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

CHAPTER I. SPELL OF THE PAST.....................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. DEATH'S CHOICE.........................................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. THE MASTER SPEAKS...............................................................................................9

CHAPTER IV. THREADS TO CRIME ................................................................................................12

CHAPTER V. FROM SIX TO SEVEN................................................................................................16

CHAPTER VI. THE BRONZE KNIFE .................................................................................................21

CHAPTER VII. THE SECOND SUICIDE...........................................................................................24

CHAPTER VIII. QUEST OF MISSING MEN.....................................................................................27

CHAPTER IX. THE LONE TRAIL ......................................................................................................31

CHAPTER X. PATH OF DARKNESS .................................................................................................35

CHAPTER XI. THE DOUBLE THRUST .............................................................................................38

CHAPTER XII. TWISTED BATTLE ...................................................................................................41

CHAPTER XIII. WITHIN THE LAIR ..................................................................................................45

CHAPTER XIV. THE DOUBLE TRAIL.............................................................................................49

CHAPTER XV. ONE MAN'S PRICE ...................................................................................................52

CHAPTER XVI. WORD FROM BELOW...........................................................................................55

CHAPTER XVII. THE GREAT DRAGON ..........................................................................................59

CHAPTER XVIII. WITHIN THE THRONE ROOM ...........................................................................62

CHAPTER XIX. THE WAY OF SHIWAN KHAN.............................................................................64

CHAPTER XX. SHIWAN KHAN ESCAPES ......................................................................................67

CHAPTER XXI. THE HAND FROM THE PAST ...............................................................................70

CHAPTER XXII. THE HOST DIVIDED .............................................................................................73

STRANGE was the golden room, singular the hush that lay within its squarish walls. Windowless, it formed

Golden, too, was the attire of the room's lone occupant. He was robed in the richly woven cloth, its hue

relieved only by the purple trimmings of a kingly jacket. Purple, too, was the skullcap that topped his head.

His face placed him as an Oriental. Saffron in shade, it produced a chameleon effect, blending with the

Oddly, though, the result was a sharpness of those features. Absorbing the light about them, they stood out

No brush could have portrayed a face so fiendish as that which the goldrobed man produced in life through

Wide of forehead, tapering to pointed chin, the face was an inverted triangle. Its eyes were greenish, like

those of a nightprowling beast. Above those eyes were brows that made curved streaks, clear to the wide

temples. Between the eyes a sharp, downward line marked a thin, highbridged nose.

Brownish lips, scarcely discernible until they opened, were topped by thin, drooping mustaches; while a tuft

of beard, dabbed to the thinpointed chin, gave the final touch to a human physiognomy that a Satan could

The monstrous master of the golden room reclined in a gilded throne. He was resting his chin upon an elbow

propped hand; his body, slanted across the broad throne, looked snakelike in the folds of the ornamented

His free hand stretched its longnailed fingers to a gilded taboret, plucked a small vial from the tiny table.

Like a bird's claws, those fingers clutched the vial snapped between them. Instantly, the squarewalled room

Catlike eyes fixed in a glistening stare. Brownish lips opened; from them dripped words that carried a clear

"I am Shiwan Khan," spoke the man in gold. He paused, as though his words were directed to a gallery of

The hush returned to the golden room; yet, from his expression, Shiwan Khan seemed to catch the faint hum

of a city's roar. It was as if he had cast a mental message upon the wind, and all New York had answered!

Livid eyes bored toward the opposite wall. Amazing in their sharpness, they could have detected the cracks of

a sliding door that the reflected shimmer hid from ordinary sight. But Shiwan Khan was looking beyond that

Though solid obstructions could not melt before his gaze, Shiwan Khan's mental efforts could produce the

same effect. The perfume that filled the golden room tuned his brain to its objective. From the leer that spread

upon his lips, it was plain that he had completed a process of mental television.

The repeated words stood out amid a low murmur, which faded curiously under the power of the Golden

Shiwan Khan, himself, was no longer conscious of the walls about him. Even the atmosphere was icy, like his

STRANGE, the fragrance of lilacs. Standing by a train gate in the Pennsylvania Station in New York,

Beatrice Chadbury breathed the aroma of the flowers that she held. She favored lilacs, and it was thoughtful

of Paul Brent to present her with this bouquet as a farewell gift before he left for Washington.

Somehow, when Beatrice smelled the lilacs everything else faded away. The vast spaces of the great railway

terminal absorbed the murmurs of the passing throngs. The girl's eyes seemed to close of their own accord.

The through train from Boston was ten minutes late. People crowded close as the attendant opened the gate.

Then the throng was pressing through. Brushed aside, Beatrice stood unnoticed, except by a few persons who

They were a bit puzzled when they saw a very beautiful ravenhaired girl whose face was inclined toward the

lovely bouquet of lilacs that she carried. Primly attired in a dress of midnight blue, with large white cuffs and

collar, Beatrice looked quite young and sentimental. Perhaps that was why passers smiled.

They did not hear the voice that spoke to the girl in a faraway, frigid tone. It was speaking a name that

As Beatrice's lips moved in reply, a young man detached himself from the throng that was going through the

gate. He was carrying magazines and newspapers that he had hurriedly purchased for his journey.

The arrival was Paul Brent. His tanned squarish face lost its serious expression, his eyes showed sympathy, as

his lips relaxed into a smile. Paul was starting on a journey that might lead to a longer one; he could

understand why Beatrice felt sentimental over the lilacs that were his parting gift.

Impulsively, Paul gathered the girl into his arms, along with the newspapers and magazines.

"Goodby, darling," he said softly. "Maybe I won't be gone long. Even if I am, I'll write often. We certainly

The lilacs were pressed deep against Paul's shoulder, and Beatrice's face was buried with them. Paul

Beatrice didn't hear him. What she heard was that cold, faraway voice that alone could reach her brain amid

the overwhelming fragrance of the lilacs. It was a spell from the past, repeating the name that seemed her

"Lana Luan " As the voice paused, Beatrice waited breathless. "You hear me... Lana Luan?"

Paul thought that the reply was addressed to him. He tilted Beatrice's chin up toward him, smiled as he saw

the girl's closed eyes. Paul's kiss was earnest; Beatrice's seemed the same, though her response was almost

The gateman was about to close the gate. Anxious for a few parting words, Paul ended the caress too soon to

"Good by," he said. "You'll go right back to your apartment, won't you, darling? You know how tired you've

TURNING, the girl walked away from the gate, toward the exit leading to the taxicabs. Though her reply had

fitted Paul's final question, it struck him as quite odd. But there wasn't time to ponder over Beatrice's curious

statement; the train gate was about to close. Besides, there was something else that caught Paul's attention at

A lilac had dropped from Beatrice's bouquet. It was lying near the train gate. Scooping up the precious

flower, Paul turned, dashed through the gate and down the steps to the waiting train.

A conductor was shouting, "All aboard," but it didn't matter. Paul was through the gate; they'd have to wait

for him. As he neared the bottom of the steps, the young man smilingly raised the lilac and breathed its

Then Paul Brent was stopped stockstill, staring with fixed gaze, oblivious of the platform, the train, or the

He heard the voice distant, like a bell, fainter, perhaps, than it had seemed to Beatrice, yet clear enough to

Train doors clanked shut. Under the smooth tug of an electric locomotive, the limited glided from the station.

Passing porters grinned at the unseeing man, who stood entranced, a lilac in his hand. Like the conductor,

they thought that Paul had been too late to bid farewell to some girl who was leaving on the train.

Mechanically, Paul spoke the name, as the flower dropped from his listless fingers. A forgotten name, that

Paul had never expected to hear again. A name that Beatrice Chadbury had accepted while under the control

To Beatrice, the name of Lana Luan could be irresistible, when uttered in the icy tone that she had heard;

That distant call had not been meant for Paul Brent. Nevertheless he, too, had heard it. Only with a fearful

shudder was he able to wrench himself from the partial trance that had accidentally gripped him.

Then, in a tone that sounded hollow and sepulchral in the cavernous depths surrounding the underground

platform, Paul voiced another name that, to his mind, meant evil incarnate and allpowerful:

RIDING in a taxicab, Paul Brent found himself wondering how he had got there. He could remember dashing

frantically about the Pennsylvania Station, looking everywhere for Beatrice. He knew that he must have

Leaning through the partition, Paul repeated the address of the girl's apartment. The driver gave a sympathetic

"I'm getting you there, bud," he said. "That's the fifth time you've told me where you want to go. Your girl

friend took a cab, all right; the porters remembered her when you told them what she looked like. Maybe I'll

Paul couldn't relax. He was remembering too many monstrous things. He was thinking of Shiwan Khan, the

Oriental crime wizard, whose return to America meant calamity. Paul knew how Shiwan Khan could sway

In such plans, Shiwan Khan used gobetweens, choosing other dupes to play the part. He made them forget

their real personalities, to become mental slaves who adopted other names and subjected themselves to his

Of such dupes, Beatrice Chadbury had been Shiwan Khan's first choice. She had served him as Lana Luan,

working to enmesh others in his toils. Beatrice had been freed of that mental bondage, when Shiwan Khan

had been forced to abandon his schemes and flee to his homeland of Sinkiang near Tibet. (Note: See "The

Shiwan Khan had returned, to attempt new evil. Again defeated, he had managed escape. (Note: See "Shiwan

Khan Returns," Vol. XXXII, No. 1.) On that second venture, he had ignored his former targets, Paul Brent

and Beatrice Chadbury. But he was back again, with all his wizardry, and Beatrice had already succumbed to

One being, alone, had managed to cope with Shiwan Khan. He was a fighter whose ways of mystery rivaled

Superfoe of crime, The Shadow moved beneath the shroud of night itself. In this hour of despair, Paul could

only hope that The Shadow had somehow learned of Shiwan Khan's return. It was already evening; the cab

was speeding along darkened streets. To Paul, night's encroachment was not a thing to fear.

It symbolized The Shadow, rather than Shiwan Khan. If harm had actually befallen Beatrice, perhaps The

Jamming to a stop in front of a secluded apartment house, the cab actually disgorged Paul Brent. The young

man tossed a bill to the driver and dashed into the little entry. There, Paul fumbled with the bell to Beatrice's

As he spoke into the telephone, Paul thought that he heard the girl reply. It didn't occur to him that he had

called there so often before that he might, in his present stress, be imagining echoes from the past.

Strange moods, uncontrollable hallucinations, could grip persons who cut in on the mental pronouncements

At least Paul's ring was answered, for the door buzzed to release the automatic lock. Pushing through, Paul

hurried up to the third floor, and knocked at the door of Beatrice's apartment. There was no response until he

DESPITE his anxiety to find Beatrice, Paul halted on the threshold. He remembered the traps that Shiwan

Khan could lay; how the Golden Master employed mighty fighting men in the shape of huge Mongols, who

The place was lighted by a floor lamp in the corner. A quick inspection of the little apartment showed that the

Something, stirred. Grabbing the desk telephone as a weapon, Paul made a lunge past the desk.

The thing rose to meet him, a human monstrosity that seemed the outgrowth of a tropical nightmare. Paul was

faced by a creature that could be termed human only for want of another description.

Its baldish head was fronted by a face of yellowbrown, with features that were chiefly eyes and teeth, all

glistening white. The head was mounted on a scrawny body that looked like a tawny drumhead stretched over

Clawish hands, on the ends of arms that seemed as thin as polo sticks, lunged into the light. About its waist,

the unlimbered creature wore a drabgray loin cloth. Its legs, long and spidery, looked like skeleton limbs.

Paul Brent was husky. He expected little difficulty with this scrawny foe. His charge was powerful, but he

didn't complete it. Half way to the corner, Paul was stopped by a numbing shock that floored him.

He thought, at first, that it came from the telephone; but when the instrument clanked the floor, away from

The spidery man was a human electric eel, who could deliver a staggering impulse even without contact!

As he hissed a triumphant snarl between his gleaming teeth, the human skeleton whisked a longbladed knife

from his girdling belt. The weapon seemed to leap forward in his clawish clutch; he was restraining it, not

Paul Brent was marked for doom. No living hand could have stayed death's choice. The thing that saved him

was a token that seemed more than human, a shuddering challenge that demanded answer ahead of any other

Helpless though he was, Paul recognized that weird mockery, knew the rescuer that it represented.

WITH a quick halfjerk, the brownish killer wrenched his poised blade away from Paul's breast and gave his

bony hand a twisting thrust toward the door. The knife seemed to launch from his fingers like a living thing

In the doorway was a moving target, a tall blackcloaked form that was actually driving in to meet the knife

The blade scarcely flashed along its course; judged by eyesight alone, it might have been traveling at bullet

The lunging figure in the doorway was twisty, too, when occasion demanded it. With his taunt, calculated to

He knew what the brownish assassin was, the moment that he saw the fellow's livid eyes. The man was a

naljorpa, an ascetic reputed to have magic powers, the sort who could be met in the Himalaya Mountains, on

Familiar with others of that ilk, The Shadow had made his rapid lunge, not to start a useless attack, but to

clear the doorway and make a sideward dive to the floor. His forced sprawl was under way when the knife

Cold steel produced a redhot sensation as it slithered past. As The Shadow rolled across the floor, he heard

an oncoming hiss. An instant later, the wiry naljorpa was flinging hard upon him, intent to complete the

Whatever the power of the naljorpas whether it existed in themselves, or in the minds of those they met

The numbness that had flattened Paul Brent was a common thing in Northern India, encountered often by

those unwise enough to trouble wandering mystics from Tibet. Just as Paul had expected easy victory over

the brownish man, so, in his turn, did the naljorpa plan a quick end for The Shadow.

Claws shot for the cloaked throat, hoping to choke a numbed foe into oblivion. But there was no paralysis in

the hands that clamped the Tibetan's forwarddriving arms. The Shadow had a peculiar ability of his own

Undeterred by his wounded arm, he twisted the spidery assassin, as if about to tie him into knots. His spindly

body bent almost to the breaking point, the naljorpa writhed in helpless fury until, by a lucky side twist that

It was exactly as if a huge steel coil had sideslipped under the increasing pressure of a binding machine. Bent

double, the naljorpa suddenly lengthened, shot from The Shadow's grip and arrowed through the door, out

Straight ahead, the knife was sticking in the baseboard. The Tibetan's lurch carried him to it; he grabbed the

Again, it seemed that the weapon was swifter than the hand, as it came slashing back across the brownish

shoulder. But the naljorpa had taken too long, despite the swiftness of his moves.

PRONE on the floor, The Shadow had whipped an automatic from beneath his cloak. Aiming the weapon

Ribs crackled under the bullet's impact. The naljorpa emitted a highpitched cry: a shriek of anger, not of

pain. Anguish was a thing unknown to his breed; in their years of training, they tortured all such sensations

Up from the floor, The Shadow lunged through the doorway, his gun shoved ahead of him, ready to beat his

foeman to the next thrust. Recoiling from the jabbing muzzle, the wounded naljorpa made another of his

tremendous bounds; not amazing, considering that he had strength proportionate to more than twice his

Catlike, the creature reached the ledge of an open window nearly twenty feet away. His body lighted,

twisting; the hand that held the knife was whipped about as if by the weapon's weight. The blade slid loose as

Again The Shadow had won, by the fraction of a second. The slug from his .45 carried a bonecrushing

wallop that swept the withered assassin clear across the sill. The knife, launched a few degrees before the

required angle, went through the cloak again, slicing a harmless path between The Shadow's body and the

Hurtled out into the darkness, the naljorpa sent back a trailing cry as he plunged to the concrete courtyard,

three floors below. The call was one that carried malice, not terror; it was a plea for revenge, that must be

Swinging full about, The Shadow helped Paul Brent to his feet. He hastened him down a stairway and out to

Spreading the beam of a tiny flashlight, he looked for the fallen Tibetan. The courtyard was empty;

Unquestionably, there had been others, in reserve; for a dead naljorpa could not have vaulted a tenfoot wall.

Of all the incredible fighters that The Shadow had encountered during his exploits, never had he found

foemen more unusual than these naljorpas. Torn from the solitude where they dwelt, they had come half

There were sounds of sirens from the distance. The Shadow's shots had been heard in the neighborhood;

police would soon be here. But on the way, the officers would not encounter traces of a brownskinned

squad, carrying away a fallen member. The naljorpas were too well versed in ways of stealth to be detected,

The Shadow, too, had ways of blending into darkness. Aiding Paul back into the building, he steered him

They reached a waiting cab that whisked them away just before a patrol car turned the corner. Slumped in the

rear seat, Paul was pressing his hand to his head, while he muttered disjointed words. He had suffered a slight

concussion in his fall to the floor; he would need a rest before he could remember facts and relate their

But The Shadow did not need to hear the name that Paul so vainly tried to utter. He already knew it.

Those naljorpas could never have been induced to leave the Himalayas and come to America, except by some

supermind who knew their ways; who actually dwelt among them as a tulku, or living deity.

Even in Tibet, tulkus were rare; and The Shadow knew of only one who had ever deserted his native land, to

come to America. He was a master mind who had turned his Oriental wizardry to crime.

A superfoe who had met defeat, yet whose return The Shadow had expected as positively as the dawn of a

BEATRICE CHADBURY was still riding in a cab. It wasn't the same cab that she had taken from the

In fact, this was the fourth cab that she had used in her zigzag journey up and down Manhattan. Each time

that she left one cab to take another, Beatrice had responded to the call of a mental voice that addressed her as

The lilacs were still with her. Breathing their perfume, the girl stared fixedly ahead when she spoke an

address to the driver. The motion of her lips was mechanical, as though actuated by some one other than

Nodding wisely, the cab driver watched the mirror as he drove southward. He recognized the address in

question. It was just within the borders of Chinatown; he had taken other fares there, before. The cabby didn't

regard it as any of his business that the place was an opium den, managed by a Chinaman named Loo Dow.

Mechanically, Beatrice placed a wadded bill in the driver's hand and stepped out into the darkness.

With hurried pace, she reached a doorway deep in the alley, where she could scarcely be seen. The door was

Beatrice rapped. A singular thing happened. The cab driver didn't notice it; if he had, he would have gaped,

The door did not move. Instead, a portion of the brick wall slid across and covered the metal barrier. As

Beatrice stepped through the opening, the grimy surface slithered back in place again, so neatly that the

Instead of entering by the narrow passage that led to Loo Dow's opium house; Beatrice had taken another

route that ran beside it, separated by a thick partition, She was in a passage unknown to Loo Dow's patrons,

The passage was short. It ended in a steep stairway that descended below a blocking wall. At the bottom, it

turned left, twice, setting Beatrice on a reversed course that led beneath the alley. Beyond that were other

All along the route dim lights appeared, subsiding after the hurrying girl had passed them. Breathless,

Beatrice took no notice of the many turns that she followed, seemingly by sheer instinct. She was repeating

She wanted to be Lana Luan again. The history of these underground channels, once used in tong wars and

forgotten afterward, did not interest her in the least. Her goal was at the end of the maze; nothing else

There, Lana Luan could be rid of the ridiculous American attire that didn't belong to her. Once clad in

Oriental garments she would be a true Chinese. Seeing an open door at the top of a short flight of steps, the

She had tugged her arms from the dress sleeves by the time she reached the open room. She was letting her

The room was a tiny boudoir fitted in Chinese style; draped in a corner were the gorgeous silk pajamas and

Soon, the transformation was completed. As Lana Luan, Beatrice actually appeared to be a Chinese. Her oval

face, with languorous lashes and ruddy lips, gave her an Oriental expression. The silken costume,

embroidered with poppy leaves and peacocks, seemed the proper garb for a daughter of Old Cathay.

Even her complexion had changed; due, probably, to the subdued yellowish light that filled the boudoir.

Under a different glow, the face of Lana Luan would certainly have shown American traces; but that was no

The Golden Master needed a messenger who could go from place to place without attracting too much notice.

A type like this was therefore suitable, in a city like New York. She had become a chameleon, who could

pass as American or Chinese, according to whichever appearance might be required by circumstance.

AS Lana Luan stood admiring her new guise in the mirror, her eyes took on a fixed expression. Through her

The girl opened the door. On the threshold, she stepped back, as a small procession came along the passage.

The advancing group would have horrified Beatrice Chadbury; but Lana Luan merely surveyed the

Scrawny brownskinned men made up the parade. One, with glaring eyes and large glistening teeth, was in

the lead; others were bringing a crude stretcher on which lay the distorted figure of a comrade.

