MALMORDO.....................................................................................................................................................1

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

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

CHAPTER II ............................................................................................................................................4

CHAPTER III..........................................................................................................................................9

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER VIII.....................................................................................................................................26

CHAPTER IX........................................................................................................................................29

CHAPTER X.........................................................................................................................................32

CHAPTER XI........................................................................................................................................35

CHAPTER XII .......................................................................................................................................40

CHAPTER XIII.....................................................................................................................................44

CHAPTER XIV.....................................................................................................................................47

CHAPTER XV......................................................................................................................................50

CHAPTER XVI.....................................................................................................................................54

CHAPTER XVII ....................................................................................................................................57

CHAPTER XVIII ...................................................................................................................................60

CHAPTER XIX.....................................................................................................................................65

CHAPTER XX......................................................................................................................................68

CHAPTER XXI.....................................................................................................................................71

LIKE some weird creature from the deep, the crawling fog enveloped the Steamship Santander as she lay at

her North River pier. From the grimy blackness that represented the river came the deepthroated blares of

steamship whistles and the shrill squeals of tugboats, like voices urging the thick mist forward.

For one thing, the fog hadn't arrived until the banana boat had docked, so now its hemming mass was

harmless. And now, artistically speaking, the drizzling mist was giving this floating junkpile both grace and

The dim, dewy pier lights scarcely reached the side of the Santander. Her hulk, fogpainted a whitish gray,

seemed to be undergoing the swathes of an invisible brush that produced a streamlined effect of motion.

Magnified by that blanketing gray, the Santander literally towered out of sight, creating the illusion that this

Between the varied blasts of the frequent river whistles came silence, broken only by an occasional splash.

An angler might have mistaken those sounds for jumping fish, except that fish didn't jump in the oily, ugly

Then, like a warning all its own, came a slow, flat beat of footsteps tramping inward from the pier end in

slow, methodical rhythm. As those footsteps neared a light that was hanging from a post, they were

accompanied by a creaking from dried, warped boards that formed the surface of the pier.

Out of the fog loomed a burly policeman who, like the Santander, looked three sizes bigger. His footbeats

stopped as he heard a movement beside him; bringing his swinging club to his fist, the officer turned sharply.

The stir had come from a batch of packingcases stacked near the post. Hearing it again, the patrolman

Again the stack wobbled, to the accompaniment of a creak. The officer straightened with a short laugh. A

loose plank had jiggled the packingcases, that was all. After testing it a few times, the officer continued his

Whistles sounded intermittently, punctuated by those curious, recurrent splashes from alongside the

Santander. Then, from back where other lights formed glowing dots and nothing more, came the plodding

This time those beats halted at short intervals. Close to the postlight, the patrolman showed his face in the

murky glow and his expression was troubled. He took a few more paces, stopped and listened. From behind

him he heard a slow creakcreak like something governed by remote control. It couldn't be the echoes of his

He couldn't have been as clumsy as be looked, this cop, for at the end of half a dozen paces he made a neat,

deft shift beyond the packingcases. There, crouching, he put away his nightstick and drew a revolver

instead. There wasn't any guessing about those creaking sounds, not any longer. They were approaching and

The crouching officer shifted upward, forward. He elbowed one of the packingcases and then grabbed at it.

The box didn't fall, although the cop's clutch was limited to his fingernails. It must have struck a propping

box beyond. But the sound was heard by that other man, approaching through the fog. The creaky shuffle did

There was only one place where the newcomer could have located himself; that was behind the post, beyond

the glare of the already muffled light. Pointing his revolver at the post, the patrolman demanded hoarsely:

A voice returned the challenge with, "So it's you, Moultrie!" and a stocky man edged into sight around the old

wooden post. Moultrie, the patrolman, slid away his revolver and fumbled for the nightstick, trying to

change his sheepish look to match the pokerfaced expression that showed on the swarthy face of the stocky

"That's all right, Moultrie," interposed the stocky arrival. "You're on duty to question people. I wasn't sure

who you were, either, the way you kept halting your patrol. Notice anything special back there?"

There was an interrupting nod. Inspector Joe Cardona, despite his deadpan manner, could sympathize with a

slight case of the jitters. In fact, though he didn't mention it publicly, his years of experience had convinced

Cardona that a certain amount of nerves rendered a patrolman alert and therefore made him a good

"I don't think so, Inspector," returned the cop, glad that his shift behind the stack had been interpreted as a

performance of duty. "Those boxes wobbled when I was going past, but it may have been on account of this."

To illustrate, Moultrie stepped over to the right board and pressed his foot on it. The boxes wobbled

accordingly and the tilted one threatened to topple, but didn't. Then, approaching the boxes, Moultrie added:

"I looked through them earlier. Maybe I ought to do the same right now, Inspector, even though they're empty

By way of illustrating the final point, the patrolman thwacked one of the packing cases with his club and

automatically modified his statement. Something bounced from beneath the empty box, scudded across the

planking and disappeared between the pier edge and the moored Santander, concluding its trip with one of the

Even in the gloom, Cardona and Moultrie didn't fail to recognize the creature as a sizeable rat, which didn't

require the magnifying effect of the fog to class it as an unusually large specimen.

"Not as big as the kind we're looking for," returned Cardona, "nor as slimy. Human rats, those stowaways that

Cardona's lips kept moving along that line of talk but Moultrie didn't hear him. The Queen Mary was

speaking from somewhere in the fog, the grand diapason of her whistle threatening to rip the mist asunder.

Even the planking of the old pier quivered under such vibration and the topmost packing case began toppling,

It would have taken a dozen rats to have accomplished that, but Cardona and Moultrie were both turned

away, hence they failed to witness the phenomenon. Then, when the earshattering blares from the Queen

"The police boats take over at midnight," declared the inspector. "Until then" Cardona's hand made a

sweeping gesture meant to include the pier as far as its invisible outer end "it's yours."

With that, Moultrie resumed his outbound patrol, much bolstered by Cardona's visit, plus the fact that there

was less than a half hour remaining to midnight. Cardona watched the pacing patrolman disappear into the

fog; then turned shoreward. But at the first post with its foggy light, the inspector halted. In mentioning the

time limit of Moultrie's patrol, Cardona had brought to mind an appointment of his own.

From his pocket, the inspector produced a folded piece of cardboard and opened it in the light. It was a half a

menu card, which had measured about six by nine inches until someone had torn it across the middle, the

Part of the menu list remained but most of it had been torn away, reducing the card chiefly to an

announcement, accentuated by the upper portions of a pair of skeletons that stood at each side like heralds,

pointing to the heading. But there was something else that interested Cardona more.

Three words of the heading were circled with a thick black ring, made by an artist's crayon. Those three

words were "Midnight," "Morte," and "Monday." Right now, midnight was approaching, the word morte

Probably a hoax, this card, like many other such trophies that the police received, but Inspector Cardona

wasn't passing it by. As an anonymous communication, it was terse and to the point; it showed intelligence

And thinking further in terms of the unusual, Cardona had heard that the newlyopened Cafe de la Morte was

a most unusual place, worthy of a visit during one of its midnight revels. Having intended to go there

Timed to the fading beat of Moultrie's plodding march, Cardona's creaky footsteps dwindling in the opposite

Slowly, those minutes were ticking by, broken as before by the weird whistle blasts and those maddening

splashes which now meant rats. Choked more than ever by the fog, the light from the pier post failed even to

reach the bulking side of the Santander. Glowing downward, that light barely disclosed the warped planking

Something that swirled more fantastically than the mist was cutting off the gleam. A figure, shapeless at first,

had moved up beside the post to appear only as a darkened smudge of enormous size. Then, momentarily

revealed in a fog rift which its own arrival produced, the figure showed as a human form cloaked in black,

Gathering as if by command, the fog shrouded the mysterious arrival, whose disappearance, as much as his

At least it wasn't strange that The Shadow should have put in an appearance here. The setting was of his

choice, the situation intriguing, particularly because it had already attracted the attention of the police, whose

The uncanny part was that The Shadow should arrive, as usual, just as the situation was taking an important

turn. Hardly was The Shadow at his chosen post, before the mass of packingboxes stirred.

From that stack emerged a darkish man wearing old, illfitting clothes. His teeth gleamed white as he turned

his grinning face and even the dull light produced the glitter of gold earrings from beneath the shaggy black

The Shadow observed that this man's baggy trousers, frayed jersey, even the straw hat, were all dark in color,

giving him an advantage in the night fog. For when the darkish man completed a slink to the side of the

There was a sharp, low hiss, like a signal. It came from the grinning lips of the darkish man. A pause, then the

signal was repeated. This time it brought a response. A man in the gray working clothes of a sailor appeared

several feet above, like something floating in the fog, until a slight swirl revealed that he was leaning over the

"Give no names, please." Panjo spoke it more like an order than a request. "You tell me, you bring birds?"

"I come for birds," he snarled. "You let me have them now, see? You let me have them quick."

"You want to know what killed them?" asked the sailor. "Listen, if you want to hear."

Whistles throated through the fog, then ceased. The sounds that supplanted them were those same, startling

"That's what killed them," informed the sailor. "The rats. They flattened the cages to get at them. I mean it,

Again, Panjo delivered a halfsnarled hiss. It wasn't just a reminder that he didn't want his name mentioned.

It was a warning, too, induced by the returning pound of Moultrie's footbeats. The sailor slid down behind the

solid rail of the deck, while Panjo crouched low against the background of the ship. They remained that way

while the patrolman passed, bound toward the shore end of the pier. The figures reappeared and the

"You bring no birds," rebuked Panjo, in an ugly tone, "so why do you bring rats?"

"Because we take food to Europe," the sailor explained. "The rats know it comes from the ship, so they come

"They want to get to the place where the food came from. Rats are smart that way."

"Parrots, macaws and such?" queried the sailor. "We picked them up in South America, on the way back,

"Because the South Americans were smarter. They took the supplies and left us the rats. We unloaded onto

"That's right. We took on a cargo of mahogany logs that they towed out on barges, because they're too heavy

to float by themselves." The sailor leaned well over the rail, as though to become confidential. "That's how I

made the deal for the birds, Panjo. The men on the lighters fixed it with the barge men."

Panjo was still obdurate. There was something sullen in the darkish man's snarl:

Their faces were sharply etched, Panjo's and the sailor's, for there wasn't much distance between them.

Panjo was glaring upward, the sailor staring downward, so neither noticed the shape that glided to the side of

the Santander, somewhat toward the bow. In fact, the shape couldn't be seen at all, though it manifested its

In a sense, The Shadow was surrounded by a ghostly wrapping that finally dissipated itself as he reached the

"Something bigger than rats?" The sailor's face scowled down at Panjo. "Like what for instance?"

Before Panjo could specify, there came a louder splash from near the ship, a sound which by comparison with

those earlier plops could represent something of human size. The sailor turned quickly and Panjo, giving his

head a quick tilt to make sure the patrolman wasn't near, traced a rapid course back toward the stacked

Hardly had Panjo reached there, before another mansized splash was heard off the bow of the Santander. It

was then apparent that Panjo hadn't wheeled away just to hide. He was turning again, to get a better look at

Panjo made only one mistake. From this range, he couldn't hope to see much through the soupy fog. The

sailor's plan was better; he was racing up a companionway, shouting for other crew members to join him and

find out what was happening on board. Nevertheless, Panjo did see something, thanks to a brilliant light

What Panjo saw was a figure like a monstrous bat, rising above the bulwark of the Santander, spreading what

seemed to be gigantic wings for a forward swoop. The thing was humansized and Panjo, terror stricken by

the very sight of it, shrieked wild words that stabbed like a warning through the fog.

Those last words struck an echoing note. From the far side of the Santander, near the bow which none of the

Moultrie was arriving on the run. The patrolman saw the thing that Panjo mistook for a vampire and fired

three shots at it, all much too late. The figure was gone, swallowed by blackness below the high rail of the

upper deck. And Moultrie was glad that he had missed for he was realizing that the creature was more human

To Moultrie came recollections of a strange personage that he had heard about, but never before had seen

Savagely, the patrolman turned to deal with the malefactor who had led him into firing shots at the law's best

friend. The malefactor that Moultrie had in mind was Panjo, who by now was diving deep into his nest of

packing cases. The boxes were wobbling, toppling, and Moultrie used the remaining three cartridges in his

police positive to riddle them. Then he scrambled on board the low deck of the Santander, dropping to shelter

Panjo hadn't halted among the packing cases. Sounds of the first shots had spurred him right on through. The

What covered Panjo's flight completely was the excitement on that high deck of the Santander. Following the

cry of "Vampiro!" there had been two loud smacking splashes from the water alongside, indicating that a pair

But there was another, who had taken a different route. He was scurrying down a companionway, heading for

a hatch, dodging crew members in his wild flight. Rather than cross the deck and make himself a target in the

light, The Shadow was following that last man, knowing that one stowaway, if captured, could give details

When three sailors cut across The Shadow's path, he gave them precedence. They knew this ship better than

The Shadow did and they were competent to make the capture. Nevertheless, The Shadow followed them,

There, dull labored sounds told that the fugitive was seeking shelter among great piles of mahogany logs that

banked clear to the ceiling at one end of the hold. Armed with improvised clubs, the sailors were moving in

that general direction. Hearing the clang of arriving footsteps, The Shadow merged with the darkness at the

A fierce bellow came from among the logs, half challenge, half terror, a man's voice so strained and frantic

that it was impossible to define. To settle the question, Moultrie fired above the heads of the sailors,

With a great heave, the huge pile of logs came tumbling, rolling, sending the sailors dodging along with

Moultrie. Out of that melee, rolling like one of the logs, came the fugitive stowaway. Clambering over the

logs, sailors and patrolman reached him, only to find him limp, almost lifeless.

