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

CHAPTER I. THE VANISHED CLUE..................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. ANOTHER VISITOR ......................................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. THE CHINESE TEA SHOP ...........................................................................................9

CHAPTER IV. CHINATOWN BATTLE.............................................................................................13

CHAPTER V. THE DOUBLE MESSAGE ...........................................................................................16

CHAPTER VI. CRIME'S PURPOSE ....................................................................................................20

CHAPTER VII. THE ABODE OF LI HOANG ....................................................................................24

CHAPTER VIII. CROSSED RESCUE.................................................................................................28

CHAPTER IX. LOST BATTLE ............................................................................................................31

CHAPTER X. LI HOANG LEARNS ....................................................................................................35

CHAPTER XI. STRIFE UNDERGROUND .........................................................................................39

CHAPTER XII. THE WAY OF LI HOANG........................................................................................42

CHAPTER XIII. COVERED DEATH ..................................................................................................46

CHAPTER XIV. THE LOOSE THREAD............................................................................................50

CHAPTER XV. THE DOUBLED TRAIL ............................................................................................53

CHAPTER XVI. VANISHED VICTIMS.............................................................................................57

CHAPTER XVII. GATHERED LINKS ................................................................................................61

CHAPTER XVIII. THE FINAL NIGHT ...............................................................................................65

CHAPTER XIX. THE MIDNIGHT STROKE ......................................................................................69

CHAPTER XX. THE LAST DECREE.................................................................................................73

CHAPTER XXI. CRIME'S CLIMAX ...................................................................................................76

MOTT STREET formed a line of alluring glitter, when the cumbersome Chinatown bus disgorged its crowd

of passengers. Ahead lay brilliant lights flanked by an array of Oriental signs and banners, that brought eager

They had reached New York's Chinatown, these visitors from the hinterlands. It looked like the strange,

exotic place that they had expected to see. Most of them were gullible, ready to believe anything that their

Passersby grinned as the group moved along Mott Street. Just another crop of tourists, swallowing the old

hokum. Helped by the guide's spiel, their imaginations might weave a spell of mysterious intrigue about the

Chinese district. But to those in the know, Chinatown was just a part of Manhattan where a lot of Chinese

Something sinister lurked in Chinatown; and there was one man who realized it. That was why he had come

here, in a manner that would least be suspected: as a member of the party aboard the Chinatown bus.

To all appearances, he was just another of the sightseers a cleancut young chap, who looked like an

outoftowner. Actually, he was thoroughly familiar with Manhattan; his gawky gaze, his expressions of

For years, Harry Vincent had served a mysterious, invisible chief, whose word was law. There was nothing

secret, however, about The Shadow's purpose. The Shadow had one sole aim; that was to break up crime. In

his campaigns against masterplotters of evil, The Shadow was frequently aided by trusted agents.

Chinatown's present menace was insidious. Grave danger threatened any wayfarer who might be suspected as

an agent of The Shadow. Spies might be anywhere everywhere watching for such persons. The

sightseeing bus had provided the surest way for Harry to pass through the secret cordon.

This was Harry's third visit in as many nights. Though his expression did not show it, he was tense when the

guide conducted the party up a flight of narrow stairs, to show the visitors the interior of a Chinese joss

Harry was in the background when the crowd shoved into a squarish room, where a solemn Buddha sat as

A squatly Chinaman, dressed in Oriental robes, spoke choppy English as he displayed wishing sticks, prayer

papers, and other objects that went with Chinese rites. Two girls, also Chinese, passed wishing sticks among

the visitors. There was another Chinaman, standing in the corner; but he was dull of eye, wrinkled of face. He

Harry was looking for a snakeeyed Celestial who had been here the night before. Harry knew the fellow's

Chun Laro was from San Francisco; he had a bad reputation among the Chinese of that city. Hundreds of

prayer papers had been burned, with the wish that Chun Laro would leave Frisco. The hope had been

Some purpose requiring ugly services had brought Chun Laro to New York. Here, he might soon be a thorn

The absence of Chun Laro was no surprise to Harry. Two nights ago, the snakish rogue had been lounging

near the doorway of a Chinese restaurant. Last night, this joss house had been his habitat. Evidently, he had

WHILE lingering, Harry glanced about the little temple. He was thinking of Chun Laro; perhaps that was

why his train of impressions ran to other things that were absent. Harry saw a shelf, topped by a row of

Instantly, Harry remembered an object that had been there the night before. The missing item was a teninch

miniature of a Chinese pagoda, that Harry had especially noticed, because it was made of gold.

At the time, Harry had supposed that the pagoda was merely goldplated. His present idea was different. That

pagoda might be made of actual gold; a rare and valuable token that could not easily be imitated.

Harry spoke the words, half aloud. Another thought had flashed; for the first time, he recalled why he had

noticed that pagoda, last night. Two nights ago, the same pagoda or its exact duplicate had been in the

Tourists were filing from the joss house. Harry went with them. On the street, they passed the restaurant.

There was no sign of Chun Laro, nor was the Golden Pagoda in the window. All along the route, Harry kept

The group turned right on Pell Street. They came to Doyers; headed toward the Bowery Mission, which had

once been an old Chinese theater. The trip would end with Doyers Street. Harry saw blank results, if he

remained with the sightseeing throng. His only bet was to stay in Chinatown, once here.

Edging away from the entrance to the old theater, Harry turned back along Doyers Street. A

hunchshouldered bum blocked him, made a whiny request for a match to light the stump of a cigarette.

Harry thought for a moment that the fellow was a panhandler, beginning a buildup. Then he spotted the

The pretended panhandler was "Hawkeye," a crafty agent who prowled the underworld seeking information

Harry handed Hawkeye a halffilled pack of paper matches. In an undertone, he voiced the same words that

There was no chance for more. Two Chinese were shuffling along the street; they were the sort who might be

Harry gave an annoyed head shake. He thrust away from Hawkeye. With a disappointed grimace, the

wizenedfaced man shuffled along to join a line of bums who were awaiting admittance into the basement

Strolling toward Chinatown's center, Harry covered an area that he had missed during the sightseeing tour.

He saw a small curio shop; paused outside to light a cigarette. While looking at the curios stacked in the

SAUNTERING past the doorway, Harry casually looked inside. There was only one man in the place a

bland Chinese merchant, seated in a rear alcove behind a pair of raised curtains.

Harry turned about, took in the street at a quick glance. Spying no Chinese close at hand, he entered the curio

The bland merchant received him without stirring from the alcove. He seemed to be expecting a visitor like

Harry. Playing the part of a chance customer, Harry inquired the price of the Golden Pagoda.

"Not for sale," he declared, in smooth English. "Moreover, sir, you would not wish to buy it."

He waddled to the window, brought the pagoda from its niche. Beckoning Harry into the little alcove, the

Chinaman put the pagoda on one side of a set of scales resting on a table. On the other, he piled weights, until

"You see?" The merchant was steadying the scales as he spoke. "It does not weigh enough to be gold!"

Harry's eyes were on the side of the scales that bore the weights. He saw the merchant's fingers resting on the

edge. Their pressure was adding to the balance, to make the tiny pagoda seem less than its actual weight.

Harry's hand sped for the merchant's wrist. The move accomplished its purpose. The bland Chinaman

whipped his hand away; the pagoda side of the scales thumped heavily against the table top. But that was not

With a sudden snarl, the merchant reached for a cord. He yanked it; the curtains dropped between the alcove

and the shop. Harry, behind the table, was out of sight from any persons who might chance to pass the shop.

As he faced the fellow, Harry heard a sharp click beside him. It was an answer to the snarled signal.

There, with twisty lips as snakish as his ugly eyes, stood the renegade Chinaman whom Harry had connected

with the Golden Pagoda. There was no more doubt about the link that Harry had guessed. The man beyond

IN one longclawed hand, Chun Laro clasped a knife. His arm was drawn back, ready to deliver a thrust.

Harry didn't give him time for that stroke. Employing sudden tactics of his own, The Shadow's agent showed

Spinning back from the table, Harry twisted toward the opposite side of the alcove; as he wheeled, he pulled

an automatic from his hip pocket. The finish of his move seemed perfect; all Harry had to do was plank his

shoulders against the opposite wall. With that sudden stop, he would hold Chun Laro covered.

It was the wall itself that spoiled Harry's halt. The instant that his shoulders struck, the wall gave. It was fitted

The whole alcove seemed to whirl at that moment. Harry's own impetus carried him into the trap, so rapidly

that he had no time to fire a shot. Flung roundabout, he caught a last flash of leering faces Chun Laro's and

Harry hurtled headlong into the blackness. An instant later, the space beneath his feet was empty. A gasp on

his lips, Harry took a crazy plunge, striking a stony wall as he went downward. That blow dizzied him; a half

Sprawling upon a cement passage, Harry received a thump on the head that left him senseless.

Up in the alcove, Chun Laro put away his knife. Moving sneakily to the panel where Harry had disappeared,

the serpenteyed Chinaman unlocked it. He opened the panel slightly. He listened; then closed the barrier.

Chun Laro moved to the table. He took the Golden Pagoda from the scales, forced it beneath the front of his

robe. He spoke singsong language to the merchant; then went through his own panel, which offered an

The panel locked. The merchant took the weights from the scales, stacked them where they belonged. He

peered between the curtains. Satisfied, he drew them open, to resume his seat in the alcove.

From the street, the curio shop looked undisturbed, its proprietor as calm and bland as ever. Nothing

remained to show that Harry Vincent had entered here, to fall helpless into the hands of enemies. The lone

THOUGH Chinatown's surface was calm, news of restless undercurrents had traveled from that district. One

hour after the disappearance of Harry Vincent, Chinese affairs were being discussed in another quarter.

Three men were present in an officelike room. One, who sat behind a mahogany desk, was a man of military

appearance, with shortclipped mustache. Full of face, brisk of manner, he had an air that suited his

The second individual was Inspector Joe Cardona, ace of the New York force. Cardona was stocky of build,

swarthy of complexion, and decidedly pokerfaced. When he was irked, he seldom showed it; but tonight,

Commissioner Weston didn't notice it; but the third person in the room was keen enough to understand

That third person was a friend of Weston's, a chance visitor who had stopped in at the commissioner's

apartment. Tall, with an immobile, hawkish face, he was leisurely smoking a thin cigar, seemingly

disinterested in the conversation. That was the way with Lamont Cranston, the millionaire globetrotter.

Behind that mask of indifference lay a keen discernment, which, if noticed, might have given a clue to the

"All right, commissioner." It was Cardona who spoke; his bluntness covered the bite of his tone. "Maybe

you've sized it properly, but I still know the symptoms. Things aren't right in Chinatown!"

The question brought a smile from Cranston. Cardona saw it; gave a wry grin of his own.

"There's something to that, commissioner," admitted the inspector, deciding that it was best to keep his chief

in good humor. "It's always tricky business, handling the Chinese. There's a lot goes on, under the surface, all

"There are new faces in Chinatown," he insisted. "Mugs that don't look right. Others that we know fellows

who have been out of sight that look like hatchet men. That covers the Chinese; but they aren't all.

"The Chinatown squad has spotted plenty of hoodlums, moving in and out. Those gorillas don't belong there.

They're either going to bust loose with something, or they're covering up some game that's deeper. That's it in

"You've told me all this before," said the commissioner. "Therefore, I repeat my former statement: Show me

some purpose behind the factors that you mention; then we can decide upon the remedy."

"TONG wars are a thing of the past," added Weston. "That disposes of one possibility of trouble. Sometimes,

there are fanatical outbreaks among joss cults; but there have been no recent indications of such. That

"Only one other remains: Dope! It can also be forgotten. No large shipments of narcotics have been smuggled

recently. We invariably receive tips when dope peddlers are active. There have been no such reports."

Cardona remained glumly silent. Weston reached for a sheaf of papers; scanning them, he remarked:

"Why not investigate other matters, Cardona? Here are two complaints regarding racketeers. One from the

"I looked into those," snapped the ace. "Both are the bunk! I talked with the president of Compometal. His

plant is running top speed, turning out aluminum alloys for aircraft. The general manager of Federal Export

says they had some trouble getting shipments under way, but that it's all been straightened out."

Weston looked doubtful. "The complaints came from those very officials you mention "

"And they've withdrawn them!" inserted Cardona. "Those cases are closed. I've been sticking close to my job,

commissioner. I settled those matters before I began to bother about this Chinatown business."

"Very well," decided Weston, folding the report sheets. "What do you propose to do regarding the Chinese

"I want to make the rounds with the Chinatown squad," replied Cardona. "That's not asking much,

Weston agreed that the request was reasonable. He gave Cardona permission to take over that temporary

duty. The ace inspector expressed his thanks, then left before the commissioner had a chance to change his

"Cardona has a leaning for hunches," the commissioner told the millionaire. "Once in a dozen times, his

hunches have merit. Therefore, it is best to let him follow them, when they can cause no complications. But

Apparently, Cranston was satisfied to accept Weston's opinion. Actually, he agreed with it but partially.

The Shadow was willing to admit that Cardona might find nothing in Chinatown; but that did not prove that

trouble was absent in the Oriental district. On the contrary, The Shadow's own observations had brought him

From somewhere in Chinatown's depths, a menace had arisen. Outward indications were but the ripples from

that stir. Sooner or later, a surge would follow; that tidal wave might sweep far beyond the limits of

Among The Shadow's campaigns against crime, some of the most desperate had been those with a Chinese

background. The symptoms of trouble that Cardona had reported, were real ones. The Shadow was soon to

For the present, The Shadow was willing to let Weston talk, hoping that the commissioner might supply some

"CARDONA'S quest will get him nothing," confided Weston, "although it was useless to tell him so. The

"None," returned Weston. "The F.B.I. has assigned an undercover agent to the job. Reports have been

negative. The investigator has contacted certain Chinese, but has gained no evidence of any criminal

"Come, Cranston," he suggested. "We must be on our way. The most important item on our calendar is that

banquet at the Cobalt Club. Jove! I hope that Kent Allard can manage to be there. I am anxious for you to

Weston did not see the thin smile that rested momentarily upon the lips of Cranston. The commissioner's

The Shadow's real identity, when he dropped the guise of Lamont Cranston, was that of Kent Allard, aviator

and explorer. That was why the two had never met during functions at the Cobalt Club. One always happened

Just as Weston was opening the door of his little office, a buzzer announced a telephone call. Weston

Across the wire, The Shadow heard the methodical tone of Burbank, the contact man who communicated

directly with The Shadow's active agents. Burbank had double news concerning Harry Vincent: first, that the

Burbank summarized it by repeating the words that Hawkeye had relayed. The Shadow heard them:

Turned half away from Weston, The Shadow let his fingers press the hook of the desk telephone. A twice

repeated click told Burbank that the report was received. With the line closed, The Shadow spoke in

"All right, Richards" there was a trace of impatience in Cranston's drawl "tell them to expect me in half

an hour... No, call it an hour. That's it traffic may be heavy." Hanging up, Cranston faced Weston.

"I shall have to miss the banquet," he told the commissioner. "Richards, my valet, tells me that unexpected

Weston suggested that the guests could wait a while. Cranston did not agree. They were friends from the

Middle West, who had long promised to make a visit. He would have to go home and meet them.

That was why Weston and his friend parted, outside the apartment house. The commissioner entered an

official car. Cranston stepped into a limousine. Weston heard him order the chauffeur to drive to New Jersey.

THE order was changed, after a few blocks. The limousine headed for a side street near Times Square. There,

Cranston transferred to a taxicab; spoke a whispered command to the driver. Soon, that cab was speeding

The lone passenger was crouched low in the rear seat. In the mirror of a makeup kit, he was changing his

facial appearance; building up the features of Cranston with a puttyish substance. Soon, the face showed no

The makeup box went into a drawer beneath the rear seat. From that space, The Shadow removed a cloak

and slouch hat. Those jetblack garments hid him, when he donned them. A grim laugh whispered in the

Clad in this attire, The Shadow would need no passport into Chinatown. He would invade that sector silently,

invisible, his arrival unguessed. Once there, he might reveal himself; but it would be in a guise that no one

The Shadow was seeking the trail of the Golden Pagoda the lure which he knew had drawn Harry Vincent

SOME distance from the trapped curio shop where Harry Vincent had disappeared, stood a tiny tea shop

owned by a Chinaman named Wan Kew. Its location marked the fringe of Chinatown; but beyond the tea

In a sense, that street was a borderland. Most of its ancient houses had been deserted by their tenants, in the

belief that Chinatown would soon swallow it. But the growth of the Chinese district had slowed. The street

It was the sort of street where one would expect murders to be perpetrated; but none had ever occurred there.

That, possibly, was because wise wayfarers avoided the old street at night. That applied to Wan Kew,

The proprietor of the tea shop was a cautious old Chinese, who had chosen his location because the rental

was low. Most of Wan Kew's customers bought tea in wholesale lots. He always advised them to go back

toward the lighted center of Chinatown, when they left his shop. Wan Kew always followed that direction

Wan Kew was thrifty, rather than rich. He had no helpers in his tea shop, although he kept the place open

from twelve to fifteen hours a day. Wan Kew was like a lonely sentinel, guarding Chinatown's last outpost.

He could always be seen from the doorway of his little shop, seated like a stuffed owl in front of shelves that

In all the years that he had been there, Wan Kew had never experienced anything strikingly unusual, until

tonight. He had not anticipated that his placid existence was to undergo a sudden change. Indeed, Wan Kew

suspected nothing, when a messenger boy delivered a small, squareshaped package that was marked with

Alone, Wan Kew placed the package on his counter. He peered through his roundrimmed glasses, while his

trembling old fingers carefully untied the knots. Wan Kew always saved the strings from packages. He didn't

change that policy, even though he expected to find some special brand of tea inside. Other merchants

The package did not contain tea. Wan Kew was surprised to find a stout cardboard box, instead. He lifted the

lid; his old eyes blinked. Complete surprise showed on his wrinkled, saffron face.

It was gold! Wan Kew knew that, the moment he tested its weight. The pagoda tilted in his hands, he saw its

hollow interior, which proved the heaviness of the metal. The space within the pagoda wasn't empty; but the

Wan Kew opened the message. The saffron color went from his wrinkled face. He was pale, almost to

There was no threat mentioned in the note. It merely specified that Wan Kew was to place the pagoda in the

window of his tea shop; after that, to ignore any questions that any one might ask concerning it.

The signature beneath the note was the cause of Wan Kew's fear. It was in Chinese characters that the old tea

merchant recognized. The name impressed him so hugely, that he gasped it, half aloud:

THE rice paper fluttered to the counter. Wan Kew gripped the woodwork. Steadying himself, he finally

managed strength enough to lift the Golden Pagoda. Waddling to the front of the shop, he perched the rare

Returning to his counter, Wan Kew plucked up the note. In the low light of the tea shop, its redinked

characters had the crimson hue of blood. That thought brought new shivers to Wan Kew, particularly when he

Sheer fear made Wan Kew scan the message again, to make sure that he had missed no detail.

There was one added instruction: Wan Kew was to destroy the message, thus leaving no evidence that he had

heard from Li Hoang. The tea shop proprietor was quite eager to obey that order.

Crumpling the sheet of rice paper, he stole to the door of the tea shop, peered out along the darkened street.

Staring in the opposite direction, Wan Kew spied only three persons. Two were Chinese, walking toward a

lighted street. The third was an American, who was lighting a cigarette as he gazed into the window of a chop

Wan Kew went to the interior of his shop. He laid his hand upon a doorknob in back of the counter. He

There, at a battered desk that was flanked by old tea chests, Wan Kew lighted a long wax taper. The wick

sputtered; the flame wavered, casting long, grotesque streaks of blackness. The gloom of the walls formed a

frame for the Chinaman's withery face. The light, burning upward, showed the twitch of Wan Kew's lips and

Again, a tremor seized the Chinaman. He tiptoed into the darkness; reached the wall that backed the shelves

behind his counter. Sliding a portion of the wall, Wan Kew peered between tea chests, to make sure that no

He saw a figure saunter past the outer doorway. It was the American who had been at the chop suey house

window. Satisfied that the stroller had continued on his way, Wan Kew returned to the desk. The taper was

burning steadily. Wan Kew twisted the ricepaper note, started to insert it in the flame.