They were the naljorpas bringing in the shattered corpse of the assassin who had failed in battle with The

Shadow. In death, the Tibetan still wore his ugly expression; if anything, it was more pronounced.

The whitish eyes were glazed, shrunken lips drawn back from the bulging teeth they surrounded. Bashed ribs,

broken limbs, gave the body a mangled look. Yet the dead Tibetan's fists were clenched.

One locked claw, poked crazily upward from his disjointed body, kept wagging as the bearers took the

stretcher forward, as if its owner were still expressing hate toward the formidable foe who had bested him.

Lana Luan let the procession pass. The human caravan was marching toward a golden door that shone from

the passage end. While the girl waited, the Tibetans finished their march and ascended curved steps leading to

In his gilded room, Shiwan Khan was lounging on his throne. The bearers propped their burden at the

Attentively, Shiwan Khan heard the story that one naljorpa told. The speaker had evidently been near the

"You have done well, Ramjan," declared Shiwan Khan. "Later, you shall have opportunity for vengeance. As

for Kushod" he bowed toward the gruesome figure on the litter "he has already completed his long

"Kushod was a delog, like yourselves. A delog who, in his trances, had visited the bardo, or land beyond. No

The listeners joined in a chorus of strange, gargly cries, expressing elation over Shiwan Khan's words.

With a peculiar sidelong gait, the naljorpas filed from the throne room, carrying the dead Kushod with them.

As the golden door slid shut, Shiwan Khan let his slitted lips form a strange smile.

His Mongol servitors called him Shiwan Khan; for to them, he was Kha Khan, the great ruler. But the

Tibetans knew him as Shiwan Tulku, a title that actually pleased him more, considering that the term tulku

Soon, the golden door again slid open. This time, it admitted Lana Luan. Gleaming their steady green,

As she entered the room, she wavered; then her whole body seemed to incline toward the robed figure in the

throne. Slowly, as if drawn by a hypnotic force, Lana Luan advanced and knelt near the little taboret.

"Yet you have no recollection of the life between. Soon, Lana Luan, you will forget that it ever existed."

Confident that his domination gripped the girl completely, Shiwan Khan drew a squarish ivory casket from

the taboret. He extended it, and Lana Luan received it. The casket bore a wax seal stamped with the Khan's

"You will keep this casket," he told Lana Luan, "and deliver it when and where I command. Meanwhile, you

"Later, Lana Luan, you will be rewarded. With others, you will accompany me to Xanadu, my hidden city in

the heart of Asia. There, through measureless, deathless years we shall create a new dominion that will spread

A LONGFINGERED hand waved dismissal. Carrying the ivory casket, Lana Luan walked from the throne

room. As before, she wavered near the doorway; but her step became steady when she had passed through.

As the portal closed, Shiwan Khan contemplated the past. His lips grew bitter at the thought of Kushod's

Slowly, Shiwan Khan's thoughts returned to Lana Luan. Remembering the ivory casket and its promised

delivery to someone, the Golden Master drew a largebowled pipe from the taboret. Lighting the pipe, he let

The aroma was pungent. Amid the wreaths of smoke, Shiwan Khan began to speak, while his eyes fixed in a

His words were few, but they must have brought mental answers from somewhere, for there were long

Then as if settling a conference between himself and a distant speaker, Shiwan Khan lifted his head, stared

His mental conversation ended, the Golden Master put away the pipe. Smoke filtered through tiny openings

in the gilded walls. The air was clear again, ready for some new aroma with which Shiwan Khan controlled

A laugh, jangling like a discordant bell, was Shiwan Khan's expression of contempt for any who might try to

PAUL BRENT sat in an easychair, his head propped against a pillow. It was midafternoon, and he was

telling last night's story to two attentive listeners. One was Dr. Rupert Sayre, in whose office the conference

Sayre was a taciturn physician, whose understanding manner had helped him build up a Park Avenue

practice. Cranston, in his turn, was quite as calmmannered; it was seldom possible to trace a change of

They listened seriously to everything that Paul had to tell; as a result, the young man did not miss a single

detail. When he had finished, however, he wondered if these soberfaced friends could believe his bizarre

The telegram was signed Beatrice. It stated briefly that the girl had gone for a trip in the Adirondacks; that

she would answer any of Paul's letters after she returned. His face troubled, Paul queried:

"Do you think" he stammered over the words "that some one... perhaps Shiwan Khan... could have sent

"Very probably," replied Cranston, in a calm tone. "We phoned Washington and learned that you were to be

sent immediately to California, to offer technical advice on some new fighting planes."

Paul nodded. He was an aircraft technician, by profession; his firm had completed several government

"Obviously, then," continued Cranston, "this telegram would have kept you from wondering why you did not

"From which we may conclude," completed Cranston, "that Miss Chadbury will return after that period. As I

"And by your own account," Cranston inserted, "The Shadow was on hand again last night."

Gradually, Paul relaxed. He saw the logic. The Shadow's mysterious arrival, last night, seemed proof absolute

that the blackcloaked investigator held control. The Shadow had saved Paul; he could rescue Beatrice also.

"Rest another day, Brent," advised Dr. Sayre, "then start for California. If Shiwan Khan supposes that you

have already gone there, you can help matters best by preserving his impression that you learned nothing."

Agreeing to the plan, Paul went back to the little hospital room that adjoined Sayre's office. The physician

turned to Cranston with a look of query, that might have enlightened Paul had he been present to see it.

Sayre's whole expression gave away a most important secret: The physician knew that the visitor who called

LONG ago, Sayre had decided that there were two Cranstons: a real one, and another who played the part

when the actual owner of the name was traveling in remote lands. There wasn't a doubt that the present

Cranston who stood in Sayre's office was the mysterious member of the duo. That made him The Shadow.

"The girl has disappeared, Sayre," declared The Shadow, quietly. "You did well in helping me allay Brent's

"No." The Shadow slowly shook his head. "There was a message at my club, presumably from Beatrice

Chadbury, asking me to come to her apartment. It was a trap, set by Shiwan Khan."

"Yes. Even though I had no evidence that Shiwan Khan had returned to America. Yet the trap was so clever,

By blundering in ahead, Paul had been unlucky enough to spring the trap. Mistaken for The Shadow, Paul

had unwittingly turned the game about. By his own timely arrival, The Shadow had been able to return the

Opening a tightly wrapped package, The Shadow produced a bunch of faded lilacs. Sayre gave a jubilant

"The girl switched cabs," said The Shadow. "She finally took an independent cab, as I considered probable. I

Sayre nodded. Moe was The Shadow's own cab driver, and one of his secret agents; a great hand at making

"She went to Loo Dow's," explained The Shadow, "but there, the trail ends. I called Dr. Tam. He talked to

Mention of Dr. Tam meant much to Sayre. He was acquainted with Roy Tam, the Chinese physician. He

knew that Tam was a power in Chinatown; one who worked for good. Such men as Loo Dow feared him.

"Tam's men have investigated," continued The Shadow. "They think that the girl must have gone through a

gate at the end of the alley and reached another street. She might have reached any one of several shops

"Yes," replied The Shadow, "but they are the sort who would lie to him, because they are at present not

engaged in legitimate business. Important, too, is the fact that Tam has no evidence whatever that Shiwan

Cranston's thin lips responded with the faintest of smiles. He agreed with Sayre's opinion, but he knew the

difficulty of gaining proof. There was danger, too, in seeking Shiwan Khan; not to the hunter, but to those

"Under Shiwan Khan's control," The Shadow reminded, "the girl will become Lana Luan. We know

therefore, that Shiwan Khan needs an intermediary, which, in turn, proves that he is trapping other dupes."

"I shall soon have a lead," concluded The Shadow. "I heard from Shiwan Khan last night, through the

message requesting that I call on Beatrice Chadbury. Since that trap failed, I shall hear from Shiwan Khan

THERE was a letter waiting for Lamont Cranston when he reached the exclusive Cobalt Club, an hour later.

It was postmarked London, and when The Shadow opened it, he found that it was from a man named Ralph

Everything about the letter passed muster. The stamp was British; the postmark, if faked, was a perfect

counterfeit. An express liner from England had arrived that morning; the letter could have come in its mail.

The letter was written in Fayden's style; when The Shadow studied the handwriting, it stood the test. But

The letter had reached the Cobalt Club just after three o'clock. The Shadow was positive on that point,

because he had looked in the box marked "Cranston" when he left the club at three, to go to Sayre's.

He had returned before five, another fact that was highly important. Mail deliveries to the Cobalt Club came

at two thirty and five, with none in between. Thus it was plain that someone other than a postman must have

Had it been delivered at half past two, there was a chance that The Shadow would have gone directly to the

Oriental Museum, reaching there before three o'clock. For some reason, he wasn't wanted there until evening.

Therefore, the letter had been held until after three. But it hadn't been kept until the five o'clock delivery for

another very good reason, this one quite obvious. Once three o'clock was past, it had been imperative to get

the letter into Cranston's box, so he would be sure to find it and fall for the seveno'clock bait.

Yes, The Shadow was wanted at the Oriental Museum this evening; and, remembering last night's experience,

Many persons would have been so pleased with that deduction, that they would have carried the quest no

further. But The Shadow looked for facts beyond. He was considering the case of Ralph Fayden, the man

Originating in New York, not in London, the letter was faked; but did that apply to the thing in its entirety?

The Shadow decided in the negative. He granted, of course, that the postmark was a fraud; but it struck him

First, that Fayden had not gone to England at all; second, that Fayden, still in New York, was a party to the

scheme involving this letter. Those two points produced a total. Ralph Fayden must be under the domination

Fayden was a successful inventor. Having accumulated wealth, he had retired and gone into collecting curios,

most of which he gave to museums. But his inventive genius was as powerful as ever. He was the sort of man

who could prove useful to Shiwan Khan, who liked to filch ideas from other people's brains.

In one step, The Shadow had placed his finger upon the Golden Master's present game. Shiwan Khan was in

America to accumulate brains; not dead ones, but live ones brains belonging to Fayden, and other men of

Just as he had used Beatrice to ensnare The Shadow, so was Shiwan Khan using Fayden.

RISING, The Shadow strolled into the club foyer; it was approaching six. Time for a few telephone calls, a

light dinner, then a trip to the Oriental Museum. Seven thirty would be the best time to arrive there; whatever

Had The Shadow surmised what chance already was producing, he would have changed his schedule to reach

THE Hotel Claybourne was a small establishment, located some twenty blocks distant from the Cobalt Club.

The welldressed grayhaired man who came into the lobby at dusk, noted the clock above the desk read six

o'clock. The grayhaired man inquired if there was any mail for Mr. Halmers, Room 812.

There being no mail for Mr. Halmers, the clerk simply handed him the key. Crossing the lobby, the

grayhaired man was approaching the elevators, when a tall, blearyeyed customer lurched from the

taproom. Seeing Halmers, the bleary chap loped forward and gripped him by the arm.

"Hello, Fayden!" he hiccuped. "Say what're you doing here? Thought you were in England."

The grayhaired Mr. Halmers looked squarely into the broad face that confronted him. Testily, he said:

"Haw!" ejaculated the accoster. "If you're not Ralph Fayden, I'm not George Endle. How d'you like that?"

Mr. Halmers didn't seem to like it. Still insisting that he wasn't Fayden, that he'd never heard of Endle, he

Endle grabbed him all the tighter, until a corps of bellhops entered the scene. With apologies to Mr. Halmers,

they overwhelmed Endle, dragged him through the lobby and deposited him outside.

Parked against a convenient fire plug, Endle drew a sobering breath, looked up at the revolving door and

Endle happened to be right. The man who called himself Halmers was Ralph Fayden. The reason why Endle

didn't complete his statement, was because he saw something that intrigued him quite as much as the question

A cab had stopped at the hotel entrance. A girl was alighting, and Endle could see her face peering from the

high fur collar of a long coat. It was a beautiful face, in Endle's besotted opinion, particularly because it

Endle had a habit of eyeing the world from gutters, and people usually gave him contemptuous glances when

he chose such resting places. This girl didn't; her gaze met his with total unconcern. Then she was gone, into

the hotel, leaving Endle with the recollection of alluring eyes, ruddy lips, and jetblack hair.

Grinning, Endle realized that he wasn't quite in the gutter. He decided that the fire plug belonged there, so he

gave it a shove. The push did the opposite of what Endle expected; it brought him to his feet. Catching his

"She got in the hotel easy enough, huh, Endle? What about you doing the same? Gotta see Fayden and find

Nobody stopped Endle as he entered the lobby. The girl was gone; bellhops were busy at their usual duties.

Managing to steady his gait, Endle crossed to the desk and asked for Mr. Halmers.

Busy sorting mail, the clerk didn't notice Endle's thick tone. He simply gave the room number, 812.

MEANWHILE, Ralph Fayden was pacing the floor of Room 812, anxiously wringing his hands. The room

was strewn with luggage, and from a corner, a single witness watched the grayhaired man's nervous pacing.

The witness was a brownskinned man, who sat upon a cushion in the bowlegged fashion of a Hindu

mystic. He looked very much like Ramjan and the other naljorpas who served Shiwan Khan, except that he

In addition to a tunic, he wore a small turban, with a jewel glistening from its front. Somehow, his calmness

had its effect upon Fayden. The grayhaired man halted suddenly and stared toward the corner.

"I am glad that you came here, Marabar Guru," he said. "Your presence helps me. I was very worried when I

"Be calm." The words seemed to drift from the lips of Marabar Guru. "All such problems have been

"They threw Endle out," he declared. "He's probably gone his way, figuring that he was mistaken. The only

name I gave him was Halmers. But there's something else that worries me, Marabar Guru."

Brown eyes widened in placid query. Fayden decided to state his case. Stopping by a table, he drew a brier

"The voice which I have heard so often," said Fayden, "has promised me great reward if I obey its

"It is the voice of a tulku," reminded Marabar Guru. "A great tulku, who calls himself Shiwan Khan."

"Yes, Shiwan Khan is a great tulku," he agreed, "and you are a great guru. It was your teaching, Marabar, that

Marabar Guru received the praise without sign of elation. The squatting Hindu took it as a matter of course

that he was superior to the other mystics that Shiwan Khan had brought from the Orient.

Like them, he was a naljorpa, possessed of startling physical powers. But he was a guru, or teacher, as well.

He had the ability of transmitting his forceful faculties to persons who were in a receptive mood to learn

Fayden was lighting his pipe. The pungent odor of strong tobacco floated through the room. There was a

"I believe that there is a city of Xanadu," affirmed Fayden, seriously, "where Shiwan Khan wishes me to

accompany him. Otherwise, I would not have obeyed his commands so far. I have jeopardized my reputation,

staying here in New York and sending false curios to Newboldt, writing a misleading letter to Cranston.

"But Shiwan Khan has promised a reward; treasures of the sort I value. Always, I have heard one thought"

Fayden tapped his forehead "namely, that I would receive samples of those treasures, as proof that a great

Fayden cocked his head in listening attitude. His eyes opened wide as he sensed the tone of a distant voice,

that Marabar Guru could also hear. It was the chiming voice of Shiwan Khan. The aroma of the thick tobacco

smoke from Fayden's special blend was the odor that produced contact between the Golden Master and his

MARABAR GURU had risen. Crossing the room, the turbaned mystic opened the door. In stepped the girl

She let the long cloak fall from her shoulders; instantly, her appearance altered from American to Chinese.

Room lights gave her complexion a yellowish tinge that went with the Oriental costume that she wore.

"My name is Lana Luan," spoke the girl in singsong manner. "I bring a gift" she extended an ivory casket

Fayden broke the casket's seal. He shrieked his delight as he lifted the lid. Trinkets of green, rich in hue,

varied in design, poured into the inventor's eager hands. Like his eyes, those objects glistened in the light.

"Jade!" he exclaimed. "Finer than any I have ever seen! True applegreen exquisite in its carving. These

"They are trifles," interposed Marabar Guru. "In Xanadu, you will live in an apartment walled with jade.

"He is master!" Fayden lifted his head, fixed his eyes in a distant stare. "Do you hear me, Shiwan Khan? You

As Fayden paused, a thumping came from the closed door. The sound jarred the grayhaired man from his

trance. Pouring the jade carvings back into the casket, he swung to Marabar Guru in alarm.

"Admit him," said the guru calmly. "I shall assume the trance condition of samdhi. When my thoughts are

"Will accompany me into the land of the invisible. I am a guru; I can impart my power. We shall both be far

When George Endle stumbled into the room, Marabar Guru was back on his cushion, staring steadily across

the room. Straight opposite was Lana Luan, motionless as a statue, her gaze riveted by that of the guru.

His attention centered on Fayden. Endle didn't notice the room's other occupants. Eyeing the grayhaired

"You're Ralph Fayden," he insisted. "Supposed to be in England, but you aren't. Listen, Fayden, I'm a pal. Be

"There's nothing to be squared," insisted Fayden, in a testy tone. "My name is Halmers; I have never met you

before this evening. If you leave here quietly, and meddle no further in my affairs, I shall consider it a favor."

As he advanced, Endle spied the ivory casket. With a lurch, he grabbed the box and opened it. Angrily,

Fayden wrested it away, but not before Endle saw the glittering jade ornaments within.

"So you're not Fayden!" sneered Endle. "Funny you go in for jade, like Fayden does. Remember the night

you were talking jade to Newboldt, the guy who runs the Oriental Museum? I was there that night. Yes,

you're Ralph Fayden, even though you call yourself Halmers. All right, I'm satisfied."

With a sudden semblance of dignity, Endle veered tipsily about and started toward the door. During the

minutes of argument, he had become oblivious to the presence of Marabar Guru and Lana Luan.

The Oriental system of invisibility through lack of notice had apparently been working, since Endle, too, had

But the spell was broken when Endle faced Lana Luan. He ended his stagger, stared straight ahead and

FAYDEN actually didn't notice Lana Luan until Endle spoke. He saw his former friend thrust closer and

study the girl's expressionless face as though eyeing a wax figure. Reeling about with a thick laugh, Endle

"Am I seeing things?" he muttered. "Whatta you got here, Fayden? A couple dummies? This Hindu guy looks

He approached Marabar Guru. Ignoring the power of the mystic, Fayden expected Endle to recoil from a

shock. Instead, he had almost reached the seated figure when Marabar Guru raised his hands and snarled. The

fingers that the guru jabbed toward Endle should have loosed a numbing force. Somehow, the formula failed.

Angered by the total failure of his accustomed powers, Marabar Guru whipped out a bronze knife from the

In true naljorpa style, the weapon seemed to leap ahead of the brown hand that manipulated it. It was the

tightening of the swift following fist that stopped the dagger point scant inches from Endle's ribs. Actually,

His bravado gone, Endle reeled away, staring back at the glittering blade. He saw that it was a dagger; but

Fayden caught the staggering man by an arm and steered him toward the door. In the hallway, Endle forgot

"That's right, old chap," Fayden told him. "You've been seeing things. What you need to do, is go home and

Stammering his agreement, Endle headed toward the elevator. Fayden went along with him, saw him into the

car, and returned to the room. He met Lana Luan coming out; she had put on the cloak that served to cover

Marabar Guru was standing near his corner, still gripping the knife. He was showing anger because his

"I have told all to the tulku," he said. "Our master, Shiwan Khan instructs you to leave at once. Concentrate,

Fayden nodded. He was practically packed; all he had to do was add the ivory casket to his luggage. Picking

up his pipe, at the guru's suggestion, he puffed the thick smoke. Again, he heard the belllike tone of Shiwan

When Fayden looked about, Marabar Guru was gone. His darkish robe drawn about him, the chief naljorpa

had sidled out of the room, to leave the hotel by the gloomy fire tower that he had previously used for

Five minutes later, the clerk downstairs received a call from 812 and learned that Mr. Halmers was checking

Again, Shiwan Khan was taking precautions to keep the whereabouts of a dupe unknown. Should George

Endle report strange doings at the Hotel Claybourne, and find persons who would believe his tale, one thing,

No one would find Ralph Fayden in Room 812 should they decide to go there and look for him.

AT precisely seven o'clock, a portly, pudgy faced man arrived at the Oriental Museum. He was Isaac

Newboldt, the curator, and he was pleased to see that the doors were already open.

Immediately he was in his office, someone knocked. It was Kent, the chief attendant, making a formal report.

Kent had found the extra key to the mezzanine storeroom; it had been missing for some time before the

storeroom had been put in use. Newboldt received the key, just as another knock sounded at the door.

