you don't know where you're going? One bloomer is better than a pair."

"We'll know when the Kid wires again," said Pop. Turning to Steve he gestured to the chair beside Drago.

"Sit down there, geek, and get acquainted with Drago. He swallows swords and maybe he'll teach you the

"Don't insult the guy," put in Alhambra, with a gesture toward Steve. "I can tell he ain't no glommer that bites

their heads off. The Bosco act is what they call MidVictorian, which means its distasteful to us presentday

"What audiences?" This came from the Inseparable Twins, who were opposite Alhambra. "You mean the six

Which of the Inseparables had spoken was a puzzle to Steve. He was staring at Damon and Pythias, natty in

their doublewaisted check suit, when Alhambra plucked his sleeve and invited him to join her at breakfast.

"Sit down and scoff," said the snake queen. "I can see you appreciate reptiles like I do. There ain't much call

for male snake charmers, so an honest guy like you has to play the geek and make out he's a wildman while

"Ajax," replied Steve, grabbing the first alphabetical thought that came along. "You're right, Alhambra, I

"You'll get it." Alhambra turned to the kitchen and shrilled: "Another usual for Ajax."

"An odd name for a snake handler," said either Damon or Pythias. "Ajax was the man who defied the

"And if you don't think we do," retorted Alhambra, "get into the pit with those rattlers. The poison's out of

Alhambra bared her brawny arm to show Steve some red marks that looked like needle jabs. He gave a

professional nod as though to say that such trophies were all in the day's work. Fearing that the Twins would

"Did Kid Klaudey send any other acts?" queried Steve. "He said he was hoping a few more would show up."

That was a safe line, because it was almost a repetition of what Pop himself had said. With a shake of his

"No, but I'm rigging a couple myself. Using a roughneck to play a cigarette fiend and I'm going to put in the

old Spidora. Somebody must have busted the mirror in the old one, but I wired the Kid to ship a metal job to

"Who's going to play Spidora," queried Alhambra, "now that Juanita has graduated to getting knives pitched

at her? Or does she want her old job back before Benzone gets careless like he always does when he gets tired

Words started to pour from Benzone and Juanita who were at a table with Panchini. Pop bawled for quiet,

"We're taking on a local dame," announced Pop. "She was watching the High Striker last night and the guy

that runs the big finger figured she'd make a good femme shill. You know the way the townies want to show

"Anyway, she was listening, because she wanted to get out of Hilldale. After the fire she was more than

anxious. I guess maybe she figured the yokels would think she started it to throw some excitement into the

burg. Only the binger guy was sore because his gaff worker blew and made him look worse than the suckers.

"That's when I came along and when I found the binger guy passing up Hilldale's best, I remembered the

Spidora. Maybe the dame won't show" Pop looked anxiously toward the door as he heard a whistle from

The performers began to laugh at Pop's anxiety over what they termed a "tourist," which meant anyone who

joined the show simply to get away from somewhere. Drago remarked that Pop must have seen the girl in the

dark spot near the High Striker, because Hilldale was the sort of place that didn't have a face in a townload.

The only person who didn't join the laugh was Steve Kilroy. He happened to remember a certain girl who was

Steve didn't have to picture the face that he remembered because the door opened and it appeared. One glance

of recognition was enough for Steve; then, figuring that the girl might be looking expressly for him, he

showed a sudden interest in the ham end eggs that a waiter was planting in front of him. All Steve did was

The Sorber Greater Shows had really found a new attraction. Old Pop himself was somewhat flabbergasted

by the prize that he had drawn, for his critics were right when they insisted that his eyes were none too sharp

around the dimmer sectors of the carnival lot. It simply happened that Pop had reversed his usual form in

At least Pop could swell to the occasion, for he bowed in his most grandiose style as he introduced the

newcomer as Miss Lane. That itself was a distinction in this circle where such titles were unknown and it

made Margo uncomfortable at the start. Fortunately the carnival train was getting under way and as it

switched from the siding to the main track, Margo was pitched to an empty chair beside Panchini, who caught

her with a tattooed arm. When Margo gave the human picture gallery a grateful smile, she was rewarded with

Juanita could get along with any girl who smiled at anyone except Benzone, so the ice was broken.

Alhambra, the only other lady in the troupe, had an eye that was geared to business rather than jealousy. Only

the Inseparable Twins had failed to get a look at the new brunette, because their backs were toward the door

"I'll say she's with it!" Lowering her voice to a confidential tone, Alhambra included Steve in her little circle.

"Say, old Pop is a dope to waste her on a Spidora, where only her face shows. I'll have her doubling as

"Remember that big blond wig that went with the Godiva costume before the show got pinched? I'll trim it to

shoulder length and nobody will recognize the brunette that was looking at them from the Spidora platform.

The mermaid costume is kicking around somewhere only we never had anybody who could fit it. Pop hit the

An hour out of Hilldale, Margo was as wellacquainted as Steve with their new friends in the carnival troupe.

The only acquaintance they hadn't made was their own, because Steve had studiously avoided it. Knowing

that such policy couldn't continue, Steve took an opportunity to settle it. Picking his moment, he met Margo

Watching one of Steve's hands clutch the vestibule door, Margo was fascinated by the way the other crept

toward her. Steve didn't like to do it, but common sense was impelling him to chuck the girl from the moving

"You've been trailing me all right," gruffed Steve. "Smart of Associated Metallurgy to hire a girl detective. I

"I might," acknowledged Margo, "and so might you if you knew what I was supposed to give you."

Steve's tone was just surprised enough to warrant Margo's bold opportunity. Opening her hand bag she started

to reach for a letter Steve saw there and ended by producing a gun. Steve's hands stopped their moves when

"Keep it." Reaching, Margo pressed the .32 into Steve's nearest hand. "If you'd been carrying this last night,

you would have been a better help to a mutual friend of ours. The two of you might even have stopped The

A moment later, Margo had gone into the car ahead and Steve was staring dumbly at the automatic in his

hand, almost expecting it to turn into one of Alhambra's snakes. When it didn't, Steve pocketed the gun with

Margo Lane was "with it" alright. That was the way they put it when you belonged to a carnival troupe, but

this girl belonged to something bigger, as did Steve. They both belonged to a cause that would have to win

DURING the next four days the Sorber Greater Shows played to better business, which was a help, though

not the sort Steve Kilroy wanted. He was looking forward to a stand like Hilldale where it would be obvious

that some crooked business was afoot since otherwise the carnival would have no reason to play there. Then

When Steve expressed this opinion to Margo, she didn't entirely agree. It was an hour before show time and

the carnival was on location in the outskirts of a prosperous Kentucky city, but Steve and Margo were wise

enough not to be holding their conference on the carnival lot. They were walking over by a railroad siding,

"We'll do good business here in Titustown," Steve was saying. "It's what they call another red one, but I

"Only that it's getting off its proper route, which is enough. It must have been too long a hop to the place

It was logical enough to Steve, but this business of The Harlequin being real master of the show was

"Pop Sorber is just a figurehead," gruffed Steve, "and a muttonhead, if you want my full opinion. I wish I

"Yes, and I wind up by having people ask me. I can't even learn if Pop is taking orders from his silent partner,

"But somebody must be giving the orders," argued Margo, "otherwise we wouldn't be skipping around the

"The bookings come in from Kid Klaudey," explained Steve. "Maybe he's doing just what Pop says he is,

grabbing whatever stands he can, now that the route has gone haywire. It's a case of filling in until the Fairs

They dropped the conversation as they reached an elongated tent that covered the whole end of a railway

siding. One of the hype artists was sitting behind a high ticket booth, making short change for any customers

who were foolish enough to come this far to view a solitary attraction. Since a few townspeople were around,

Steve made a pretense, of laying money on the stand; raising two fingers, he added the confidential password:

Steve received two tickets free, with a nod of thanks from the hyper in the booth. Not many people with the

outfit would walk this far just to stimulate business for WallaWalla, the only show that was going badly. A

couple of shills could always start up trade, so while Steve and Margo were going in the tent, the outside man

began his spiel about the "magnificent sixtyfoot whale, carried at huge expense on its own special car, the

Steve caught that last line through the canvas and repeated it to Margo as they walked up the runway to the

"WallaWalla sure gets around," chuckled Steve. "He's always west, north, east or south of somewhere that

"I'm not so sure he can." Margo gave a quick frown as she looked along the platform; then, seeing no one, she

undertoned: "There's one place he can't travel, Steve. That's between this siding and the carnival lot."

"If the location is right. The chumps do go for WallaWalla, provided the carnival lot is right alongside. Only

Steve was beginning to talk too loud. Margo gave a soft pedal gesture as they were circling past the whale's

tail. Fortunately there were no listeners on the far platform, either; nevertheless, Margo restrained her tone

The answer shot right home to Steve. The Sorber Greater Shows could not be classed as "greater," not with

WallaWalla, greatest of them all, relegated to a cold spot clear out of shouting distance. Knowing Pop's

pride in the great stuffed whale, Kid Klaudey would have booked a bloomer rather than a red one in which

"This is it," affirmed Steve, in a low, steady tone. "Titustown, The Harlequin's next stop." From his vest

pocket, Steve brought the alumite disk and flipped it "He's after another quota of this stuff, from the man who

"And won't talk about it," added Steve. "Maybe the public thinks that Talboy died in a fire some truckers

started, before they drove drunk off a cliff, but that doesn't apply to the two men who still own alumite."

