JIBARO DEATH................................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. DEATH MARK................................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. FACES FROM THE PAST.............................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. THE MESSAGE OF DOOM ..........................................................................................9

CHAPTER IV. BETWEEN THE KILLERS .........................................................................................13

CHAPTER V. THE NEW SEARCH .....................................................................................................17

CHAPTER VI. CRIME'S WARNING..................................................................................................21

CHAPTER VII. THRUSTS THROUGH THE DARK.........................................................................27

CHAPTER VIII. NEWS FROM SANTANDER ...................................................................................30

CHAPTER IX. STRANGERS FROM THE DARK.............................................................................35

CHAPTER X. TRAILS IN THE NIGHT ..............................................................................................40

CHAPTER XI. ZENJORA'S MESSAGE ..............................................................................................45

CHAPTER XII. DOOM BEFORE DAWN ...........................................................................................48

CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW'S STROKE ......................................................................................53

CHAPTER XIV. ZENJORA'S EMISSARY.........................................................................................58

CHAPTER XV. CHANGED TRAILS ..................................................................................................63

CHAPTER XVI. THE DOUBLE TRAP ...............................................................................................67

CHAPTER XVII. JIBARO TORTURE................................................................................................72

CHAPTER XVIII. OAKBROOK'S VISITORS ....................................................................................76

CHAPTER XIX. THE CLAIM OF WEALTH ......................................................................................80

THE man who alighted from a cab in front of the Hotel Goliath was a foreigner. That was apparent from the

olive hue of his skin; the jet blackness of his glistening hair, and the dark glint of his eyes. His exact

The man's expression showed odd contrasts. The flash of his eyes; the set of his lips; the strength of his

squatty frame were indicative of a person who could combat danger. Nevertheless, his eyes showed a blink;

his lips carried a twitch. There was a shudder of the broad shoulders as the foreigner stepped hastily across

Once inside the glittering lobby of the Goliath, the oliveskinned man regained his composure. Lights were

brilliant; the lobby was thronged. The place seemed to be a meeting spot for all Manhattan. The squatty man

When he approached the desk, however, the man became cautious. He looked warily about; studied faces that

he saw near by. He saw a lightcomplexioned, blondhaired man standing near the information booth, and

apparently considered him of no importance. Observing no one of darkish visage, the oliveskinned man

The girl went to a filing case marked "R." She consulted a card; without looking toward the questioner, she

"Mr. Rentone is registered here; but he has gone out of town for a few days. He left no word when he would

The squatty man looked troubled. He chewed his lips; then turned away and looked across the lobby. He saw

a line of telephone booths. He walked over, consulted a telephone directory and entered a booth. After some

"Hello?" The squatty man's voice was questioning as he heard an answer. "Is this Senor Dundee?... Ah,

buenos! Allow me, senor, to introduce myself. My name is Manuel Fendoza... Ah, si, senor. I have come

There was a shortpause, while Fendoza listened to a voice across the wire. When Dundee had finished

"Ah, senor," he exclaimed, "it is not my wish to cause you bother. I have come to New York to find Senor

Alvarez Rentone... Ah, si. He is the grandson of Jose Rentone... But he is not where I should find him... At

the Hotel Goliath... Your name? Ah, senor, I heard of it by pure accident... Gracias, senor."

FENDOZA finished his call and stepped from the booth. He went to the cigar stand, purchased a pack of

cigarettes and looked about while he was opening them. He failed to glance back toward the telephone

booths. Hence he did not notice that a man was hunched in the booth next to the one that he had just left. The

man in the booth was the lighthaired individual who had watched Fendoza at the information desk.

A hard grin showed on the man's lips as his finger dialed a number. The call went through; the lighthaired

man recognized the voice that responded. Lonetoned and harsh, the caller gave information.

"Hello, Zenjora." he announced. "This is Cardell, watching at the Goliath... Yeah. A fellow just came in and

"His name? Sure. I got it. Manuel Fendoza. He just put in a call to a guy named Dundee. I caught it from the

next booth... What's that? Howard Dundee? I can't say for sure. All that Fendoza called him was Dundee...

"No. Dundee didn't know anything about Alvarez Rentone. From the way it sounded, he didn't want to be

bothered... Wait a minute, Zenjora! I see Fendoza going back to the information desk!... Yeah. I think he's

Completing his call, Cardell stepped from the booth. He watched Fendoza approach the information desk; but

Cardell made no effort to draw closer. Instead, he edged toward a side door of the lobby. From that vantage

"Ah, senorita!" he said to the girl at the desk. "I must ask you again regarding Senor Rentone. He is a friend

The girl made another reference to file "R." She looked along the line of mail boxes; found number 1282,

There she discovered a sealed envelope, a memo slip with it. She passed the envelope to Rentone and tossed

"This was left for any one who inquired," stated the girl. "No name mentioned with it. It must be for you, sir."

Fendoza took the envelope. Clutching it, he looked about, saw the side exit from the lobby. Cardell had

stepped away; Fendoza suspected nothing as he hurried through the doorway. Outside, he spied a taxi. He

"Take me to a station of the subway." Then, noting a subway station just across the street, he corrected

himself: "No, no! I mean a station of the elevated railway. The one that is nearest."

Fendoza's only desire was to open the envelope in privacy. He started the task as soon as the cab pulled away.

Hence he did not observe a sedan that started from the curb and followed close behind the cab. The driver of

THE lights of Seventh Avenue were just what Fendoza wanted. Eagerly, he ripped the envelope open, pulled

out a stiff correspondence card that was within. The card was sharpedged; it cut Fendoza's finger, and

brought an exclamation from his lips. Then, placing his finger to his mouth, Fendoza forgot about the slight

Turning it over and over, Fendoza wondered. He looked inside the crumpled envelope; found nothing there.

The cab swung eastward on a gloomy side street, where no more light was available. Fendoza shoved the

card and the envelope in his pocket. Drawing his finger from his lips, he muttered to himself in Spanish.

The cab driver made the announcement as he pulled up beneath a station on the Sixth Avenue elevated.

As the cab drove away, Fendoza looked about and became nervous. Sixth Avenue was less brilliant than

Seventh. Many of its lights were obstructed by the elevated. Glancing along a side street, Fendoza saw the

brighter district that he had just left. He decided to go back to it. He hurried westward along the side street.

Halfway to Seventh Avenue, Fendoza stumbled as he passed the open front of a garage. His face showed a

wild expression beneath the glare of a street lamp. Another stumble; Fendoza gave an inarticulate cry. He lost

A sedan swung up from the opposite direction. It was the one that had trailed Fendoza from the Hotel

Goliath. It had rounded the block while Fendoza was walking from Sixth Avenue to Seventh. The door of the

sedan swung open; a hunched, apish figure scrambled to the curb. The sedan blocked the glow from the

nearest street lamp. The apish man was scarcely discernible, as he crouched above Fendoza's body.

With quick hands, this hunched ghoul went through Fendoza's pockets. There was a momentary glimmer: an

arm jabbed as though delivering a knife thrust. A low call from the sedan; the apish man bounded back into

the car. The sedan shot away as its door slammed. At that instant, an attendant arrived from the open front of

The sedan did not stop. The garage man could not catch its license number; nor did he gain a good glimpse of

the car as it wheeled around the corner. He looked toward the sidewalk, near where the car had stopped. He

The garage man raised a shout. Another attendant joined him. As the two shouted together, a patrolman came

on the run, from some distance down the street. Reaching Fendoza's body, the officer heard the first garage

"There was a sedan stopped here," the fellow informed the officer. "Maybe they dumped the guy. Or maybe

The policeman stopped and gripped Fendoza's shoulders. The body had tilted forward; the officer rolled it on

its back. One garage man gulped. From the dead man's breast he saw the handle of a knife. Fendoza had been

THE policeman grunted. This did not perturb him. He had seen dirked victims before. He had viewed corpses

with their faces shot away. He was used to all forms of death. With one hand, the officer tilted Fendoza's face

An instant later, the bluecoat came upward, rigid. His nonchalance was gone. His eyes were staring; his hands

shook. Yet he could not turn his gaze away from the horror that lay upon the sidewalk.

The face of Manuel Fendoza looked human no longer. No person on earth could have identified that

countenance as one that had been seen at the Hotel Goliath only fifteen minutes before. Death had changed it

Livid eyes bulged from sunken sockets; eyes that were glaring brown orbs, surrounded by a rim of bloodshot

white. Olive skin seemed drawn fight across the dead man's cheek bones, pulled downward by a sagged

Fendoza's lips were twisted into a terrible, downward smile that contorted his entire face. Half askew, those

lips looked as if they had tried vainly to deliver a shriek in response to something that the bulging eyes had

That was not all. Upon Fendoza's face stood proof that his terror had been real. A knife thrust was not the

only token that had been left upon the corpse. Upon Fendoza's forehead gleamed a mark that stood for death.

That mark was formed by three crimson lines, like narrow welts. The symbol was in the center of Fendoza's

forehead; two lines horizontal, the third crossing them at the diagonal. They were like slashes, carved upon

the dead man's flesh; though scratches only, they had brought blood to the surface.

Yet, terrible though Fendoza's expression had become, his face was but the countenance of a victim. The

devilish glare that showed upon the dead man's visage stood as a reflection of an evil that still existed.

That was the evil of some master murderer who had ordered the doom of Manuel Fendoza.

FENDOZA'S death produced big headlines in the next day's newspapers. Though killings were not unusual in

New York, this one presented sensational angles. It was seldom that a man was stabbed to death within half a

To the police, Manuel Fendoza was an unidentified victim. There was no clue to his exact nationality; and the

contorted condition of his face made it still more difficult to trace the race to which he belonged. The

weapon, however, was not an ordinary knife. It was a stiletto; and that fact apparently placed an Italian angle

One fact was mentioned by all the newspapers. The victim had died in fear and anguish. Those who had seen

his face were unanimous on that point. All agreed that they had viewed a sight that they would like to forget.

The morning newspapers handled the case in rather conservative fashion. The evening journals made it more

sensational. Behind Fendoza's murder, so they claimed, might lie a huge vendetta that would lead to more

deaths. The newspapers announced that the police commissioner had taken personal charge of the case; and it

Until midafternoon, reporters beleaguered the office of Commissioner Ralph Weston. Then their efforts

ceased. Weston ducked out and made for the Cobalt Club, where he was a member. No one had ever crashed

the gate of the exclusive Cobalt Club. The reporters gave up their efforts to gain an interview, on the

Four o'clock found Commissioner Weston finishing a steak in the grillroom of the Cobalt Club. Weston was a

man of brisk, military appearance; when he became ruffled, he was a hard man with whom to deal. He had

foregone his lunch hour in order to avoid reporters; and he had been annoyed on that account. A meal in the

quiet grillroom of the Cobalt Club had calmed him; in fact, Weston looked up with a halfpleased smile

WESTON recognized the newcomer as Lamont Cranston, a millionaire member of the Cobalt Club. He

invited his friend to sit down at the table. Cranston complied. Weston looked across to eye a calm, hawklike

As Weston recalled it, he had never seen Cranston indulge in any but the slightest of smiles. There was

something masklike about the millionaire's face; his manner, too, was unusual. Cranston was always

deliberate and leisurely. Weston supposed that he had cultivated that manner through his long experience as a

Though Weston thought he knew a great deal about Cranston, there was one fact that the commissioner had

never grasped. He would have been astonished had he been told that there were two Lamont Cranstons; that

the real one was seldom in New York. The Cranston whom Weston faced at present was actually another

Master sleuth who hunted down men of crime, The Shadow used the role of Cranston to hide his own

identity. Moreover, he found it useful when he sought certain items of information. Today, The Shadow was

in quest of facts; he had learned enough about last night's murder to want more. Anticipating that

Commissioner Weston would be at the Cobalt Club, The Shadow had come here as Cranston.

In quiet, leisurely fashion, The Shadow expressed surprise at finding Weston at the lunch table, so late in the

afternoon. The remark produced the very result that The Shadow expected. It started Weston on a tirade that

"There is no rest for a police commissioner," snapped Weston. "When crime is rampant, I am criticized by the

newspapers and besieged by hordes of outraged reformers. Do they give me rest when I have curbed crime?

"I suppose," inserted The Shadow, "that you are referring to last night's murder."

"I am," acknowledged Weston. "To read the newspaper reports you would think that a feud had begun. Bah!

"I have. What else could I do? I had to satisfy them in some fashion. However, I am handling it through

The Shadow indulged in one of his slight smiles. He knew that if Joe Cardona was on the case, Weston's part

would be a small one. Cardona was the most able sleuth on the New York force. He had long served as

"CARDONA isn't even sure that the dead man is an Italian," confided Weston, leaning across the table. "All

he knows is that the man was stabbed to death with a stiletto; and that his forehead was marked with a

"But Cardona hasn't found out who the dead man is; and he hasn't located a single suspect. He's down in

Little Italy today, quizzing people there. Being a native of the district himself, Cardona ought to learn

The waiter brought Weston his dessert. The Shadow lighted a cigar; leaned back in his chair and put a casual

"The newspapers mentioned the mark on the dead man's forehead," he remarked. "They also stated that the

For reply, Weston reached to a briefcase beside his chair. Gingerly, he produced a photograph, turned its

"Take a look at it, Cranston," he suggested. "But don't spoil my meal by turning it in this direction. You'll see

The Shadow studied the photograph. It showed the face of Manuel Fendoza as the patrolman had viewed it

the night before. The picture was a large one; it was almost as horrible as the face itself. The photograph,

however, produced a gleam of interest in The Shadow's keen eyes. He made a careful study of the mark upon

"Tell me, commissioner," said The Shadow. "Has the dead man's face altered since this photograph was

A nod from Weston. The commissioner brought another picture from the brief case.

The Shadow eyed the second photograph. Two features intrigued him. One was the fact that Fendoza's face,

though still distorted, had dulled. It no longer showed the lifelike glare that would have befitted a demon. The

other point was the mark upon the forehead. It was more conspicuous than before. The reason for both

changes seemed to be explained by a shrinkage that had come to the dead man's flesh.

"You seem to relish those photographs, Cranston," laughed Weston. "Have you ever seen any like them?"

"I have," responded The Shadow, quietly. "In fact, I have seen actual faces that were contorted like this one."

"In Ecuador. Commissioner, this dead man resembles those who have been victims of the Jibaro

headhunters. He appears to have died from the virulent poison which the Jibaros use."

"You mean those chaps who shrink the heads of their victims and keep them as miniature souvenirs?"

"That would be a story for the newspapers," chuckled the commissioner. "Jibaro headhunters, stalking the

streets of New York! Only one trouble, though, Cranston." Weston sobered, and spoke with mock

seriousness. "They wouldn't swallow it, even if I told them that I believed it."

"You have inferred correctly," smiled Weston. "That man was stabbed to death, Cranston. We have the

The Shadow returned the photographs without comment. Weston packed them away in his briefcase. He

glanced at his watch; decided that he would chance a return trip to his office. A few minutes later, he was on

AN hour later, The Shadow left the Cobalt Club. He entered a waiting limousine; gave the chauffeur an order.

The big car drove slowly through Manhattan streets. The day was gloomy; dusk had settled when the

The figure that alighted silently bore no resemblance to Lamont Cranston. During the ride, The Shadow had

donned garments of black. Cloaked, with slouch hat on his head, he was like a phantasm amid the dying

For a moment, The Shadow was visible as he crossed the sidewalk; then he was gone, beneath the gloom of a

dingy building. A silent alleyway marked his route; but from the point, his course was untraceable.

Soon a click sounded amid darkness. A bluish light glowed within the corner of a blackwalled room. White

hands came beneath the glow. The Shadow was in his sanctum, the lone abode that formed his hidden

Hands moved away from the light. When they returned, they carried half a dozen photographs and spread

them on the table. Faces glared upward toward the hidden eyes of The Shadow. Those photographs looked

Every picture displayed a countenance as contorted as that of Manuel Fendoza. Each had been touched by the

same grim death that had struck the man from Santander. These were the photographs of dead men whom

The Shadow had seen; the ones whom he had mentioned to the police commissioner. They were the hapless

Not only were those victims rendered alike in death, so much so that their own identities seemed gone; in

addition, each carried an unmistakable mark upon his forehead. It was the threeline symbol: two cross bars

Another set of pictures came into the light. They were pictures of the same victims, taken later. As with

Fendoza, each had undergone a relaxation. Skin was shrunken; the symbols on the foreheads were more

Commissioner Weston would have expressed surprise had he seen those photographs. Perhaps some of his

ridicule would have faded. But those pictures were to remain within The Shadow's files. Weston had passed

The Shadow removed the photograph. He returned with a largescale map that showed the northern section

of South America; also stacks of clippings that he placed to one side. Studying the map, he placed a long

From the clippings, The Shadow produced a batch that referred to Santander. During the past few years, that

country had been governed by a dictator, old Jose Rentone. A famous champion of liberty, Jose Rentone had

been the idol of his people; but since his death, one month ago, revolution had been rife in Santander.

With the clippings that gave the life story of Jose Rentone, The Shadow found a small one that had appeared

recently in a New York newspaper. It mentioned that Alvarez Rentone, grandson of the dead dictator, had

arrived in New York and was stopping at a Manhattan hotel. Written on the clipping was the notation: "Hotel

With the cooperation of his agents, The Shadow kept extensive files concerning all news that might have any

bearing upon crime. South American revolutions frequently extended their ripples to the United States.

Today, one lead had brought another. Newspaper reports of a mysterious stabbing had mentioned the

distorted face of a victim. The Shadow had seen photographs of the dead man, had recognized that he could

Shrunken skin, the trimarked forehead, had pointed to the Jibaro headhunters. A check on Ecuador had

brought The Shadow to a consideration of Santander; he had further checked the fact that Alvarez Rentone,

Only a few blocks lay between the Hotel Goliath and the spot where the body of Manuel Fendoza had been

found. The chain had become a circle. The Shadow could see a connection between the dead man and

Alvarez Rentone. In fact, The Shadow was positive that Fendoza had encountered death either while on his

THE bluish light clicked off. Unfathomable darkness gripped the sanctum. From the darkened depths came

the whispered tone of a sinister laugh, that faded to leave absolute silence. The Shadow had departed.

Since Commissioner Weston had rejected The Shadow's theory, The Shadow knew that he could expect no

immediate cooperation from the law. Any effort to push the police to a trail that Weston regarded as absurd

This case demanded lone effort, of the sort that The Shadow could provide. Slender threads must be

tightened; small clues built into great ones. By the time such was achieved, the police would be through with

their own futile search for an Italian assassin. They would be ready to follow new and stronger leads when

Tonight, working upon pure speculation, The Shadow had only one course; yet its very simplicity promised

results. The Shadow knew Manuel Fendoza only as a man who had undoubtedly tried to contact Alvarez

That meant that death might threaten others who attempted the same contact. To deliver death, murderers

would be forced to show their hand. The Shadow intended to follow the course that Fendoza had chosen. He

DARKNESS had settled when The Shadow alighted from his limousine, in the vicinity of Times Square.

During his return ride in the big car, he had divested himself of his blackened garments. That equipment was

safely stowed beneath the rear seat of the limousine. The Shadow had again assumed the character of Lamont

Strolling to a side street, The Shadow approached a parked cab. The driver was absent; that fact discouraged

wouldbe passengers from boarding that particular taxi. Nevertheless, The Shadow entered the deserted cab.

He pulled the door shut; let it swing half open; then gave a final tug that closed it.

A shrewdfaced cabby arrived immediately from a sidearm restaurant. He had spied the motion of the cab

door; he knew it as a signal. This cab was The Shadow's own. Its driver was employed in his service. As soon

as the driver was behind the wheel, he heard quiettoned orders from the passenger.

Since his departure from the sanctum, The Shadow had formulated complete plans. He had contacted agents

to work with him, because his own part demanded that he bluff any watchers who might be at the Hotel

Goliath. The Shadow was sure that surveillance would commence as soon as he inquired for Alvarez

The cab reached its destination. The Shadow stepped beneath the marquee of the Hotel Goliath; waited until

the cab had pulled away. He entered the lobby; saw the information desk and strolled toward it. As he

approached, he spied a cleancut young man seated in a chair near the desk. This chap looked like a guest at

the hotel. He was reading a newspaper, apparently oblivious to persons who went past his lobby chair.

The young man was Harry Vincent, one of The Shadow's agents. Harry's interest in the newspaper was

genuine. His duty here would not begin until he received a signal. That was due to come.

Stopping at the desk, The Shadow made inquiry. His tone, though modulated, had a peculiar carrying quality.

The girl behind the desk made prompt answer to The Shadow's query. She was the same girl who had been

on duty the night before. Ordinarily, she might not have remembered facts concerning one particular guest at

the huge hotel; but the name of Alvarez Rentone had impressed her because it was unusual.

"Sorry, sir," responded the girl. "Mr. Rentone is out of town. We do not know when he will return."

"He left a message; but a gentleman called for it last night. I am sorry, sir, but "

The girl paused suddenly. She had remembered Alvarez Rentone's room number. Glancing methodically

toward the pigeonhole mail boxes, she saw an envelope projecting from 1282. It was identical with the

Puzzled, the girl brought the envelope from the mail box. With it was a penciled memo, which she tossed into

"This was left with the day clerk. The memo says that it is to be given to any one who inquires for Mr.

Nodding in Cranston's leisurely fashion, The Shadow held the envelope between his hands. He turned

slightly, so that the action could be viewed from the lobby. The Shadow noted people from the corner of his

Carrying the envelope, he strolled to the side exit; there he paused to eye the envelope once more. In

indifferent fashion, he placed it in his inside pocket and walked out to the street.

HARRY VINCENT, meanwhile, was glancing over the top of his newspaper, on sharp lookout for any

observers. At the moment when The Shadow pocketed the envelope, Harry caught a glimpse of a tall,

blondhaired man who had just stepped from the door of the tap room, some distance from the information

desk. He saw the fellow become tense; glance quickly toward the mail boxes behind the desk. It was Cardell,

Cardell had been caught off watch. The Shadow, noting no lookout, had suspected that a watcher might be

away from his post. The Shadow had deliberately delayed departure, as far as possible, without overdoing the

Harry saw the lighthaired man scowl viciously; then hurry to the street. Since Cardell's attention was

concentrated on The Shadow, Harry had an opportunity of his own. Rising from his chair, he tucked his

newspaper under his arm. Pausing for a few moments, he waited while two chance passers went toward the

Though scarcely more than a minute had passed, events had swung too swiftly for Harry. He thought that he

would be in time to observe the actions of the lighthaired watcher. Harry was wrong in that surmise.

As he reached the street, Harry saw a cab swing the corner. It was The Shadow's taxi; it had rounded the

block and parked to await his reappearance. A sedan was pulling from the curb, headed for the same corner.

Cardell had reached the street in time to see The Shadow step aboard his cab. Flashing a signal to men in the

waiting sedan, Cardell had immediately taken a cab himself. Harry saw the pursuing sedan swing left after

The Shadow's cab. He watched Cardell's taxi turn right. A hunch gave Harry the answer to this procedure.

Murderers had taken up The Shadow's trail. The watcher who had handed them the tipoff was on his way

elsewhere. He would not return to the Hotel Goliath until assured that death had been delivered and that all

Walking back into the lobby, Harry came to the conclusion that his presence here would be of no further

avail. For Harry Vincent was confident that assassins would not deal with The Shadow as they had with

RIDING southward in his cab, The Shadow had quickly noted that a car was on his trail. His lips phrased a

whispered laugh as he reached for a bag upon the floor. Murderers had taken the bait that The Shadow had

From the bag, he produced black attire; donned it and slid a brace of huge automatics into holsters beneath

his cloak. Edging to a side of the rear seat, he looked back to see the sedan only a quarter block behind. The

Shadow whispered an order to the driver. The cab swung right at the next street. It was heading for an avenue

The Shadow had drawn black gloves over his hands. From beneath his cloak, he brought the envelope that he

had received at the Hotel Goliath. Carefully, he opened it, glimmered a tiny flashlight upon the contents. The

envelope was identical with the one that Fendoza had received. It contained a stiff, sharpedged card.

The Shadow did not make Fendoza's mistake. He was careful as he drew the card from the envelope. Despite

that fact, he could not avoid contact with the sharp edge. The paper had been tapered to almost knifeedge

keenness. The Shadow, however, was equipped against the cutting edge. His hands were gloved.

Though the card edge actually jabbed through the cloth, The Shadow's glove was sufficient to protect his

finger. He sensed the razor keenness; carefully shifted his hand. He let the flashlight glow along the edge of

The card had been painted with the juice of poisonous herbs known to the Jibaro headhunters. Fendoza's

sudden death was explained. The dead man had received a card like this one at the Hotel Goliath, last night.