Two men entered. One looked as selfimportant as Newboldt. He was a blufffaced man, who wore a

shortclipped mustache. His companion was a swarthy, stockily built individual, whose features displayed a

Rising from behind his desk, Newboldt extended a hand to the blufffaced man, exclaiming:

"We shall come to that directly, Mr. Newboldt," returned the police commissioner, briskly. "First, let me

Newboldt had heard of Inspector Joe Cardona, ace of the Manhattan force. He was the chap who usually

tackled the toughest cases. The fact worried Newboldt considerably, for it indicated that the Oriental Museum

"Don't worry," said Weston with a smile. "We are here on a rather trifling mission. One that was inspired by

"It's about some curios shipped here," Cardona said. "They came from a man named Ralph Fayden. It seems

"Cranston may think that they are fakes," rejoined Newboldt emphatically, "but I happen to know that they

are. That is why I put them in the old storeroom on the mezzanine floor. Only one genuine item in the entire

lot! Some clever swindlers must have taken Fayden over very thoroughly, since he went to England."

From the desk, Newboldt lifted the key that Kent had brought him. He suggested a trip to the mezzanine

"Mr. Cranston said he'd like to look them over with us," declared the police inspector. "Maybe we ought to

Newboldt agreed. He proffered cigars; they were lighting the perfectos when Kent arrived to announce

another visitor. Before the attendant could state the arrival's name, the man shoved himself through the

"I'm not drunk, Newboldt," insisted Endle. "I was, a little while ago, but right now I'm cold sober. What I ran

into put me on the water wagon for keeps! Listen, Newboldt, I've just talked to Ralph Fayden!"

"No. Fayden is in New York! He's staying at the Hotel Claybourne. Calls himself Halmers."

"I'm sober, I tell you! But I want another drink, bad! Give it to me, and I'll tell you something that will make

Catching a nod from Weston, the curator produced a bottle and glass from the desk drawer. Endle poured

LIMITED though it was, the tale sounded fantastic. Endle told of meeting Fayden in the hotel lobby; how he

He described all that happened there; told of the ivoryfilled jade casket; of the Chinese girl, and how the

"It was bronze," declared Endle, slowly. "Yes, all bronze, blade and handle, both. It was long, too. It must

Shuddering at the recollection, Endle poured himself another bracer. He was swaying tipsily; a few more

"I would rather not wait until Cranston arrives. I would like to show Endle a certain item that Fayden sent us.

They started to the mezzanine. Endle was a bit unsteady on the stairs, but Kent helped him along.

Newboldt unlocked the storeroom, turned on a light. The room was partly filled with a collection of assorted

junk. On the floor stood queer stone idols; near them, placed upright, was a battered mummy casket. A huge,

The walls showed other items: odd paddles, used in Malay war canoes; big spears that might have come from

Africa; boomerangs and other weapons, including some Turkish scimitars. Picking up a list that lay on top of

"The stuff is spurious," he insisted. "It looks as if it came from a dime museum. Why, it wouldn't take an

Tapping the list, Newboldt lifted his finger and pointed to a side wall. "Look over there, Endle, and see if you

Squinting, Endle muttered that he saw nothing but a blank space on the wall. When Weston and Cardona

"Why, it's gone!" he exclaimed. Then, swinging to Kent, he demanded: "What did you do with that bronze

Tibetan knife? I said that it was valuable, but I did not order you to place it elsewhere."

"There it is!" Wrenching from Kent's steadying grip, Endle pointed toward a corner near the battered mummy

"I can't understand it," said Newboldt, slowly. "I can't understand how it moved from one wall to the other,

Pausing, the curator shook his head, as though he regarded the only explanation as more fantastic than the

occurrence itself. He looked back to the blank space on the other wall, then toward the knife again. It was

Endle had started forward. His own thick utterance was loud enough to drown Newboldt's call.

"I'll show you what the yogi did'" Endle was promising. "I'll show you the way he shoved that dirk at me,

CARDONA, alarmed by Newboldt's shout, was starting after Endle. Kent was hurrying forward, too, for he

recognized real danger in the curator's excited manner. But they were a dozen feet short of Endle when he

Half reeling, Endle tugged the blade toward himself. Instantly, he shrieked, and sidled close to the corner. His

arms were twisting with all their strength, as if trying to control a living thing.

As he doubled himself above the bronze blade, obscuring, it from sight, Endle's arms pumped inward, toward

Jolted as if by the power of his own jab, Endle's toppling figure hit the floor, his arms outstretched.

But the witnesses to that heavy fall were not looking at Endle's outspread hands. They were staring at an

object that protruded from the man's breast: the handle of the bronze Tibetan knife. The blade was no longer

George Endle was dead, slain by the bronze blade from Tibet. Dead from the very sort of thrust that he had

The bronze knife had done its work, despite Newboldt's warning, before the arrival of the only person who

THEY stood about Endle's body, a silent, awed group. The spell was not broken until Inspector Cardona

Commissioner Weston agreed. Nevertheless, he insisted that Endle's death had been considerably more

"The poor chap was delirious," declared Weston. "The story that he told us proves it. He was thinking of

"Funny, about that knife business, though," returned Cardona, moodily. "Endle must have seen before, a dirk

"Not necessarily," argued Weston. "He may have heard of this knife, from Fayden. Probably by letter,

At that same moment, footsteps sounded outside the storeroom. Jittery men swung about in alarm; Cardona

quickly drew a revolver, then lowered it. He recognized the figure that stood on the threshold. The arrival was

Within a few minutes The Shadow had heard the entire story from men who were anxious to tell it, in order

When all details had been given, Cranston started to speak, only to be interrupted by a call from downstairs.

The Shadow waited until the curator returned. Newboldt explained that the call had come from London. He

had talked with Fayden, recognized the man's voice. Fayden had been anxious to know if all his curios had

"I guess that settles matters," said Newboldt, with a sigh of relief. "Fayden is actually in London. Of course, I

didn't worry him by telling him what had happened here, nor did I mention that the curios he purchased were

"Good judgment, Newboldt," declared The Shadow, in Cranston's dry, even tone. "If you had told him your

suspicions of the curios, he might have feared that you suspected the phone call, too."

"That you just received a faked call, Newboldt," emphasized The Shadow. "It came at too timely a moment.

It is plain that Fayden wants to alibi himself, by making us think that he is in London."

"That's right!" inserted Cardona. "A call like that, coming just after Endle's suicide "

"I doubt that Fayden knows of Endle's death," interposed The Shadow, with a smile. "He was probably

THE statement electrified the listeners. Calmly, The Shadow produced Fayden's letter, showed it, and related

its history. His deduction regarding the letter's false delivery seemed a very simple thing, the way he related

it, suited much more to the deliberate Mr. Cranston than to the mysterious being called The Shadow.

No one caught the deeper inferences. They were thinking of other things particularly Commissioner

"Unquestionably," replied The Shadow. "From all you have told me, the man was anything but demented."

The Shadow's eyes took on a faraway gaze. Only Newboldt seemed to understand it. The others waited,

expectantly; finally, they saw Cranston's eyes lower. He pointed to the knife that still penetrated Endle's dead

Obligingly, Cardona wrenched the knife from the victim, wiped off the blood and extended the bronze

weapon from the folds of a handkerchief. Receiving the dagger, The Shadow studied it carefully, then

Only Newboldt recognized the term. The curator's hesitancy had changed to eagerness. He stood alert, while

"A phurba," he said, "is an enchanted dagger. It is supposed to possess the power of delivering death of its

own accord. In brief, the blade possesses life, given to it by the mystic influence of a naljorpa, or man of

"Poppycock," exclaimed Weston. "You can't expect us to believe such rot, Cranston!"

"Not unless you have been to Tibet," returned The Shadow, "or made a study of conditions in that strange

"Let me emphasize one point," continued The Shadow. "It is quite possible that the supposed life of the

phurba is due entirely to the imagination of the victim, not to any evil potency of the naljorpa who

"In fact, the naljorpas may be quite limited in everything they do. I can testify, however, that persons who

have attempted to attack such mystics have found themselves stopped by a peculiar force that resembles an

Weston gave a belittling smile, then asked: "Do you speak from personal experience, Cranston?"

"No, I am immune," replied The Shadow, "because I, too, am versed in the mystic methods of the East. But I

"The yogi that Endle talked about!" exclaimed Joe. "He could have been a naljorpa. But from the way Endle

The Shadow did not answer. He had formed a theory which might prove extremely valuable, later. Endle's

immunity, earlier that evening, applied only to the sort of experience encountered by Paul Brent, and not to

actual death from a bronze dagger. It was something to be remembered; but, at present, The Shadow was

"Let us accept Endle's entire story as accurate," suggested The Shadow. "He met Fayden, here in New York.

We know, therefore, that Fayden is playing some double game. His purpose, presumably, is to acquire jade,

"Whoever is behind the game wished to dispose of me. Probably" The Shadow voiced the explanation very

calmly "because I know too much about Tibet. Endle's life was spared at the hotel because he seemed

unimportant. But this phurba" he passed the dagger back to Cardona "was waiting here for me. Endle

Newboldt was nodding agreement to everything that The Shadow said, but Weston argued otherwise.

"It's ridiculous, Cranston!" declared the commissioner. "Impossible that a knife stab could be delivered

AT that moment, Cardona provided one of his characteristic interruptions. He was holding the phurba in one

hand, his revolver in the other. Anxious to clear up the case, Joe thrust his gun into the nearest hand, which

"Hold it," he told The Shadow, "while I reconstruct the suicide. The knife was here" Joe strode to the wall

and clamped the bronze blade upon the hook near the mummy case "and Endle made a grab for it. Just like

Stepping back, Cardona lunged toward the wall and snatched the bronze dagger with both hands. He reeled,

doubling in Endle's fashion. The men who had witnessed Endle's death thought that Cardona was overacting

the part when he started to pump his hands toward his heart, shoving the blade point first.

Only one pair of eyes saw what actually happened. Those eyes were The Shadow's. They spied the brownish,

clawlike hand that snaked suddenly into sight, as if from nowhere, to add an impetus to Cardona's jab.

In a trice, the inspector was powerless to prevent the coming stroke, for his pressure was in the wrong

Another hand could act: The Shadow's. It did act, with Cardona's gun. A quick trigger finger pumped bullets

into a strange target: the fake mummy case that Cardona was shouldering in the midst of his frantic, losing

With those blasts, Cardona reeled away. Wrenching at the bronze dagger, he twisted it aside, slashing, his

coat in the action. The blade didn't reach Joe's heart, because the hidden hand was no longer there to shove it.

But the murderer's fist was visible, and a scrawny body with it. Actuated by The Shadow's timely shots, the

mummy case split open at the side, to send a spidery naljorpa flinging to the floor, where he writhed in dying

The naljorpa was Ramjan, the assassin that Shiwan Khan had assigned to special duty. Ramjan had gained

one kill this evening, without detection. He had almost maneuvered another, when the stream of bullets felled

In the midst of Ramjan's clatter, a mirthless, whispered laugh issued from the immobile lips of Lamont

They could call Endle's death a suicide, if they liked. In a way, it was suicide for anyone to grab the bronze

dagger that Ramjan had placed so conveniently at hand before hiding in the mummy case.

But if Endle's death remained classed as a suicide, Ramjan's finish belonged in the same category. It could be

Any and all of Shiwan Khan's killers would be committing suicide when they attempted murder in the

BACKED against the wall, Joe Cardona stared at the dead forms of Endle and Ramjan, then at the bronze

knife which lay between the bodies. Joe's fingers were twitching, as though they still held the handle of his

The riddle of the phurba was explained. The enchanted dagger possessed no life of its own; it needed the

Cleverly hinged at the side, the mummy case had a secret aperture, through which Ramjan's thrust had come.

The upright casket had broken open under the weight of the killer's falling body, when The Shadow's shots

Isaac Newboldt recalled the missing key to the storeroom. It explained how the naljorpa had entered.

"He must have come in this afternoon!" exclaimed the curator "Once he had opened the door, he needed the

Newboldt's finding was correct. The room had an automatic latch. Ramjan had locked the door when he

"It was the naljorpa who moved the dagger," said Newboldt, soberly. "I noticed it the moment I entered. Had

you been with me, Cranston, you would probably have been the man who plucked it from the wall."

"Instead of Endle," put in Cardona. "But he got here early, and he was thinking in terms of daggers. But it

certainly looked like he stabbed himself with it. I hadn't an idea that this skinny guy" he nudged toward the

"Nor did any of us," added Weston, soberly, "except Cranston. If that knife had reached your heart, inspector,

as it did Endle's, we would have classed you as another suicide. The killer would have been free to leave the

Congratulations were in order for Lamont Cranston, but he chose to belittle his achievement. It was luck, he

said, that placed him at the correct angle to see Ramjan's hand whip from the mummy case and add its

Chance, too, had made Cranston the temporary custodian of Cardona's revolver. He had used it impulsively

and very poorly, missing the murderer's hands at which he had aimed, and hitting the mummy case instead.

Wide shots had scored a lucky result; that was all. The Shadow didn't mention that Cardona's shift had made

Stooping above the scrawny corpse of Ramjan, The Shadow observed a rounded mark upon the Tibetan's

forehead. Rising, he pointed to the seared spot, and declared in Cranston's style:

"A delog," said the curator, "is a mystic who has had visions of the bardo, or land beyond. Considering

themselves familiar with the life that is to come, they have no fear of death. Consequently, when they choose

"They are apt to deal in murder," recalled Newboldt, "because they feel that they belong in the bardo, and

Newboldt went on to describe the picturesque but gruesome tortures of the bardo, according to Tibetan lore.

"You have forgotten one thing," said The Shadow. "The delogs, having no use for this life, invariably cut

themselves off from the world. They are found only in the mountain vastnesses of the Himalayas."

"Which brings us to our present question," The Shadow added. "What is a delog doing in New York?"

THE curator recognized the importance of the question, and began to emphasize it. He agreed with Cranston

that no delog would have come to America except at the instigation of someone greater than himself,

probably a tulku, the highest of all mystics. But Newboldt knew of no tulku who had ever been in America.

Weston and Cardona jolted as if receiving electric shocks from the dead naljorpa. They knew that name well.

Twice, they had encountered Shiwan Khan; on each occasion, they had hoped that his departure meant the

Any link to Shiwan Khan needed prompt attention. Hurrying down to Newboldt's office, Weston put in a call

to the Hotel Claybourne. He learned that a "Mr. Halmers" had checked out a short while before, leaving no

"It must be Fayden," gritted Weston. "We know, at last, that Endle's story was correct. But why should a man

"You will recall Benjamin Twindell," he said. "You remember him commissioner. Twindell had wealth, all

he could ever have used, yet he listened to the blandishments of Shiwan Khan. It was the promise of priceless

treasure that made Twindell help Shiwan Khan to employ aircraft and munitions for a reign of conquest."

"Foiled in that enterprise, Shiwan Khan returned," The Shadow continued. "His purpose was to steal unique

inventions, valuable in warfare. He obtained some, but not the ones that he cherished most. Again, on that

Quite familiar with the powers of Shiwan Khan, Weston tried to picture the present from his memories of the

"On this excursion," he said "Shiwan Khan seeks neither munitions nor inventions. He is trying to enmesh

men of genius, gather them together and convey them back to his hidden domain. The proof lies in the fact

"They are the sort, those naljorpas, who could help him sway the minds of victims. Moreover, they serve as

buffers between dupes like Fayden and chance blunderers of Endle's sort. In work of this sort, Shiwan Khan

Impressed by the theory, Weston asked Cranston if he thought there were many others like Fayden; men not

"I believe that there are," declared The Shadow, firmly. "It is your task, commissioner, to check on them. I

The Shadow made no further mention of Endle's testimony. It was better that the law should forget the

Chinese girl who had been at the hotel along with the Hindu that Endle had described. The Shadow preferred

The girl was unquestionably Lana Luan. As long as she played her part of messenger, she would be safe. But

if the law classed Beatrice Chadbury as a missing person, Shiwan Khan might consider Lana Luan to be a

Knowing Shiwan Khan of old, The Shadow was quite sure that the Golden Master would dispose of anyone

LEAVING the museum, Lamont Cranston entered the big limousine that had brought him there. Riding

toward the Hotel Claybourne, he drew out a sliding drawer beneath the rear seat and produced garments of

When the big car stopped, not far from the hotel, the shape that slid from the halfopened door looked like a

mammoth blot. Gliding into waiting darkness, The Shadow reached a gloomy fire tower. He was following

the route that Marabar Guru had used when he entered to contact Fayden. At moments, hidden lips voiced a

whispered laugh. The Shadow was recalling Endle's testimony; how the mystic power of the guru had failed

Endle, though dead, had provided an important clue to the limitations of Shiwan Khan's wonder workers.

Reaching Room 812, The Shadow came upon a tangible clue: the odor of stale tobacco. He noted its pungent

touch, knew that the smoke must have come from some special blend. It fitted with the history of Beatrice's

The girl had favored those flowers; Fayden probably liked his own tobacco mixture. Such subtle points of

contact were sufficient for Shiwan Khan to exert his mental influence over those he chose as dupes.

Other clues were absent in Room 812. Finishing his inspection, The Shadow withdrew suddenly to the

hallway and took cover in a side passage. Others were arriving Cardona and detectives from headquarters.

They had traced Fayden's luggage to an empty house, where it had evidently been picked up and taken away

by other trucks. Finding no clues there, the headquarters men had returned to the starting point, the hotel. But

their search of Room 812 was fruitless. They hadn't even noticed the tobacco smoke.

From his secluded observation post, The Shadow saw Cardona follow the others from the room. As Joe

reached back to turn off the lights, The Shadow caught a gleam from the floor. It was gone the moment the

lights were extinguished; but when Cardona had left, The Shadow's flashlight, moving forward, showed the

Wedged between the hallway carpet and the room door was a silver coin, edge upward. Visible only from the

spot along the hall, it was a talisman that had dropped from Fayden's pocket while he was helping the porter

On one side it showed a fivepointed star; on the other, a cobra's head. The Shadow recognized the token as a

rare type of kavacha talisman, obtainable only from secluded temples in the interior of India, where they were

Blackness suddenly covered the kavacha, although the flashlight still twinkled. The blackness was formed by

The Shadow's gloved fist. Retaining the silver trophy, the cloaked investigator returned to the fire tower.

Again, there was a soft laugh in the darkness; one that told the value of The Shadow's find. Ralph Fayden had

retained his priceless jade, the gift of Shiwan Khan; he would probably think nothing of the lost kavacha

A fullfledged servitor of the Golden Master, Fayden no longer needed a token that would identify him to the

But that forgotten talisman could prove a useful token to others, who might need it more than Fayden ever

NEWS of double death in the Oriental Museum created a great stir; but it was nothing, compared to the

Commissioner Weston lifted the lid on the subject of Shiwan Khan, calling for any information that might

Immediately, the bureau of missing persons was flooded with anxious queries. Sifted, those cases produced

Ralph Fayden was but one of a few dozen New Yorkers absent and unaccounted for. Rumors came in that

Endle's testimony in the Fayden case was matched by at least a dozen similar reports; in every case, the

Noted physicians; key men in large industries; other inventors like Fayden, scholars regarded as mental

wizards all had gone on trips to places varying from Bermuda to Timbuktu, and the evidence of their actual

Met by people that they knew, such individuals had denied their identity, emphatically enough to be believed.

It had taken a persistent meddler like Endle to prove that mystery was actually in the air.

Finding that he had struck a gusher, Commissioner Weston called for the F.B.I.; when Federal men took over,

Known cases totaled more than sixty, with many others probably unreported. They weren't confined to men

of business ability or genius; they included other persons that Shiwan Khan decided would be welcome

Listed among the total were two Hollywood movie actresses, who were supposed to be on vacation; several

men and women, prominent in society; and a few government officials, who held posts that were little known

Three days after the museum affair, Lamont Cranston paid a visit to Chinatown, where he talked with Dr.

Roy Tam in the latter's office. Tam was a quiet, soberfaced man, who wore drab American clothes, but

"My men are capable, Ying Ko," assured Tam, using the name by which Chinese frequently addressed The

Shadow. "But they have found no trace of the girl called Lana Luan. How often do you suppose that she has

"Very often," replied The Shadow. "With the authorities tracking down so many cases, it is probable that

Shiwan Khan is closing deals with all his dupes. Judging by Fayden's case, Lana Luan would be needed as a

"Very well," decided Tam. "If Shiwan Khan is here in Chinatown, he must have access to more hidden

passages than we suppose. Enough to give outlets beyond the limits of this section, in places where my men

Unrolling a map, Tam showed the entire Manhattan area, studded with tiny dots in districts quite remote from

"These represent my outposts," he said soberly. "They are places, owned by Chinese restaurants, laundries,

curio shops, other places of business. In each of these places, I have a friend."