"Maybe I'm just guessing, but Treft spoke of twelve statues and there were four at Talboy's. That would leave

Margo's nod meant more than Steve realized. She was simply confirming his estimate with one that The

"If I'd only seen that list at Treft's!" muttered Steve. "We'd know who the other partners were. I don't blame

them for keeping mum, because they know somebody is out to get them. They probably think I'm the man,

Steve was repeating things he'd told Margo before, which she in turn had sent along to The Shadow. Probably

"None that we haven't covered," replied Margo, with a headshake. "Where he is, I don't even know, but it's

"Or find those stolen statues," added Steve. "Unless The Harlequin buried them somewhere, they must be

"The Harlequin will soon be after another quota," predicted Margo, "so the thing to do is find him instead.

Margo brought out a list of the sideshow freaks in what was to be the order of their appearance. She showed

it to Steve near the shelter of WallaWalla's big left lip, with one of the whale's tiny glass eyes peering over

"Cross us out for a start," suggested Steve. "That chops three off the list. Then eliminate the other

"Nicco for one," checked Margo. "He's just a roughneck that Pop is using until he can buy a fake genuine

"The droopy chap," defined Steve. "From the looks he gave me, I thought he was going to heave some volts

"That's just it," laughed Margo. "As Ajax, you're supposed to be the fellow who catches lightning, only you

Margo checked off Alhambra, who couldn't possibly be The Harlequin. Next, she put a mark beside Benzone.

"That's only for Juanita," interrupted Margo. She ran the pencil to the bottom of the list and added: "We can

The quip brought an approving grin from Steve. Margo was referring to Damon and Pythias. Of the old

guard, they were most certainly ineligible, even more than Alhambra, since neither of the Inseparables could

navigate singly. Since most of the list was gone, Margo emphasized those that remained by underlining their

names. The candidates for the title of Harlequin consisted briefly of Drago, Benzone and Panchini.

"We'll watch them," assured Steve. "Now let's get back to the lot. It's almost show time."

Outside the whale tent they ran into Pop Sorber who was coming over from the siding where the carnival

train had been shunted. When he saw his two wandering artistes, Pop gave them a suspicious stare and

"So he does," acknowledged Pop, his face turning solemn. "Best exhibit I ever had, that whale. I don't like to

see him run a bad score, even though it ain't his fault. Nice of you to remember WallaWalla."

Margo could have sworn that Pop was almost tearful, especially when he rubbed his eyes. Pop covered that

action by bringing out a telegram, which he read and then put in his pocket. Steve asked blandly if the Kid

"The wire's about a load of spots and stripes," explained Pop. "A couple of zoomen are bringing them in to

Pop finished with a gesture toward a topless touring car that was standing beside the track.

"Hop in that jalop," he invited. "I'll haul you over to the lot. The crimps have been getting me" he slapped

his hip and gave a rheumatic twinge "so I had to hire this breezer for getting to and from. Any time you

The lights of the carnival blinked a greeting along with the jangle of the carousel, but neither Steve nor

Margo felt merry when Pop pulled up behind the TenInOne. Somehow, this night seemed very grim, as

though the baleful influence of The Harlequin had begun to set another scene of crime.

Wherever that scene might be, Steve and Margo were hoping that The Shadow would arrive there first!

POP SORBER turned from the pit where Alhambra had finished taunting the rattlers, and raised the curtain

upon Nicco, the cigarette fiend. Reclining on an army cot was a tall, languid figure that represented the last

stage of human wreckage. Any roughneck could play the fiend, because it was largely a matter of makeup,

His hair was disheveled over his listless, but contorted face which was well plastered with yellow grease

paint. The same jaundiced dye covered his bare arms and was thickest on the hand that held a cigarette above

Funny how this act still fetched them. It belonged back in the Nineties, when cigarettes were an obnoxious

novelty, linked with fantastic tales of what happened to unfortunates who smoked a pack a day. They turned

yellow and stayed so, living on a diet of nicotine that sustained them instead of food, for their systems were

Old Pop was telling the same old tale, but making it a dozen packs instead of one. It was a great build, but it

needed a payoff, so Pop had one for the benefit of the few smart spectators. As a conclusion he hitched a

suction cup to the wrist of the languid fiend, and ran a connecting hose into a glass jar, which he promptly

covered with a lid. The wise boys stared as smoke began to fill the jar, presumably arriving from the fiend's

Raising the lid, Pop let the smoke teem from the jar. Dropping the curtain, he nudged the army cot and awoke

"Okay, roughie," said Pop. "Get out and shill for the joints until the next show. Don't forget to load the jar for

the smoke stunt. A couple of drops of spirits of salts in the lid and a dose of ammonia in the jar. Not too much

Emerging from between the curtains, Pop stepped over to the next platform and solemnly drew the drapes

"There she is, folks," spieled Pop. "Poor Spidora, one of Nature's most unfortunate creations. She lives, she

breathes, she talks like you and me, but her life is spent in weaving webs like the fine specimen she has just

completed. The head of a girl with the body of a spider. Unbelievable but true, because seeing is believing.

"Ask any questions and she will answer them, but don't throw peanuts or candy because she don't like 'em.

Her diet consists solely of insects, like that of any spider and she spins her web to trap them. Spidora,

The spectators were looking at a monstrous spider that had the charming head of Margo Lane. The thing was

perched in the center of a web that looked like strands of rough tarred rope arranged in crude geometric

pattern. On her part, Margo was summing the spectators and finding, to her amazement that they, like

previous audiences, were swallowing all that Pop said. A few feeble questions came from the throng and after

With that, Margo pulled her head down through the spider web behind the slanted metal mirror on which she

had been lying at an upward angle. The web itself slanted from the lower front of the platform to the upper

Looking right through the web, people saw the mirror, but its reflection of the floor was mistaken for the

upright wall at the back of the platform, because both were covered with the same sort of cloth. The reason

why Pop had argued against throwing peanuts and candy was because such goodies were apt to go between

the strands of the web and bounce from the metal mirror, which was chromium plated and too expensive to

The old Spidora had contained a glass mirror which someone had cracked with a stone, so Pop was taking no

chances with this one. Of course metal could stand almost anything, but bouncing missiles would also give

While Pop was introducing Benzone, who in turn began chucking knives at Juanita, Margo hurried behind the

intervening platforms and reached the back of the mermaid pit. There she met Steve, who was something

strictly unrecognizable in his geek costume. Steve was gotten up in a black jersey with a cave man costume

covering it, and fashioned from snake skins. He was working in blackface with a shock of bushy hair which

had the head of a knife extending from one side, the point from the other. The two were connected by a

metalloop, the sort used with earphones, which ran under the wig, and the general idea was that this geek

was so brainless that his captors had chucked a knife right through his skull without reducing his mentality.

Steve's arms were entwined in a couple of live bull snakes borrowed from Alhambra. They were playful

fellows, these constrictors, and they added much to the act. But Steve was thinking in terms much more

"As soon as Benzone finishes," reminded Steve, "Panchini will be on. I'll keep watching right through his act

and yours, but when Zeno starts bussing the electric gaffs, I'll have to get set in my snake pit. Get it?"

"It's up to you to keep check then," added Steve. "Whatever happens, let me know. I'll be free as soon as Pop

With another nod, Margo slipped through the curtain that backed the mermaid pit. There was another curtain

in front and through it, Margo could hear Pop introducing Panchini, the Living Art Gallery. Benzone must

have been in fine fettle and something of a hurry with the knives. It usually took him longer to surround

In the solitude of the pit, Margo changed to the mermaid costume, which was an achievement in itself. The

costume consisted of three items: a wig, a sack and a prayer. The wig was simple, but the sack was hanging

in the corner of the pit where it had to be managed neatly, or not at all, which was why the prayer was

Kicking off her slippers, Margo perched on the corner of the pit, worked her arms from the sleeves of her

dressing gown and aimed her feet straight for the fancy sack, which was all covered with silvery fishscales

and hung from two straps that kept it wide open. Thus poised, she slid right into the mermaid costume, filling

it as she landed on a mat of artificial seaweed in the corner of the pit. Slipping her arms through the straps,

Margo picked up the wig from a papiermache rock and covered her head with the blonde contrivance.

With her feet jammed tight in the tail of the scaly costume, Margo had to flounder on hands and elbows to the

center of the pit, where she arranged her false tresses to cover the top hem of the mermaid's swim suit. When

Pop opened the curtain, no one recognized that this girl who was halffish was the same who had been

Marina gave them a bland, blonde stare, quite different from the sadeyed gaze of darkhaired Spidora.

Swallowing Pop's mermaid spiel, the chumps went along to Zeno's platform, to watch the electrical wizard

ignite burners with sparks from his fingers and light a blue bulb with a current running through his body.

Zeno used a lot of secondhand equipment that buzzed with high voltage but didn't carry enough amperage to

Meanwhile, her Marina act finished, Margo was trying to work out of the mermaid costume when she heard a

snorty backfire from behind the tent. Recognizing it as Pop's breezer, Margo thrust her head through the

backdrop of the pit, just in time to see Steve race from his geek pit in his wildman getup. A dive under the

With that glance, Steve saw that the driver was wearing the mottled costume of The Harlequin!

What Steve wanted was another car, but before he could even look for one, a hand was gripping him. Hearing

a voice that spoke in whispered command, Steve recognized this strange personage whose arrival was more

Piloted by his cloaked friend, Steve found himself racing across the lot to a lowbuilt roadster beside a road.

Next they were in the car and The Shadow, starting a motor that amazed Steve by its silence, was picking up

A gloved hand flung Steve a lightweight overcoat to cover his geek costume. Ripping off the woolly wig

and the fake knife that went with it, Steve mopped his face with a big handkerchief that he found in the coat

He was going where he could show himself as Steve Kilroy, on a mission that could produce his vindication.