The reason was plain when they turned him over. The man's body was contorted, crushed. It was horrible, but

not surprising, considering that he'd been carried in the midst of that unexpected avalanche of huge logs, from

He was an ugly, rattish man, this stowaway, and his eyes glared up from beneath the twisted visor of his

shabby cap. Then, with gasps that marked his deaththroes, the man panted these singular words:

Those words were all. Having gasped them, the man sank back dead. Like the other listeners, The Shadow

heard them, for he had drawn close. Now The Shadow was on the move again, to reach a layer of logs against

Swiftly, silently, The Shadow scaled that layer like a ladder, nor was his route interrupted at the top. The

hatchway that the sailors had mentioned was wide open; its cover lying beside it, ripped from the big clamps

that had held it. The top log gave way as The Shadow used it to propel himself up through the hatchway. It

came banging down, bringing Moultrie and the sailors to the alert, leaving them wondering as they stared

By then, The Shadow had reached the rail and his keen eyes were probing the blackened water below. No

figures were visible there, but The Shadow could trace a thin, undulating line in the oily scum, fading off

Crossing the deck, The Shadow dropped to the lower rail on the dock side, then to the dock itself. A low,

whispered laugh stirred the hovering mist as the cloaked figure flitted past the hanging light and took the

Unintelligible words to others, but to The Shadow they formed a link to something far more sinister than the

IT was nearly midnight when The Shadow left the North River pier and midnight was the hour for the usual

revel that took place at the new but already popular Cafe de la Morte, Greenwich Village's latest screwball

With his headstart from the pier, Inspector Cardona had reached the cafe just before the appointed hour. He

was reluctantly checking his hat and coat in a cloak room painted all about with imitation flames and presided

over by a somewhat timeworn check girl who looked anything but cute in a devilcostume adorned with

The hellfire motif persisted into the cafe itself, then gave way to walls painted to represent tombstones with

hovering ghosts all about. The waiter who conducted Cardona to a table was dressed in an outfit decorated

with skeleton ribs and over his head he wore a hood painted to represent a skull.

Cardona noted that the other waiters were similarly attired, which gave them excellent opportunity to cover

their identity, a fact which the inspector intended to put in his notebook at an early moment. The one man

who was not so disguised and therefore worthy of a separate notation was a stolid bartender over at one

Maybe the barkeep objected to such a costume or was too busy to be encumbered by one. At any rate, he had

nothing to conceal, for Cardona recognized him as a veteran bartender who had served at several Village

spots. With a further eye to detail, Cardona noted that the bar was wellstocked, both in quantity and variety

of liquors. Behind the barkeeper was a rack of shelves, divided in three vertical sections, all loaded to

Studying the customers, Joe Cardona decided that they represented the usual sprinkling of Villagers and the

customary majority of outoftowners who would patronize a freakish place such as the Cafe de la Morte.

Business was always good when such establishments opened and generally sustained itself until some other

Many of the customers were drinking beer, the chief reason being that the beverage was served in big mugs

shaped to resemble skulls. Quite a thrill, such sport, but it wasn't showing big profits for the house. The

popularity of beer in skullmugs could account for the untouched stock of much more expensive elixirs on

the shelf behind old Jerry, the squatty bartender who looked as though he didn't have enough to do.

In Cardona's opinion, the Cafe de la Morte wouldn't begin to make profits until it stopped serving beer in

bizarre mugs; and when it stopped that practice, people wouldn't come here any more.

But people were here tonight, that was the important thing. Moreover, the menu card lying on Cardona's table

was a perfect match for the halfcard, that Joe had in his pocket. If death happened to be due at Monday

So far, Cardona could only pick the waiters, with their disguising skullhoods. Ordering a beer, Joe not only

One waiter, passing another, whispered a word that Cardona overheard, a word that sounded like a name:

The second waiter repeated it to a third and Cardona caught the word "Malmordo" plainly. He also saw both

waiters throw worried glances toward the rear of the cafe and when men in masking hoods could give the

impression that they were worried, it was obvious that they must be worried indeed.

Joe's trouble was that he couldn't see the rear of the cafe at all. Ignoring his beer, he rose from his table and

sauntered over toward the bar, then changed course and found a good observation spot along the same wall.

The spot was particularly good because it was beneath a stretch of sloping ceiling, about four feet wide, that

slanted down behind the bar and cut off old Jerry's view of the place that Cardona had chosen.

From his new vantage, Cardona saw that the rear of the restaurant opened into an outdoor garden and through

the connecting door, the slight breeze wafted the strains of wild exotic music, played by a violin.

Wondering who the musician might be, Cardona took a casual stroll out to the garden.

From the moment that he made his advent into the al fresco setting, Joe Cardona was spotted. The man who

pegged him was a rather handsome young chap named Harry Vincent. Parked at a rather obscure table

alongside the green board fence that served as boundary to the garden, Harry immediately concerned himself

with the remaining contents of a skullmug, rather than have Cardona see his face.

As a rule, persons who didn't want to be noticed by Joe Cardona were fugitives from justice. Harry Vincent

Through channels peculiarly his own, The Shadow had ways of finding out about things and places that

aroused the suspicion of the police. There were times, too, when The Shadow anticipated a growing interest

on the part of the law. Though The Shadow's data might be incomplete, he seldom let such a condition

The Shadow had ways of building up his own statistics. One of those ways was Harry Vincent.

This evening Harry had been told to cover the Cafe de la Morte. He had picked the outdoor garden as the best

area, because it had attracted the majority of the patrons. The weather was warm and the garden was therefore

cooler than the cramped indoors. Though the high board fence cut off passing breezes, there was

Running from the building to the fence were a series of wellspaced iron rods intended as a support for a

huge canvas canopy that served in rainy weather. At present the canopy was rolled up and parked against the

The garden's chief attraction was the violinist, who answered to the name of Gregor. He wore a Hungarian

costume of boots, baggy trousers, fancy sash and ruffled shirt. He was a goodlooking chap despite his

frequent scowls which seemed the result of concentration on his music, which constantly approached a

tumultuous staccato and always ended unexpectedly. However, it had taken Harry less than an hour to

observe that Gregor's gripe concerned something other than his music; namely, Madame Thalla.

According to the little cards that she distributed at tables, Madame Thalla was a gypsy palmist and she

certainly looked the part. Though young, Thalla had a wise face that befitted her colorful gypsy costume. It

wasn't always possible to see her face, because the brilliant handkerchief that she wore as a headdress

At least those blinders helped Madame Thalla concentrate on the person whose fortune she was telling. There

was another point that interested Harry quite as much. Though she advertised herself as a palmist, Madame

Thalla told fortunes by playing cards instead. The particular type of cards she used were the oldfashioned

At present, Madame Thalla was dealing the tarots for a blonde young lady who wore a white dress. Since

Cardona was noticing Gregor, Harry decided to look at the blonde instead. In fact, he shifted his chair so he

particularly gained a ringside seat to the conference between Madame Thalla and the girl in white.

"Your name," Madame Thalla was saying, in a low, sharp tone. "I can read it here in the cards."

"It is not impossible," declared Thalla. "It is Janice. Wait, I can read the rest! Your full name is Janice

From the way the girl drew her breath, Harry knew that Madame Thalla had scored a tenstrike. Then:

"That is my name," the girl admitted, soberly. "But surely, the cards could not tell you."

"The cards tell everything," asserted Thalla. "Most of all, they warn of danger. The danger that comes to

Janice Bradford went tense. Harry Vincent saw her hand creep to the lapel of her jacket, where a daffodil was

pinned. A rather unusual flower, thought Harry, and apparently Thalla was of the same opinion.

"Three nights now you have worn it," the gypsy told the girl, "and each night brings more danger. I warn you,

"And you may not find it safe to stay." Thalla pointed a shapely finger to one of the tarot cards. "This is the

"But that card is blank!" she exclaimed. "How did it come to be among the others?"

"But since it is blank," persisted Janice, "how can you read it? What does it tell?"

"Your future." Thalla intoned the words solemnly. "No future. Blank, like the card!"

Thalla could say no more, for Gregor was drowning all sounds with the maddened shriek of his fiddle. Then,

The sudden silence seemed sharp. It made ears keen, too, for Harry could hear a peculiar sound from

somewhere along the wooden fence. The more he listened, the more that sound reminded him of something

gnawing at the wood. Immediately the thought of rats sprang to Harry's mind, though it seemed unlikely that

rats would try to chew their way into as populated a spot as this outdoor garden.

And then, from within the Cafe de la Morte came the strokes of a strange gong, announcing the beginning of

JANICE BRADFORD was rising before the gong strokes ended. Madame Thalla was saying something to

the girl and again Harry Vincent caught the words, when the gypsy repeated the admonition.

"Your future will be blank," Thalla stated, "unless you heed my warning. Go, before the message of the tarots

can be fulfilled. The blank is one that allows you another choice." Sweeping the cards from the table, Thalla

held them as though about to deal, then shook her head. "But tonight, we have not time to continue. Go!"

Deciding to go, Janice was nevertheless reluctant. As she left the table, she looked for her waiter in order to

pay the check and was rather bewildered when two skullhooded men ignored her as they passed. Finding

As yet Cardona hadn't noticed Janice, nor was it likely that he would. The inspector was concentrated upon

Thalla as the gypsy woman strolled past his table. Watching Thalla, Cardona picked up one of her table cards

Shuffling her tarot cards, Thalla was moving past Gregor and the wise look she gave him brought a fresh

scowl from the violinist. This time, Cardona didn't miss it and if he had, Gregor's action would have been

Tossing his head, Gregor brought his chin down upon the violin and immediately broke forth with a fanfare

of barbaric music that denoted anger in every chord. So fierce, so frenzied was the music that it drowned

every other sound. Among those sounds was an unheard clatter that came from the wooden fence.

A portion of that fence, approximately three feet square, opened like a thing of cardboard and through it

writhed a loathsome creature so far from human that any resemblance seemed completely coincidental.

The thing that twisted itself into sight looked like a rat of mansized proportions that had borrowed

somebody's clothes simply to disguise the fact that it was a rodent, not a human.

No face could possibly have been so ugly, so vicious in its own right alone. Its owner must have purposely

misshapen it, or practiced facial contortions to the limit, in order to acquire such grotesque, inhuman features.

With a snarl that drowned the high notes of the violin, the thing from the fence reached Gregor. In its course,

the contorted creature flung tables right and left; their crashing froze Gregor in the midst of his wild

rhapsody. Recoiling, the musician flung his arms, violin, bow and all, in warding fashion as he tried to crouch

From Gregor's lips came a shriek of higher pitch than his violin had ever reached, as he screeched the name:

In his effort to escape the terrible creature he called Malmordo, Gregor made one great mistake. It was a

natural thing, to go diving away from a huddly creature that had launched itself from a selfmade mansized

rathole. Natural too, for both Joe Cardona and Harry Vincent to lunge toward Malmordo, stretching as they

drew guns, intent upon aiming downward. But they were as mistaken as was Gregor.

The thing called Malmordo unlimbered, lengthening itself in an astounding fashion. With his left hand, the

unkempt creature flung a light table sideward, sending a shower of skullmugs with it. Cardona dodged the

missile; it skimmed him and forced Harry to duck it too. By then, all was up with Gregor.

Malmordo's right hand had whipped out a long, thinbladed knife and was overtaking Gregor with it. The

long, hooking thrust of the knife point seemed to carry Malmordo after it. If Gregor had turned or

straightened, he could have at least coped with his attacker, but his instinctive crouch and mad effort to

The thin knife buried itself in Gregor's back and stayed there. The musician sprawled, his violin and bow

Cardona and Harry were aiming their guns upward, straight at the leering face that was Malmordo's. Even the

intensity of the moment could not lessen the hideous impression that those grotesque features gave. Indeed,

A livid face, all out of shape, from its bulging teeth to beady eyes, a face that seemed uglier than the snarl that

spat from a mouth that looked lipless. Above the face was shaggy hair, strewing down upon a forehead whose

lines seemed continuations of the misshapen grimace which was fixed on Malmordo's visage.

Again, this human monstrosity showed the cunning that went with Malmordo's rattish looks. From his

stretched position, Malmordo telescoped into his former pose, dwindling so suddenly that for the moment he

appeared to be plunging himself, corkscrew fashion, down through the flagstone paving of the garden.