The Shadow understood. Dr. Tam was the motivating factor among the Chinese who adapted themselves to

American ways. His mission was to create good will among races, to put an end to prejudice and superstition.

His friends that he had mentioned were capable Chinese, in sympathy with the movement.

"Our friends are the same, Ying Ko," assured Tam. "Take a copy of this map, with its key list of names.

Should you need aid of any sort, the nearest of my friends will gladly give it."

LEAVING Tam's, The Shadow rode past the alley that led to Loo Dow's. The opium parlor was closed, its

door barred. From his cab, the calmeyed Mr. Cranston saw Chinese lounging about the alley and knew that

they were men employed by Dr. Tam, watching for anyone who looked like Lana Luan.

Some were actually leaning against the secret wall that Beatrice Chadbury had entered several nights before,

but they had not guessed that the bricks formed a sliding door. Nor did The Shadow detect the fact when he

Just outside of Chinatown the cab passed an old garage, closed and deserted. Cranston's lips formed a smile

as he noted the garage. It belonged to Dr. Tam, and was the place where the Chinese physician stored all sorts

It would be a bad place for a nervous man, that garage. It was filled with grinning devil masks, hatchets used

in tong wars, regalia used in obsolete rituals, including the Great Dragon costume, that a hundred men could

The cab reached the Cobalt Club. In the downstairs grillroom, Cranston walked into a conference to which he

had been invited. Commissioner Weston was present, Inspector Cardona with him. They were talking to a

swarthy man, who wore a droopy, dark mustache; he was Vic Marquette of the F.B.I.

All were glad to see Cranston. They had some questions regarding Tibetan customs. When The Shadow had

"That was one of them, all right!" he said. "We thought the fellow was a Hindu. But I'll bet he's a naljorpa

Interested by the term guru, The Shadow explained that it was not a name, but a title.

"Take Shiwan Khan as an example," he said. "The term khan means ruler; but it follows the name, instead of

coming first. The naljorpas, of course, would call him Shiwan Tulku, using the tulku to denote master.

"This man you mention Marabar is a guru, or teacher. He probably has the power of a naljorpa, the

knowledge of a delog, but he is also able as a guru to impart his power. He would wear a robe called a

Encouraged by that flow of information, Marquette came out with all the facts. He laid a list on the table,

"We've traced Hiram Selsby," declared the Fed. "He's a chemist, who goes in for manufacturing highpower

explosives. He's here in New York, living in an old house that looks like it was closed. Selsby is one of the

"We smelled him!" returned Vic, triumphantly. "That is, we smelled some of those funny stink bombs that he

makes. Not regular stink bombs, you understand, but a chemical mess that smells terrible until it's stowed in

"He was around the place. A halfwit janitor ran into him; he says the guy gave him an electric shock. He

told the janitor his name and ordered him to keep silence, which he would have, if we hadn't run into him

"No. We're keeping it covered at a distance, from roofs and everywhere. We're going to close in tonight and

find Selsby. I hope we can grab this Marabar Guru, too. From what you tell me, Mr. Cranston, he's probably

ON a sheet of paper, Marquette traced a diagram showing the neighborhood of Selsby's house. He was

marking the routes by which the Feds would approach the place, when Cranston strolled upstairs to make a

Consulting the map that Tam had given him, The Shadow saw that the old house was located very close to a

Chinese restaurant known as the Shantung Garden. Its proprietor, Shen Lee, was one of Tam's friends.

When Cranston returned, Marquette was checking off the names of Federal men according to their posts.

"I recall a girl named Myra Reldon who helped you once, Marquette. She used to pass herself as a Chinese

"Ming Dwan," replied Marquette. "She worked swell out in Frisco, when we were after a crowd called the

Jeho Fan. (Note: See "Teeth of the Dragon," Vol. XXIII, No. 6.) Myra was born in China, and she knows the

"That lingo always sounds backward to me," put in Cardona. "I remember Myra Reldon, though. She came

"Yes, when we were after that crooked inventor named Bardsley," replied Marquette. "The fellow who called

himself Li Hoang. Only, Myra's makeup didn't stand the strain. When Li Hoang found out she wasn't

Cardona remembered the case. He recalled, too, that it was The Shadow who had saved Myra from death.

"We couldn't risk Myra after that," added Marquette. "If this Shiwan Khan business turns out to have a

Chinese angle, we might use her as an interpreter, but that's all. She's here in New York, studying Japanese at

Vic returned to his plans for the evening raid. He was setting the hour at eight o'clock, when it would be fully

dark. His men would close in when the signal was passed, and take the entire house by storm.

Cardona agreed to form his own men as an outer cordon, bringing them up in patrol cars after the Feds began

to move. Together, Vic and Joe traced working diagrams on the chart, while Weston nodded, remarking that

While the others were thinking in terms of Hiram Selsby, whose protection would be assured, and of Marabar

Guru, who would be downed by bullets if he made a single false move, The Shadow was considering another

This might be the night when Selsby would receive a reward from Shiwan Khan, as had Fayden before him.

Totally under the domination of Shiwan Khan, the girl could provide no information if captured. She

His thoughts at that important point, The Shadow arose, made his departure in Cranston's leisurely fashion.

He was thinking beyond the word "unless," considering a plan that carried hazards, which might prove worth

Stopping at a phone booth, The Shadow made three calls. One was to Dr. Tam; it concerned his friend Shen

The second call was answered by a quiettoned speaker named Burbank, The Shadow's contact man, who

kept in touch with active agents who served their mysterious chief. Finally, The Shadow called the

International Language Institute and learned the present address of Miss Myra Reldon.

Strolling out into daylight, Lamont Cranston displayed a bored expression as he gazed at the afternoon sun.

THERE was a note with the package that lay on the table in the living room of Myra Reldon's little

apartment. Myra opened the note first, scanned its inked lines and gave a slight gasp. As she gasped, the

The note carried no signature; but the proof still was present. On the sheet that had lost its writing, Myra saw

Myra remembered that The Shadow was expert in the use of inks that rapidly disappeared.

She had read the note, however; that was why she pursed her lips and murmured, reflectively:

Looking at herself in a mirror, Myra saw a face that was anything but Chinese in appearance. She had the

light complexion of a blonde; her hair, though brown like her eyes, was not deep in shade. Furthermore, her

eyes were large, and though her features were alluring, they were distinctly American.

She opened the package. In it, she found a dark Chinese costume, a makeup kit, and a box that contained a

Turning on the hot water in the bathtub, Myra faced a mirror and carefully adjusted a bathing cap on her

head, fitting it so that it followed the exact line of her hair. That done, she began to undress, watching the

When the water had reached its highest possible level, Myra sprinkled the yellowish powder on the surface.

Gingerly, Myra dipped one foot into the steaming tub; then, finding the temperature bearable, she plunged

completely under. After a half minute, her bathing cap poked above the surface. Thirty seconds before, it had

So had Myra. As she drew a white towel about her, she observed the contrast. From a distinct white, her sleek

body had taken on a saffron hue. There wasn't any chance that this makeup would be discovered. It was

Half draped by the towel, Myra sat in front of the bedroom mirror and busied herself with the makeup kit.

Like the yellow dye, the black that she applied to her eyebrows had a permanent look. She removed the

bathing cap and treated her hair with a liquid that rendered it dark and glossy.

Using strips of transparent tape and applying them to the outer corners of her eyes, Myra completed the

makeup. Drawn outward, the strips changed her eyes from a roundish shape to an almond slant. Flesh

Even without her Chinese costume, Myra Reldon was Ming Dwan. She had used the disguise often, but for

the first time, it was foolproof. Putting on the Chinese clothes, Myra surveyed herself in the mirror and gave a

It was dusk outdoors, allowing Myra opportunity to leave the apartment house unnoticed and arrive at the

The Shantung Garden had another new employee, a huge African, attired in a resplendent uniform, who

served as doorman. His names was Jericho Duke; he had been assigned to the job at The Shadow's order.

There were customers, too, who knew The Shadow, for they were his agents. Some of them arrived in Moe's

All such arrivals, including Ming Dwan, passed inspection from a group of silent watchers who were

stationed throughout the zone. Feds were on hand, in plenty, observing everything from roofs and windows.

They were making sure that people looking for the Shantung Garden did not go elsewhere.

Away from the restaurant's lights, the street was gloomy, yet people who passed were discernible, with one

exception. In that semidarkness, no eye could have spied the blackcloaked shape that crossed the street,

some fifty feet from the Garden, and chose a route through the nearest alleyway.

THE SHADOW had arrived in person, to take up special vigil. A oneman squad, he was closing in upon the

house where Hiram Selsby was a temporary resident. From a half block distant, he could scent the

The house was shuttered. Most conspicuous were the windows on the third floor; their barriers looked more

solid than the rest. But The Shadow was not interested in the interior of the house; at least, not as yet.

Weaving in and out among narrow passages between old buildings; he was looking for the logical route by

which a visitor could quickly reach the house. He finally found it a passage leading in from a side street,

where the low awning of a small book store formed shelter against street lights.

At twenty minutes of eight, a cab rolled up just past the book store and paused, as if waiting for traffic to pass

along another street not far ahead. During that brief halt, the cab door opened and a darkish figure stepped

She passed, with a stride that was almost stately, her gaze centered ahead. Pressed against the wall, The

Shadow could have reached out and stopped her. It was a difficult urge to resist, even for the Shadow, for he

knew that he might be able to break the spell which had caused Beatrice Chadbury to accept this false

But there were other persons to consider; many who had accepted the dictates of Shiwan Khan. Buried in

hiding places that they had voluntarily sought, they were no longer their own masters. To reclaim Beatrice at

this moment would mean that dozens of dupes would be transported from America against their actual will.

At present, Beatrice Chadbury was the instrument of Shiwan Khan. The Shadow hoped to turn that human

weapon against the fiend who controlled it, just as the Golden Master's naljorpas made knives recoil upon the

Silently, a blotted shape in the gloom, The Shadow followed the route of Lana Luan.

The girl reached the house next to Selsby's. Using a key, she unlocked a small rear door, which she closed

behind her. Opening that door, The Shadow was just in time to see a panel closing in a side wall. He spent

From light that filtered through the battered shutter of a stairway window, he saw Lana Luan, wearing a long

cape to hide her Chinese costume. Then The Shadow was taking that same upward course.

The house was silent, ghostly. Rooms contained bulky furniture covered with dusty covers that gave them the

appearance of shrouded specters. But even an onlooking ghost would have been a tame creature, compared to

From the second floor, The Shadow saw Lana Luan pause at a landing halfway to the third. She was plainly

visible, for the shutter, through solidly constructed, had its slats raised. Streaks of light gave a view of the

Then Lana Luan was gone, on the last stage of her journey. It was The Shadow who approached the landing.

FOR the first time, the cloaked trailer slackened pace. He could see the little landing, the darkened steps

The route beyond the streaked light looked as safe as the portion that The Shadow had already passed.

Complete silence clung to the scene; even the slight sound of breathing could have been heard.

Nevertheless, The Shadow paused, his own breath bated. He peeled a glove from one hand, then shoved a

bare fist into the ribs of light. Opening his fingers, The Shadow revealed a silver disk upon his upturned

palm. The design of a pentagram was plain in the glow. It was the kavacha talisman.

The fist closed, opened again, with the coin reversed. The Shadow was displaying the side that bore the

cobra. He let his hand move toward the darkened steps; this time, he was rewarded by a stir. Eyes were

All well for The Shadow, but not for the lurker who hissed the signal to advance.

The Shadow's hand went back into darkness; then his entire figure came forward in a driving lunge, his

direction guided by the hiss. Long hands that shot from arms as powerful as plungers, were perfect in their

A hand whisked toward The Shadow stabbing a long blade of bronze. The knife point missed, for the creature

that drove it was flying through the air, whipped like a thing of rope under The Shadow's lashing strength.

The knife buried itself in the wall as a spidery naljorpa struck the floor shoulder first, with The Shadow

wheeling in upon him. The snarling lump of undersized humanity took a rubbery bounce, wriggled full about,

Smothering that attempt, The Shadow caught the eelish fighter in a bundling grip, hooking his twisty arms

and legs in pretzel fashion. Out of that writhing muddle, two viselike hands gripped the thin neck in another,

Tricked by the display of the token that identified the friends of Shiwan Khan, the naljorpa who guarded the

route to Selsby's hideout was learning what others of his kind had previously found out, that writhing

IT took The Shadow no longer than two minutes to subdue the struggling naljorpa. Mere choking tactics were

not sufficient, for these curious creatures from Tibet could hold their breath for much longer periods than

What The Shadow did was apply pressures upon the bulging vertebrae that formed a line of knobs behind his

foeman's thin neck. Under that treatment, the naljorpa caved. The Shadow picked up the loose knife, gave a

This was one phurba that lacked the enchanted powers that it was supposed to possess. As for the dagger's

owner, The Shadow had expected to find watchers of his type along the way. Producing strips of rawhide, he

bound the unconscious mystic in a tight bundle and tied a cloth gag between the bulging teeth.

Ascending the steps, The Shadow found a door that was stout but unbarred. Locking it after Lana Luan's

entry had seemed unnecessary to those within, for they had relied upon the guarding naljorpa to handle all

The Shadow looked into a large room that was crudely fitted out as a laboratory. Among the collection of

beakers and big, tubes, he saw a man who answered the description of Hiram Selsby. The chemist was

elderly, whitehaired, and stoopshouldered. He was bent almost double above a workbench, for he was

With excited fingers, Selsby plucked out rods of coppery metal that looked like short lead pencils.

"Bronzium!" he exclaimed, in a tone of highpitched glee. "The lost metal of the ancients! Shiwan Khan was

An interrupting figure moved between Selsby and the light. It was Marabar Guru, wearing purple tunic, and

"They are yours," he told Selsby in a low, calm tone, "If you acknowledge Shiwan Khan as master."

Selsby's eyes took on a misty, distant gaze. The sickening odor of his laboratory was perfume to his nostrils.

"He promises me even more," cackled the chemist. "In Xanadu, I can work this priceless metal. It will be

mine, great stores of it! You ask me if I acknowledge Shiwan Khan" with a shake of his head, Selsby

turned reproving eyes upon Marabar Guru "when I have already told him that I recognize him as supreme!"

"It is well," decided Marabar Guru. He looked toward Lana Luan, who stood a few paces away, and gave a

gesture of dismissal. "We shall leave this place, to go to our next destination."

Lana Luan turned toward the door. The Shadow drew back to let her pass. Knowing her route, it would be

Time, too, to settle Marabar Guru, as The Shadow had handled the guarding naljorpa. As for Selsby, The

Reaching the stairs, Lana Luan passed The Shadow without observing him. Her thoughts were fixed upon

one purpose: her return to the domain of Shiwan Khan. She reached the landing, where the naljorpa lay

Preferring a .45 to the captured dagger, The Shadow drew an automatic and wheeled suddenly through the

door that Lana Luan had drawn shut behind her. His entry into the laboratory produced a singular result; one

As the door smashed inward, Marabar Guru went flinging ahead of it. The turbaned mystic had been about to

bolt the door when The Shadow struck it. Though the guru was something more than a living skeleton of the

He also had wits enough to add to his dive after it commenced. With his turban scaling ahead of him,

Marabar Guru became a whirling mass of purple that somersaulted past a workbench, not stopping until he

Selsby was at that wall. With a shriek of alarm, the whitehaired man gripped his precious casket under one

arm and tugged a hanging cord with his other hand. The cord ripped loose from the wall, as was intended.

The opening showed an elevator, arranged as part of the hideaway, in preparation for this final departure.

BEFORE The Shadow could take aim at the rolling shape of Marabar Guru, the scene was changed. Selsby,

With remarkable agility, the chemist snatched a square box from a workbench. Both hands occupied, he used

The Shadow ripped shots at the elevator, hoping to nick Marabar Guru. The Hindu was inside, hopping about

the car like a huge lump of popcorn, literally dodging The Shadow's aim. He had a moving shield in front of

him, in the person of Selsby, who was sidling frantically toward the elevator trying to pull something from

Then Selsby's hand came free, holding an oval object shaped like a small pineapple. His arm was going back

Instantly, The Shadow dove back across the laboratory. He was more concerned with Marabar Guru than

with Selsby, for the brownish man's hand was already beginning a swing when The Shadow spied it.

Trickiest of all the assassins employed by Shiwan Khan, the guru should be most capable at flinging a deadly

But it wasn't a matter of one thrust. Two came together. Selsby's hand, joggled by the whip of the forearm

The guru saw the course of his blade as it whirred straight for the somersaulting shape in black. He spied the

bomb going in the same direction, arching in a high parabola, a curve that threatened to graze the ceiling.

With a triumphant hiss that would have made a cobra sound tame, Marabar Guru grabbed the elevator door

with his other hand and slashed it shut, a metal curtain that saved him and Selsby from the blast to come.

They were safe, that pair, with escape through the cellar assured; while their last sight of The Shadow showed

him motionless, the knife handle projecting from his back, the bomb descending upon his prone body!

The quick slide of the door prevented the pair from witnessing the amazing thing that followed. Despite the

bronze dagger of Marabar Guru, The Shadow came up from the floor, to his knees. His gun was gone from

his grasp, but he didn't snap back emptyhanded. He was clutching a light workbench, that he flung straight

The wooden missile never could have reached the elevator door. The Shadow didn't intend it to travel that far.

He was as trusting that it would find a nearer target, which it did. The target was the flying bomb.

Metal met wood, a dozen feet from The Shadow. The bomb exploded with a force that shattered the

workbench. The concussion flattened The Shadow to the floor, away from the bronze knife that had

Walls shuddered from the blast. Sheets of flame scorched the ruined laboratory; chunks of ceiling were

striking down upon the floor. Amid that deluge of masonry and plaster, The Shadow came to his feet,

Ignited by the flames, other chemicals exploded with furious bursts, throwing fiery jets in every direction.

Mere seconds would have meant a hellish death for anyone trapped in the laboratory, but The Shadow was no

His lurch had been in the right direction; straight for the open door. The new concussions didn't stop him;

WITH roaring blasts hurling him forward, The Shadow made the stairs and pitched headlong to the landing.

Out from the doorway came a mighty wall of fire, an inferno in itself. Sufficient to wither any victim in their

Tumbling down the steps, The Shadow was below the level of the consuming fire when it made that terrific

A figure rose to meet him. It was the naljorpa; this twisty killer had wriggled half free of the thongs. Dazedly,

The Shadow grappled with his slippery foe. Rolling sideways, they moved through empty space, struck the

Bounding downward, both were preserved for further struggle; had they remained on the landing, they would

have met sure doom. While they were still somersaulting on their trip, the roof of the building caved in.

What had been a third floor was now a mighty beacon, lifting its lofty, increasing fire to the sky. Rolling

Crackle of flames dim in his ears, The Shadow sensed that fall as a strange, slowmotion journey. All the

way, one thought was drumming through his mind: He must be on top when the crash came. Painfully, he

They both struck. The naljorpa buckled beneath The Shadow's weight. Rolling farther, the cloaked fighter

found his feet. He didn't notice the bronze dagger that dropped from his cloak; nor did he pay attention to the

He had intended to carry that pet of Shiwan Khan's along with him, a living trophy to be delivered to the law.

But such was impossible under the circumstances. Reeling as he sought to find the lower stairs, The Shadow

Yes, that was it. The throbbing thought guided him in his staggering trip to safety. Marabar Guru was gone,

so was Hiram Selsby. One was a selfwitting villain; the other a dupe, forced to deal in evil against his true

But they didn't matter, any more than the groggy naljorpa, who never should have slipped his bonds. They

could be traced later, Selsby and the guru. In these pressing moments, one trail alone remained important:

Tremendous thuds were resounding through the doomed house; they sounded like the smashes of a mighty

mallet, those breaking beams, when The Shadow reached the basement. He didn't look for the connecting

panel; instead, he made for the door of the house that he was in. The barrier was locked, triple bolted, but The

He treated them with bullets. One gun exhausted, he employed an other. The door gave; splintering the

woodwork that still clung in place, The Shadow shouldered through and sprawled sidewise in the little

Only a few yards distant was Lana Luan, her cape drawn up around her shoulders. She was hurrying back

toward the passage to the side street. Even in her half trance, the girl was alarmed by the roar of billowing

The Shadow was again on the trail. His plans for Lana Luan were still a thing that could be realized.