Back in the TenInOne, Pop Sorber was raising the curtain on an empty geek pit. Staring, Pop wondered

what had become of Ajax until he recalled that all geeks were unreliable. As the crowd pressed toward the

rail, Pop waved them on the platform and opened the curtains to introduce the Inseparable Twins.

Seated in a curtained booth at a slight angle toward their audience, these identical characters delivered a

"Good evening, ladies and gentle men. We are Damon and Pythias, the Inseparable Twins, who look alike,

The Twins were going through their act, Damon bringing out a cigarette with his right hand and lighting it

with his left, while Pythias copied the action in reverse. They had rehearsed this with a routine of similar

stunts that Margo liked to watch. But at present, the girl who played the separate parts of Spidora and Marina

From the side of her pit, Margo was peering through a curtain, watching the electrical wizard who called

himself Zeno. Ordinarily Zeno had an indifferent air, right to his droopy mustache, but at present he was very

Zeno at least was noting the absence of Ajax the wildman, otherwise Steve Kilroy. In chasing off to solve

the riddle of The Harlequin, Steve had tossed what might become a boomerang. If crime occurred in

Titustown tonight, it would be unfortunate if its trail led back to the Sorber Greater Shows.

For one man's absence had been noted at a crucial time and might be used against them. That man was Steve

THIS was about the shortest trail that The Shadow had ever followed. Instead of leading into Titustown or

totally away, it stayed right among the outskirts where the carnival was located.

A few turns left and right, a brief spurt up a wooded hill; then, before The Shadow had given the other car the

leeway that he would have allowed a hooker fish, the trail was practically over.

Whipping from the road, The Harlequin piloted his borrowed car in between a pair of pillars and along a

curving drive which reminded Steve Kilroy of two previous places combined. The estate was much like

Ahead loomed the lighted bulk of a sizable mansion, which at least was close to civilization and reasonably

well inhabited. From the glowing windows it was apparent that a party was in progress, probably attended by

Along the curve of the driveway were several parked cars, all pretentious in appearance. The Harlequin's

borrowed wreck seemed embarrassed by such snooty company, for it took a sudden dart through a break in

the line to reach what appeared to be a service driveway leading around to the rear of the mansion.

Instead of following, The Shadow swung his fastidious roadster right up to the portico of the big residence

and nudged Steve out ahead of him. Then, with long strides, this master of all situations was striding up the

As The Shadow rang the bell, the front door opened and disclosed a servant. But The Shadow was no longer

in sight; he had disposed of his hat and cloak while Steve was still struggling into the light coat that his friend

had handed him. Instead of The Shadow, Steve saw a tall, leisurely gentleman in evening clothes, whose face,

As he extended a calling card with one hand, the calmfaced gentleman motioned Steve back with the other,

"Does Mr. Mogridge expect you?" the servant inquired. "He is entertaining guests this evening "

The servant caught himself, biting his tongue in apology. Having gained a good view of the caller, he realized

that Mr. Mogridge could hardly have expected a more immaculate guest. With a hasty glance at the card, the

Crossing a hallway, the servant approached a curving marble stairway, which led down to the side of the

house where the hill sloped away. With a quick sweep of Cranston's hand, Steve found himself drawn

through the open front door; then, feeling much like an interloper, he was propelled across the hallway

Passing a curtained doorway, Steve could hear the chatter of voices in what must have been a large reception

room beyond, but before he could dwell further on that subject, he was on the marble stairway. Hearing a

rustling sound behind him, Steve looked across his shoulder and saw that his companion had again become

The servant was returning when they reached the bottom of the stairway. With one stride, The Shadow was

ahead of Steve, sweeping him back around the bend of the ornate marble banister. Not only did The Shadow

follow; he went rigid before the servant saw him. Hurrying past the cloaked figure, the servant never even

It was as if The Shadow had gone completely invisible through his sheer skill at rendering himself immobile

Then they were on their way again, The Shadow and Steve Kilroy, straight to a door from which the servant

had come. Seemingly, the door opened at The Shadow's gesture, though Steve realized that his amazing

In a lavishly furnished room stood three men, looking at a group of four statues, which Steve recognized as

the second quartet of missing hours. The three men were wearing evening clothes and the portly one in the

middle was evidently Mogridge, for he was showing the statues to the others. As Mogridge paused to light a

fat cigar, one of his friends addressed him as "George" and inquired if the statues were for sale.

"Those bronzes?" lied Mogridge. "For sale? I should say not! Careful, don't tip them. They are very heavy

and might hurt you if they fell. They represent the Four Seasons and there are no others that can compare

For complete fabrication of facts, George Mogridge was a genius. Just what his game was, Steve couldn't

understand, but since The Shadow was listening, it seemed good policy to do the same.

"I'm sending them to an art museum," continued Mogridge, "as a gift from the George Mogridge Foundation.

I can't name the museum yet, because you know how those people are. They have to trace into the history and

"They'll find these to be all that's represented. Early Italian renaissance, that's what they are. A big Italian

nobleman smuggled them out ten years ago, when he was on the wrong side of things in Italy. Sold them to

Mogridge was making himself a bigger liar than the banners that advertised Pop Sorber's sideshow, but

Steve was catching the purpose of it all. Mogridge wasn't letting anybody know that these statues were

alumite, the wonder alloy that had crept into the news with Steve's name linked to it. So far the public knew

little about alumite, except that a quantity of the stuff had disappeared, presumably from Treft's mansion at

Nor did Mogridge want the public to learn more; at least not until he could conclude a transaction with

Associated Metallurgy, all to be done very quietly. As for mentioning an obscure inventor named Pettigrew,

who might be entitled to a piece of the profits, that was the last thing Mogridge wanted; hence his yarn about

"Money isn't everything," continued Mogridge, as though it were something to brag about. "To me it means

no more than that" he gave a snap of his stubby fingers "and anyway, I'm making out right well with my

"So why should I try to make profit on these statues? I'll let the museum have them and if they don't like

using my name, I'll make the gift anonymous. Anyway, I'm shipping them out tonight, so I thought you'd like

to see them before they went away. Now if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I'll have to see about the crates

Though he didn't know it, Mogridge was explaining everything for the benefit of two unseen listeners.

The Shadow and Steve Kilroy. They knew he was adding the possibility that the gifts might be anonymous.

Those statues weren't going to show up anywhere in their present form. Mogridge intended to have them

melted down and recast into nice bright bars resembling aluminum, which would be a fraction of that metal's

As for getting the statues out of here, Mogridge had an added purpose. He wasn't taking chances with

murderers that might be at large. He was probably thinking in terms of one specific man: Steve Kilroy. With

the statues shipped to some unknown destination, nobody like Steve could afford to be too quick with a gun

The Shadow pressed Steve back to a darkened corner as Mogridge bowed his friends out through the door.

Quite naturally Mogridge wanted to be alone so that he could personally crate the lightweight statues without

revealing that they were something else than bronze. So Mogridge waited at the door until his friends were up

the stairs; then, with a dry chortle, the pudgy man stepped back into his treasure room.

It was then that The Shadow pressed Steve forward at the same time forcing his hand into his coat pocket.

Steve had forgotten the gun that Margo gave him, for there wasn't anywhere to hide it on the geek costume.

But The Shadow had provided for that oversight by planting another automatic in the pocket of the coat that

"Be yourself," undertoned The Shadow. "The self that Mogridge thinks you are, because that will make him

talk. Remember, there's another man whose name we must learn. After Mogridge talks, you can tell him

There was a significance in The Shadow's pronunciation of that name, a point that Steve instantly caught.

Steve Kilroy wouldn't have to bother about a piebald masquerader, even though that costumed murderer was

The Harlequin was to be The Shadow's problem; or in a sense the proposition would be the other way about!

GEORGE MOGRIDGE turned around like an animated puppet, with horror growing on the pudgy face that

showed between his rising, spreading hands. Footfalls had made him turn and in turning he had seen the

pointed gun that accompanied them. Right behind the .38 was a face that Mogridge recognized despite the

Mogridge had seen a photograph of this man, Steve Kilroy. A suspected murderer in the eyes of the law.

Steve was certainly a real one in the mind of George Mogridge. The pudgy man clearly showed it.

It wasn't hard to play this part, much though Steve detested it, Probably the difference was Mogridge, for it

pleased Steve to watch the smug man lose his gloss and become a cross between a frightened rabbit and the

snarling rat he really was. There had been something of the gentleman in Treft, while Talboy at worst, had

proved himself a miserly old dotard, but Mogridge was the sort who wanted all for one and none for anybody

"I've come for the alumite," he told Mogridge in a cold tone. "Not for myself but for the company I represent.

"Don't ask questions." Steve made his voice hard. "What happened to Treft was his business and mine. The

same applied to Talboy. I couldn't find time to make a deal with him. Just let's say I wasn't prepared for what

Steve rather liked his choice of words. He was telling the strict truth, not for a moment admitting himself a

murderer, but his language was couched neatly enough to imply that he was actually a killer. Such was

"I I understand," stammered the portly man. "If you want if you will say what you want I'll, well I'll

"My four and those you took from Talboy. I don't own the rest. You'll have to get them for yourself."

Steve let his gun relax. Mogridge's arms came downward, hesitating. This was better than The Harlequin's

way of playing it; that of shooting first and talking afterward. But The Harlequin was a murderer, whereas

Steve wasn't. Rather a jolt, that thought, and it gave Steve a nervous chill. He didn't like this business for it

was the sort that could gain a grip on one. Somehow mere sight of Mogridge gave Steve's trigger finger the

itch and made him realize how murder, the worst of crimes, could be committed under a momentary impulse.