The remark made by the girl at the information desk was sufficient to prove that fact.

As The Shadow carefully replaced the blank card in its envelope, he calculated an important time element. He

decided that last night's victim must have died within fifteen minutes after he had opened the envelope.

That meant that if The Shadow's cab did not stop soon, the pursuers would overhaul it. They might attempt an

attack at some secluded spot, hoping for the opportunity to jab a stiletto into a dead body. False clues were

An encounter with the murderers would be a setup for The Shadow. The killers would find a live antagonist,

instead of a dead one. They would meet a battler who expected them; who could deal with greater odds than

any they might produce. But The Shadow saw disadvantages as a sequel to such a fray.

The Shadow was sure that the men who followed him were mere tools in the employ of a master murderer.

To eliminate them would be a double mistake. The master crook would know that his plans had failed.

The Shadow had a better plan; there was still time to employ it. This was no ordinary cab in which The

Shadow rode; nor was the driver simply an average cabby. Moe Shrevnitz, the man at the wheel, had been

chosen by The Shadow because he was one of the most capable cab drivers in New York; the cab, itself, was

LEANING to the front window, The Shadow gave an order that brought a pleased grin from Moe. The driver

gave the accelerator a jolt. The cab increased its speed. Looking back, The Shadow saw the lights of the

The increase in speed did not arouse the suspicion of the followers. It merely signified that the passenger in

the cab was probably anxious to reach some destination. That was actually the case. The Shadow had spurred

the cab ahead in order to gain the twisted streets of the old Greenwich Village section of New York before his

Those thoroughfares were the very sort that The Shadow needed for his coming strategy. Moe knew them

A few minutes later, the cab swung from the avenue. It struck a short street that formed an angle; made a

sharp turn a block farther on. Another half block, the cab doubled on its course; staged a quick right turn and

The door opened; The Shadow stepped to the sidewalk of a narrow Greenwich Village street. He spoke an

Soon after the taxi had turned a corner, the sedan appeared and came to a halt. The Shadow had stepped to a

low, obscure doorway. Half behind a flight of descending steps, he watched the sedan's behavior. It waited a

few moments; then pulled slowly ahead. It turned the next corner, but took the wrong direction.

The Shadow stepped up from the doorway. He moved back along the street, found a new lurking spot and

Five minutes passed; the sedan came hesitatingly around the corner. It had evidently circled a few blocks,

stopping frequently. As the sedan rolled by, The Shadow could tell that its occupants intended to scour this

Taking advantage of the sedan's new departure, The Shadow moved swiftly along the next street. He neared

the front of a large apartment house and waited across the way. Soon, a cab pulled up near the apartment

The top was down, making it an open cab instead of a closed one. One of the two rear lights had been

removed. Conspicuous lettering, of washable paint, had been wiped from the cab's side; also a row of

checkered ornamentation had been obliterated. As a final and most important touch, the license plates had

Gliding across a darkened sector of the street, The Shadow stepped aboard the cab. Deep in the rear seat, he

watched. He saw the sedan come from a corner at increased speed. The Shadow gave Moe the order to

The sedan had ended its hunt. Threading through the streets, the driver had found a route out from the twisted

thoroughfares of the Village. The sedan reached an avenue; turned northward. Half a minute later, Moe's cab

Followers had lost The Shadow. The sedan's chase was ended. The driver of the car was heading somewhere

to report that he had lost all traces of a cab that was carrying a new victim. Yet, while he sped to that mission,

In the very same cab in which he had given the sedan the slip, The Shadow was pursuing the quarry that he

wanted. The message of doom had failed to deliver death. By avoiding its poisoned edge, The Shadow had

picked up a route that could lead back to the master murderer who dealt in demonish death.

FIVE minutes pursuit of the northwardbound sedan was proof that the driver of the car did not know that he

was being trailed. That was not surprising; crooks seldom guessed that Joe's cab was tailing them.

Thanks to the pickup of the special taxi; its ability to wheel corners at high speed, Moe was able to fall back

without losing the trail. He could always make up for lost ground through spurts of speedy driving;

furthermore, he had tricky ways of keeping behind intervening cars, whenever he closed in upon his quarry.

Reclining deep in the rear seat, The Shadow kept tabs upon Moe's methods. At last, he gave a warning signal,

and the taxi driver slackened speed. The Shadow had noted that the sedan was nearing the end of its trip; for

it had hesitated momentarily while passing a street corner. This was the time for the cab to lie back.

The sedan's driver found the street he wanted. He swung left. When the cab reached the corner, The Shadow

sighted the sedan pulling into a garage halfway down the block. The taxi halted in front of a darkened house.

No attendants were in sight. The sedan was in the center of the floor; one man was cautiously alighting from

it. By dim illumination, The Shadow could spy a darkish face; eyes that showed a scowl as they looked about.

The man straightened when he reached the garage floor; he was stocky and of more than medium height.

The Shadow expected him to beckon to some other occupant of the sedan. Instead, the man came alone

The Shadow was back in darkness when the stocky man reached the street. The fellow paced rapidly along

The trail was a short one; it ended before the next avenue. The stocky man came to an old house with high

The Shadow followed, to find the door unlocked. Entering a dim, gaslit passage, he heard the creak of

footsteps on stairs. He followed upward; reached a dim, groundfloor hall, where doors were closed. He

heard footsteps going to the second floor. As they faded, The Shadow again followed.

He reached the top of the stairs just in time to hear a door close. Picking the direction of the sound, The

Shadow noted a door at the rear of the hall. It was closed; but light glimmered from beneath.

Approaching the door, The Shadow heard subdued voices from within. He knew that this must be a rooming

house; hence any occupants engaged in crime would be cautious in their conversation. The Shadow had not

heard the turn of a key in the lock; hence he saw opportunity to listen and observe the speakers as well.

With one gloved hand, he tried the doorknob. Soon, the door yielded imperceptibly to his touch. It opened

THERE, he saw two men. One was the lighthaired lookout whom Harry Vincent had spied at the Hotel

Goliath. The other was the darkish sedan driver whom The Shadow had followed from the garage. Their

"You should not have lost him, Marinez," growled the lighthaired man. "I gave you the tipoff quick

"Ah, Senor Cardell," returned Marinez, his teeth gleaming as he spoke, "the man is not yet lost. He must have

"Maybe, if the guy dropped dead on the street. But suppose he lives in the Village? What if he went into

some apartment there? Quinqual won't be able to locate him, if that's the case."

"If he's dead, that's the main thing," decided Cardell. "But it would have been great stuff to keep the police

"Emilio Zenjora is one man who has great brain," reminded Marinez. "What are police to him? They are

nothing. Bah! You should know that, Senor Cardell. Like myself, senor, you have seen Zenjora make the

"In Santander, yes," agreed Cardell. "But this is New York, Marinez. I'd handle a half dozen of those

uniformed monkeys they call soldiers in Santander. But I wouldn't tackle a pair of New York cops at one

DURING the pause that followed, The Shadow summarized the facts that he had heard. The name of Emilio

Zenjora was one that he had immediately recognized. It told him the identity of the supercrook with whom he

Emilio Zenjora had been mentioned in news reports from Santander. He was an outlaw who had been

banished from the capital city after an attempt to overthrow the government of Jose Rentone. Instead of

accepting his banishment with good grace, Zenjora had established headquarters in the jungle near the border

of Ecuador. From that base, he had made raids upon various cities; and had twice started new revolutions that

Since the death of Jose Rentone, Emilio Zenjora had not been heard from. This had caused various rumors.

One had it that Zenjora was dead; another, that he was waiting until different political factions had so

weakened each other that Zenjora could come from his jungle stronghold and seize the reins of government.

A third and more definite report was that the Lepres faction, at present the strongest in Santander; had

negotiated with Zenjora. The outlaw had presumably been bribed to remain away from the capital; perhaps to

None of these reports had carried any inkling of the remarkable truth that had just reached The Shadow,

namely, that Emilio Zenjora was in the United States. Zenjora's purpose in New York unquestionably

concerned Alvarez Rentone, grandson of the late dictator. Therefore, it could have a political significance,

As for Zenjora's ways of crime, the death of Manuel Fendoza had already demonstrated the supercrook's

ability. The fact that Zenjora was in a strange land did not make him less dangerous. In fact, The Shadow was

As sample of Zenjora's cunning, The Shadow held a specimen of the littleknown Jibaro poison that Zenjora

used for murder. Commissioner Weston, head of the law forces that were supposed to combat such men as

WATCHING Marinez and Cardell, The Shadow counted upon some new clue from their conversation. All

that he needed was a lead to Zenjora's present whereabouts. None came; but as the lieutenants resumed their

"Zenjora expected Fendoza in New York," remarked Cardell. "Well, Fendoza came here. You and Quinqual

"Gracias," returned Marinez with a grin. "It is good to hear you commend me, senor."

"I'll take back that bouquet," growled Cardell. "On account of tonight. You should have bagged this second

Cardell eyed Marinez suspiciously. The Shadow knew why. Cardell had not been close on the job tonight.

"You'd better go over and see Zenjora," he told Marinez. "I'll stay away from the Goliath until after you've

seen him. Then I'll give him a call. Maybe Zenjora won't want me to go back to the hotel."

"Because if Quinqual don't find the guy that took the note tonight, the police may. Perhaps they'll get a lead

that he was at the Goliath. That poison message might make trouble, if they find it and make inquiries at the

Cardell was rising. The Shadow edged back from the door. Just as he was about to close it, he heard Marinez

"Very well, Senor Cardell. I shall wait here a little while, in case that Quinqual returns. Then I shall go to see

The knob was turned; The Shadow had stepped to a darkened passage past the door; when Cardell made his

exit. The blondhaired man looked back and forth along the hall; but his inspection was a brief one. He was

more interested in eying closed doors than in viewing darkened corners. Cardell caught no sight of The

Nor did The Shadow make an effort to trail this lieutenant of Zenjora. There was more to learn through

watching Marinez. The darkish lieutenant had stated that he intended to contact Zenjora. That was the trail

THERE was a stir within the room. Listening at the closed door, The Shadow decided that Marinez was

packing his few belongings, probably supposing that Zenjora would order him to move to another hideout.

There was a slight, thuddish click that indicated the placing of a revolver on a table. The pacing; the crackle

Marinez was probably burning some papers that he did not care to carry on his person. The Shadow listened

Perhaps it was that intentness that prevented The Shadow from hearing a creak upon the stairs. Possibly it

was because the creak itself was barely audible. Whichever the case, The Shadow did not sense a peculiar,

junglelike approach that came slowly closer. It was like the stalk of a jungle hunter; a tread that was, in itself,

Yet the approach registered itself subconsciously. The slight creaks that it caused were noises that seemed to

belong to the old house. The Shadow might not have detected them had they continued. It was their pause

The Shadow performed a sudden move. His right hand was resting lightly upon the knob of Marinez's door.

His left sped suddenly beneath his cloak; at the same instant, he wheeled his body leftward. The Shadow's

eyes were like living coals as they gazed straight toward the head of the stairs. Those eyes glinted as they saw

Upon the topmost step was a crouched figure, apish in its pose. The arrival was clad in rough trousers and

sweater; he had a ragged cap tilted back upon his head. These clothes were but improvised American attire.

Even in the dim light, they did not hide the racial characteristics of this dangerous foe.

The Shadow saw a face that was of dullish brown. Its forehead sloped sharply; below it was a high sharp

nose, with bulging cheek bones upon either side. Nose and cheek bones added depth to the eye sockets. The

eyes that glittered toward The Shadow's were as menacing as those of a hugecoiled jungle snake.

Below the bulgy nose were lips that formed a hideous gloat. They were spread away from teeth that protruded

in forward angle from both gums. Below was a malformed chin, that sloped backward, as did the forehead.

The face was as apelike as it was human. So were the tawny hands that the ugly creature displayed. They had

thumbs as long as their fingers. One hand was raised; it gripped a teninchlong stick of bamboo, that was

tapered to a needle point. Though shaped like a javelin, the weapon had some semblance to an arrow, for the

brilliant feathers of jungle birds projected from the stub end of the stick, set there to give it straight direction

In one brief instant, The Shadow knew this foeman's ilk. The creature on the step was a Jibaro headhunter.

He was Quinqual, whose name The Shadow had overheard. Brown stain upon the yellow tip of the javelin

told of the menace that the whittled weapon carried. Quinqual was ready to launch a poisoned barb straight

for The Shadow. Quinqual had a large target, there against the door. The slightest scratch from the bamboo

At the same instant that he sighted Quinqual, The Shadow heard a sound that he had expected. It was the

scrape of metal upon wood, accompanied by a heavy footstep. The sounds came from within Marinez's room;

The two who had previously trailed The Shadow had regained the hunt that they had lost. The Shadow stood

THE SHADOW had gained but one advantage in the battle that was due. He had spotted Quinqual before

Marinez had arrived. Though he must meet two foemen, The Shadow had a chance to handle one before the

Had Quinqual been an ordinary fighter, The Shadow might have found his task simple. But the Jibaro

headhunter, armed with a poisonous weapon, was as dangerous as a venomous reptile. Moreover, he was as

Quinqual's longthumbed hand was already on the move; its direction was true. No bullet could stop the toss

of the feathered javelin. The Jibaro's fingers were ready to release the pointed weapon at any instant.

Likewise, those fingers were tense enough to restrain the throw, if occasion demanded. Quinqual's

hugetoothed grin told that he would welcome any quick shift that The Shadow might make. The Jibaro was

Half turned between the door and Quinqual, The Shadow made a sudden, forward dive. His left hand,

whipping out its automatic, went ahead of him, as if to break his fall. Quinqual saw the cloaked fighter

plunge headforemost, straight to the floor. On the instant, the Jibaro hurled the bamboo weapon at a

The throw was perfectly gauged to find The Shadow's shoulder at the moment when his body struck the floor.

But The Shadow did not flatten. As Quinqual's javelin whistled toward its welldirected destination, The

Shadow performed an amazing twist in midair. His body seemed to bounce from nothingness; it spun

The jolted reverse saved The Shadow. Quinqual's weapon whistled beneath his upwardspinning shoulder.

The whittled point of the bamboo barb crunched as it struck the wall beside the door. Simultaneously,

Quinqual's glaring eyes saw how The Shadow had so aptly bounded back from the javelin's path. As he

dived, The Shadow had gripped the doorknob with his right hand. His body had started a genuine dive; but

his right arm had stopped it with the precision of a safety lever. With a powerful pull, The Shadow had

whipped himself back from danger. Literally, he had taken a plunge and pulled himself out of it.

In that snap, The Shadow had spared no effort. He had pulled his body into a violent reverse twist. The result

was a broken hold upon the doorknob. As The Shadow's left shoulder swept the surface of the door, his right

Quinqual, poised at the finish of his throw, saw The Shadow whirl outward from the door. This time, the

The Shadow landed face downward, away from the door. His left hand thudded the floor. The Shadow still

gripped his automatic; but, for the moment, the gun was useless. Speeding a quick look toward Quinqual, The

THE flash of the knife told The Shadow the Quinqual was no longer an extraordinary foeman. Had the Jibaro

pulled another javelin, The Shadow would have been forced to meet the thrust upon the instant; for he could

make no compromise with poisoned weapons. The Shadow recognized, however, that the stiletto must be like

There was time, before Quinqual sprang, to deal with an opponent who could prove more formidable. That

was Marinez. The Shadow looked instantly toward the door. He was just in time to see the barrier rip inward.

Marinez had heard the jolt of The Shadow's body against the door. The darkish man had sprung to action; he

was on the threshold, aiming a revolver. Trained in the ways of guerrilla warfare, Marinez spotted The

Marinez jabbed finger to trigger, hoping to drill The Shadow at less than fivefoot range.

Quinqual, his stiletto raised, came bounding forward from the top of the stairs, snarling in hope of a

From hands and knees, he hurled himself to the right. His move was a tremendous half roll, back foremost.

His body launched toward the leaping form of Quinqual. His left hand swung its automatic straight for

Marinez tugged his trigger. A bullet from his revolver splintered the floor at the exact spot where The

Shadow had been. The slug had missed its mark, to dig deep into the hardwood flooring.

Before Marinez could deliver another quick pull to the trigger, The Shadow's .45 responded. Its blast roared

amid the echoes of the revolver shot. A bullet singed Marinez's right shoulder. The darkish assassin dropped

The Jibaro came driving downward with his stiletto, chopping his blow short because of The Shadow's

outward roll. Had The Shadow stopped short, the blade would have found his ribs. But The Shadow did not

Carrying back with the recoil of his gun, The Shadow stretched face upward, just as Quinqual stabbed. His

left arm rammed the Jibaro's shins, turned Quinqual's lunge into a sprawl. The stiletto slashed the right sleeve

of The Shadow's cloak, drove deep into the floor. Quinqual did a half somersault as he hit the floor.

So far, The Shadow had outmanaged the Jibaro; but Quinqual suddenly changed the sequence. As The

Shadow rolled to hands and knees, raising his left hand to aim pointblank at Quinqual, the apish fighter

Forgetting his stiletto as he had the broken javelin, Quinqual bobbed about with the agility of a monkey. With

a fierce jungle cry rattling from his throat, he shot his vicious fingers toward The Shadow's throat. Quinqual's

THE SHADOW sprawled backward before he could aim. His arms flung wide; he let the automatic clatter

across the floor. There was only one way to deal with Quinqual; that was to match the Jibaro's death grip and

Two bodies lashed about in grotesque fray, that had full semblance of a jungle battle. Forced to primitive

measures, The Shadow was put to ill advantage; for this was the sort of fight in which Quinqual starred.

Marinez, his wound forgotten, stood gloating at the doorway. He expected Quinqual to finish the struggle

At moments, Marinez half raised his gun, as if to put in a timely shot in Quinqual's aid. Such action proved

impossible. The scuffle on the floor was too wild. The Shadow and Quinqual were lashing everywhere; both

were half obscured by The Shadow's cloak, which was almost ripped from the body that it covered.

Amid this tumult, Marinez heard the slam of a closing door. He looked beyond the fighters to see another

door come open; he glimpsed a white face that peered into the hall. Then that door jammed shut.

Roomers in the house had heard the gun shots. They had looked out to see the scuffle. Marinez heard muffled

shouts. He knew that people were calling from the front windows. Police would respond; the outcome would

With a shout to Quinqual, Marinez sprang forward. He wanted the Jibaro to release The Shadow; to writhe

free from the grapple. That accomplished, Marinez could drill The Shadow with a stream of death bullets. It

looked like a quick way to end the melee; but a speedier finish came before Marinez expected.

Just as Marinez arrived beside the fighters, the grapple became almost a standstill. Clutching figures half rose

from the floor, shrouded with the drape of The Shadow's cloak. They swayed away from Marinez; then

The Shadow came upward with a side twist. His hands had crossed upon Quinqual's neck. With a terrific

heave of his shoulders, he swung the Jibaro like a puppet figure, spun him through the air like a living cudgel.

Quinqual's hands lost their grip upon The Shadow's throat. The Shadow's fists released also but of their

own volition. Quinqual's flying form landed squarely upon Marinez; sprawled him to the floor. Quinqual shot

farther, landed headforemost and rolled to the door of the room that Marinez had left.

Instantly, The Shadow was on his feet. He sprang across Marinez, made a long leap for Quinqual. He knew

how quickly Quinqual could rally. The Shadow was taking no chances with that wiry adversary.

Quinqual was up before The Shadow reached him. Beside him was his bamboo javelin. Quinqual grabbed it;

snarled as he snapped his arm for a thrust. Though the whittled point was broken, too dulled to deliver a death

Quinqual jabbed; The Shadow lunged beneath the stroke. Driving like a human ram, he caught Quinqual with

one tremendous dive. As The Shadow bowled the Jibaro into the room, he regained his footing. A chair went

THE SHADOW had risen in the center of the room. His slouch hat was gone from his head; his cloak was

hanging from one shoulder. Back toward Marinez, The Shadow seemed taller than he had when fully

Perhaps that was because he had drawn to full height, with arms above his head. Gripped like a puppet,

Quinqual was squirming in those upraised arms. Marinez could see the fiendish contortions of Quinqual's

face. He spied the Jibaro's right arm writhing furiously; its fist still swung the javelin, but Quinqual's arm was

Still gripping Quinqual, The Shadow recoiled almost to the floor; then snapped up to full height, away from

Marinez's direction. Long arms added to the body's heave. The gloved hands let Quinqual go. The Jibaro shot

through the air with the speed of his own javelin, straight for a shaded window at the rear of the room.

When Quinqual struck, he carried the whole window with him. His body ripped the shade from its fastenings;

smashed glass with one huge clatter; splintered the woodwork that formed the sash; carried all along on an

Too dumfounded to raise his revolver, Marinez saw blackness where the window had been. About the edges

of the yawning space hung trifling vestiges of woodwork; scant slivers of glass; a puny side strip of green

From the darkness beyond came a crash; the thud of a body accompanied by the clatter of broken glass. It

marked Quinqual's arrival in a rear alley, fifteen feet below the shattered secondstory window.

The smash aroused Marinez to action. Wildly, he bounded toward the stairs, swinging his gun to aim as he

retreated. As he stabbed a first wild shot, Marinez saw The Shadow wheel. A masklike face, grim and

vengeful, turned toward Marinez; a gloved right hand whipped a fresh automatic from an uncovered holster

Marinez sprang down the stairs. The Shadow followed in swift pursuit. He was at the top before the fleeing

A husky patrolman had arrived from the street. The bluecoat held a leveled revolver; he gave a hoarse shout

With a wild yell, he leaped toward the patrolman, aiming his gun as he sprang. The Shadow fired; his bullet

clipped Marinez's gun arm below the wounded shoulder, this time with perfect aim. The shot, however, was

superfluous. The patrolman fired with The Shadow; his revolver shots drowned out the gunburst from above.

Three bullets found their lodging in Marinez's chest. The killer dropped, dead, at the patrolman's feet. The

tactics that Marinez had used against the soldiers of Santander had failed when he had tried them upon a

TO The Shadow, Marinez's death was unfortunate. It meant the end of a needed trail. The Shadow had

counted upon Marinez to lead him to Emilio Zenjora. Since Cardell was gone and did not intend to return,

there was only one other who might show the path. That was Quinqual, if the Jibaro still chanced to be alive.

Regaining his first gun and his slouch hat, The Shadow plucked the stiletto from the floor. He sped into

Marinez's room. He extinguished the light; paused for a moment at the ruined window. Hearing no sound

from below, The Shadow swung across the sill, lowered his body and dropped to the alleyway beneath.

Even as he landed, The Shadow was ready with gun and flashlight. He blinked the torch upon the rough

stones of the alley. The space was vacant. Not only had Quinqual survived the fall; the Jibaro must have

bounced like a rubber ball. Gifted with the instincts of an ape, Quinqual had landed without injury.

The Jibaro was gone; he had left no trail behind him, not even the bamboo shaft that he had carried when he

crashed through the window. The Shadow knew that it would be futile to look for clues; moreover, he saw

that it would be unwise to remain here. Already shouts were sounding from one corner of the alley. Police

The Shadow took the direction away from the shouts. He found a space between two buildings opposite. He

hurried through the opening, tightly clutching the remnants of his cloak, to gain full benefit of darkness.

A trail had been lost; therefore, The Shadow must depend upon an intensive search to locate Emilio Zenjora.

Nevertheless, The Shadow did not intend immediately to hunt Zenjora himself. The supercrook would be

forewarned by Quinqual. There was another man whom The Shadow could find more easily; one who might

The Shadow's search would be for a man against whom Zenjora had declared a strange ban; a taboo that

The Shadow's next move would be to find Alvarez Rentone. That young man from Santander could certainly

provide muchneeded information concerning the machinations that inspired Emilio Zenjora to deeds of

ON the morning after The Shadow's victory over Marinez and Quinqual, a young man entered a towering

Though American in manner, the young man had a slightly foreign appearance. His large forehead,

highbridged nose and straight, solemn lips gave him an aristocratic air. His brownish eyes, black hair and

Reaching the fortyfifth floor, the young man followed a corridor and came to the offices of a brokerage

company. He noted a door that said "Entrance"; but he passed it, counting the numbers on other doors until he

came to the one he wanted. This was an obscure door that looked as if it had long been kept locked.

Nevertheless, the young man paused beside it. He glanced along the corridor. Positive that he was

The door opened. The young man entered a sumptuous office and stepped aside while the man who had

admitted him closed the door and locked it. The visitor found himself faced by a man of sixty, who was

The young man nodded. The grayhaired man smiled and extended his hand to deliver a warm shake.