As The Shadow found his feet and started in pursuit of Lana Luan, a piercing shriek came from a spot above.

Long, shrill, like a voice from some wild, forgotten region, it drowned out the roar of the fire. Instinctively,

At a window of Selsby's house he saw the freed naljorpa. His leering countenance reddened by the flames,

the devil man looked like a creature that had found some chosen hell. Red, too, was the dagger that the

The Shadow fired with his only gun. His footing shaky, he reeled from the recoil of the gun, his bullet

missing, just as the naljorpa launched the knife. But the hand from the window had lost its usual skill, as a

Scaling wide, the knife missed its cloaked prey by half a dozen feet. Stretched from the window, the naljorpa

uttered another shriek, this time from sheer terror. Trained though he was to forget all fear, instinct overcame

Before the foiled assassin could pitch himself to the paved court below, a cascading wall descended on him,

bringing a great cataract of hot flame. Carried with that deluge, the servant of Shiwan Khan buried in a fiery

grave, more terrible than any pit in the imaginary bardo he had visited in his trances.

The first cry had been heard. As The Shadow swung from scorching heat to follow Lana Luan, the shriek was

answered by others. Posted naljorpas were springing out from cover, hoping for revenge upon The Shadow.

Weaving a quick course, The Shadow demonstrated a timely return of his skill. His shots were quicker than

the knives that scaled in his direction; flingers were lurching, clipped by bullets, as they flung their weapons.

There were others who might have found their chance to knife The Shadow, but they were suddenly pressed

Submachine guns were talking, with naljorpas as their targets. The explosion of Selsby's house had brought in

the Feds ahead of schedule. Spotting the scrawny men who hung from roofs and windows of houses all about,

The Shadow had settled three of the assassins. The Feds accounted for half a dozen more. The rest of the tribe

they were thick upon the scene tonight were quick enough to bound for cover and get away through

The Shadow had opportunity to reach the passage that Lana Luan had taken. Speeding through to the street,

he reached there just in time to see the girl reach the opposite curb, where a taxicab was waiting.

Lana Luan did not get into the cab. She was too late; she had been spotted by stationed Feds. Sighting this

Wavering at the cab step, Lana Luan suddenly rallied to the situation. Darting in back of the cab, she crossed

The Feds didn't open up with machine guns. Instead, they came on foot, hoping to overtake the fleeing girl.

Reaching the cab, The Shadow saw why Lana Luan had not entered it. The cab had no driver; he had scurried

It was just a chance cab, ordered here to await a passenger. It offered no clue to Shiwan Khan, but it served

Springing to the wheel, The Shadow kicked the starter; the cab shot forward on a rocketing trip for the

nearest corner. Seeing the fleeing vehicle, Feds trained their machine guns on it; but the cab cut close to the

Ditching the cab half way along the next block, The Shadow leaped out and cut in between two buildings; to

head off Lana Luan. He knew that the girl's mad flight would take her squarely into the outer cordon,

Dashing straight for a street where she would have been promptly trapped, Lana Luan met the lunging figure

of The Shadow. Grabbing the girl, he swung her full about, pushed her to a shortcut leading through to

Wresting away, Lana Luan was visible when flashlights licked in from two directions; then The Shadow had

yanked her from sight. Shouts told that two groups were on the trail: Feds from one direction, police from the

THROUGHOUT a twisty route, The Shadow kept Lana Luan with him. Pausing at intervals, he stabbed

Those shots were very necessary, when he shoved Lana Luan across an intervening street. She was spotted as

she went; but before men could open fire, The Shadow fired from the darkness that the girl had left.

His lagging tactics worked. Lana Luan reached cover. Springing from his own shelter, The Shadow followed

recklessly, for he knew that gliding tactics would delay him too long to regain the girl's mad trail.

A hail of bullets accompanied The Shadow's crossing, but his trip was so rapid that he reached cover

unscathed. He was outside the area that the Feds had occupied; his present opponents were detectives. They

Of the ardent detectives who spied The Shadow dashing into darkness, none had previously met him. To

them, he was simply a fugitive in black. He could have been Marabar Guru, decked out in special garments

Overtaking Lana Luan, The Shadow whirled her on a side trip that formed the final stages of his route.

Lighted windows showed above an obscure door. Like a ghostly challenge from the night, The Shadow's

That shivering taunt made pursuers stop. They didn't recognize it as a signal, meant for men beyond the

lighted windows. The door yanked open as The Shadow neared it, bringing Lana Luan along. With a long,

hard swing, The Shadow rocketed the girl into the arms of agents who were waiting within a rear room of the

It wouldn't do for the trail to end here. Making for the front street, The Shadow sent back his quivering gibe

as a comeon for pursuers. As he crossed the street, uniformed police appeared from the corner, but failed to

Unfortunately, The Shadow's beckoning laugh brought others. Like the law, Shiwan Khan had posted a

reserve crew in this terrain. A lumbering truck was swinging in from the opposite direction; its occupants

spied The Shadow, thanks to the chance veer of the headlights. They also recognized his laugh.

Four huge Mongols, of the sort that Shiwan Khan had brought on earlier expeditions, were the men who

formed the truck crew. But their advantage over The Shadow was discounted by a handicap of their own.

Arriving police had failed to spy The Shadow, but they couldn't help spotting the Mongols.

Guns delivered an earnest volley. Two of the Mongols hit the sidewalk. A third, ducking, behind the truck,

would have gotten clear and gone after The Shadow if it hadn't been for the new doorman from the Shantung

His uniform flashing as gaudily as his grin, Jericho overtook the servant of Shiwan Khan, who turned to meet

him. African and Mongol locked behind the truck. Giants both, their struggle threatened to be titanic. It could

But both wanted quick results and the Mongol thought himself equipped to get them. With one huge hand, he

yanked a knife that had the look of a short, curved sword. He was handy with that weapon, as he slashed its

The Mongol wasn't fast enough for Jericho. With one big fist, the African clamped his foe's descending arm.

He let the Mongol's other hand reach his throat, for it wasn't going to stay there. Jericho had a free hand of his

Coming like a sledge hammer, Jericho's big fist met the Mongol's ugly face. The blow struck with a sickening

crunch as it hooked up beneath the Mongol's huge jaw. It took the killer's feet from under him, carried him

across the back of the truck, where he balanced limply, then pitched headfirst to the curb. There was another

JERICHO was past the truck, while the police were pouncing on the wounded pair that they had downed with

In darkness just beyond the sidewalk, the arriving African saw the weaving, lunging shoulders of another

Mongol. The last of the four was struggling with an opponent who could only be The Shadow.

A gun spoke, muffled, before Jericho could reach the fray. The big doorman saw the Mongol sprawl; knew

that The Shadow had downed him with a last bullet. The Shadow was gone when Jericho reached the

Ahead, Jericho saw a glowing flashlight; he made out two figures, saw the glitter of guns that the men held.

They were detectives, in from another street. They had heard The Shadow's final gunshot. They were probing

"We got you covered," one gruffed. "Come out with your hands up! Five seconds, and we fire!"

There wasn't a stir from the darkness. Guns aimed toward the space. Intent upon taking their prisoner, the

dicks didn't hear the surprisingly softfooted approach of a very bulky figure. They knew of Jericho's arrival

Yanked upward, the detectives fired in air. His big hands gripping tight, Jericho sideswiped two heads in a

very gentle fashion for Jericho. He let the detectives drop, with their clattering guns and flashlight.

Stooping into the darkness, Jericho lifted the groggy figure of The Shadow, weak from the choking tactics of

A cab had wheeled up opposite the Shantung Garden. Its driver was leaning out, on the street side, talking to

the police. Coming from the other side, Jericho opened the door and slid The Shadow into the rear seat. The

Then Jericho was in sight, beckoning to the police. He pointed to the alley where the groggy detectives lay,

"Some of them big fellows went right through there," informed Jericho. "One's lyin' in the way, like he was

dead, so I didn't want to look no farther. But from some bangin' I heard goin' on, it's likely they run into

Investigating, the officers found the two detectives, who swore that each had been grabbed by a separate foe.

Their plight was laid to imaginary Mongols. No one thought of blaming Jericho. In fact, he actually received

thanks from the two detectives when they learned that the doorman had reported the scuffle in the alley.

Two blocks away, Moe's cab was stopped by Vic Marquette and Joe Cardona, who had joined forces. They

"I've got a fare in back," Moe told them. "A gang of big guys tried to mob him when he was getting out of the

Cardona yanked the door open. Marquette caught the tuxedoed figure that rolled from the cab. Both saw the

battlewearied face of Lamont Cranston when it turned up into the light. But the cab showed no signs of a hat

Cranston's story was a simple one. He had received a message at the club asking him to join the raiders.

Supposedly from Commissioner Weston, the word must have come from Shiwan Khan. Fortunately,

Cranston had shaken loose of the crew that grabbed him when he reached the appointed destination.

Wearily, The Shadow let them help him back into the cab. As Moe drove away, he caught the echoes of a

whispered laugh, and understood. Again, The Shadow had preserved his dual identity; but that was not all.

Far from being duped by Shiwan Khan, The Shadow had completed his own scheme to trick the Golden

Beatrice Chadbury was repeating the singsong formula to a sympathetic listener. Whisked to safety by The

Shadow's agents, she had eventually found herself in a secluded room of the Shantung Garden, alone with a

"I am Ming Dwan." With that reply, Myra Reldon went into a volley of rapid Chinese that Lana Luan did not

understand. Finally reverting to English, she added quaintly: "You do not understand our native tongue?"

She was groping, seeking thoughts. Her eyes held their faraway look. Ming Dwan produced a small bottle of

perfume, spilled a few drops upon a table cloth. The scent of lilacs became apparent in the room.

There was a brightening of Lana Luan's eyes. The pleasing aroma brought the thoughts she wanted.

"Yes!" Her tone was breathless; her gaze indicated the presence of an invisible listener. "I am safe... Yes...

Catching some mental answer to her statements, Lana Luan walked stolidly toward the door. She was

wrapping her bedraggled cape tightly, indicating that she was going outside. She found her path blocked by

The suggestion was a timely one. Having caught the instructions of Shiwan Khan, Lana Luan was working

toward one purpose her return to the Golden Master's lair. Anyone who offered to help her gain that goal

Men waited below. At a nod from Ming Dwan, they opened the door and let her guide Lana Luan farther. As

There were three of them, who had dined at the Shantung Garden: Harry Vincent, a youthful chap, but a

veteran in The Shadow's service, Clyde Burke, a newspaper reporter, who also worked for The Shadow; Cliff

Of the three, Cliff was the least presentable, for he had a toughened look that he had acquired by habit. But

when he left the confines of the underworld, Cliff shaved his face and smoothed his manner. By rights a

Leaving the restaurant, The Shadow's aids took separate routes, all checking to make sure that no police were

close. Smoke had replaced flames above Selsby's house; the neighborhood was filled with the shrieks of fire

sirens. Busy with gathering crowds, the police were helping the firemen and had little chance for anything

Satisfied that the trail would be theirs alone, the agents converged at a spot where a wizened man beckoned.

He was Hawkeye, a clever trailer who helped Cliff patrol the badlands. He couldn't have passed as a patron of

Trusting to Ming Dwan's guidance, Lana Luan was moving much slower than usual, largely because Ming

Dwan was lagging, to let the agents come along the trail. At the same time, Ming Dwan was in a quandary,

It was a case of letting Lana Luan lead the way, restraining her as if on leash. At times, she had to be held

back; there were other occasions when it was necessary to turn her along another course in order to avoid

Always, however, Lana Luan bore back to her original direction as though tugged by some magnetic force.

THEY reached a corner some six blocks from the Shantung Garden. A cab was waiting there; its driver sat

Ming Dwan noted that his shoulders were high, despite his posture. She caught a chance glimpse of his face,

The cab driver was another of Shiwan Khan's Mongol servants. The Golden Master wasn't trusting Lana

The Mongol noted Ming Dwan. Classing her as Chinese, he made no objection when she entered the cab with

Lana Luan. Soon the cab was bound on a roundabout journey in the general direction of Chinatown.

Other cars trailed it, but not too closely. Ming Dwan had signaled back to be careful the moment that she saw

the Mongol driver, for she knew that he would be alert. Hawkeye spied the signal, passed it along to the

Near Chinatown, the Mongoldriven cab disappeared. It was lost somewhere among the narrow streets

outside the area where Dr. Tam's watchers would have surely spotted it. The best The Shadow's agents could

do was identify an area of about eight square blocks, wherein the Mongol must have delivered Lana Luan and

They reported it directly to The Shadow, for Moe's cab had been reached through Burbank and had come in

to follow the trail. But ill luck had it that The Shadow should arrive just after the Mongol had given his

Meanwhile, the Mongol dropped his passengers at a building entry, and Lana Luan advanced so eagerly that

The entry had a grilled gate, and there was a clever trick to it. Normally, it opened by a heavy latch, allowing

entrance to the squarish vestibule of an old brick residence. But Lana Luan did not touch the latch; she

With the latch serving as a hinge, the door swung in the wrong direction, pushing the vestibule wall when it

arrived there. Through that opening, the girls descended hidden steps; both the wall and the big gate swung

After a rapid trip through mazelike passages, they reached Lana Luan's boudoir. By then, Ming Dwan had

lost all sense of direction, but she was sure that they were near the heart of Chinatown; moreover, she noted

Fresh lilacs were in a vase on Lana Luan's table. Closing her eyes, Lana Luan must have heard a voice that

said "Come!" for Ming Dwan sensed the same impression. She followed Lana Luan alone the passage to the

Entering, Ming Dwan felt a peculiar dizziness, which lessened as she sank beside Lana Luan in front of the

There, she saw Shiwan Khan. Through slitted eyelids, the Golden One surveyed this stranger that Lana Luan

had brought back. After a few words with Lana Luan, he dismissed her, then concentrated upon Ming Dwan.

Ming Dwan poured out the tale in voluble Chinese. She said that she worked at the Shantung Garden; how,

tonight, there had been shooting and Lana Luan had stumbled into the rear of the restaurant. Taking Lana

The subsequent adventure actually intrigued Ming Dwan; she seemed to trust Shiwan Khan rather than fear

him. In fact, there was a point on which she felt that he should be informed. It concerned Lana Luan.

"She is not of China," said Ming Dwan, very simply. "I learned that soon after I met her. It is strange that you

"Because she could be traced here," replied Ming Dwan. "There are many meddlers in Chinatown, who

By "meddlers," Ming Dwan could only refer to Dr. Tam's men, which indicated that she disliked that faction.

Shiwan Khan scrutinized the darkhaired girl, noted the smooth shade of her complexion.

MING DWAN'S eyes opened as wide as the hidden strips of tape could allow them, which was not very

"I might need another messenger," continued Shiwan Khan, his tone as tinkly as music. "Should you choose

such service, Ming Dwan, I shall reward you. I shall take you to China, and beyond to the famed city of

The eagerness of Ming Dwan's expression, her ardent sigh, were evidence that she had accepted the choice.

Shiwan Khan smiled blandly. Though Ming Dwan apparently did not know it, she had made the only choice.

Strangers never came to this domain and went away again. Once here, they had to recognize Shiwan Khan as

Stepping down from his golden throne, Shiwan Khan extended a long hand and helped the kneeling girl to

her feet. Then, in the subtle fashion that had caused many followers to term him the "Unfathomable," Shiwan

In rising, the girl felt dizziness return. She swayed; to catch her, Shiwan Khan plucked the low collar of her

silken jacket. As if by accident, his long nails tore the cloth, ripped it deftly from shoulder to hip.

Caught by the Golden Master's other hand, Ming Dwan couldn't seem to gather the torn portions of the jacket.

Shiwan Khan's sharp eye scrutinized the girl's bared side, saw that its yellowish hue did not blend into white.

Then, spinning Ming Dwan about, Shiwan Khan held her balanced by both elbows, while his slitted eyes met

hers. Under the spell of those greenish orbs, Ming Dwan felt that the golden room had melted. She was in

Shiwan Khan was asking questions in Chinese, using, his icy tone. Ming Dwan was answering them in the

same language; but soon their voices spoke no more. This wasn't ordinary hypnotism that Shiwan Khan was

using. He was exerting a mesmeric influence through the sheer force of his giant will.

Their thoughts were tuned. In this state, telepathic messages could flash between them. Shiwan Khan still

held the mastery, for he was acting in accordance with design. He was asking questions mentally, not

Literally, Shiwan Khan was probing the brain of Ming Dwan. He was putting questions about China, all in a

fashion peculiar to the Chinese, and he was analyzing Ming Dwan's mental responses. The Shadow had

For Myra Reldon, when she played the part of Ming Dwan, could carry it to absolute perfection. Her

thoughts, like her speech, were in Chinese, the language which she had learned in childhood!

His probe ended, Shiwan Khan spoke aloud, giving commands in the Chinese tongue. He told Ming Dwan

that she would obey his dictates; in a faraway tone, the girl agreed. Guiding her to the golden door, Shiwan

Rigid, fixed of gaze, arms straight downward, Ming Dwan walked away in the mechanical fashion of Lana

Luan. The ruined jacket, draped from one shoulder, revealed the girls entire back. Again, Shiwan Khan was

deceived by the perfect yellow dye that showed no splotches, no trace of white beneath.

Shiwan Khan had obtained another messenger, one who could carry his gift caskets more safely than Lana

Luan. His jangling laugh, the smiling twist of his brownish, slitted lips, told that he was thanking the demons

This was one instance wherein Shiwan Khan was mistaken. Real, or imaginary, the bardo dwellers deserved

DURING the next few days the public, like the law, was stirred to a feverish pitch. The truth was out

somewhere in New York there dwelt a superfiend named Shiwan Khan, who, by strokes of Oriental wizardly,

He had done just that with Hiram Selsby, the famous chemist. The case was far more dramatic than the

disappearance of the inventor, Ralph Fayden, and the evanishment of several dozen others. A search of the

ruined house where Selsby had dwelt incognito revealed no traces of the missing chemist, or Marabar Guru,

The authorities did not find the tiny elevator, flattened beneath a mass of wreckage, its cables melted from the

Gone, too, was a narrow tunnel that led from Selsby's house to an outlet across the street. Marabar Guru had

led Selsby beyond the closing circle of Feds and through the ranks of the police before the latter could tighten

One body was found in the ruins that of the naljorpa, who had failed to knife The Shadow. Others of the

skeleton men had been picked up nearby; and the fact that such strange creatures were roving New York was

startling in itself. Quite a few of them were still at large, the Feds and police admitted.

Besides, there were the Mongols. Identified with Shiwan Khan on his previous excursions to America, those

Nobody guessed that The Shadow had been the main factor in the whole case not even Marquette, or

Cardona. In fact, they rather doubted that The Shadow had been around at all. Reports had it that a man in

The authorities considered The Shadow's part as no more spectacular than that of Lamont Cranston, who had

also come and gone from the scene. As for Lana Luan, she was scarcely remembered, in view of all the other

The blackcloaked investigator and his agents were busy patrolling the sector outside of Chinatown, where

the Mongol had delivered Lana Luan and Ming Dwan. The cab had been traced, but it offered no clue. It was

found in of all places the garage where Dr. Tam stored his relics of fading Chinese superstitions.

A subtle touch of Shiwan Khan's genius, to have the cab left there. The garage was deserted; it had been easy

for the Mongol to wheel the cab into the place, and make a later departure. But Tam wasn't going to be fooled

again. He had put men in the old garage, hoping that some of Shiwan Khan's Mongols would return.

However, The Shadow was counting upon Ming Dwan appearing very soon, because he knew that Shiwan

AGAIN, The Shadow had guessed it right. On this night, Shiwan Khan was ready for another move. He was

lounging on his golden throne, watching curls of blackish smoke that rose from a dragonheaded incense

The smoke produced a dull, heavy aroma. Shiwan Khan took on a state of deep contemplation. His greenish

eyes gained a fixed sparkle; the odd twist of his lips told that he was holding mental conversation with some

"Be ready!" The words were sharp and clear. "My messenger will arrive tonight... Within the hour... You will

His trance ended, Shiwan Khan poured sand over the burning powder. The door slid open, at his pressure of

Two naljorpas entered; their leers showed that they deemed it a privilege to be picked for a dangerous task.