"Those other statues sound easy," sneered Steve, "but this business is getting tougher the farther it goes. If I'd

been a little later, you'd have shipped your alumite before I got here. Maybe the next guy has shipped his

"He's the only other man," returned Mogridge. "You took Treft's lists, so you ought to know."

"I do know," bluffed Steve, "but suppose the guy is laying for me? What good are the statues I've already got

Though he didn't know it, Steve had weakened his whole game. Being new to all this, it was only to be

expected. The Shadow saw the change as he watched from the darkness of his doorway, but it rather pleased

him. It showed that Steve was not responsive to the criminal urge that frequently gripped men who found

their first chance to act big with a gun. Steve was therefore the sort who could enlist in future campaigns and

so far as this one was concerned, Steve was still getting to the goal that The Shadow wanted.

All The Shadow needed was the name of the fourth man who owned a piece of alumite. Once he knew that

name he could close this case regardless of The Harlequin's further plans, if any. But there was a cagey look

in Mogridge's beady eyes that signified that Steve's persuasion might not prove enough.

It signified more, which even The Shadow did not recognize at the distance where he was.

Behind Mogridge was a double door, against which he was backed. It had a heavy wroughtiron handle,

close by one of Mogridge's lowering elbows. From beyond that door, the pudgy man heard footsteps

descending a stone stairway and he took them for those of the expressmen, arriving early. The door was

latched from Mogridge's side, but he had only to wait until a hand began to try it.

That happened almost instantly. Quickly, Mogridge jabbed his elbow downward to release the handle; with

the action he was precipitated away from Steve by the swing of the door itself. In fact, Mogridge didn't have

The brawny shoulders of two husky men had provided the impetus, but they weren't the first to come through,

any more than they were the expressmen that Mogridge expected. What came through was The Harlequin,

complete in motley regalia, to the shining revolver which did his talking for him.

As usual The Harlequin was ready to deliver instant murder and his target for tonight was Mogridge. There

were elements, however, that disturbed his system: the first was the fact that Mogridge was halfblocked by

the door that had flung him; the second, that Steve was present with a challenging gun.

All the urge that Steve had restrained with Mogridge, returned the moment he saw The Harlequin. Neither

Treft nor Talboy had received an ounce of mercy from this mottled killer and Steve remembered it. Only

recently Steve had been making friends with snakes and finding them pleasant company by the simple

expedient of contrasting them with The Harlequin. Confronted by the human snake in motley, Steve didn't

Before The Harlequin could swing his revolver, Steve had him covered with the automatic and was tugging

the trigger with a quick repeat that should have withered the merciless murderer.

Not a single spurt came from Steve's gun. Its cartridge slide was empty. The Shadow had given Steve a dead

gun on the chance that he might have lost his head if Mogridge tried to jump it. But the weapon that had

cowed Mogridge was useless with The Harlequin, especially now that Steve had betrayed its status.

Steve heard the first sound that had come from The Harlequin's patchworkcoated lips. It was a wordless

sneer, much like a reptile's hiss, had a snake been able to express triumph. Steve first, then Mogridge; such

was the new order of The Harlequin's immediate plan. Rooted, Steve saw the revolver barrel glint as the

He spoke with an automatic while The Harlequin's gun was still on the swing toward Steve. Beating the

Harlequin to the shot was one achievement, but even reaching him was a greater task, considering his

position. The luck of the fanciful killer seemed a permanent possession and tonight it was still running true to

In starting first toward Mogridge, then swinging to attack Steve, the man of many colors had found the one

and only blind spot in The Shadow's range of aim. Only the fringes of his costume were visible past Steve's

Steve could feel the breeze from the slugs that almost skimmed his cheek. The Harlequin, too, must have

sensed their graze, for he dropped back to a huddle that became an immediate twirl. His gun swung with him,

unfired, thanks to The Shadow's wellplaced intervention. In a thrice The Harlequin had known that he

couldn't afford to shoot down Steve and leave himself an open target to The Shadow's fire.

Like the flickering colors in a kaleidoscope, The Harlequin was away, still on the twirl. He jabbed a quick

shot for The Shadow and another for Steve, during moments of that spin, but both were bad. For The Shadow

was guessing, a full jump ahead, and more. He wasn't at the spot where The Harlequin aimed first; instead,

The Shadow was lunging in Steve's direction. Reaching Steve ahead of the second shot, the cloaked fighter

flung him beyond the door beside Mogridge and completed a quick dive of his own, to shoot back at the

With one sweeping arm, The Harlequin caught the first of Mogridge's bronzetinted statues and lifted it with

a highpitched fling toward the doorway where The Shadow wheeled. The trick had worked before and The

Harlequin had improved it, this business of slinging lifesized missiles through the air.

On to another statue, The Harlequin was making the rounds of all four while The Shadow, coming under

them, kept warding away the bulky bludgeons in an effort to aim at the man who hurled them. Striking past

The Shadow, the statues slid through the wide doorway, where The Harlequin's two helpers gathered them in

The Harlequin's own objective was the doorway leading to the marble staircase, but he wasn't the first to get

there. Mogridge was ahead of him, coming from an angle that was unobstructed by the flying statuary. Steve

was close behind, expecting Mogridge to grab The Harlequin, but such thoughts were far from the pudgy

man's mind. Keeping right through, Mogridge reached the stairway and took its polished steps a pair at a

Close after him, The Harlequin tried to clip Mogridge on the marble stairs. From the doorway, The Shadow

could have balked it with a gunshot if Steve hadn't flung in ahead of him. Steve could slug with his own

gun, even though it wouldn't shoot, so he began by swinging for a broad patch of yellow above The

Warding the blow, the mottled man clouted back. Then he and Steve were halftangled in a running fight as

they dashed up those same stairs where Mogridge was puffing ahead. Behind them came The Shadow,

looking for an opening in the variegated whirl that included Steve with The Harlequin, but the curve of the

stairs and the constant change of level made it too risky to shoot for the diamondshaped blue patch that

The Shadow was banking on future opportunity. Upstairs, the broad hall would provide an open battleground,

with the front door serving as a bottleneck beyond it. There The Shadow could settle this fray in his most

There was just one factor that could halt The Shadow's settlement of this important score; namely, luck.

UPSTAIRS the house was in commotion when Mogridge came racing across the big hallway. Sight of the

portly man fleeing from what was logically his own stronghold, was rather amazing to the three friends who

They had heard muffled gunfire from below, but hadn't recognized it for what it was. Now they knew and so

did a dozen other guests, who were coming from the reception room. The evidence in the case was twofold; it

consisted of Steve Kilroy and The Harlequin, who were breaking apart at the top of the stairs.

The Harlequin was clear of Steve and anxious for a few more shots at Mogridge, whose death was needed as

an essential feature of The Harlequin's entire scheme. As for Steve, his urge to prevent the deed made him

look as savage as The Harlequin, perhaps more so, for enough of his wild man's costume showed to give him

Mogridge's friends didn't waste time arguing cases. They simply pitched en masse upon the two arrivals from

below and boxed them in a rear corner of the hallway while Mogridge was making good his escape through

the front door. The Shadow halted short of the milling throng to watch what happened to The Harlequin.

This sortie should have suppressed the mottled murderer, for he was practically out of sight beneath the hands

that clutched him. He still had his gun, but to use it would be folly, for if The Harlequin had crippled one or

two of these attackers, the enraged remainder would have torn him limb from limb. As it was, they intended

to rip away his patchwork costume, beginning with the tight hood that hid his face. All seemed through for

The Harlequin, when suddenly the group about him was flung apart by the opening slash of a door in the

It was much the way that Mogridge had been flung in the treasure room, only this time the men who hurled

the door so hurriedly didn't happen to be The Harlequin's helpers. They were a pair of Mogridge's own

servants, dashing up to report that the wrong trucks were out back, manned by huskies who were stealing the

One look at the intruders had terrified the servants. Men who could heave heavy statues with one hand were

They were giving help, and plenty, to The Harlequin. Freed by the sudden slash of the door, he broke away

from hands that were too late to clutch him, dived between the servants who were shouting the bad news, and

was on his way to join the truckmen whose strength had been so highly exaggerated.

Again the pack was after The Harlequin, and Steve was carried with the rush. On the basis that the longer

way might prove the speedier, The Shadow went out through the front door and circled the house. The trucks

were off at an angle from the building, which gave The Shadow a quick, though fairly distant view of things.

On one truck were two big cages, completely filling the vehicle. The next truck had only a single cage, with

an open space in front of it, and it was in the space that the truckers, four altogether, had just placed the

statues. Further away was Mogridge, over near the open car that had brought The Harlequin here. When

Mogridge saw The Harlequin come dashing from the house, with a pack of men in pursuit, he yelled to his

Hearing Mogridge's shout, The Harlequin looked and saw him. On the fly, the piebald fugitive fired his last

few shots, but they were wild. They were enough for Mogridge, though, for he dived into Pop's breezer and

started its motor, hoping to get away from The Harlequin, who without stopping, made a great leap to the top

Before any of Mogridge's friends could overtake him, The Harlequin unleashed his biggest surprise to date.

Up came the doors of the cages and out came a surge of what Pop had termed "spots and stripes." The spots

were leopards, the stripes tigers, and they roared a hungry welcome that scattered Mogridge's friends. The big

cats were a wild lot that meant business which The Shadow fortunately managed to render unfinished.