This was illusion, nothing more, but it completely fooled both men who were trying to drop Malmordo in his

tracks. Two guns blasted in unison, their shots whizzing high. Then, before Harry or Cardona had a chance to

fire again, Malmordo was flaying them with a new deluge of tables that he scooped up during his flinging

And now Malmordo was a gone rat indeed, a rat scampering in maddened flight. He was cutting a swath

among tables and chairs, apparently in search of some outlet. He couldn't regain the hole that he had literally

gnawed through the fence, for from hands and knees, Harry and Cardona were starting over to block that

outlet. Nor could he scoot into the cafe itself, for the skullhooded waiters were coming from that direction,

some of them with revolvers. They were the ones who dodged the next tables that Malmordo threw, until he

Feinting with a table, Malmordo suddenly planked it on top of another table that was standing by. Grabbing a

chair with his other hand, he sprang upon the first table, planting the chair on the table above. At the same

time, his free hand deftly whipped a clasp knife from a pocket of his baggy trousers, flipped it open, and cut a

That rope was the control line for the canopy that sheltered the patrons of the garden on rainy days. With a

sudden rumble, the canvas came rolling down along the metal rods that formed a track above Malmordo's

head. Even before the canvas reached him, Malmordo was clambering to the chair above the upper table and

his longbladed clasp knife gave another slash that met the canopy when it arrived.

Guns roared upward, too late. Everybody was aiming for the chair, but Malmordo was no longer there.

He'd gone, with a leap, right through the opening in the canvas that his handy knife had ripped, using the

nearest slanted rod to help him complete the rapid hoist. In a trice, Malmordo had staged as spectacular a

getaway as The Shadow's departure from the hold of the Santander, and under conditions far more pressing.

Except that here, Malmordo lacked the benefit of a solid shield like a ship's deck. Beneath him was canvas,

nothing more. As he went through the slit in the canvas, he flung his clasp knife at one waiter who was

aiming a revolver and the man in the skullhood had to dodge. But there were others with guns, who were

Malmordo must have expected it, for hardly had the first guns talked before a roundish figure came rolling

down above the canopy, marking its progress by the way it sagged the canvas. A clever trick, this, rolling

straight for the back alley behind the green fence. It explained why Malmordo had gone to such exaggerated

measures in the first place. Here he was slipping the men who had tried to round him up, gaining the very

It was a long chance though, taking a roller coaster trip above the heads of the very men who sought to stop

him. Before the trip was over, guns were blasting at the traveling bulge that followed down the canvas and

although they were again belated, it was largely luck that caused them to miss the object they sought.

Over the edge of the canopy, just ahead of frantic bullets, even then, Malmordo wasn't out of danger. There

was a terrific clatter of a landing in the rear alley, indicating that Malmordo must have overturned a waiting

ashcan and before the clangor ended, Cardona was through the gap in the rear fence, aiming for Malmordo

The alley ran parallel to the fence and shots responded from both directions, shots fired by distant, crouchy

men, who were obviously leagued with Malmordo. But the killer himself couldn't have headed in either

direction. There was only one place where Malmordo could have gone, into a deep, dark courtyard across the

That space represented a connection between two sections of a storage building that rose windowless above.

Cardona knew that Malmordo must have gone there, because he heard the ashcan rolling that direction;

therefore, it followed that Malmordo must have taken it along to serve as an improvised pillbox.

Putting a whistle to his lips, Joe Cardona blew a signal that would bring all the police from blocks around, for

Whoever this Malmordo was, whatever his purpose in Manhattan, the law was prepared to eliminate him on

THE shrill of Cardona's whistle roused Harry Vincent from the excitement of the chase. Abruptly, Harry put

away his gun, realizing it wasn't good policy to be brandishing one unofficially, even after siding in behalf of

Looking about at the waiters, Harry saw that they had already adopted the same notion. They were not only

gunless, some of them had peeled away their skullhoods to reveal their faces. A few looked tough, but most

of them appeared to be scared. This left Harry wondering as to how many had been in on the gun work.

Cardona at least was giving the waiters benefit of doubt, for he was ordering them to quiet the customers, to

keep the place closed, and to admit only arriving police. Since Malmordo had chosen to play rat, Cardona

right now was acting the cat, for he was watching the hole where the murderer had gone and did not want to

Dropping back, Harry crossed to the doorway that led into the cafe proper and halted there beside some

blackdraped curtains. A hand emerged suddenly from the darkness and gripped his arm; before Harry could

It was The Shadow, just arrived, for from his hidden lips came the one word: "Report."

Before Harry could do more than point out Gregor's body and name Malmordo as the murderer, there were

voices from the front of the cafe. The first of the police were arriving and taking over in characteristic style.

The Shadow pressed Harry in among the black curtains and blotted himself against another wall. Observation

at this moment was more important than a report. But Harry noted to his satisfaction that the spot The

Shadow had chosen, slightly away from that slanted roof leading down to the side of the bar, offered a good

outlook to the rear garden where Cardona was still playing pussy cat at Malmordo's rathole.

It took the police only a few minutes to learn that no one had fled the Cafe de la Morte by way of the front

door, or for that matter, by any route other than the garden. They learned this from the stammering reddevil

who minded the cloak room and from a helpless looking manager. Old Jerry, the bartender, corroborated

everything with nods while he calmly polished the barglasses and Jerry, being a wellknown character of

Then, brushing past the curtains where Harry was hidden, and totally failing to notice The Shadow

blackedout against the opposite wall, the police reached the garden to find Inspector Cardona. By that time,

Cardona was already gaining further aid, consisting of a few detectives who had come in from the side alleys.

These men were reporting that several ratty looking characters had scurried away as soon as they appeared,

which to Cardona meant that Malmordo's followers had been forced to abandon their chief. Nevertheless,

"Don't come through here," Joe warned the detectives, referring to the hole in the fence. "We've got a rat

trapped in the court across the way and he might start shooting. Go around to the front of the place, where

"Then round up all the customers and the waiters, so I can quiz them. Nobody is to come in or go out. As for

you fellows" this was to a pair of patrolmen who were in the garden, crowding up to Cardona's shoulders

"keep watching that courtyard. I'll send for some tear gas and tommyguns. They'll be good rat poison."

Harry could hear all this, though it was around the corner from him. At the same time, he was watching

blackness glide out to the garden. The Shadow was on his way to study the Malmordo situation at close

Waiting until the detectives appeared at the front door and talked to the brawny patrolman stationed there,

Harry did a quick shift among the curtains to see how the customers and hired help reacted. First, the police

were lining up the waiters, listing their names; then, having tallied them, they told the waiters to assemble the

For a few moments, the waiters were moving here and there; during that period Harry noticed that one of

them had put on his skullhood. Harry was shifting to watch where the waiter went, when something else

attracted his attention. Hearing whispered voices nearby, Harry leaned among the curtains to eavesdrop.

The voices belonged to Madame Thalla and Janice Bradford. Apparently the gypsy fortune teller had

"You must go from here!" Thalla was telling Janice. "You believe me, when I say there is danger!"

"I did believe you," began Janice, "but I should be safe, now that the police are here."

"They will ask you questions," asserted Thalla. "They will not tell you answers, like I did. Do you want to

"No," admitted Janice, "but if the police merely consider me a regular customer "

"It is not what the police think! It is what Malmordo will think. You understand?"

"And in a way is enough. Even the police can not protect you if Malmordo knows where you are! Come!"

Footsteps shuffled away and when Harry managed to peer from beside a curtain, he saw Thalla, stooped

beside a counter in the corner, lifting a trap door. The gypsy woman gestured Janice down into the cellar,

Did this mean that Thalla was doublecrossing Janice? The idea struck hard through Harry mind, particularly

when he saw the fierce, vengeful expression that registered itself on Thalla's wise features. Then, the gypsy

woman was stalking along the wall, peering everywhere, as though looking for someone else.

Perhaps Thalla was seeking that lone waiter who had put on the deathhood. But now, for some reason,

others were doing the same. It was impossible to tell which was which and Harry gained the sudden

Then, from the other side of the curtains came The Shadow's low tone. Harry shifted over to report to his

"The wall above the canopy," stated The Shadow. "You saw it before the curtain rolled down. Describe it."

"The ceiling over there," he spoke. "Part of it is slanted, ending down in back of the bar."

Harry had noticed that stretch of ceiling before. It was the slant four feet wide, that hadn't much impressed

"An inside stairway!" Harry's whisper was excited. "Coming down from the second floor. If that rack of

At that same moment, Harry was noticing that the bar was singularly empty. Old Jerry, the bartender, had

disappeared. As Harry still stared, Cardona came stalking into the cafe and the place the inspector looked first

was toward the bar. Striding over, Cardona took a look across the bar, then turned and bellowed at his men.

"Who let this happen?" demanded Cardona. "Here's old Jerry slugged and unconscious, down in back of the

"The hooded waiter!" Harry told The Shadow. "He came from that direction. I didn't watch him, the only man

who was still wearing his hood, because I was listening to Madame Thalla and Janice Bradford. Thalla was

As Harry pointed from the curtains, he saw Thalla again. The excitement over finding Jerry had caused the

gypsy woman to change her mind about remaining in the cafe. Thalla was at the trap again, this time using it

The trap was dropping above Thalla, just as Harry pointed, and before The Shadow could do a thing about it,

Cardona heard the trap door slam. Instantly, the inspector was on the pounce, calling upon the detectives to

A singular circumstance, this. True to police practice, Inspector Cardona was accepting the situation close at

hand, forgetting the greater issue of Malmordo, trapped in the courtyard behind the alleyway. Yet by that

THE rush for the trap door brought with it three of the hooded waiters and Cardona did not order them to stay

behind. In fact, he gave them precedence over his detectives, because they knew these premises and would

therefore be helpful in the pursuit of the unknown who had gone into the cellar.

There wasn't a trace of the gypsy woman when Cardona and his human bloodhounds reached the cellar. All

they saw were crates, casks and other impedimenta of the sort commonly found in the cellar of a restaurant.

Standing beside a door that he had flung wide, Cardona ordered the searchers to fan out and find the person

who had fled by this route. The waiters were to shift the crates and casks, while the detectives stood by with

Upstairs, The Shadow was profiting by the changed situation. In drawing men to the cellar, Cardona had left

the cafe guarded, so far as the door was concerned, but the men there were so occupied with such duty that

Telling Harry to join the other patrons and glean any details that might arise, The Shadow started on a foray

of his own. Even if the police at the door had been looking The Shadow's way, it was unlikely that they could

have seen him. For Harry, who could guess what his chief was about, found it difficult to trace The Shadow's

Gliding blackness seemed to fold itself fantastically as it streaked along the slanting width of ceiling that

marked the blockedoff stairway down from the second floor. Yet only eyes like Harry's, looking for such a

token, could have observed it, for the background itself was dark and absorbed the moving silhouette.

Somebody had propped old Jerry in a chair behind the bar to give him air and he was showing signs of

recovery. It might have been Jerry's own shadow that moved along the bottleracked wall behind him, to be

Then came the ticklish portion of The Shadow's expedition. Slowly, blackness moved upward, until it

obscured the center row of shelves. Next, those shelves moved outward, doorfashion. Harry saw the motion,

but realized that the very fact he could discern it meant that The Shadow was cutting off the line of vision

The shelved door closed and the blackness was gone. The Shadow was using the hidden route to the second

From those little windows at the rear of the building it was easy to look down above the slanted canopy and

study the rear courtyard where a clumpy shape awaited the attack by the police. The Shadow could make out

the form that represented Malmordo, something impossible for the men at the hole in the fence, due to the

Waiting for teargas and tommyguns seemed a wasteful delay to The Shadow. He preferred to settle the

question of Malmordo by a rapid probe with bullets. Drawing a .45 automatic, The Shadow planted bullets

There were echoes from the courtyard, as sharp as shots themselves. The patrolmen at the fence thought that

Malmordo was shooting back at the unknown marksman up above. They opened fire at the courtyard, too,

whereupon The Shadow ceased his fire and declared himself with a weird, challenging laugh, which the men

below recognized. Realizing that The Shadow was on their side, confident that his taunt represented triumph,

the patrolmen charged through the fence shooting as they went, intent upon taking the courtyard by storm.

The Shadow saw the bluecoated cluster surge into the court. Thrusting himself through the window, he

rolled himself down the canopy at an angle, his feet reaching the lower edge first. There, The Shadow

dropped adroitly to the nowdeserted alley and landed cleanly in its darkness. Instead of joining the attack,

Having found his own means of departure from the Cafe de la Morte. The Shadow was taking his own

measures toward the capture of Malmordo. Not only was The Shadow undeceived by Malmordo's methods;

This latter point was proven when Inspector Cardona reached the yard, attracted up from the cellar and out

through the garden fence by the sounds of repeated gunfire. In the courtyard, Cardona found the patrolmen

staring stupidly at an ashcan which was lying on its side, the contents of said ashcan being a pair of baggy

"That's what rolled down the canopy!" The inspector kicked the bulletriddled ashcan. "Malmordo must

have had it rolled up in the canvas. We thought it was Malmordo and when it landed, we thought it, was

"There's where Malmordo went!" Joe added. "He came down in back of the bar and slugged old Jerry! Then

he must have ducked down through the trap door to the cellar. That was his trail, so let's follow it!"