A sound stopped him. Wan Kew was sure that he had heard a creak from the door that connected with the

front of the shop. He blinked in that direction; saw a tall streak of blackness against the wall.

With an eager hiss, the old tea dealer let the flame lick the twisted message. His lips formed a relieved sigh,

Wan Kew did not see the living blackness that swooped suddenly from gloom. A gloved hand gripped his

wrist, hauled his arm away from the candlelight. Before Wan Kew could twist free, he saw the muzzle of an

automatic thrust between his eyes. The hand left his wrist, to pluck the paper. Gloved fingers extinguished the

The candle glow showed the glint of burning eyes, beneath the brim of a slouch hat. Wan Kew recognized the

THAT title was the Chinese equivalent for The Shadow. It brought a response from hidden lips. A grim

There was a tightness to Wan Kew's lips. He would not talk not even to The Shadow. Powerful though

The logic was simple. Wan Kew, the innocent proprietor of an obscure tea shop, had nothing to fear from The

The name of Li Hoang, a synonym of evil, was one that could excite dread from an honest man like Wan

The Shadow divined the thoughts that gripped Wan Kew. He could see the pallor of the Chinaman's face,

above the yellow robe that the fellow wore. He knew that Wan Kew was acting under threat. Compressed lips

were proof that the Chinaman would not talk. But The Shadow knew that words would not be needed from

The Chinaman's terrified stare was directed toward the crinkled paper that The Shadow had captured, almost

intact. That gaze told The Shadow that the riddle could be solved by the paper itself.

Cloaking his automatic, The Shadow coolly unfolded the message. He read the Chinese characters easily,

much to the amazement of Wan Kew. When he saw the name Li Hoang, The Shadow delivered an

"Li Hoang is here!" Wan Kew was chattering in Chinese. "No one else would dare use the name of Li Hoang!

"You have seen Li Hoang?" The Shadow's question was in Wan Kew's own dialect. "He has been here?"

"No. The message came within the pagoda, which I had never seen before. I know nothing of Li Hoang!"

A head shake from Wan Kew. Watching the tea dealer closely, The Shadow inquired if he had ever heard of

Chun Laro. The name was familiar to Wan Kew; he admitted it, but added that he had never met Chun Laro.

Though Wan Kew did not realize it, he was revealing facts that he, himself, did not know.

For the first time, The Shadow had uncovered a clue to a hidden crimemaster, who lurked deep in

Chinatown. He knew the name of Li Hoang, most celebrated of all Chinese bandits.

For years, Li Hoang had terrorized remote provinces of China; had demanded tribute from wealthy Chinese,

and even officials. With the strengthening of the central government in China, Li Hoang's power had

Here was evidence that China's public enemy had arrived secretly in America. Such news accounted for the

recent stir in Chinatown. Gifted with subtle skill that no American racketeers possessed, Li Hoang was

capable of employing new and astonishing tactics, in this territory where his methods were unknown.

Such rogues as Chun Laro were the very sort that Li Hoang would require as lieutenants. Already, the evil

influence of Li Hoang had crept far. Many Chinese of doubtful repute could already be in the service of Li

THE SHADOW linked those possibilities with the Golden Pagoda. He could see the purpose of that symbol.

Planted in Chinatown, its location changed from time to time, the Golden Pagoda could signify the meeting

place where outside crooks were to make contact. Wherever the pagoda was displayed, evil workers could

Harry Vincent had learned that much tonight. He must have entered the place where he saw the Golden

The delivery of the pagoda to Wan Kew was proof of Li Hoang's clever tactics. Once captured, Harry had

been classed as an agent of The Shadow. Hence, Li Hoang had foreseen that The Shadow would search for

To mislead The Shadow, Li Hoang had placed the golden object with a man who knew nothing about the

The choice of Wan Kew had been too strong a one. Of all Chinese merchants, Wan Kew was the last who

would be sworn in as a member of a crooked organization. In concealing his own followers, Li Hoang had

That obvious move might be the blind for a more crafty one. Thrusting the ricepaper note beneath his cloak,

The Shadow stepped to the connecting door. Opening it the fraction of an inch, he peered into the tea shop.

The place was vacant; but The Shadow could see streaky blackness, across the outer threshold. Lurkers had

Closing the connecting door, The Shadow stepped back to the desk. Wan Kew saw the burn of keen eyes;

heard the sinister whisper that crept from The Shadow's lips. From those tokens, Wan Kew understood the

Not content with merely drawing The Shadow along a false trail, Li Hoang had turned this tea shop into a

trap. Here, upon these premises, the Chinese crimemaster intended to end the long career of The Shadow!

THOUGH The Shadow's laugh was confined within that small rear room, it carried challenge. The

confidence of his tone won him a useful ally. Wan Kew, though a man of peace, was ready to fight on The

Selfpreservation was the reason. Wan Kew realized that if The Shadow perished, he, also, would die.

Guessing that The Shadow had spotted lurkers at the front, Wan Kew pointed across the gloomy room and

The Shadow reached the door mentioned. It was heavy, and strongly bolted. He did not draw the bolts, as

Wan Kew expected. Instead, The Shadow listened. His head was pressed close to the woodwork. He could

Wan Kew saw The Shadow return to the desk. The Chinaman realized that the side exit must be blocked.

This room had no other outlet. Wan Kew shook his head, despairingly; but some thought was in his mind. He

"The wall to the front room," explained Wan Kew. "It has a small opening so I can look through, between

The Shadow's tone betokened a plan. Wan Kew hurried to the front wall, slid back the shutter that he had

used before. With The Shadow, Wan Kew peered between the tea chests. The Chinaman could see the streaks

But neither The Shadow nor Wan Kew could be seen by those outside. Their bodies blocked the faint

The Shadow slid the small barrier shut, drawing it from Wan Kew's hand. Stepping toward the candle glow,

Wan Kew saw a face that he knew must be disguised, though he would never have detected the fact. He saw

that The Shadow was attired in street clothes; he was the same American that Wan Kew had observed outside

PEELING away his gloves, The Shadow pointed to Wan Kew's yellow robe. The gesture of his hand

indicated that the Chinaman was to remove it. Wondering, Wan Kew did so. The Shadow held out his arms;

"They saw me enter," whispered The Shadow. "They will believe that I am in here. Since I am the one they

Stepping to the panel, The Shadow opened it; he pushed the cloak and hat through. The garments slid

between two tea chests; being black, they could not be seen in the depths of the shelf. Closing the wall, The

Leaving Wan Kew in pantaloons and Chinese vest, The Shadow moved toward the door that connected with

the tea shop. His yellowrobed figure was conspicuous, even in the gloom. The Shadow made no attempt to

He was turned about, however, so that he faced in Wan Kew's direction. The Chinaman saw him wedge

Once in that front shop, The Shadow's pretense was perfection. His back was toward the outer door; his

shoulders were stooped low. He paused as he closed the door, as though speaking to some one in the rear

He shifted behind the counter, his back still toward the outer door. His hands were close against his body, but

there was a quiver to his robed shoulder. That was a welldone imitation of the palsy that characterized Wan

To all appearances, the tea merchant had come out to his shop, instead of The Shadow.

Despite his shaky motion, The Shadow showed hurry. He seemed to be seeking something; that explained

why he did not face the outer door. He reached a middle shelf, poked his hands between two tea chests. He

The bluff was one of the boldest that The Shadow had ever made. He had deliberately turned his back to

Stealthy footfalls told the reality of the danger. A pair of ugly faced Chinese crept in through the front

One Chinese assassin produced a longbladed knife; the other drew a murderous hatchet. Their thuggish

The man with the knife stole toward the door to the rear room; the triggerman followed close behind him.

The hatchet man shifted his path. Gloatingly, he moved toward the robed figure beyond the little counter. He

The Shadow's fate hung by a single link. He was still faking his part as Wan Kew.

IT turned out as The Shadow expected. The gunner saw the hatchet man's move and gave a hurried beckon.

Reluctantly, the hatchet man joined the pair that were moving toward the rear room. The thug muttered:

Since the Chinaman with the knife showed agreement, the hatchet man stayed with the others. Wan Kew was

unimportant, compared with The Shadow. They could settle the tea merchant, as a side issue. Crouching half

His head and hands thrust inward, The Shadow drew his cloak downward. With one sweep, he pulled the

back garment clear over his shoulders. As it slipped downward, he gave a back fling to the yellow robe. It

With a quick sweep of his left hand, The Shadow whipped the slouch hat to his head. He made a spin;

clamped his right hand on the counter. From his lips pealed a challenge that made three killers spring about.

Gawking, they saw The Shadow, where Wan Kew had been. To their astonished eyes, the transformation was

The first Chinaman slung his knife. His throw was belated. His weight upon his right hand, The Shadow was

vaulting clear across the counter. The knife skimmed past his shoulder, glanced from a tea chest and clattered

The Shadow took a half turn as he vaulted. He was over the counter when the triggerman started fire.

Bullets whistled above the slouch hat. With the third bark of the revolver, a gun replied from the counter

The Shadow's left hand had been on the draw, during his vaulting leap. The burst from his automatic was

A figure hurtled over the end of the counter. It was the hatchet man, driving in from a new angle but not an

unexpected one. The Shadow dropped; he stabbed a bullet upward at an angle. That slug took the hatchet man

The blast from the .45 jolted the Chinese killer. His arm took a long forward jerk. The hatchet cleaved

downward but not from the swing of a guiding hand. It was scaling from loosening fingers. The

razorsharp hatchet slapped The Shadow's shoulder broadside. It rattled against the counter front.

The Chinaman who had used the knife grabbed up the gun that the trigger man had dropped. Hopping past

the end of the counter, the Mongol saw The Shadow tangled with the dying hatchet man. The Chinaman fired

One bullet was deflected by the body of the hatchet man; the other went wide of The Shadow. The cloaked

fighter had counted on the knifer's aim being bad. If the Chinaman had been good with a gun, he would have

The Shadow's automatic spoke instead. Again, he supplied a direct shot. He couldn't leave these killers loose

to deal with Wan Kew. The bound that the Chinese assassin took was a big one, ending with a crazy twisting

COMING to his feet, The Shadow drew a second automatic. He headed for the outer door, took a long leap

The ruse worked. Guns began to pop from darkness. Thugs were aiming for The Shadow, expecting him to

run into their gunfire. Instead, The Shadow was wheeling in the oppositedirection, toward the center of

Only some crafty superfoe would have expected such a daring move. Li Hoang was an enemy of that caliber.

Before The Shadow had zigzagged half a dozen steps, the lighted end of the street was alive with new

antagonists, who bounded from every cranny. These foemen weren't thugs from the underworld; they were

Here, on Chinatown's fringe, The Shadow was between two hordes, who blocked both paths! Into Chinatown,

STRIDENT was The Shadow's challenge a mocking laugh that he delivered, as he halted between two

groups of foemen. His guns shoved toward the darkened sector, he followed his taunt with a sudden burst of

That accomplished what The Shadow wanted. It sent the outside thugs scurrying for cover. They weren't

risking their necks in the open, when they had The Shadow boxed. They were counting on the Chinese to

The Shadow, too, was counting upon the Chinese, but in a different way. He knew their practice of carrying

revolvers with an empty chamber under the hammer. They needed two tugs of a trigger, before their guns

Revolvers were clicking as The Shadow wheeled about. He gave another volley toward the lighted section of

the street. Guns answered, as The Shadow shifted; but the Chinese, too, were wild in fire. They scrambled for

Whichever The Shadow faced next, that crowd would cripple him. His own hurried shots seemed a useless

barrage. Those volleys, however, had given him a temporary break. He needed a scant two seconds to get out

With a long, swift lope, The Shadow cleared the sidewalk and sped back into Wan Kew's tea shop!

There were shouts all along the street; some in English, others in Chinese. Revolvers barked too late;

savagely, the men who fired them drove in pursuit. They thought that they had driven The Shadow into the

original trap, which, in a sense, they had. But time had elapsed since battle had begun; moreover, The

The Shadow was depending upon those factors, for a reason that he had not forgotten.

The Shadow was through the tea shop when the mingling gunners arrived there. He reached the rear room, to

find Wan Kew huddled at the desk. Fierce pounds were coming from the side door. The small crew posted

Grabbing Wan Kew, The Shadow shoved him to the wall beside the side door. With a sweep of one hand, he

snuffed the candle; used his automatic muzzle to thrust open one bolt, then the other. Shouting men were

already in the front of the tea shop, when The Shadow suddenly nudged the knob of the side door.

The barrier whammed inward; with it came a surge of attackers. An instant later, The Shadow was among

them, sledging with his guns. Flashlights went clattering, along with sprawling men. Twisting from the

Instead of taking the rear route that Wan Kew had mentioned, The Shadow backed the old tea merchant away

from danger. Coolly, he stabbed spasmodic shots back through the doorway from which they had come.

Those bullets from blackness forced foemen to seek new cover. Temporarily, at least, The Shadow held the

Wan Kew wondered how long it could last. He marveled at The Shadow's slow, deliberate tactics; but

although The Shadow was sparing with his shots, there couldn't be many minutes more. Each time an

automatic spoke, Wan Kew thought that The Shadow had discharged his last bullet.

At last, a lull. Killers thrust for the opened door. The Shadow fired a single shot. Foemen dropped back. Two

seconds later, there was muffled gunfire from the front street. The Shadow heard that outburst; from his

Wan Kew heard a clatter, as killers forgot The Shadow and drove out to battle with fresh fighters.

THAT was the point that The Shadow had not forgotten. In fact, he had dodged the squad himself, when

looking for the Golden Pagoda. It explained why The Shadow had driven out to the street, although he knew

By bringing new chaos into the tea shop, The Shadow had placed two groups of enemies into the very trap

Though all news of Chinatown eventually reached Li Hoang, The Shadow had gained information ahead of

that superfoe, tonight. Coming direct from the police commissioner's apartment, The Shadow had known that

the Chinatown squad would have an able leader when trouble broke. More than that, familiar with Cardona's

methods, The Shadow had been sure that the ace inspector would bring along an extra quota of plainclothes

Deep beneath his cloak, The Shadow carried another brace of automatics. He had kept those reserve weapons

for this crisis, when enemies would be forced to rush his position, to evade the pressure of the law's forces.

His fresh guns were out and in his fists, when a clatter from the rear of the tea shop announced the coming

The Shadow's guns pumped a rapid, alternating fire. The surge wavered, broke. Crooks were scrambling

away, squarely into the guns of the Chinatown squad. Shouldering into the abandoned doorway, The Shadow

The stocky figure of Joe Cardona was conspicuous. The ace inspector had gained full control. There was no

Out in the narrow alleyway, The Shadow guided Wan Kew through the darkness. The tea merchant had

shown a spell of nerve; but he was shaky again. He was gulping fearfully, telling The Shadow that he dreaded

"Li Hoang will know!" panted Wan Kew. "Li Hoang will remember! He will seek me out! Even the police

They were near a little gate that blocked the route to the next street. Easing open the gate so its hinges did not

groan, The Shadow thrust the muzzle of an automatic through a narrow space. He delivered three staccato

There was a howl beyond the gate; the scurry of footsteps. The Shadow had routed a nest of ambushed

lurkers. That incident supported Wan Kew's statements regarding Li Hoang. The fighters captured in the tea

HEADING through the vacated outlet, The Shadow drew Wan Kew along. The frightened Chinaman feared

the lights of the next street; but they did not travel that far. The Shadow found a doorway; wedged it open. He

In all the years that Wan Kew had occupied his shop on the front street, he had never known of this hidden

culdesac. Moreover, the courtyard was but the beginning of his journey. The Shadow opened another door;

There came a series of twists and turns; at last, the passage divided. The Shadow pointed Wan Kew along one

route, where a light glowed from a low stone ceiling. He spoke whispered words that brought a grateful

The Shadow was sending Wan Kew to friendly Chinese, who would keep him out of sight as long as needed.

The Shadow took another route, alone. When he emerged from underground, he was on another fringe of

Chinatown. From the darkness of a side street, he could hear the last bursts of distant gunfire; the whine of

Elusive, a shade in the night, The Shadow took a roundabout circuit. Gliding from one stretch of darkness to

another, he was constantly on the lookout for prowlers, who might be followers of Li Hoang.

The Shadow arrived back near the tea shop. The street was almost cleared; police were dragging along the

last of the captives. Approaching from the darkened end of the street, The Shadow stopped close to Wan

Easing through the doorway, The Shadow stood among the outstretched, silent figures of thugs who had

fought their last fight against the law. Reaching into the window, he removed the Golden Pagoda. Carrying it

A few minutes later, The Shadow was gliding away from Chinatown. He had only one last stretch to go a

short half block, through a narrow alley. That space was wedged between rows of old twostory houses.

There was only one lighted space. It lay past a short, battered fence that marked the entrance to a side alley.

The Shadow swung wide to avoid the glare of the street lamp. Close to the building opposite, he sensed a stir

about him. Groping figures were in the darkness, blocking the narrow path that The Shadow needed. The

pagoda wrapped beneath his cloak, The Shadow was ready for combat. He leaped upon the thugs.

THE scuffle was quick; the odds were with The Shadow. Curiously, his opponents did not try to use guns;

instead, they grappled wildly. Clutching furiously, they managed to drag The Shadow over into the light,

Once in the glow, the hoodlums broke free; went staggering away. Three in number; two were groggy, the

It was that sudden change of tactics that warned The Shadow. Alone beside the corner of the tiny fence, his

cloaked form was conspicuous. Forgetting the fleeing footpads, The Shadow made a rapid whirl, twisting

There wasn't a lost instant in the move, even though The Shadow chose no cover. He sensed that a thrust was

Something whirred down through the darkness. The Shadow heard the cleaving of air past his ear. There was

a thud from the end of the fence. A knife quivered there, buried half to the hilt.

The Shadow saw the glistening blade; he took a twist past the end of the fence. As he swung about, he laid

his knuckles squarely beside the knife and tilted his automatic along the line of the handle. The Shadow's

With the boom of the automatic came a cry from a rooftop opposite. That was the exact direction of The

Shadow's aim, guided back along the knife's own path. A hunchy figure straightened on the roof edge, then

The Shadow viewed the sprawled, squatly figure of a Chinese knife thrower. Another of Li Hoang's trained

assassins had missed his thrust. Crippled by the bullet, the thwarted killer had met death when he struck the

cement. There would be no further trouble from that rogue. The Shadow turned to view the knife.

Pinned by the blade, The Shadow saw a ricepaper note. The Chinaman had slid it on the blade, before he

made the throw. The paper bore two messages; both had the same import, but one was in English, the other in

Those messages carried an order for the finder to carry away the body in which the knife was fixed; to deliver

it to Li Hoang. That knife had been intended for The Shadow's heart. Li Hoang had expected some of his own

The Shadow plucked the note away, letting the knife blade slice it clear. This token of Li Hoang's

thoroughness was one that The Shadow did not want the law to find. For the present, it was imperative that

If Harry Vincent still lived, The Shadow's only chance of rescuing his agent lay through a secret search for Li

Hoang. With Harry safe, the law could harass the Chinese supercrook; but not before. With Harry's life in the

balance, The Shadow's only course was to remove this tracer to Li Hoang, before the police could find it.

The note crinkled beneath The Shadow's cloak. The blackclad figure merged with the darkness of the side

alley. The Shadow was leaving Chinatown but only until excitement subsided there.

Later, The Shadow would return, to ferret his way to the hidden, unknown abode of Li Hoang!

IT was morning. From an office high in a downtown skyscraper, a man was staring at the distant lowlying

buildings that represented Chinatown. He was haggard, that man. His eyes were sharp, but restless. The

expression of his pointed features was that of a person lost in a jungle and fearing the coils of a deadly

He was viewing the spot where he knew that such a serpentine creature dwelt, in human form. That spot was

There was a newspaper on a glasstopped desk. It had an account of last night's raid in Chinatown. It did not

mention the name of Li Hoang. That gave the haggard man some relief, particularly because his own name

After all, it was a far stretch from a Chinatown raid to Lucius Zallock, president of Continental Airways.