"I am sending the new messenger," he declared. "Her name is Ming Dwan. She will be constantly under my

influence, but I want you to follow her and see that no one interrupts her journey."

"You are delogs," reminded Shiwan Khan. "What is death" his tone was contemptuous "to those who

have already visited the bardo? Remember Kushod, Ramjan, and the others. They have gone beyond sorrows.

Happy at the thought of possible death, the spidery naljorpas retired, approaching the door in the peculiar

Bringing a bunch of poppies from the taboret, Shiwan Khan drew a deep breath of their aroma and spoke a

Soon, Ming Dwan entered, staring straight ahead. She seemed to lean toward the golden throne as she

steadily approached it. There had been poppies in her room, too, but she had not brought them along.

Plucking a few of the flowers from his own bouquet, Shiwan Khan worked them into strands of the girl's

They went with the new costume that Ming Dwan was wearing, its dark jacket a mass of poppies, all deep in

From the taboret Shiwan Khan brought a sealed casket, of the same ivory pattern that he had used before.

Giving it to Ming Dwan, he pointed to the doorway. The girl turned and departed, her shoulders bent forward,

On the way, Ming Dwan stopped to put on a cape like the one that Lana Luan had used. Continuing, she was

trailed by the slinky naljorpas. Out through the labyrinth of passages, Ming Dwan took the route to the

It was Cliff Marsland who heard the soft clang of a metal gate across the street from where he was posted. To

his astonishment, Cliff sighted the grille swinging in the wrong direction. Drawing closer, he noted the girl

She came in Cliff's direction; he drew back. About to follow her, Cliff felt a slight creep of numbness in one

arm. He was quickwitted enough to realize that he was within the paralyzing range of a naljorpa. Wisely, he

Slinky figures passed, evasive in the gloom. Cliff felt the numbness go. Easing from cover, he shambled in

the opposite direction making no effort to avoid the light. Cliff hadn't shaved since the night at the Shantung

Garden. Street lamps showed him as a shabby bum, evidently making the rounds of the grogshops, judging

He was the very sort of character to be found along these streets. He hoped that the naljorpas wouldn't waste

knife thrusts on such a type, particularly so close to their secret entryway. Cliff's hope was realized; the

AROUND the corner, Cliff's reeling pace ended. Straightening, he reached a doorway, blinked a flashlight

signal. It was passed along by Hawkeye, who was on the rove. From then on, everything clicked.

A cab appeared suddenly in the next block, just before Ming Dwan arrived there. She had instructions to take

a cab, but the naljorpas wanted to look it over first. Sidling ahead, they reared up like venomous cobras, to

The sleepylooking driver could sense that they were present, for he could feel an encroaching numbness in

his arms and legs. Then the sensation dwindled; the naljorpas were gone, and Ming Dwan was in the cab. The

Two blocks away, it reversed its course, pulled along a street where the driver caught the glow of a flashlight

that glimmered red, then green. The cabby was Moe Shrevnitz; merely slackening, not stopping, he picked up

Ming Dwan heard whispered words, but gave them no attention. She gripped the ivory casket firmly, angrily,

as a gloved hand touched it. Then, seeing the poppies that adorned the girl's hair, The Shadow drew them

She answered questions that The Shadow put in Chinese, preferring to use that language. But her words were

slow, hesitant, as though she could remember very little. Shiwan Khan's influence had obliterated her

The fact pleased The Shadow. Since Ming Dwan had forgotten that she ever had been Myra Reldon, her

security would be complete. He could rely upon Cliff to point out the return path to Shiwan Khan's domain.

Knowing that the naljorpas were off the trail by this time, The Shadow ordered Moe to make another detour.

When the cab reached the destination ordered by Ming Dwan, a coupe rolled up behind it, with Harry

They watched Ming Dwan's course; it was easy to trace. The cab was at the water front; the girl was

Below bobbed the lights of a little launch, and Ming Dwan wasn't the only person who was going on the

motorboat. A few others were coming up, persons who moved with slow, mechanical stride. The Shadow

"Dupes, like Fayden and Selsby," he told Harry. "Probably the last of the lot. The trail is yours; take it, and

Into Harry's hand The Shadow pressed the kavacha talisman, that silver token that had served so well at

Selsby's. Stepping from the cab, Harry heard it pull away, knew that The Shadow was returning to seek

Ming Dwan had produced exactly what The Shadow wanted a double trail that led to dupes as well as to

ON the trim gray launch, Harry Vincent found half a dozen passengers whose eyes had fixed looks of rapture.

They were not like Ming Dwan, whose gaze indicated the complete control by another brain.

These were persons who were looking forward to some beautiful dream of the future, living their own

Harry recognized one as a midwest manufacturer who had turned out not to be in Europe. He saw a dazzling,

wellgowned blonde across the way and promptly identified her as one of the missing movie stars. The

others, of course, were various dupes, all of whom had listened to the mystic voice of Shiwan Khan.

The launch crew consisted of two sturdy men who had dream looks of their own. Lurking in the background

was a Mongol, apparently ready to take over if either man came out of his happy trance. Certainly no

boatload of passengers had ever rivaled this group. To Harry, it was a nightmarish scene, of which he could

A motor was throbbing, but the launch didn't start. Harry supposed that new passengers would arrive; and

they did, ten minutes later. But they weren't dupes, they were naljorpas, two of them. Harry knew that they

At ease among this boatload, the naljorpas exerted none of their attacking power. They simply crouched

among the passengers and grinned, as the launch shoved off. They didn't have to behave like electric eels in

such a company, and they were pleased if a naljorpa could experience pleasure because Ming Dwan was

The boat was proceeding northward with rhythmic smoothness. Following, the channel of the East River, it

passed police boats on the way. None made an effort to stop the launch. It struck Harry instantly that the craft

That question was answered after the launch had passed beneath great bridges and was nearing Long Island

Sound. A welllighted yacht hove into sight; it was a sleek, streamlined vessel of modern build. Harry

It was the Nautilus, the milliondollar craft owned by a wealthy man named Felix Bryson, who wasn't listed

among the missing persons sought. Bryson lived on the yacht, but frequently came ashore, and recently he

Again, master strategy was evident. Shiwan Khan had picked Felix Bryson as a special brand of dupe; one

who could stay in circulation and would also offer the most select of hideaways for the rest. This trail was

He wasn't going to find a few isolated victims gathered in by Shiwan Khan. Harry would soon be viewing the

entire lot, all in one place where they could be rescued at a single stroke. But such a deed would require The

Realizing his own position, Harry knew that his one task was to keep himself unsuspected.

THE test came when the launch reached the yacht. The passengers began to ascend the steps that were

lowered from the yacht's side. Harry let others go first, and watched what happened. They were showing

Clutching the kavacha token, Harry followed, remembering to keep his eyes set straight ahead and a raptured

grin upon his lips. From the corner of his eye, he saw a brownish man who wore a purple tunic and a

Opening his hand, Harry showed the kavacha. He was allowed to pass when Marabar Guru saw the insignia

on the silver disk. Fortunately, the guru did not know everything. He was acquainted with some of Shiwan

Khan's dupes, but not with all. Tokens were sufficient with those that he did not recognize.

Newly arrived passengers were spreading along the decks like normal individuals bound on a cruise. Harry

He saw them reach an open door. Marabar Guru bowed Ming Dwan across the threshold, then entered

himself. Harry found a vantage spot from which he could see what happened within. Marabar Guru had not

At a desk, Felix Bryson was rising to greet Ming Dwan. A portly, smiling man, Bryson looked quite unlike

the other dupes; it was plain that he had not yet accepted the full sway of Shiwan Khan.

The attitude of Marabar Guru added proof to Harry's conclusion. The guru actually showed anxiety as he

watched Ming Dwan give the casket to Bryson. Since Marabar Guru was fully concentrated on the scene at

Examining the casket's seal, Bryson laid the ivory box aside. Folding his arms, he looked at Marabar Guru

and chuckled. Serious, the Hindu lighted a small incense burner that stood upon the desk; Bryson gave an

"I am willing to communicate with Shiwan Khan," he said "His previous messages have interested me

immensely. I believe his story of a fabulous city called Xanadu, founded by his illustrious ancestor, Kubla

"There is such a city," assured Marabar Guru, in an impressive tone. "I have seen it!"

"We agree then," continued Bryson. "But I still have certain doubts. Once, Shiwan Khan considered schemes

"Those contemplations have ended," put in the guru. "He is no longer Shiwan Khan. He is Shiwan Tulku."

"So he says," conceded Bryson, "and knowing the subtle ways of the Orient, I am willing to grant that such

could be. Shiwan Khan has given me visions of a happy land, where many of us can dwell in peace and

"But there is a chance" Bryson wagged a chunky finger "that the tulku may again become a khan. He says

that such will not happen, and bases it on the claim that his mind is allknowing. When I proposed a test, he

Harry began to understand the reason why Marabar Guru was uneasy. Leaning toward the casket, Bryson

"I warn you, guru!" affirmed Bryson. "I am still master here. If the test fails, I shall inform the authorities that

all missing persons are on this yacht! Only if the test succeeds, will I acknowledge Shiwan Khan to be the

Bryson drew a revolver from the desk drawer, laid it in readiness, in case the guru made trouble. Harry slid an

"An interesting test," declared Bryson, his fingers loosening the seal. "Shiwan Khan gave jade to Fayden,

Bronzium to Selsby. Others, I understand, wanted jewels; one man even asked for rare butterflies."

"All received what they requested," reminded Marabar Guru. "Shiwan Khan can supply what every man

"But in my case," chuckled Bryson, "Shiwan Khan has not been told what the desire is. I have wealth; I am

interested in many things. The master brain of Shiwan Khan must first have met the test; he must be able to

Bryson did not repeat his former threat to the guru. Instead, he broke the seal and raised the casket lid. He

turned the ivory box into the light, so that Marabar Guru could see its interior.

Harry saw the guru flinch; a moment later, the casket was turned in his own direction and Harry understood.

THE guru looked stunned. He stared helplessly as Bryson lifted the revolver. Then, at the very moment when

"Shiwan Khan knows all!" affirmed Bryson, in an awed tone. "He knows that I no longer care for wealth, or

material things; that my one desire is the higher understanding that only the mind can give. He, Shiwan Khan,

Marabar Guru leaned forward, eagerly. His move was unnecessary, for Bryson's eyes had already taken on a

fixed, distant gaze. The room was filled with the heavy aroma of the incense; Bryson's thoughts had tuned in

"I hear you, Shiwan Khan," spoke Bryson. "I acknowledge you as tulku. Those material belongings for which

I have no love are yours. But they are too puny for one of your great mind. I am thankful only that I can be of

"This yacht, worthless though it is, has value because it can convey us over the first stage of our journey to

Xanadu. Those who have joined me are willing to accompany you. I, too, am willing. We await your arrival,

Harry's gun slid back into his pocket. Of all the amazing things that he had witnessed, this scene astonished

him most. It meant that Bryson, the one man who could have stopped disaster, had become Shiwan Khan's

Numbly, Harry drew from the door. Somehow, he found cover before Ming Dwan appeared, followed by

Marabar Guru. The girl was going back to Shiwan Khan, probably to take some special message that the

They went up the steps. Harry heard Marabar Guru summon the waiting naljorpas. There was a thrum from

The schemes of Shiwan Khan had reached their zenith. Before this night was over, the Golden Master would

be on board the yacht, with all his dupes as passengers, bound upon the promised voyage.

DEEP in Shiwan Khan's domain, The Shadow was completing a survey of the labyrinthic passages that gave

access to the Golden Master's own headquarters. A gliding shape of blackness, The Shadow had so far

Except for the cluster of rooms near Shiwan Khan's own golden apartment, the extensive premises consisted

entirely of narrow passages, many of them so deeply buried that it did not seem surprising that Dr. Tam's

Many of the passages were tricky; they could be cut off, like watertight compartments on a ship. The

automatic barriers that The Shadow discovered were all at turns of corridors, or where steps produced new

levels. The Shadow could tell that they were camouflaged, those barriers, to give the appearance of closed

Thus, should invaders try to blast their way to the heart of the Golden Master's realm, they would spend most

The only remedy was to chart the passages for future reference, which The Shadow was equipped to do. He

knew his starting point: the house with the reversible gate. He had a tiny compass in the bottom of his special

Pacing distances as he went along, The Shadow mapped out an accurate diagram, indicating the turns and

Always, he was cautious, studying the route ahead before measuring it. Cautious, too, because of the eyes

that he knew were present. Sometimes The Shadow spied the owners of such eyes: slinky naljorpas, who

During the course of his accurate, but rapid, investigation The Shadow discovered outlets other than the one

Ming Dwan had used. He didn't test those outlets; he simply identified them by the fact that certain passages

All these exits were within the bounds of Chinatown, which meant that they were being reserved for

emergency use. Shiwan Khan was wise enough to know that Dr. Tam had men on duty throughout the

Chinese quarter. In fact, from the look of certain exits, The Shadow decided that they might be permanently

One isolated passage was of peculiar interest. From its direction, The Shadow knew that it must be the way

by which Beatrice Chadbury had originally entered, for it led toward Loo Dow's abandoned opium den and

Removing a black glove, The Shadow let his fingers run along the brick edges; from this inside vantage

point, he was able to trace what Tam's men had not observed from outside; namely, that the bricks themselves

were a portion of a dogtoothed sliding wall. Beatrice's amazing disappearance was explained.

HIS map complete, The Shadow moved toward the heart of the premises. From convenient lurking spots,

which Shiwan Khan had designed for his naljorpas, The Shadow studied the route ahead and advanced by

Passing an open door, he saw a small boudoir, knew that it must be Ming Dwan's. Opposite was another

room, its door closed; The Shadow felt sure that it was the apartment of Lana Luan.

Then The Shadow's keen gaze was attracted by the golden door that meant the throne room of Shiwan Khan.

Knowing the tricky ways of the Golden Master, The Shadow did not attempt to pass that barrier. He could

picture the interior a room with golden walls, like one that Shiwan Khan had used on a previous sojourn in

The former room had been designed to crash apart at the stroke of a great brazen gong a trick of Shiwan

Khan's to ensnare others, while he made his own escape. It was wise, therefore, to study the passages around

There were passages that ran outside the throne room, and some of them had steps. Making a separate

diagram, The Shadow was able to draw an outline of the cubicle itself. He found steps that crossed above it;

Descending, The Shadow came to a damp, lowbuilt tunnel that seemed like an oversized drain pipe. It ran

directly beneath the golden room, showing no outlet below. His diagram complete, The Shadow was quite

In fact, the cubicle was situated completely within thick walls of solid brick, its floor reinforced by concrete

at ground level. Confident that his domain could never be invaded, Shiwan Khan had made no arrangement

for secret exits from the throne room itself. Boxed inside that chamber, he could certainly be trapped.

A whispered laugh shuddered through the damp tunnel, confined to that space alone. All was in accord with

the Shadow's plans. He was considering a surprise stroke that had not occurred to Harry Vincent, the agent

Thinking in terms of the double trail, Harry supposed that The Shadow would let Shiwan Khan reach the

yacht and attack the Golden Master there. But The Shadow had a better plan; it was to trap Shiwan Khan in

his own headquarters, to prevent him from ever reaching the ship that had a passenger list of dupes.

To complete his map of the underground realm, The Shadow made a quick trip through the tunnel. He found

a long passage that ended in a fairsized stonewalled storeroom. In one corner were stacks of teakwood

Some boxes contained costumes, beautiful robes of rare silk, many woven of a golden cloth. In others, The

Shadow found odd curios: heavy statuettes, bronze vases, objects of handcarved ivory, including boxes of

There wasn't time to open the great iron chest, which stood five feet high in its corner, for it was solidly

locked. Besides, The Shadow knew what its contents probably were: spare munitions and weapons that

Leaving the culdesac, The Shadow returned to a higher level. Following his own chart, he picked a zigzag

course that led him back to the lone passage which ran beyond the limits of Chinatown.

Pressing the tricky wall, The Shadow brought it inward, the closed gate with it. After peering from the house

Hawkeye arrived. To the little spotter The Shadow gave the diagram of the underground realm, and added

complete instructions. Hawkeye sidled away; The Shadow stepped back into the entry. Descending the steps

to the underground passage, he pressed the lever that swung the gate and wall back into place.

AGAIN The Shadow was making a rapid journey to the heart of Shiwan Khan's great burrow. Reaching the

Lana Luan was reclining on cushions in the corner. Hearing the door close, she came to her feet, gave The

Approaching, The Shadow drew a small vial from his cloak, uncorked it and extended it toward the girl's

face. The strong smell of collodion penetrated the room. The banana odor of the liquid smothered the lighter

The girl's eyes remained fixed, but her lips were hesitant as they spoke the mechanical words:

Light caught the sparkle of The Shadow's eyes. Under that burning gaze, the spell of Shiwan Khan faded. The

"Be ready," The Shadow told her. "You will be needed. Should you meet a girl named Ming Dwan, take good

Burning eyes were gone; blackness faded past the closing door of the boudoir. But the words that The

Shadow had uttered remained paramount in Beatrice's mind. Slowly, she was grasping her actual status, in

Elsewhere, Dr. Roy Tam was studying a penciled chart that had been delivered to him, comparing it with a

large map of Chinatown. The Chinese physician was in his office, a telephone at hand. He read a message

that Hawkeye had also brought him; it was in writing that faded, leaving only The Shadow's silhouette, which

In conference with Commissioner Weston and Inspector Cardona, Vic Marquette was informed that he was

wanted on the telephone. He answered the call, heard a voice that spoke in English but with traces of a

Returning to the grillroom of the Cobalt Club, where the conference was being held, Marquette said:

Word for word, he repeated what Tam had told him over the wire. Commissioner Weston sat amazed,

scarcely ready to believe. It was Joe Cardona who arose and snapped to Marquette:

Through Tam, The Shadow had gained the allies that he wanted. The law was moving in to aid in the

CHINATOWN was in the middle of an extended celebration, one that had lasted for several days. That

afternoon, an Honorable Lion had danced through the streets, across a hotbed of exploding firecrackers.

Of course, the Honorable Lion was simply a Chinese in an outlandish lion's skin. He was part of a very

modern parade that included Chinese boy and girl scouts, along with representatives of other organizations.

In the past, such celebrations were the cause of much apprehension. Usually there were rival lions, favored by

different groups, and if the Honorables happened to meet together in one of the narrow streets, plenty of

So, this year, a lone lion had danced amid the beat of drums and the crash of cymbals, to the accompaniment

of exploding firecrackers. Tomorrow, another lion was to strut his stuff, while pleased spectators tossed

money into outstretched banners that were carried along the street funds for the relief of homeless folk in

Time was when there had been great displays of fireworks, and huge parades of many Chinese masked in

fantastic costumes representing devils. Sometimes those costumes had contained paraders who were not

thinking in terms of the celebration, but whose desire was to bury the hatchet in someone else's back.

A newer and more sober spirit had replaced the old and dangerous festivities. Feuds in Chinatown were a

thing of the forgotten past. Dr. Tam and his associates had done much to bring about the present sentiment;

but there were persons even among that group who felt regret at the passing of old traditions.

Every year, Tam was pressed with petitions to restore some of the older customs, the argument being that

since feuds were gone, no harm could result. It was well known that Tam had stored away an extensive

collection of old costumes; that if he wished, he could put on the greatest show that Chinatown had ever seen.

This evening, the same talk was in the air. It suddenly began to swell, along with the increasing burst of

firecrackers. No idle chatter, this time! Dr. Tam had called his friends, to tell them the parade would be in

order. Chinatown was united, Dr. Tam believed, and a wellmanaged celebration would prove it.

Some of Tam's men had gone to the garage, to dig up the old costumes and put them on. Others were along

the narrow streets mingling with the expectant throngs, to make sure that all was well. Squads of uniformed

police had arrived to rope off the sidewalks. A big event was due; hence such precautions were needed.

Among those who watched these happenings were certain slanteyed men whose expressions showed a

sinister satisfaction. Some were roaming the streets; others gazed from isolated stores. They were residents of

The Golden Master had his spy service throughout the district. Silent men, very careful of their actions, they

had reported everything to Shiwan Khan. They knew all about the futile search that Tam's workers had made

near Loo Dow's. In tonight's celebration the spies saw a desperate effort on the part of Dr. Tam, as ridiculous

Apparently, Tam was trying to win the good will of certain Chinese who did not approve his newfangled

notions. With such men as his friends, Tam probably supposed that he would eventually gain some lead to

Shiwan Khan's spies formed a select and secret society of their own, who never talked to anyone outside the

ring. In addition, they believed that Tam's heroic efforts were hopelessly belated. By tomorrow, so these spies

CHINATOWN, as a whole, was ignorant of Shiwan Khan's presence. All other matters, small and large, were

forgotten when a distant shout told that the parade was coming in from the outskirts.