The jungle tribe was met by what they must have mistaken for a black panther, springing up from the ground

among them. Before any of the snarling beasts discovered anything human about the cloaked whirl that had

come from nowhere, The Shadow revealed what he was. He did it with uptilted guns, spurting shots right past

This did for the tigers and leopards what they had done for Mogridge's friends. With howls the big beasts

scattered so fast that they ran right past some of the men who were trying to get away from them. Having

routed The Harlequin's pets, The Shadow turned to look for the most vicious killer of the lot, The Harlequin

He had reached the second truck and was starting away in it, without waiting for his followers. Waiting for

them would have been hardly worth while, considering that they had scattered along with Mogridge's friends.

As for Mogridge, he was off in the breezer, wheeling the old car out the driveway as fast as the thing could

go. Mogridge knew that The Harlequin would be after him; in fact, the pursuit was already beginning despite

The shots that The Shadow fired after the departing truck were deflected either by the top bar of the cage or

the pile of statues beyond it. Away with his booty, The Harlequin was still hoping to add Mogridge to the list

Either The Harlequin didn't know or just forgot that The Shadow had arrived here in a very speedy car, which

was available out front. Rounding a corner of the mansion, The Shadow beckoned Steve from a flower bed

where he had dived to escape the rain of jungle cats. Hopping into the car, they sped after the truck before it

In less than a mile The Harlequin saw he didn't have a chance to catch Mogridge before the roadster would

overtake him. In fact, the roadster was almost upon the truck when The Harlequin played another cute trick.

Veering the big truck through an opening in an old brick wall, The Harlequin jounced it over a high curb that

bounced the cage clear of the vehicle. Landing caticornered in the space, the cage tipped open and released a

The Shadow gave the gunshot treatment that had scattered cats before, so there wasn't any trouble from the

jaguars. But the cage was a different matter, for it properly blocked traffic. Off beyond, the truck was

ploughing through a coalyard, with the statues rattling in back. That was the last that The Shadow and Steve

Backing away, The Shadow took a trip around the coalyard, only to find that it was built along the railroad

track, offering no convenient thoroughfare. Finding a road that crossed the tracks, The Shadow made a long

but rapid detour beyond the carnival train, which was dark like the whale tent, the latter having closed for

lack of business. Another road looped The Shadow across the tracks back toward the carnival lot and it was

It had come through the back of the coalyard and skirted along the tracks on the near side, to the rough road

over which Pop Sorber had brought Steve and Margo that afternoon. Not only was The Harlequin getting

back to the carnival where he unquestionably belonged; he hadn't been away from it long enough to be really

Much had happened up at Mogridge's mansion, but the action had been very fast. The whole thing couldn't

have taken more than half an hour, including the trip to and from there. It had started just after Margo had

finished the mermaid act, which normally left about twenty minutes more of show. Zeno had done his

number and though Steve wasn't around to play the geek, Pop Sorber had probably filled in longer with the

Allowing five minutes for the tent to clear, Pop should right now be appearing on the bally stand to plug the

next performance. That was when most of the available acts were supposed to join him. There were some of

course that couldn't, but Steve was the sort that could. Knowing it, he started to tell The Shadow, who spoke a

Just as Pop was bawling "Bally!" Steve came hopping from between two concession tents, behind which The

Shadow had dropped him. Steve was Ajax again, with his knifebearing wig, and black face restored thanks

Some performers were coming out to the ballyhoo stand. One was Zeno and the drab electrical wizard spotted

Steve's return. So did Alhambra, who looked worried over the peculiar absence of Ajax the geek. Juanita

wasn't at all concerned about Steve; she was looking elsewhere for somebody else.

Glancing into the big tent, Steve saw Margo peering from beside the Spidora platform. When she turned, she

gave a gesture that Steve caught, signifying that someone had just ducked into the tent, but where he had

gone, Margo didn't know. At best she had merely glimpsed The Harlequin upon his return.

Another man was giving Steve a steady eye. This was Drago, coming from the curtain of the first platform.

Drago was bringing his swords to flash them from the bally stand, but those sharp eyes of his were already

So Steve went into a wild man pantomime as he climbed the bally platform, hoping his recent absence

wouldn't be mentioned, even though it had been noticed. The riddle of The Harlequin was something that

Not time alone, but time and The Shadow, whose presence with the Sorber Greater Shows was the real factor

THAT one night stand in Titustown was a subject of much controversy that continued after the carnival

entrained the next day. The controversy involved the local authorities and delayed the departure by several

The facts were very simple to a point. Somebody had stolen four bronze statues from the home of George

Mogridge and released a horde of wild beasts that were still being rounded up. Four menagerie men who had

What had happened to the statues afterward was the mystery. They could have been dumped in a coal yard

through which the truck had gone, although it would seem that other accomplices would be needed there to

For nobody knew that the bulky statues weighed hardly a dozen pounds apiece; that was, nobody who cared

The zoomen answered the fewest number of questions possible, on the advice of a local lawyer. They

admitted that they had been bringing animals to the Sorber Shows, but said they had received a phone call at

the town where they stopped for supper, telling them to come to Mogridge's house instead. There a man in a

garb of many colors had met them, handing out large wads of currency for a special hauling job he'd wanted

done. They'd removed the statues partly at his order, partly because of his threatening gun.

Who The Harlequin was, where he had gone and why, what he had done with the statues, were questions that

After thoroughly searching the coalyard to the limits of its scanty coalpiles, the local police gave the

carnival a thorough goingover, considering the limited number of places in which such large objects as the

statues could have been concealed. They did this while the show was "tearing down" and before it was

loaded, they searched the "possum bellies" or storage compartments under the railway cars.

Though the statues remained untraced, the mystery would have doubled if the police had known that four

similar statues had been stolen earlier along the carnival route. It seemed impossible enough as it was.

Fortunately the police didn't have time to quiz even a fraction of the personnel, so nobody recognized Steve

Kilroy. It was lucky for him that the light weight of the statues wasn't mentioned, because it kept all minds

away from alumite, a word which in itself would have caused a look for Steve's face among the carnival folk.

The one man who did get grilled was Pop Sorber and he bellowed his way right through it. Pop admitted it

might have been his car that arrived at Mogridge's, but he'd never seen that chunk of semiwreckage before

he came to Titustown. It would be just like some "clem" as Pop liked to call a local product, to run off with

Pop personally had a perfect alibi during the period of The Harlequin's activity and he was sure no member of

the outfit would have taken a chance on borrowing the owner's car. Pop was strict on such points as every

carnival owner should be, but he didn't lessen his importance by letting out the fact that the Sorber Greater

And this carried weight because George Mogridge hadn't been seen after making off in Pop's hired car. That

in itself confused the issue. First, Mogridge was the man who should have pressed the charges against the

menagerie truckers; again, he could actually be accused of stealing Pop's car. So the police let Pop's dignity

In the cook car, Steve was holding an undertoned conversation with Margo while the other performers busied

themselves by gesturing through the windows at the local chumps who were watching the gilly train depart.

What Steve wanted were a few brief details he hadn't been able to ask last night.

"How good a look did you get at The Harlequin?" queried Steve. "I mean when he got back last night?"

"None at all," returned Margo, ruefully. "It was dark where he came in; all I saw was the bulge the tent gave."

Steve stroked his chin and looked across the car. There he picked out the logical candidates.

"I'll give Drago first benefit," decided Steve. "He was showing up with his swords right after you gave me the

"I'd pick Benzone," put in Margo. "Only first I'd like to talk to Juanita and find out how long she was looking

"And that gives me an idea, Steve. Have you any theory as to why The Harlequin wears that costume?"

"Yes, and a good one. It made swell camouflage at Treft's. If I hadn't mixed him with a lot of azaleas, The

"I was only thinking it was the right costume for Panchini. If they'd started to tear it off him last night, those

"Not a bad theory," conceded Steve. "You'd better tell it to The Shadow when you see him again."

By then Pop Sorber was stamping into the car, his face still purple from his bluster with the police. Puffing in

a fashion that would have done justice to WallaWalla during the whale's lifetime, Pop turned suddenly to

"Out getting my act together," returned Steve coolly, "not doubling as The Harlequin or whatever they call

"I should say Alhambra's act. There was a hole in the back of the geek pit and the bulls did a sneak through it.

"If you rounded up those bullsnakes in half an hour, you're a better guy than I am. Once those worms scram,

If Steve had managed one thing during his carnival career, it had been to work into the ample graces of the

snake queen. She'd practically given him an instruction sheet when she lent him the bullsnakes and

"They're suckers for a bowl of milk, bulls are," said Alhambra. "Guess that's how you coaxed 'em back,

Steve nodded quite professionally and the subject would have ended there if Juanita hadn't suddenly broken

"Keep at it, Pop. Keep right on asking people where they were between those shows. Ask Benzone, for

Benzone took a clutch on a table knife as though he would have thrown it if the point had been sharp.

"I'll tell you." Juanita looked around the group and suddenly stopped on Margo, who met her with a puzzled

stare, at which Juanita sneered: "Alright Spidora, or Marina, both or whichever you are maybe you'd like to

Before she realized it, Margo nodded. Juanita came to her feet swinging the handiest thing available, which

Alhambra swung a big hand that smacked down Juanita and Benzone took the pitcher away from her.

Screaming, Juanita put up such a fight that Benzone had to drag her out of the car, which struck Steve as an

excellent way for the knife thrower to avoid the very questioning that Juanita had suggested. Alhambra closed

"Don't let it worry you, dearie. They always feel that way about Benzone. He gets fed with chucking the shivs

at one dame and starts looking for another. Juanita would be jealous of me if I was eighty pounds lighter."