Speedily, Cardona led the chase back through the cafe, down to the cellar, past the open door at the bottom,

and through to a deep corner where the detectives and the hooded waiters were lifting a grating beyond a

stack of crates. They had found the final exit, an outlet leading up to the front street.

There were others beside Malmordo who knew of that front street outlet. One person was Janice Bradford

and she had learned about it from Madame Thalla. Already, Janice was well away from the Cafe de la Morte,

In fact, Janice was fearful that she had not escaped at all. At least there had been security in a place that the

police dominated, Thalla's arguments to the contrary; but here, among the helterskelter streets of Greenwich

In her dash from the cafe, Janice had lost her sense of direction and now the streets were not only unfamiliar,

they all seemed to lead into darkness, perhaps back to the Cafe de la Morte itself. The blocks were brief, the

streets crossed at diagonals, and their silence made Janice think of lurkers in every doorway. Nowhere could

From somewhere came a snarled hiss, like a vicious command. Doorways showed the very figures that Janice

had imagined would be there; slinky, darkclad men who moved into sight like whiskered rats, boldly

Each way Janice turned, a lurker blocked her off and despite the darkness, the girl could see the ugly grins

They numbered at least half a dozen, these ratmen, and all seemed lesser editions of the murderer,

Malmordo, who had slain Gregor while Janice watched. They moved in crouching fashion and Janice could

tell from the way their hands were buried in their jackets that they, like their monstrous overlord, preferred

Again, that snarly voice, repeating a strange, unintelligible command, at least unintelligible to Janice, though

With a shrill, desperate scream, Janice darted for the nearest corner, realizing that doom would probably

overtake her on the way, which well it might, but for the fact her terrified cry brought immediate results.

Janice's shriek was answered by a mocking laugh, but its taunt was meant for the slinky men, not for Janice.

The street seemed to fill with snarls as the ratmen whipped back into their doorways, putting away their

knives and drawing guns instead. Looking across her shoulder as she reached the corner, Janice saw a

cloaked figure weaving into sight, purposely choosing a streetlight as a background.

Guns spoke from the doorways, all aimed in the direction of The Shadow. Those hasty shots were wide and

they were answered by a rising laugh that echoed eerily from surrounding windows as though The Shadow

were everywhere. With that peal came the staccato bursts of The Shadow's own guns, his shots probing the

In picking revolver spurts as targets, The Shadow could come closer than his opponents, when they had his

shifting form to aim at. And as he fired, The Shadow was no longer there. He had faded into darkness so

swiftly, so surprisingly, that his blending with that element had all the effect of an instantaneous vanish.

Malmordo's tribe didn't wait to argue further. They scattered amazingly, traveling every direction except

toward The Shadow. Janice was traveling too, her high heels clattering the sidewalks, until she found herself

blocked anew. Other shooters were entering the general fray, Cardona and his detectives, but Janice didn't

recognize them as such for with them were men who wore the skeleton jackets that featured the waiters at the

Instinctively, Janice turned toward the shelter of a corner doorway, set in the narrow angle of the junction of

two diagonal streets. She recoiled suddenly as she saw a man step out; then, his hand was gripping her arm,

The man was tall and in the slight light, Janice could see his face, blunt, squarejawed and quite unperturbed.

The man was wearing a darkgray suit, which was a helpful contrast to Janice's white attire.

"Those fools will shoot at anything they can see." His eyes, a clear gray in the darkness, studied Janice

Janice started to say something, then tightened her lips. The gray man's eyes fixed on the yellow flower that

Again, Janice decided not to answer. The man, quite unalarmed by the shots that were echoing around this

very corner, drew a notebook from his pocket, wrote something on the lower portion of a space, tore off the

"There is the best clue to Malmordo," the man said, coolly, "but be careful when you follow it. Now go

straight down this street" he thrust Janice out the other side of the doorway "and you will reach the

Crumpling the unread note in her hand, Janice turned in the direction indicated and saw the lights of the

avenue, only half a block ahead. This street was silent, but Janice wasn't taking chances that it would remain

As for the man in gray, he turned in another direction and walked along a street where shots still echoed, but

did not perturb him, because they were moving away. Within half a block he turned into a side street where

Complete silence soon gripped that little corner doorway where Janice had met the man who knew about

Malmordo. It was then that another figure arrived there, emerging so suddenly that he seemed to come from

The new arrival was The Shadow. He saw the lights of the avenue and seemed to know that they must have

With a low, strange laugh which seemed to link the future with the past, The Shadow glided into the

POLICE COMMISSIONER WESTON was staring at the exhibits that lay upon his desk. They formed a

mass of evidence, those exhibits, even though they had the symptoms of a hodgepodge.

A waiter's costume from the Cafe de la Morte, comprising a skeletonpainted jacket and a skullhood.

A wallet and its contents, formerly the property of a Hungarian violinist, one Gregor Shaksha, deceased.

The top half of a menu card, with crayon circles around three words, producing the message: "Midnight

Along with these were copious reports provided by Inspector Joe Cardona, who was present in person to

amplify them. Arms folded, stolid as usual, Cardona was watching Weston mull over the items on the desk in

Commissioner Weston was a broadfaced gentleman with a shortclipped but pointed mustache. For years

he had carried a military bearing which he had acquired during the First World War. Just when Weston had

been about to forget that he'd once been an army officer, the Second World War had come along to remind

Finished with his survey, Commissioner Weston leaned back in his big swivel chair, waved his hand

"All right, Commissioner," said Cardona, "but there are some loose facts that go with them." He gestured to

"The case seems to revolve around a character named Malmordo," the inspector declared. "He has a face like

a rat and he acts like one. He murdered Gregor. I saw him. He used that stiletto."

Weston eyed the Borgia dagger with its wicked blade of icepick proportions. It was the kind of weapon that

could deal sure death with a single stab. Then the commissioner gestured to the Apache knife.

"Malmordo cut the canopy rope with it," returned Cardona, "and slashed his way through the canvas. He

slung the knife at somebody and found time to dump these things" Joe was gesturing to the baggy costume

"into an ashcan that was parked up above the canopy. It rolled down to the back alley and we thought it

"So he could double as a waiter," replied Cardona, promptly, pointing to the skeleton jacket and the skull

"Malmordo doubled down through the cafe, by means of a blocked off stairway. He'd been wearing the jacket

under the blouse he'd discarded, so all he had to do was put on the hood. He slugged old Jerry the barkeep

and slid across to a trap door leading down cellar. That's how he got out to the front street."

"I did," acknowledged Cardona, "until I found the outfit afterwards, parked behind a crate in the cellar."

"Your report mentions some other waiters," remarked Weston, "who helped you hunt for Malmordo."

"Three of them," Cardona admitted. "They went out through the front grating with us."

"No. We thought they didn't want Malmordo to recognize them if they ran into him."

Cardona drew a long breath before answering Weston's question. This part of the story bothered him.

"We spotted some ratty looking characters," explained Joe, "not far from the cafe. They looked like

secondrate editions of Malmordo and we naturally linked them with him, particularly when they started

shooting. So we opened fire on them, and next thing the waiters who were with us pulled guns and began

"You should have placed them under immediate arrest," chided Weston. "They had no right to be carrying

"We were glad they had guns, right then," returned Cardona. "They helped us send those rats to cover. Except

that would probably have happened anyway. Because when the shooting kept on, we kind of realized that the

"Take it or leave it, Commissioner," replied Cardona, "they were shooting at The Shadow."

Cardona expected an outburst, but none arrived. Officially, The Shadow was not supposed to be mentioned in

police reports because an identity such as his, based on the evidence of a cloak and hat, might technically be

assumed by anyone. In this instance, however, there was a counterbalancing factor in Malmordo, whose

own attire, trousers and blouse, were about the only proof that he existed as a personality.

"Next thing, the waiters were gone," declared Cardona, "hoods and all. They'd scattered just like the rats in

"Yes. There were half a dozen legitimate waiters still there. The ones who had helped us chase Malmordo and

Weston raised his eyebrows at the word "bet" and then lowered them. The word that Weston really regarded

as horrid, whenever Cardona used it, was "hunch" because the commissioner didn't believe in hunches.

"Malmordo had another plant back at the cafe," continued Cardona. "A gypsy fortuneteller named Madame

"By the cellar route," explained Cardona, ruefully. "We found out later that she'd ducked down there. She

"Everywhere except behind the door. I didn't remember until later that hiding behind a door is an old gypsy

Cardona paused, awaiting questions, but none came, so he brought up another factor.

"There was a girl mixed in the thing," declared Joe. "A girl in a white dress, wearing a yellow flower. Some

of the waiters remembered her. She'd been at the Cafe de la Morte for the last three evenings."

"Because Gregor had his eye on the girl," explained Cardona, "and Thalla didn't like it. People at the cafe

"Very likely. She spoke to Gregor several times and acted rather angrily. Only Malmordo wouldn't have

killed Gregor just to please Thalla. Unless Thalla trumped up something against Gregor, to make Malmordo

"Thalla would have preferred to make trouble for the girl, wouldn't she, Inspector?"

"You can't tell," concluded Cardona. "Nobody can figure out gypsies. Thalla was telling the girl's fortune,

though, and she may have threatened her then. The girl certainly disappeared in a hurry."

The discussion having reached a temporary impasse, Weston began drumming the desk as though it might

"The stowaway on the Santander," recalled Weston. "Patrolman Moultrie reports that he said something

"Malmordo and morto," nodded Cardona. "Whether morto meant death or the cafe, we don't know. There was

another word, but we aren't sure what it was. The important thing, though" Cardona was becoming

emphatic "is that there were other stowaways on board that ship. There's been a lot of stowaways coming

into port lately, human rats we call them, and they tally with the tribe that Malmordo had around last night."

More drumming from Weston, but it produced no new opinions. So Cardona supplied one.

"Our best clue is this." Joe picked up the half menu from the Cafe de la Morte. "This was a tipoff,

Commissioner. Somebody is working on our side and whoever it is, wanted us to block what happened last

"I don't think so," replied Cardona. "He was with us, one hundred percent, but this isn't the kind of message

A knock interrupted at the door. Weston recognized it as belonging to his secretary and pressed a buzzer,

giving the word to enter. The secretary, a dapper man, reached the desk and turned apologetically from

"Beg pardon, Commissioner," the secretary said, "but there's a gentleman outside who says he must speak to

The card was unusual. Cardona snatched it the moment the secretary showed it. The card was the lower half

Eagerly Cardona matched it with the halfcard he already held. The two fitted, proving that the visitor was

the unknown informant who had tipped off the law to impending murder at the Cafe de la Morte!

He was a bluntfaced man with square, solid jaw, shortclipped hair with a trend toward iron gray, about the

This was the same man who had been blocked off from the Cafe de la Morte the night before, after bullets

had begun to dominate the streets nearby. The same man, in fact, who had met Janice Bradford, drawn her to

However, Cardona was not thinking in terms of subsequent events, particularly as he knew nothing about

them. Joe was still concerned with the tipoff. Separating the halves of the menu card, he gestured the top

"Good enough," snapped Cardona. "Now tell us who you are and what you know about Malmordo."

Quite unperturbed, the visitor seated himself and looked slowly from Cardona to Weston. The gray man had a

deliberate way that impressed his viewers. Cardona, for one, was ready to concede that this stranger would be

"I must request your absolute confidence before I speak. No word of this conference can be given to anyone."

Terms like that went against Cardona's grain, but before Joe could protest, Commissioner Weston gave the

If the visitor preferred to remain silent, there would be no way of making him talk. Charges against the gray

man would be very slender on the mere strength of the menu card. Indeed, he could rest on his dignity, with

the fact that he had really aided the law being something in his behalf. It was best to hear him out.

At Weston's nod, the gray man ran his thumbnail down the lapel of his coat. The cloth spread apart and from

between, the visitor drew out some thin papers, which he unfolded on the desk. In matteroffact tone, he

The credentials bore an official stamp from Scotland Yard. They named the gray man as Trent Stacey, of the

C.I.D., or Criminal Investigation Department. A thin photograph was with them; it tallied with Stacey's

features. In routine style, he matched his approved signature, as shown on a document, using Weston's desk

pen. Finally, he called special attention to a brief order accompanying his credentials.

This order was from Scotland Yard, informing all law enforcement officers throughout the British Empire

that they were to maintain strict secrecy regarding Stacey's presence, wherever he might be.

"I am aware," put Stacey bluntly, "that your jurisdiction is outside of such limitations, Commissioner. But I

trust in your judgment to honor this request so long as we both deem it expedient."

"Quite right," agreed Weston, only to add sharply: "Provided you can prove the existence of such

Weston and Cardona sat right back to listen. Their visitor needed no further go sign.

"Malmordo is a notorious criminal," asserted Stacey. "In fact, until recently, he was the most notorious

criminal on the European scene. He would still be if he happened to be in Europe."