"I am James Oakbrook," he announced. "Let us sit by the table, over near the safe. We are alone. We can

Oakbrook's face was a frank one; rugged, despite the heavy jowls that suited the man's portly frame. The

weight of his cheeks drew his lips into a downward smile. His eyes were gray, like his eyebrows and his

bushy hair. He was conscious of the color, for he wore a gray suit that exactly matched his hair and eyes.

WHEN you called me earlier," spoke Oakbrook, "I made preparation for your visit." He opened the door of

the safe; produced an oblong box and raised the lid to show green stacks of bonds and bank notes, all of high

denomination. "Here are your required funds. One million dollars. The exact amount that your grandfather

placed in my hands. It is yours, in return for the promissory notes that I gave to Jose Rentone."

"You must keep the funds a while," he stated. "Due to complications, I have not yet brought the promissory

"On his deathbed," stated Alvarez, "my grandfather told me of this money. He told me to visit New York, the

city where I had been educated, and obtain the money that he had loaned to you. In giving me your name,

"He said that on his last visit to New York, he buried a coffer that contained family heirlooms and certain

gifts for friends in the United States. He put instructions with those treasures. More important, however, is

the fact that he placed your promissory notes in the same coffer. He instructed me to use the notes to obtain

the money from you. The entire fund is to be used to offset revolution in Santander."

"I begin to understand," nodded Oakbrook, slowly. "I take it that you have not yet learned the location of the

"That part of the secret belongs to my cousin Estaban," declared Alvarez. "He, alone, knows where the

treasure lies. I must wait to hear from him. He is still in Santander, where he has taken refuge in the mountain

village of San Luis. Estaban is safe there; but a danger threatens us. Look, Mr. Oakbrook" Alvarez picked

up a newspaper that lay on the desk. "Read this account that appeared yesterday."

"It concerns the murder of an unknown Italian," exclaimed Oakbrook scanning the headlines. "What has that

"The man was not an Italian," returned Alvarez. "He was a messenger from Santander, looking for me. He

was slain near the Hotel Goliath, where I had registered. I was wise enough to move to another hotel, a little

place called the Clearview. If you doubt this" Alvarez eyed Oakbrook solemnly "you have simply to read

"A man named Marinez was killed last night," he resumed. "Slain in a gun fray with the police. Marinez is

the lieutenant of Emilio Zenjora, the most notorious outlaw in Santander! Zenjora is more than a mere bandit.

He has traveled everywhere in Europe and South America. He came to Santander hoping to become a secret

dictator of the country. One faction has dealt directly with him. It is plain that the new regime has sent

Zenjora here to acquire the million dollars that my grandfather left as a means to fight them."

"I must hold the funds," he declared. "The notes stipulate payment on demand either to Jose Rentone or

bearer. Since your grandfather is dead, any 'bearer' presenting them will be paid. If Zenjora should acquire

them, I would be forced to pay him the million dollars. Since Zenjora seeks your life, you must remain under

"You, also, are in danger," insisted Alvarez. "If Zenjora has learned of you, he may try to seize the funds and

handle me afterward. Estaban is safe in San Luis. I am secure at the Clearview Hotel. You, too, must avoid

OAKBROOK pondered, his chin deep in his hand. His eyes turned anxiously toward the door at the side of

"I agree with you," declared the grayclad man. "The police are powerless. They have not linked the death of

a supposed Italian with that of Marinez. I shall leave New York, carrying the funds with me. When I am

"I shall insert an advertisement in the New York Sphere," he decided. "I shall use the name of Thomas

Rustwick. The advertisement will appear in the real estate section, offering a property for sale. The location

"I have trusted men in my employ. I shall be guarded. The advertisement will appear only once; then you will

know the location. Wait, though" Oakbrook pondered, then nodded "there is a chance that I might want to

see you, even before you have found the treasure. If I run the advertisement twice, that will mean urgent. I

Alvarez nodded his understanding, as Oakbrook opened the door to the corridor. The way was clear; Alvarez

Riding down in the elevator, Alvarez Rentone smiled his satisfaction. In James Oakbrook he had found a man

whose cooperation promised success against the machinations of Emilio Zenjora. Alvarez had taken steps to

Alvarez was doubly pleased by the death of Marinez. It gave him an inkling to Zenjora's presence in New

York; it also indicated strife among Zenjora's own followers. The real reason for Marinez's death did not

occur to Alvarez. He would have been amazed to know that a mysterious avenger called The Shadow had

EVENTS were brewing that were to render Alvarez Rentone completely helpless, particularly since he had

no knowledge of them. Others than The Shadow were at work that day. Late afternoon produced their

There, by a window, a tall, broadshouldered man gazed toward the city lights that twinkled early beneath a

clouded sky. The glow was palled by a lowering fog that stirred in slowly from the harbor. Night's approach

was sinister; it boded an evening suited to crime. That pleased the watcher from the window.

The man's bulky build was accentuated by the fullness of his face. He was heavily bearded; his lower face

formed a thick black brush of hair. The beard was well kept, cut to a perfect spade shape.

Darkish skin seemed light against the matted black of the beard. A highbridged nose gave its owner the

appearance of a vulture; sharp, glistening eyes increased the likeness to a bird of prey. Above a high forehead

The evil smile of large red lips, plain despite the beard, gave the man a satanic expression. Scores of

unfortunate persons could have testified to the cruelty of that smile. None remained, however, of those who

had fallen into this monster's toils. Death had been the ultimate lot of all who had ever been captured by

In this high apartment, Zenjora was as much at home as in the mountain strongholds of Santander. His eyes

glinted with cunning; his lips leered contempt of the city that lay spread below. Zenjora liked New York;

thrusts were easy in the confines of this great city. Retreat was a simple matter, when the thrusts were done.

Hearing the shuffle of footsteps, Zenjora wheeled suddenly from the window. He waited; smiled as he

recognized the footfalls. Cardell arrived from another room. Zenjora waved his lieutenant to a chair.

"Bad news, chief," growled Cardell. "I've just come from Oakbrook's apartment house. He hasn't returned

"It is not late," purred Zenjora, his lips pursing as he spoke. "Perhaps he has been detained at his office."

"I faked a business call there. They say Oakbrook left for a vacation. He's wise to something. I'll bet that

Zenjora's smile hardened. The supercrook did not relish suggestions from subordinates. Cardell became

"You have failed to understand my strategy," purred the bearded man, his eyes sharp as they studied Cardell.

"We knew that Alvarez Rentone left the Hotel Goliath, fearing that he would be watched. He chose the

Clearview Hotel, knowing that he could observe strangers. Therefore, I decided not to watch him, I wanted to

lull him into the belief that he was safe. We watched the Goliath, however, and thereby eliminated Manuel

Fendoza. We should have done the same with another visitor who came to the Goliath."

"You fear The Shadow," scoffed Zenjora. "I do not fear him! My ways are his! I stalk my prey as does The

"Quinqual didn't get The Shadow, though," objected Cardell. "And we've lost Marinez."

"Quinqual did not expect The Shadow. He will be prepared in the future. So will Incos and my other

headhunters. I have four Jibaros, Cardell. As for Marinez, he was a poor lieutenant. Bandrillo is better.

Tonight, we shall eliminate Alvarez Rentone. We can deal with Oakbrook when he returns to New York."

ZENJORA turned to stare from the window. Increased dusk brought a new leer to his lips. Still looking

"We have ceased to cover the Hotel Goliath," he declared, "because of The Shadow. Therefore, should

another visitor come there, we could not molest him. Such a visitor might learn where Alvarez is. The

Shadow, too, may learn. So I shall reverse my policy. Since Alvarez suspects danger, we shall watch him. I

Cardell grinned. He was willing to wager that Alvarez Rentone would never gain an inkling that watchers

were close by. The Jibaro headhunters had methods of keeping under cover that were as effective in New

"We have arranged for Alvarez Rentone and James Oakbrook," declared Zenjora, methodically. "We shall

consider others on our list. There is one who must be eliminated early. That man is Howard Dundee. If

Fendoza's body is identified, Dundee may report to the police that Fendoza called him by telephone and

Turning from the window, Zenjora hardened his tone with the order: "Call Quinqual and Incos. I shall assign

THERE was reason for Zenjora to watch Alvarez Rentone. He, himself, had learned of Alvarez's new

lodging. What the master crook had discovered, The Shadow might find. Proof of this very fact lay elsewhere

in Manhattan, where a wiry young man was seated at a rear table in a small Spanish restaurant, talking

"It's a big story, Francisco," the young man was saying. "An interview with Alvarez Rentone, grandson of the

"Ah, Senor Burke," shrugged Francisco. "You are an amigo, a friend that I have known long. But I have told

you too much. You ask me when Alvarez Rentone has come here to eat, last time; where he has gone since

then. I ask you: 'Quien sabe? Who can tell?' But you say you have wait all afternoon to speak of it with me.

"So I tell you I have taken a special Spanish dish, of which I am very proud, to the Clearview Hotel. That was

two days ago. Si. Dos dios, I remember. I gave it to the man you call the clerk; I hear him say to the bellboy

"Thanks, Francisco." The wiry young man gripped the Spaniard's hand. "There'll be no comeback. When I

see Alvarez, I won't mention that I learned where he was through you. He'll never think that the tipoff came

Outside the restaurant, the wiry young man walked quickly to a telephone. He had learned important news.

Clyde Burke was more than a newspaper reporter, on the staff of the New York Classic. He was also an agent

By telephone, Clyde passed the facts along to Burbank, The Shadow's contact man. Clyde knew that the word

SOON afterward, the desk clerk at the Clearview received a telephone call asking for Alvarez Rentone. He

That was the second call the clerk had received; each had been in a different voice. What worried him was the

fact that no one was supposed to know that Alvarez was at the Clearview. But the clerk had no instructions in

case persons called up and asked. Thinking that they must be confidential friends of Alvarez's, he had given

The Gearview Hotel fronted on a quiet street. Oddshaped, the hotel had a broad front; but the extension that

went through to the rear street was only half width. The rest of the space formed a courtyard. Access was

easy, for there was a broad alley between the front of the hotel and an old, deserted theater next door.

Twenty minutes after the clerk had received the second call, a taxi passed the Clearview Hotel. Keen eyes

peered from the rear window; a passenger whispered an important order. The cab circled the block, paused at

the deserted theater. From the door glided a blackish figure that sought the shelter of darkness beneath a

The cab pulled away, but the shape glided onward. It neared the alleyway and entered. The Shadow had

found the element he wanted; completely obscured in darkness, he was planning a visit to the hotel room,

From the rear courtyard, The Shadow saw the outline of a fire escape against the dull glow that filtered

through the increasing fog. He saw window lights in the hotel that indicated crosswise corridors. They

showed that the fire escape could be reached by short passages from those main halls. Finding the hinged

Ascending to the third floor, The Shadow avoided entry by the passage. Instead, he went across the rail and

moved along a stone cornice. Gripping the wall with clutching fingers, he passed two windows. One was

lighted, with shade drawn; the next was dark. The Shadow moved slowly as he passed a third room, also

If The Shadow's calculations were correct, this room would be 308. Raising an unlocked sash, The Shadow

entered. He used a flashlight on a telephone; saw the number 308. Calmly The Shadow awaited the return of

FIFTEEN minutes passed. Then a slight sound occurred. It was the click of a key in the door of the room.

Close beside the wall, The Shadow waited. The door did not open; the key sounded again. This time, it

Instantly, The Shadow knew that the arrival was not Alvarez. He could tell that a skeleton key was in the

lock. Someone was trying to effect an entry before Alvarez returned. Whether the entrant would be friend or

As the key turned, The Shadow drew an automatic. Whoever entered would be due for questioning; and kept

here until Alvarez arrived. The Shadow's purpose was definite. He expected no difficulty.

Strange events were in the making beyond that opening door. Once more, The Shadow was due for a struggle

Though the mere entrance of an unknown person did not betray the fact, the hand of Emilio Zenjora lay

THE door of the room moved slowly inward. It paused, as though hesitating of its own accord. Against the

framed light of the corridor, The Shadow saw a squatty form. He could not distinguish the entrant's face; for

A hand reached inward to the wall, probing for a light switch. That delay gave The Shadow an opportunity

that he wanted. He had waited to view the man from the hall, to see if the fellow made a sudden move or

acted as if he thought someone was within. Since the intruder was unaware of The Shadow's presence, The

Gliding along the darkness of the side wall, he reached the front wall of the room. There, he placed himself

on a line with the man at the doorway. The door, half opened, lay as a barrier between.

Cautiously, the squatty man began to shut the door behind him. He left it open a few inches, keeping one

A click sounded. Side brackets illuminated the room. With the door no longer blocking, The Shadow saw the

face of the man who had entered. It was an ugly, broadnosed countenance that boasted puffy lips and

The man's dark hair was an unkempt mass. His clothes were rough and baggy. He looked like a marauder

who had sneaked in through the tawdry lobby of this old hotel. As the man's face turned, The Shadow saw a

That mark told the man's identity. The Shadow recognized him as Nick Broggoletta, a notorious assassin.

Broggoletta was the sort who killed for hire. As such, he had served various bigshots, by disposing of

henchmen who had doublecrossed them. His murders had saved the police considerable trouble;

nevertheless, the law had tried to pin the deaths on Broggoletta. The law had failed to do so. Nick had always

Lately, Nick had lain low. His hideout was known; but he had presumably ended his ways of crime.

Yesterday, Inspector Cardona had quizzed him regarding the death of Manuel Fendoza. For once, Nick

Broggoletta had shown a clean slate. Tonight, however, the killer had bobbed into the game. Nick's entry was

The Shadow intended to gain the answer shortly. He was waiting only until Nick closed the door completely.

Then The Shadow intended to greet the assassin with the muzzle of a .45. Like most hired assassins, Nick

was the sort who would turn yellow when trapped. The Shadow had dealt with his ilk before. Hired killers

were usually paid in advance. They had little to lose by squealing on the man who had employed them.

A FEW seconds more, Nick would have found himself staring into the mouth of The Shadow's leveled

Nick heard a peculiar sound from the corridor. He pulled the door inward; the space of six inches. He turned

to peer out into the hall. As he did, he saw The Shadow, past the inner edge of the door.

Through sheer instinct, the killer performed an unexpected action. His hand was on the end of the door;

wildly, Nick swung it inward. Speeding on its hinges, the door rammed straight toward The Shadow, who

was starting forward in response to Nick's move. The Shadow sidestepped. The edge of the door thwacked

Broggoletta whipped a long stiletto from beneath his jacket. He sprang forward, driving the weapon in a long,

Resting on one hand, The Shadow swung the other up from the floor. His fist held its heavy gun; the .45

Spinning, Nick made a wild dive through the doorway. The Shadow swung to aim. Before he could fire, there

was a wild cry from the corridor. The Shadow saw Broggoletta stop short. With the killer's halt, there came a

A pointed weapon drove deep into Broggoletta's shoulder. The killer staggered backward; before he could

rally, another sound came from the opposite direction. A second shaft struck the back of Broggoletta's neck;

The Shadow had seen such weapons before. They were bamboo darts like the one that Quinqual had hurled

Though death had been slow with Fendoza, it was swift with Broggoletta. The drives from those stubby

javelins delivered more than trivial cuts. Points of bamboo, dyed with their poison, had penetrated deep.

Dropping his stiletto, Broggoletta plucked the first shaft from his shoulder; then vainly tried to tug the second

Nick's fingers failed, as they clawed the feathered barb. The killer reeled; then sagged. His face turned toward

the doorway. The Shadow saw eyes that bulged from their sockets; lips that writhed, then froze into an

Nick Broggoletta's countenance had become the counterpart of Manuel Fendoza's. The horror of a poison

Nick sprawled forward; as he struck, his body gave a sidewise roll. That jolt accomplished the deed that Nick

had found futile. The flounder of the dead man's head threw weight upon the feathered end of the death shaft.

PADDED footsteps thudded in the corridor. An apish form appeared beside the corpse. The Shadow saw a

vicious, largetoothed face. The arrival was a Jibaro almost the twin of Quinqual. Only The Shadow could

This headhunter was Incos, whom Zenjora had ordered to act as Quinqual's teammate. If Incos had heard

the sounds of Broggoletta's scuffle with The Shadow, he must have considered them unimportant; for the

Jibaro did not look into the lighted room. Instead, Incos pulled a stiletto from beneath his illfitting coat. He

rolled Broggoletta's body on its back, then jabbed the stiletto deep into the dead man's heart.

Grinning with his gritted teeth, Incos snatched up the feathered dart that had fallen from the neck of the

corpse. He used it to make quick scratches on the dead man's forehead. The Shadow saw the Jibaro's arm

Steadily, The Shadow was shifting to the edge of the doorway, intending to be out of sight when Incos

turned. Before he could reach that vantage point, oddly chattered words sounded in the corridor. Quinqual

was giving advice to Incos. Instantly, Incos whipped about and stared into the lighted room.

The action that followed was instantaneous. Incos performed in a style that differed from Quinqual's. With a

twist, Incos came up from the floor; but instead of driving toward The Shadow, he gave a huge, sideward

Incos wanted to retain the safety of the corridor. He also sought to gain an angled line along which to hurl his

bamboo shaft. His arm swung back, then jabbed forward, while he was still in midair. His hand loosed the

Simultaneously, The Shadow acted with a swiftness that equalled the Jibaro's. He faded to the wall within the

doorway, making a long dive that carried his body well beyond. To stop his swing, The Shadow shot his left

hand forward; he hooked the door frame with his automatic. As the metal clicked the woodwork, The Shadow

The bamboo shaft whistled above The Shadow's fist; sped through emptiness where The Shadow's shoulder

had been. Incos had launched a futile thrust. But the Jibaro's high, sidewise bound had served him well. The

Shadow's levered aim was too much of a makeshift. His bullet zimmed an inch wide of the Jibaro's body.

Raising his right hand quickly, The Shadow extinguished the light switch. He whisked away into the

darkness, none too soon. Quinqual had arrived from the corridor, scooping up his own shaft as he came.

Half into the doorway, Quinqual sped a sidearm throw, that even a bullet could not have stopped. With

uncanny skill, the Jibaro picked the exact spot where The Shadow had been against the wall.

THE second dart found blankness. From the center of the blackened room, The Shadow answered with a

quick gun stab. Had Quinqual paused, counting upon his accuracy with the shaft, he would have received a

bullet as reward. But the Jibaro had left nothing to chance. He somersaulted as he made his throw; his

rubbery body bounded clear beyond the doorway. Quinqual was following Incos. Like his teammate,

Quinqual had hurled himself to safety a scant space ahead of The Shadow's gun blast.

The Shadow sprang to the doorway of the room, reached the corridor just in time to see Quinqual dive into

the passage that led to the fire escape; a route that Incos had already taken. The Shadow pursued; when he

The Shadow arrived at the metal rail, aimed his gun straight downward and blasted bullets through the open

metal work. Even as he fired, he heard a thud in the darkness of the courtyard; then another.

Incos and Quinqual had both leaped from the metal steps, ahead of The Shadow's barrage. The jump was a

dozen feet for Incos; twice that for Quinqual. Yet both Jibaros must have landed with equal ease, and made

instant dives to cover. Although The Shadow fired in the direction of the sounds; produced a fresh automatic

and boomed additional shots, his bullets found no targets. The Shadow could hear his slugs ricochet from the

There were nooks and spaces below by which the Jibaros could reach the street under cover. Once again, The

Shadow saw that pursuit was useless. His only course was to try and find Alvarez Rentone, in accordance

The Shadow hurried back through the corridor; passed Broggoletta's body and entered Alvarez's room.

Flicking his flashlight, he found the bamboo shafts. The Shadow gathered them as trophies, removing his

gloves to twist them about the sharp points. Thus sheathed, the poisoned weapons went beneath The

There was the clatter of an elevator door; shouts from the corridor; a clang as the door closed. The Shadow's

gunfire had been heard below. Investigators, up from the lobby, had spied Broggoletta's body. Fearing

The Shadow waited no longer. He made for the fire escape. His descent was swift.

When he reached the courtyard, The Shadow heard the whine of a patrol car. He still had opportunity to gain

the front street. He used it. He reached the darkened space beneath the marquee of the theater just as a police

Another patrol car arrived. Police were entering the hotel; additional bluecoats were coming on foot. Ten

seconds later, a taxi sped into view; it slackened speed with suddenness and rolled lazily to a stop in front of

FROM darkness within the cab, The Shadow watched the police spread. Three officers had entered the hotel;

one was on guard in front. The others were making for the rear, through the alley by which The Shadow had

come. None suspected that Moe's cab had an occupant. They thought that the driver had merely halted at

People from the Clearview were gesticulating, as they explained matters to the patrolman who was on guard.

None not even the bluecoat were concerned with events in the street. It was The Shadow alone who saw a

The Shadow watched the door come halfway open; he saw the face of a young man that peered toward the

group on the sidewalk. The young man's face was darkcomplexioned. It bobbed back into the cab. A

The Shadow knew that the arrival must be Alvarez Rentone. The young man from Santander had returned to

his hotel, to discover confusion there. Alvarez had sensed that it might mean danger to himself. He was off to

The Shadow spoke an order to Moe. The cab started; went slowly past the hotel, then gradually quickened

speed as it neared the corner. Rounding into an avenue, Moe saw Alvarez's cab a block ahead. In his usual

Shrouded in darkness, The Shadow kept keen watch. He had found the trail he wanted. Sooner or later, it

would end in a meeting with Alvarez Rentone. That meeting gained, The Shadow could learn the vital facts

IT was after midnight. Heavy fog had set in, hours ago. Watching from the darkened window of a small

apartment, Alvarez Rentone could not see the street below. That fact pleased him. Alvarez felt that he had

A key clicked in the apartment door. Alvarez calmly lighted a floor lamp. He dropped into a comfortable

armchair. He was gazing toward the door when it opened to admit a young man attired in a tuxedo.

The arrival was of husky build: his countenance was friendly and jocular. When he saw Alvarez, the young

"Close the door, Lynn," suggested Alvarez, in a hoarse whisper. "What's that you have there? A morning

"Just bought it at Times Square," said Lynn. "Boy! Is the fog thick down there! No use taking a cab. I had to

Alvarez pointed to the front page headlines. Lynn saw news of a new stiletto stabbing.

"I started to read it," he remarked. "Thought it might hook up with the one you spoke about. Only this fellow

"Yes," agreed Alvarez, "but he was murdered at the Clearview. The newspaper doesn't happen to mention the

"I think so," declared Alvarez. "I figure it this way, Lynn. Fendoza was killed two nights ago. He was a loyal

chap; but his connections in New York may have been bad ones persons like this Broggoletta. When

"Maybe not," disagreed Lynn. "Perhaps Broggoletta thought that you were responsible for Fendoza's death

"That's possible," admitted Alvarez, "but the main point is that Brogoletta was murdered by Zenjora's

As Alvarez stared with troubled expression, Lynn suddenly remembered an important matter. From his

tuxedo pocket he produced a letter that bore a Colombian postage stamp: It was addressed to Lynn Jefford;

but Alvarez's friend had not opened it. Alvarez recognized the handwriting; gave an elated cry.

"The letter was at the club," smiled Lynn. "I expected to hear from you while I was at the banquet. Is it from

Alvarez nodded; he tore open the letter and scanned the contents. He imparted brief information to Lynn.

"Estaban received my message," stated Alvarez. "He is safe at San Luis. He sent this letter across the

Reading the letter once again, Alvarez nodded to himself. He struck a match, applied it to the letter and

"You have been a true friend, Lynn," declared Alvarez. "An old school chum on whom I could rely. That is

why I sent your name and the address of your club to Estaban, telling him to mail any letters to you.

"I have told you about my grandfather's fortune; that Estaban was to tell me where it was. I said also that I

would have to communicate with a man in New York. Today, I saw that man and warned him of danger. He

Alvarez did not mention James Oakbrook by name. He had deemed it best to keep Oakbrook's identity a

"Estaban's letter," resumed Alvarez, "has given me the location of the treasure, Lynn. I want you to help me

"I trust you, Lynn. The treasure is in New Jersey, near the town of Roselawn. There, we shall find an old

estate, once owned by a man named Kincaid. Near the empty house is a mausoleum, that was never used.

There is a secret opening in the stone floor; it leads to a vault below. The vault is sealed with an emblem that

Alvarez drew his watch from his pocket; displayed a heavy fob and pried it open. Inside, Lynn saw a gold

"I'll wear these duds," returned Lynn. "I'll phone the garage and tell them to send over the coupe."