"I didn't even talk to Benzone last night," declared Margo. "Why I've hardly even seen him."

"You've hardly seen anybody," put in Damon, unless it was Pythias. "You haven't had time."

"How could she have time?" asked the other Twin. "She's always busy switching from Spidora to Marina and

"Too bad she isn't a pair of Inseparables. A spider girl with mermaid twin would be something." There were

two silent listeners to all this banter and Steve gave note to them both. One was Panchini, the Living Picture

Gallery, whose penchant for bright colors could well have induced him to adopt another costume than his

habitual tattoo marks. The other was Zeno, the Electrical Wizard, who rated as an absolute opposite, since he

Having given Zeno that clean bill, Steve mentally admitted that two others shared the same whitewash. They

were Damon and Pythias, for Margo had seen them on their platform both at Hilldale and Titustown, at

That question pounded through Steve's brain with the mechanical humdrum of the wheels until it seemed to

rack his thoughts apart. Then, as relief, the clattering question changed to another equally important yet quite

It involved a much needed personage whose presence on the train Steve did not doubt, but still could not

IN three days the Sorber Greater Shows had worked well North to a prosperous community called Marlboro.

Long hops these, all "dukie runs" in sawdust parlance, which meant there was too much daytime travel.

When the performers groused about it, Pop Sorber sympathized, blaming it all on Kid Klaudey. Since the

Among other things, the Kid hadn't shipped the Egyptian mummy that was to replace Nicco, the Cigarette

Fiend. So Pop had been forced to promote Nicco to the status of an actual freak and let him travel in the

concession car with the rest. It left the show one roughneck short, when all stake drivers and tent pitchers

were really needed on their job, but Pop was solaced by the fact that Nicco constantly tossed his meager

Moreover, Marlboro was to mark the end of these long, troublesome jumps, according to the latest telegrams

exchanged between Pop and the Kid. This was revealed by Pop himself when he assembled the freaks in the

"This ought to be a red one," announced Pop, "but it won't be, because we were late getting in. No chance to

plaster the town with the proper billing, or anything. If we do any biz it will be because the clems have been

passing around the news by word of mouth, telling each other that a carnival is in town.

"If it wasn't that we've booked some Fairs, I'd be for making a homerun to winter quarters. Only Kid

Klaudey has promised to do better; says he'll be in tonight with the rest of the route all fixed. And anyway,

By "over there" Pop meant across the railroad tracks, which the freaks could see through the open front of the

tent. Brilliant lights revealed a large industrial plant that was working overtime.

"The Marlboro Dye Works," explained Pop. "The shift changes in another hour and it's payday. You can bet

those chumps will be over here with all they've got, begging us to take it, which we will. We'll run this as a

Something else was visible from the TenInOne. Shrouding a choice railroad siding, right by the crossing

from the dye works, was the big tent that housed WallaWalla. If ever the whale was in a position to do

"I'm going over and talk for WallaWalla," announced Pop. "He needs a good outside man. Besides, I want

to get those hypers off the front. Those cake cutters have been working it too strong and if they start short

"We can't afford having a 'Hey Rube' before the chumps are really on the lot, so I'll handle WallaWalla

personally. We'll let the joints have a play with the p.c. wheels and flashers, because the guys that run them

Steve and Margo had been "with it" long enough to know what Pop meant by the "p.c. wheels" and

"flashers." He was referring first to the gambling wheels that dispensed blankets and other prizes on a strict

percentage basis which worked heavily against the suckers. The "flashers" were a more modern variation of

the same, gambling devices that flashed lights of different colors, the award depending on which light

"Stay where you belong," was Pop's departing admonition. "Otherwise the clems will be rubbering through

the front and thinking they've seen enough to save their twobits. If I start packing 'em fast with

WallaWalla, I'll hop to the white wagon and park the moola; then I'll be over here. So be ready in case I

The freaks had hardly gone behind scenes, before Steve overtook Margo in back of the Spidora platform. As

yet, Steve hadn't put on his geek makeup, nor did he intend to do so. Steve was ready to play a sudden

"This is it," assured Steve. "Pop gave it away when he said our troubles end with Marlboro. This must be the

"Somebody has been shunting this show all over the map," returned Steve. "That crack Pop just made was

Steve answered the question by thumbing toward the front curtain of the Spidora platform.

"Over to that big dye works," he assured. "It's owned by a man named Winston Glendenning, who lives right

in the place. I heard them talking about him when we hit town. He's the biggest man in Marlboro."

"That's right. I'm going over and have a talk with him, before The Harlequin gets there."

"But Steve!" Margo's tone showed real anxiety. "You're supposed to wait until we hear from The Shadow. I

"I would wait if we had time. But can't you see what's happened, Margo? Whether he meant it or not, Pop

"By giving us this hour's breather. If it wasn't for that, The Harlequin would wait until after the last show

before taking a crack at Glendenning. As it stands, The Harlequin can do the job early and finish it up fast."

Margo had to admit the logic of that one. Her forehead pursed, she was wondering how the situation could be

"As soon as I leave," said Steve, "start checking on the different acts. Find out which one is gone and we'll

Steve broke off. Something evidently was already in progress. Both he and Margo could hear a stir from the

wall of the tent, beyond the back of the Spidora platform. Together, they took a quick look through the

"There he goes," undertoned Steve grimly, "and I'm on my way, too. Don't forget the checkup."

Hardly had the canvas dropped behind Steve, before Margo experienced a sudden shiver. Nervously, she

tightened her dressing gown, charging off the shudder to the slight chill in the air. It shouldn't be fear of The

Harlequin, because he had just left the TenInOne; but as she started her tour, Margo realized that the mere

There was no use going beyond the mermaid pit. Neither of the Inseparable Twins could possibly be The

Harlequin and Zeno was a newcomer. Besides, he had been in sight, like the Twins, the last time The

Harlequin was at large. Margo could hear the buzz of electrical apparatus and therefore was further sure that

So Margo decided to work from the beginning, taking the cast in the order of their appearance. Going to the

first platform, she peered through the back and saw Drago cleaning the rifle that he used for his feature

That eliminated Drago, as the recoil trick would probably do some day, in a more emphatic fashion.

Passing Alhambra's pit, Margo came to Nicco's platform. Being tense, her wits were sharp and a new

realization struck her. Nicco was still an unknown factor, though Margo hadn't mentioned it the last time she

Nicco could have played The Harlequin while traveling as a roughneck. That night in Titustown, the cigarette

Peering through the rear curtain, Margo looked for Nicco, but didn't see him. Instead, she saw an upright box

that looked much like a coffin. Boldly, Margo climbed to the platform, opened the front of the box, and

nearly jumped out through the front curtain before she realized that the occupant of the coffin wasn't alive.

It was the fake mummy, a rubberized job aged in a clay pit that had given the real mahogany hue to its

composition features. Since his successor had arrived unexpectedly, Nicco had simply quit his job and gone

What an alibi this could be! Margo was thinking it over as she went along the line and she had passed

Benzone's platform before she realized it. Right then, she noticed that the buzzing wasn't coming from Zeno's

department. It was beyond Panchini's curtain, so Margo took a cautious look through.

Panchini was using his tattoo machine, doing a heart and initial job on the brawny arm of the local freight

agent. A couple of waiting customers were watching the operation with their sleeves rolled up. Panchini did a

lot of tattoo work in his spare time and it was at present helpful. It eliminated him as The Harlequin.

Margo's thoughts were reverting to the new factor, Nicco, when she remembered Benzone. Turning back to

his platform, she climbed the steps and opened the curtains. All she saw was the back of the knife rack, but as

From a curtain, a hand caught the neck of her dressing gown and dragged it downward. Next, the sharp point

of a very cold knife pressed squarely in the middle of Margo's bare back. With it came the equally icy voice

"He didn't show up, did he?" queried Juanita. "So you dropped around to find out why. Thought you were

Margo's spine was sending shudders all through her, which pleased Juanita immensely. This was worse than a

meeting with The Harlequin, for Margo realized that Benzone's jealous assistant wouldn't begin to listen to

any explanations. Perhaps Benzone was The Harlequin and Juanita didn't know it, but that didn't help Margo.

What did help was Juanita's own mood. Having trapped Margo so easily, she curbed her urge to knife this

fancied rival. Turning Margo about, Juanita marched her down the steps at the knife point and back to the

Spidora platform. There she shoved Margo up the steps behind the metal mirror and ordered her to thrust her

Folding Margo's arms in back of her, Juanita pulled the ends of the sleeves crosswise in straitjacket fashion.

She drove the knife through the cuff of one sleeve, pinning it to the wooden frame at the side of the narrow

exhibit. Producing another blade, Juanita nailed the opposite sleeve to the other side of the frame.

"You'll stay put," jeered Juanita. "When you've finished your act, Miss Spidora, I'll let you loose, so you can

double as Marina, as usual. Meanwhile you can keep thinking about forgetting a guy named Benzone."

With that, Juanita departed, leaving Margo to a totally different train of thought, which did, however, include

Benzone, along with another character called Nicco. One or the other must certainly be The Harlequin, the

Margo Lane could only hope that Steve Kilroy would fare better when he met The Harlequin than Margo

Steve suspected it while he circled the carnival lot, for he had glimpsed a skulky figure slinking well ahead.