"His name would indicate that," stated Weston. "I take it that the name is derived from mal and morte, words

"You are wrong," the gray man declared.. "The term mal means opposite and mordo means something that

"In Esperanto," replied Stacey, "an international language. Malmordo's activities were so far flung, that

before the war, the police officials in various countries used Esperanto in their interchangeable reports, in

"It worked well at first," replied Stacey. "Quite a few of Malmordo's workers were trapped. But then they

began using Esperanto too. At that time, Malmordo was known to the police in European countries as

"Mordetbesto" which in Esperanto means a rodent. That angered his followers who called him

"Malmordetbesto" meaning just the opposite of a rat. They shortened it to "Malmordo" and there it stands."

By "we" Stacey obviously meant more than just Scotland Yard. He was including all the law enforcement

"If Malmordo made such a stir in Europe," inquired Cardona, "how come we never heard of him in

"The war intervened," explained Stacey. "The Nazis hired Malmordo and his fellowrats to squirm into every

occupied country. There, they not only fomented vicious trouble; they destroyed all records pertaining to

"Because it's the only place where they can find what they want," conceded Cardona. "They're after food and

"And Malmordo's rats are after loot," specified Stacey. "Europe has gone short on that commodity too."

It made sense to Cardona and with it, the inspector remembered something. He plucked up Moultrie's report

"That's Esperanto," acknowledged Stacey. "It means Malmordo death midnight. I heard those words

spoken yesterday afternoon, Inspector. That's why I sent you the marked menu card."

"And a patrolman heard them just before midnight," declared Cardona, "spoken by a dying stowaway in the

hold of the Steamship Santander. I get it now: the fellow must have thought Malmordo doublecrossed him."

"There is your link," he declared. "Malmordo has been bringing his riffraff into port. Until yesterday they

"Because I had too much consideration for your very fine police," returned Stacey, coolly. "It would be

suicide to invade a fortress belonging to Malmordo unless you first stopped every human rathole connected

with the place. I was still checking on the place when I saw some of Malmordo's rats slink away and I

Weston was taking time out to call the Black Star Warehouse. He held a brief conversation, then hung up

"That's odd," announced the commissioner, "but it fits. At the Black Star they say they were going crazy on

account of rats they meant the usual kind but today, they've begun to disappear."

"Because Malmordo's men are gone," nodded Stacey. "They are no longer there to feed the rats."

"So the rats won't feed on them," Stacey explained. "They could never hope to drive the rats from the

miserable places that both breeds prefer, so they befriended them. Then they get along comfortably together."

Such solid knowledge of Malmordo and his ways was giving Trent Stacey an invaluable status in the eyes of

Commissioner Weston. Folding the credentials, Weston returned them to the C.I.D. man and announced:

"We shall give you full cooperation, Mr. Stacey. In return, I want you to tell us everything else you know

about Malmordo. Tell us what crimes you think he intends to attempt, what measures you believe he will

IT took Trent Stacey half an hour to cover the full subject of Malmordo, though it wasn't all continuous

talking on Stacey's part. Weston and Cardona had numerous questions, all apt ones, that they inserted at

Before the war, Malmordo had adopted aggressor tactics of his own, including the Fifth Column system. He

and his ratty followers slipped into countries, established themselves in the most detestable of hideouts,

which were therefore the most difficult to search, and from such headquarters, made deals with local

Crimes were accomplished and the greater percentage of the stolen goods reached Malmordo and his

followers, like water seeking the lowest level. Malmordo preferred objects such as rare paintings and famous

jewels, because he disposed of them in other countries. Always, Malmordo and his tribe filtered out as

Stacey had the explanation for this: Malmordo and his human rats used gypsies as accomplices. Traveling

gypsy tribes were common throughout Europe. In going from country to country, their wagons were

thoroughly inspected, but customs men seldom cared if gypsies carried odd items through, particularly as the

There were thieves among gypsies, but they were an individual clan and they strictly avoided local criminals.

Therefore nobody looked upon them as carriers of highly valued property; indeed, no criminal of any sense

would have entrusted such stolen goods to gypsies in the first place. So Malmordo had instituted something

novel and unexpected, when he mingled his followers among gypsy troupes. Malmordo's rats had carried

Instantly Malmordo and his despicable followers commanded high premiums from the Nazis. No longer were

gypsies fronting for the human rats; now, refugees were the cover up. Poland, France, the Balkans all suffered

from the same infiltration process. According to Stacey, they were responsible, Malmordo's men, for many of

the most outrageous robberies that brought the treasures of occupied countries into Nazidom.

Stacey's descriptions sounded like a digest of a casebook. When he had finished, he delivered added facts

"Malmordo came to England," stated Stacey, "at the time of the blitz. In fact, we are sure that some of his

tribe, perhaps Malmordo himself, mingled with the troops that were rescued from Dunkirk. Malmordo started

operations in London, expecting the Nazis to arrive. They never did, and Malmordo gave his game away.

"Unfortunately, Malmordo and most of his rats escaped in fishing boats across the Channel before we had

time to unearth them. We discovered, though, that they had plans for supercrime and that they intended to use

pressure upon important men who had been engaged in subversive dealings with the Nazis.

"When the war ended, we expected them to filter back into England. They failed to appear, so we decided to

look for them in various British dominions. I was assigned to Canada and began my search in Montreal.

There was no sign of Malmordo in that city, but I gained a lead that brought me to New York."

That summed Stacey's account. He sat back, ready for questions and received some. "This Malmordo," asked

"I have seen him," replied Stacey, solemnly. "He is so hideous, so grotesque, that it would seem impossible

for any human face to be so contorted. In appearance, he is twisted and deformed, yet singularly agile."

"I was born, raised and educated in Canada," explained Stacey, "but I lived in Montreal and learned French

along with English. I spent three years among German settlers in Canada and learned their language too.

Among other languages" for the first time Stacey smiled, but barely "I learned Esperanto."

"That you give me a few days to trace Malmordo" requested Stacey. "It is imperative that I operate on my

own, as I always have, but I can report at stated intervals directly to Inspector Cardona."

"Until you have actual facts as to the whereabouts of wanted criminals," decided the commissioner, "there

can be no reason why you should not act in unofficial or I might say individual capacity. Meanwhile,

When Commissioner Weston made a promise he kept it, but he also had an innate curiosity for things

unusual. That was why, a few hours later, Weston walked into the Cobalt Club, his regular offhour habitat,

reading a pocketsized book that interested him so intently that he almost stumbled over a chair containing a

Few persons could take matters more calmly, almost indifferently, than did Cranston. He was a man with an

impassive face that impressed some observers as masklike and his features, viewed at certain angles, gave a

hawkish appearance. Cranston's eyes were easy, but steady, a fact which characterized them now. Indeed,

only by gaze did Cranston imply that he was interested in anything that could so preoccupy Weston.

The commissioner seemed to realize it, for he became apologetic, then enthusiastic.

"Sorry, Cranston," began Weston. "I should have remembered I was to meet you here. But you see, I've run

"I have made a few trips around the world," responded Cranston. "Do you think I would have started without

"Mi parolas Esperante," replied Cranston, "Mi trovas la elparoladon tre facila."

Weston began looking through the book, so Cranston saved him the trouble by translating for him.

"I said that I speak Esperanto," stated Cranston. "I added that I find the pronunciations very easy."

"Something that doesn't bite. It sounds more like a name, though, than a word commonly used in Esperanto."

"You are right, Cranston," conceded Weston. "It is a name. The name of the world's most desperate

With that beginning, Weston reeled off all the data that he had gained from Trent Stacey, excepting of course

any mention of the C.I.D. man himself. All the while, Cranston listened intently, without showing it. Behind

that impassive face of Cranston's lay a keen mind, the mind of The Shadow, for the guise of Cranston was

It was palpable to Cranston that Weston had acquired all this information very recently. The reason: if

Weston had known all this last night, Malmordo would not have cavorted in such murderous style at the Cafe

"I suppose you learned all this at the Cafe de la Morte," remarked Cranston. "I read about a mysterious

"Malmordo was involved," admitted Weston, "but they know nothing about him at the cafe."

"Those rats? Impossible! They have even abandoned their hideaway at the Black Star Warehouse, they and

Cranston could have raised his eyebrows, but didn't. Weston hadn't mentioned the Black Star Warehouse in

his runup on the Malmordo question. He regarded it as too closely associated with Stacey. So Cranston was

"I didn't mean Malmordo's regulars," corrected Cranston. "You say he enlists local malefactors wherever he

goes. I supposed you might have captured some of the Manhattan contingent that was working with him."

"Some were on the job last night," declared Weston, "but they got away before we could identify them."

"I have it, then," expressed Cranston. "You've been questioning the local gypsies."

"You can't quiz gypsies," declared Weston. "They never tell the same story twice. They have a king who acts

as spokesman, but he's out of town at present. King Dakar, they call him, and every gypsy we've asked says

he's away. None of them ever heard of Madame Thalla, the fortune teller at the Cafe de la Morte. They'd say

There were a number of inconsistencies in Weston's speech, but Cranston didn't suggest that the

commissioner might be something of a gypsy himself. Instead, Cranston broached a last query.

"The customers down at the Cafe de la Morte," mused Cranston. "There weren't any missing later, were

"One was," recalled Weston. "A girl in white, who wore a yellow flower and had her fortune told. We don't

There Weston cut himself off in his own brusque style and threw a challenging glare at Cranston. When

Cranston became persistent, he made people tell things they didn't mean to say and Weston had come near

mentioning Stacey. Of course Cranston couldn't have been fishing for information; he was just helpful, that

"Sorry, Cranston, but I have an appointment." That was Weston's best way to relieve the pressure of this

Remembering that he too had an appointment, Lamont Cranston strolled from the Cobalt Club and out into

JANICE BRADFORD wasn't wearing white tonight. Instead she'd chosen a dark blue sweater dress with a

That was the part that bothered Janice, the way the slinky men seemed to be around again. What they were

doing here, away from the docks and warehouses, away from the Village and the Cafe de la Morte, was

Regarding Thalla as a friend, Janice was trying to find her somewhere along Gypsy Row and that was just the

trouble. Thalla wasn't around, but the human rats were; at least Janice fancied that she could see them poking

Silent houses here, with no signs on the windows denoting fortune tellers as Janice had supposed there might

be. She realized now that gypsies wouldn't advertise such talents in their own neighborhood, just as she

recognized they wouldn't talk about each other. The best thing Janice could do would be to find a cab. She'd

stopped in too many stores to inquire about Madame Thalla. The people who had given her dumb looks and

It was thought of Malmordo however, that worried Janice most. And again, she made the mistake of thinking

Turning into a side street, Janice hadn't gone a dozen paces before she saw a slinker move from a doorway, as

though to sidle across the street and cut off her retreat. There was a doorway on this side and instinctively,

Janice turned toward it, then shied away, only to have a firm hand emerge as on the night before and draw her

Janice interrupted herself when she saw that her present friend wasn't the bluntfaced man in gray, whose

name, though she didn't know it, had today been disclosed as Trent Stacey, but only to Commissioner Weston

Oddly though, Janice had found another friend, a rather handsome and selfassured young man whom she

remembered from the Cafe de la Morte. In the light that slanted into the doorway, Janice was looking at

Harry Vincent, who in turn was getting another and more detailed impression of the girl herself.

However, it wasn't wise to stare too long, because the process required light and light was dangerous with

lurkers about. Satisfied that Janice regarded him as a friend, due to his lack of resemblance to any of

"Speaking of tomorrow night," undertoned Harry, "I was worried about last night. I saw Thalla steer you out

"Somebody you were to meet near here," defined Harry, "and tomorrow night. You mistook me for him."

There was silence for a moment. Janice gave a slight shudder, worrying about the slinkers.

"Whoever he was," suggested Harry, "he found a cab for you, probably over on the avenue."

"There will be a cab here shortly," promised Harry. "I can get you away in it, if you tell me about this other

chap. After all, he and I are working toward the same purpose, to trap Malmordo."

At the name "Malmordo" Janice supplied a really appreciable shudder. Then quickly she said:

"I don't know who he was. I promised to meet him tomorrow night, but not here. Unless I know more about

"I don't know," expressed Janice truthfully. "He didn't have time to tell me his name."

From the way she said it, Harry decided that the girl wasn't going to give her name now. Nevertheless, he

waited patiently, confident that Janice's interest in the expected cab would make her talk. The process

worked. Fumbling in her purse, Janice brought out a folded slip of paper; with a little pencil, she wrote

"There's the message," she undertoned, "and I've written my name on the back. You can have the paper when

Lights were coming around the corner and lurkers were scooting for cover. Stepping out boldly, Harry

flagged the cab. As it stopped, he opened the door and beckoned to Janice; as the girl hurried into the cab,

Then the cab was off with Janice as a passenger and Harry was making a quick dart, openly, toward the

corner, to draw attention his way. At that, Harry couldn't feel that he was taking much risk because he'd been

expecting a cab piloted by a driver named Shrevvy who was to drop off The Shadow at this very corner. If

any lurkers had taken potshots at Harry, they'd have received plenty more virulent bullets in return.

Apparently the lurkers had been smart enough to be on their way, but at that they'd outsmarted themselves.