"No, no!" exclaimed Alvarez. "I am afraid that I was followed here, Lynn, although I had a taxi driver take

me all over town and drop me a block from this apartment house. Watchers may be hereabouts; they would

observe any car that appeared at this hour. Let us go to the garage, instead of having the coupe come here."

Five minutes later, Lynn and Alvarez were stealing along a side street. Even their footsteps seemed muffled

by the fog. They passed a lighted corner; took to another misty stretch. They reached Lynn's garage, three

Riding forth in the car, they headed westward. Lynn, at the wheel, found driving difficult. The coupe barely

That fact pleased Alvarez. He was sure that they could never be observed. Alvarez would not have believed

it, had he been told that there was a being The Shadow to whom fog and darkness served as a welcome

ONE hour out of Manhattan, the coupe reached a secluded New Jersey highway. High ground had thinned the

fog; thick clouds, however, blackened the landscape. Alvarez watched ahead to identify the route that he had

learned from Estaban's letter. At times, he gazed through the rear window to make sure that no car was

Coming down a slight grade, Lynn cut off the motor. The coupe creaked as he coasted it at snail's pace.

Ahead, Alvarez saw the gates of the Kincaid estate. Listening, he thought he heard the sound of a motor back

along the road. He looked back, wondering if a car was following, its own lights darkened, depending on

Lynn's headlamps to show the road. Alvarez decided that he had imagined the sound behind.

Lynn cut off the headlights, turned on the cowls. The coupe entered the gates; followed a curving drive. Lynn

guided by the border of a lawn where the grass had grown high. Massive darkness bulked ahead. It was the

abandoned Kincaid mansion. Lynn picked a space past the house; extinguished the car lights.

Using flashlights, the two young men studied the graveled driveway. Satisfied that all was well, they picked a

course past the back of the old mansion. Trying to do without flashlights, they blundered against a wooden

Lynn risked a flashlight, to see an old work shack, built of halfrotted pine. Through a door half off its

hinges, the searchers saw stacks of old boards and bags that had once contained cement. There were a few

tools: rusted wrenches and a heavy sledge hammer. In one corner, they noted a pile of large lead pipe that

"It looks as though they intended to build a garage," remarked Alvarez. "Probably at the time when the old

"It doesn't matter," decided Lynn. "Our job is to find the mausoleum. We'll have to use the flashlights when

Taking the toolhouse as a base, the two started a new search outside. This time, they made cautious use of the

flashlights. They discovered an old path and followed it. The ground leveled; a mass of ghostly whiteness

Lynn doused his flashlight; Alvarez did the same. They crept toward the whitened object, placed their hands

"The mausoleum!" whispered Lynn. "Whew! It's spooky here! Let's find the door to it and finish up this job."

GROPING along, they passed a corner. Their hands found a crevice. Prying together, they swung a heavy

door that groaned on rusty hinges. The sound was sepulchral; almost like a voice that protested against this

entry. Lynn could hear Alvarez mutter low words in Spanish. He knew that his friend also felt the chill of this

Nevertheless, both had the same idea the moment that they had entered. Together, the pair groped for the

door that they had opened and drew it shut behind them. Again, hinges grated; this time, the sound brought

hollow echoes from the interior of the mausoleum. The new groan was even less assuring than the former

Lynn used his flashlight. Its glare was ample. All about were white walls. The floor, like the walls, was of

stone; it gave a solid click as Alvarez walked toward the rear wall. There, he stooped, beckoned for Lynn to

It was obvious that this mausoleum had never been used for a burial. Any ordinary visitor would have

regarded it simply as a structure of solid stone and would not have troubled to search the interior. That fact

showed the wisdom of old Jose Rentone. Alvarez's grandfather had made an excellent choice in using this

In fact, as Lynn watched Alvarez probe the floor, he felt that the quest would prove useless. Stones were

fitted so closely together; they seemed so solid, that it was difficult to believe that an opening could exist.

Pressing one hand against the lowest stone of the wall, the other against a section of the floor, Alvarez

manipulated them like the panels of a tricky Japanese box. The wall stone clicked; receded slightly. Pushing

his fingers into the space, Alvarez found hidden springs and pressed them. Other wall stones slid aside.

Alvarez pushed the floor stones inward. Entering the wall, they left an opening that measured two feet by

three. Lynn eagerly turned the rays of the flashlight down into the space below. The light showed a drop of

five feet. Alvarez slid his feet over the edge and dropped into the space beneath.

There, he beckoned to Lynn. Watching Alvarez, Lynn saw his friend stoop and crawl through an opening that

Lynn came through, down into the space that Alvarez had left. He saw his companion's flashlight blinking

from a flight of roughhewn stone steps that led down into a lower passage. Lynn joined Alvarez; the two

They were more than six feet underground. The top of the passage had been reinforced with metal

crossbeams and cemented stones. Though crumbly, the roof was strong enough to support the weight of the

THE pair approached the door. Above a roughened knob, they saw a mass of heavy wax. Implanted in that

wax was a mark of a seal that Lynn immediately recognized. It was the seal of Jose Rentone, identical with

Alvarez gripped the doorknob, tugged at it. The door did not open; Lynn found the reason when he ran his

flashlight along the crevice. There was a hidden catch that held the door tight. Lynn could barely detect its

Producing a penknife, Lynn jabbed at the seal. It cracked; he thrust the knife blade into the crevice. He forced

the catch back; motioned for Alvarez to pull the knob. The door swung this time. Drawing it wide, the young

They saw a closewalled room, fashioned of rough stone. The chamber measured about eight feet in each

dimension. It was reached by a descent of three stone steps. At the far wall rested the object that they sought:

Alvarez sprang forward with eagerness. Lynn, more cautious, remained upon the steps to satisfy himself that

the door could not swing shut. Finding it tight upon its hinges, he joined Alvarez. He aided him with the

heavy bands that girded the coffer. The bands were of metal; clamped, not locked.

"In a few minutes more," promised Alvarez, breathlessly, "you will see my grandfather's heirlooms! I know

"The silver sword belt, that was worn by Balboa; the candelabra that belonged to a former Spanish viceroy;

medallions, once the property of Simon Bolivar. They are of rare value, Lynn; but most important are those

promissory notes, that will bring a million dollars to the cause of liberty in Santander!

"Come! Help me with this last band. There! It is loose! Hold the flashlight close, while I raise the lid "

As Lynn glimmered the light, Alvarez suited his words with actions. He jolted the lid of the coffer upward

and backward. It nearly snapped its hinges from the force of the jerk that Alvarez gave it.

The contents of the coffer were not those that Alvarez had promised. Instead, the metal box contained a

Packed within the coffer, twisted into a shape that seemed no longer human, was the corpse of a man who

THE face that stared from above contorted shoulders had once been handsome; but in death, it was terrible.

White eyeballs showed from shrunken sockets; dark pupils had narrowed to the size of tiny beads. Black hair

looked like withered grass. Sallow features were drawn like tightened parchment.

Lynn could see that the dead man's face must have shown a demoniacal expression soon after death. Its leer,

however, had shrunken into a mummified grin, from which teeth stood out against brownish, withered gums.

Shaky as he held the flashlight, Lynn managed to turn his eyes from the terrible sight within the coffer. He

looked toward Alvarez, expecting to see his companion crouched back in awe. Instead, Alvarez was rigid.

The young man from Santander was leaning above the coffer, looking straight down upon the face that

mocked him with its hideous upward glare. No horror was registered by Alvarez; nor was his expression one

Alvarez's face was toned with a profound sorrow. Though strained, his eyes were watery. His lips, alone,

were quivering; as though ready to utter piteous words. Lynn gained sudden realization as he noted Alvarez's

Alvarez nodded; his movement was slow and mechanical. Lynn waited for Alvarez to speak. When words

came from Alvarez's saddened lips, they were solemn despite their chokiness. More than that, they carried an

"I knew this man," pronounced Alvarez, his eyes fixed on the face below. "I knew him, trusted him, depended

Then, in a tone that might have been a knell, Alvarez Rentone added: "This man was my cousin Estaban!"

FLOODING thoughts surged through Lynn Jefford's brain, when he heard the dead man's identity.

Disjointedly, Lynn began to piece the circumstances that had led up to the discovery of the corpse.

Estaban Rentone had been safe in Santander, in a town called San Luis. From there, he had sent a letter to

Alvarez, telling him of this treasure vault. There could be no question regarding the authenticity of the letter.

Alvarez would have recognized a forgery. Moreover, Estaban alone knew that Alvarez had come to America

Fate, none the less, had provided a grim surprise for the finish of Alvarez's quest.

Behind such fate, Lynn began to see the plotting of a human brain. A mind that well might belong to a

Estaban Rentone was dead. His grandfather's treasure was gone. In its place was Estaban's body, its shrunken

face grinning in irony at Alvarez. The master criminal who had prepared this climax must know everything.

That final thought made Lynn turn to Alvarez. In one instant, Lynn could see that he and his companion

stood in a spot of danger. Lynn gulped words; Alvarez did not notice them. He still stood staring at the

"Alvarez!" Lynn added emphasis to his cry by shaking his companion's shoulder. "Alvarez! Snap out of it!

The shouted words echoed within the vault. They came back with ringing shudder that seemed loath to cease.

Lynn, startled by the reverberations of his own cries, stood in startled silence. The echoes seemed ugly,

Lynn repeated the name in lower tone. Again, there were echoes. They were uglier than before; from them

came new words that Lynn had not uttered. Snarled words, that made Lynn spin about. Alvarez came with

STANDING upon the stone steps that marked the entrance to the vault was the man who had uttered the

sneering announcement. Lynn saw a face that showed evil against the framed light of a lantern that was held

The face was vulturelike. Its nose was highbridged, beakish. The face itself was full, with high forehead;

adding to its heavy effect was a spadeshaped beard through which fierce, ruddy lips formed a merciless

The identity of the arrival was plain to Lynn Jefford, even before Alvarez blurted the name:

Zenjora chuckled at the recognition. His tone was satanic. His teeth showed in tigerish ferocity as he spread

his lips to laugh. Then Zenjora's manner changed to harshness; though his words were purred, the vault gave

"You expected to find treasure," announced Zenjora. "Something that your grandfather valued. You should

not be disappointed, Alvarez. Your grandfather thought much of your cousin, Estaban."

"No!" Zenjora shook his head as he spat the word. "I did not murder Estaban; nor did I torture him. He was

Zenjora beckoned. From beneath the muzzles of guns that bristled from the corridor came two hunched

figures apish men who scampered down into the vault and stood with grinning faces. Each gripped a

pointed shaft of feathered bamboo. Alvarez recognized the men and their weapons.

"They slew Estaban," he declared. "They brought me the letter that he had written to you. So I came to this

country by plane, bringing Estaban's body with me. Once I had learned of this treasure vault, I felt that I

"My Jibaros came with me, along with other followers. They killed Manuel Fendoza; for he had learned of

Estaban's death and was coming to inform you. Tonight, they killed another man: Nick Broggoletta, evidently

There was significance in Zenjora's tone. The answer dawned on Lynn and Alvarez, even before Zenjora

"Your death," stated Zenjora, "might have caused too much comment. It might have alarmed James

Oakbrook, whose promissory notes I now hold. So I decided to let you come here, Alvarez, hoping that you

"The trap was simple. I merely mailed your cousin's letter, before I left Bogota. The envelope was opened,

then sealed again, but too well for you to notice it. By coming here, you have aided my plans. Your

"Especially since you were staying under cover. That was something that you probably told Oakbrook, when

you saw him today. Oakbrook, I understand, has left New York. That will not matter. I shall await his return."

THE completeness of Zenjora's measures left Alvarez astounded; and Lynn shared his friend's amazement.

Zenjora spoke in a strange tongue, giving a command to the Jibaro headhunters. Alvarez and Lynn expected

thrusts from the deadly bamboo shafts. Instead, the headhunters lowered the weapons; they bounded

forward and began to search the helpless men. While the Jibaros pulled articles from the pockets of Lynn and

"We might have trapped you outside this vault," he sneered, "but that was not necessary. Fortunately, I had

this" he held up a circular object of gold "a replica of your grandfather's seal, which we found upon your

"When I depart, the seal will again be applied. Some time, years from now, someone may find this vault

again. The seal will be the same as ever. Only there will be three skeletons not one within this death pit!"

Walls echoed back the evil prophecy. The Jibaros had finished their search of the trapped men's pockets;

They brought the collection to Zenjora, who pocketed all papers and letters. When he examined watches and

money that the two men had carried, Zenjora gave a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders. He ordered his

Mechanically, Lynn and Alvarez accepted the trifles that the Jibaros thrust into their hands. Zenjora explained

"I am Emilio Zenjora," he declared, proudly. "I never rob the living. I prefer the dead."

With that, he clucked an order to the headhunters. The Jibaros retired; Zenjora stepped back. Leveled gun

barrels parted to make way for him. Zenjora placed a brawny hand upon the metal door. His bearded face

showed a final surge of devilish malice. His arm slung; the heavy door clanged into place. The automatic

Lynn and Alvarez were standing in the feeble glow of the flashlights that they still held. The brilliant lantern

was gone with Zenjora and his followers. The trapped men saw what their intended fate would be. Zenjora

had spared them the thrusts of Jibaros spears, evidently considering such strokes as useless.

Buried alive, Lynn Jefford and Alvarez Rentone could count the few minutes that remained to them. Zenjora

had left them flashlights and watches so that they could clock the time until their doom arrived.

Already, the air of the vault was stifling. The oxygen in a room as cramped as this one could not last two men

more than a few hours, at best. The vault, however, lacked the qualities of an ordinary room. Its air supply

LYNN JEFFORD groaned, as he foresaw the death that was to be. Then, gaining determination, he sprang to

the door. Beyond it, he heard scraping sounds: Zenjora was restoring the seal. Lynn looked for the catch that

Since the door closed from the corridor, a metal frame had been designed to stop it. That frame covered the

crevice. In addition, the door hinges were on the outside. Despairingly, Lynn turned about to ask Alvarez for

Alvarez had none. He seemed resigned. Lynn saw him gaze at Estaban's body. Perhaps the sight of his

cousin's upturned face gave Alvarez the courage to meet death. For Alvarez stood rigid, concerned only with

Lynn sat on the stone steps and mopped his forehead with a handkerchief that Zenjora had allowed him to

keep. He held his flashlight loosely, let the glow play toward Alvarez. Sniffing the air, Lynn noted its

"We're through, Alvarez," he said, slowly. "Half an hour will do us in. Well, the only thing to do is face it.

"What about James Oakbrook? Is he the man you saw today? The one who has the money?"

Alvarez heard Lynn's query; he nodded. He no longer had reason to keep Oakbrook's identity a secret.

"I hope Oakbrook keeps clear of Zenjora," remarked Lynn. "Naturally, Oakbrook will be allowed to live until

he forks over the cash. I suppose he will have to recognize Zenjora's claim on the cash."

"He will," spoke Alvarez, turning away form the coffer that held Estaban's body. "Oakbrook will have no

other course, once Zenjora finds him. When I am dead, the new regime in Santander can claim possession of

"Zenjora will murder him. Let us hope, therefore, that Zenjora does not find him. But there are others, Lynn,

"Yes. A list of their names was with the heirlooms. Zenjora will kill them because of his hatred for my

grandfather. He may have another reason, also. If he does not find Oakbrook, he will hunt those men down,

LYNN came to his feet. The stifling air made him gasp from his effort. Approaching the coffer, he wrenched

away one of the iron bars that had clamped it. Driving upward, he began to chop vainly at the ceiling. He

"We cannot aid those other men," announced Alvarez, in a stoical tone. "I do not know their names. I was

dependent upon the list. All were old friends of my grandfather's, whom he knew before I was born. He never

"We can help ourselves," retorted Lynn. "We've got to get out of here, Alvarez!"

With that, Lynn began new efforts. He wielded the bar with fury. Two minutes of effort tired him. He waited

for a few minutes; then began again. This time he cracked a stone; a few more lunges caused a chunk to

clatter to the floor beside him. Gasping, Lynn turned his flashlight upward. He saw another layer of stone

Lynn sat wearily upon the steps, and Alvarez joined him. Glancing at his watch, Alvarez calmly remarked:

"Zenjora has been gone for fully fifteen minutes. Even he would not be present to hear your hopeless efforts.

We have but a few minutes to live, Lynn. Let us spend them in quiet contemplation."

Lynn nodded with effort. His flashlight was dying; its fading rays barely showed the coffer that contained

Estaban's body. Thought of Estaban made the next few minutes easier. After all, suffocation would be a better

"Death will be comfortable," promised Alvarez. "Each breath will come harder." He paused, gasped a

From somewhere above came a slow crunching sound the bash of metal against resisting rock. It jarred its

muffled grind through the very stones that formed the roof above this vault of doom.

"It is too late!" gasped Alvarez, his voice calm despite its effort. "No need to hope, Lynn!"

Lynn did not accept Alvarez's opinion. He wabbled to his feet; used the iron bar to pound at the ceiling.

Though his strokes were few and feeble, they gave another signal to prove that life still existed within the

LYNN sagged to the floor and lay there, his breath coming in long sighs. Above, the grind came louder.

Alvarez flicked his flashlight to the ceiling. A cry of jubilation came from his parched lips. Until now, he had

not believed rescue possible; but what Alvarez saw told him that it was reality.

Mortared stones cracked. Fragments clattered to the floor. The end of a metal pipe poled into view. It shoved

two feet downward; stopped. Whoever had driven it knew that the pipe had reached the hollow space of the

Again, Alvarez uttered an elated cry. The echoes of his shout must have carried through the pipe, for there

was a response from above. A weird, commanding tone issued from the mouth of the pipe, like a voice

through a speaking tube. Alvarez was awed by the compelling power of that strange whisper.

Rescue had come to the doomed men in the vault. The being who had brought that rescue was The Shadow.

WAVERING through lack of air, Alvarez dropped his flashlight and gripped the welcome pipe. Too excited

to remember his usually perfect English, he gasped words in Spanish to the rescuer above. There was no

He had babbled that he needed air. He had it. Inhaling from the opening of the pipe, Alvarez obtained the

oxygen he needed. The mouth of the pipe was two inches in diameter; as a result, the pipe formed an

Alvarez remembered Lynn. He stooped, found his companion groping on the floor beside him. He hoisted

Lynn to the pipe, helped his friend to puff fresh air. Taking turns, each man revived. They could feel a

The Shadow had seen the need for an air line, the moment that he had heard raps from below. From the

toolhouse, he had brought short pipes and long ones. With the short pipes, he had pounded a wedge through

Calmly, Alvarez began to talk through the pipe. In brief words, he told the location of the vault; how it could

be reached through the mausoleum. The response was an encouraging whisper from The Shadow. After that,

there was a period of silence, while Alvarez and Lynn continued to obtain fresh air.

Soon, they heard sounds at the door of the vault. The barrier swung outward; a flood of fresh air entered.

Alvarez and Lynn blinked into the glare of a flashlight. They heard The Shadow order them to follow him

above. Gladly, they came from the vault and took the stairs up to the mausoleum.

There, they caught a hazy glimpse of their rescuer; for The Shadow purposely turned the flashlight toward

himself. The rescued men gaped as they saw the weird shape in black. Lynn could tell from Alvarez's awed

whisper that his friend half believed The Shadow to be some supernatural being who inhabited the

Certainly, there seemed no other explanation for The Shadow's presence. Neither Lynn nor Alvarez guessed

that The Shadow had trailed them from Lynn's garage; that his car had actually been behind the coupe outside

Because of Lynn's tactics on the driveway, The Shadow had been unable to trail them farther by car. Coming

on foot, The Shadow had been belated. He had not reached the mausoleum until after Zenjora had entered

The Shadow knew who had trapped the prisoners. Zenjora's evil hand was apparent throughout this plot. The

words that The Shadow put formed a question; but it sounded more like a command to Lynn and Alvarez.

"ZENJORA rifled the treasure vault," explained Alvarez, wondering how The Shadow had learned the name

of the master crook. "He learned of it when he murdered my cousin, Estaban, whose body we found in the

coffer. Zenjora holds promissory notes that call for a million dollars. Those funds belong to Santander. They

Alvarez paused, loath to reveal Oakbrook's name, even to this rescuer. It was Lynn who supplied it. He had

heard it from Zenjora. To Lynn, it seemed obvious that The Shadow, so amazing a rescuer, must be the only

"James Oakbrook has the money," stated Lynn. "He is a wealthy New Yorker. Alvarez warned him today that

there might be danger. Oakbrook has left New York, carrying the funds with him."

There was a pause. The flashlight fell squarely upon the rescued men, as they sat against the inner wall of the

mausoleum, near the yawning opening which The Shadow had not yet closed. Lynn saw an object leaning

against the wall. It was the sledge hammer from the toolhouse. The head of the hammer was wrapped in a

Lynn understood how The Shadow had pounded the pipe line through to the vault. He realized also that the

sack had served as muffler, so that no outside listeners could have heard the blows.

The Shadow's words were addressed to Alvarez. In reply, Alvarez drew his watch from his pocket, opened

the fob and gave the seal to The Shadow. Alvarez explained that it was his grandfather's seal; that Zenjora

had found a duplicate on Estaban's body. After a moment's thought, Alvarez added:

"Zenjora could not have guessed that I also carried one of these seals. If he had, he would have searched me

A whispered laugh chilled the mausoleum. Despite the fact that they knew The Shadow for a friend, Alvarez

and Lynn felt a creepy chill. Then came commanding words. They nodded as they heard them.

He pressed automatics into the hands of the rescued men. His cloaked form showed momentarily, as he edged

downward through the opening in the floor. Lynn and Alvarez saw the flashlight blink below. Its rays

"He has gone back to the vault!" expressed Lynn. "To close it and affix the seal!"

"As Zenjora did," responded Alvarez. "The wax can be softened with a single match. Once the seal is applied,

"And be as Zenjora left it. If Zenjora returns, he will not guess that we were rescued from the vault."

SOON, The Shadow's flashlight reappeared. The task was done. When he came from the floor, The Shadow

turned about and used his flashlight while he clicked the stones back into position. That accomplished, he

whispered to Alvarez and Lynn, telling them to follow. The flashlight went out. In darkness, The Shadow

A drizzle had begun. Night seemed to be impenetrable. Nevertheless, The Shadow picked his path without a

single blink of the flashlight. His lowtoned whispers guided the men behind him. They reached a spot where

Lynn recognized that they were at the spot where he had left his coupe; but the car was gone. Zenjora and his

men had taken it. Lynn remembered that a Jibaro had given the car keys and licenses to Zenjora.

The Shadow's whisper commanded further progress. The group reached the drive; took another course across

a soggy lawn. At intervals, the lessening of the drizzle told that they were passing beneath clustered trees. At

last, there came a guarded blink of the flashlight. The Shadow had brought the rescued men to a side road, off

the edge of the estate. Sheltered behind a cluster of bushes was a highspeed roadster.

The Shadow took the wheel; Lynn sat beside him, with Alvarez on the outside. In darkness, he started the

motor; its rhythm was scarcely audible. Lynn began to understand how his coupe had been trailed; for this car

was remarkably silent. Further understanding came to Lynn when The Shadow eased the car out to the road.

Without the slightest difficulty, The Shadow nosed the roadster through pitch darkness, feeling the rough

road by the touch of the front wheels. He eased the car down the slope and reached the highway. There, he

turned on the lights and headed in the direction of the gates that marked the entrance to the Kincaid estate.

As the car rolled slowly ahead, The Shadow spoke to Lynn. With gloved hand, he passed a key to the man

"Go to the Atlas Apartments in New York," ordered The Shadow. "This key is for Apartment 5G. Remain

there until a visitor arrives, tomorrow. His name will be Harry Vincent. You may trust him fully."

The roadster had covered a quarter mile. It was slowly nearing the gates. Peering straight ahead, The Shadow

must have noted the glimmer of a light, even though Lynn did not spy it. Slowing the roadster, The Shadow

"Speed past the gates," ordered The Shadow. "Drive straight into New York. No one will overtake you."

An instant later, The Shadow was gone. The click of the door told that he had dropped off to the road.

THE gates were just ahead. Lynn stepped on the accelerator. He was amazed by the sudden response that the

Like an unleashed hound, the car launched forward in a joltless burst of speed. As it passed the gates, a

cluster of men sprang from the side of the road. Revolvers flashed in the glimmer of the roadster's lights.