The wave of acclaim swept along the narrow, crooked streets; then, to the smash of drums and cymbals, the

They were led by a group of grotesque demons and hobgoblins: Chinese dressed in trailing, fanciful robes,

wearing big masks that covered their entire heads. The masks, themselves, were remarkable contrivances;

As they advanced, the mummers sped pace as though pressed by others in the rear. They were dancing,

circling along the street, making grimaces with the mechanical faces. From their robes they were chucking

The whole street was crackling with such salutes, while the gleeful crowds shrieked applause. It was a merry

occasion, one that modern Chinatown did not take too seriously, yet enjoyed to the full. These rampant

hobgoblins, so long in storage, were much more entertaining than the Honorable Lions who had paraded

Then arose a shout that made the windows clatter all along the streets. It was a tidal wave of human voices,

It was weaving along the street, the greatest dragon of them all. It had a great head that snorted fire through

its huge nostrils; a head so great that it took five men to carry it. Behind the head came the undulating body,

Despite its ancient origin, the dragon gave a streamlined effect that was distinctly modern. It was a monster in

reality, for the cloth that covered its articulated framework was too thick for anyone to see the men within it;

and its flanks had trailing drapes that swept the street, hiding the many feet beneath.

Observers would have been surprised had they known that Dr. Tan was the front man in the dragon's head.

While others were shooting smoke and flame through the great nostrils, Tam was looking through peepholes

The dragon began to zigzag. Its serpentine course carried it toward one sidewalk, where laughing, screaming

Darting across the street, it made for an opposite wall, while its long flank actually grazed the building wall

on the side that it had left. Scattering persons vacated doorways, giving the dragon more room as it came

Never had the Great Dragon performed more capably than tonight. Its head rounded a corner, counting upon

the body and tail to follow, which they did. But the observers, interested chiefly in the firebreathing head,

As the flank swept a doorway where a droopyfaced Chinaman was standing in his shop, it disgorged four

men, who came rapidly from beneath its folds. Stooped low, they drove into the doorway, bowling the

THEY were Americans, those invaders, and they flashed badges in the face of the amazed merchant.

Recognizing them as detectives, the Chinaman made a grab beneath a counter and brought out a hatchet.

They took it away from him; while two were suppressing the fellow, the other pair tore down a curtain and

found a thick wooden panel. They chopped through it with the hatchet, splintering a route to a passage

Undulating past a basement restaurant that was empty except for two drablooking waiters, the Great Dragon

disgorged another group of crouched invaders. They were Feds, who flashed badges with one hand, while

Overpowering the waiters, they found the side wall that they wanted. Bashing away the plaster with gun

butts, they came to a steel wall beneath. They didn't let the barrier stop them.

Two of them had magnum guns, newstyle weapons powerful enough to penetrate steel. They drove bullets

through the wall as if the guns were riveters. The perforations cut the opening they needed.

With firecrackers bursting along the street outside, the rapid blasts of the magnum guns passed unnoticed by

Farther along, detectives were invading another shop marked on the list that Tam had prepared from The

Shadow's chart. That crew had a fire ax; they made rapid work of another hidden doorway, and started

In fours and fives, detectives and Feds were alternating in their rapid duty, as the Great Dragon coursed

through Chinatown. Never once were they spotted by Shiwan Khan's spies, except those who were in the

The Great Dragon still curved along its route. It had started with full capacity; it could unload fifty men

without yielding to the strain. It was sagging a trifle as it swung past the alley leading to Loo Dow's, but

Police had kept all alleys open. The dragon brushed the side walls of this alley very closely, to release its last

and largest quota. Like human torpedoes, a dozen men shot from beneath the folds at intervals. They were

They reached the brick wall, probed it for cracks. Finding some, they quickly drilled holes and inserted

charges, working in darkness after the dragon had passed. They dropped away to the inner end of the alley,

The blast from the alley was loud enough to be heard throughout that section; the flames that it coughed were

gigantic. Invaders poured through the smoke that issued from the shattered wall; but people who packed the

outer street knew that something more than firecrackers had caused the detonation.

Spies of Shiwan Khan declared themselves; shouting for others to join them, they grouped together and

headed into the alley. They didn't notice that the great dragon had rounded the block and was bearing down

upon them. Out from the head came Dr. Tam, followed by trusty Chinese who issued from the coils.

With drawn guns, Tam and his men withered the flock of spies by a rapid rear attack. The few who escaped

The Shadow's call was heeded; the plan that he ordered had worked. The domain of Shiwan Khan had

Thanks to the cooperation of Dr. Tam, the law was pouring in its forces to aid the blackcloaked fighter

So rapid, so welltimed, was the massed invasion that it caught Shiwan Khan's servitors unawares. They

heard battering sounds from many passages, ran to see what all the tumult was about. They learned, to their

Submachine guns spoke from shattered outlets, revolvers joined in the fire. Big Mongols were felled by

bullets; witnessing their fate, others fled, along with scrawny naljorpas, who had been clever enough to

The roar of battle brought Shiwan Khan from his throne room. Leaving the golden door wide, the

Unfathomable moved calmly along the passage. He paused at the empty room belonging to Ming Dwan; then

The door did not open. Shiwan Khan wrenched it wide. On the floor he saw the Chinese costume belonging

to Lana Luan. It was ripped and trampled. Beatrice Chadbury, restored to her own self, had torn off that garb

Shiwan Khan allowed himself the privilege of a scowl. Then, opening a closet in the corner of the room, he

Despite the approach of battle, Shiwan Khan buried his bearded chin in one longfingered hand. He was

trying to calculate how his methods had failed. He knew that only one being could have produced Beatrice's

The din of strife brought him to a further conclusion. Shiwan Khan was sure that The Shadow had departed,

taking Beatrice with him. Battle had been left to others; therefore, The Shadow's one route must have been

It was a route that Shiwan Khan could follow. Stepping from the empty room, he raised a long, penetrating

cry for his warriors to hear. Then, with a stately but rapid stride, the goldclad fiend headed for the passage

His followers came clustering about during his progress. Knowing the many turns of the underground

burrow, they were well ahead of pursuers. Shiwan Khan sent snakish naljorpas ahead, while he turned to

speak with some of the Mongols. Before the Golden Master could give his intended order, he heard snarls

The naljorpas had paused at the beginning of the lone passage. They were shooting out their knives with the

quick motion that characterized their way of battle. Bronze daggers, launched in that fashion, usually found a

From deep in the corridor the naljorpas were answered by a formidable laugh; that came with sinister, eerie

echoes. Interspersed with the reverberating mockery were the blasts of an automatic. Staggering naljorpas

The Shadow had taken over the needed outlet. Having clipped the naljorpas, he was sure to get the Mongols

if they tried to battle him. Strident mockery was coming closer, indicating that The Shadow wanted to meet

The way things were going, he might have his chance. For the shouts from many passages told that Feds and

police were closing in; that they would take care of the Mongols while The Shadow handled the Golden

WITH a fierce snarl to his Mongols, Shiwan Khan forgot his calm. Wheeling about, he dashed back toward

the golden room, issuing orders as he went. But his Mongols didn't have a chance to obey. Invaders had

Taking cover in rooms along the way, the Mongols drew guns and answered the barrage, while Shiwan Khan

This was The Shadow's opportunity. Coming from his passage, he was ready to be the first attacker when the

fire of the Mongols lessened. He wanted the privilege of meeting Shiwan Khan alone, but it was to be denied.

From a safe niche in the side of the long passage came a girl's frantic cry. Wheeling about, The Shadow left

the scene to the law, in order to learn why Beatrice had called. He soon saw the reason.

Another girl was coming in by the passage. It was Ming Dwan, returned from the yacht. Her arrival at this

Speeding past Beatrice's niche, The Shadow gave a quick order as he went by. Then, halfway along the

Beatrice grabbed the girl, to drag her into cover. It was The Shadow's cue to swing into sight. He made the

move, a rapid, elusive whirl, and as he came he opened fire in the direction of the outlet.

Knives whirred amid The Shadow's shots. They were launched by the two naljorpas, who had returned on

Ming Dwan's trail. The Shadow's shots were blind; whereas the Tibetans had a target, for they saw their

whirling foe. It was a long chance, a double risk that The Shadow had taken in this crisis. Nevertheless it

One blade, a trifle high, cleaved the brim of The Shadow's hat, carving it cleanly away. The other, a bit wide,

grazed his body as he twisted. It skimmed his ribs, deflected by his spin, ripping a long slice in his cloak.

Striking the opposite wall from the speed of his rapid whirl, The Shadow was off balance long enough for the

scrawny men to start their flight. He fired shots that ricocheted from the walls; thinking his aim was bad, the

They found out the reason for those wide shots as they neared the outlet. In came a surge of men who

threatened to drive the naljorpas back into The Shadow's range. Hawkeye had seen the scrawny men trail

It took the entire squad to subdue the snakish fighters, for the naljorpas used their longnailed hands like

weapons. It was impossible to slug their bobbing heads, so the agents settled it with bullets the only way to

Hearing the shots, followed by a piping call from Hawkeye, The Shadow knew that his agents had won.

Reaching Beatrice, he found her struggling with Ming Dwan. Quickly, The Shadow pinned Ming Dwan's

arms behind her and propelled her along the passage, while she shrieked defiantly.

Cliff Marsland took prompt custody of the deluded girl. The agents retired to guard the outer exit, and

Beatrice went with them. She knew The Shadow's method of breaking Shiwan Khan's spell. When Beatrice

found time to apply it, Ming Dwan would be transformed into Myra Reldon, just as Lana Luan had become

Meanwhile, The Shadow had his own task to perform. He wanted to meet Shiwan Khan before it was too

late. Gunfire had ended from the distant depths of the Golden Master's burrow. Turning about, The Shadow

Already, Vic Marquette and Joe Cardona had ascended the twisty steps that led to the golden door. With half

a dozen stolid supporters behind them, they were hammering at Shiwan Khan's own portal. If they couldn't

smash it with such methods, they intended to drill it with magnum guns, or blast it open.

Crossing the threshold, with drawn guns, Cardona and Marquette were followed by their men, who clustered

behind them. They had been assured by Tam that the room itself was solid, with no secret outlets. But Tam

Reclining on his golden throne, his chin propped sidewise on his hands, Shiwan Khan surveyed the foemen

that he had voluntarily admitted. The mighty master of insidious crime was calm; he seemed in a mood of

Yet his fixed eyes must have observed the invaders, for he spoke. His words were in English, precisely put,

"You have come to take me," said Shiwan Khan, as he raised his goldsleeved arms, to show his long hands

STRANGELY subtle was the tone of Shiwan Khan. It was emotionless, yet it carried a singular touch that set

the nerves of listeners taut. The law held the Golden Master powerless, for he was covered by many bristling

guns. Nevertheless, the calmness of the reception was something that promised trouble.

Marquette was studying the sleeves of the golden robe, Cardona was wondering if the garment was

bulletproof. One expected hidden weapons to come suddenly into play, the other felt that Shiwan Khan might

"Close in on him," growled Vic, to the men behind him, "but watch those sleeves of his. If we can, we want

"That's just what we're going to do," gruffed Joe, by way of further advisement. "Jump on him if he gets

They pushed forward, all of them. It was then that Shiwan Khan made his move. Hands still raised, and

empty, the Golden Master uncoiled and whipped up from his throne, voicing a triumphant snarl as he

With a surge, the eight invaders drove for him with pointing guns. Shiwan Khan made a crazy twist, half way

toward the floor, but did not lose his balance. Men grabbed for him, but missed. They were lurching dizzily

Twisting among them, Shiwan Khan met the slashes of guns in unaccountable fashion. He not only dodged

those strokes; he actually seemed to control them, for hands that swung, in his direction were curving away.

Together, Marquette and Cardona were reeling across the room, past the golden throne. Striking the wall,

Vic aimed first, and fired. He missed the weaving figure of the Golden Master by three feet. Cardona took a

Some invisible, unaccountable force was pulling their guns wide. They saw the leering face of Shiwan Khan,

heard his musical laugh strike a harsh discord as he pushed men away and made for the open door.

Every one of the invaders had felt the same influence. All were staggering drunkenly across the room. They

Then, as the Golden Master wrenched free from a tiny, groggy cluster of men, a blackclad figure launched

in through the door. A fierce tone of sardonic mockery drowned Shiwan Khan's jarring chuckle.

Turned for his exit, the Golden Master saw the muzzle of a .45 automatic looming down upon him; the gun

Bent queerly, Shiwan Khan made a sideward shift. The Shadow stopped abruptly; his gun tongued flame. It

was a closerange shot, the sort that never should have missed; but the bullet was wide by the fraction of an

The Shadow had made just one misstep, but it was enough to preserve the life of Shiwan Khan.

In that one step, The Shadow had guessed the riddle of the golden throne room. Solid within the cubical walls

of inclosing brick, it had no trapdoors or secret outlets. As The Shadow had surmised, the golden room was a

In its entire construction, the chamber was a clever snare. Its floor seemed level, the walls were

perpendicular, but the whole thing was tilted at an angle. There was a slant to the curved steps outside that

Anyone entering the room for the first time took it for granted that the place was normal. Actually, it had a

slant of its own that threw people off balance unless they knew the secret of its tilt. That was why Shiwan

Khan always sat in leaning attitude on the golden throne, why persons like Beatrice and Myra had felt dizzy

They had tried to stand upright, but it wasn't possible. Later, influenced by Shiwan Khan, they had entered

and left in the fashion of the naljorpas, changing their balance to conform to the room's crazy construction.

Trapped by Feds and police, Shiwan Khan had coaxed them into an attack, knowing that the faster they came

the harder they would fall. Aiming guns had gone wide, because the hands that held them shifted. Even The

FROM the doorway, Shiwan Khan hurled a knife that seemed to travel on a curve, bending in to reach the

Shiwan Khan, knowing the room's tilt, had made allowance for it but he had also figured that The Shadow

The latter part of the calculation was wrong. Without moving his feet, The Shadow had shifted position. He

was standing at an odd angle, tilting, farther toward the true perpendicular. Eyes half shut, he was gauging

As the blade missed The Shadow's upswaying form, Shiwan Khan vaulted the rail of the steps outside. It was

well for the Golden Master that he chose such quick departure. The Shadow opened fire straight through the

Starting pursuit, The Shadow was followed by the others. By the time they reached the doorway, Shiwan

Khan had disappeared, and The Shadow was almost to the corner that the fleeing fiend had turned. But there

was a new sound now within this strange domain. It was a rising roar, accompanied by a vivid, ruddy flicker.

Flames were sweeping in from the passage that Shiwan Khan had taken. By the time that Vic Marquette

reached the corner, a wall of fire blocked him. He swung toward another passage, to be met by an onrush of

Scattered Mongols had introduced a new element to drive away the foes of Shiwan Khan. Knowing that such

was due, the Golden Master had waited coolly in his throne room, hoping that his enemies would be trapped.

It was The Shadow's arrival that had brought them to their senses in time to escape.

Joe Cardona had spied an open passage and was shouting to the others. He was heard above the roar of the

rising holocaust; when Cardona started along the only route to safety, the others followed, with Marquette

bringing up the rear. In his flight, Vic hesitated and looked back, but only for an instant.

He was thinking of The Shadow, but he saw that there was no chance to follow along the cloaked fighter's

trail. It occurred to Vic, however, that The Shadow would be safe. Close behind Shiwan Khan, the crime

With that surmise, Marquette took after the others. As they fled, they heard the fire roaring in behind them

like a great flood of doom. But they were through a shattered exit before it reached them. Though foiled in

their attempted capture of Shiwan Khan, these representatives of the law had at least escaped unscathed.

Through cataracts of flame, he was keeping to the trail of Shiwan Khan, but at no point did he get a chance to

drill the Golden Master with a bullet. With fire as the background, Shiwan Khan was wearing the perfect

attire. His golden robe blended with the flames as The Shadow's black cloak merged with darkness.

Only by fleeting glimpses did The Shadow manage to keep along the trail. Shiwan Khan turned corner after

corner, picking his path uncannily despite the heat and scorch of the everincreasing fire. At times he

Somewhere, the route would have to end, either in safety or in doom! Shiwan Khan must have recognized the

fact, for he suddenly took a straightaway course, leaping across a gap in the floor where flames formed a

The master crook was through the fire, and The Shadow was close behind him. Still imbued with the desire to

end the flight of Shiwan Khan, The Shadow took aim while he leaped through the screen of flame, tugged the

That shot failed. The Shadow didn't find the solid footing that he needed. Charred timbers had crunched

beneath Shiwan Khan's weight, they gave when The Shadow struck them. The whole floor caved in, jarring

Amid a mighty puff of flame, The Shadow was carried downward along with burning beams. He struck

heavily on the stone floor of a lower passage; a chunk of flaming woodwork glanced from his head.

Flattened, The Shadow lay motionless, until the crackle of the fire aroused him. It was as loud as the shout of

Slowly, painfully, as if hunting a place to die, The Shadow crawled forward, seeking safety somewhere in

this fearful pit where the rain of flaming firebrands cast a hideous, torchlike glow upon the scene.

IT was the greatest fire that Chinatown had ever known, that holocaust started by the desperate servitors of

Shiwan Khan. They had chosen the proper setting for a terrible conflagration, for many of the buildings that

held the concealed passages were antiquated structures of the rabbithutch variety.

Among the narrow streets, thousands of Chinese were fleeing the flames, as if seeking refuge from a mighty

volcano. All along the curve of Dovers Street flames were spurting from every window and roaring up

through roofs. Showers of sparks that fell in huge eruption were carrying to the corner of Mott and Pell, the

Police had given way to firemen, who were responding to repeated alarms. The smokeeaters were pouring

tons of water on the sea of flame, from a respectable distance. When they pressed too close, their rubber coats

Residents of the section had managed to get clear, but the firemen were bringing up nets, expecting figures to

leap from windows. They had been told that persons were trapped somewhere in the tremendous blaze. But

Traveling down a sheltered stairway behind the golden throne room, Shiwan Khan had reached the damp

passage that lay below the basement level. He wasn't alone; several of his Mongols and a few surviving

Scattered by the law's invasion, those servants had made for this refuge after they had set the fire.

Through the passage, sidestepping burning embers of wood that had fallen in the corridor beyond, Shiwan

Khan led the way to his storeroom. It was badly wrecked, for its roof had caved in and the whole floor was in

Kicking the burning brands aside, Shiwan Khan reached the wall and examined his precious teakwood boxes.

Some were scorched, but all were intact, which pleased Shiwan Khan. He valued his many robes, and was

Pointing, to the huge iron coffer, he told the Mongols to move it, which four of them did, with difficulty.

When they shoved it too near the flames, Shiwan Khan snarled and pounded them with clenched fists. He

didn't want the inflammable contents to explode too soon. The Mongols pushed the coffer to a safer place.

Behind the fivefoot iron box was an opening in the wall, almost as high as the coffer itself. It was large

enough to admit the teakwood boxes, which measured four feet in each dimension. Stooping, Shiwan Khan

This was one route that The Shadow had not uncovered while roaming Shiwan Khan's premises. It led to an

abandoned water main, which the little caravan followed for a few blocks. They finally came to a thin wall,

The other side of the plywood wall was faked to look like plaster. The Golden Master and his men were in

THEY reached an alley. The brilliance from the flaming sky produced a revealing glare that did not please

Shiwan Khan, although it had been caused by his own design. He managed to crowd his Mongols into a

darkened place barely large enough to hide them; then he sent the naljorpas ahead to scout.

A clang came along the street, from just beyond the alley. Peering out, Shiwan Khan saw an oddlooking fire

wagon slackening to a halt. It was an insurance patrol ordered to Chinatown, only to find that it couldn't be of

Shiwan Khan gave his Mongols the word. The mighty mob surged out and took the patrol by storm.