He'd lost sight of the furtive shape somewhere near the whale tent, which Pop Sorber was about to open. But

while he was doing some slinking on his own, Steve spotted his man again, coming from the other side of

The lights from a signal tower disclosed The Harlequin in his mottled regalia, its hues distorted somewhat by

the colored lights, yet plain enough to be recognized. The Harlequin was starting on a circuit of the dye

Steve decided to beat him at the game. The method was simple; all Steve did was walk boldly through the

main gate. Stopping at an office window, he said that he had come to talk to Mr. Glendenning.

Maybe Steve had heard something The Harlequin hadn't; or perhaps he believed what The Harlequin didn't.

In dealing with visitors, Winston Glendenning made it a practice to keep an open door. If you asked to see

Not being in his geek outfit, Steve was presentable enough. The man in the office simply thumbed to a

stairway and Steve went right up. When he reached a door marked "President" he opened it and walked in.

The dye manufacturer was an impressive looking man, like his office. Glendenning needed a big desk

because he was big and his mind ran to large things, including the huge vault behind him. Hearing Steve

enter, Glendenning leaned back in his chair, folded his arms and gave the visitor a narrow stare from beneath

his heavy eyebrows. Then, without a flicker of his rugged, squarejawed face, Glendenning boomed:

So this was it a trap. Smart of Glendenning to be waiting for a man whose picture he had seen.

Steve's hands tightened on the edges of his coat pockets, while he wished he'd had sense enough to draw his

"It's simple enough." Steve's voice felt shaky as he found it. "I want to complete that deal for Associated

"Yes, and took the statues. Get me straight, Mr. Glendenning, the Pettigrew angle is none of my business.

"I've made my money," he declared. "Some people might want more for instance, Mogridge but I think I

can win my point with him. Whoever stole the statues can't make use of them while I still have four, in

With a back gesture of his hand, Glendenning indicated the big vault and Steve noticed that its door was ajar.

"But we want the other statues back. What's more, we want the papers that belonged to Treft. You must know

It was the wrong thing to say. Glendenning had been waiting for it, like a cat ready to pounce on a mouse. His

"That condemns you, Kilroy!" stormed Glendenning. "If Treft didn't show you the papers, The Harlequin

must have, otherwise you wouldn't have known enough to come here. You are working together, you and that

"I only played a hunch!" began Steve, hotly. "I was traveling with the carnival "

"And so was The Harlequin," put in Glendenning. "Rather a coincidence wasn't it?"

Glendenning was reaching for a button on his desk, but Steve was faster. His hand was coming from his

pocket where it had instinctively picked up the gun, during the last stages of that heated conversation. How

he came to have the weapon so quickly, Steve really didn't know, but he was sure that tonight it was loaded.

Before Steve could even aim his gun, he was covered. The door of Glendenning's vault was shoving wide,

and there stood Mogridge, with a leveled revolver. Steve was smart enough to drop his automatic before the

"Another coincidence," chortled Glendenning, "or is it? Logical, wasn't it, that Mogridge should come and

tell me what had happened? I gave him advice; I told him we should be honest with ourselves. That was the

In the vault, Steve could see the last four statues, the property of Winston Glendenning. He could only wish

he'd met this man before, since Glendenning's claim to honesty was unquestionably genuine. In fact, the dour

look spreading over the face of George Mogridge seemed to back that thought, for Mogridge was one who

hadn't intended to come clean on the alumite deal. Steve only wished that he could have talked to

The gun was dropping from the pudgy hand as Mogridge's beady eyes stared past the desk. Glendenning's

gaze went frozen next, but Steve didn't have to turn around. Into view stepped the cause of it all: The

The mottled masquerader held his usual gun and it gave him mastery of the situation. But he wasn't quick

with the trigger on this occasion, for the simple reason that it wasn't necessary. Moreover, The Harlequin was

breaking his usual policy of silence, though the voice that came from his masked face bore the forced note of

"Murder should sometimes be quiet," sneered The Harlequin, "particularly when it also provides mystery.

Since you three have gotten together, I shall leave you that way. At The Harlequin's gesture, four men shoved

forward. Steve recognized them as shortchangers who traveled with the Sorber Greater Shows. Apparently

The Harlequin had enlisted these clip merchants for the blowoff, which after all was their particular

specialty. Each of the hype men helped himself to a statue from the vault and Steve, despite the tension, noted

Then The Harlequin moved forward, his gun forming a small but steady circle among the three helpless men

who stood with upraised hands. He backed them into the vault and as a final thought, reached deftly into

Steve's vest pocket and drew out the curious coin that bore the imprint of a feather with the initials M. T., the

last scrap of alumite that The Harlequin needed to establish ownership of the wondermetal, through the rule

Things went black before Steve's eyes. If only The Harlequin had forgotten that disk! But this fiend forgot

nothing. No one could ever dispute his claim to alumite for there would be no loose samples in existence, nor

Strange how that blackness weaved itself before Steve's gaze, like some hallucination from the past. If only it

would surge from the doorway where Steve fancied he saw it, and materialize into the cloaked shape of The

Steve Kilroy should have thought of that before, at the time when he had so impetuously played a hunch

without waiting to find The Shadow and inform him. This time the blackness didn't surge; instead, a great

That absolute darkness came with a clang as the vault door swung shut, impelled by the hand of The

Harlequin. The mottled master of murder was locking three victims in an airtight cell that he had destined as

POP SORBER opened the little safe in the "white wagon" as he termed the office car, and helped himself to

enough rolls of coins to fill his pockets. There had been a lull of ticketselling at the whaletent, because

They'd plug the show, those customers, and there would be a flood of clems the moment the present shift was

off, which was why Pop had come over here to deposit some bills and pick up change instead.

It did Pop good to realize how the hypers would be missing out tonight. He was chuckling to himself as he

Turning, Pop saw Kid Klaudey, the advance man who had been giving him so much trouble. His usual dapper

self, the Kid was giving Pop a smoothfaced smile from under a modified tengallon hat.

"So it's you!" gruffed Pop. "Time you showed up, Kid. What a runaround you've handed us. I'll take that up

"Leave that to the hypers." The Kid pushed his foot into the safe door before Pop could close it. "There's

"You don't have to say it, Pop," grinned the Kid. "I've been working for The Harlequin and those telegrams

With a roar, Pop started forward with his fist, only to come up short as a gun poked across the Kid's shoulder.

There, right behind his stooge, stood The Harlequin. Following his new system, the piebald threat withheld

"Bring out the telegrams," The Harlequin told the Kid. "See if they're all there."

Fists still clenched, Pop faced The Harlequin until Klaudey had completed the job. With a nod, the Kid said:

"They're all here. I've weeded out the ones we want. By the way, Pop, you're talking to one of the partners

The Kid gestured toward The Harlequin as he spoke and an odd light came to Pop's blank face.

"That's right," laughed the Kid. "When I dug up dough from a couple of angels, I was doublecrossing you,

The Harlequin interrupted with a shove of his gun. He didn't waste time with explanations that were

unnecessary. He was through with Pop Sorber and a trigger squeeze would certify it; a fast squeeze, too, on

the Kid's account, for Pop, oblivious to The Harlequin's threat, was winding up to swing his fist at Klaudey.

As The Harlequin's gun spat, its shot went upward, for he was lifted right off his feet by blackness that

swooped in from behind him. In that same moment, the Kid tried to ward Pop's punch, half laughing, thinking

The punch landed when The Harlequin's shot missed and the weight it carried drove Kid Klaudey right

through the little partition of the office car, crumpling him unconscious. The weight to Pop's punch happened

Wheeling away from the blackness that had spoiled his aim, The Harlequin saw The Shadow. Diving away,

the mottled murderer should have been stopped just before The Shadow fired, but the thing that should have

blocked him was no longer there. It was the partition that Kid Klaudey had demolished and The Harlequin

The hypers over by the whale show saw The Harlequin come diving headlong from the office car, then turn

and shoot wildly back at a cloaked pursuer. Next, The Harlequin was dodging in and out among some

wagons in a mad effort to start a safe dash toward the TenInOne, clear across the carnival lot.

Pulling guns, the hype crew began shooting but they were short in dealing lead just as they were with silver.

All they received in return were spare shots from The Shadow, which sent them sprawling when they

Sounds of that wild gunfire reached the TenInOne, above the bedlam of the carousel and other rides.

Instantly a curtain popped open on a platform and out sprang Zeno, the Electrical Wizard. Flashing a badge,

he gestured to some people out front and waved a gun at the line of exhibits in the TenInOne.

"Pull up those curtains!" shouted Zeno. "I want to see what acts are missing I'm from the F.B.I. and this is

Before anybody could respond, one missing act showed up on its own. Steve Kilroy came bounding into the

tent, though not in the attire of Ajax. Steve gave a quick wave of greeting as he came toward Zeno.

"Hello, Kilroy," said the man with the mustache. "My name is Vic Marquette. I guess The Shadow told you."

"I'll say he did," returned Steve. "He just let me out of a vault over in the dye works, right after The Harlequin

Marquette gave a nod. He knew the ways of The Shadow. People were starting to pull the curtains, so

"Don't worry about Nicco," said Vic. "That's the part The Shadow was playing so he could travel along. We

The curtains were coming open. One showed Margo as Spidora, quite unmoved by all the excitement.

Another revealed something equally extraordinary; on his platform, Benzone was against the knife rack, with

blades around him so thick that he couldn't move. Turning her head, Margo saw that sight and understood.

But that meant that Benzone couldn't be The Harlequin and with Nicco now eliminated, there was no choice

Not knowing that Margo had already tabbed Drago and Panchini, neither Steve nor Marquette were aware of

what Margo now knew. They were sure of only one thing, that The Harlequin must be missing.