The first was the whippet speed of The Shadow's superpowered roadster. The car had idled up to the gates;

when Lynn gave it gas, it had covered the intervening space at a pace that the lurkers had not deemed

The Shadow was ready with a brace of reserve automatics. He saw the enemy, by the glare of the roadster's

lights, the moment that Zenjora's henchmen leaped forth from cover. Before a single foeman could loose a

Bullets burned through the drizzle, big slugs that found immediate marks. Two of the foemen staggered. The

others forgot the roadster and whipped about to return The Shadow's fire. The taillight of the speeding car

dwindled into nothingness. Thanks to The Shadow's timely barrage, Lynn Jefford had run the gantlet.

A car roared forth from farther up the road. It was a sedan that was manned by others of Zenjora's men. It was

taking up the roadster's trail a useless task. Underslung, with widened body, equipped with a gigantic

motor, The Shadow's car could do a hundred miles an hour, when handled by an ordinary driver.

The Shadow knew that Lynn would outdistance the sedan. Within five miles, the chase would be a farce.

Gunfire ceased temporarily after the cars had sped away. The slight patter of the drizzle was audible, as

crouched men waited tensely. Then came a strident laugh that made this lonely spot seem a haunted place.

That mirth arose in long and sinister mockery. The laugh was The Shadow's; a challenge to the lurkers who

In addition to its challenge, The Shadow's laugh carried other import. It told men of crime that they had been

thwarted by The Shadow's design. The roadster's easy escape stood as reason for The Shadow's mirth.

In addition, it conveyed the news that The Shadow himself was here. It gave the impression that the men in

the roadster must be agents whom The Shadow had brought with him. Zenjora already knew that The

Shadow was in the game. As a result, the master crook would believe that his own men had been trailed by

The Shadow. Zenjora would not suspect that Alvarez Rentone and Lynn Jefford were the ones who had

THE SHADOW'S laugh brought spasmodic shots from foemen. Their fire was wide. No one could have

guessed The Shadow's exact location from the deceptive shudder of his eerie laugh. The shots that Zenjora's

men delivered were as bad for them as boomerangs. Even while their guns echoed, The Shadow returned the

Cries sounded as The Shadow clipped foemen in the darkness. There were shouts; scurrying sounds along the

road. Shifting his position, The Shadow blazed new bullets; then shifted again. No one returned the fire. Evil

henchmen were seeking darkness, anxious to elude the superfighter whom they could not see.

As The Shadow made a circuitous advance, another car suddenly started from a spot beyond the gates. The

Shadow snapped quick shots as he saw the lights come on. The driver zigzagged; his car wallowed through

The maneuver was a lucky one. It carried the escaping car on a line beyond the gates; prevented The Shadow

Alone, The Shadow laughed. He was not disappointed by the car's escape. The Shadow knew that Zenjora

must have gone ahead; that these were mere underlings left in reserve. The sooner the news of The Shadow's

fight reached the supercrook, the better it would be. The Shadow could foresee what Zenjora's next step

Passing through the gates, The Shadow headed for the old mansion. He reached the house, kept onward and

arrived at the mausoleum. There, he made a brief inspection; he carried away the sledge hammer that he had

left. Going to the rear of the whitewalled building, he found the spot where he had drilled the air hole into

the vault. The Shadow covered all traces of the work after he had drawn the sixfoot pipe from the ground.

Carrying odd lengths of pipe, he returned to the toolhouse and stacked the articles there.

Waiting under the shelter of the toolhouse roof, The Shadow listened for tokens of an approach. Time passed

slowly amid the drizzle; yet The Shadow scarcely moved from his position. After an hour, he heard a

stealthy, creeping sound from a spot close by. Silently, The Shadow moved through the rain.

Ghoulish visitants had arrived; enemies against whom The Shadow did not care to risk a battle under these

circumstances. He knew who the stealthy men must be. They were Jibaro headhunters, sent here by Zenjora.

Though The Shadow had sensed their presence, he knew that these jungle lurkers could use darkness almost

Unquestionably, they would be equipped with poisoned shafts. Moreover, they had subtle ways of teamwork.

One might purposely risk a sound, in order to bring an enemy to encounter him. Another would be lurking,

ready for his prey. The Shadow could not tell how many of Zenjora's strange tribesman were present.

Had this been an emergency, The Shadow would have chanced battle despite the odds against him. Present

conditions, however, gave him a reason to desist from a fray. He knew why Quinqual and others had been

sent back to the old estate. Zenjora had ordered them to investigate the mausoleum, to learn if the seal upon

The Shadow wanted the Jibaros to find that seal; to carry back the report that Alvarez and Lynn Jefford must

be dead in the tomb that Zenjora had provided for them. Hence, The Shadow kept under cover, although he

NEAR the whitened building, The Shadow heard a slight stir. A dozen minutes passed; he recognized that

creeping men had met in darkness. He heard slight sounds as they moved away. One Quinqual, perhaps

had descended to the vault, then come out to join a watcher, possibly Incos. Satisfied that the vault had not

been entered, the Jibaros were leaving to report to Zenjora that The Shadow had learned nothing.

Through darkness, The Shadow followed the Jibaros. At times, he lost their trail, for those jungle tribesmen

often moved with the stealth of panthers. Knowing that they would be returning to the road, The Shadow

managed to close in each time he was temporarily at loss. Always, he caught some new sound in the night.

The Shadow reached the road. There he heard no more sounds until a motor throbbed suddenly from beyond

the gates. Moving swiftly beneath the fringe of trees, The Shadow reached a coupe just as it was starting out

Cowl lights blinked into view. The Shadow recognized the car as Lynn Jefford's; he also knew the face that

he saw at the window beside the wheel. The driver was Cardell, Zenjora's lieutenant. Cardell had taken the

The coupe jounced on the sharp edge of the road. At that instant, The Shadow sprang toward the rear of the

car. The slight thump of his body was unnoticed as he gripped the sloping back and drew his body between

the rear of the car and the spare tire. The car gained speed, riding eastward, carrying its unseen passenger.

The Shadow had regained the trail. He was traveling to New York, along with Zenjora's lieutenant and the

headhunters who had served as spies. Again, The Shadow was daring death to find a route that would lead

CARDELL used discretion in his trip back to Manhattan. He was operating a stolen car. Since he had but

recently arrived in New York, he had no driver's license. He was carrying a pair of odd companions and knew

that the Jibaros would arouse suspicion on the part of any inquisitive New Jersey State police.

Hence he not only traveled at a moderate speed; he also chose a secondary highway. Instead of driving for the

Holland Tunnel or the George Washington Bridge, he headed for a Hoboken ferry slip. These precautions

suited The Shadow. They passed few cars; when they neared towns, they went through dim side streets.

The arrival at the ferry slip was also helpful. It was considerably after midnight; there was no boat in the slip.

Cardell was forced to wait until a ferry arrived. He parked his car in an obscure corner of the ferry building

and alighted to take a stroll, leaving the headhunters huddled in the interior of the coupe.

The Shadow was gone from the rear of the car before Cardell stepped from the front. Moving into a darkened

waiting room, The Shadow came to a telephone booth. He put in a call to Burbank; then waited in the booth

until the ferry arrived. The boat was poorly lighted, for it carried vehicles only. The Shadow easily glided

When the ferry reached Manhattan, The Shadow again gave Cardell leeway. There was no need for haste.

Outside the ferry slip, The Shadow found a parked cab that Cardell had not noticed. It was Moe's taxi, sent

here by Burbank. The Shadow entered the cab, ordered his driver to follow the coupe.

It became apparent that Cardell was not going to Zenjora's headquarters. The Shadow had already credited

Zenjora with having chosen some sumptuous apartment as his New York residence. Cardell was not driving

toward an apartment house district. Instead, he picked a dingy section of the East Side.

The coupe stopped in a street that was scarcely more than an alleyway. Moe was wise enough to halt at the

near corner, where he turned off his lights. Peering along the street, The Shadow saw two hunchy figures

sneak from the coupe into a house. The car started ahead. Cardell had dropped the headhunters; he evidently

STATIONING Moe, The Shadow left the cab and crept through foggy darkness. Mist was changing into

drizzle; the street lamps were too dim to reveal The Shadow as they had the headhunters. Finding the house

where the Jibaros had entered, The Shadow circled the block and came along a rear street.

Looking upward, The Shadow discerned a light in a thirdstory window, a glow that trickled through a

shabby window shade. There was no fire escape; but the wall was jagged and offered simple ascent for The

Shadow. Like a human fly, he crept upward in the darkness. His course became snaillike as he neared the

It was not the increase in height that slowed The Shadow. He was considering the Jibaros. He knew that the

jungletrained ears of Quinqual and Incos could detect almost any sound. Complete silence was essential.

Reaching the window, The Shadow found two advantages. A small hole in the shade gave him a perfect peek

hole. The window was open; the Jibaros had probably raised it to listen for sounds from outside. Hence The

The room was very much like the one that Marinez had occupied. The Shadow saw the Jibaros crouched

upon rickety chairs. He heard their lowtoned chatter. It was one of the few dialects with which The Shadow

was not familiar; but he noted a similarity to a headhunter's language that he had heard before. The talk

Five minutes after The Shadow's arrival, the door opened and Cardell entered the room. From his vantage

point, The Shadow had complete control over any emergency. He could have started quick battle with

Nevertheless, The Shadow bided his time. Facts, if they became available, would be more important than the

Facts seemed due the moment that Cardell entered. The lighthaired man glared about the room. His face

Quinqual and Incos recognized the names and babbled in negative fashion. The Shadow knew that Cardell

Cardell tugged at his chin; then went to a corner and picked up a telephone. He dialed a number; The Shadow

There was a prompt response. The Shadow heard Cardell's end of the conversation.

"Hello, chief!" Cardell grinned as he recognized Zenjora's voice... "Yes. All jake out in Jersey... Quinqual

"No sign of The Shadow. Say, how did that bunch come out of it? Only a couple clipped, eh? Looks as if The

Shadow didn't do much damage, after all. Tough, though, that those guys with him made a getaway..."

There was a pause. The Shadow could hear the purr of Zenjora's voice across the wire, but the words were

"I was going to ask you about Miquon and Lakiki," he stated. "They were here when I left... So you sent them

out to Long Island... I get it. Sure. You could start things there, with Alvarez Rentone out of the picture...

"What's that?... Say, that was bad... Yes, Lakiki can talk English, enough of it, too; but he was liable to slip...

Cardell's face was toward The Shadow. It showed a sudden gleam that replaced a frown. Pulling pencil and

paper from his pocket, Cardell began to make notations. Finished, he concluded his call with the terse

"Sure. I'll send Quinqual and Incos to the other hideout. After that, I'll hop a cab. I'll be on the corner when

CARDELL hung up. He gestured to Quinqual and Incos, uttered garbled words that he had been told to

repeat by Zenjora. Quinqual and Incos understood. They slid from their chairs and sneaked out through the

Alone, Cardell lighted a cigarette and sat down to study the notations that he had made. After a few moments,

he nodded, crumpled the paper and tossed it into a wastebasket. Tapping a gun that he carried on his hip,

Cardell opened a table drawer; he pocketed a pack of cigarettes and went to the door. He turned out the

The Shadow was in the room half a minute after Cardell had gone. His flashlight, dwindled to a tiny disk,

gleamed upon the wastebasket. The Shadow found the paper that Cardell had wadded and tossed away.

Opening the paper, The Shadow discovered why Cardell had not troubled to tear it or burn it. The paper

carried no message. It simply showed a crisscross of penciled lines, roughly drawn, with letters marked

Cardell had mentioned Long Island in his telephone conversation. The Shadow surmised that the diagram

represented certain streets somewhere on Long Island. Cardell had also stated that he would reach a specified

Since Cardell was going by cab, there were only a limited number of places that he could reach within the

time allotted. The Shadow considered possible localities. Simultaneously, he reached for the telephone. In

In whispered tone, The Shadow called for a prompt check of detail maps showing three Long Island towns

which he named. He told Burbank to look for a street or avenue which began with the letter B and crossed

two streets that started with R and J. While he waited for Burbank's report, The Shadow studied Cardell's

The street marked B was elongated. Cardell had pushed the line an inch beyond the diagram; he had

terminated it with a dot. The Shadow believed that the dot represented the place where Cardell intended to go

"Town of Graywood," announced Burbank. "Brisbane Avenue crosses Ross Street and Jackson Road."

"One mile," returned Burbank. "No other crossings. Three side lanes; then a termination at the through

"Report received," whispered The Shadow. "Instructions. Check on New York telephone number, Kingland

THE telephone number was the one that Cardell had dialed when he called Zenjora. Familiar with the names

of all exchanges, The Shadow had learned the number from the slow return clicks of the dial. He did not,

however, intend to wait for Burbank's new report. Minutes had become too precious.

The Shadow knew that Zenjora intended crime at Graywood. Cardell had watched some house on Brisbane

Avenue, outside of the little town near Long Island Sound. With Cardell called in from lookout duty, Zenjora

Hence Cardell had been ordered to meet Zenjora at one of the corners in the town of Graywood. Chances

were that the meeting would be delayed. Zenjora would be too wise to pick up his lieutenant until after

Cardell's cab had left the vicinity. That probability gave The Shadow opportunity.

Despite the five minutes that he had lost, he still had a chance to ride ahead of the crooks; to be at their goal,

somewhere on Brisbane Avenue, before they met and came along together. In a pinch, The Shadow could

The main object, in any event, was to get to Graywood with the greatest possible speed; to avoid the streets

marked on Cardell's diagram. That could be done by taking the highway along the Sound and striking back

The Shadow's light went out. Cardell's diagram gave a slight thud as it landed, newly wadded, in the

wastebasket. The door opened and shut. The Shadow quickly descended the house stairs. He reached the

street, blinked a signal. Moe's cab coasted from beyond the corner, its cowl lights alone visible in the drizzle.

A few minutes later, the highgeared taxi was speeding across a bridge that spanned the East River. Night

was nearly ended; traffic was absent. Calculating the cab's speed, The Shadow could foresee success; for he

knew that Cardell would not have ordered a taxi driver to carry him at a breakneck rate like Moe's.

Nevertheless, The Shadow could not count on complete results. He might beat Zenjora to the goal; but he

knew that the crook's schemes were many. Zenjora was the sort who never relied upon a single thrust.

TEN minutes after The Shadow had started from Manhattan, an automobile slowed in front of a driveway on

Brisbane Avenue. Headlights showed a gravel entrance beneath the drizzle. The car nosed into the driveway;

A low voice sounded within the car. It was firm and businesslike. The voice was that of Inspector Joe

"This is the place, Markham," announced Cardona to the driver. "Howard Dundee said it was the only house

"Looks like there's nobody home," vouchsafed the detective sergeant who sat at the wheel. "You sure the call

"Which is enough for me. He needs protection and he knows it. That's why Dundee wanted me to come

alone. He told me enough, Markham, when he said he'd crack these stiletto murders if I showed up in a

With that, Cardona alighted from the car; he instructed Markham to wait with ready gun and extinguished

"I ought to find the front door open, like Dundee said he'd leave it. If it's open, I'll go through to his study. If

you hear anything, barge into the house. The same if you see anything or suspect anything. Only don't let

Cardona's footsteps scarcely crunched the watersoaked gravel as he walked toward the front of the house. A

whitepainted door showed between gray walls, at the top of stone steps. A revolver shown half from his

Joe closed the door behind him, then beamed a flashlight through a darkened hallway. He saw large, covered

chairs and heavy curtains at each side of the hall. Anything might indicate a hiding enemy. Joe drew his

Police Positive, wangled the gun back and forth while he gazed suspiciously at furniture and drapes.

Satisfied that no one was about, Cardona took the route that he had intended. He went through the hallway,

turned left into a little passage. There, he stopped short and uttered a satisfied grunt.

There was a closed door at the end of the passage, and it showed a light of its own. The glimmer came

ADVANCING to the door, Cardona gave two abrupt raps. There was no response. Cardona rapped again.

This time, he fancied that he heard a creep within the room; yet no one spoke from the other side of the door.

The thought struck Joe that the man within might be too fearful to answer. Stooping to the keyhole, Cardona

Slight footsteps sounded. There was a grating sound from beyond the door. Dundee was drawing bolts.

Cardona stood ready, waiting; the door opened a crack. An eye surveyed Cardona by the light that trickled

Cardona edged through the doorway; the man who had admitted him closed the portal quickly. He shoved

two bolts in place; then turned to Cardona to make the unnecessary announcement:

Cardona had seen troubled faces before but few had been as haggard as Dundee's. The man was elderly; his

features were dryish, which probably added to his strained expression. Nevertheless, fear was registered by

Long, bony hands were trembling as Dundee rubbed them together in rinsing fashion. The smile that the

dryfaced man gave was but a hollow attempt at bravado. At last, Dundee steadied sufficiently to gesture

toward a desk that stood at the far wall of the room. There was a chair at the near side of the desk. Dundee

As Cardona accepted the invitation, Dundee went behind the desk. Looking about, Cardona noticed that the

side windows of the room were shuttered, held in place by huge inner bars. He looked to the door, noted that

"My shutters are steel," remarked Dundee. Then, ruefully: "The door is only wood; but it is strong.

Tightfitting, too. The panels are thick oak; strong enough, I hope. Those bolts are the largest that I could

"I would not trust a key." Dundee shook his head as he spoke. "People can push keys from a door. They can

pick locks. But they cannot reach bolts!" Dundee's voice took on a hysterical crackle. "They cannot touch

"Or can they?" His face showed sudden alarm. "Perhaps they can. You should be able to answer that,

"YOU'RE safe enough," affirmed Cardona in a steady tone that offered reassurance. "Your best bet is to slip

me all the facts you know about these stiletto murders. I've been trying to find the answer in Little Italy; but

I've had no luck. I didn't expect to get information on Long Island. But I'm taking your word for it that you

"I do." Dundee licked his dryish lips. "When I read of the first man's death, inspector, I thought that he was

"No, I didn't," returned Cardona. "I argued it with the police commissioner. I thought I was right; that he was

wrong when he figured an Italian angle. But when Nick Broggoletta was stabbed, it changed the whole thing.

It made me wrong and the commissioner right. Nick must have been trying to dodge somebody, when he

"One minute, though, Mr. Dundee. You said you read about this case. It only happened early in the evening;

but the midnight newspapers carried the story. Where were you at midnight? In town?"

Dundee nodded. He leaned across the desk. The oldish man had steadied. He wagged a bony finger as he

"Let me explain my theory, inspector," began Dundee. "Two nights ago, I had a telephone call. It came from

a man named Manuel Fendoza. He wanted to know the whereabouts of a friend of his named Alvarez

"Rentone!" he interjected. "Alvarez Rentone! Say it was his room at the Clearview where we found Nick

Broggoletta! Only we hadn't figured Rentone in the case. He didn't always stay in his room overnight "

"One moment, inspector." Dundee was insistent. "I shall come to that portion of the story. When Manuel

Fendoza called me two nights ago, he said that he had inquired for Alvarez Rentone at the Hotel Goliath."

Cardona's forehead wrinkled. Joe was thinking of the spot where the police had found the first stiletto victim.

"The next day," added Dundee, "I read of an unidentified man who was stabbed to death near the Goliath. I

thought of Fendoza, but decided it could not be he. Nevertheless, I was puzzled when I did not hear from

him. He came from Santander, a country where there has been much trouble lately.

"Tonight, when I took the late train home from the city, I read of Broggoletta's death. I was under strain, you

understand, still wondering about Fendoza. I was sitting in the front room, reading the newspaper, when a

"I went to the front door and listened. I peered through the little side window. I saw a man half out of the cab,

talking to the taxi driver in broken English. Finally, the cab went away, taking the man with it. But I had seen

Dundee's voice dropped to an awed, wheezy whisper as he leaned across the desk and declared:

EYES gleaming, Dundee sank back. His expression indicated that he had revealed something of weird

significance. To Cardona, it gave the impression that the speaker was a madman. Nevertheless, Joe prompted

"A headhunter," confided Dundee, again leaning across the desk. "From that part of Ecuador that borders on

Santander. The Jibaros are killers who take the heads of their victims as trophies. They shrivel those heads

Dundee arched his hands, to indicate the size of a small grapefruit. Cardona became suddenly impressed. A

"The commissioner mentioned that!" exclaimed Cardona. "Said that somebody had fed him a crackpot

theory that those jungle hunters were in on that first murder. It sounded screwy to me; and the commissioner

"I never met the police commissioner," he declared. "Someone else must have guessed the truth before

"If Fendoza was a South American, how do you figure Broggoletta got into the game?"

"Possibly as a friend of Fendoza's," replied Dundee. "But I know little more than nothing about Fendoza. So I

"No, I haven't." Dundee was quick with his new interruption. "Hear me further, inspector. After I saw the

Jibaro, I came to this room, which I long ago prepared in case danger should come to this isolated house. I

"Alvarez Rentone. At least, he gave that name. His voice was smooth, with a Spanish accent. He reminded

To further this statement, Dundee opened a desk drawer; from it, he brought a folio of letters and other

documents. Rising, he came to the front of the desk, spread the papers in front of Cardona. Joe noticed that

Standing in front of Cardona, Dundee again wagged his bony forefinger. He was in front of the desk, facing

"The man who called by telephone," repeated Dundee, "stated that he was Alvarez Rentone, grandson of the

late Santander dictator. He declared that he was in New York upon an important mission; that he had to find a

man to whom old Jose Rentone had intrusted important funds. He wanted to know if I could tell where that

"This sounds like something," nodded Cardona. "Did Rentone tell you the man's name?"

"He did," affirmed Dundee. "But remember" his face showed shrewdness "I cannot swear that it was

"Never mind that," broke in Cardona. "I understand. Tell me the name that he mentioned over the wire."

"He asked me," began Dundee, impressively, "if I knew anything concerning a man named James "

DUNDEE stopped short; his lips showed a sudden quiver. Leaning backward, the elderly man thrust his

hands behind his hips, as though trying to grip the small of his back. His face was pained; his lips showed

Instead, Dundee gave a sudden gasp. His dry lips parted. His eyes stared as though they viewed a scene of

horror. Cardona watched sunken eyeballs bulge from their sockets; he watched pupils that became smaller as

The corners of Dundee's lips curled downward. The sag of his lower jaw drew his skin to a tightness that

made it look ready to crack. Gradually, an expression froze Dundee's features. The man's face became a

devilish leer that Cardona had seen twice before: once on the face of Manuel Fendoza; again, upon the ugly

No further word came from the hideous lips that had undergone that startling change. Dundee's body sagged;

it toppled sidewise to the floor and sprawled motionless. Doom had struck Dundee despite the fact that he

The murderous power of Emilio Zenjora had seemingly stretched from nowhere to prevent the law from

learning the name of James Oakbrook. Howard Dundee had died before dawn; before The Shadow had

TO Joe Cardona, the sudden death of Howard Dundee was an unaccountable phenomenon. As he stooped

Dundee's face still held its grotesque stare. Blinking, Cardona looked about the room. For a moment, he

thought that some ghostly manifestation could have occurred within this room; that Dundee might have died

The room, however, was empty, except for Cardona and the corpse. The meager furniture of the study offered

no hiding place for even a midget. Barred shutters were tight in place. The bolts of the door were closed.

Dundee's body rolled rigidly as Cardona shifted it. The fixed face turned downward; one shoulder sagged.

Staring squarely at the dead man's back, Cardona saw something that made him utter a low grunt.

Projecting from a spot near Dundee's spine, plain against the dark smoking jacket that the dead man was

wearing, Cardona spied a yellowish sliver that looked like a large thorn. Gripping it, Cardona plucked the

It was a thorn, and a long one. It had buried itself an inch deep in Dundee's back. Cardona knew that the thorn

must have come from some peculiar tropical tree, for it was as unpliable as a metal nail. The point was long

As Cardona held it to the light, he noted that the sharp tip was stained with some brownish substance.

Cardona guessed instantly that the thorn was poisoned. That guess gave credence to Dundee's story. It told

that Fendoza and Broggoletta had died from similar thrusts. It proved the possibility of Jibaro headhunters,

rampant in New York. For the moment, however, it did not explain how Dundee had become a victim.

Cardona arose; he placed the thorn carefully upon the desk. He looked toward the window and shook his

head. He stared at the door, but remained as puzzled as before. Eying the position of Dundee's body, Cardona

pictured the exact spot where the victim had last stood. Joe visualized Dundee between himself and the door;

His revolver gripped in his right hand, Cardona slowly lifted his eyes on a direct line. His gaze again rested

on the door; this time, Cardona's eyes halted. He was looking straight for a spot that he had forgotten. That

PERHAPS Joe would not have realized that the keyhole offered a solution to the riddle of Dundee's death, if

he had not seen it at this precise moment. It chanced that as Cardona gazed, an action occurred at the keyhole.