Zallock gave orders to admit Kevin. A thin, wisefaced man strolled into the office. By that time, Zallock

had gained some composure. Seated behind his desk, he waved Kevin to a chair and then queried:

"I saw the Golden Pagoda," replied Kevin, "in the window of a curio shop. A fellow went in there; but he

looked presentable. Not the sort who would be working for Li Hoang. Today, though, the pagoda is gone

"I expected more," he snapped. "This report, Kevin, does no justice to your reputation as a private

Kevin helped himself to a cigar from a box on Zallock's desk. He smiled wisely as he lighted the perfecto.

"I had to stay out of sight," he reminded. "I couldn't walk into that curio shop and hand them my card! Don't

Zallock shoved an envelope across the desk. Inside it, Kevin found a ricepaper note inscribed with Chinese

"New demands," returned Zallock. "In addition to his toll from Compometal and Federal Export, Li Hoang

Kevin gave a soft whistle. Zallock controlled all three corporations, and Ozone Oil was the largest.

"American racketeers are children," declared Zallock, "compared to Li Hoang. Soon, he will be into every

Kevin knew how that could hurt. Money was Zallock's life blood. The magnate had the faculty for acquiring

dollars by the millions. Li Hoang it seemed, had the strength to wrest away that wealth.

"I spent some years in China," stated Zallock. "I know what the name and threats of Li Hoang can mean. He

always strikes at the highest man. My life would go like that" Zallock snapped his fingers "if I ignored

"That is why I ordered all complaints withdrawn. The president of Compometal can't understand it. Neither

"But I could afford no other course. Li Hoang has told me so, in his correspondence. One word to the law

KEVIN nodded. He knew the whole story. Small fry racketeers had gone to the offices of Compometal and

Federal Export, demanding payments for what they termed "protection." The men in charge of those

The racketeers hadn't seemed tough enough to bother them; but Zallock, who pulled the strings of both

corporations, had deemed otherwise. He had told the officials to pay, without stating his reason.

Behind it lay the fact revealed direct to Zallock. Those smallfry racketeers were merely collectors in the

Since then, Zallock had been delivering tribute. He had been afraid to notify the police or the government

authorities. He knew that before Li Hoang could be found, the death threat would be made good, with

The most that Zallock had dared to do was hire Kevin. He was playing a longshot game, hoping that the

private investigator could secretly trace Li Hoang. Once the Chinese crimemaster was located, Zallock

"I know how you feel, Mr. Zallock," he said, in sympathetic tone. "Believe me, I'll find Li Hoang! But it's to

your own advantage if I play the game close. Li Hoang is spreading out. Maybe that's just the break we need.

"You have already tried to trace several," retorted Zallock, caustically. "Every time, the trail has come to a

dead end, in Chinatown. Meanwhile, two of my enterprises have been paying tribute of twentyfive hundred

"Six thousand a week!" Zallock referred to Li Hoang's latest note. "Collections will start next Friday."

The demand staggered Kevin. He sat blowing smoke rings, while he watched Zallock burn the ricepaper

note. The multimillionaire was taking no chances that any spies of Li Hoang might find such messages intact.

With all his qualms, however, Zallock had confidence in Kevin. The private investigator was the one man he

fully trusted. That fact was proven by Kevin's presence here. Zallock had not even breathed the name of Li

"Keep up the work, Kevin," decided Zallock, rising from his desk. "But press the trail harder. My payments

to Li Hoang have totaled thousands! Eventually" Zallock was grim "he intends to run it into millions!"

ZALLOCK walked to an outer office with Kevin. It was safe to be seen with the private detective, for Kevin

was presumably conducting special investigations for Continental Airways, covering matters that had nothing

Zallock made a minor mistake, however, by that trip to the outer office. When he and Kevin arrived there, a

polite secretary was talking with a tall, narrowfaced man, whose eyes had a wild gleam beneath their bushy

brows. The fellow's face was grayish, like his shaggy hair. He was in an argumentative mood, as he leaned

"I tell you, I must see Mr. Zallock!" The man's cackle was excited. "This is the fifth time "

The secretary's lie was shattered by Zallock's own arrival. It happened that the secretary had his back toward

the door of the private office. The visitor, however, was staring straight in that direction. With a cry of glee,

he thrust the secretary aside with his cane and came bounding straight for Zallock.

Kevin thought that the man intended an assault, and started to thrust in between. Zallock pressed him aside.

A moment later, Zallock was shaking hands with the shaggyhaired visitor, greeting him like an old friend.

"Eric Bardsley!" exclaimed Zallock. "It's marvelous to see you! My door is always open to you! It is

outrageous that you should be denied admittance. Jarvis" this was to the secretary "consider yourself

The secretary gaped; but, gradually, understanding dawned on his face. Zallock shot a shrewd look toward

It was plain that Zallock didn't want to talk to Bardsley; that he had given strict orders for the fellow to be

kept outside. Rather than have Bardsley realize that, Zallock was putting up the bluff that the man was

When Zallock had conducted Bardsley into the private office, Kevin started out. He paused long enough to

"A crazy inventor," returned the secretary. "He had some good ideas, about ten years ago. The automatic

piloting device was one of them. But he keeps coming around with a lot of hairbrained gadgets that aren't

"Not a chance! He draws twenty thousand dollars a year in royalties from that piloting device. It's the money,

THAT settled the matter for Kevin. He decided that the secretary had the right slant on Bardsley. Kevin

There, Bardsley was facing Zallock across the big desk. The inventor's lips were as scoffing as his eyes.

"You are worth millions," cackled Bardsley. "Compared with your wealth, my royalties are a mere pittance."

The answer didn't satisfy Bardsley. He raised his head, hunching himself up from the cane.

"Why use such talk?" he demanded. "You've done well with Continental Airways, and all your success is due

to my invention of the automatic pilot. Every one of your ships is equipped with it."

"True," agreed Zallock, smoothly. "And for each one, you have received your proper royalty, plus a bonus."

"Of course! The contract calls for such payments. But don't forget, Zallock, you used the automatic pilot as

"My profits?" he screeched. "Pennies, mere pennies compared with the dollars that you have accumulated!

And that is not all! They say that you are worth millions." Bardsley's wild eyes became canny. "Perhaps you

Bardsley had struck the very truth that Zallock did not want him to know. In fact, Bardsley was one reason

why Zallock concealed the fact that he owned Compometal, Federal Export, Ozone Oil, and half a dozen

"If you want more money," purred Zallock, "I can show you how to gain it, Bardsley."

"I want what should be mine!" stormed Bardsley. "A fair return from the profits that my brain has made

"Of course!" soothed Zallock. "But if we are to operate on a mutual basis, we must include all departments."

"You have other inventions" Zallock's eyes were shrewd "that may have great possibilities. When you

have completed them, we can include them in a blanket contract. That will mean new terms; a more suitable

A CHANGE came into Bardsley's manner. It pleased Zallock. He had struck the one subject that was

paramount with Bardsley: the man's inventions. There was still some insistence in Bardsley's tone, however,

"Will you agree to declare your total profits, over the past eight years, as a basis for our new arrangement?"

"I will," replied Zallock. "But I cannot do it here. My private records are at my home."

Bardsley nodded; mumbled that he would keep the appointment. Zallock strolled with him to the door; on the

While Jarvis gawked, Bardsley hobbled through the outer office with the demeanor of a lamb. Zallock

"Don't worry about that chap, Jarvis. He won't be here again. I know how to handle him."

Back in his own office, Zallock stared from the window. The sharp smile that framed his lips began to fade.

His recent handling of Eric Bardsley seemed but a hollow triumph. Zallock's eyes were toward Chinatown,

Lucius Zallock spoke half aloud. His lips expressed the wish that he could outmatch Li Hoang as easily as he

had Eric Bardsley. Those two men were the only problems that interfered with the smoothness of Zallock's

Li Hoang, however, was as difficult as Eric Bardsley was easy. The Chinaman was dangerous; the inventor

harmless. The pair were as far apart as the poles. Those two problems, at least, could never overlap.

In that surmise, Lucius Zallock was wrong. Very soon, those problems would mingle, with unpleasant

NEW night had come to Chinatown. Deep in the catacombs of that district, Harry Vincent was awake, dimly

Harry was in a darkened room, stretched upon a couch that crinkled in silky fashion when he stirred. The

It was plain that he had been drugged. The air reminded Harry of the thickness that he had encountered in

From somewhere came a distant gong, its tone muffled, yet penetrating. Curiously, the sound reverberated, as

though the darkness of the room retained it. Through Harry's brain throbbed the thought that those echoes

It did not occur to Harry that the gong announced an hour. The twentyfourth, to be exact, since Harry had

A key rattled in a lock. Its slither was prolonged, torturing; it seemed hours before the door finally opened.

His head turning slowly, Harry saw a leering man in Chinese costume, outlined against the light of a corridor.

The arrival was Chun Laro. He was backed by two servants huge, villainous Mongols. They awaited the

Slowly, the snakish Chinaman let a grin twist across his lips. He spoke rapid words in Chinese. The guards

advanced into the room. Harry was too weak to resist, as they lifted him from the couch. Carried by the husky

The slowmotion effect of the drug enabled Harry to observe the entire route. Stone walls were etched before

his gaze; at irregular intervals he noted iron doors, set beside the corridors that they passed.

The course was neither straight nor level. Passages formed a maze, more crooked than the streets of

Chinatown. There were steps, down and up, where the tunnels avoided gas mains and water conduits.

Apparently, these were forgotten passages that had served their purpose during tong wars of years ago.

At one spot, Chun Laro ordered a pause. They had come up a flight of steep stone steps. On the left was a

passage that led downward at a slant; straight ahead, a level corridor. But it was to the right that Chun Laro

The Shadow's agent, following his captor's gaze, saw a short passage that ended with a glistening steel door,

set tight in the masonry. Above that door was an hourglass, set upon a stone shelf. The hourglass was huge,

Chun Laro snarled words in English. Their import was that the steel door marked the way through which

They moved along the central passage, past another succession of rooms. A turn of the corridor brought them

to a bronze door. There, Chun Laro lifted a copper hammer that hung by a silver chain. He struck the door a

From within came the clang of the gong that Harry had heard before; but its tone was choppy, shortclipped.

The bronze door slid open. Harry's carriers shoved him through, into a lighted room.

THE scene outmatched all fantasy. It was so strange, so grotesque, that Harry believed himself gripped by an

aftereffect of the drug. The floor was overlaid with rugs as deep as moss; their thick pile almost tripped Harry

There were statuettes about the room grotesque replicas of seated dragons, that looked like squatly

watchdogs, so realistic that their fangs seemed ready to tear into all intruders. Mounted on the heads of these

carved creatures were live torches, that illuminated the room with brilliant, but wavering, flame.

The walls were adorned with carvings. Some represented ferocious dragons; others, weird devil gods. Only

one spot lacked such hideous figures. It was the center of the rear wall, above the level of Harry's eyes. There,

in grim irony, was carved a small pagoda, its surface coated with some gilded substance.

That sight caused Harry to remember the Golden Pagoda the symbol that had brought him to his present

Harry's eyes traveled downward. They saw a gilded throne, formed from the twisted figure of a dragon. A

The man in the throne bowed. His gesture was merely a recognition that he gave to his subordinates.

LI HOANG was clad in purple robes. Upon the center of his tunic appeared a pagoda, woven in cloth of gold.

His head wore a mandarin's rounded hat, also of purple and with a golden plume. All these were details,

That face was a deep yellow; highcheeked and smooth. The nose was wide, but wellshaped. From each

side, eyes slanted up at a grotesque angle. Black eyebrows arched high above the eyes, and the lids beneath

Li Hoang evidently had a faculty for rolling his eyes without a motion of the lids, for, at times, all Harry

There was another remarkable feature of Li Hoang's visage; that was his mustache. It was black, curling

downward from his upper lip to form two curved streaks, one on each side of his mouth. The tips of the

So motionless was Li Hoang's expression, that Harry wondered if the Chinaman's face could be a mask. That

impression gripped him, until Li Hoang spoke. After that, Harry had no doubt that he was viewing the actual

Thin lips twisted beneath the curled mustache. The chin thrust forward; teeth glistened, as Li Hoang, with a

Li Hoang turned whitish eyes toward Harry; they darkened suddenly between their slanted slits.

"You are one who serves The Shadow," spoke Li Hoang, in English. "To such as you, our penalty is death!

There is a way, however" the thin lips had straightened "whereby you may find a death that is pleasant."

"There are facts that we seek," resumed Li Hoang, "concerning the one who calls himself The Shadow."

The Chinaman paused. Harry's face was set, his lips tight. Li Hoang knew that questioning was useless.

"Fool!" Li Hoang spat the epithet. "You cannot help but speak! There are ways, that we of China know,

whereby tongues may be loosened! If you force me to such a course, your speech when it comes will

"You will perish by a horrible death, taunted with the thought that you have spoken all that we wished to

DESPITE his dopiness, Harry managed a calculation. He did not intend to reveal a single fact that concerned

The Shadow. Harry wanted Li Hoang to know that; and stubborn silence was the surest way to drive the idea

Moreover, Harry was anxious to keep Li Hoang from guessing certain factors that went with such silence.

There was comparatively little that Harry could tell. Even The Shadow's own agents did not know their

chief's identity, or the spot where his secret headquarters lay. That was part of The Shadow's policy to

Furthermore, Harry was confident that sooner or later The Shadow would bring rescue. By silence, he could

stay his own execution; for it was evident, from Li Hoang's own words, that death would be Harry's fate, after

There was one other point that Harry intended to fling at Li Hoang, if forced to it: namely, that he could not

depend upon Li Hoang's promise of merciful death, as a reward for speech. That, as Harry considered it,

As events had it, Harry had no need for such tactics. Li Hoang tired of the prisoner's stubborn attitude. He

spoke a sharp order, in English, to Chun Laro. The lieutenant slid back the bronze door, snarled for the

Two minutes later, the husky servitors were dragging Harry from the throne room. Chun Laro followed.

Hauled through the bare stone corridors, Harry saw the steel door that was topped by the hourglass. The

Mongols took him along the passage that slanted in the opposite direction. The passage turned downward like

a curve in a ramp; brought them to corridors burrowed deep beneath. Next came a flight of steps, into dingy

At the bottom, the guards gripped their captive, while Chun Laro stooped to raise a round slab of metal that

A few moments later, Harry was using what little strength he had to fight against his captors. They were

determined to shove him into that blackened hole; and they succeeded, despite Harry's struggles.

Sagging through, Harry grabbed for the edges of the rounded opening and clung there. He saw Chun Laro's

foot rise; the snaky lieutenant intended to drive his hardheeled boot upon Harry's gripping hands.

There was only one sane course: to let go. Harry did so, an instant before the boot heel landed. He heard

Chun Laro's ugly, disappointed snarl. With the sound still in his ears, Harry struck upon a stone floor below.

The blow jarred him, but not so badly as the fall the night before. Sprawled upon slimy stone, Harry managed

to come to hands and knees, thankful, at least, that his fingers had escaped the punishment that Chun Laro

Something clamped above. It was the roundish cover. The last spot of light was gone from Harry's dungeon.

On his feet, Harry could not reach the opening. It was a full three feet above his hands.

A hiss seemed to taunt him, from the gloom; for the moment, Harry thought that some hidden beast might be

Then came a dizziness, that Harry understood. The hiss was gas, fizzing through the walls of the dungeon. He

remembered Li Hoang's promise that later he would talk. Harry understood the archvillain's method.

That gas would make Harry even groggier than before. It would as Li Hoang had expressed loosen his

tongue. When captors again brought him to Li Hoang, Harry's game would be through.

Swaying in the center of his slimefloored dungeon, Harry felt his knees give way. He had lost his sense of

balance in the darkness. The slump that he took brought a thump against his head. There was a flash of starry

Again, Harry Vincent lay helpless, his span of life dependent upon the whim of Li Hoang.

THE hourly gong chimed through the depths of Li Hoang's mazelike abode. That tone penetrated even to

the depths where Harry Vincent lay. It marked only a single hour, but it brought Harry from a fantasy of

Harry's brain whirled with recollections of writhing dragons; venomous tongues had hissed at him with vivid

realism. He realized suddenly that all was black and still about him; that there were no dragons.

Even the hisses had stopped. It meant that the gas was no longer issuing into the cell.

It seemed to Harry, however, that he was held by a multitude of invisible strands, that kept him tight upon the

There was a scraping sound above. Dim light, as the cover slid away. A body worked through, dropped to the

floor beside the prisoner. A figure crept close; hands pressed a flask to Harry's lips. Water reached his throat.

The effect was instantaneous. Half rising, Harry began a hoarse whisper. Words sprang to his lips; he was

telling who he was, stating that he served The Shadow, when a hand clapped suddenly across his mouth.

A flashlight shone. In its glare, Harry saw the face of the person who had dropped into his cell. Again, he

The flask again reached Harry's lips. He took slow gulps, following the orders of a soft voice that whispered

in his ear. Gradually, his strength returned. The girl turned the flashlight across the cell. Harry saw a

The girl pressed the flashlight into Harry's hand, told him to keep it focused on the cot. As he obeyed, Harry

"They call me Ming Dwan," replied the girl. "But you must ask no more questions. Time is short!"

While Harry held the flashlight, he saw Ming Dwan arrange the cot to give the illusion that a figure lay there.

She did the job well, using the pillow as a dummy. She added a useful article a shoe that she had brought

with her poking the tip of it from beneath the blanket. That gave a final touch.

She had beauty such as he had rarely seen. Her face was alluring; her slanted eyes, like her eyebrows, were

marvelous in their blackness. Her lips looked pursed; their ruddiness was an attractive contrast to the smooth

Ming Dwan's attire was black. She wore crepe slippers; a black silk skirt. Above, she had an embroidered

jacket, with high collar close about her neck. The jacket had long bellsleeves; as she moved her hands,

HOW and why this girl was at Li Hoang's, was a mystery to Harry. It was partly explained, when he saw

Ming Dwan's expression change. Her eyes showed a sudden cunning as a bitter smile crept to her lips. Her

features took on a cruel malice that matched the snakiness of Chun Laro, the cold, merciless glare of Li

Had Harry seen that expression first, he would have mistrusted Ming Dwan. She had revealed herself,

however, in a kindlier fashion. Harry realized that her new expression was a pose; one that she habitually

adopted while in this lair. By passing as a creature of evil, Ming Dwan would be welcomed by Li Hoang.

Forgetfulness or habit had accounted for Ming Dwan's lapse. When she turned toward Harry, her face

regained its kindliness. The girl pointed to the opening above their heads, ordered Harry to help her reach it.

Ming Dwan's nerve inspired Harry to strength. He lifted her; managed to thrust her to the opening.

With remarkable agility, Ming Dwan reached the floor above; stretching through, she thrust her hands toward

Harry. He gripped them; with surprising strength, the girl braced herself and hauled upward, until Harry was

While Harry clung there, Ming Dwan seized his shoulders and helped him roll through. As Harry rested on

Soon they were retracing the course by which the Mongols had brought Harry to the dungeon. They were

alone in a maze of passages, moving stealthily toward some goal. It proved to be the spot where four

corridors joined. Ming Dwan pointed to the steel door with the hourglass above it.

Before Harry could move in that direction, Ming Dwan suddenly pushed him toward a room that opened

from another corridor. Harry was out of sight, behind a halfclosed door, when Ming Dwan, still in view,

The arrival proved to be Chun Laro. Harry could see the twisty smile of approval that Chun Laro gave. There

was good reason for that expression. Ming Dwan had adopted her own crafty pose. The beadiness of her eyes

The two held a conversation in Chinese. Chun Laro continued on his way. Ming Dwan waited, tense. The

moment the man's footsteps had died, she was at Harry's door, bringing him out with one word:

They reached the passage to the steel door. There, Ming Dwan stabbed a stifled, disappointed cry. Her

The hourglass had dropped its final grains of sand. A change occurred as Harry stared. Some automatic

device inverted the hourglass; simultaneously, the steel door made a half revolution to the right, working on a

"Too late," breathed Ming Dwan. "You must wait a quarter hour longer. It takes fifteen minutes for the sands

"Yes." Ming Dwan pointed toward the closed door. "You saw the way it acted. To go through, one must be

HARRY calculated. In fifteen minutes, his turn would come. A half hour would bring Ming Dwan's

opportunity. Of course, there was the chance that Harry's escape might be discovered; but it seemed logical

Moreover, Harry realized that Ming Dwan could use the revolving door quite easily, if alone. Only a few

minutes ago, she might have risked it; for Chun Laro thought her loyal to Li Hoang. Ming Dwan's chief

handicap to her own escape was the problem of Harry's departure. It would be best for him to go first, as

They moved back into the room where Harry had hidden. Minutes passed; Ming Dwan seemed to count them,

though she did not consult a watch. At last, she beckoned; they went toward the steel door.