For Harry was scarcely past the corner before another cab pulled up and this time it was Shrevvy's. Not until

then did Harry realize that he'd flagged a chance cab that had happened to swing into that side street just

A whispered voice sounded almost at Harry's elbow, out of darkness that seemed vacant. It ordered:

Briefing his report to The Shadow, Harry finished by extending the folded paper. A hand took it and moved

into the light, where Harry saw another hand join it. It was a rather astonishing effect, watching those gloved

hands unfold the slip of paper and turn it over, for the hands seemed like independent creatures floating in

Even more startling in a way was the slip of paper itself. Staring eagerly, Harry blinked when he saw that it

"That's the message somebody gave the girl," Harry was saying, "and she wrote her name on back of it "

Only it wasn't the message and Janice hadn't written her name and she hadn't gone away in Shrevvy's cab. So

far as The Shadow was concerned, the girl was still Miss X, which represented an unknown quantity.

Nevertheless, The Shadow's laugh came softly as though he appreciated the humor of the thing. Then, leaving

Harry to figure some way of redeeming himself, The Shadow glided off into the darkness.

Better luck was waiting a few blocks away. There, The Shadow stopped in front of a dimly lighted store

which proved to be a petshop. Inside was a customer, a wizened little man, who looked normal enough for

this neighborhood. The proprietor, a squatty, sleekhaired man, was warning the customer not to bother the

The customer answered to the name of Hawkeye and he worked for The Shadow, but of course he hadn't

stated either of those facts. What intrigued him about the love birds was that they would peck at odd things,

like the cover of a match pack, something that the average parrot would ignore, at least after the first taste.

"Those birds not for sale," the squatty storekeeper was saying. "Customer already buy them. Closing shop

The storekeeper was brushing Hawkeye away from the cage, where one of the green birds was reclaiming the

piece of cardboard that had dropped between the bars. Wrapping a cloth around the cage, the squatty man

took it to the back of the shop, then returned to pull down the shades in the show window.

Shambling out in slow fashion, Hawkeye would have sped his pace the moment that he turned past the

window, if The Shadow had not stopped him with a whispered signal. The result was that Hawkeye paused,

then shuffled across the street in careless fashion while the blackness that represented The Shadow continued

Through an alley and around to the back street, The Shadow was waiting when the squatty man came from

his darkened shop bearing the covered cage that contained the green birds. After a hurried look from right to

That trail ended after a zigzag route through several back streets. The squatty man tapped at an obscure door

which opened cautiously. A few words passed through the crack, then the door widened enough for the cage

A few moments later, The Shadow, invisible in the shrouding darkness of the doorway, was opening the door

THE narrow hallway was pitchblack, its floor so old and creaky that it responded, though ever so slightly, to

At the end was another door, which The Shadow found by a careful probe. His gloved hand muffled the rattle

of the loose knob; even the groan of the rusted hinges was suppressed as The Shadow pressed the door

A dim light issued from within, showing a tawdry room furnished with battered chairs and table, a turkeyred

curtain hanging across a doorway beyond. If eyes behind that curtain could notice the door's motion, The

Inching the door slowly inward, The Shadow literally baited the watcher beyond the curtain. He could sense

when someone there was ready to surge; then, boldly, suddenly, The Shadow flung the door fully open and

As he twisted, The Shadow produced an automatic from beneath his cloak. He completed a full turn that not

only carried him away from the wideopen doorway, but brought him back against the door itself, clattering

it against the side wall of the room so it formed the long side of a triangle which included the brief stretch of

This peculiar double process completely fooled the man beyond the curtain. He came charging through, only

to halt blankly and bewildered, not knowing how or where to aim the oldfashioned pistol that he clutched in

his tawny hand. Then, as The Shadow delivered a shuddery, whispered laugh, the man's face enlarged in

His face was the darkish face of Panjo, the man who had contacted the sailor on the Santander.

The Shadow's whisper phrased the name "Panjo." As the darkish man quivered, he saw blackness stretch to a

table near the door and whip away the cloth covering of an object standing there, to reveal a cage containing

In gypsy dialect, The Shadow was saying: "Panjo! These were your birds," to which Panjo could only nod.

"Mri romni odoi geyas," he pleaded, "oi n'avel pale. Na janav so pes lake talindyas."

The Shadow had asked about Panjo's wife and in reply Panjo was saying that his wife had gone away and not

In gypsy talk The Shadow ordered Panjo to give him the gun, which Panjo did, quaking the while. Then, in

sinister tone, The Shadow suggested that perhaps Panjo's missing wife might be responsible for Gregor's

death. Before Panjo could chatter a denial, The Shadow wheeled, flinging the door shut to reveal a trembling

The woman was Madame Thalla. Quivering, she dropped the knife she held. The Shadow had been ready for

the trick that Thalla had used to elude Cardona and had imprisoned the woman behind the door where she had

Thalla was repeating "I did not kill him!" in reference to Gregor and The Shadow's laugh eased to a tone that

made Thalla realize he believed her. The Shadow had accomplished what he wanted; he had linked Panjo

The Shadow was asking where he could find their great leader, which to Panjo and Thalla meant King Dakar,

so lately reported out of the city. Eagerly, Panjo and Thalla conducted him past the turkey red curtain, where

Panjo rapped at a door beyond. The door opened and The Shadow found himself facing King Dakar, a

gentleman whose surprise diminished rapidly when Panjo, and Thalla chattered to him in gypsy talk.

The title 'Yek Ushalyin' was Panjo's way of saying "The Shadow." Translated literally it meant 'a shadow' but

in Romany, the indefinite article 'a' also meant 'one'. In defining the visitor as 'One Shadow', Panjo was

Also, Panjo had added that Yek Ushalyin was of the gypsies and Thalla had supplemented the claim by

declaring: "He is gypsy, not a foreigner," for the term Rom meant someone of the gypsy race, while gajo

From there on, The Shadow took up the conversation and King Dakar, hearing his speech, bowed low. To

term Dakar a 'king' seemed ludicrous, for he was a drab, sunken sort of man, whose broad, droopy face was

so weatherbeaten that it had lost its natural color. Nevertheless, if The Shadow deserved a title, so did King

For after he heard The Shadow declaim in pure Romany, Dakar did likewise. The language that they talked

showed that Panjo and Thalla were limited in gypsyspeech to a hodgepodge of varied dialects.

It was a pleasure, Dakar told The Shadow, to hear some one speak the lacho romano chib, or pure gypsy, and

not the posh romani toward which so many of Dakar's people trended. They were even forgetting their

The Shadow inquired if that applied to a Rom named Gregor and Dakar was startled. When The Shadow

wanted to learn the connection between Gregor and Malmordo, Thalla became terrified and even Panjo was

shaken. Then, Dakar standing speechless, The Shadow calmly expressed himself in English, interspersed with

"At the pier, I learned that Panjo was Rom," declared The Shadow. "When he saw me, he cried 'Vourdalak'

and 'Nosferadu' meaning he mistook me for a vampire, which any Rom might. Yek Rom, seeking birds, such

was Panjo. Why should he want chirikla? Because birds are used for telling fortunes. Bring your chirikla,

"On the boat was a gajo who died very suddenly," The Shadow told Dakar. "He said three words: 'Malmordo

"I know who Malmordo is," said Dakar. "But those other words" he shook his head "they are in the

"The words meant death and midnight," declared The Shadow. "I knew of the Cafe de la Morte and assumed

that the man might refer to it. I went there and saw Madame Thalla, a fortune teller. A romni who tells

fortunes" The Shadow gestured to Thalla "would not her husband be a Rom who would buy chirikla like

The Shadow completed another gesture, toward the green love birds which had just arrived in their cage,

carried by Panjo. Then, as if to acknowledge The Shadow's skill at deduction, Panjo took the birds from the

cage while Thalla brought a little box containing rows of small cards, about the size of place cards used at a

dinner party. At a signal from Panjo, one of the birds flew to the box, picked up a card with its beak, fluttered

"Chirikli dela tuke, Yek Ushalyin," said Thalla. "He is giving you the card, the bird is, that you may read

your fortune. So kamavela?" Thalla gave a professional shrug. "What will come? Kon janalo? Who knows?"

A quaint custom this, of having birds pluck cards and deliver them to customers, so that each could read an

individual fortune. Traveling gypsies had trained such birds for centuries, but in recent years, palm reading

and interpretations of the tarots had superceded this picturesque type of divination.

"Panjo and Thalla went in hiding," explained King Dakar. "It was then that Panjo remembered his trained

birds. He sent word for them to be brought here so that no one could find him through them. But you were

"No, no!" Dakar spoke excitedly. "That is why I am in hiding too! So Malmordo can not find me."

"Nor have the police managed to find you," declared The Shadow. "It is curious you do not wish to talk to

"They could not protect us against Malmordo!" exclaimed Dakar. "That is why we can not talk to them."

"It has given them a singular impression," stated The Shadow. "The police believe that you are friendly to

That brought a storm of indignant denial from Dakar, with Panjo and Thalla joining in the protest. Every

curse that could be invoked in the gypsy language was uttered and all were directed against Malmordo. To

another visitor, it would have seemed that the gypsies were overdoing it, but not to The Shadow. They had

called him Rom; they had termed him Yek Ushalyin. To him they would only tell the truth.

"We Rom have suffered much from Malmordo," asserted Dakar when the hubbub ended. "We have been

called many names in many lands, such names as heathen and outcasts. But in only one land, Egypt, were we

called robbers. They gave us the name Harami there. And now today, Malmordo would have us called

"I have heard," affirmed The Shadow, "that Malmordo and his gaje traveled with your comrades in Europe."

"Because we thought them poor strangers," argued Dakar. "Malmordo! Bah! The other name they called him,

Mordetbesto, was a better name for him. It sounds like the beast he was. So low did he sink that he was taken

as a freak to be exhibited for copper money by the foolish Rom he deceived. A divio gajo, a wild man they

thought he was and others of his kind posed as the same. They learned our customs, romnipen, to help them

"You should have learned more about them," reproved The Shadow. "You avoided the criminals with whom

"But Malmordo and his gaje never dealt with others!" protested Dakar. "We would surely have known if they

King Dakar meant it, but as a gypsy leader it was his part to claim he knew everything. His statements did not

tally with what The Shadow had learned from Commissioner Weston. Dakar might give the gypsies benefit

of doubt where connections with Malmordo were concerned, but he would not extend the courtesy to

"You have said that Gregor once was Rom," The Shadow asserted. "But Gregor called himself a gajo and he

Madame Thalla babbled an interruption and King Dakar halted her. With all the dignity of his office, Dakar

"As Rom, we both hate and fear Malmordo. But I have ordered my people that if they do neither, Malmordo

may not harm us. None were to speak to Malmordo once he arrived here, nor to watch him. Gregor was one

who would not obey and when I chided him, he said he was no longer Rom, but gajo.

"What Gregor learned about Malmordo, we do not know. How he learned it also puzzles us. But since Gregor

was watching for Malmordo, it was necessary that we watch Gregor. I chose Thalla for that duty because she

could tell fortunes at the Cafe de la Morte. Because her husband, Panjo, often bought birds from the sailors, I

Dakar had put it well. The Shadow could have queried what the gypsy king intended next, but such a question

was unnecessary. The Shadow simply waited, knowing that Dakar would declare himself. And Dakar did.

Across Dakar's weatherbeaten face came a vengeful expression inspired by the demand for justice.

"Gregor was Rom." There was finality in Dakar's tone. "Gregor was murdered by Malmordo. Whoever may

ask me to help destroy Malmordo will have the services of any Rom I can supply. I, King Dakar, have so

That promise was meant for The Shadow and it ended the interview. Turning, the cloaked master, whom the

gypsies styled Yek Ushalyin made his exit through the red curtain. Only the whispered echoes of a parting

The Shadow needed no further pledge from King Dakar. Already the gypsy leader had provided him with a

trail, through Madame Thalla. The card that the trained bird had given The Shadow was not inscribed with

Instead it bore a name, one which Madame Thalla had learned and knew that The Shadow would want.

IT was late the next afternoon when Inspector Cardona looked up from his desk to meet the steady gray eyes

of Trent Stacey. It was rather startling, the way this visitor had arrived, though Cardona's office wasn't

However, whatever annoyance Cardona might have felt he instantly suppressed. Stacey was a special case, by

"Plenty," assured Cardona, "but not the sort we want, though they may be a lead. I've been checking with the

warehouses around the waterfront to learn how badly they are infested by rats. I haven't forgotten what you

"Not the way I'm handling it," interposed Cardona. "I'm working through the health department. The trouble

is the rats are bad news everywhere, big fighting rats, so big they kill some of the cats that are planted to kill

"The boldest rats would be where Malmordo is. His men would see to it that they spread out from ordinary

"I figured that. You were right about Black Star. It's really free of rats, that warehouse, so we're no longer

Stacey gave a short, pleased nod. His gray eyes were reflective for a moment; then he brought up another

subject. Spreading a sheet of paper on the desk, Stacey pointed to a rough diagram that he had drawn.

"Malmordo's present headquarters," he declared. "There is a chance we may trap him there tonight."

"This isn't a warehouse," remarked Cardona, studying the chart. "It looks more like some old residence."