"Make it fast," suggested Steve. "The Harlequin must be on his way here. That shooting has stopped."

"Up with those other curtains!" bawled Marquette. "We want to see who isn't here Drago or Panchini!"

Before a hand could pull a rope, a mottled figure darted out from beside the mermaid pit. It was The

Harlequin, intent on stopping those curtains, but how he had gotten here so suddenly, and from the wrong

For Margo alone was staring from the tent toward where a similar figure all in patchwork, was starting a dive

Before Margo could shout the fact, The Harlequin turned in her direction. A big gun thundered from among

the concession booths and The Harlequin, the one in the tent proper, made a quick dive as The Shadow

appeared. Steve and Marquette were shooting now, but Margo didn't wait. With an effort, she slid down

Madly, The Harlequin stabbed shots Spidora's way, too late. Bullets couldn't crash the tilted mirror for it was

metal and deflected the slugs. Seeing that his effort had failed, The Harlequin yanked loose as Steve and

Marquette fell upon him. Out of their hands, he dived under the side wall of the tent ahead of The Shadow's

The Shadow didn't follow. The last of the curtains had been raised, revealing Drago, Panchini, and the

Inseparable Twins. All these freaks were motionless, watching, while The Shadow stalked along the line. At

the very last booth The Shadow turned back; then, from beneath his elbow dispatched a surprise shot. Poking

her face from the mermaid pit, Margo Lane could literally feel her expression go blank, when she witnessed

The Shadow had made what seemed an impossible choice in picking out The Harlequin. His shot was aimed

TO all intents The Shadow had ignored Damon and was shooting for Pythias, who sat beyond his brother.

But the shot itself revealed that the cloaked marksman had a deeper purpose. Instead of finding a human

There it was, set at an angle beside the chair on which Damon was seated. Until this moment, that mirror had

reflected both Damon and his chair to give the impression of two men seated side by side.

No wonder the actions of those twins had been so identical on those occasions when they did their

pantomime, while The Harlequin was at large. One had been covering for the other, every time. As long as

Damon or Pythias was seated flush against the mirror, his double would be present too.

Twins, these men, but not of the Siamese variety. Their talk of linked hips was pure bunk. All that connected

them were the special suits they wore as one, whenever they appeared in public or traveled on the carnival

As the Inseparable Twins, this pair was practically above suspicion, but they had topped the game with the

mirror trick. Each was a man who could be seen two places at once. He could be The Harlequin and on the

move, while he was also one half of a pair of Inseparable Twins, thanks to his brother's reflection!

In trapping one Twin over at the office car, The Shadow had forced the other into action. As a final point in

the game, the Twins had to keep throwing suspicion on someone else. Some of the freaks were still suspects

and the lifting of the curtains would have spoiled that situation, if The Harlequin had been seen running all

So the Twin on the platform had slipped into a duplicate costume and made a quick appearance as The

Harlequin. He was the one who had eventually ducked out the side of the tent, while his brother, momentarily

seen by Margo, had been getting around to the back to come in and take his place.

The returned Twin was now in his chair doubling for his brother along with himself, but The Shadow had

broken the spell with the mirror before the second of the fake Inseparables could stage a return of his

It happened to be Damon, now in the chair. When he saw the vacancy of the gaping mirror, Damon leaped to

his feet, flinging the chair at The Shadow. Dodging the chair, The Shadow fired at Damon's diving figure as it

went from the side of the platform, but now another chair was sailing through, and its arrival spoiled The

Pythias was back, in Harlequin costume. He had flung the extra chair through the space where the mirror

used to be. Having given his brother a headstart, Pythias dived out the back of the tent and both Twins were

For Damon had snatched up his discarded costume and once outside the tent was slipping into it, all in a

single maneuver. They knew, those Twins, that a horde of pursuers would soon be after them, headed by The

As they dived separately between convenient concession tents, each twin raised the old reliable cry:

It was the carnival war shout and it brought results. Grifters jumped from their grind stores, bringing clubs

and other persuaders. Crews came running from the carousel, the whip, and the Ferris wheel. Other carnies

All that trouble seemed to be coming from the TenInOne, so the two factions met outside the big tent. The

freaks were trying to explain things, but getting nowhere, so it was all adding up in favor of the Twin

Again, The Shadow was taking the long way around, out through the back of the tent instead of the front.

Steve and Marquette were following him, confident that he would overtake The Harlequins before they found

a car. But the mottled murderers weren't heading for the parking lot. They were going in the general direction

That was enough to start a bigger brawl. The workers were coming over from the dye works and in an angry

mood, for they'd just been given a pep talk by their rescued president, Winston Glendenning. When the

dyehouse gang charged for The Harlequins, the carnival hands, knowing nothing about the mottled

The fight surged away from the whale tent with Pop Sorber following and waving his hands, shouting for

everybody to lay off. Off beyond, the Twins had disappeared somewhere along the railroad tracks while The

Shadow, much to the puzzlement of Steve and Vic, was pointing to the whale tent. Then The Shadow, too,

had disappeared and his two aids, having no other choice, went in to have a look at WallaWalla.

Several hype men were in the tent, a few of them wounded. When they saw Steve and Vic arrive with guns,

the hypers began climbing over WallaWalla. Going after them, Steve and Vic were also playing whale tag,

It wasn't WallaWalla coming to life. The thing was a switch engine that had bashed through the end of the

tent and was picking up the flatcar with an automatic coupling. Then the switcher was steaming out again to

the right of way and the tent, its props knocked loose, was collapsing like a wrecked blimp.

Where they were going, or why, neither Steve nor Vic could tell, for they were busily slugging the short

change operators and tossing them off along the right of way for other people to pick up. Like Kid Klaudey,

who had hired them, these smalltime crooks would have a lot to tell, perhaps enough to produce a new trail

The former Ajax and the erstwhile Zeno were reminded of their fellow freaks when shots began to ricochet

from the horny flanks of WallaWalla. Hanging onto the ridge of the whale's back, Steve pointed to where

From each window of the switching engine peered the face of a Harlequin, with a gun. They had chosen the

switcher for their getaway, but why they had burdened themselves with the whale car was a mystery, unless it

Certain it was that the Twins didn't want fellow travelers, but the men in question felt the opposite. Using

WallaWalla's big head as a shield, Steve and Vic worked to the general vicinity of the whale's neck and slid

in opposite directions. Then they were right on the catwalks of the stubby locomotive, crouching forward to

Shots had been wild because of the switcher's constant jounce. At present, the steel baby was going berserk

for it was taking the curves of the main line at a speed never intended for anything that belonged in the yards.

WallaWalla was beginning to roll the way he had wallowed on the sandbar where he had been trapped

years before. But Steve and Vic were taking too much for granted. As they lunged toward The Harlequins,

the going became too rocky; the attackers suddenly found themselves clinging to the locomotive, while the

masked men at the windows were steadying for closerange shots that would be surefire despite the

Two guns stabbed and with the shots, the marksmen disappeared. Something had picked The Harlequins right

out of the windows, just before they fired. The shots had missed the men outside and they were working on

There, in the switcher's cab was The Shadow. He'd been riding with The Harlequins right from the start,

letting them exhaust their gunfire. They had few shots left, but not enough to down this cloaked attacker who

had taken them by complete surprise. It was a melee of motley, the way The Shadow slapped the pair about,

literally beating one down with the other, while he preserved his footing in the very center of the cab.

A gun stabbed sharply and Steve saw its flame knife from the hand of one Harlequin to the body of the other.

Meant for The Shadow, that shot had found the wrong target. Damon and Pythias had become a Cain and

Abel, though, for once a Harlequin had fired a death shot that was not intended.

One figure slumped and slid dead from the cab. The living Harlequin hurled himself insanely on The

Shadow, who gave a sudden twist and faded right from sight. The lunge carried the second Harlequin along

the path that his brother had taken, right out of the cab, but he departed with a scream that was singularly

The trailing shriek came as the switcher rattled over a high trestle and hit the curve beyond. It died far back

and below, lost in the roar of the speeding locomotive. The Harlequins, whose lives had been spent in dealing

death, were united in the state to which they had so wantonly consigned their victims.

The Shadow was still on board the switcher. His blackout hadn't been a tumble. His vanish had seemed

sudden against the background of the switcher's coal pile, that was all. And now he was stopping the racing

locomotive, just about in time, for its wheels seemed to settle, like those of the flatcar, when the halt came.

The strain was too much for WallaWalla. The big whale pitched headlong over the curve and came to a dry

The Shadow was pointing toward the prone leviathan. Wondering, Steve Kilroy dropped to the ground and

waited for Vic Marquette. They reached the place where WallaWalla had come to a sudden stop, chin first.

They knew now why The Harlequins had taken WallaWalla on the wild ride which had proven their own

oneway trip. The whale was mouthing statues, along with a batch that had already jounced from his huge

gullet. Carrying such bulky loot had been a Jonah job for The Harlequins, so they had solved it in the most

They had let WallaWalla be their treasure chest, the container of their priceless alumite, including the last

four statues that the hype men had helped carry tonight. Only The Shadow had guessed that game, yet his

The only thing big enough to carry the statues had been WallaWalla. No wonder The Shadow had known

From the panting switcher came a singular laugh that reached the ears of the two men who were reclaiming

the rare metal discovered by Absalom Pettigrew. It carried a mirthless note, for it was a knell of doom,

That weird tone spelled The Shadow's triumph over the strangest adversaries of his whole career, those Twins

who had formed a double genius of crime, their brains like their deeds combined in the murderous creation of