Harry saw the hourglass; again, the upper sands were low, but there were enough to last a few minutes

Ming Dwan nodded. Harry edged toward the right side of the door. As he neared it, a light suddenly glowed

"Some one is coming from the other side!" she whispered. "The light is the signal! We cannot risk it yet!"

"But that means fifteen minutes to wait," reminded Harry. "If they find that I am gone "

"It is better to wait," she insisted. "It is seldom that persons come from beyond that barrier. Your next

opportunity should be a sure one. This attempt would mean discovery, perhaps disaster."

They went back into the room; this time, Ming Dwan closed the door completely, telling Harry that it would

With that, Harry agreed; he was banking on the hope that the next attempt would not be interrupted. He was

trusting, too, that Ming Dwan would be able to make her own escape when her turn came.

Oddly, Ming Dwan and Harry were making their lone mistake, when they failed to wait and see the door turn.

The last grains of sand slipped lingeringly through the neck of the hourglass. The mechanism acted; as the

Instantly, the sheet of metal twirled. With it came a swiftmoving figure that blotted the steel shimmer of the

door. With the closing of the portal, the new arrival straightened. Motionless, he revealed himself as a figure

AS he reached the spot where passages joined, The Shadow studied every nook. He saw no one, for Ming

Dwan and Harry had closed their own door. That deed prevented them, in their turn, from seeing and

Nor did The Shadow linger at the junction point, where he might eventually have been observed by those

who required aid. Noting a long slope straight in front of him, he chose it as the logical route to a place where

prisoners could be confined. With swift stride, The Shadow glided along that corridor.

Two minutes later, Ming Dwan stole forth to the spot where passages crossed. She looked in every direction;

saw no one. Ming Dwan smiled; her expression, unforced, was a pleasant one. Whoever had entered, had

gone this way. Of that, Ming Dwan was sure. She went back to tell the good news to Harry.

Again, there would be a wait; after that, escape seemed sure. Ill chance, however, had entered to play a

fateful hand. The paths of rescuers had crossed. The Shadow not the Mongols would be the first to visit

That twist of the game would bring new knowledge to Li Hoang. Here, in his own realm, the master of evil

soon would be presented with the opportunity he wanted: a meeting with The Shadow!

THOUGH The Shadow rapidly reached the passages on the lower floor, he did not immediately find Harry's

In a lower corridor, The Shadow heard the muffled stride of approaching men. He took a side passage;

blended with its depths, to watch Chun Laro march past with a small squad of Mongols.

That incident told The Shadow that these preserves were well guarded. It also brought him other information.

About to retrace his way along the passage, he heard a bubbling sound from another direction. He made a

A short passage ended in a square stonewalled room. In the very center of the floor was a tank that seethed

with boiling oil. The heat from the pool was constant; it gave due proof of the fate that awaited any one who

The boiling oil represented one of the unpleasant deaths that Li Hoang had advised Harry to avoid.

Above the seething oil stretched a wire mesh that resembled a huge spider's web. If Li Hoang chose to

The Shadow observed that the corners of the mesh were provided with sharp cutters. Any wild struggle in the

web would merely snarl the victim. Once the corners were severed, he would fall, mesh and all, into the oil.

Looking above, The Shadow saw a high ceiling. In it was a squarecut section that looked like a trapdoor.

Through that device, a person could be dropped from the room above. A rapid fall would result in almost

instant death; for the web could not stand the hurtling plunge of a body, if it dropped uninterrupted.

There was a chance so The Shadow still supposed that Harry Vincent had already met a doom as terrible

as this. The Shadow's laugh betokened vengeance upon Li Hoang, if such were true.

Moving back along the passage, The Shadow checked distances, for future reference. He paused again, as he

The conversation was in Chinese. That language was quite intelligible to The Shadow. It chanced that Chun

Laro was mentioning certain facts that The Shadow wanted to know. The squinty lieutenant was telling the

The two separated. The Shadow followed the guard, instead of Chun Laro. The Mongol paced to the top of a

Reaching the steps, The Shadow peered downward. In the gloom, the rounded opening was barely

Silently, The Shadow eased downward; his gloved hands raised the metal cover. A tiny flashlight glimmered.

THE SHADOW was playing against freak luck, this night. His tiny light showed the cot that Ming Dwan had

faked with a dummy figure; Harry's rescuer had done the job neatly; and the cot was none too clear in the

beam of The Shadow's light. Yet The Shadow might have guessed the trick, had he been allowed a few

Footsteps halted The Shadow's survey. The Mongol was returning to the stone steps. Convinced, so far, that

Harry lay on the cot, The Shadow dropped through the opening. His fingers drew the cover into place;

gripping tiny air holes in the center, they fitted the metal disk down snug. Almost with the same move, The

He had counted upon doing exactly as Ming Dwan had done: rousing Harry, and thus managing a double

departure. But when he reached the cot, The Shadow found that he was alone in the cell.

So far as The Shadow knew, there was but one unguarded route from Li Hoang's catacombs. That was the

path by which The Shadow had come. He had found it after hours of diligent search through every lair in

Chinatown. The Shadow doubted that Harry could have made an earlier escape. It was therefore likely that

The existence of a rescuer was proven by The Shadow's own inability to climb alone from this cell. He

thought of the cot as a method, but found that it was clamped tight to the floor. Nevertheless, The Shadow did

When Mongols came, they would find a prisoner; but one far different from Harry Vincent. Instead of an

That was why The Shadow, at first, resolved to wait. It was the atmosphere of the room that made him

change that plan. The cell contained traces of the gas that Harry had encountered. It took The Shadow only a

Biding his time would be a good enough policy, unless captors guessed that they had a very live prisoner

below. In that case, The Shadow would need to be out of the cell before the gas treatment was repeated.

While The Shadow calculated, he heard the metal cover being dragged loose above him. Quickly, he bounded

past the cot; dropping beyond it, he waited to see what developed. The cover lifted; a face peered through.

The guard saw the dummy figure and was impressed by it; but there was something in the fellow's gloat that

did not suit The Shadow. Perhaps other guards were coming soon, to bring Harry from his cell. That would

It was better to act even earlier. Here was real opportunity, while only one guard was on the ground.

Carefully, The Shadow crept past the end of the cot; he skirted the glow of the suspended lantern.

The Mongol did not see the moving form. The Shadow was nebulous in that gloom. The guard's first inkling

of trouble arrived when he heard a hiss from the cell floor, below and behind the lantern. Craning, puzzled,

the Mongol was treated to a new sound: a whispered laugh that throbbed a sinister challenge.

Into the lantern light shoved the muzzle of an automatic. It pointed squarely between the guard's eyes. Words

came, in Chinese. The Mongol's teeth chattered, as he gulped the dread name of The Shadow:

Gloved hands came upward, one holding its gun. Fearfully, the guard obeyed instructions. He let the lantern

slide into The Shadow's empty hand. With his own hands, the Mongol gripped The Shadow's wrists and drew

There wasn't a chance for a false move during that trip. The Shadow's gun muzzle was placed along the

Mongol's arm, pressed straight for the fellow's heart. Trickery by the Mongol would mean a mere drop for

The situation changed when The Shadow was almost through to the floor. There, he scaled the lantern to one

side; used his hand to gain a grip. Whispering another warning to the guard, The Shadow lowered his gun.

In an instant, the villainous guard whipped out a knife, started a downward thrust for the back of The

That was the longest knife jab that the Mongol had ever tried. It traveled a dozen feet. As the blade started its

downward swoop, The Shadow gave a powerful arm swing along the floor. With his automatic, he fairly

Literally, the yellow man was chopped into a headlong dive that carried him clear over The Shadow's

shoulders, straight into the blackened cell. The guard had no chance to yell, before he hit the bottom.

Shoulder first, he took a jar that stunned him, while his knife rattled a tattoo across the floor.

The Shadow arose, clamped the metal cover into place. He had given the guard a fair test, for he had warned

him not to make trouble and the guard had agreed. If the Mongol survived that plunge, he would never again

The Shadow reached the top of the stone steps. He was hoping that the lone guard's visit had been a

premature one; but that was not the case. The tramp of other Mongols sounded from a corridor.

Battle here was useless. It would only spread the alarm; produce a trap for Harry and the person who had

rescued him. Hurriedly, The Shadow headed for the upper level. He was in time to reach the last stretch

The sand level in the hourglass showed less than a minute more. Even that period was too long. From below,

The Shadow could hear excited shouts in babbling Chinese. The men sent to bring Harry to Li Hoang, had

THE SHADOW'S laugh sounded along the corridor. Harry and Ming Dwan turned; they saw The Shadow.

The girl gave a grateful gasp, as The Shadow joined them. Harry heard his chief speak a name:

The girl nodded. The whole truth dawned on Harry. He had heard of Myra Reldon; she was a government

operative, who investigated Chinese matters. But Harry had never realized that Myra could be Ming Dwan!

He had only the recollection that Myra had once worked with The Shadow, when their paths had crossed.

(Note: See "Teeth of the Dragon," Vol. XXIII, No. 6.) But Harry had not seen Myra in her Chinese makeup.

He understood at last why this girl, presumably a tool of Li Hoang, had come to his rescue.

There was bedlam from the lower corridor. A horde of foemen was coming, headed by Chun Laro. The

Shadow was putting quick questions to Myra; getting prompt answers that decided his policy. He took a

quick look toward the hourglass; then planted Harry against the steel door, with orders to go through.

Then, just as Chun Laro heaved in sight, The Shadow gripped Myra and flung her across the corridor!

Chun Laro saw what happened to the supposed Ming Dwan. He gained the very impression that The Shadow

wanted. He thought that The Shadow was Harry's rescuer; that Ming Dwan was trying to prevent the

Chun Laro aimed his revolver, pressed the trigger. Like other Chinese, he had that habit of carrying a dead

chamber under the hammer. Before he could press the trigger a second time, his shot was frustrated. It was

Coming to her feet, the pretended Ming Dwan sprang for The Shadow. Grabbing fiercely at his cloak, she cut

Chun Laro and a dozen others hurtled forward, hoping for a fight at close quarters, since they could not fire

A last grain of sand dripped from the hourglass. The steel door whipped about, plunging Harry through. The

Shadow was relieved from the burden of protecting his groggy agent. Harry's rescue was completed; he had a

WITH Ming Dwan still as his shield, The Shadow looked capable of battle. Chun Laro and those others did

not guess that their cloaked foe, more than themselves, was anxious to preserve the girl's life. Chun Laro,

himself, was rooted at sight of an automatic that The Shadow had drawn. The snaky Chinaman was glad

Chun Laro put the proposition in English. There was a tense pause; then The Shadow's laugh, lacking its

usual mockery. Calmly, The Shadow cloaked his automatics; he nudged Ming Dwan away. Standing with

Chun Laro and his crew moved forward. Bringing ropes that they had intended for Harry, they gleefully

bound The Shadow in those coils. Led by Ming Dwan, they started a march with their tightbound prisoner.

SUPREME upon his dragon throne, Li Hoang surveyed the new prisoner that his henchmen had brought him.

Like Harry, The Shadow met the glare of eyes that gazed from strange, angled slits, sometimes showing their

Though Li Hoang had controlled his expression when he studied Harry, he could do so only partially, when

he faced The Shadow. With all his solemnity, Li Hoang felt glee. His eyes did not show it; but the lips

Mongols had thrust The Shadow into a teakwood chair, opposite the throne. Chun Laro was talking volubly

in Chinese, giving the details of The Shadow's capture. Myra Reldon, as Ming Dwan, was standing at one

Li Hoang set his lips. His face became inscrutable. He leaned from his throne to study The Shadow's

countenance. He could see a face probably disguised beneath the upturned brim of the slouch hat. It had a

hawkish trace, that seemed suitable to The Shadow. But in The Shadow's eyes, glistening in the wavering

Chun Laro repeated his account. His version credited The Shadow with Harry's rescue; Ming Dwan with a

"I understand your surrender, Ying Ko," he announced, in precise English. "You have managed, at least, to

free a man who can bring others to my abode. Because of that, you suppose that I shall prefer to keep you

"Your conjecture is correct. Knowing your methods as I do" Li Hoang's tone was dry "I presume that

your own aids will use subtle tactics to redeem you, rather than attempt an open attack. Therefore, I shall hold

The decision was the sort that The Shadow expected. Whatever Li Hoang's game, The Shadow knew that it

was not complete. The Chinese crime wizard would prefer to continue his schemes, unmolested.

That might be possible, if he could stave off The Shadow's agents with proof that their chief still lived. But

that would not be for long. The Shadow could foresee that Li Hoang would lose little time gathering loose

How long Li Hoang would allow, was a matter that did not perturb The Shadow. With Myra Reldon on hand

as Ming Dwan, The Shadow's own escape would be as simple a matter as Harry's; and it would probably lack

Deftly, he had worked against the hurried bonds with which the Mongols had tied him. In using their long

rope, they had required many coils. The more such twists, the better the chance for slack. The Shadow's

"PERHAPS" Li Hoang's eyes were dark and steady through their slits "we should discuss our terms

The Shadow's answer was an expressive laugh one that Li Hoang took for a challenge. With a wave, Li

The Shadow inched within his bonds, but made no sudden move. His action looked like a mere shift of

position, as though the ropes were too tight for him. Li Hoang delivered a merciless smile.

"Perhaps you may prove highly useful, Ying Ko," he announced. "We have ways, in China, of acquiring

services that we need. We do not offer rewards. Instead" Li Hoang's eyes were glaring hard "we have

The Shadow's gaze was unconcerned. Settling back on the throne, Li Hoang reached for the gong; gave it a

"Bring the guard," ordered Li Hoang in English. "The one who was in the cell when you found the prisoner

Chun Laro bowed and left. Li Hoang stared expectantly toward the floor. Again, The Shadow shifted; this

time, grimly. He could see trouble when that Mongol came. Until this moment, The Shadow had supposed

If the guard blabbed that he had found The Shadow alone in the cell, Li Hoang might begin to wonder about

Harry's escape. Through wondering, he could suspect Ming Dwan. That would not only deprive The Shadow

Ropes slackened, but not enough. The Shadow turned his head toward the door. He relaxed, when he saw

Chun Laro and others bringing in the Mongol. The fellow was stumbling, barely able to walk.

Chun Laro deposited the guard at the foot of the throne. He and the others left. Again The Shadow was alone

with Li Hoang, save for that pitiful guard. Feebly, the man had recognized Li Hoang and was striving to

Li Hoang said nothing. His eyes lowered; his lips hardened. He watched the Mongol; thereby, he unwittingly

gave The Shadow a chance for freer motion. With a shift, The Shadow tightened one coil of rope. The move

Almost before Li Hoang's eyes, The Shadow was sliding the loose stretches, depriving the coils of their

holding power. All the while, he was watching Li Hoang, ready to desist the moment the crimemaster raised

The crippled Mongol showed a sudden burst of strength. He clutched the dragon head of Li Hoang's throne;

came to his knees. In stammered singsong tone, he began to gasp words that The Shadow caught. Those

"It was Ying Ko!" the wretch panted, in his native tongue. "I saw Ying Ko! He made me do his bidding! If I

Fiercely, The Shadow was wrenching with the coils. His arms were almost free. He needed one of those

automatics that the Mongols had left beneath his cloak, deeming him helpless. A few words more the

THRUSTING his left hand forward, the purplerobed Chinaman clutched the Mongol's neck, cutting off

further words. With his right hand, Li Hoang drew a knife from beneath his kingly tunic.

His hands worked together; the left thrust back the unresisting head, his right drove the knife deep to the

Mongol's heart. With a twisty shove, Li Hoang sent the body rolling beside the throne.

The Shadow's activity ended instantly. He slumped back in his chair, feigning horror, as Li Hoang gazed in

"That is how I deal with those who plead for mercy," sneered Li Hoang. "That man deserved death, because

he failed me! Sometimes, those who deserve death become most useful servants; but not when they whine

A keen glint showed in The Shadow's eyes. In searching fashion, they were studying Li Hoang. The laugh

that came from The Shadow's lips was low, significant. But Li Hoang did not understand the significance of

Purposely, The Shadow was veiling his real thoughts. His observation of Li Hoang's method with the Mongol

had given him an important link of information; one that could prove vital, after he had gained freedom from

Li Hoang leered. He took The Shadow's laugh for mere bravado. He wanted witnesses who would appreciate

his deed. He pounded the gong; when Chun Laro appeared, Li Hoang ordered him to admit Ming Dwan and a

Chun Laro looked quizzically at the body of the man whom Li Hoang had murdered. Li Hoang gave a nod.

When the Mongols arrived, it was Chun Laro who babbled the worth of Li Hoang's deed. He told them that

they saw the fate of those who failed Li Hoang. All the while that The Shadow listened to Chun Laro, he kept

The throned Chinaman was paying no attention. His slanted eyes were roving elsewhere. They fixed upon

In the fraction of a second, The Shadow's own attitude changed, as a terrific realization seized him.

The news that Li Hoang had failed to obtain from the blabbing Mongol, had suddenly been furnished from

another source. Myra Reldon, despite her clever acting in the part of Ming Dwan, had unwittingly given the

Li Hoang knew that Ming Dwan owed no loyalty to crime. The sudden thrust of his chin was the giveaway!

Death threatened Myra; with it, The Shadow, too, was doomed. This emergency demanded a desperate move.

With a terrific wrench, The Shadow writhed free from the loosened cords; he thrust the coils down to his feet.

An instant later even before Li Hoang could shout a command The Shadow was coming up from his chair,

STRAIGHT in front of The Shadow was a squarish rug, set at a slight angle. He could understand its purpose.

Li Hoang had that snare in readiness, to plunge any wild attackers through the floor, into a web that would

But The Shadow had to reach Li Hoang. Chun Laro and the Mongols had spotted The Shadow's rise. They

would be upon him, unless he could gain his goal. That objective was Li Hoang. With the crime ruler as a

Moreover, The Shadow wanted to stifle Li Hoang before the villainous Chinese could proclaim the treachery

of Ming Dwan. If that succeeded, The Shadow would have Myra as his ally in the coming fray.

Li Hoang grabbed for a golden cord beside the dragon throne. He fumbled it momentarily; The Shadow's

laugh taunted him. That was the only break The Shadow needed. The slip that Li Hoang made gave time to

A monster seemed doomed, when The Shadow lunged. An instant later, the scene was changed. The

A last coil of rope had caught The Shadow's foot. As the blackcloaked fighter took a half sprawl on the rug,

The Shadow was on his feet as the floor slid open. He gave a tremendous lurch; it did not save him. The

whole trap shot away into the floor; the sizzle of the boiling vat hissed weirdly. The Shadow lost his

automatic; it dropped into the spidery web below. Only a titanic effort saved The Shadow, temporarily.

He managed to grip the far side of the trap with his finger tips. His body dropped downward; gone from view,

Myra's gasp was audible. She could see those gloved fingers, retaining their iron clutch. She was seized by a

wild hope that The Shadow might haul himself from the snare. But Li Hoang was prepared to settle that.

The trapdoor slithered into view, coming with the speed of a cleaver. Its power was sufficient to mash The

Shadow's fingers, had he awaited it; but the coming rumble gave him a splitsecond's notice. He loosened his

Myra caught a last glimpse of The Shadow's body, headed downward for that slender web, with the doom of

burning oil beneath it. An instant later, the floor was closed, its thickpiled rug in place.

The floor itself seemed like a deadly monster, that had yawned, to swallow The Shadow into certain doom!

WHILE Myra Reldon gazed in consternation at the spot where The Shadow had dropped from sight, Li

Hoang bounded from his throne. He sprang straight for the girl. To the astonishment of his followers, he

gripped the supposed Ming Dwan in a ferocious clutch. Myra felt vicious claws grip her collar.