A tiny object thrust inward; Cardona saw the rounded opening of a hollow reed, no larger than a peashooter.

A Jibaro killer had slain Dundee by blowing the poisoned thorn through a long stalk. The murderer had easily

inserted the improvised blowgun through the keyhole. The Jibaro had been in the house when Cardona

arrived, but he had reserved death for a later moment. Evidently, the Jibaro had been instructed to deal with

Dundee was dead. The Jibaro had bided his time outside the door. Peering through the keyhole, the killer had

watched Cardona. The Jibaro had deemed it time to take another victim. Cardona was in the exact spot where

Doom's finger pointed straight at Joe Cardona, in the shape of the same jungle blowpipe that had finished

Howard Dundee. The fact struck Joe instantly; dazed him to the point where his own actions seemed

Springing forward, Cardona came up with his revolver, to aim for the keyhole. His thoughts were speedier

than his moves. Instinctively, Cardona knew that his attempt was futile. The Jibaro had the bead; already the

killer's lips were starting the puff that would speed the poisoned thorn to its new victim. Cardona's action was

Two amazing things happened while Cardona's gun was coming up. First, there came a muffled report from

somewhere outside the room a gunshot that seemed like a previous echo of the one that Cardona intended

to deliver. Simultaneously, the hollow reed quivered in the keyhole. The projecting end twisted at an upward

side angle. A yellowish sliver sped from the tiny muzzle; but its path was wide.

The thorn skimmed past Cardona's shoulder, hit the wall and dropped somewhere on the floor. Cardona's

While his own gun shot echoed in the steelshuttered study, Cardona saw the useless damage that his bullet

had done. The shot had plowed the woodwork of the heavy door above the keyhole and inches to one side of

it. In fact, the shot was so close to the door frame that it could not have reached a person on the other side of

Nevertheless, the blowgun had not delivered death. More than that, it was sliding away from view, vanishing

through the keyhole in a downward direction. As Cardona reached the door, he realized that someone had

spotted the Jibaro from the hall and had dropped the killer ahead of Joe's own shot.

CARDONA ripped back the bolts, yanked the door inward. The light from the study showed a sprawled

shape on the threshold. Cardona saw an apish face, staring upward in an agonized expression that meant

death. The huddled creature answered Dundee's description of the Jibaro who had been outside the house.

Vaulting the Jibaro's body, Cardona reached the hall. He swung toward the front door, expecting to see it

open. As he gazed, Cardona heard a warning hiss. From the blackened wall, a cloaked figure whirled to view,

delivered a sidearm swing that sent Cardona rolling toward the passage from which he had come.

Cardona's head banged back against the wall. Dimly, he sensed what followed; for he knew the identity of the

Arrived at Dundee's, The Shadow had picked the house as the one which Zenjora probably intended to visit.

He had passed Markham's car without being spotted by the detective sergeant. Inside, The Shadow had

discovered Lakiki, the Englishspeaking Jibaro, crouched outside the door of Dundee's study.

Knowing that Lakiki's purpose was to deliver death, The Shadow had dropped the Jibaro before the staring

killer knew that he was watched. Dundee's death was avenged; Cardona's life was saved. But The Shadow

He knew that another Jibaro might be present the one called Miquon. Hence The Shadow had wheeled back

into the hallway. Cardona's opening of the study door had brought light to the rear end of the darkened hall;

though not enough to show The Shadow, the glow had outlined Cardona when the latter reached the hall.

Therefore, The Shadow had thrust Cardona downward and backward. The Shadow, in turn, made a dive in

the opposite direction. His quick moves were necessary. A snarl sounded from the curtains at the side of the

front hall; a bamboo javelin whizzed through the air, straight for the spot where The Shadow had intercepted

It was Miquon's thrust; though speedy, it failed. Halfway between Cardona and The Shadow; above the heads

of both, the poisoned shaft struck the hall, to bounce back harmlessly and strike the floor.

The Shadow's automatic blasted an answer. Cardona heard two shots, quick ones that came while The

Shadow aimed in darkness, both directed uncannily toward the curtains from which Miquon had hurled his

weapon. But the Jibaro had sprung away, the moment that he had loosed the missile. The clatter of a window

The front door swung inward. A flashlight blinked in the hand of Detective Sergeant Markham. Just inside

the doorway, Markham saw The Shadow. Before Cardona could shout for Markham to stay his gun, The

With one hand, The Shadow plucked the flashlight from the detective sergeant's grasp; sent the lighted torch

bouncing off through the room where Miquon had fled. With his gun arm, The Shadow gave a swing like the

one he had handed Cardona. The blow swept Markham from The Shadow's path. It bowled the amazed

AGAIN, The Shadow had acted just in time. As he sprang outside and leaped to the side shelter of the stone

steps, shots ripped from the lawn. Zenjora and Cardell had arrived, a horde of imported outlaws at their heels.

Markham would have been their first target, had The Shadow failed to shove him from the doorway. The

flashlight was the very sort of indicator that Zenjora's fighters wanted; but The Shadow had disposed of it.

Again, he was opening battle in darkness with men who had given him their positions by the spurts of their

This time, however, the gunmen shifted. They were trained to guerrilla warfare, these outlaws from

Santander. They had learned a lesson in their first encounter with The Shadow. They tried his own tactics:

Meanwhile, The Shadow kept up a wary fire from in front of the house. No shots came from inside. He

guessed the reason. Cardona had dashed back into the study to put in a call for police reserves. That done, Joe

would wait with Markham, to resist an onslaught. Cardona was a cool head when battle started. He would

deem it better to maintain a stronghold to which The Shadow could retreat, than to break out from the house

Counting upon Cardona's tactics, The Shadow continued a spasmodic fire. Gradually, he shifted away from

the wall; ceased his shots altogether. Reaching the lawn, The Shadow knew that he was almost in the midst of

Zenjora's outspread men. They had also ceased their fire, waiting for The Shadow to disclose his own

Moving across the lawn, The Shadow stopped short. One of the enemy was close at hand; The Shadow could

hear the man moving in the drizzle. A shoulder jostled The Shadow's; he heard a snarled oath in a foreign

tongue. Instantly, The Shadow shifted; he fired a quick shot toward the wall where he had previously been.

The ruse was perfect. An encounter with this ruffian would have told the others that The Shadow was among

them. The shot toward the house made them think that the person who fired it belonged to their own clan.

The outlaw who had jostled The Shadow gave a growled laugh; muttered approving words to the fighter

whom he thought was a companion. For good measure, the ruffian aimed and fired a shot of his own.

Timed with the recoil of the fellow's gun, The Shadow slugged downward with a .45. His sledged blow

clipped the gunman's skull. The enemy plopped without noise upon the softened turf. No others were close

CROUCHED beside his vanquished foeman, The Shadow sensed the sound of creeping enemies. They were

closing toward the house, prompted by some order from Zenjora, whose location was hidden. Another

Zenjora believed that his cordon had closed sufficiently to trap The Shadow. Soon there would come a

massed onslaught a vicious drive in which a dozen fierce fighters would attempt to overwhelm a single foe.

The Shadow waited, letting his enemies creep on ahead. They would be due for a double surprise when the

Flashlights burned suddenly from the drizzle. Guns began to roar, all along the line. Zenjora's squad surged

forward, blasting the house steps with a withering fire. Though the space ahead looked vacant, they believed

All the while, they had watched the white door of the house; they knew that it had not moved, hence The

Shadow could not have gone inside. Nevertheless, as Zenjora's men revealed themselves, that door ripped

Cardona and Markham had entered the fray. Their shots were timely. One of Zenjora's henchmen sprawled as

the others dived away, flinging their flashlights from them. Thinking that The Shadow had been eliminated,

An instant later, shots ripped from behind them. The Shadow was commencing a rear attack, using two

mammoth automatics against the men who thought him dead. Outlaws wheeled; they fired too late. The

Shadow was speeding across the lawn at an angle. He gained the shelter of Markham's car.

Two fires burned the ranks of Zenjora's men. They were boxed between the house and the car. Like The

Shadow, Cardona and Markham riddled a flank of the attacking line. Crooks broke and ran; their attack had

They were heading for cars out near the entrance, running pellmell across the lawn. Huddled figures lay

behind them, unseen in the darkness. The Shadow had accounted for three; Cardona and Markham had

Cutting across the lawn, The Shadow came suddenly upon the starting cars. The first were away; but as they

sped from the road outside the gates, they were met by new arrivals. Police, called by Cardona, had come to

halt the flight. A machine gun blasted from a police car as it swung beside the road.

Crooks would have fared badly as they ran the gantlet, except for the intervention that came from a standing

car. Shots crackled from that machine; rifle bullets raked the police car. The driver of the police car ditched

It was The Shadow's countercharge that ended the rifle barrage. Seconds more, and the police car would have

been riddled and its occupants killed. As the car that held the riflemen started forward, The Shadow reached

its running board. He sprang upon the step, into the midst of bristling gun barrels.

A gloved fist sledged its heavy .45 straight for the heads of sharpshooters. Rifles dropped as their owners

sagged. They could not swing the long barrels to cover their unexpected adversary. The car jolted forward; its

driver, crouched low, gave it the gas. The car sped ahead in highspeed second gear, The Shadow still

The Shadow swung for the driver's skull. An arm shot forth above the man who gripped the wheel. The

Shadow's gun clashed metal. Half into the car, his eyes came close to a bearded face that showed above the

BY a quick parry with a revolver, Zenjora had luckily stopped the blow that The Shadow had aimed for the

driver's head. Coming up above the top of the front seat, Zenjora snarled as he aimed for his cloaked

Simultaneously, The Shadow swung far out from the side of the car. Clutching an open rear window with his

left hand, he let his body fall from view. His right hand planked its gun muzzle on the window ledge; the

A death duel was at hand. A splitsecond could decide it. The Shadow, however, had outmaneuvered

Zenjora. The Shadow had dropped away while his enemy had come upward. The quick shift completely

changed the odds. Both guns were due to roar; but the most that Zenjora could do would be to wound The

Shadow. Zenjora, however, had become a sure target. At that instant, his death seemed certain.

It was the driver who changed matters, without knowing the importance of his deed. Huddled over the wheel,

riding the car at thirty miles an hour, the driver saw cars ahead as they took a sharp turn into a lane on the

right. Instinctively, he picked the same course. He gave the steering wheel a hard twist just as The Shadow

The car careened as it skidded and swung its nose to the right. The Shadow's left hand nearly lost its

precarious grip upon the door. As he sought to maintain his hold, the door itself swung open. The Shadow

pulled the trigger; but he was already hurtling to the road. His bullet whined wide of Zenjora's bearded face.

At the same instant, Zenjora fired; his shot, too, was useless. It was high; it proved that Zenjora would not

have clipped The Shadow, even if the car had not made the sudden swing. Accident had saved Emilio

The speeding car did not halt. As its taillight vanished in the drizzle, shots boomed from the road behind.

They were proof that The Shadow had been uninjured by his fall; that he had come to his feet, to begin a last

barrage. The pursuing shots smashed into the rear of the car, but the range was too great for The Shadow to

Zenjora was gone, carrying his groggy crew of riflemen. His other minions had gone ahead, some of their

number wounded. Back on Dundee's lawn lay others, who were either dead or prisoners of the law. The

The Shadow hoped to follow up his victory. Hurrying along Brisbane Avenue, he came to an open spot,

where he blinked a signal with his flashlight. Lights answered; they were from Moe's cab. The Shadow

ONCE in the city, The Shadow paused to contact Burbank. He learned the location of Zenjora's apartment,

from Burbank's search of telephone numbers. The Shadow sped to that new destination. He knew that he

must be ahead of Zenjora; for the crook had taken a roundabout route through muddy lanes.

From darkness across the street, The Shadow studied darkened windows that he knew must be Zenjora's. He

waited half an hour; there were no signs of returning men. Dawn was appearing, despite the drizzle. The

Entering the apartment house, he ascended by an automatic elevator. He found the door of Zenjora's

apartment unlocked. Entering, The Shadow discovered nothing but the furniture. Zenjora had taken no

The supercrook had abandoned this headquarters when he had started for Long Island. Once again, The

Shadow must begin a hunt for the bearded man of crime. Yet, as he stood in the gloom of Zenjora's

Tonight, The Shadow had gained the key to Emilio Zenjora's schemes. From now on, he could play an equal

game. Though Zenjora had managed the murder of Howard Dundee, the supercrook would be too wary to

Zenjora would have but one objective: a meeting with James Oakbrook. It would be The Shadow's task to

anticipate that meeting. That new goal offered opportunity to deal finally with men of crime.

EARLY afternoon found Alvarez Rentone and Lynn Jefford seated in their new apartment. With them was a

man who had just arrived; a visitor whom the pair had expected. He was Harry Vincent, agent of The

Laying a stack of newspapers to one side, Harry smilingly remarked that he was ready to answer questions.

Harry's calm reply brought an exclamation from Lynn Jefford. That young man had heard of The Shadow's

ability at hunting down criminals and bagging them like big game. Lynn questioned quickly:

"I serve The Shadow," replied Harry, "but I have never learned his actual identity. He saved my life; in

"We are willing to do the same," put in Alvarez. "We know that only The Shadow can combat Emilio

"Very well," declared Harry, briskly. "Here is the first test. Read these evening newspapers editions that

have just appeared on the street. A man named Howard Dundee was slain last night by a Jibaro headhunter.

"And I am mentioned as the man behind the crimes!" cried Alvarez, scanning a newspaper. "New men

support the police theory! Here are their names; they are men who expected gifts from my grandfather. They

think that I have tried to rob them. This is an outrage! Zenjora is the perpetrator of those crimes! The Shadow

"Zenjora found the list of your grandfather's friends when he looted the treasure vault," explained Harry,

calmly. "He had three reasons to want to murder them. Profit, for one; vengeance, for another. But the third

and vital reason was information. Zenjora believed that one of those men might give him a lead to James

"Zenjora chose Dundee first," continued Harry, "because he had heard from Fendoza. Though The Shadow

did not save Dundee, he rescued Inspector Cardona. That cracked the case. Dundee had talked to Cardona.

The police knew that the stiletto stabbings were faked. The Shadow left them a dead Jibaro to clinch the case.

"The law knows only the first name of James Oakbrook. They have not learned his full name from your

grandfather's friends. Zenjora will therefore learn that those men are useless as informants. Since they have

revealed themselves to the law and are protected, it is better that they should regard you as their enemy.

Zenjora will feel secure. The Shadow can hunt him more effectively and the law will not bungle the search."

HARRY'S words carried weight. Alvarez saw other points. He recognized that Zenjora would desist from

crimes that meant but small profit and minor vengeance, particularly since Zenjora believed Alvarez dead.

Zenjora would prefer to let old crimes be blamed on Alvarez, without risking new deeds that might lead a

"James Oakbrook will read the newspapers," he declared. "He will stay under cover; he will understand that

this is Zenjora's work. You must tell me, though, what plans you have made to hear from Oakbrook."

Alvarez hesitated; then decided to answer. Briefly, he explained how Oakbrook was to place an

advertisement in the Evening Sphere, offering property for sale under the name of Thomas Rustwick. He

added that the location given in the ad would tell Oakbrook's residence; while a repetition would call for a

"What about Nick Broggoletta? Can you account for him being a friend of Manuel Fendoza?"

"I thought, perhaps, that Broggoletta had a message," replied Alvarez. "One that Fendoza failed to bring;

perhaps about Estaban's death. That seems weak, though. Fendoza might have chosen an adventurer for a

The question of Broggoletta puzzled Harry, after he had put in a call to Burbank. Harry knew that Zenjora

had introduced the fake Italian angle; but he had done it through his Jibaros. Zenjora would not have sent

Broggoletta purely to bluff the law. His policy had been hands off regarding Alvarez, for Zenjora had already

The only answer that Harry could see was the one that Alvarez had rejected: namely, that Broggoletta had

been a friend of Fendoza. His duty done, Harry wondered how much he had accomplished for The Shadow.

Though the facts that Harry relayed through Burbank did not pave the route to Emilio Zenjora, they would

soon enable The Shadow to choose the proper battleground for a final conflict with the bearded master of

FOR the present, Zenjora was secure. He was gone from Manhattan, vanished with his tribe of followers. In

some new stronghold, the bearded outlaw leader was free to plot new mischief. The Shadow knew only that

Zenjora must have been crafty in his choice of a new headquarters. The Shadow's opinion was correct.

Forty miles northwest of Manhattan, the setting sun shone upon a crew of desperadoes who outrivaled any

that had ever visited American soil. These cutthroats were assembled in a rocky glen that bordered a rugged

ravine. They were congregated away from the gorge, under the shelter of larger trees; for only saplings lined

The stronghold was perched in a remote section of the New Jersey hills. The outlaws numbered a dozen; men

of mixed nationalities who had served Zenjora in Santander. Some looked like Americans who had become

soldiers of fortune. Others might have been French convicts, escaped from Devil's Island. A few were

Their babbled jargon, which mixed one language with another, ran the gamut of many dialects. They were

like pirates, these banditti; but they had chosen land in preference to ocean. The ugly appearance of the

renegades had been increased by last night's skirmish with The Shadow. Three had bandaged heads; two

carried arms in slings; another was propped against a tree, too crippled to move about.

Their growled epithets included a name. Those who spoke French referred to L'Ombre and added the

expression "Le Diable." Those who used Spanish uttered the titles: "El Ombre" and "El Diablo." Translated,

One huge ruffian glowered as he watched two others build a fire in the circle. The glowering man was

Bandrillo, Zenjora's chief lieutenant. Bulky of form, with ugly eyes that glowered from a square,

Curbing his anger, Bandrillo arose to examine the wounds of his men. He had crude skill at surgery; that was

one reason why Zenjora had first raised him to the rank of lieutenant. After attending the man who lay against

Facing his men, he delivered a savage tirade that included every language known to the group. From his belt,

Bandrillo drew a machete. He flourished the knife as if he intended to carve the next man who mentioned The

The group silenced. Bandrillo paused in his outburst. Before he could resume, he heard a purred voice behind

him. Turning, Bandrillo faced Zenjora. The master of crime had stalked up silently to join the group.

AS he stood close by the firelight, Zenjora appeared more demoniacal than any mortal whom that cutthroat

crew had ever seen. His face carried a ferocity that surpassed the deathfrozen countenances of victims who

Ruffians shifted uneasily; even Bandrillo quailed. They watched Zenjora as he eyed them. Beyond their chief,

Lakiki was missing. The absence of that Jibaro told of The Shadow's power. But the circled crew was not

"Ah, Bandrillo!" The smoothness of Zenjora's tone seemed all the more insidious, when it issued from his

twisted, ruddy lips. "So you think it unwise that the men should talk of The Shadow? Perhaps you are right,

Turning to the group, Zenjora spat a medley of words that all could understand. Each man who heard words

in his own language grinned and nodded his agreement. Zenjora was telling them that they would meet The

Shadow again; that the time would come very soon. He was urging them to look forward to that meeting.

Elated snarls were their replies. Men rose to foment, as they shook their fists in the firelight; whipped

revolvers into view, to signify their readiness for new battle. Even the wounded man against the tree made

"You see?" Zenjora's face had calmed when he turned to Bandrillo. "You should not misunderstand them.

They are more than eager, Bandrillo. Let them talk about The Shadow. It will sharpen them for the next

Henchmen resumed their growled palaver. Zenjora stepped close to Bandrillo. He lowered his voice below

With the Jibaros following as escort, Zenjora and Bandrillo took a path that led to a group of tumbledown

cabins. These building explained the nature of the place that they had chosen for their headquarters. This was

an abandoned summer colony, long since forgotten. Zenjora had located it soon after he had uncovered the

buried treasure vault. This deserted settlement was within fifteen miles of the old Kincaid estate.

These shacks explained how Zenjora had kept his polyglot crew under cover; yet had them available for any

call. He had kept a few in Manhattan; but the rest had remained here. Instead of returning to his apartment,

No place could have been better suited to an outlaw band like Zenjora's. Used to the hardships of the

Santander mountains, these bandits considered themselves in luck, with roofs above their heads. The battered

Zenjora and Bandrillo arrived at the central cabin. They entered its square main room, stepping into the glow

of hanging lanterns. A man awaited them. It was Cardell. He nodded to Bandrillo, then joined Zenjora and

Zenjora planked his hand upon a stack of newspapers that Cardell had brought. Scanning them, he uttered an

"The police!" sneered Zenjora. "Bah! They are as stupid in New York as in Santander! Luck has enabled

them to find out how men have died; it has spoiled my plans of vengeance upon others like Dundee. Beyond

From his coat pocket, Zenjora produced a folded paper, spread it to show a list of names.

"I have marked death for these men," he declared. "I delayed their doom once, until I had settled with Alvarez

Rentone. I shall postpone death again, until after I have disposed of James Oakbrook. Look one name is off

the list; that of Howard Dundee. Some day, you shall see lines drawn through the other names as well."

"For the present," he declared, "Oakbrook is most important. The police are stupid fools; they think that

Alvarez Rentone is responsible for Dundee's murder. They do not know that Alvarez is dead. I do not want

Zenjora looked to Bandrillo and Cardell as if inviting questions. Cardell put one.

"What about The Shadow?" asked the lighthaired rogue. "Does he know that Alvarez Rentone is dead?"

"The Shadow's part is plain," assured Zenjora. "He is a fool who hounds crude criminals. He was watching

Nick Broggoletta; saw the Italian meet Manuel Fendoza. The Shadow followed Fendoza to the Hotel Goliath;

"Believing that Fendoza was the man we murdered that night, The Shadow came to the hotel himself. Like a

parrot, he asked for a message from Alvarez. He was wise enough not to open it. Instead, he gained an

"There, his trail ended. He went back to watching Broggoletta. That brought him to the Clearview Hotel,

where he battled Quinqual and Incos. He managed to follow them; that is how he came to be at the Kincaid

Zenjora had delivered a series of erroneous statements; but in his egotism, he thought that he had struck the

truth. He was allowing a connection that Alvarez doubted; namely, a friendship between Fendoza and

Broggoletta. Sure that he was right, Zenjora continued with more mistaken declarations.

"The Shadow was not at the mausoleum when Quinqual and Incos returned there," he announced. "He could

not have followed them had he been there, for I gave them strict instructions to avoid all followers. Where

"There, he learned that Inspector Cardona had gone to see Howard Dundee. So The Shadow went there

himself. He had the luck to surprise Lakiki, to kill him and save Cardona's life. All this is the result"

Zenjora tapped the newspapers "because Cardona lived to tell what Dundee had said."

CARDELL and Bandrillo were fully satisfied with Zenjora's incorrect analysis. They gazed in awe at their

"We must find Oakbrook," growled Zenjora, suddenly. "There is only one man whom I can risk sending to

New York. That is you, Cardell. The Shadow will be looking for Oakbrook. You must learn facts before The

"Suppose" Cardell hesitated, to mop his forehead with a handkerchief "suppose I run into The Shadow?"

Bandrillo snarled, taking Cardell's question as a sign of weakness. Zenjora raised a silencing hand. He faced

"If you encounter The Shadow," purred Zenjora, "you will meet with no harm. He will know that you are a

link to me. He seeks me, as well as Oakbrook. Should you find The Shadow, or believe that he has

discovered you, simply rejoin me here. That will bring The Shadow on your trail."

"The Shadow went past our men before!" put in Bandrillo. "They cannot stop him in darkness. If he sees their

Again, Zenjora's hand was raised. This time, it pointed to the doorway. Bandrillo and Cardell saw Quinqual

and the other headhunters seated outside the door. The apefaced trio were engaged in a curious task. They

"A jungle trap," chuckled Zenjora. "Tonight, the workmanship will be superior. There will be no need to dig

a pit. There are gullies all about, where streams have cut their way to the gorge."

Rising, Zenjora gestured for Cardell to start his journey to New York. The spy saluted; turned and strode past

the Jibaros. Soon Zenjora and Bandrillo heard the muffled sound of a departing automobile.

"All will be well, Bandrillo," purred Zenjora in Spanish. "The Shadow came alone before; he will venture

With that promise, the evil chief beckoned his lieutenant to follow him. Together, they went out to join their

mongrel followers at the camp fire. Though Zenjora's theories were wrong, his prediction was one that

In sending Cardell upon his mission, Zenjora had chosen a perfect bait to snare The Shadow.

IT was late afternoon the next day when Cardell entered a secluded restaurant just off Broadway to partake of

an early dinner. Picking an isolated corner of the cafe, Zenjora's spy made sure that no one was watching him.

Cardell had listed his progress in the search for James Oakbrook. Last night, immediately upon reaching

Manhattan, he had gone to Oakbrook's apartment house; he had made inquiry, with no result.