They didn't use their knives; they simply tossed the truck crew to the street and piled the boxes into the

captured vehicle. The patrol clanged on its way, carrying a motley bunch of occupants. A big Mongol was at

Shiwan Khan and the naljorpas were also passengers, riding safely through groups of police, who allowed the

As always, Shiwan Khan saw that the course was reversed. He and his companions ditched the vehicle when

they reached a dark street near a subway entrance. The direction that they took on foot was eastward, through

All was dark in this vicinity, particularly when they reached the water front near the East River. The launch

was waiting at its dock; the teak boxes were loaded on board, and Shiwan Khan followed with his crew. The

The trip on the launch was killing the trail completely. As for the destination, the Nautilus, Shiwan Khan was

In fact, things would have been very much to the Golden Master's liking had he known the exact details. One

man did know that the Nautilus was being taken over by Shiwan Khan, but the man in question wasn't in a

He was Harry Vincent. As a passenger on the yacht, he was as badly off as Shiwan Khan's own dupes.

There were others, agents of The Shadow, who could follow the trail as far as the little dock; for Moe, the

taxi driver, knew that it led there. But they didn't have a link beyond. As for Ming Dwan, Shiwan Khan felt

Even if Ming Dwan came out of her trance, she couldn't offer evidence. Under the influence of Shiwan Khan,

As for The Shadow, his case was least troublesome of all. Shiwan Khan had seen him plunge into a pit of

flame, taking a fiery journey from which there could be no return. His own adventures in the torrid holocaust

When the launch reached the Nautilus, Shiwan Khan was met atop the gangplank steps by Marabar Guru.

Passengers had gone below; like a great prince arriving incognito, Shiwan Khan was conducted to the

From the moment of his entry, Shiwan Khan held absolute command. With profound bows to the Golden

Master, Bryson turned over ownership of the Nautilus, and all that went with it.

Outside, the creak of davits told that the launch was being hoisted to the deck of the yacht, so that Shiwan

Khan's precious boxes could be removed and stored away by the men he had brought with him.

While that was being done, Shiwan Khan spoke a command that Bryson relayed to the yacht crew.

Smoothly, its motors purring, the yacht got under way and glided in the direction of the East River. It was

reversing the course that the launch had recently taken, but it did not intend to stop at any pier.

The Nautilus had her clearance papers. She was going past Manhattan, putting out to sea!

Along a watery boulevard, Shiwan Khan was escaping openly, carrying more than sixty missing persons for

UNDER the lighted streaks that were big bridges; past teeming shores where the law's search still persisted;

past police boats, ferries, tugs and other craft, the streamlined Nautilus slid unsuspected toward the lower

Ahead was a welcoming blanket of gathering fog. Other ship owners might dread that mist, but Shiwan Khan

appreciated it. Filtering whitely through the darkness, it was like the shroud of a beckoning ghost that offered

There were thicker billows of white that Shiwan Khan appreciated even more, as he turned toward the yachts

stern. Still clad in his firescorched robe of gold, Shiwan Khan looked back at the clouds of smoke that rolled

As he watched, the Golden Master saw a vast display of fiery tongues lick upward in those billows, making a

last lash toward Manhattan's glowing sky. He heard the roll of a thunderous roar that must have shuddered

It was the blast from the munitions in the iron coffer that the Mongols had left in the storeroom, near the pit

where The Shadow had fallen. To Shiwan Khan, that last flare was more than a mere beacon waving him on

The flames betokened a mighty funeral pyre, completing the doom of the only foe that Shiwan Khan had ever

MILES out to sea, the Nautilus was a creeping shape of gray studded with lines of lights, that glowed dimly

through the thickening fog. Her captain, a man long in the employ of Felix Bryson, was keeping the yacht at

Word had spread through the vessel that Shiwan Khan was on board. The passengers, sworn to serve the

Golden Master, were eager to meet their mighty chief. To some, he was Shiwan Khan; to others, Shiwan

Tulku. The exact title did not matter; the two were interchangeable to anyone who fully acknowledged the

One cabin remained totally dark, for no passenger had been assigned to it. The cabin was the one where

Some of those squarish chests held costumes; others were filled with weightier objects, of bronze and other

metals. The Mongols had carried them with due allowance as to weight two men to each heavy box, one to

In the gloom of the cabin, a box lid lifted. It had been up a half inch all the while, wedged in that position by

a jamming chunk of cloth. No one had noticed the cloth in question for its hue was not golden. It was dark,

Pushed wide, the lid allowed a figure to roll from the box a shape that was barely discernible in the

decklight glow that issued feebly through the cabin's porthole. A low tone, more like a sigh than a laugh,

quivered in the darkness. There was a dull thud as the blackclad form sank to the floor. The thud was the

Back in the pit beneath the Golden Master's lair, The Shadow had crawled along the only route that offered:

There, with more flames licking down upon him, he had sought temporary refuge. He had flung off robes

The blaze that had greeted Shiwan Khan and the Mongols had risen because of new fuel that it had rapidly

His strength strained far beyond the breaking point, The Shadow had lapsed into unconsciousness while

boxed within a room that had reached a furnace heat. Even the trip to the yacht had not revived him. Here,

miles at sea, he was finding his senses for the first time since the beginning of his journey.

Reaching a porthole, The Shadow wrenched it open, drank great drafts of cooling, fogladen air. His

whispered laugh came steadier, then faded. Footsteps were lumbering in the passage outside his door.

Wheeling across the cabin, The Shadow closed the box that he had occupied, slid a light one on top of it.

He was behind the boxes when two Mongols entered. Ready with a gun, The Shadow heard them fumbling

with the boxes. They lifted the lid of the topmost one, found robes inside it. Soon, they clamped the box shut

Shiwan Khan had sent them to bring him another robe. Having found one in the first box in which they

When the Mongols were gone, The Shadow returned to the porthole. His strength recuperating steadily, he

listened to sounds along the deck. The whole yacht seemed astir; The Shadow could understand why.

Shiwan Khan's fresh robe was the explanation. The Golden Master intended to hold a conclave with the

dupes who were going with him on this journey. He wanted proper attire for the occasion.

AWAY from the darkened cabin, people were assembling in the dining saloon of the Nautilus. The room was

large enough to accommodate all sixty passengers, with space for more. Its portholes were tightly shut, for

the saloon was airconditioned. Its coolness was as comfortable as the subdued lights which illuminated it.

Among the persons at the tables was Felix Bryson. He had given up his position as owner of the yacht, and

regarded himself an ordinary passenger. Near him sat Ralph Fayden, the inventor; across the saloon Hiram

Those three were but few of the many distinguished passengers. This throng consisted of individuals who

were tops in intelligence and personality. They were the handpicked leaders in American affairs chosen by

They had relaxed from their tense condition; still, the influence of Shiwan Khan was traceable in their faces.

All were engaged in one subject of conversation: the glorious times that would await them in the mystic

One man alone avoided that discussion. He was Harry Vincent. The Shadow's agent was uneasy.

Harry knew that something must have happened to his chief. Soon, Harry would be facing Shiwan Khan, and

he feared that the Golden Master would be a keener judge of faces than Marabar Guru. Once picked out from

the throng, Harry could be forced to show his hand. He knew that his strength would be puny, worthless.

Only one being could make a worthwhile thrust into this ironclad situation: The Shadow.

Yet Harry wondered how his chief would handle the situation, if present. On this yacht, as in his gilded

domain, Shiwan Khan was master, surrounded by dozens of followers who saw as he did, eye to eye!

A stir swept the dining saloon. The door had opened: Shiwan Khan was on the threshold. Resplendent in a

new robe of gold, with colorful ornamentations, the great ruler stood motionless as his new subjects came to

Moving to a separate table, Shiwan Khan sat down and faced the group. Following him came Marabar Guru,

The guru lighted a curious brazen lamp that raised a wavering flame. It was fed by a sweetscented oil that

threw an exotic fragrance through the room. The thickness of the atmosphere did not increase, however,

because of the airconditioning system, which kept the fragrance at a uniform level.

Stewards were bringing in refreshments choice foods that would suit the palates of Shiwan Khan's recruits.

A cryptic smile showed on the Golden Master's slitted lips. He was making allowance for the tastes that his

new followers had cultivated. Gradually he would wean them from such viands and put them on a spare diet,

There were no drinks among the refreshments. Shiwan Khan had dispensed with liquors, even with coffee, as

"Once I planned great conquest," spoke Shiwan Khan. "I believed and still believe that the world would

improve under the rule of a single mind. My golden city of Xanadu, hidden beneath the mountains of

Sinkiang, was to be the capital of one great empire. Unreachable by enemies, I could be secure, while my

Then, with a wave of his longfingered hand, Shiwan Khan dismissed that dream of conquest.

"The world is not yet ready," he told his listeners. "It is better that I should deal with minds in harmony with

my own. In Xanadu, we shall dwell for centuries, creating ourselves into superminds such as the world has

never before known! Yes, for centuries! Because I, as tulku, not as khan, have found the secret of prolonging

"Perhaps" his tone carried a chime "I shall solve the riddle of perpetual life. If so, we shall dwell in

Xanadu forever, while nations beat themselves into ruin and starve into oblivion. Then, when misery has

taken precedence over ambition, the world will listen. We shall dominate, as the creators of a new

THERE were shouts of "Kha Khan!" others of "Tulku!" To his amazement, Harry found that he was joining

in. A hope was overwhelming him the hope that he would be permitted to remain with these chosen

"The path will not be easy," declared Shiwan Khan. "You must rid yourselves of the restraints of ordinary

life, in order to understand the higher existence. You must learn the mystery of the samadhi, or trance

condition, in order to learn the perils of the bardo, that strange land beyond this life.

"Each of you will become a delog, one who has returned from beyond. With fear of the future banished, you

will understand what this life holds and be ready for my teachings. Already, each of you has been given a

As Shiwan Khan paused, listeners began to raise their hands, showing the silver tokens that he mentioned.

Harry was fortunately able to do the same; but as he looked about, he saw Ralph Fayden fumbling, looking

Even the stewards held kavachas. They were standing within the swinging doors that led to the yacht's pantry.

Like the passengers, those crew members were staring fixedly at Shiwan Khan, drinking in his words of

The closed doors blocked view of a blackclad figure that had arrived in the pantry beyond. Through the

crack, The Shadow was watching the scene that Shiwan Khan dominated. He noted the sweet aroma that

filled the saloon, knew that it was important to the Golden Master's mental sway. Turning about, The Shadow

He opened the panel, to reveal heavily frosted pipes, part of the yacht's refrigerating equipment. Drawing an

automatic, he muffled it in his cloak, jamming the muzzle squarely against a pipe. His free arm lifted across

The shot was heard, but it did not matter. Wheeling away, The Shadow swung wide the swing doors and

leveled his .45 across the heads of diners, straight for Shiwan Khan. With The Shadow's smashing,

spectacular entry came something else: a deluge of overwhelming fumes that produced utter chaos.

The Shadow had loosed a pipeload of ammonia into the dining saloon. Its powerful, stifling pungency was

Stricken by the fumes, diners were leaping for the portholes, smashing them. Like The Shadow, Shiwan Khan

was burying his face in his golden robe, while Marabar Guru was clapping a cushion across his nostrils and

From the protecting folds of the muffling cloak came The Shadow's challenge: a laugh that told his purpose.

A HAND from the past had struck, to break the grip of Shiwan Khan. In loosing that deluge of fumes, The

Temporarily, Shiwan Khan was out of combat; so, for that matter, was The Shadow. Both were blinded by

the terrific influx of ammonia fumes, as were the others in the saloon. But the smashed portholes, along with

Blindly, The Shadow was keeping his .45 in Shiwan Khan's direction. Raising his eyes, he blinked to clear

them. He could see Shiwan Khan, but he did not fire. No shot could be sure under these circumstances; and if

It was better to appeal to the host of dupes. They were prepared to listen to The Shadow. They could hear,

The potency of Shiwan Khan's hypnotism could not compete with any staggering effect upon the human

senses. The cue to that had been the meeting, between George Endle and Marabar Guru.

In the style taught by Shiwan Khan, the guru had tried to remain unnoticed, through a trance condition, but

Endle had seen him. Again, Marabar Guru had tried to paralyze Endle with one of the forceful shocks that

Tibetan mystics could produce. In that, the guru had also failed. The reason was simple. Endle had been

Realizing that alcohol had rendered Endle immune, The Shadow had used collodion, with its content of ether,

to awaken the entranced Lana Luan. The method had restored Beatrice Chadbury to her waking senses,

Here, on the Nautilus, he had loosed the ship's ammonia supply, knowing that the powerful vapor would

The ammonia fumes were clearing. So were the minds of the persons who had inhaled those fumes.

Like The Shadow, they could see Shiwan Khan. They saw him as an ordinary mortal, a crouching man

garbed in rather tawdry gold, whose face seemed to wear its ugly expression only by an effort of its owner.

As for Marabar Guru, he was simply a squatting Hindu, as much a fake as his master.

"Those talismans that you hold are worthless," he told them. "They are charms against evil only because

conniving naljorpas have agreed not to harm the persons who display them. A kavacha means safety for

"Shiwan Khan has power, of a sort, as do the creatures who serve him. But it is not the power of tulku. It is a

mesmeric influence, long practiced in the Orient, that produces telepathic ability. Anyone can match it,

The Shadow spoke with a tone of confidence, indicating that he was practiced in the method that he

mentioned. To intelligent listeners, such as these, he had chosen the most forceful form of argument. To

He could show these dupes that Shiwan Khan was human, by letting them complete the capture of the Golden

"Shiwan Khan awaits!" taunted The Shadow. "Let him show his power when you try to take him!"

A DOZEN men sprang for the Golden Master. Frantically, Shiwan Khan thrust out his long hands, hoping to

stop them with numbing shocks. Marabar Guru was using the same system, but both were merely going

No longer did these dupes believe in Shiwan Khan's imaginary powers. They knew that his force was mental,

not physical, and their own minds were able to combat it. Shiwan Khan was buried beneath a surge of

In that moment, which seemed to carry absolute defeat, Shiwan Khan showed his genius. Floored, entirely in

First: he was temporarily safe from The Shadow; again, there were others present besides these fighters who

had dared to attack him. His mind snapped up the thought that he could put The Shadow in a similar plight by

Uncanny in his guesses as to which dupes might yet be loyal, Shiwan Khan shrieked promises not of long

life in the happy city of Xanadu, but of material rewards that his followers had forgotten.

He was shouting that Fayden could have his room, with its walls of jade. He was calling to Selsby, reminding

him of Bronzium. To others he was promising gold, jewels, whatever they might desire.

Hearing those utterances, The Shadow started forward. Before he could wrest his own allies away, to get at

Shiwan Khan, others pounced upon him. Amid mad battle cries the dining saloon became the fighting ground

of a furious, milling throng a host divided, half for The Shadow, half for Shiwan Khan!

The leaders in that fray were separated. At moments, The Shadow tried to aim shots toward the golden figure

of Shiwan Khan; but, always, figures intervened. Once, Shiwan Khan tried to hurl a knife, when he saw

cloaked shoulders and a hat with a sliced brim above them. Then closing fighters spoiled the opportunity.

Ardent in The Shadow's behalf was a burly, shockhaired man, Professor Arthur Graydon. A student of

ancient languages, he had been promised access to longlost Sanskrit manuscripts which Shiwan Khan

claimed to own. Graydon had received specimen pages in an ivory casket; but he doubted, how, that Shiwan

Graydon was rallying other intellectuals, who proved themselves men of brawn as well as brain. But on his

side Shiwan Khan had such men as Fayden and Selsby, plus one other, the greatest fanatic of them all.

Shiwan Khan's most loyal ally was Felix Bryson, the man to whom he had promised nothing!

Factions were separating as they brawled, trying to leave the dining saloon by opposite doors.

Ahead of them went Marabar Guru, off to rally the naljorpas and the fighting Mongols. From the other door

squirmed Harry Vincent, who knew that he could gather allies from the yacht crew.

During his sojourn on the Nautilus, Harry had guessed that certain members of the personnel were merely

The fight rolled to the deck, where The Shadow. wrenching clear of many hands, at last found his chance to

bear down on Shiwan Khan. Before he could take aim at the Golden Master, he saw naljorpas swinging into

Whipping a second gun from beneath his cloak, The Shadow gave those scrawny killers a double hail of

bullets, from two barrels that carried sharper stabs than any knife. Their daggers clattering from their bony

Big Mongols, driving in to aid Shiwan Khan, were intercepted by the crew members that Harry had rallied.

Not expecting such interference, the Mongols were outflanked. Some fell; the rest made for the fo'c's'le.

Keeping a screen of loyal followers between himself and The Shadow, Shiwan Khan retreated in the same

FROM amidships to the stern, the yacht was under The Shadow's full control. At his command; many hands

were lowering the launches, two at the side davits, a third at the stern. Those smaller boats were sufficient to

carry the thirtyodd passengers and the crew members who were on The Shadow's side.

But the blackcloaked fighter still hoped to take over the yacht itself. He was weaving forward, while Harry

By advancing alone, The Shadow evidenced his contempt for Shiwan Khan. Just as he had won over half the

dupes by such tactics, so he could impress some of the rest. Meanwhile, he was making sure that the persons

The launches were in the water when The Shadow reached the bridge. By the glare of spotlights slicing

through the fog, observers from below could see The Shadow. Harry was at the bow of the foremost launch;

he watched his chief approach the bridge with drawn gun that probed for Shiwan Khan.

Suddenly, the Golden Master bobbed into sight, his hands raised but his smile serene. Beside him was Hiram

Selsby, grinning in apish fashion. The chemist was holding a wooden block which was mounted with an

"Be cautious, Ying Ko," Shiwan Khan advised The Shadow, dryly. "Selsby is ready to touch off an explosion

that will blow this ship to fragments! What will it profit you to end your life along with mine? There are

others" he gestured to the closepacked followers around him "who would die. It is not your way, Ying

The Shadow paused, expecting a further proposition. It came. Pointing to the rail, Shiwan Khan spoke.

"Keep at a distance, Ying Ko," he suggested. "I shall make no interruption while you speak from there. If

others choose to join you, they are welcome. You will do me a favor, Ying Ko, by weeding out the faint in

Behind the tone lay the great ego of Shiwan Khan. The Shadow decided to put it to the test. He retired to the

rail, but all the while he kept a gun trained on Shiwan Khan, expecting some treacherous move.

The stroke came, but Shiwan Khan was too crafty to supply it in person. The Shadow looked quickly upward,

to see a figure launching, itself from beside the funnel, just behind the bridge.

It was Marabar Guru, coming like a living arrow, his face leering as he dived. Out ahead, a long blade of

bronze was shafting for The Shadow's heart, a brown fist gripping the handle, to guide the point in whichever

In the split seconds of that deathdealing dive, The Shadow took the one direction that the guru did not

The lunge carried him above the knife point by scant inches, but The Shadow did not travel high enough to

Twisted across the rail, The Shadow plunged along with his foe. Watchers saw the guru make a frantic stab

with the bronze dagger; they also spied the accompanying jab of flame that came from The Shadow's gun.

THE Nautilus was in motion, bells were clanging, but Shiwan Khan and others had hurried to the rail. Like

Harry and the others in the foremost launch, they saw the turbaned head of Marabar Guru come up from the

A wild cheer echoed along the yacht's rail; it faded as a leering face tilted backward and stared straight up,

with sightless eyes. Marabar Guru was dead, a bullet in his heart. Nor had his bronze knife found its intended

Another head appeared, wearing a slouch hat with a slashed brim. Long arms were in motion, coming from

cloaked shoulders. Harry and others in the launch were reaching out to drag The Shadow on board. A

The yacht was gone, save for the last glimmers of its stern lights, which seemed to trickle off through the fog.

Speedier than the launches, it was sure to escape in that dense blanket that covered the open sea. The

The fog still echoed with a maddened glee from many voices. The shout that faded at the death of Marabar

Guru had been raised again by those who were happy to be safe with Shiwan Khan. In that last lapse of

laughter, The Shadow could hear the chimelike chuckle of the Golden Master, carrying like a final note.

From the launch, The Shadow answered that gleeful outcry with a strange laugh of his own. It carried far, a

mocking tone meant for Shiwan Khan. Then it sobered into a mirthless tone that trailed to nothingness,

bringing shudders even from those who had accepted The Shadow's rescue and were with him on the launch.

They sensed the pity in that laugh. Pity for those who had gone with the Golden Master to his realm of

Xanadu. They had chosen their course; The Shadow could not stay them. But their future, dependent upon the

As for Shiwan Khan himself, The Shadow's laugh was full of challenge; not for the present, but for the future.

It mean that when Shiwan Khan returned to America he would find The Shadow ready, that their next

The Shadow was ever willing to stake his life upon any course that could bring doom to Shiwan Khan!