This was no mock battle, like the one that she had fought with The Shadow. That struggle had seemed real

enough; to give it effect, The Shadow had given a sharp rip to Myra's sleeve. When she saw that very sleeve,

The seam of the sleeve had left a gap beside the girl's arm. Through that space, Li Hoang had spotted white

skin. The Shadow, too, had noticed the telltale clue; but not until he had noticed Li Hoang's fixed gaze.

The wrench that Li Hoang gave to Myra's collar tore away the whole side of her dress. Her sleeve fell loose;

that did not matter, for she had stained her arms and shoulders with a yellow dye. The ripping of her dress did

the real damage. It exposed Myra's side, almost to her hip. Chun Laro and his crew saw instantly that she was

With a fierce cackle, Li Hoang flung Myra toward the door. She sank there, clutching her torn dress too late.

Chun Laro, anxious to copy his master's deeds of murder, whipped out a knife. He was ready to finish Ming

Before Chun Laro could drive forward, a muffled tumult stopped all motion in the throne room. The sounds

came from below, beneath the thickrugged floor. There was the quiver of an unearthly laugh, mocking and

triumphant. Guns delivered a muffled roar from the depths. Again, The Shadow's laugh throbbed sinister

Li Hoang made a leap for the wall behind the throne. He swung open the space that was adorned with a

gilded pagoda, to reveal a spiral staircase. Followed by a crowd of Mongols, Li Hoang dashed downward.

Chun Laro hesitated. That was a bad mistake. Myra was drawing a .32 revolver. It was too late for the snaky

lieutenant to make his knifethrust. He dived beyond the dragon throne, shouting for aid. Discarding his

Myra found refuge behind one of the torchtopped statues. In the light from burning flame, she and Chun

Meanwhile, Li Hoang had reached the room below. Coming from the far side of the boiling vat, he gaped at

Poised in the metalstranded web, The Shadow lay ready for all comers. In each fist, he held an automatic;

on the other side of the vat, crippled guards lay helpless from bullets that he had delivered.

Li Hoang's snare had failed, because The Shadow had previously inspected it. For the first time, Li Hoang

The Shadow, thanks to his brief clutch at the trap, had dropped not plunged into the mesh. His body,

stretched downward almost to the level of the web, had given the snare no jar. Instead of wildly struggling to

leave the web, The Shadow was resting there serenely, avoiding the tangle that would result if he acted in

EVEN as Li Hoang stared, The Shadow made a leisurely turn in the mastercrook's direction. Li Hoang

sprang back to the spiral steps; but his followers were not so wise. They shouldered forward, aiming as they

Mongols sprawled. The web swayed in hammockfashion, from the recoil of The Shadow's guns. There was

a scream as one stumbling guard slipped over the edge and splashed into the seething oil. That was enough

Almost lazily, The Shadow let his body turn. His roll was slow, too delayed to tangle him in the mesh. He

made no sudden effort until he was at the inner edge. There, he jolted his body sidelong. A corner of the mesh

With a heave, The Shadow slid downward; cleared the edge of the vat. Catching his footing, he drove for the

spiral stairs. He fired upward as he began his pursuit. Those shots, and the laugh that accompanied them,

Once in the throne room, The Shadow saw a mad rush for the outer door. Chun Laro had joined it; he was

running side by side with Li Hoang, while Myra blasted shots from her spot of safety. Unfortunately, the girl

clipped neither the Chinese's leader nor his lieutenant. Intervening Mongols took the bullets that she meant

When The Shadow crossed the throne room, Myra followed. Foemen were on the run; the chase had become

a rout. It was not until they reached the crossing of the passages that they met with opposition. There, The

Shoving suddenly into the passage with the revolving steel door, the Shadow blasted a quick shot at a squatly

enemy. The man sagged against the right side of the barrier, his eyes fixed toward the hourglass above.

Again, the sands had almost trickled through. The Shadow's quick shot was a timely one. As he drew back

into safety, others saw the steel door turn. The body of the squatty Mongol rolled into the breach, jamming

Again, The Shadow jabbed his taunting mirth. He followed with a quick barrage of shots along the sloping

corridor. Those bullets brought back futile answers, despite the angry cackle of Li Hoang, and the babbled

With the outside route opened, gunfire could be heard. If Harry or others were about, they would know that

Gathering henchmen of Li Hoang prepared for a bigger battle. It came with a suddenness and size that they

did not expect. A group of men appeared beyond the opened portal; they were headed by a stocky leader,

Harry had done better than bring a few of The Shadow's agents. He had heard the gunfire; had passed the

LIKE human rats, the Mongols took for the depths; and with them went Li Hoang and Chun Laro. Cardona

saw The Shadow start pursuit; following that lead, Joe beckoned the squad through. This was a chase that

gave no chance for cover, and The Shadow knew the routes through the passages below.

Myra let the rush pass her by. Gratefully, the girl waited, hoping that The Shadow would return, but knowing

The squad was almost out of sight, when another man came through an arrival scarcely noticed by Myra,

who took him for a plainclothes man. The fellow was Kevin, the wisefaced private investigator hired by

Lucius Zallock. Though the last to enter, Kevin was to play a part more important than Myra supposed.

Kevin's chance came, when he saw The Shadow working at a black door that was marked with a golden

pagoda. The Chinatown squad had taken other routes, rounding up the remnants of Li Hoang's band. Only

The door gave suddenly. As Kevin gawked, he saw The Shadow pile into a room where two men were

crouched above a desk. With a wild yell, the pair heaved the desk straight for the cloaked invader, then dived

for a little alcove. They pressed past a curtain; their footsteps pounded on a stairway.

One fleeing man was clad in purple; the other had a snakish face. Like The Shadow, Kevin had seen Li

The Shadow pursued. He was gone when Kevin came into the room. Listening, the dick heard The Shadow's

laugh, far above. There was the roar of guns; the clatter of a heavy foot. Li Hoang and his chief lieutenant had

Kevin decided to clear out. He shoved the overturned desk from his path. He glared sourly, when he saw that

the drawers had been ripped from it; that all were empty. Savagely, Kevin kicked a drawer away. His

On the floor lay a large square envelope. It was unsealed; projecting from its interior was a sheaf of thin

papers. With a quick grab, Kevin pocketed the envelope and hurried from the battered office.

The lucky investigator was out of sight when The Shadow returned. Having learned of one new exit, The

Shadow was confident that there would be others. He paused long enough to scour the office; finding no

Kevin, meanwhile, reached the only exit that he cared to use: the revolving hourglass door where the bulleted

Mongol lay. Peering along a side passage, he saw a plainclothes man talking with a girl whom Kevin took

for a Chinese. Hurrying past, the private dick stepped over the body of the dead Mongol.

The rest of Kevin's route brought him eventually to the abandoned curio shop where Harry Vincent had met

with capture. There, Kevin met a headquarters man who eyed him suspiciously. Kevin showed a badge and

"I was supposed to join up with Inspector Cardona," he explained glibly. "I had some dope about a case he's

working on. Just when I got here, the rumpus started. So I was going down to see what it was all about. Tell

The headquarters man let Kevin through. Outside, the wisefaced investigator shoved his hand deep into his

pocket, crinkled the envelope that he had pilfered. That was a prize that Kevin had long wanted, proof for

Maybe the papers meant nothing; perhaps they meant a lot. That was something Kevin could find out later.

In a sense, Kevin was right. Later, though, he was to regret that he had not left that packet for the person who

IT was a far stretch from Chinatown's tumult to the quiet suburban district where Lucius Zallock lived.

Anyone could make it in a fortyminute trip by car; but it was more than mere distance that separated the two

Chinatown was like a patch of the Orient, filled with danger and intrigue. Zallock's suburb was a highly

An hour had passed since battle had struck in Chinatown; but news of that strife had not yet trickled to

Zallock's haven. There was nothing surprising in that fact. Neither The Shadow nor the law had linked the

Spacious grounds surrounded Zallock's mansion. Broad lawns were quiet, streaked with darkness. The house

itself was serene; its lighted windows, widely spaced, spoke of calm. Despite those outward signs, the

Clumps of shrubbery hid watchful men: Zallock's own trusted servants. Other guards were posted in the

recesses of the porch. No one could approach that house without observation, except by utilizing the utmost

stealth. Lucius Zallock was taking no chances; he feared a thrust from Li Hoang.

A caravan of cars came rolling into the big drive. There were three in all: a limousine between two light

coupes. The automobiles were recognized. Men rose from the shrubbery to signal that all was well.

Lucius Zallock stepped from the limousine. The coupes, chauffeured by picked men, continued to the garage.

The limousine followed them. Zallock always traveled in this fashion when he went to visit friends in

Manhattan. He felt that his limousine was safe, when it was protected by a convoy.

Inside the mansion, other servants stood on watch, while Zallock met a slender, wanfaced man who served

"What news, Shamp?" demanded the business magnate. Then, in an undertone: "Has Kevin called up?"

"He did a while ago, sir," replied Shamp. "He said he would come out here later."

Zallock started upstairs; Shamp followed. They entered a little study at the rear of a second floor hall. Zallock

was about to close the door, when he raised his hand in nervous fashion, spoke the one word:

Shamp listened. Like Zallock, he heard the unmistakable rumble of a car coming into the front driveway.

Zallock nodded. Shamp went downstairs, arriving there just as the doorbell rang. A servant opened the door;

a stooped man entered. With one hand, he was leaning on a cane; in the other, he carried a large oblong box

Shamp received the visitor mildly. Through the open front door the secretary could see men risen from the

THE visitor announced himself as Eric Bardsley. Hearing the name, Shamp recognized the inventor from

Zallock was waiting at the door of the study. He gave a smile that was both relieved and pleased.

"Bring Bardsley up," Zallock told Shamp. "Take him into the little parlor at the second floor front. While I

"But but," Shamp was stammering nervously "I thought you said that those papers "

"Were useless?" queried Zallock, dryly. "Yes, Shamp, they were useless for the purpose which I originally

intended. I doubt that government experts would have allowed the socalled business losses that those

"That was why I used other records, when I reported my income. It was better to declare my actual profits,

and avoid any charges of evasion. However, the figures in File B should satisfy our friend Bardsley."

Soon afterward, Zallock and Bardsley were seated in the small but elaborately furnished room that the

magnate had termed the "parlor." Shamp brought in the required file. Zallock spread papers on a table.

Eagerly, Bardsley studied the documents. They were certified by accountants who had gone over Zallock's

books; but the aviation magnate did not explain that his ledgers could be interpreted in various ways.

Presumably, these records were complete. They showed huge losses charged to experiments in air navigation;

Moreover, the records established heavy expenses in purchases from Compometal; insurance payments for

goods shipped by Federal Export; large costs in fuel purchased from Ozone Oil. There was nothing to

indicate that Zallock controlled those companies and others mentioned; that their profits through Continental

That was the feature that Zallock had feared would be discovered. These records were a snarl of loose

threads, all accounted for, when considered alone; but quite different when traced from the other ends.

"Our business has been large," mourned Zallock, "but you can see for yourself, Bardsley, that my net profits

"That is greater than your royalty of twenty thousand; but when you consider the tremendous amount of

Bardsley seemed satisfied by Zallock's smooth explanation. The inventor was nodding, his face displayed

"Show me your new invention, Eric. Perhaps it can produce new profits for both of us."

BARDSLEY'S face gleamed with a smile. He opened the oblong box; brought out a tube that stood on a

pedestal. At each end was a small propeller. Bardsley set the appliance on the table. He opened a shallow

compartment in the deep bottom of the oblong box; from it, he produced a length of insulated wire, with

A few minutes later, the inventor had the wire running from a floor plug to the propeller tube. He pressed a

"Observe all that happens!" he shrilled, excitedly. Bardsley's grayish face had brightened; he was running his

fingers through his shaggy hair. "Only one propeller is taking the current, but it produces the revolutions of

"Because it drives air through the tube," commented Zallock. "That is quite obvious, Eric."

Bardsley threw a switch. The free propeller halted; its blades flicked. Gaining impetus, it began to speed in

"Double action!" chuckled Bardsley. "In one direction, the second propeller supplies additional power, thus

"In the other direction" the inventor had raised his hands excitedly "the propellers nullify. That will

"Say nothing, Shamp," warned the magnate. "The man is crazy! Lost in this dream, he has forgotten that

Zallock cut short. Bardsley had stopped the tiny motor in the base of the propeller tube. Since the hum had

"An excellent idea!" approved Zallock. "It should be tested, on a larger scale. The strain of higher speed "

"Means nothing!" interrupted Bardsley. "I can gear this device to double the number of revolutions. I shall

He disconnected the cord; began to dismantle the propeller tube. While Zallock watched patiently, the sound

of another approaching car came from out front. Zallock nudged Shamp, telling him to go downstairs.

A few minutes later, the secretary returned. He saw Bardsley busy with the invention. Shamp spoke two

Placidly, Zallock turned to Bardsley. He spoke a question; Bardsley was too engrossed to catch it. Zallock put

"Only fifteen minutes," promised the inventor. "I am to blame; I should have geared it properly beforehand.

"We shall leave you alone," purred Zallock. "Shamp, bring those records to my study."

ZALLOCK wore a pleased smile when he and Shamp stepped into the hallway. Carefully, he closed the door

They reached the study. Kevin slipped into a chair; wiped a streak of sweat from his forehead. He began to

pour the news of strife in Chinatown. Zallock listened, worried. Shamp showed the jitters, also.

"I grabbed an envelope at Li Hoang's," informed Kevin, "and maybe it's important. I stuck around Chinatown

though, because there were plenty of cops there. For a while, it was the safest place to be.

"That was when I phoned here. After that, I pulled out, while they were hauling away a lot of crippled chinks

in some ambulances. There were a couple of things I heard, though, in Chinatown."

Pausing, Kevin turned to stare toward the door. His eyes were nervous, rather than wise.

"Can anybody hear what we're saying here?" he demanded. "Maybe it might go to Li Hoang "

"The room is soundproof," inserted Zallock. "My servants are trustworthy; in addition, they work in pairs, so

"From Li Hoang as well as from all others," assured Zallock. "The house is guarded, Kevin, though you

probably did not observe it. I am positive that no one not even Li Hoang could enter here undiscovered!"

Kevin leaned back in his chair. His settled position blocked Zallock's view of the doorknob. Neither Zallock

nor Shamp spotted the slow turn that the knob received from some outside source.

Though Lucius Zallock did not know it, Li Hoang had found a way to enter this mansion undetected by the

outside guards. To one who had burrowed deep below the streets of Chinatown, such measures were far

Those three men in that study were due for a bad surprise. Soon before Kevin could reveal all vital facts

SATISFIED that all was safe, Kevin licked his dryish lips. Resuming his wisefaced expression, the

investigator reached into his pocket, brought out the envelope that he had carried from the room with the

"There's a couple of dozen sheets in here," he told Zallock, "and they're all alike. I can tell that much, even

"They've got Li Hoang's signature on them. I'm wise to that much, because I cornered a sappylooking chink

and showed him one. He started to read it. He said it began with the words: 'In the Golden Pagoda' and after

"The fellow must have seen Li Hoang's signature," he remarked. "That would account for his sudden silence."

"You've guessed it," admitted Kevin. "You should have seen the dive he made! Anyway, there I was, stuck

"These sheets won't help us much," declared the private dick, "unless we can find somebody who can read

Zallock's face became firm, as his fingers reached into the envelope. His eyes were fixed on Kevin.

"I told you previously," declared Zallock, "that I spent some years in the Orient. It was in China that I once

met Li Hoang, in person. At that time, fortunately, he did not regard me as an enemy.

"On that occasion, I acted as an interpreter, while Li Hoang conducted negotiations with a group of

Englishmen. My knowledge of the Chinese language is quite large. Whatever the import of these messages, I

Zallock drew the papers into view. Shamp saw that Kevin's statement was correct; all the sheets were alike,

closely inscribed with finely penned Chinese characters. Shamp noted the signature; he knew that it was the

But Shamp, like Kevin, was unable to decipher anything else; a fact which was to prove unfortunate.

"My glasses, Shamp," ordered Zallock, squinting at the sheets which he had fanned between his hands. "I've

Shamp found the reading glasses on the desk. He picked them up by the long ribbon attached to them.

Zallock laid the papers and envelope on the desk, while he adjusted the glasses to his nose. Still facing

Shamp was staring straight toward the door; his expression became fearful. Zallock turned; as he did, he saw

The door of the room had opened, unnoticed. It was closing behind the back of the insidious person who had

entered. The intruder was a living demon of the Orient, whose purple attire symbolized his evil power.

Three men saw a lemonhued face, above a purple robe which had a golden pagoda woven in its silken front.

A goldplumed purple headpiece topped that malicious countenance whereon slanted eyes gleamed their

Lucius Zallock recognized that coldset face. The magnate's own lips gulped the name:

THE archcrook's presence was not the only menace that he produced. In a tightclenched fist, goldgloved

from knuckles to wrist, Li Hoang held a revolver. His position was craftily chosen; a mere sidestep had

Eyeballs showed whitish; then came the glisten of a darkish gaze. Li Hoang had turned his head to spy the

papers on the desk. He gave a savage hiss; sprang straight across to pluck the precious documents, envelope

Before the others could make a move, Li Hoang was away again. He was threatening, wagging his revolver

from a corner of the room, while his free hand crinkled the papers into a pocket of his robe.

"Too late," croaked Li Hoang. "Or too soon whichever you prefer. These orders, to my faithful helpers,

"All that was meant for you were the instructions that I gave direct. You have violated my terms! There shall

Zallock quavered. His lips gasped protests in Chinese. Li Hoang's lips showed scorn.

"Speak English," sneered the purpleclad Oriental menace. "Let the others hear what you have to say. The

Li Hoang finished with a gun flourish in Kevin's direction. The investigator started to sneak behind his chair;

"By hiring this man?" interjected Li Hoang, with another nudge toward Kevin. "You have lied, Zallock! It

Li Hoang's remark gave Kevin an idea one that was based upon poor judgment. Kevin knew what Li Hoang

meant. He wanted Zallock to live, so that he could pillage him. On that basis, Kevin thought that he could

"You can't get away with this!" asserted Kevin. His gruff tone showed that he had recovered from his first

alarm. "What Mr. Zallock says is right! He knows nothing yet. But I know plenty; too much for your good!

Half leaning on his chair, Kevin stroked his chin; he began in slow fashion to declaim:

A sharp report interrupted the investigator's sentence. The blast was accompanied by a tongue of flame from

Li Hoang's gun. While smoke wreathed lazily from the revolver muzzle, Kevin crumpled to the floor. His

"Perhaps he, also, lied," spoke Li Hoang, facing Zallock and Shamp. "He may have known more of that

message; perhaps not. His death suits me. I have disposed of a man who meddled into my affairs!"

"Remember this, Zallock." Li Hoang sidled to the door, paused there, still aiming his smoketainted gun.

"You, also, shall die if you speak one word against me! This little matter" he motioned toward Kevin's

"Otherwise, doom! Less pleasant than the sort that you have seen. And whether you live or die" the firm

chin thrust forward between the droopy points of the long mustache "your wealth shall become mine!"

CONTEMPTUOUSLY, Li Hoang thrust away his revolver as he opened the door. Zallock and Shamp had a

last impression of that devilish face, with its fixed eyes, jetblack mustache and hardset lips. The door

There was a little clock on Zallock's desk. Its ticks became audible in the stillness that followed, while

Zallock and Shamp kept a horrorstruck gaze upon Kevin's body. A minute passed before either man moved.

"They can do nothing. Li Hoang came here unchallenged. He can depart as easily. If Kevin's death is known,

Shamp shivered. The final argument hit home. At Zallock's bidding, Shamp helped push away a large filing

cabinet that blocked the door of an unused closet. They dragged Kevin's body into that cubbyhole.

One of the study rugs bore bloodstains. Shamp put it in the closet; Zallock rearranged the remaining rugs.