Later, he had called Oakbrook's club, with the same bad luck. Afterward, Cardell had registered at a hotel;

this morning, he had stopped at Oakbrook's Wall street office, to represent himself as a customer who wanted

advice on bonds. Cardell had insisted that he must talk with Oakbrook in person. He had been told that the

Though Cardell had not guessed it, he had been under almost constant surveillance from the first step onward.

Outside of Oakbrook's apartment house, a small craftyfaced man had spotted him. That was "Hawkeye,"

A cab had stopped to pick up Cardell. The taxi was Moe Shrevnitz's. It had carried him to the store where he

made a telephone call; the same cab, slightly altered in appearance, had Cardell as a fare to his hotel.

At the breakfast, Cardell had been watched by Harry Vincent, who sat at another table. When he visited

Oakbrook's office, an elderly man had noted him, hobbled to the elevator just behind him, making good

While Cardell lunched, Moe's cab had been outside. Cardell had been trailed all afternoon; it was known that

he was in this restaurant at present. In fact, Cardell had scarcely ordered his meal before a tall, calmfaced

individual entered, took a seat at a nearby table and unfolded a copy of the evening Sphere.

This chance diner was The Shadow. He sat almost unnoticed by Cardell. As soon as he had given his own

order, The Shadow sat back and turned to the real estate ads. His attention centered upon the newspaper.

Halfway down a column, The Shadow noted an advertisement that he had hoped to find. It stated that a fine

lodge was for sale, in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains. The ad described the lodge as being three miles

northwest of the town of Mercer; it specified that the property included forty acres, ten of which had been

cleared as an emergency landing field for airplanes; that one portion of the grounds bordered a fairsize lake.

FROM that moment, a singular policy was adopted by The Shadow. He folded the newspaper, laid it aside

and stared suspiciously at Cardell. Zenjora's spy was quick to observe The Shadow's action; but he caught no

When the waiter arrived with the first course, The Shadow began a complaint, always avoiding Cardell's

direct observation. Tossing money on the table, The Shadow arose and stalked from the restaurant, still

Cardell became uneasy as soon as The Shadow had gone. He pocketed his memo pad; began to think about

his own departure. He finally decided to finish his meal. When he was halfway through it, he saw another

This fellow looked like a reporter which, in fact, he was. The arrival was Clyde Burke; he had come in

response to a call from Burbank. Clyde's first action was to give a quick glance toward Cardell. The spy

turned his head. Clyde sat down, ordered a dinner and began to drum the table. He looked toward a corner

Soon, Clyde arose and sauntered to the booth. He entered it and closed the door, just as Cardell was paying

his check. The spy arose, came toward the door of the restaurant. He was within six feet of the telephone

Cardell used a trick that he had worked before. He stepped to the booth next to Clyde's, entered it and shifted

"He's the man all right!" Clyde's tone was emphatic... "No. There's no use to trail him. We know where he's

stopping... What's that? You'll leave the report for me? About Oakbrook?... I won't be able to pick it up for an

"All right, leave it anyway... Yes. Room 608 at the Marmont. I left the door unlocked, in case you came

there... What's that? You're at the Marmont now?... Good! Then you can leave the report right away... I'll get

Clyde hung up, stepped from the booth and glanced toward Cardell's table. The spy saw his action; smiled as

he watched Clyde go from the restaurant. Coming from his own booth, Cardell could scarcely cover his

Cardell was sure that he had spotted two agents of The Shadow, who were doing double duty: covering him

and searching for James Oakbrook. Apparently, they had learned important facts concerning the missing

broker. Any time after the next ten minutes, those facts might be available in a report that could be found in

Room 608 at the Marmont Hotel. That report would be available, in an unlocked room, for nearly an hour to

CARDELL hurried from the restaurant and boarded Moe's cab, which came along in timely fashion. Cardell

took the precaution of looking at the hackdriver's license; saw that the name and photograph were different

That was because Moe also took precautions. He put in new cards every time he dropped Cardell.

The spy ordered Moe to take him to the Marmont Hotel. Fifteen minutes later, they arrived there. Cardell

Moe rounded the block, changed the license inside his cab and came back. He nosed into the hack stand just

in back of a waiting cab. Moe figured that the other taxi might be gone by the time Cardell came out. If it still

When Cardell entered an elevator in the hotel, he experienced a sudden attack of jitters. The car did not start

at once; the operator held it to take aboard a belated passenger; then waited for a few others. Each time that

that door joggled and halted, Cardell became impatient. His lips twitched; his hard face paled. Cardell shifted

Cardell recalled how effectively he had been covered at the restaurant. He knew that The Shadow was on his

trail. He had two duties: one, to learn facts concerning Oakbrook; the other, to lure The Shadow to Zenjora's

new lair. Cardell began to wish that he had forgotten the first job and concentrated only on the second.

The door of the elevator clanged shut. The operator called for floors. Cardell spoke nervously when he

uttered "Six." He fancied that several passengers noted him. Any of these might be other watchers, posted by

The Shadow. Cardell felt a sudden doubt of Zenjora's assurance that The Shadow would adopt a hands off

Cardell remembered Marinez and Lakiki. Zenjora had expressed no great regret for the deaths of his

lieutenant and the Jibaro. To Zenjora, one henchman more or less was a matter of but little consequence. In

fact, Zenjora was so proud of his own prowess that he had often made it evident that he could replace any one

who served him. In Santander, Cardell had seen Zenjora shoot down some of his most valuable men when

When the door opened at the sixth floor, Cardell stepped off in halting fashion. He quivered like a victim

going to a sacrifice. It was not until he felt sure that he stood unwatched that Cardell rallied. Looking along

Cardell sneaked to the short passage. He noticed that it was unlighted. Dusk had settled; the entire corridor

was gloomy. That gave Cardell mingled sensations of doubt and assurance. At last, Cardell steeled himself,

A floor lamp was illuminated; by its glow, Cardell saw an envelope that lay upon a writing desk. The

Leaving the door open, Cardell drew a gun and edged across the room. His nerves were at high pitch; he did

not dare to let his finger touch the hairtrigger of his revolver, for fear the gun would go off. He reached the

One moment more, Cardell would have taken the bait. But before he could steady his hand, he heard a sound

HAD Cardell waited and reasoned, he would have picked the true source of that sound. Some hotel guest had

Cardell, however, no longer possessed a sense of reason. He sprang away from the writing desk as if it had

There he halted, crouching with his gun. He heard the clang of an elevator door; it was simply taking the

guest on board. Again, Cardell's strained senses deceived him. He fancied that the elevator had let off men

who had come here to trap him. Completely victimized by his own imagination, Cardell shrank back. His

Two minutes passed. Cardell regained some of his spent nerve. He looked back to 608; made an effort to

return to the room, then changed his mind. Instead, he crept toward to main corridor; gasped his relief when

Cardell spied the dial above an elevator, noted that a car was descending from the tenth floor. Seized with a

sudden phobia, he shoved his gun into his pocket and made a bolt for the elevators. Wildly, he pressed the

The elevator stopped. Cardell entered it. The door clanged shut. That sound carried through the sixth floor. It

caused an action across the hall from Room 608. Another door opened; a cloaked figure stepped into the

gloom of the passage. The Shadow, listening in another room, had sensed Cardell's flight.

The Shadow's first move was to enter 608. There, he picked up the unsealed envelope. He carefully drew a

paper from it; there was a slight resistance to The Shadow's pull. He had affixed the paper in the envelope

The paper was simply a small sheet that had Oakbrook's wantad pasted to it. A ring was drawn in blue

For some strange reason of his own, The Shadow had desired that this information should reach Emilio

Zenjora. That was why The Shadow had played hideandseek with Cardell. The Shadow, through some

deductive process had foreseen that Oakbrook would soon advertise his whereabouts. As soon as he had seen

The Shadow had made the spy's task an easy one. He had planned that Cardell should gain the message and

rejoin Zenjora. The Shadow would then have had no need to follow Cardell, for he could have avoided a trip

to Zenjora's headquarters. The simple course would have been to go to Oakbrook's new abode, to await

Cardell's sudden fright had changed all that. The bait might not work again. The Shadow's only alternative

was to find Zenjora as soon as possible; that meant that he must take up Cardell's trail.

THE SHADOW picked up the telephone and called Burbank. He received an immediate report one that

proved the efficiency of his agents. Moe had picked up Cardell as a fare outside the hotel. Cardell had told

the taxi driver to take him to a West Side garage. It was obvious that Cardell was going to obtain a car of his

Moe had scrawled this information on a slip of paper, unnoticed by Cardell. He had flicked the paper,

wadded, from the cab window. Hawkeye, who was slouched near by, had snagged the paper and phoned the

The Shadow knew that Moe would dawdle on the trip to the garage, choosing streets where traffic was heavy

and delay unavoidable. Calmly, The Shadow replaced the baited envelope that Cardell had failed to take.

Doffing his cloak and hat, he placed them over his arm, so that they appeared as ordinary garments.

With that, The Shadow strolled from the room. He was on his way to gain his own car, that same speedy

roadster that he had used before. He had time to reach the garage before Cardell arrived there. Darkness had

almost settled; The Shadow would find it easy to pick up Cardell's trail when the man started out in his own

Tonight's trail was to prove easier than The Shadow supposed. Cardell's actual fright had lulled him;

prevented The Shadow from divining the real truth behind the spy's hasty action. Cardell's quick flight

The Shadow was faring to a spot where the odds would be hopelessly against him. He was heading straight

for an invisible trap that Zenjora's headhunters had prepared. Tonight, The Shadow was to find new evidence

DARKNESS lay thick amid the Jersey hills when a coupe stopped near the end of an old abandoned road.

The driver turned off the ignition switch; he lighted a match with shaky hand and applied it to a cigarette. The

Zenjora's spy had reached the spot where he must begin a trail on foot; but he was not satisfied that his work

was done. This time, it was doubt that made Cardell nervous. All along the route, Cardell had watched the

mirror for signs of a following car. At times, he had believed that he had spotted one; but he was not sure.

The Shadow had again used the trick of following by the headlights of the car ahead. At this precise moment,

he was stowing his smoothmotored roadster in a place well off the road. The Shadow had picked a winding

path that led to lower ground beside a wide stream. He was bringing his car almost on a line with Cardell's,

Cardell finished his cigarette. Extinguishing it, he stepped from the coupe. He started along a path that led

upward, then turned and led back toward the creek, but on a higher level. After a hundred yards, Cardell

The spy grunted a troubled laugh. He realized that he stood a good chance of putting himself in Zenjora's bad

graces. Cardell did not intend to mention the episode at the Marmont Hotel. He knew that Zenjora would

show no mercy to an underling who had turned yellow in a pinch. Nevertheless, the knowledge of his failure

rested heavily upon him. To cover it, Cardell had hoped to bring The Shadow here. He began to feel that he

Inspired by a failing hope that The Shadow might possibly have followed, Cardell stopped to light another

cigarette. He let the tiny coal glow in the darkness; then strolled slowly ahead, flourishing the cigarette as he

These beacons served better than Cardell had supposed. Eyes had spotted them from the path. The Shadow

had seen opportunity to close the trail. Coming speedily, but silently, the cloaked follower moved within a

dozen paces of Cardell. The Shadow expected trouble. The closer he came to it, the better, under

Cardell had nearly reached the cabins when his feet crunched underbrush that lay upon the path. Cardell

remembered this spot. Previously, it had marked a hollow cut by heavy rains; wide boards had been laid

Though the path seemed solid, Cardell guessed what lay beneath. He was treading upon the weaved matting

spun by the Jibaros. Thin poles lay beneath the weave; underbrush had been gathered and spread above.

Just as Cardell reached the far side of this stretch, he detected motion beside him. The Jibaros were crouched

in darkness. The instant that Cardell passed, they reached down to cut thongs that held the poles in place.

They were preparing the trap for Cardell's follower. Their purpose was to have the matting loose, so that an

There was one flaw to the plan. Neither Zenjora nor his cunning headhunters had supposed that The Shadow

The Shadow's foot struck the underbrush before Cardell was fully past it. One step more told The Shadow

that he was upon treacherous footing. His keen ears caught sounds ahead; as he took a long stride, he felt a

quiver beneath him. Lunging, The Shadow gave a long spring forward. He was too late.

UNDERBRUSH crackled; the matting dropped as poles were loosened. The Shadow's plunge went short; his

hands failed to reach the farther bank. There was a crash as debris plunged into an eightfoot gully; twisting

One factor alone had favored The Shadow. His leap had carried him almost to the far side of the gully. As he

sprawled, he was still spinning forward. His shoulder struck the far side of the pit. His fall was broken as he

Something scraped The Shadow's back. Lying prone, he probed in darkness. He learned instantly that he had

escaped death by hairbreadth. The object against his back was a stout pole, driven deep into the bottom of

the pit. The Shadow's gloved hand found the upper end of the pole. It had been whittled to a sharp point.

Reaching farther, The Shadow found another wooden spike. He realized that the pit was full of them. Any

ordinary plunge would have impaled its victim upon one or more of these spearlike prongs. Chances were

Though The Shadow's spring had not carried him beyond the trap, it had at least saved him from death. It

gave him a chance for battle; and The Shadow expected such strife soon. Already, he could hear elated shouts

Zenjora's outlaws had heard the crash. They were coming in from the woods to view the pit. Flashlights

began to glimmer. The Shadow could see them through the remnants of the underbrush.

The pit would be a death trap of a new sort when those enemies arrived. Though The Shadow might thin

them with bullets, they would gain the final victory if he remained in the cramped space where he had fallen.

The Shadow's only course was to climb from the pit, on the side toward the cabins.

With an upward lunge, The Shadow gripped the claylike bank, clawed his way to the top. Each slip of his

hands offered disaster, for a backward fall would impale him on a spike. Lights were coming closer every

second; any delay would mean death from outlaw guns. The Shadow had eight feet to go. He made it by

Each time one hand slipped, the other was quick to grip a higher spot. Before his body slid slowly back to its

former level, The Shadow gained a temporary grip that pulled him closer to the solid ground above. One hand

came over the brink, caught a twisted tree root. The other hand joined it; The Shadow hoisted his body into

AS The Shadow rolled upon solid turf, lights burned downward from the other side of the trap. Outlaws gave

fierce snarls when they saw vacancy. One spied the muddy stretch of bank where The Shadow had clawed his

The glare was just in time to show The Shadow coming to his feet. The outlaw shouted; the others swung

their guns, but did not fire. The Shadow had scrambled away to farther darkness. Wildly, Zenjora's henchmen

began to circle the pit, hopeful that this time they could surround The Shadow and down him with their guns.

Ordinarily, The Shadow would have stopped to meet them; but he knew that another menace existed in the

darkness. The Jibaros were on his side of the pit. If any one of the three should gain a chance to fling a

poisoned dart, The Shadow's doom would be assured. What The Shadow needed was a temporary stronghold.

The Shadow had found a cabin, with door and windows closed. He was beside the door; as he listened, he

could hear the creep of Jibaro headsmen, plain despite the more distant shouts of outlaws. Gun in one hand,

The Shadow gripped the knob of the cabin door with the other. The door loosened; The Shadow flung it

Instantly, he was in the glare of lanterns. The tight door, the shuttered windows had hidden the glow. Yet the

light did not deter The Shadow. He whipped the door shut behind him. He wheeled to face any foemen who

might be within. As he swung, The Shadow saw a man seated at a table. He covered the fellow instantly; then

The man at the table was Zenjora. Eyes glaring, a distorted smile upon the lips that showed from his heavy

beard, the supercrook was gloating at The Shadow's arrival. Zenjora's arms were folded. His ugly gaze

Windows swung wide on either side; the door whipped inward. The Shadow saw apish faces to left and right;

he knew that another stood behind him. Each was ready with a poisoned bamboo javelin. Death threatened

The Shadow from three directions. Zenjora had not trusted to the Jibaro pit alone. He had prepared this

IN order to give the headhunters full opportunity to gain their posts, Zenjora had stationed himself within

the cabin. His ruse had worked well. The Shadow, entering, had looked for an occupant; hence had

concentrated on Zenjora. Timed to perfection, the headhunters had arrived to back their master.

Another move was due, according to Zenjora's calculations. Ever crafty, he had remained unarmed. His guess

was that The Shadow would swing in futile attempt to shoot down the Jibaros. Zenjora did not expect him to

clip a single one of them; for the headhunters were set to dodge from the windows as they launched their

The Shadow's first actions had been logical; for every one had offered him some advantage. Sighting the

Jibaros, The Shadow saw a hopeless situation. Had he swung about, or made a single mistaken shift, death

Instead, The Shadow took advantage of the only flaw in Zenjora's snare. Finger upon the trigger of his .45, he

held steady aim toward Zenjora. To give it emphasis, he moved forward to the table; faced the bearded crook

The Shadow had not allowed a fraction of time for Zenjora to spring away while headhunters made their

thrusts. The moment that a bamboo javelin winged the air, he could pull his trigger. If death should be The

The Shadow had produced a stalemate. Zenjora knew it; he babbled frantically in highpitched dialect. The

Shadow recognized that he was calling to his headhunters, telling them to retrain their weapons.

The Shadow's answer was a sinister laugh that crept through the pine walls of the cabin. The game worked

either way. The Shadow's mockery told that he had no fear of death; that Zenjora's dilemma was the same as

Nevertheless, The Shadow foresaw that he might lose his equal status. Though the Jibaros stood motionless,

there were others: those outlaws whom The Shadow had escaped. They were creeping toward the cabin. At

any time, they might poke gun muzzles through knot holes in the pine boards. If rifles crackled from the

There was one way to end this changing situation that could become worse for The Shadow. That was to give

Zenjora a reason to call off his hounds of death. Calmly, The Shadow spoke unexpected words.

"My death," pronounced The Shadow to Zenjora, "will mean yours. My death would end your schemes. I

hold facts that you can never learn. I, alone, can tell you where James Oakbrook may be found."

A sudden glint came to Zenjora's eyes; his optics glittered below the beads of perspiration that had formed

"Your life for mine," he bargained. "Your freedom, later, when you have told me where Oakbrook is!"

ZENJORA hesitated; then leered in confident fashion. His men were too numerous for The Shadow, with this

cabin a trap instead of a stronghold. Zenjora delivered two orders; the first to the Jibaros, the second to the

The Shadow stepped back from the table, placed his automatic beneath his cloak. Instantly, Zenjora whipped

out a revolver to cover him. While Jibaros stood at the windows, outlaws surged through the door; they

Zenjora ordered them to tie the prisoner hand and foot. The brigands obeyed, using lengths of ropes and

leather thongs. They sprawled The Shadow in a corner, thrusting him there with kicks and jeers.

Zenjora ordered his motley crew outside. Standing above The Shadow, he was joined by two men: Bandrillo

"I have allowed you to live," he sneered to The Shadow. "You shall have freedom after my plans are

"Our bargain is complete," responded The Shadow, calmly. "We are both alive. As for freedom, I no longer

Zenjora scowled. He realized what The Shadow had gained. Death was no longer a weapon for Zenjora, until

he had learned the facts he needed. Torture was the one instrument that the crook could use.

"You think that you will not speak?" purred Zenjora. "Ah, we shall learn that for ourselves. You have not yet

tasted the medicine that Emilio Zenjora can give. It may take hours, days perhaps; but you will speak before I

Cardell saw a sudden chance to hold his chief's favor. In concise fashion, the spy began to tell of the episode

at the Marmont Hotel. He softened the story, to make it appear that danger had been too great to enter the

"Let me return," pleaded Cardell. "I brought The Shadow here, as you wanted. He is your prisoner; the way is

"Go, Cardell," he ordered. "After you have searched for the message, call by telephone to the little store two

Cardell strode from the cabin. Zenjora's eyes gleamed triumph. Beckoning to Bandrillo, Zenjora drew the

Men of crime had reached their zenith. With The Shadow a prisoner, success seemed certain to Emilio

IN the minute that followed Cardell's departure, The Shadow summed the present circumstances and found

that they offered little. The Shadow had gained respite from death; but he knew that the interval would not be

When he bluffed Zenjora, The Shadow had hoped that a period of imprisonment would give him opportunity

to work out an escape. He had been willing to take doses of Zenjora's tortures, if they came as part of a

Cardell, however, had crossed The Shadow's plans. The spy had taken a chance that The Shadow had

expected him to avoid. Zenjora, in turn, had curbed his wrath, and had agreed to let Cardell return to his

In about one hour, Cardell would be back in Manhattan. He would find the room at the Marmont exactly as

The Shadow had left it. Soon after that, Bandrillo would receive the telephoned message, stating the news

concerning James Oakbrook. Once that word was brought to Zenjora, the crook could pronounce doom for

Looking ahead, The Shadow considered the vital hour that still remained to him. No minutes could be

Half rising in his corner, The Shadow began to struggle against his bonds. His hands were securely tied

behind him. It would take a long time to loosen them. Nevertheless, The Shadow used great effort, twisting

about until his back was half toward Zenjora and Bandrillo. The two halted their conference to watch the

While he fought against the rigid bonds that held his hands, The Shadow used his ankles also; but the

watchers scarcely noticed that fact. The Shadow had deliberately attracted their attention to his wrists. He had

a reason; he knew that he could free his feet sooner than he could his hands. Therefore, he wanted to divert

When the outlaws had bound him, The Shadow had managed to cross his feet. By shifting his ankles,

bringing them side by side, he could gain slack at will. Ropes and thongs were still too tight to be slipped; but

Zenjora and Bandrillo returned to their conference, satisfied that The Shadow's struggle were hopeless. They

had nothing to fear; for headhunters were close at hand, ready for immediate call. Nevertheless, the crooks

could still hear The Shadow's struggle on the floor; and that fact caused Zenjora to deliver occasional glares

At last, Zenjora stopped the conference with a snarl. He gesticulated impatiently to Bandrillo.

"Bah!" exclaimed Zenjora. "We waste time talking! What good are plans until we know where we must go?

There was a pause, while Zenjora eyed The Shadow, who had temporarily ceased his struggles. Sight of The

"What if Cardell finds nothing?" he demanded, savagely, with a gesture to Bandrillo. "What shall we do

"We must torture him," the supercrook declared, pointing to The Shadow. "We must make him speak as soon

as possible. Perhaps" Zenjora smiled with relish as The Shadow began a new struggle against the bonds

RISING, Zenjora walked to The Shadow's corner, glared down at the huddled prisoner. The Shadow's eyes

met Zenjora's; they showed a blazing challenge that brought a snarl from the crook.

"You ask for torture, eh?" queried Zenjora, angrily. "Very good. You shall have it!"

Wheeling to Bandrillo, Zenjora gave an order. He told the lieutenant to go outside and summon four outlaws.

Two minutes after Bandrillo had gone, four ruffians entered the cabin. Zenjora ordered them to carry The

Shadow, while he led the way. As the banditti hoisted their living burden, Zenjora called an order from the

doorway. His three headhunters scrambled from their posts, joined their evil chief and followed him.

Zenjora led the way to the glade, where other outlaws sat about their camp fire. The throng arose with ugly

murmurs as they saw four of their fellows bringing The Shadow on their shoulders. Zenjora beckoned; all

Zenjora strode to the brink of the ravine. There, he turned about; his face glowed with demonish malice; the

The four men dropped The Shadow at Zenjora's feet. Prone and motionless, on the very edge of the gorge,

The Shadow could hear a roar from far beneath, where the wide stream surged through the gap between the

The Shadow had ceased his struggles with the bonds. Given a dozen minutes more, he could have loosened

those about his ankles. Zenjora had unwittingly blocked that move. At present, new struggles would be more

Calmly, The Shadow watched Zenjora. He knew that the supercrook must have picked this spot for some

definite reason; one that undoubtedly included torture. Zenjora's eyes saw The Shadow's gaze; the crook's

Like a showman upon a platform, Zenjora summoned his Jibaros. He pointed to a stout sapling that was

rooted on the very edge of the gorge. With chattered response, the headhunters started up the tree like

As the first Jibaro neared the top, the slender tree wavered. As it swung toward Zenjora, another Jibaro

scrambled beside the first. The sapling bent down toward the high ground; the third Jibaro added his weight

to the top branches. In one mass, the headhunters carried the slender treetop to the ground; they held the

Another gesture from Zenjora; a pair of husky outlaws stepped up and held the bent tree where it was.

Zenjora pointed to a second sapling, only a dozen feet from the first. The Jibaros repeated their process;

brought the second treetop downward. Again, a pair of outlaws took over the task of holding it.

ZENJORA had evidently tested this device beforehand; for other preparations had been completed earlier.