"Malmordo never stays with his tribe," explained Stacey. "He doesn't want them to know too much about

"Then how did you find out about this place?" demanded Cardona. "By staying away from Malmordo's

"In a sense, yes," he stated. "I overheard a few roustabouts talking in that doggerel form of Esperanto that

Malmordo's followers use. They mentioned his headquarters, because naturally they have to contact him. He

"At dusk, I can go in there," suggested Stacey. "Give me at least a half hour's leeway before any of your men

"I should like to meet Malmordo," replied Stacey, grimly. "It would be a pleasure to take him by surprise.

"I talk their language. I can pose as a representative of the local talent that Malmordo is lining up. But I don't

expect them either. What I want to do is get at any loose evidence that may be lying around."

That part pleased Cardona immensely. He could foresee that some sort of a case would have to be built

against Malmordo to make the public believe that such a vicious and fabulous criminal existed. So Joe asked:

"If Malmordo appears," returned Stacey, "let him through. Then close in and box him. I can work from the

"Malmordo won't come within a block of that house," objected Stacey, "if you are any nearer. You are

dealing with a Master Rat and don't forget it. Outdoors, Malmordo has a way of keeping just beyond a good

"You're right," Cardona agreed, remembering how elusive Malmordo had been, even in the restricted area of

the dining garden at the Cafe de la Morte. "The only game is to turn that house into a rattrap, which judging

Methodically, Cardona made a brief timesheet with a carbon copy which he gave to Stacey. Then, as the

"One matter I meant to mention yesterday were you in the Cafe de la Morte before Malmordo appeared

"Not on the night he murdered Gregor," replied Stacey. "I was on my way there at the time. But I was in the

"Did you see a girl in white, wearing a yellow flower? The blonde who talked to Madame Thalla?"

"A few blocks from the cafe. She was dodging the shooting. I realized that something must have happened at

the Cafe de la Morte and I took it that she had fled with other patrons. I directed her to the avenue."

"That's what everybody else says," declared Cardona, grimly, "but we haven't been able to find her. If you

Though it wasn't dusk yet, Cardona's office was getting dark because it had an eastern exposure through a

nonetooample window. Several minutes after Stacey left, Joe decided to turn on the lights. When he did, a

Cranston's usual contact with the law was Commissioner Weston. Though he knew Cardona well, Cranston

There was a special reason for Cranston's visit. He hadn't been able to find Weston. The commissioner had

slipped away somewhere to study his Esperanto. This in turn meant there was little use in trying to interview

him, because when Weston concentrated on one thing, he dropped others. Cranston had gotten the hint that

There was someone else that Cranston hadn't been able to locate: Janice Bradford. That was why Cranston

Almost immediately Cranston discovered something; namely, that Cardona was fidgety. This was so unusual

that it showed, even though Joe managed to keep his usual deadpan expression. So Cranston, ever calm,

immediately became calmer than ever. He had something to chat about, he said, but it could wait. So

Cardona's eyes went to the rough chart on the desk and Joe decided to act as Weston had in Cranston's

Using his phone, Cardona called a couple of special men and told them to bring certain others. He summoned

one detective to his office, showed him the rough chart and drew a larger plan, pointing out where all hands

"There's been a little trouble in that neighborhood," the inspector told the detective. "I'll make the rounds after

All the while, Cranston was sitting by indifferently, getting occasional glimpses at the chart and hearing the

detective's queries. He took in something that the detective didn't; namely, that a certain house marked on the

Next, Cardona glanced at his brief timechart, then turned it over and pushed it to one side, among some

"Don't post yourselves too soon," Cardona told the detective. "You might be noticed. It will be dusk about

Glancing at his watch, Cranston remarked that it was already seven o'clock, which pleased Cardona.

"Get started," Cardona told the detective, "and take the others along." Then, as the detective left, Joe added:

"Very well." Cranston arose in leisurely style then paused. "I just wanted to ask about a girl named Janice

"She seems to be missing," continued Cranston. "Maybe she just went away for a rest."

"She might need a rest," decided Cranston, "after experiencing a lot of excitement. Some of her friends say

"I didn't think to ask," replied Cranston. "I simply thought you might be interested. Only her friends know

"She has a father, but he is missing, too, which is the oddest part. They seem to have moved from one hotel to

another and stopped giving forwarding addresses. The father's name is Andrew Bradford and the hotels "

Pausing, Cranston reached for a loose sheet of paper and added: "Here, I'll write out the data fo you."

Cranston wrote the names of the persons and the hotels, folded the sheet of paper and laid it back upon the

desk. Cardona didn't observe what happened during the folding process for he was on the wrong side of the

desk. In folding the paper toward himself, Cranston brought a smaller slip into view, his own view. It was

In putting the folded paper on the desk, Cranston turned it downward so that the list dropped beneath it,

writing side also down. He gave the folded paper a slight slide, so it glided toward Cardona, who picked it up

and creased it again as he put it in his pocket. Seeing the blank side of the sheet that bore his list, Cardona

picked it up too, keeping the writing away from Cranston's sight. Pokerfaced, Joe hid the grim satisfaction

Cardona didn't know that Cranston had swapped one name for another, that of Janice Bradford in return for

Trent Stacey or at least the Stacey part of it. Nor did Cardona begin to guess what Cranston would do about

In the dusk that was heavy outside police headquarters, the departing Mr. Cranston hailed a waiting cab and

once inside it merged with darkness. For the cab was Shrevvy's and from a secret drawer beneath its rear seat,

The address that Shrevvy heard his chief give was very close to the old house that Trent Stacey had defined

SIGHTSEERS wishing to view the house that Malmordo used as his headquarters can find it by looking for

the most decrepit house in the most dilapidated section of Manhattan south of Fortysecond Street and west

The house had to be about that bad because it was empty and during the housing shortage in New York

practically any house that still stood of its own accord was remodeled in some fashion or another so that it

To say that this house was standing of its own accord at first sight seemed an exaggeration. Its brick front was

falling apart in such chunks that it looked as though it were propped between the two adjacent houses that

formed part of the solid block. But those houses were so ramshackle that they couldn't have supported more

than their own weight, therefore Malmordo's house must have been standing on whatever trifling merit it still

This block and those surrounding it were gloomy and quiet when Cardona's men put in an appearance on the

fringes. They managed to keep out of sight without trouble, taking advantage of the very gloom which had

probably attracted Malmordo to this area. There was one fault, however, which worked against Malmordo

and pleased Cardona immensely as he began his rounds to tell his detectives what this was all about.

A grimy street light stood directly opposite the empty house, making the building perhaps the most

conspicuous in the block. It probably annoyed Malmordo, that light, but since this was the only empty house

in the neighborhood, or for that matter about any neighborhood, he had to make the best of it.

Cardona now understood why Trent Stacey had chosen dusk as the right time to enter and had also wanted a

reasonable leeway. Stacey had probably waited while it grew dark, until just the time when street lamps

began to flicker. That was his cue to get into the house in a hurry, before the glow appeared from across the

How long Stacey had been inside was a question but a rather important one. The really important question

Out of the surrounding gloom that might have harbored a few dozen lurkers came as grotesque and distorted

The term human rat was hardly adequate for Malmordo. He had the writhe of a human snake.

Malmordo's figure, clad baggily as at the Cafe de la Morte, seemed to grow right out of the grimy sidewalk

and coil itself up the front steps. Watching from nearly a block away, Cardona started to move in, his men

copying his example, but as he did, Joe realized how right Stacey was in saying that long range fire couldn't

reach Malmordo. The human monstrosity was safely in the shelter of his own doorway before anyone could

And then, as if to tantalize anyone who happened to be watching, Malmordo poked his head and shoulders

into sight. The street lamp opposite gave a full but fleeting view of those misshapen, vicious features that

were so unmistakable. Only one man could have displayed such an ugly, twisted visage: Malmordo.

He fitted the rat definition as he peered up and down the street, in a quick doubletake. Then, rat fashion he

A long streak of blackness that sliced from across the street began to take on line. A shadowy stretch, that

was all, and its waver could have been due to a flicker of the street lamp. But there was solid blackness

At the steps, The Shadow did a curious sidle, up toward the edge of the doorway.

Growing blackness, that was all, like something unreal, which evaporated, smokefashion before anyone

could define it. The fade took place when The Shadow deftly twisted himself into the doorway, from which,

Even Inspector Cardona was deceived. On the move, he thought that the rise of darkness and its curious

fadeaway were due to the changing angle of his vision. Besides, Cardona couldn't picture even The Shadow

as part of a scene which had been unearthed exclusively by Trent Stacey, a man whose own ways were

The house was a three story affair, by this time the creaks were going up beyond the second. They

represented footsteps, though they were not distinguishable as such. Rather they were a cross between a creep

and a snaky progress which defined them as Malmordo's. What The Shadow was hearing were the

transcribed sounds of Malmordo's ascent as reproduced by the old beams and shaky flooring.

A tiny flashlight spotted its glow along the hall, shrouded by the folds of The Shadow's cloak. With that light

The Shadow picked out the stairs and began a climb of his own, a trifle slower than Malmordo's but

considerably more efficient. For as he reached the second floor, The Shadow could hear the creaks upon the

third, which wouldn't have been possible had The Shadow been producing such sounds himself.

As near noiseless as was possible in this old house, The Shadow was betraying no token of his presence. But

now, hearing a pause in the sounds that meant Malmordo, The Shadow slackened his climb to the third floor,

practically feeling each step ahead, shifting his weight by degrees, so that not even the slightest token of his

Almost at the third floor, The Shadow heard the muffled closing of a door. He was conscious next of creaks

that must have come from a hallway, moving toward the rear. It was as if some eavesdropper were stealing

away, eager for haste, yet anxious for silence. The closing of the door, however, indicated that Malmordo had

isolated himself in a room; therefore whoever was sneaking along the third floor could do so without too

In turn, The Shadow increased his speed, knowing that Malmordo could not hear him and recognizing that

the interloper was making enough sounds of his own to drown any that The Shadow made. That interloper, of

course, would be a man named Stacey, who had been listed at seven o'clock on Cardona's schedule. Right

now, The Shadow was summing the whole arrangement between Stacey and Cardona, though he had already

Hardly, not in so short a time space. Rather, Malmordo had boxed himself, though certainly not too solidly.

As The Shadow reached the third floor he could hear creaks in the rear of the house and below, indicating

What Stacey should do was obvious. By promptly summoning Cardona and the detectives, Stacey could lead

them up to the room where Malmordo was, with little chance of being heard. Then Malmordo would be really

Could half a dozen men or more come up the front stairs and the back without multiplying those creaks to

such a degree that Malmordo would surely hear them? The Shadow doubted that such a mass invasion could

be muffled; yet he knew Cardona well enough to realize that the inspector would attempt it. Cardona believed

The solution was simply for The Shadow to trap Malmordo first and hold him until the police arrived.

Licking along the hall, the flashlight picked out a closed door half way to the back of the house. It fitted with

the location of Malmordo's final creaks and the muffled sound of a closing door; it also explained why Stacey

would have taken the back way down. The back stairs were nearer and toward them was an open doorway

from which Stacey might have watched Malmordo enter the room which now was closed.

Silently, swiftly, The Shadow reached the closed door. He placed one hand on the knob while his other drew

an automatic. Expertly, The Shadow turned the knob with a squeeze. He eased the door inward and saw a

room with a tiny, shaded window; a room lighted by a single candle that was burning on a table beside an old

The trunk was opened and its tray was strewed with envelopes and papers. More important, in front of the

trunk was the crouched figure of Malmordo, huddled as though reading something by the candlelight. There

were no chairs in the room, but its floor was covered with a frayed carpet, which came clear to the door.

In fact, the door, in opening inward, had lifted the edge of the rug, scruffing it just enough to show the glint

of a wire that ran beneath. The Shadow, ever alert for detail, was quick to note that item. For already, as he

lunged across the threshold, The Shadow had sensed something wrong with the bunched figure of Malmordo.

It seemed to be swaying, that crouched form, but the reason was the waver of the candlelight. In order to

produce such an illusion, the figure had been set between the light and the trunk, therefore Malmordo couldn't

be reading anything at all. The figure itself wasn't Malmordo, it was a dummy. The lack of chairs in the room

Malmordo had simply planted his baggy garb upon a chair. The wire, running straight toward the trunk, was

obviously connected with a boobytrap. Half into the room, The Shadow could lose more time by turning

than he would in completing his surge. So he turned his drive into a dive, hitting the chair shoulder first.

It was a cushioned armchair, the kind it had to be to give sufficient bulk to the improvised dummy. Taking

the chair with him, The Shadow somersaulted at an angle past the trunk, to a corner of the room, where he

As the chair legs kicked toward the ceiling, the trunk exploded with a sullen blast that filled the room with a

pungent white smoke which echoed with the rattle of flying metal fragments, ricocheting from the walls!

VIEWED from the street, the old brick house seemed to jolt and shake itself under the force of the blast. If

the charge had been planted in the cellar, the structure might have given way, but as it was, the building

settled back to normal, except for a flying shower of broken windows that burst from every floor.