They shoved the filing cabinet back into position. Zallock opened the study door; whispered that they would

At the stairway, both men noted a humming sound from the front of the second floor. Zallock remembered

Bardsley. Sending Shamp ahead, Zallock went into the little parlor. He found Bardsley stooped in fascinated

"Wonderful!" exclaimed the magnate. "Eric, the test exceeds my expectations! I want the rights to this

Bardsley turned off the motor. Zallock told him to pack the apparatus; that no further demonstration was

"Patent it in your own name, Eric," he said, "if you have not already done so. Talk with your own attorneys;

Zallock was wiping his spectacles; they were moistened with perspiration from his forehead. He kept a

Although Bardsley had shown irrational ideas when he discussed his invention, he still might show some

common sense in business matters. It wouldn't do to act overgenerous. Bardsley might dally, and Zallock was

"Any contract," modified Zallock, "that is fair to me, also. A blanket contract, if you wish, covering your

former inventions as well as this one. I am willing to consider any reasonable arrangements."

Bardsley shut the oblong box. Purring congratulations, Zallock steered him through the hall and down the

front stairs. Servants were standing near the outer door; Zallock gave a gesture that they understood. They

Ordering his own car, Zallock took Bardsley out to the front steps. The big limousine arrived. With a proud,

selfsatisfied look, Bardsley boarded it. He looked over the car, as though he expected to have one of the

HARDLY had the limousine gone down the driveway before Shamp and a group of guards came from cover,

to cluster around Zallock. In low tone, Zallock asked them if they had seen any trace of Li Hoang. Shamp had

"I feared that the Chinaman was here," purred Zallock, not mentioning Li Hoang by name. "I was probably

mistaken. However, I want you all to scour the grounds. Shamp and I shall remain here, on watch.

"Meanwhile, Kevin will leave. And by the way" he called that louder, as the men were starting "no one is

Nods from the servants. Waiting, Zallock and Shamp talked in low tones, speculating on how Li Hoang had

managed to pass the guards. They decided that he had used a remote cellar window. Both agreed that

darkness could afford a helpful cover to any skillful prowler who might approach the mansion.

Unnoticed by either Zallock or Shamp, a blackened shape drew close; invisible against the darkness of the

wall, a shrouded figure listened to the last remarks. When flashlights from the lawn bobbed close, Zallock

There was a faint swish in the darkness. Unseen, the blackclad arrival moved upward, finding finger grips

and toeholds in the ivied wall. All trace of the new visitant was gone when the guards reached the house.

Li Hoang had come and gone. In his stay at Zallock's, the insidious crook had done new murder. Even the

Despite all that, murder would soon be known. The Shadow had arrived, seeking the serpentine trail of Li

THOUGH The Shadow was seeking Li Hoang, one name was uppermost in his mind, as he glided through

After leaving Chinatown, The Shadow had received reports from agents. He had promptly searched for clues;

Clyde Burke, a newspaper reporter who secretly served The Shadow, had covered the finish of the Chinatown

raid. He had been with Joe Cardona when the police inspector had learned of Kevin's presence near Li

The ace inspector jumped to the thought that Kevin might know something regarding the Chinatown mess.

Cardona had made a note to look up Kevin, as soon as more important details were cleared. The Shadow,

however, had regarded Kevin of prime importance. He had gained time on Cardona by following that clue

Kevin's name was listed with those of other private investigators in The Shadow's files. It was a public fact

that Kevin was employed by Continental Airways. Since Lucius Zallock headed that concern, The Shadow

Outside the front door, The Shadow had caught mention of Kevin's name, undertoned between Zallock and

Shamp. He knew at once that Kevin was still here; that Zallock was hiding the fact from his own servants.

Yet Zallock trusted those very servants, for he had started them on some search.

That paradox, plus the fact that Zallock's own retainers formed a little army in themselves, told The Shadow

Passing through the second floor, The Shadow came to Zallock's study. The room was still lighted; once

inside, The Shadow recognized definite features. The room was soundproof, as Zallock had said. If anything

Chairs were placed in odd positions. The rugs all small ones were irregularly arranged. At one spot, the

floor showed a smooth stretch of varnish, that ended abruptly in a rougher space.

Obviously, a rug had been moved. Not only that; it had been taken away entirely. Studying the floor closely,

The Shadow could not picture the present supply of rugs as sufficient for so wellfurnished a room.

With that much learned, The Shadow quickly solved the rest. The filing cabinet and the door behind it were

giveaways. A deep scrape in the floor showed that the cabinet had been hurriedly moved; and the door

Noiselessly, The Shadow opened drawers of the steel cabinet; used them as a flight of steps to the top. He

The door had a simple lock. The Shadow opened it with a skeleton key. He brought the door toward him, the

Closing the door, The Shadow dropped to the study floor. He rearranged the drawers of the filing cabinet;

stole out into the hall. He heard footsteps on the stairs; moved quickly into darkness, deeper in the hallway.

WATCHING from the hallway, The Shadow was treated to a demonstration of Zallock's foresight. Calmer

since the departure of Li Hoang, the airways magnate had thought of the very weaknesses that The Shadow

He ordered Shamp to move the chairs aside. Zallock adjusted the rugs; finding them insufficient, he went to

another room, brought in a spare rug to fill the empty space. Chairs were placed carefully.

Zallock did not neglect the scrapes beside the filing cabinet. He sent Shamp for some floor polish and had the

secretary obliterate most of the marks. After that, Zallock placed a wastebasket over one noticeable spot.

Zallock's final touch came when he produced a huge picture of an air liner from behind a corner table. He and

Shamp hung the picture so that it entirely covered the portion of the closet door that projected above the filing

The preparations were completed none too soon. As he stood studying the airplane picture from the open

hallway door, Zallock took on a listening attitude. He was hearing the arrival of another motor car.

Zallock sent Shamp downstairs to meet the new visitors. A few minutes later, Shamp returned to the study

Surprise was written upon Zallock's haggard face, as he inquired the purpose of the visit.

"We're checking on a chap named Kevin," proclaimed Cardona. "We want to know if he was out here

Calmly, Zallock shook his head. The Shadow saw the gesture from a new vantage spot in the hallway.

True, there were still clues that would have led The Shadow to a search of the room. That wastebasket was in

a bad spot. The big picture didn't belong over the filing cabinet; its conspicuous position was almost as

Those features, however, were missed by Cardona. Zallock's position looked safe. The Shadow preferred to

Zallock didn't fit in as a murderer; at least, not with Shamp as an accomplice. The hand of Li Hoang was

evident, particularly since Zallock had ordered a search of the grounds around his mansion. Evidently,

By remaining here after Cardona's departure, The Shadow could learn what disposal Zallock intended to

make of Kevin's body. The law could be led along the trail of this murder, any time The Shadow chose.

Moreover, The Shadow could himself confront Zallock, thereby learning vital facts. If Zallock proved as

innocent as The Shadow supposed him to be, he would reveal everything to gain a powerful ally and preserve

At that moment, The Shadow expected Cardona to ask a few more questions, then bow himself out. On the

face of things, Cardona had no other course. It chanced, however, that Cardona wasn't through. He had a

Zallock's expression became pained. He was almost saddened by Cardona's expression of disbelief. Turning

With all his nervousness, Shamp showed himself as good a bluffer as his employer.

"Kevin wasn't here," he said to Zallock. Then, facing Cardona: "We didn't even hear from him by telephone."

Cardona paced the room, pausing to eye each man in turn. He motioned to the detectives.

"Bring up a few of those flunkies," ordered the ace. "We'll hear what they've got to say."

The Shadow was deep in a far doorway when three of Zallock's servants filed into the study. Cardona gruffly

Zallock expected Cardona to quit after that testimony. Instead, Joe played his trump.

"I don't believe any of you," he told Zallock, "for the reason that we've just come from the hotel where Kevin

"He'd just come back from a trip, and Kevin was his fare. What's more, he told us where he took Kevin. That

Zallock didn't flinch. He merely shrugged; looked toward Shamp and the servants. They shook their heads

negatively. Cardona couldn't pick a weak link in the group. Zallock became spokesman for all.

"The cab driver was probably mistaken," he remarked. "That is the only possible conclusion, inspector!"

"Mistaken on what?" he demanded. "Didn't he know where he went? Or didn't he know who his passenger

"I agree with Mr. Zallock," replied the secretary. "Of course" he hesitated "well, Kevin wasn't here "

"No, no!" Shamp smiled. He couldn't be tricked that easily. "Kevin wasn't here."

Shamp licked his lips. He didn't dare look at Zallock. He was worried about more questions, and saw a way

"Eric Bardsley came here," stated the secretary. "He's an inventor who knows Mr. Zallock. Maybe it was

Bardsley that the cab driver brought here." Shamp brightened. "Yes, he could have mistaken Bardsley for

Cardona pounced for the telephone book. Shamp shot a look to Zallock, hoping for his employer's approval.

Instead, he saw Zallock half slumped behind his desk. It was then that Shamp remembered.

Joe Cardona had found the loose thread in the skein. Lucius Zallock knew it; so did The Shadow, as he

viewed Zallock from the hallway. Within the next few minutes, the truth of Kevin's murder would be out.

There was one redeeming phase to that situation. With the revelation of murder would come important facts

IT was several minutes before Cardona managed to get Bardsley on the wire. From the opening conversation,

listeners learned that the inventor had just reached his apartment in Manhattan. After Cardona introduced

"Some questions, Mr. Bardsley." Cardona's end of the conversation was brisk. "Did you visit Mr. Lucius

Zallock tonight?... You did? Good! Did you hear mention of a man named Kevin?... You say he was here?

"Yes, that's all I wanted to know... One other thing, though. I'd like you to come out here, Mr. Bardsley... No,

not alone. I'll have a man call for you... Yes, wait for Detective Sergeant Markham. He'll bring you here, by

Hanging up, Cardona merely glowered at Zallock. The ace put in a call to headquarters, ordered Markham to

contact Bardsley at the inventor's apartment. Joe was smiling grimly to himself. He had the goods on Zallock;

The punch came when Cardona completed his call to Markham. Turning from the telephone, he asked

Zallock motioned to the filing cabinet. Cardona's men hauled it away. Seeing the bottom of the door, they

ripped down the picture. Cardona gave the door a yank; Kevin's body rolled from the closet.

Astoundment showed on the faces of Zallock's servants. Their nerve was gone; they began to plead their

innocence. Cardona ordered the two detectives to herd them downstairs, then round up the rest.

There were police reserves outside, a second car. Cardona wasn't worried about the servants attempting a

Zallock and Shamp were the pair that could talk. Cardona was capable of handling them alone. His back

toward the open hallway door, Joe held a leveled gun. When the others were gone, the ace said to Zallock:

Zallock's haggard face came upward from his hunched arms. His expression was an amazed one.

"I'm holding my opinion," returned Cardona. "For your benefit, Mr. Zallock, let's put it that I go on hunches.

Zallock sighed his relief. One strain, at least, was ended. He had been holding back a story that he had wanted

to deliver to the law, but had refrained from fear of consequences. This was the time to tell it.

IN steady monotone, Zallock detailed his experiences with Li Hoang. When he mentioned two companies

Compometal and Federal Export the light dawned on Cardona. Zallock's admission that he owned those

"Then came the demands on Ozone Oil," stated Zallock, bitterly. "I've nothing to show for it, inspector. I

burned the messages that Li Hoang sent. There's the one man" he pointed to Kevin's body "who could

"I saw Kevin murdered." Shamp was earnest. "I heard the threats that Li Hoang made. I, too, feared his

"I'm holding both of you," Cardona told Zallock and Shamp, "until I've talked to Bardsley. Maybe his

"No need for bracelets," he said. "Just keep them here. I think we're getting to the bottom of something deep.

"Nobody wants to say who Li Hoang is, or where he is; but I learned enough to know that he fits the story

I've just heard. I'm going to quiz the servants, while Bardsley's on his way here. I'll be downstairs when he

Cardona left. While he was on the front stairs, The Shadow found a rear flight and descended to the ground

floor. He went out by a side door and circled the mansion, to reach a clump of shrubs where Zallock's

Like Cardona, The Shadow was looking forward to hearing Bardsley's testimony. He knew where the

interview would take place: on the front porch. With the servants gathered in a groundfloor room, Cardona

would want privacy with Bardsley. Moreover, in his present mood, Cardona would waste no time in

Zallock had left nothing untold. He had mentioned Kevin's grab of the papers from the blackcelled room,

exactly as the dead investigator had described it. That had gone over with Cardona, who had seen the room

Also, Zallock had repeated the only words that Kevin had gleaned from the batch of duplicate papers: the

statement, "In the Golden Pagoda " Zallock had specified that there was a Golden Pagoda; that Kevin had

Those revelations promised future trouble for Lucius Zallock. The man knew it; and he had shown it. But

Li Hoang had left the mansion, apparently confident that Zallock would conceal the death of Kevin. Himself

in flight, the Chinese villain would have no way of knowing, as yet, that Zallock had divulged the truth.

If the law moved swiftly; if it provided protection, Zallock might override the threats of Li Hoang. At least

so Zallock himself had declared there could be no immediate danger. If the police called in the aid of

Cardona had come to the front porch. He was discussing that very prospect with a detective.

"WE'VE flooded Chinatown," The Shadow heard Cardona say. "The Feds are there, plenty of them, working

with that girl who did the undercover job. There are plenty of Chinese clearing out and we're letting them go,

"The idea was to bag Li Hoang. He's slipped us; but there's still Chun Laro. Anybody could spot that

snakeeyed chink! So we'd just as soon let those Chinese through the ones that say they're scared of Li

"Chun Laro may try a sneak along with them. The more that get out, the less we've got to weed through when

we pull a roundup, tomorrow. What's more, every Chinaman that goes his own way is one less we've got to

The detective agreed with all that Cardona said. He was starting to ask a question, when Cardona suddenly

A taxi was swinging up the driveway. By the time it came to a stop, Cardona was beside it. The cabby

stretched his arm, gave a deft turn to the handle of the rear door. As the door swung open, Cardona blurted a

The door was propelled by a falling figure, that came out bound and gagged. Cardona caught the man before

he hit the gravel. In the light from the cab, The Shadow recognized the face of Detective Sergeant Markham!

Things happened in a hurry. With one wrench, Cardona had the gag off Markham. The bound man gulped his

Detectives were arriving from Zallock's house. They relieved Cardona of the task of releasing Markham,

while the stupefied taxi driver showed by his gawky look that he hadn't known of his passenger's plight.

To The Shadow, there was something more sinister than Markham's helpless condition. He was concerned

with the absence of Eric Bardsley. That, coupled with the fact that Markham was still alive, meant more than

It was more than a challenge from Li Hoang, who never dealt in useless measures.

Bardsley's absence was the forerunner of another thrust, due here! Li Hoang could travel as fast as Markham's

The captured detective sergeant had been sent along, so that Cardona would do exactly what Li Hoang

wanted. While Cardona was concerning himself with Markham's story, Li Hoang was busy behind Cardona's

That was why the Shadow sprang suddenly from shelter, prepared to reverse his course around the house. An

instant later, he would have been off around the mansion, seeking those rear stairs to Zallock's study. It was

For some reason, Cardona turned toward the front door of the mansion. On the threshold, he saw the pair of

detectives who had been upstairs with Zallock and Shamp. With an angry shout, Cardona sprang toward

"Somebody passed in the word you wanted us," responded one of the dicks. "We heard the call from the

BEFORE The Shadow could dive in to halt him, Cardona was across the threshold. He beckoned as he went;

the detectives beside the taxicab forgot Markham and followed. They went through the doorway in a cluster;

The Shadow waited at the edge of the front porch. The silence that followed was more ominous than any

sound of battle. It fulfilled The Shadow's worst expectations. Li Hoang had sprung an absolute trap.

No time remained for The Shadow to circuit the mansion. That lull was the sort that could allow no delay.

With one bound, The Shadow cleared the porch rail; landed lightly, almost at the edge of the open front door.

Cardona and his squad were halted in the hallway, their arms upstretched. On each side stood grinning

Mongols, vengeful survivors of those who had served Li Hoang in his underground lair. Those marksmen

In the shelter of the stairway, Chun Laro leered above an outthrust gun. On the steps were two more

Mongols, armed like the others. Just above was a landing where the stairs turned. It formed a dais for the

Resplendent in his embroidered robe, lips smiling subtly between his longdrooped mustache, Li Hoang

surveyed the prisoners through those slanted slits that were his eyes. His right hand, clenched, was raised to

That fist glittered in the light, for it was encased in a fingerless glove of golden weave. Its downward sweep

The hand of Li Hoang was ready. Only The Shadow could halt that signal for massacre!

THE SHADOW edged his automatic three inches to the right. Unseen, that blackmuzzled weapon aimed for

Li Hoang, pointed between Cardona and a powerless detective. If the gilded fist moved downward, Li Hoang

Nevertheless, The Shadow wanted to delay that consequence. Chun Laro was too competent to stand

dismayed if Li Hoang fell. His shots would follow, accompanied by Mongol guns. The death of Li Hoang

Trickily, Li Hoang had doubled his trail; but in so doing, he thought he had outrun The Shadow. Thinking

himself complete master of the present scene, Li Hoang was in no hurry to begin the massacre. The Shadow

Li Hoang spoke dryly, as he slanted a look toward the side room where Zallock's disarmed servants were

"Some of you may survive," announced the purpleclad Chinaman. "You can tell the law that I trailed

Bardsley when he left here; that I overheard his telephone talk with Inspector Cardona.

"Bardsley is a prisoner in a car beyond the rear hedge. Two of my men have taken Zallock, to place him there

also. Shamp is upstairs, bound. I do not need him as a hostage. He may help, when I demand ransom for my

"Such ransom" the speaker's lips curled insidiously "will be paid! There can be no alternative with Li

The Shadow was no longer in the doorway. Through it, he stooped forward, to join Cardona's helpless

A whisper announced The Shadow's advance. Scarcely audible, it was caught by two men only: Cardona and

the detective on his right. It called for the two to shift closer together. Cardona gathered the idea promptly;

The side shift was too apparent. It brought a sudden focus of Li Hoang's eyes. By that time, however, The

His fists were on the shoulders of two men that he had chosen for cover. His pressure brought their hands

lower, almost to shoulder level. The big automatics that poked into view, seemed to project from the loose

Li Hoang saw those guns at last. So did Chun Laro. But they had no doubt regarding who held them.

The Shadow's laugh throbbed chill and sinister, to break the stillness of the hallway. That mockery, the tilt of

the guns, told the sudden advantage that The Shadow had obtained. Edged in from darkness, he had picked Li

Two the leader and his lieutenant would die with the signal for gunfire. If Mongol marksmen went

berserk, they still could not clip The Shadow before he damaged them; for Cardona and the rooted dick were

At that juncture, The Shadow held control that was practically complete. Instead of having a chance to down

one enemy Li Hoang with a sacrifice of five, he could wipe out all his foemen with the loss of only two

That was not The Shadow's plan. He did not intend that Cardona should die, even though such sacrifice

Burning eyes met the cold, slitted stare of Li Hoang. The Shadow's lips spoke a command, in English:

A slow smile fastened upon Li Hoang's lips. His chin showed its canny thrust. He still kept up his pose of

mastery. Turning his head to the right, he spoke across the landing banister to Chun Laro, below.

"Give the order, Chun Laro," he commanded, in English. "The men are to retire, by the stairway."

Chun Laro babbled orders in Chinese. Two Mongols on the stairway began an upward retreat. The others,

from the flanks, were converging toward the stairs. The Shadow, in turn, spoke to the detectives who were

They, too, retreated; but they closed in as they backed. They were protecting The Shadow from the flank; a

wise move, in case any of Li Hoang's gunners should try to sneak around behind The Shadow.

Moreover, those retreating dicks were nearing a direct line on the front door. They would be ready for a

Though Cardona and the man beside him remained to take the brunt, The Shadow was ready to withdraw

Li Hoang foresaw that result. He edged downward from the landing. His stooping motion was a copy of The

Shadow's strategy. Li Hoang wanted human shields of his own: those Mongols who were backing up the

The Shadow stopped that shift with a fierce, commanding whisper. Chun Laro, managing a darting gaze, saw

what Li Hoang had tried. The lieutenant ventured a quick order of his own. The Mongols in the lower

hallway veered as they backed. Passing the stairway, they half shielded Chun Laro.

The Shadow had calculated that such a move might come. He was prepared for it, but the need for action

Li Hoang acted. He gave a huddled, downward twist to reach shelter behind the stairway men. His voice

CHUN LARO added a babbly cry, leaped behind his own barrier of protecting gunners. Timed with those

shouts came The Shadow's own order, a rasped tone that put Cardona's squad into motion.