Stooping to a spot beside The Shadow, Zenjora pushed away a small pile of brush. The action showed heavy

timbers sunk deep in the ground, and weighted by huge stones. From the logs projected the ends of a massive

The Jibaros knew what was due; for this was one of their own jungle tortures. Without a word from Zenjora,

they dragged The Shadow to the sunken timbers. They pushed a strap end between The Shadow's ankles,

over the bonds that held them. Zenjora, himself, buckled the strap; saw that it was firm.

Shoving The Shadow to a seated position, the Jibaros cut the bonds that held his wrists. Instantly, Quinqual

seized one of The Shadow's arms, while Incos grabbed the other. They raised The Shadow's hands above his

head. Miquon tightened a leather thong around one of The Shadow's wrists; then bound the other wrist with

One such bond was not enough. Miquon added more, with Quinqual and Incos helping him; for they no

longer needed to hold The Shadow's arms. They nodded to Zenjora; babbled harsh words of glee.

Outlaws maneuvered the tops of the bent saplings between The Shadow's upheld arms. Gradually, they

released the pressure. The trees, stiffening upward, drew The Shadow upright. He was stretched like a rod

that restrains the action of a powerful spring. The outlaws still held the bent trees to relieve the strain.

Zenjora faced The Shadow, whose back was toward the edge of the ravine. With his headhunters clustered

"I have seen this in the jungle," he told The Shadow. "Once my men have taken away their weight, your body

will bear the strain of four. Perhaps for a while, you will have the strength to resist it. Once that is ended, you

"Perhaps an easier death will suit you better. I can promise you less pain. Speak, while the time still offers.

Tell me where I shall find James Oakbrook. I shall give you until Bandrillo returns; no longer."

Outlaws were weakening; The Shadow could already feel the tug of the pulling saplings. The strain reached

his feet; he felt a quiver of the cords that bound his ankles. The Shadow's reply to Zenjora was a lowtoned

"You have chosen!" Zenjora spat the words. Then, to the outlaws: "Away! Release! Let him have his choice!"

HANDS dropped from the trunks of the saplings. The bent trees wavered, as though eager to launch

themselves in upward spring. The Shadow's tightened muscles held them. He could feel the strain from finger

Zenjora, glaring, expected to see The Shadow weaken within a minute. Instead, The Shadow remained as

firm as a rod of steel. Thongs stretched between his wrists; the strap bulged between his ankles. His feet were

off the ground; but he met the ordeal with tightened muscles that would not yield an inch.

There was another quiver of bonds that held The Shadow's ankles. Muscles taut, he shifted his feet. The

Shadow's hidden lips were grim beneath the folds of his upturned cloak. The Shadow saw a coming result,

due within the next two minutes. He was prepared to stand the strain until then.

One minute passed. There was a shout from the glade. Zenjora turned; he saw Bandrillo. In dialect, the

"Cardell called me!" cried Bandrillo. "He has found the message! He knows where Oakbrook is!"

With a basso chuckle, Zenjora turned to his headhunters; then pointed to The Shadow. From their jackets,

the Jibaros drew their poisontipped javelins. Zenjora was ready to cut short The Shadow's torture; to let the

The Shadow's time was shortened. He could no longer rely upon the increasing strain to accomplish the result

he wanted. Bonds were quivering anew at his ankles; with a mighty effort, The Shadow tightened every

Stretched thongs responded at The Shadow's feet. His heels came upward; they ripped loose from the shoes

that encased them. As the Jibaros swung their arms to drive their poisoned shafts, there was a sudden crackle

Like a flash, the trees whipped upward, carrying The Shadow with them. His feet freed, tension was gone; he

was snapped from the path of the Jibaro weapons with skyrocket speed. Bamboo shafts whirred through

The Shadow's swift ride continued. Saplings had lashed to a fifteenfoot height. The Shadow's wrists were

loose across their tops. The momentum carried him a dozen feet higher; whirled him like a missile from a

THE SHADOW was gone from the firelight at a speed that no eye could follow. Zenjora stood astounded, his

henchmen riveted beside him. They saw yellow saplings that wavered back and forth, as if pleased with the

Then, from far below, came a dull splash amid the roar of waters. Zenjora spat an order. Outlaws leaped to

the brink, flashed powerful lights upon the surging stream at the bottom of the gorge. Some thought they saw

Revolvers barked; rifles crackled. The whole gorge echoed with the wild barrage. Outlaws fired until their

"Perhaps The Shadow still lives," sneered Zenjora, "but it is doubtful. He may be crippled on the rocks

below; if so, he will die there! Those shots were needed; but they have probably aroused the countryside.

Bandrillo nodded his accord. The lieutenant called the outlaws, told them to prepare for immediate departure.

Zenjora gave the same order to the Jibaros. As henchmen hurried away, Zenjora asked Bandrillo:

"A few hours will bring us there," he declared. "Once we have dealt with Oakbrook, our main task will be

Emilio Zenjora no longer expected obstacles in his path. The bearded rogue was confident that he had

AT the very hour when Zenjora was planning hasty departure from the New Jersey hill region, Alvarez

Rentone and Lynn Jefford were in their apartment, studying a copy of the evening Sphere. Harry Vincent had

"Oakbrook understands matters," declared Alvarez. "The advertisement is proof of it. I think, Lynn, that he

"You will know that for sure," reminded Lynn, "if he repeats the advertisement tomorrow."

"I would like to visit Oakbrook anyway," asserted Alvarez. "We know nothing of The Shadow's plans. Even

Vincent is in doubt concerning them. Your car has been returned to your garage, so Vincent told us. Let us

Recalling his promise, Alvarez became sheepish. He had made the pledge to Harry Vincent, that he would

not visit Oakbrook until he was sure that the broker wanted to see him. Alvarez was a man who never broke

his word. He pondered upon the hopelessness of visiting Oakbrook; then, suddenly, a thought struck him.

Picking up the telephone, Alvarez called the evening Sphere. Lynn, puzzled, heard his friend inquire:

"Wantad section?... Could you tell me about an advertisement placed by Thomas Rustwick?... Yes, I have

misplaced my copy of your newspaper... But if it will appear tomorrow, I can buy an early edition... Ah! You

"That settles it," he declared. "We know that Oakbrook wants to see us. To be fair to Vincent, we will call

him and let him know what we have learned. We can go, if he offers no objection."

Lynn nodded his agreement. He put in a call to the Metrolite Hotel; found that Harry was not in his hotel

room. As he finished the call, he saw Alvarez donning hat and coat. Lynn tried new argument. It was useless.

Alvarez maintained that there had been no objection from Harry. At last, Lynn yielded.

"All right," he decided. "We'll leave a note, though, for Vincent. I know the region around Mercer. It's

straight north and we can make a speedy trip. After all, we're within the terms of our agreement."

THE two started immediately. Fifteen minutes after their departure, the silence of the apartment was broken

by the ringing of the telephone bell. That sound ended; another quarter hour passed. A key rattled in the door;

Returning to his hotel, Harry had learned of a call, with no name mentioned. He had supposed it was from

Lynn and Alvarez. He had called the apartment; had made a quick trip here when he gained no answer.

Harry found a note that Lynn had left. It told what had happened. Harry called Burbank over the apartment

telephone. After reporting, he waited for a return call with instructions. Twenty minutes passed; the delay was

When the telephone finally rang, Harry answered quickly. He heard Burbank's voice; the contact man was

talking to someone else. That was not unusual; Burbank had several telephones in the contact room.

Listening, Harry found that Burbank was talking to Miles Crofton, an agent of The Shadow's who had

"Emergency field at White Hill..." Harry could hear Burbank giving instructions to Crofton. "Forty miles due

Burbank switched telephones to give Harry brief instructions. Harry was to wait for Cliff Marsland outside

the apartment. Cliff was one of The Shadow's agents who always came on duty when heavy action loomed.

Harry guessed that there might be others in the car with Cliff; probably Hawkeye, perhaps Clyde Burke.

APPROXIMATELY fifty minutes had passed since Lynn and Alvarez had left the apartment. They had made

good speed from New York. Miles north of Manhattan, Lynn's coupe was hitting a steady seventy along the

The car approached a crossroad. Lynn slackened speed and turned to the left. They followed a rougher road,

near a lake. Lynn saw a dirt road to the right and decided that it must lead to Oakbrook's lodge. Taking the

road, he and Alvarez came to a small stone house, just inside a gate. The building looked like a miniature

Alvarez replied, giving his name. He stated that he had brought a friend named Lynn Jefford; that they

wished to see James Oakbrook. The wicket closed. The gatekeeper was making a telephone call to the lodge.

Two minutes later, the gate swung open mechanically. Lynn drove through and followed a driveway.

Window lights showed the lodge. Lynn parked the coupe; he and Alvarez alighted. They noted some

darkened windows indicating that armed men were on guard. They stepped into a glow that came from a light

Stepping into a huge living room, they were greeted by a man who stood with outstretched hand. His

appearance was striking, for he was entirely in gray. His hair, his eyes were of the same color as his clothes.

Lynn saw Alvarez return the smile of recognition that the gray man gave. Lynn knew that this must be James

Closing the door, Oakbrook conducted his visitors across the huge room that occupied the whole front of the

lodge. Lynn and Alvarez were amazed at the sumptuous furnishings. Rich rugs adorned the floor. Chairs,

tables and bookcases were of solid mahogany. Each rear corner showed a huge tapestry; the hangings were

The door by which the visitors had entered was at the right of the front wall, when viewed from the interior.

The space to the left of it had a huge window. Each side wall had a window also. There were two doorways at

the back of the room. Each marked a passage to another portion of the lodge and both doorways were heavily

Between the doors was a large desk; behind it, in the wall, a fairsized safe. This equipment showed that

OAKBROOK sat down behind the desk; Alvarez and Lynn faced him across the flat top. The broker smiled

"I have not believed these reports about you," he told Alvarez with a smile. "I know that you are not a public

Alvarez nodded. He began his story, from the time of his first visit to Oakbrook. He told of Broggoletta's

death; of Estaban's letter; of the trap at the Kincaid estate. He described the rescue accomplished by The

Shadow and explained why The Shadow had believed it best for Alvarez to accept the burden of crime until

"The story amazes me," expressed Oakbrook, when Alvarez had finished. "It sounds fantastic, beyond belief!

I doubt that you could convince any one of its truth, even with Jefford's supporting testimony. I believe you,

though, for you forewarned me of trouble. My advertisements in the Sphere are proof of my confidence in

you. I wanted to see you, to discuss matters. Your story, however, has brought up some important angles."

"You tell me that Estaban is dead," said the broker. "That makes you sole heir to your grandfather's estate.

"I am positive that he was," replied Alvarez. "His name must have been on the list of those who were to

"Unquestionably! He killed Dundee because of Fendoza. The Shadow has made it unwise for Zenjora to seek

"He might have known Fendoza," he told Oakbrook, "but I doubt it. Zenjora, though, took him for a

messenger like Fendoza. In fact, Zenjora mentioned Broggoletta as such when Lynn and I were trapped in the

"That should settle the matter," decided Oakbrook, "unless The Shadow holds to another theory."

"The Shadow simply asked what I knew about Broggoletta. The question came through Vincent. I gave the

Oakbrook nodded. His questions were ended. Raising one hand, he snapped his fingers. There was an

immediate response to the gray man's signal. A trio of husky servants appeared from one of the curtained

"My bodyguards," explained Oakbrook. "I have a fourth man the one at the gatehouse. I shall post these

He stopped short as the telephone rang. Answering the call, Oakbrook showed a sudden expression of alarm.

TO both listeners, the statement was a dread one. Zenjora's unexpected arrival could mean doom. It told that

the supercrook had located Oakbrook. The gray man, however, showed but little concern.

"Keller reports that Zenjora is alone," he declared. "I see his game, even though I did not believe that he

would arrive so soon. He believes that you are dead, Alvarez. Zenjora holds the promissory notes; he will

expect me to deliver the million dollars. If I refuse, he will probably send to Santander for instructions and

Motioning to his three servants, Oakbrook told one to watch the back door of the lodge. He instructed each of

the others to move behind a curtained doorway; to remain there, guarding each passage. It was plain that

Oakbrook intended to admit Zenjora, to learn the crafty outlaw's game and trap him if opportunity afforded.

Alvarez was impressed by Oakbrook's nerve; but he saw a flaw in the broker's game. Referring to himself and

"He will not find you until the proper time. I have a place for each of you." Oakbrook pointed to the corner

Reaching into the desk, Oakbrook produced two weapons of .32 caliber. Alvarez and Lynn came to their feet;

each took a gun and started for a corner. Oakbrook spoke into the mouthpiece of the telephone:

Rising from the desk, Oakbrook looked about with satisfaction. His three servants were stationed out of sight.

Lynn and Alvarez were behind the tapestries. A desk drawer was pulled half open; within it lay a .38 for

"Be ready," he spoke for Lynn and Alvarez to hear. "Come from the tapestries when I raise my left hand thus.

With that, Oakbrook went to the front door and listened. He heard the purr of a motor coming along the drive.

The grayclad man smiled his confidence. Lynn and Alvarez watched him from the edges of the tapestries.

So intent were all those in the room that they failed to notice something else that happened. There was a

slight rustle at one of the curtained passages at the rear of the room. Soon afterward, there was semblance of

Those occurrences were ominous, coming at the exact time of Emilio Zenjora's arrival. They signified that

trouble could have come to Oakbrook's bodyguards; first, to the man at the back door; afterward, to each

The rustle of curtains were ended. Like tokens of death, they had appeared; then vanished. The draperies

were stilled when footsteps crunched outside the front door of the lodge. Unwitting of the happenings within

Calmly, the grayclad man opened to portal and stepped back from the threshold to extend a hand of greeting

EMILIO ZENJORA had arrived alone. He was suave and friendly as he bowed from the doorway of the

lodge. On this occasion, the bearded bandit had masked his evil pose. He was the Emilio Zenjora who had

Glare was gone from eyes of evil. Ruddy lips were pleasant in their smile. Zenjora's hand faked sincerity in

its grip when he received Oakbrook's shake. Still bowing, the bearded visitor followed Oakbrook as the

When Oakbrook's back was turned, however, Zenjora's eyes showed an avaricious flash. The bearded man

had spied the safe behind the broker's desk. Zenjora guessed that the safe was the repository for the million

"I presume that you are from Santander," remarked Oakbrook, as he sat down and passed a box of cigars

"Ah!" Zenjora shrugged his shoulders. "Any one may be heard of in Santander. I hope that you did not

"I understood," said Oakbrook, "that you belonged to a faction opposed to my former friend, Jose Rentone."

"Ah, no!" Zenjora shook his head. "Much was misunderstood. I was a friend to the late dictator; but it was

difficult for either of us to state that fact. Politics are serious business in Santander. It is not wise always for

"I understand," nodded Oakbrook. "Perhaps, then, senor, you can tell me what has become of Alvarez

Oakbrook hesitated; then answered: "Yes. But I was not ready to believe their reports."

"You should not believe them," declared Zenjora. "They tell of another man who has been misunderstood.

Alvarez Rentone is not a criminal. The crimes of others have been placed upon him. But he has been forced

Oakbrook reigned surprise. Zenjora smiled; reached into his pocket and produced the sheaf of promissory

"I have brought these," he declared. "Once you have given me the money, I shall carry it to Alvarez Rentone.

ZENJORA veiled the insidious significance of his words. Oakbrook gave no sign that he suspected the true

meaning. Instead, he simply examined the promissory notes; turned about and pulled the door of the safe.

The door was unlocked; it swung wide. From the safe, Oakbrook produced the same box that he had shown

"These notes," declared Oakbrook, "are cancelled." He tore them; tossed the pieces into a wastebasket. "The

entire amount is there, senor; all negotiable. I trust you to deliver it to its proper owners."

Zenjora completed a quick counting of the funds. He arose; Oakbrook did the same. The broker waited until

Zenjora tucked the box under his arm and turned toward the door; then, with a quick move, Oakbrook raised

Tapestries swept aside. Lynn and Alvarez leaped from their hiding places, with ready revolvers. At the same

instant, Oakbrook whipped his .38 from the desk drawer. He gave a sharp call to Zenjora.

The bearded crook wheeled. His eyes glared as he saw himself within a triangle of guns. He gazed at the men

who held the weapons. A dumfounded look registered itself upon Zenjora's bearded visage.

For seconds, no one spoke. It was Zenjora himself who broke the silence. He let the money box fall to a

chair; slowly, he raised his hands above his head. His tone was an ugly purr that came from curling lips.

"So The Shadow rescued you," he said to Lynn and Alvarez. "That is how he learned so much concerning

Oakbrook. Bah! The Shadow did not profit by his interference. Perhaps, my friends, you will soon join him!"

Stolidly, Alvarez reached for the money box. As he picked it up, Oakbrook spoke, telling him to place the

million dollars on the desk. Alvarez did so. Oakbrook gestured for him to again cover Zenjora with his gun.

"So it is you," sneered Zenjora, facing Oakbrook, "who arranged this trap! You are a fool, Oakbrook! You

have lost one million dollars. Perhaps you and I could have made a bargain for that wealth."

A hard smile showed on Oakbrook's lips. The grayhaired man kept his revolver leveled straight toward

"No bargain is necessary," declared Oakbrook, his tone a rasped one. "Stand where you are, Zenjora! I have

you covered! As for you, Alvarez, and your friend Jefford, I order you to make no move! The two of you are

LYNN and Alvarez stared in surprise. One look at Oakbrook's face told them that he meant his words.

"Why did I need to give up a million dollars?" demanded Oakbrook. "Two men alone knew the secret of its

hiding place. You were one, Alvarez; your cousin Estaban the other. The day I left New York, I prepared to

"To eliminate Estaban, I sent an anonymous cablegram to Santander, telling the authorities that they would

find him at San Luis. I learned tonight that the step was unnecessary. Zenjora had already seen to your

"For you, Alvarez, I prepared a death that fitted with Fendoza's; one that would further mystify the law, by

continuing the Italian angle that Zenjora had started. I hired an assassin to kill you with a stiletto thrust."

Slowly, Oakbrook nodded. An appreciative chuckle came from the bearded lips of Zenjora. He admired the

"No one guessed my part," sneered Oakbrook. "Not even the man you call The Shadow. But Broggoletta

failed to kill. That was why I brought you here, Alvarez. The newspapers told that you were wanted by the

law. Very well. The law will find you. You will lie dead, here in this lodge. I and my servants will be

Lynn Jefford saw Alvarez stare, half dazed. To Lynn's brain came a sudden understanding; he realized why

The Shadow had divined the part played by Nick Broggoletta. The Shadow had seen that a paid assassin must

have come from some definite source. Only Oakbrook could have sent him; for outside of Zenjora only

Alvarez, by confiding in Oakbrook, had given the broker a chance to turn to crime. Oakbrook had grasped it;

and The Shadow had seen the answer. That was why The Shadow had wanted Alvarez to take the burden of

Zenjora's crimes, so that Oakbrook would feel confident enough to reveal his evil hand.

Lynn saw more; he saw that Zenjora must also have come here through information that The Shadow had

enabled him to gain. The Shadow had planned a showdown, crook against crook. Zenjora, with the

promissory notes; Oakbrook, with the money that they represented. The Shadow wanted the two to meet and

battle while he arrived to pluck the spoils and restore them to Alvarez Rentone.

Dully, Lynn realized how he and Alvarez had blundered. He stared toward Oakbrook; then looked at Zenjora.

A shiver suddenly seized Lynn as he saw a demoniacal smile appear upon Zenjora's lips. Oakbrook was

"You, Alvarez," spoke Oakbrook, "and you, Jefford, can have one satisfaction. Your guns are trained upon

Zenjora. When I give the word, you can proceed to riddle him with bullets. My own men will slaughter you,

immediately afterward; but the joy of dealing with Zenjora will lessen your own burden of doom. I am ready

A TERRIFIC clatter interrupted Oakbrook's statement. Three windows shattered simultaneously. In from the

dark sprang a trio of apish men; one from the front, two from the sides. They were Zenjora's Jibaro tribesmen.

They had passed Keller, at the gate. Outside the windows, they had caught a signal from Zenjora. As they

smashed the glass and hurtled inward, their arms were raised to throwing positions. Each had a feathered

Quinqual and Incos were prepared to strike down Alvarez and Lynn. Miquon, at the front window, was

driving his limber arm toward Oakbrook. An instant later, three javelins would have winged the air; but only

Timed with the crashing entry of the headhunters, the curtain of a passage doorway was swept aside. A

gloved hand jabbed toward Quinqual; a .45 boomed as a finger pressed the trigger. Swinging to the opposite

angle was another hand, that held a second automatic. It waited only as blazing eyes turned to sight along it.

Quinqual sprawled to the floor, his javelin in his fist. Incos tumbled as his arm began its heave; his fingers

loosened, the shaft fell from them. Rolling, the Jibaro lay across his poisoned weapon.

Miquon alone dispatched his dart. The shaft found its victim: Oakbrook. The broker took the point deep in his

shoulder; he staggered behind his desk. Miquon leaped for the window; Alvarez and Lynn saw The Shadow

spring from the curtained passage. An automatic boomed its lethal message. Miquon tumbled, headforemost,

The Shadow had arrived to witness the meeting between Oakbrook and Zenjora. He had escaped from the

gorge; freed his chafed wrists and had reached his hidden car. He had called Burbank, to dispatch Crofton

with an autogiro from Newark Airport. In that ship, The Shadow had reached the landing field in back of the

Coming to the lodge, he had overpowered Oakbrook's servants in silent fashion, one by one. He had taken his

place behind the curtain, ready to deliver his own thrusts when the moment arrived.

ZENJORA saw The Shadow. The bearded crook went berserk. Springing from between Lynn and Alvarez,

he leaped for the desk, vaulted it and fell upon Oakbrook's swaying form. Lynn and Alvarez fired late and

wild. They saw Zenjora grab Oakbrook's gun; seize the dying broker and swing him as a shield.

The move had been amazing in its swiftness. Already, Zenjora had begun to stab wild shots toward The

Shadow. His aim was shaken by the sway of Oakbrook's body; and that grayclad form failed utterly to serve

The Shadow was pumping bullets from both automatics. They came in a blazing stream, riddling Oakbrook,

to reach the man beyond. That deadly hail was overwhelming in its power. Pummelling bullets literally

Oakbrook was dead at the beginning of The Shadow's fire. The Jibaro shaft had doomed him with its

poisoned dye. As the bulletriddled corpse sank to the floor, Zenjora floundered upon the desk. He made a

Zenjora's hands clawed a last tattoo upon the desk. His bearded face plopped from sight.

The Shadow was reloading his automatics. The move was timely. Shots were sounding outside. Bandrillo and

the outlaws had driven past the gate; Keller was firing as they went by. Ordering Lynn and Alvarez to remain

There, his sinister laugh sounded its challenge to approaching foemen. As revolvers barked, The Shadow's

guns responded. Once again, he was tonguing death from darkness. Banditti scattered before the

Members of the band were sprawling as they fled. Bandrillo was among the ones who dropped. Leaping into

a lone car, a leaderless crew took flight. They passed the gate unscathed, for they had settled Keller with the

As the outlaw machine swept past the gate, a car roared up to block it. New guns opened fire. The Shadow's

agents had arrived to stop the flight. The driver of the bandit car was felled; uncontrolled, the machine hurtled

from the road, rolled down a long slope and wrecked itself completely when it struck a high stone wall.

WITHIN the lodge, Lynn and Alvarez heard the end of gunfire. They heard the distant rumble of a car, that

faded off along the road below. Soon afterward, they caught the sound of a roaring motor; it throbbed

The Shadow had sent his agents from the field of battle; they had traveled away in their car. He, in turn, had

Alvarez Rentone and Lynn Jefford stood by the desk where the million dollars rested. That wealth; the torn

notes in the wastebasket; the dead forms of Zenjora and the Jibaros were all they needed to prove their case

Oakbrook's body, too, was evidence. The broker's servants, bound and gagged, would testify to the crime that

their master had planned; for they knew the power of The Shadow, and would not care to risk his future

But although The Shadow had accomplished this task for the law against great odds; although he was leaving

behind him a living sermon that crime does not pay, he was bound to meet even greater obstacles before the

Not one man, no one family, but a whole city would be his next objective a City of Crime in which the

roots of gangdom had grown so strong that they held almost every citizen in their clutch. From the least

important citizen to the most prominent civic leader, the guilty finger pointed its way. Only some tremendous

outside force could clear this evil; only someone with the power of The Shadow could hope to battle such

outstanding odds. The City of Crime was soon to have this scourge of the underworld, this amazing being of