Sheltered detectives dived for the outer door. The Shadow took care of Cardona and the remaining man.

With a hard clamp, The Shadow planked his lefthand gun into Cardona's right fist. He shouldered Joe

leftward, to a front corner of the hall. Spinning to the right, The Shadow heaved the detective into the room

As Chinese revolvers clicked and boomed, The Shadow was whirling to the right, away from aiming guns.

First bullets went wide. Amid the hurried barrage, The Shadow dived to the stairway.

He reached that vantage point in one swoop. An instant later, he was stretched there, at an upward angle, his

The Shadow was aiming straight for the men who shielded Li Hoang. His gun and theirs spoke together. The

Shadow had the odds. He was a flattened target; they were not. His fist had thudded a step edge to take

instant aim, while their guns were on the move. The Shadow triggered a bullet straight to the heart of one

enemy. He aimed for the other, just as the fellow fired. The Shadow felt a sear along his left shoulder blade.

So had The Shadow. His second shot was as accurate as his first. One gunner was already toppling down the

stairs; the other took a high jolt from the impact of The Shadow's bullet, then pitched headlong.

Despite the pain of his own wound, The Shadow wanted a shot at Li Hoang. Those tumbling figures

prevented it. In death, as well as life, henchmen served their evil master. As the sprawling forms flattened

In his swift battle, The Shadow had outwitted Chun Laro and the men with the lieutenant. By picking the

stairs as vantage point, he was away from their angle of range. Chun Laro rectified that. His shouts sent his

gunners to the banisters. Poking revolvers between the posts, they tried to spot The Shadow.

Again, they were outguessed. The Shadow had done more than deprive Li Hoang of shielding men. He had

brought down that pair from the stairway, to a place where he could use them. All that the bulgeeyed

The Shadow was out of sight; but his gun was not. It thrust between those dead forms that had become his

bulwark. The Shadow opened fire. His first bullet splintered a banister post; found an enemy beyond it. The

Chun Laro hadn't gone after The Shadow. The snaky lieutenant heard the boom of another big gun; with a

screech, he turned toward a front corner of the hall. Joe Cardona, forgotten in the drive against The Shadow,

JOE was amazed by the dynamite packed in the big .45 that The Shadow had given him. Used to a .38, the

ace couldn't handle the gun with the same speed and ease that he had with his own Police Positive. But the

With each press that Cardona gave the trigger, a slanteyed foemen took a dive. The ace was merely clipping

them, but the wallops were bowling them over like tenpins. A .38 could drill; but sometimes it allowed a

chance for an enemy to fire back. This big gun didn't. One of its bullets was like a sock on the jaw.

Only Chun Laro was in the clear. He didn't wait to fire a sure shot at Cardona. There was a fierce laugh from

the stairs; propping on his right elbow, The Shadow was aiming through the banister. Past Cardona, Chun

Laro could see the outer door. Detectives had rallied; were rushing in with guns.

Chun Laro took a lope into a little corner room, glad that its door was open. A barrage followed him, but he

Followed by his reclaimed squad, Cardona took that same route as the best means of pursuit. Leaping from

the stairs, The Shadow steadied. He hurried through a door to the right of the stairway, to find the back door

There were shouts beyond a rear hedge; the throb of motors mingled with those cries. Chun Laro had gone

through, the same way that Li Hoang had traveled. The Shadow heard Cardona's shout:

"We've got to get them! They've grabbed Bardsley and Zallock! Don't let Li Hoang make his getaway!"

It was too late. Cars were on the move when the squad crashed the hedge. A street lamp showed Chun Laro

"Stop the front car!" bawled Cardona. "That's where Li Hoang is, with the prisoners! Drill the tires the gas

Police guns were barking; but a second car intervened. It took any bullets that might have stopped the first.

Shots were coming from the second car and from a third. His own gun in his fist, Cardona led a charge.

Shots started from across the street, where hidden Mongols were in ambush. Cardona and the detectives

dived for cover, amid the whistle of bullets. The cars were away; the chase was hopeless. A quarter minute

more, those snipers left by Li Hoang would be picking off Cardona's squad, which had no shelter other than

There came a laugh, challenging despite its waver, from the corner of Zallock's garage, which backed into the

hedge. Crouched there, to ease his crippled shoulder, The Shadow spotted the opening fire of the snipers. His

It came, that volley, bringing bullets that bit off rock chips from the garage wall. Low, in a depression of the

ground, The Shadow inserted his own shots, picking revolver spurts as targets. There were howls from across

The lull gave sounds of scrambling marksmen, dashing off past houses opposite. Cardona raised a shout; he

and his squad started pursuit, to round up the routed snipers. The Shadow toned a final laugh, shaky in its

Sounds of fleeing motors could be heard no longer. Li Hoang was clear, Chun Laro with him. Two men had

vanished with that departure: Lucius Zallock and Eric Bardsley. They would be heard from, only when Li

The Shadow had won a victory; but it brought no final conquest. Again, He would have to seek the trail of Li

Those words, the last that Kevin had uttered, were a link to Li Hoang. The law knew of a Golden Pagoda

So did The Shadow. The pagoda, itself, was glittering on the polished table in his sanctum; but it did not

Twentyfour hours had passed since the double abduction of Eric Bardsley and Lucius Zallock. With his

shoulder wound, The Shadow had been unable to investigate at Bardsley's apartment. Clyde Burke had gone

Evidently Bardsley had put up a resistance against his abductors. The apartment was in disarray; many

objects had been smashed, among them an oblong box that contained one of Bardsley's inventions.

That particular item had been delivered to Police Commissioner Weston, since it was obviously something

that Bardsley valued. The Shadow expected to view it, later; for he intended a visit to the police

There was a link more important than the law supposed. The Shadow saw a deeper meaning to the term. He

knew the ways of the Chinese; their use of symbols to represent hidden secrets. In the present case, The

The Golden Pagoda on The Shadow's table was not the one meant in those duplicate messages that Li Hoang

had reclaimed at Zallock's. The real Golden Pagoda was a place the new headquarters where Li Hoang

That did not solve the problem. Like The Shadow, the law knew that Li Hoang had gone somewhere. It was

his present location not the name of it that mattered. But there was another link: the matter of the

Somehow, during the time that Li Hoang had first left Zallock's, the Chinese crime wizard had dispatched

those duplicate messages to Chinatown, where they had been distributed among Chinese who were members

The Chinese who had left their own district were not merely those who feared Li Hoang. Members of the

inner circle had gone, as well. It was apparent, to The Shadow, that they had joined Li Hoang at the Golden

The law was looking for one, in Chinatown, in the belief that Li Hoang owned deeper, more secret burrows

than the lair which the police had raided. If so, Li Hoang's friends had doubled their own trails, like their

That theory did not suit The Shadow. He knew that Li Hoang had merely taken over a collection of forgotten

catacombs for his original hideaway. There were no others that could prove suitable. Furthermore, Li Hoang

had needed to be in Chinatown while working his racketeer methods on Zallock. In his new game, that of

Those missing Chinese were important. The law was trying to trace them, but did not even know which were

friends of Li Hoang. That, however, was one point on which The Shadow had progressed. He, too, had

A list lay on The Shadow's table. It had been compiled by Yat Soon, the Chinese arbiter, who worked for

LESS than an hour later, Commissioner Weston was interrupted in a conference by the chance visit of his

friend Kent Allard. Two persons were with Weston; both recognized the name of Allard as that of a famous

aviator. One, Joe Cardona, had met Kent Allard; the other, Myra Reldon, had not.

Allard entered. He was tall of build; his long features carried a hawklike expression that suited a master of the

skies. His eyes had an interested gleam, when he was introduced to Myra Reldon. Allard had heard of the

In her own guise, Myra was quite different from the supposed Ming Dwan. She had the light complexion of a

blonde, although her large eyes were definitely brown. Her thin eyebrows were light in color; the fluff of her

Myra, in turn, noted that Kent Allard had a slight limp, that he carried as the result of an airplane crash. She

did not realize that the limp was faked. Nor did she suspect the reason why Allard hunched himself to the

right, as he sat down. His right elbow took his weight, as it rested on the chair arm.

Kent Allard was favoring a wounded left shoulder, that he had received in battle one night ago.

The shift also passed Cardona's notice. The ace inspector, with all his hunches, had never guessed that Kent

"This conference will interest you, Allard," announced Weston, "because it concerns Lucius Zallock, the

airline owner. A ransom note was received today from Li Hoang. He asks five million dollars for the release

"The note was mailed to Zallock's secretary, Shamp," explained Weston. "Apparently, Shamp is to be used in

some way as an intermediary. Government investigators are holding the message; but it gives no clue to Li

"It was mailed from here in New York," put in Cardona, "but that doesn't mean anything. Li Hoang didn't

only use Chinese; he had a lot of smallfry racketeers working for him. One of them could have mailed it.

"I thought there was quite an exodus from Chinatown," he remarked. "In fact, I supposed that most of Li

Cardona produced a sevenpage list of typewritten names. He passed it to the visitor.

"Look that over," suggested Joe. "F.B.I. checkups on Chinese who left New York. There's a hundred and

CARDONA'S estimate was rather close, although the ace had merely hazarded it. Allard studied the list, as if

merely skimming it. He smiled as he repeated some of the curious names aloud. There were times, though,

"If we'd only gotten hold of one of those messages!" growled Cardona. "We figure Li Hoang sent a bunch of

hoodlums into Chinatown, to distribute them right under our noses. I cornered one fellow who had one; that

"Loo Look ate it!" declared Cardona. "Chewed it up and swallowed it, while we were trying to grab him!

"He was still in Chinatown, half an hour after that. We trapped him in a phone booth and he tried to use it for

a barricade. He made a fight, all right; we had to shoot that booth to chunks, with Loo Look inside it!

"He was dead when we dragged him out. So he never talked; and there wasn't anything on him. All that we

found in the booth was sixty cents two quarters and a dime that must have dropped out of his pocket

Allard was folding the list. His eyes were downturned; no one saw their sudden sparkle. Weston reached

"Here is a sample of Li Hoang's nerve," announced the commissioner. "A threat, directed against Miss

Reldon. This sheet was actually posted in Chinatown this afternoon! Miss Reldon can interpret it."

"It is a reward for my capture," she said, seriously, "or, rather" her lips managed a wan smile "for the

capture of Ming Dwan. Li Hoang offers fifty thousand dollars if I am delivered to him alive. Half that sum, if

"That's a funny one," observed Cardona. "I'd think it would say the same, dead or alive."

"You don't know the tortures that Li Hoang uses," explained Myra, "or the evil delight that he obtains from

giving them. It is fortunate that I am a government agent; otherwise, there are persons who might actually try

"But how could any one deliver a prisoner to Li Hoang?" questioned Weston. "No one knows where he has

"Mere whispers in Chinatown would do it," replied Myra. "Those who knew much about Li Hoang have left;

but there are others, who know small bits concerning him. The grapevine telegraph of the underworld is

"I could not fathom it, even in his own headquarters. Therefore, I am confident that anything that happens in

Chinatown will still reach Li Hoang, provided that it is sufficiently important to be passed along."

ALLARD'S right hand pressed the chair arm. He arose; politely excused himself for interrupting the

conference. He had an engagement elsewhere; he had merely dropped in to see Weston, so he said.

Once outside, Allard stepped into a waiting taxicab. He was whisked away; when that trip ended it was in a

darkened neighborhood. The figure that left the cab was cloaked; invisible in the blackness.

Returned to his sanctum, The Shadow consulted a large map beneath the bluish light. Studying an area far

northwest of New York City, The Shadow placed colored pins into the map. Those pins represented the

Chinese who were linked with Li Hoang. The Shadow was marking the places where they had last been

The pins were badly scattered. Roughly, there were a dozen areas on the map that might have been a central

area. The Shadow's hand used a colored pencil to trace rough circles. Those spheres were widely separated.

But The Shadow's finger did not drop the task. It centered upon one circle of the dozen; rested there, while

"Consult longdistance rates," ordered The Shadow. "Night rates, to the following towns."

After that, The Shadow spoke three names; all were towns in the limited circle that his finger touched. There

The Shadow's laugh came in whispered tone, as he replaced the earphones upon the wall. He had joined

another link; based upon the loose change that Cardona had found in Loo Look's telephone booth.

That money hadn't dropped from the battling Chinaman's pocket. Loo Look had been ready with those coins,

to put in a longdistance call. He had wanted to reach the vicinity where Li Hoang had established new

That one circle represented the only sixtycent zone among the dozen areas that The Shadow had marked.

The Shadow reached for the earphones. He spoke new instructions across the wire; word that Burbank was to

COMMISSIONER WESTON had been rather disappointed by Kent Allard's lack of interest in the case of Li

Hoang. Weston regarded Allard as a man of intellect, whose flashes of inspiration might prove valuable, if he

Weston was therefore pleased, the next day, when Allard dropped in at his office, particularly when Allard

brought up the names of Zallock and Bardsley. It turned out, though, that Allard was concerned with

He wanted to see the doubleaction propeller tube that the police had found in Bardsley's apartment.

Obligingly, Weston produced the shattered invention. He watched Allard study the broken parts that he took

"Whatever it was once, Allard," declared Weston, "it became a Chinese puzzle after Li Hoang finished with

"Shamp said it was twin brother to a perpetualmotion machine," explained the commissioner. "Bardsley

Allard fitted the box together. A slab fitted over an empty space in the bottom; then came the top of a

traylike drawer. Above that were clamps to hold the propeller tube. He had the whole in place, was ready to

close the box lid, when the entire structure collapsed. Weston smiled, as bits of metal rattled on the table.

"Yes." The reply was a calmtoned one. "This invention explains the circumstances surrounding Bardsley."

"Poor theory, Allard," he declared. "I see what you are driving at. You think that Li Hoang kidnapped

"That wasn't it at all." Impatiently, Weston allowed Allard no chance for further comment. "The real answer

is here: These photostatic copies of letters that arrived today, along with another demand from Li Hoang."

Allard received the photostats. They were letters from Bardsley and Zallock, both pleading that the ransom

money be raised without delay. Weston explained that the originals were in the hands of government agents.

"Li Hoang intends to get that five million," declared Weston. "He knows that it can be raised, from Zallock's

"Unless his terms are met by tomorrow night, one of his two prisoners will die. He will continue his same

"Since Zallock is the money man, and his associates are willing to pay, it is easy to see that the death threat is

Allard's lips suppressed a smile. Weston's statements fitted with the very fact that he had mentioned; namely,

that Bardsley's shattered invention held the key to the inventor's disappearance. Since Weston did not care to

THAT evening, Kent Allard went to Chinatown, but not as himself. He was in the guise of The Shadow,

when he visited Yat Soon, the arbiter. In a secluded room, The Shadow showed Yat Soon a map,

Yat Soon listened, while The Shadow spoke in Chinese. The arbiter nodded solemnly.

"It can be done, Ying Ko," declared Yat Soon. "I shall supply the man you need. His name is Quong Yang.

IT was late the next afternoon when Kent Allard chanced upon Commissioner Weston at the Cobalt Club. In

a quiet corner of the grill room, the police commissioner confessed his worriment.

"A final threat came from Li Hoang," said Weston. "It was posted in New York, like the previous letters. He

"It is out of my hands," replied Weston. "The F.B.I. has charge. They still hope to crack the case, before

"They think that Li Hoang will make another move. He has been totally ignored, and that may bother him. I

Weston lapsed into silence. Meditative, he did not hear Allard's next query, until his friend repeated it:

"That was merely a theatrical gesture by Li Hoang," opinioned the commissioner. "Myra Reldon is too well

guarded to be captured. She is staying at the Hotel Cosmopole, with fellow operatives guarding her."

DUSK had settled when Kent Allard arrived at the Hotel Cosmopole. He asked to see Miss Reldon, and came

under the immediate surveillance of a watcher, stationed near the hotel desk. The clerk, after calling Myra's

Outside the suite, another Fed halted the visitor. Myra opened the door; recognizing Allard, she gave a nod.

"You have come from the police commissioner, I suppose," said Myra, bitterly. "I know that he agrees with

me. Something must be done tonight. But my chief thinks different. No argument will change him."

"This was given to me," he remarked, quietly, "with the request that I deliver it to you."

Myra opened the envelope. Allard had strolled to the window, but he was watching her reflection in the pane.

An amazed look swept the girl's face as she read blueinked lines, that faded as she finished them.

Myra went into another room, hurriedly packed a bag. Allard looked frankly puzzled when she returned; but

Myra spoke to the man on duty in the hall. She did the same with the operative who stalked the lobby.

"I shall be quite safe," she explained. "This is the famous Kent Allard. Tell the chief that he came for me."

Outside, Myra beckoned Allard into a taxi. She told the driver to start for Times Square. As they rode, Myra

"Not at all," replied Myra, with a firm smile. "I shall not be interfering with the case by being abducted. That,

Allard looked perplexed. His expression convinced Myra that he knew nothing of the note's contents. The girl

"I have brought my Chinese attire," she explained, motioning to the bag. "I want some place where I can

Allard leaned forward, gave an order to the taxi driver. He produced a key and handed it to Myra.

"The key to my hotel suite," he said. "You are welcome to it. If you wish to communicate with me later, call

the Cobalt Club. After all" Allard smiled slightly, as he rested his right shoulder against the taxi window

"I have always enjoyed adventure. It is not my duty to interfere with your desire for it."

THE hotel suite where Allard lived was a pretentious one. Myra found it deserted, as she walked through the

large rooms. She came to a small dressing room, where lights were set beside a table with a mirror. It was

Speedily, Myra divested herself of American attire. From the opened suitcase, she took a sponge and a bottle

of yellowish fluid. Seated before the mirror, she spread the liquid over her hands and face and along her

Myra had not forgotten the incident of the torn dress. She turned her back to the mirror and looked over her

shoulder, while she applied the dye to her back. That awkward task finished, Myra began to dress in Chinese

Few of her garments were ones that she had used before. Her shoes and stockings were darkgreen instead of

black. So were her skirt and jacket; their silver embroidery was tasteful, against the deepolive cloth.

Myra adjusted her loose sleeves, but left the silvery collar unbuckled while she applied her Chinese makeup.

That was an art in itself. Myra rapidly combed her hair straight, pressed it tightly above her head. The fluffs

gone, that hair seemed blackish, like the short hidden locks that she formed into a bang across her forehead.

Myra penciled her eyebrows; rouged her face to produce a highcheeked appearance. With lipstick, she

changed the contour of her mouth. She applied tiny strips of transparent mending tape to the outer corners of

her eyes. Drawing the strips upward, she pressed them against her flesh, then creased them.

From roundish shape, those eyes had become slanted in almond fashion. With mascara, Myra blackened her

lashes to match the eyebrows above them. Her own face no longer viewed her from the mirror. It was the

countenance of Ming Dwan that craftily watched Myra Reldon buckle the silverembroidered collar.

There was an excellent route outside Allard's suite. It led down by a fire tower to a side street, where waiting

taxicabs occupied a line. With quick paces, Myra reached the first cab; entered it before the driver noticed

That driver gawked when he saw his passenger step from the cab, outside an antique shop not far from

Chinatown. Myra paid her fare without a word. Hurrying into the darkened shop, she watched the cab roll

When it was gone, Myra knocked at an inner door. A hoarse, whispered voice ordered her to enter.

A shrewdfaced Chinaman was waiting in the gloomy inner room. Myra recognized him as Quong Yang.

She had seen him before, with Chun Laro; but never with Li Hoang. Quong Yang had not belonged to the

With Quong Yang was a tall, husky hoodlum who wore a thick oversize sweater. His cap was pulled down

across one eye; it partly shaded a livid scar that formed a welt upon his roughened cheek. Quong Yang

introduced the tough as "Spike" Calloy. Then, in his native tongue, the Chinaman questioned, shrewdly:

Quong Yang unbolted a rear door, motioned the others into an alley. He helped Myra into the back seat of an

old sedan that was parked outside. Spike clambered in the front and took the wheel.

They rode westward, skirting Chinatown, to the entrance of the Holland Tunnel. While the car was shooting

AN autogiro was thrumming through the moonlit sky. Myra Reldon was a silent passenger, calm in her guise

Instructions from The Shadow had told her merely to meet Quong Yang; to trust him and any persons that

were with him. Despite that assurance, Myra had been mistrustful of Quong Yang; and his American pal,

That had changed when they reached Newark Airport. Sight of the autogiro seemed proof of The Shadow's

preparations, for Myra knew that the giro was the type of craft he used. The stolid pilot, too, was a factor. He

Myra was seated beside Quong Yang. Spike was behind them. The scarfaced American leaned forward,

Below, the moonlight showed wooded hillsides, with smooth cleared patches. Myra saw one stretch, where

an old hotel was situated on the slope. Near it were other buildings; then a stretch of woods. Spike was

Myra observed a structure that looked like an observation tower, placed on the brow of a hill. An instant later,

she made out its shape more clearly. That tower was roofed in slanted fashion; and edges of underroofs

projected at lower levels. The topmost surface caught the moonlight's glint; gleamed with a gilded hue.

Myra thought of Li Hoang. This fitted his subtle ways. Li Hoang combined the obvious with the incredible.

No one would ever have believed that his Golden Pagoda actually existed, within a hundredodd miles of

Here, in America, Li Hoang had found an old hotel once popular, now forgotten. Some former proprietor

had used his imagination, when that hotel was in its heyday. He had built an annex of an unusual sort: a

Li Hoang had purchased the whole property. Letting the hotel remain neglected, he had remodeled the

pagoda. Roofed with gold, he had kept the structure for his future abode, during his reign in Chinatown.

In a sense, Li Hoang had transplanted a bit of China in a different land. That pagoda had become the new

domain where the Oriental crimemaster dwelt with those whom he had chosen for his inner circle.

THE autogiro had ceased its thrumm. Its pilot had picked a patch of clear land in a woods, not far from the

pagoda. Descending silently, the ship followed the stream of moonlight, to make a perfect landing in the

The passengers disembarked. The motor throbbed anew. Taking a short forward roll, the autogiro started a

Quong Yang let Spike lead the way with a flashlight. After a half mile along a path through the woods, a

"Your hands behind you," said Quong Yang. "You must come as a prisoner, Ming Dwan."

Myra complied. Quong Yang bound her wrists. He drew a silk handkerchief between her teeth and knotted it

into a tight gag. Roughly, he pushed Myra forward. Spike produced a revolver, jabbed it hard against the

Ahead loomed the pagoda; its fivestoried bulk looked huge. It was dark, gloomy, its golden roof hidden

when viewed from the ground. A door showed in the near side of the fourwalled structure.

Quong Yang approached. He did not need to knock. The door opened; two brawny Mongols glared from a

"I have come to see Chun Laro," spoke Quong Yang, in Chinese. "Tell him that Quong Yang is here, to claim

A third Mongol appeared; he took the message and departed. Soon, there were other footsteps. The

snakyeyed face of Chun Laro peered from an inner doorway. Recognizing Quong Yang, the lieutenant

Mongols stepped out to surround the arrivals. In order, Quong Yang, Myra, finally Spike, went filing through

Myra heard a voluble explanation in Chinese. Spike Calloy, it appeared, had tricked her, by promising news

of Li Hoang. Lured to a trap, Ming Dwan had encountered Quong Yang. Aided by Spike, the Chinaman had

Chun Laro heard all that, without objection. He put a question of a different sort; one that gave Myra

momentary worry. Chun Laro wanted to know how Quong Yang had found the Golden Pagoda.

He produced a note, inscribed in Chinese, with the signature of Loo Look. That note was forged, but Chun

"Loo Look received his message," confided Quong Yang, "and destroyed it. He came to me, his friend,

hoping that I could reach here, if he failed. Shortly afterward, Loo Look was slain."

Chun Laro nodded. It was evident that the news of Loo Look's death had been grapevined to the pagoda.

There was an odd glitter, though, to Chun Laro's snaky eyes. Quong Yang saw it; he furnished an answer

"Loo Look had a message," stated Quong Yang. "One of great importance to Li Hoang."

THAT satisfied Chun Laro. He led the way through the inner doorway, to a steep flight of stairs. The group

The stairs narrowed with each flight; but always they angled around a square central wall, that was like a

foursided chimney, in the middle of the pagoda. Each floor produced level passages around that center

On the fourth floor, Chun Laro halted before the final stairway that led to the fifth floor. He told Quong Yang

to wait. Armed guards stood by, while Chun Laro ascended the last flight. He was carrying a report to Li

That wait carried oppressive chills for Myra. They had penetrated far; too far, perhaps. She wondered how

much she could depend upon Quong Yang. So far, he had done all The Shadow wanted; with Ming Dwan as

Quong Yang seemed to be considering that, for his shrewd face was very solemn. Myra saw him glance at

Perhaps Quong Yang was thinking other things. He might be counting the profit that would be his, if he

Such doubt horrified Myra. With all her grit, she could not conceal the dread that she felt. Quong Yang saw

her face quiver; his smile was narrow. Spike added a chuckle of ugly pleasure. There were grins from the

That state of fright helped, and Myra suddenly realized it. It could be a part of The Shadow's game to deceive

Myra stared at Quong Yang, as she asked herself that question. She tried to picture him as The Shadow,

cleverly disguised, like herself. Inwardly, the possibility gave her courage; she strived to increase that belief.

Chun Laro returned. He placed a message in the hand of Quong Yang. The note was in Chinese characters; it

bore the signature of Li Hoang. Cagily, Quong Yang read it. His eyes became shrewd.

"Tell Li Hoang that I shall talk of other matters later," declared Quong Yang, in Chinese. "The message that

Loo Look gave me, can wait. First, I must receive the reward for bringing Ming Dwan here."

IT was a clever statement by Quong Yang. It smacked of The Shadow's method. But Myra was not sure

whether the answer was the Chinaman's own invention, or merely one with which The Shadow had provided

An evil flash was present in Chun Laro's eyes. He was snakier than ever, and did not conceal it. Turning to

the central wall, Chun Laro pressed both hands there. As he drew his arms apart, his finger slid back narrow

Each pane was the window of a tiny cell, each room no more than three feet square. Dim lights showed a

prisoner in each cell. Lucius Zallock was huddled in one; Eric Bardsley in the other. Both looked doped.

As Chun Laro pressed the panels shut, Myra could see that the cell lights snapped off.

"You have seen," warned Chun Laro, in Chinese. "That is where Li Hoang places those who displease him.

Quong Yang nodded. Chun Laro turned to Spike Calloy, to repeat the comment in English. Spike's thick lips

"Good stuff!" he approved. "Only why tell us? We figure Li Hoang is a right guy. We're with him!"

Long minutes dragged while Chun Laro was gone. Myra sensed that it must be close to midnight, the hour

when one prisoner was to die. Myra shuddered, as she gazed at the closed panels.

Footsteps from the stairs. Chun Laro appeared; beckoned the group upward. Hemmed by yellowfaced

guards, they ascended the last flight. At the top, a hanging curtain stopped their progress.

Chun Laro motioned Quong Yang aside, so that Myra could pass through; then ordered Quong Yang to

"Only those of China may enter," stated Chun Laro, "unless they come as prisoners. You can watch from the

Chun Laro entered the room, leaving Spike huddled between a trio of watchful guards. Through the

halfdrawn curtains, Spike could view the scene within. Quong Yang and the captive Ming Dwan were

This was a throne room more splendid than the one in Chinatown. Tufted rugs were thick. Tapestries of

crimson, silver and gold, bedecked the walls. A dragon throne rested upon a low platform; with its bejeweled

Li Hoang was seated on that throne. He was resplendent in his purple robe; his mustached face was evil in the

Li Hoang beckoned to Chun Laro. The snakish lieutenant picked up a metal sledge, drove the hammer against

a mammoth gong of brass. The clang produced a deafening tone, that carried to the lower floors of the

Reverberating echoes brought back the sound in diminishing waves. It was the stroke of midnight the time

SLITTED eyes were fixed, as Li Hoang spoke. His cold, terse tone carried words that Spike could

"You have brought another prisoner," approved Li Hoang. "That is excellent! I need one, in place of a captive

Unblinking eyes glistened as they fixed upon Ming Dwan. The girl felt the scrutiny of that evil gaze. Li

"Eric Bardsley shall perish!" pronounced Li Hoang. "You will occupy his cell. Deprived of your false

trappings, with that yellow stain washed clear, you will be Ming Dwan no longer!

"My new prisoner" Li Hoang's lips were venomous "will be Myra Reldon a better hostage than Eric

Bardsley! When I announce the tortures that you are to suffer here, my threats will no longer be ignored!"

From beside him, Li Hoang drew a heavy bag; he flung it to the floor, where it clinked with the sound of

Eagerly, Quong Yang pounced upon the bag. Myra's lips tightened. She could not tell whether Quong Yang's

Li Hoang pointed across the throne room. The bag clutched in his arms, Quong Yang turned, Myra with him.

Chun Laro advanced to the indicated wall, laid his hands upon two levers, that were located side by side.

"On the left is Zallock's cell," spoke Li Hoang. "Bardsley's on the right. Be ready, Chun Laro "

It came with dramatic swiftness a sweep of Li Hoang's right hand, in that downward gesture that meant

Myra shivered, as she saw the deed. Chun Laro stooped to the floor; raised trapdoors that were fashioned in

the designs of the rugs. Myra saw glass planes in the floor. They showed the cells, from above.

The cell on the right was empty. Its floor was a blackened void. The tug of the lever had released that floor,

A SURGE of madness swept Myra. The Shadow had sent her here to forestall doom; instead, it had been

delivered. The fault lay with Quong Yang. His eagerness for gold had made him forget his purpose.

Myra chewed at the silken gag between her teeth. She could not loosen it; but her expression was

denunciation of Quong Yang. In her fury, Myra forgot that Li Hoang was watching, master of this scene.

Quong Yang turned. Li Hoang's finger pointed its accusation, while his hard lips smiled beneath his

unyielding eyes. Chun Laro, pouncing forward, thrust a gun against Quong Yang's ribs.

"The game is ended, Ying Ko," sneered Li Hoang. "I foresaw that none but you The Shadow would

The "other" was Spike Calloy. Mongols turned to prod the scarfaced fellow with their guns. Those muzzles

His tough fist pounded the jaw of the nearest guard. His free hand whipped the curtain from the doorway,

flung the drape across the head and shoulders of a second foeman. As a third tried to fire his revolver, Spike

There was a cry as the Mongol went backward down the steep stairs. Amid the thumps of that falling body

came the fierce mirth of a strident, challenging laugh from the lips of Spike Calloy!

He had chosen that guise because he knew that Li Hoang, like Myra, would pick Quong Yang as The

Shadow. As Spike, The Shadow had been an almostforgotten onlooker. With sudden battle, he had

ON the top step, past the doorway, The Shadow was losing his disguise of Spike Calloy. With a quick

motion, he peeled the heavy sweater from his head and shoulders. The folds of a black cloak dropped loose,

to shroud its owner. As he sprang forward into the throne room, The Shadow tugged a slouch hat from

As he planted that hat upon his head, his other hand whipped from the cloak front, bringing an automatic. The

The Shadow ignored Chun Laro. He had left the lieutenant to Quong Yang. Chun Laro had turned about at

the sound of battle in the hall. Quong Yang had taken that opportunity to pounce upon the snaky fellow. He

Just as The Shadow aimed for Li Hoang, Chun Laro, diving low and hard, caught The Shadow's ankle and

Quong Yang fired. His bullets found Chun Laro, but they did not seem to drop him. Chun Laro was on his

feet again, grappling with Quong Yang. The Shadow's friend was fully occupied, trying to beat down his

Myra, helpless in her bonds, had taken to a corner. She saw The Shadow rally from his stagger, almost at the

dragon throne. Li Hoang was up from that high seat, a long knife drawn from the folds of his purple robe. His

A warding hand jabbed upward. The Shadow's gun clanged the knife. The thrust went wide; but Li Hoang's

Two fighters were locked. Black cloak and purple robe were a twisted mass, as The Shadow worked to shake

off Li Hoang's hold. They occupied the center of the throne room, for Quong Yang and Chun Laro had rolled

The central fighters became rigid. Slowly, The Shadow was offsetting the tenacity of Li Hoang. One minute

Then, from the stairway, Myra heard a clatter that seemed to end all hope. Men were coming, a pack of them;

their voices could be heard in wild babble. Li Hoang made a last, fierce effort to restrain The Shadow. It

In from the door came a dozen men in Chinese robes; some with revolvers, others with knives, a few

unarmed. They were the Chinamen who formed Li Hoang's inner circle; wanted by the law, they lived here,

Behind them were supporters downstairs guards who had followed them up from apartments on the lower

Weapons were ready in eager hands, for the finish of The Shadow's struggle with Li Hoang. The Shadow

could no longer afford to slay his formidable foe. Alive, Li Hoang was a shield; dead, he would be

RECOGNIZING The Shadow's dilemma, Li Hoang tried to wrench himself away. Myra's breath came hard,

through the silk gag. Seconds more, and Li Hoang would be free, leaving The Shadow an open target against

His throat no longer gripped, The Shadow uttered a defiant laugh. Li Hoang was in front of him, straining to

get loose. The Shadow's right hand lost its clutch; as Li Hoang bobbed forward, The Shadow grabbed for the

The headgear came away. Released, Li Hoang lurched toward his own followers. Myra's eyes went shut; she

did not want to see the death that seemed certain for The Shadow. Her ears expected the roar of gunfire.

That devastating sound did not come. Instead, Myra heard The Shadow's laugh again. Its tone echoed with

There stood The Shadow. His left hand held a lowered automatic; his right hand was extended. In that right

Remembering those slitted eyes that never blinked, Myra could partly understand that Li Hoang's face had

been a false one. But there was one feature that made that seem impossible. Li Hoang's lips, his chin, were

never fixed. Always, they had shown expression, to offset the immobile look of his upper face.

The bottom of the mask was cut away at the center, as if a portion had been bitten from it. The space had let

the wearer's own lips show, with the chin beneath them; so that he could speak with the same freedom as

Such a mask, if ordinary, would have shown its edges beside the wearer's lips. But the mask of Li Hoang was

not ordinary. Fixed to its was that long, downcurving mustache, that had done more than give Li Hoang an

Li Hoang was no longer Li Hoang. Myra saw the halfhuddled figure in purple; she observed a grayish face,

narrow, topped by shaggy hair. Only the chin and lower lip were stained with yellow. Myra knew that face

The face of a man that the law sought to aid; a person whose death had supposedly occurred in this very

Li Hoang had decreed the death of The Shadow; but that verdict had been reversed. Li Hoang's decree was

MYRA RELDON understood the game. Eric Bardsley, considering himself responsible for the wealth gained

He had revived the legend of Li Hoang, superman of crime in China. The real Li Hoang was probably dead;

but Bardsley had brought him back to life. He had passed himself as Li Hoang, using the lavish measures for

Chun Laro, alone, had known Bardsley's secret. He had aided in the deluding of other followers, who would

That was no mere quirk. Bardsley lacked one ability. He could not speak nor understand Chinese. That was

why Chun Laro had usually been on hand, to give orders and make comments. The pretended Li Hoang had

Myra remembered Li Hoang's murder of the Mongol guard who had been found in Harry's pit. That event had

The guard had tried to tell facts. Li Hoang had mistaken his words for pleas. Li Hoang had slain the man

before The Shadow's eyes. Unwittingly, Li Hoang had betrayed his part as an impostor. The Shadow,

knowing the Chinese tongue, had understood the statements that Li Hoang had so unwisely cut short.

Myra realized more. Knowing Li Hoang to be no Chinaman, The Shadow had later placed him as Bardsley,

through the visit of Li Hoang to Zallock's mansion. It had been mysterious, the way Li Hoang had slipped

Bardsley, already admitted to the house, had been left alone in a front room on the second floor. He had put

on the robe and mask of Li Hoang, to murder Kevin. While Zallock and Shamp stayed rooted in the study,

Bardsley had put away his Chinese outfit. He had left, later, still as Bardsley.

Myra didn't understand how Bardsley had smuggled mask and attire in and out of Zallock's home. She

This very afternoon, The Shadow had studied the smashed box that contained the remains of Bardsley's freak

invention. He had noted its deep bottom, with a slab above. That hollow space had carried the mask and robe

WORKING on the theory that Bardsley had faked his own abduction; The Shadow had scheduled this bold

trip to the Golden Pagoda. As Spike, The Shadow had seen Bardsley in a cell. Finding Li Hoang in the throne

The Shadow had let the pretended Li Hoang go through with the travesty of Bardsley's death. That finished,

he had been ready for his own move, when Myra had forced the action by her angry gestures to Quong Yang.

All through his struggle with Bardsley, The Shadow had been depending upon this climax: when the false Li

Hoang would no longer rule his followers. That was accomplished; The Shadow had merely to clinch the

"You may choose," The Shadow told the robed onlookers, "between the false and real! Serve which you will:

The Shadow's speech was in Chinese. Bardsley could not even understand the words. He was powerless to

offer persuasion of his own. There was a man, though, who could still speak for him.

Chun Laro, sprawled dying on the floor, raised his livid face. In Chinese, he mouthed a wild cry for action.

"Fight for Li Hoang!" spat Chun Laro. "He can still be your leader, against Ying Ko "

The shout ended with a spasm. Chun Laro was dead. The Shadow's laugh toned a fierce challenge. His left

hand raised its gun; his right produced a second weapon. The Shadow wheeled in one direction, Bardsley

Robed Chinese and Mongol followers had chosen. Some raised the shout of Li Hoang; others declared for

Ying Ko; Myra saw the spurts of guns, the flash of whizzing knives, as she rolled to safety behind the dragon

The Shadow was in the center of the fray, his guns sledging hard, when a purplerobed fighter writhed free

and reached the front wall. It was Bardsley; his upper face his own, but his lips the evil features of Li Hoang.

Bardsley saw The Shadow warding off two foemen. With his right hand, Bardsley aimed a revolver; his left

gripped the second lever on the wall. He was intent upon double murder: to drill The Shadow with a bullet,

Either deed was possible at that moment. The accomplishment of both was not. His efforts divided, Bardsley

lost one valuable second. The Shadow's eyes were turning toward him; a gun followed the eye turn.

The automatic spoke. Bardsley fired; but his hand was dropping. The Shadow had jolted him with a bullet in

the arm. The twist that Bardsley took carried him from the wall. The impact from the slug had jerked his left

The Shadow did not fire again. With Bardsley's stagger, fighters who had joined The Shadow's cause

pounced for the faltering form of the false Li Hoang. Revolvers spouted; a knife blade flashed.

Eric Bardsley was smothered by an avalanche of robes. He was dead when he struck the floor.

CRIES of "Ying Ko!" resounded; those who had shouted for Li Hoang were stilled. Voices ended, though,

when The Shadow spoke. He had a mandate for these former followers of Li Hoang. They had dealt in evil;

There were mutters that rose to open mutiny. Fronting Li Hoang's throne, The Shadow stood with leveled

guns. Whether or not he would have quelled that rebellion without the need of gunfire, Myra never learned.

Before a single Chinaman could nerve himself to attack Ying Ko, there was commotion at the doorway. The

Chinese turned to face a bristle of guns. Agents of The Shadow had forced their way into the Golden Pagoda,

Disarmed Chinese went filing down the stairs. The Shadow released Myra's bound wrists; removed the gag

that she still wore. He gave instructions; Myra nodded. When she left, Quong Yang went with her.

They found the door to Zallock's cell; released the helpless prisoner. With Quong Yang supporting, Myra

guided Zallock down the stairs. From the bottom doorway, Myra saw marching Chinese in the moonlight.

There, F.B.I. operatives were waiting, on a tip supposedly received from Myra. After they had disposed of the

prisoners, it would be Myra's duty to lead the F.B.I. squad to the Golden Pagoda.

When they returned, The Shadow would be gone. Myra heard the laugh that toned from the stairway behind

her; she knew that it betokened The Shadow's coming departure. It was weird, that mirth; chilling, lingering

Whispering walls held the laugh, repeated it, more vividly than they had echoed the clang of the brazen gong.

The might of The Shadow stood triumphant; it had replaced the power of Li Hoang.