Curiously, the crash of the windows was like a sequel to the explosion and another followup occurred a

dozen seconds later. The front door came flying open, disgorging a plunging figure that righted itself at the

At least Cardona recognized the man as Stacey, though the detectives didn't know who he was. Except that

they were sure the man couldn't be Malmordo, the writhy thing that had entered the house only a short while

Stacey looked bewildered for the moment, then hearing the pound of approaching feet, he knew that they

must mean Cardona's squad. With an eager wave of his arm, Stacey gestured the detectives into the house and

Meanwhile, the smoke was clearing in the third floor room that Malmordo had designed as a deathtrap.

From the corner came a whispered laugh, a battered chair came flinging through the air to land where the

trunk had been. Enveloped in the remnants of the smoke, The Shadow appeared as a ghost as he arose and

The room was really wrecked. Chunks of plaster had fallen from the walls, along with portions of the ceiling.

On the floor lay a broken square of wood; above it, a similar hole in the ceiling, indicating that the thing was

a trap door. Malmordo's papers had vanished in a puff of brilliant flame, accompanying the blast. If The

Shadow had been caught unshielded in the midst of that explosion, he would have been hurt badly and

As it was, he remained unscratched, thanks to the protecting chair which had taken the brunt of the blast.

And now, with footbeats pounding on the stairs, The Shadow needed the quickest exit that would keep him in

active circulation. One loomed above, the gaping hole where the trapdoor had been. Using the now unsteady

chair, The Shadow reached the hole with his hands and chinned himself through, fading like the drifting

The devastation amazed them, so much that Cardona's men weren't surprised to see the inspector talking

"Malmordo was here!" asserted Stacey. "I was looking at some papers in the tray of a trunk that was right in

the center of the room, when I heard him coming up the front stairs. So I sneaked down the back way."

"Yes," replied Stacey, "and he closed the door. It was open when I first came here."

"I snatched a few that looked important." Stacey tapped his inside pocket. "I didn't want to disturb too many,

"Looks like he did notice it," gruffed Cardona. He was looking along the carpet, scorched by the blast, and

now showing the line of the wire. "That's why he rigged this room into a trap. Unless "

"That's where Malmordo went!" exclaimed Cardona. "Out through that trap door! We'll go after him!"

On the theory that what goes up must come down, Cardona was too smart to take his whole squad to the roof.

He sent men to the ground floor to cover the front door and the back, gesturing Stacey along with them. The

detectives were to spread, while Stacey was to stay across the street and watch the front door. From there, he

This was decided amid the sweep of flashlights, for the explosion had snuffed Malmordo's candle. It was

during one of those sweeps that Cardona had spotted the open trapdoor, but now Joe was using a flashlight

to bore straight up through that space as two detectives gave him a hoist and then prepared to follow.

Sweeping the flashlight around the flat roof, Cardona saw only blackness, so he turned off the light and laid

low while one detective boosted the other, who promptly leaned back through the opening and helped his

companion up to join him. Then, as the three men spread, they began to slice everywhere with their

From behind a chimney, where only blackness seemed to dwell, an automatic opened fire.

Those shots weren't directed at Cardona and the detectives. They stabbed toward the roof of one adjoining

house, then at the other, in quick, alternating precision. They brought wild yells and even wilder fire.

The Shadow fired those initial shots. He was aiming at crouched gunners who were entrenched on each side

of the empty house. Catching them unaware, The Shadow had broken up an ambush that would have been

ruinous to Cardona and his men. As it was, the return fire was hasty and most of it directed at the chimney.

This gave Cardona and his two companions time to flatten and start jabbing at the ambushed crooks.

Those gunners were ambushed no longer. They heard a fierce, strident laugh from behind the chimney, a

taunt that mocked their futile gun fire. Recognizing that laugh as The Shadow's, the crooks turned and fled

down through trapdoors in the adjoining houses, peppered by gunfire as they went.

From their appearance and the fact they shouted in English, it was apparent that these were hired hoodlums of

the breed that had served as waiters at the Cafe de la Morte. Since Malmordo was gone, it seemed obvious

that he was using this crew to cover up his flight instead of employing his own band of slinky rats. This fitted

with Stacey's data regarding Malmordo and the alliances he formed with local criminals wherever he

The Shadow wasted no time in going after one batch of fleeing hoodlums. Hearing the laugh trail in that

direction, Cardona recognized the fact and motioned his men to pursue the other half of the fugitive tribe.

People living in the houses adjoining the empty were startled and cowed by what seemed human stampedes

All was quiet on the street until suddenly two doorways gushed a divided human tide. Three men poured

from each exit; those from the house where The Shadow had headed were staggering, the reason being that

two were literally carrying along a third. He was coughing his last, that thug, so they dropped him on the

Across the street, Trent Stacey dropped away from the light and into shelter just as a rakish car came roaring

from the corner. Five hoodlums should have hopped on its running board, but only four did. The fifth man

had a wounded arm that dangled so that its hand couldn't grab, so he dived for shelter in the darkness in front

In the wake of the rakish car came a speeding cab and as it passed the doorway just beyond Malmordo's, a

cloaked figure whirled down the steps, cleared the dead thug lying there, and sprang into the cab as it briefly

slackened speed. All with one twist, The Shadow opened the cab door and closed it with himself inside; then

There was an interval between; in fact, the car had turned the corner before the cab arrived. During that

interval, Stacey emptied his revolver after the fleeing car, but its speed carried it beyond range. By then,

Cardona and his two detectives were piling from the other house; from both corners came other headquarters

Stacey shouted to them that one of the thugs was still at large; then, looking up, he waved his arms in a mad

warning. The detectives looked up to the roof of the empty house, as Stacey sprang into the shelter of its

Cardona bellowed for his detectives to dive to cover instead of standing flatfooted in the middle of the

street. They did and thereby cleared the way for the crippled thug to make a rush for it. The fellow popped

from the darkness of an area way in front of the empty house, but that lunge was his last. Hardly across the

sidewalk, he sprawled as something overtook him and planted itself between his shoulders.

The thing was a longbladed throwing knife that had whizzed down from the dark. Its glinting handle told

what it was and instantly Stacey leaped down the high steps from the doorway of the empty house and turned

Stacey's stream of bullets did nothing more than nick the cornice along the rooffront and the same applied to

the leaden deluge that spurted from the guns of Cardona's squad as they sprang out to copy Stacey's example.

Cardona bawled for some of them to race up through the empty house again and find Malmordo on the roof,

With dozens of adjoining houses to choose from, in this block and the next, Malmordo would be sure to reach

the ground. The only thing was to spread out through the neighborhood and try to spot him, but knowing the

More imperative at the moment was the questioning of the dying thug who had received the blade of

Malmordo's uncannily thrown knife. With Stacey, Cardona stooped above the man and recognized him as a

freelance thug named Kirky Schleer. Seeing that Kirky was nearly gone, Cardona lost no time in trying to

"Hello, Kirky," put Cardona. "We know you were working for Malmordo. He doublecrossed you when he

saw you couldn't get away. We'll square it for you if you tell us all you know about Malmordo."

"Malmordo." Kirky repeated the name parrotstyle, with a spread of ugly, leathery lips, "Doublecross. You

That sentence ended with a grimace, Kirky's last. Kirky Schleer sagged back and the facts that were on his

SHREVVY'S cab pulled over to let a patrol car shriek by with its siren going full blast. There was no use in

going further. The carload of crooks had made its getaway, despite Shrevvy's efforts to overtake it.

Inspector Cardona had calculated too well. In hope of trapping Malmordo, he had brought in police from

everywhere. With its head start, the rakish car that had made away with a load of gunzels had found the clear,

If Shrevvy expected criticism, he didn't get it. Instead, a low, whispered laugh sounded from the darkened

back seat of the cab. Low spoken orders; then the slight slam of a door. The Shadow had left, after telling

This was over on the East Side, wellremote from the house where Malmordo had stirred up so much chaos.

In a slight way, however, Malmordo had done The Shadow a favor, or rather the fugitive car had. The

Shadow was in a vicinity where certain information awaited him, information which the pressure of other

On foot, The Shadow covered several blocks in rapid, phantom style. He reached an obscure doorway in a

row of silent houses and paused there. From his lips, came an unexpected sound, a chirp much like a bird's.

From a darkened window beside the door came an answering chirp, a genuine one. Then, barely discernible

in the darkness, a green love bird fluttered from a slightly opened window and placed a fortune card in The

Shadow's hand. The bird flew away and The Shadow focused his concentrated flashlight upon the card.

Instead of a name, this card bore a drawing. It was simple and handcolored in crayon. The sketch showed a

The Shadow's whispered laugh was whimsical. He had come a long way to learn where he could have gone

immediately after leaving Malmordo's house. The Yellow Lantern was the name of a small, obscure cafe over

on the West Side. It had taken a trip to the East Side to acquire the necessary facts.

So The Shadow set out upon what was a trail in reverse, confident that the gypsies had learned something

The little restaurant was quiet and not too crowded. Nobody seemed to notice the girl who had slipped in

from the side street. She was wearing dark clothes again tonight, but just for luck good or bad she was

From her purse, the girl had taken a folded slip of paper, half of a larger sheet. She kept reading the brief

The connection was enough to bring Janice here. She felt no danger, rather a sense of assurance. However

this message might relate to Malmordo, it had been given to her by someone who had helped her, the gray

man with the blunt square features whom she had encountered after her flight from the Cafe de la Morte.

That was why Janice kept looking up from her table, hoping that the gray man would arrive. Suddenly her

hopes were realized. Strolling in from the front door came the very man she wanted to meet again.

In his bland fashion, Stacey came over to Janice's table and sat down. From his pocket he produced a batch of

papers and glanced through them. Then, looking at Janice, Stacey smiled slightly and said:

"These belong to the police, but I won't have to deliver them until later. Meanwhile, suppose we introduce

Putting away the papers that he had brought from Malmordo's, Stacey produced the compact credentials that

he carried in his lapel and presented them to Janice. The girl's eyes widened when she saw their reference to

"We nearly trapped Malmordo tonight," stated Stacey. "The police are searching for him now. I couldn't help,

so I excused myself, because I remembered my appointment with you. I should like to hear your story."

"Very well," Janice decided. "My father had a partner named Lucien Thorneau, who handled business here

"Correct," said Janice. "Then Thorneau died and we came to New York. Everything was wonderful until a

man named Malmordo sent word to father that he wanted a mere quarter of a million dollars to hush up a

"No. I found out for myself. I saw the letters that came and I overheard some phone calls. It seems that

Thorneau faked a deal with some Nazi agents and wrote off a half a million dollars profit as loss."

"Of course not!" Janice's tone was indignant. "Now Malmordo is trying to collect half of that money. He said

"I don't know. Father was to meet Malmordo at the Cafe de la Morte, wearing a yellow flower to identify

"I think so. But since father, an innocent man, refused to go there, it's not surprising that guilty parties

wouldn't. I was just foolish enough to want to see what would happen. I waited three nights for Malmordo to

"Gregor was the reason," he decided. "Malmordo must have known he was on the watch for him. That was

For a while, Stacey pondered. As he did, he brought a halfsheet of paper from his pocket and matched it

"Just my way of positive identification," explained Stacey. Then he added, emphatically: "I think, Miss

"But I can't!" Janice objected. "You see, father, has been moving from hotel to hotel, so there is no way of

tracing us. I'm not afraid of Malmordo." The girl set her chin defiantly. "In fact, I want to meet him. If you

Stacey pointed from the window. Across the street, Janice saw the looming bulk of an old warehouse that

"That's where he was," expressed Stacey. "In the Black Star Warehouse, living with the rats he called his

"Quite the contrary," declared Stacey, coolly. "I knew that Malmordo would be avoiding this neighborhood.

By present calculations, his human rats are now infesting the building owned by the La Plata Grain Storage

Company, four blocks north of here. I intend to report that to the police tonight."

Still wearing that determined expression, Janice opened her lips, then closed them. What she was about to

say, she didn't say, but it would have been another defiance of Malmordo. Perhaps Stacey realized it, because

"Believe me, Miss Bradford, you must avoid Malmordo. Whatever I can do to help your cause, I shall. If you

"At the Azalea Plaza," interposed Janice. "Any time you care to call there, Mr. Stacey. Father is registered

"It would be better if we left separately," he decided. "If the coast is clear, as I am sure it will be, there will be

no reason for me to return. Allow about five minutes and if I do not come back, you can go" he paused and

Janice nodded that she understood. She watched Stacey leave and waited the full five minutes in accordance

with his instructions. But from then on, Janice decided to act upon her own. Instead of leaving by the front

door, as Stacey had, she went out the side way. Then, instead of hailing a cab, Janice turned directly north for

Despite Stacey's advice, Janice was determined to meet Malmordo, the archfiend who would at least

Debating it, Janice could see no reason why he wouldn't. Yet as she walked bravely northward, Janice felt

worried. Looking back to see if anyone were following her, the girl saw only blackness.

There were wavers in that blackness as though some phantom figure had picked up the trail that Janice

Such wavers could not be real. In forced fashion, Janice laughed them off as she trudged onward.

FINDING a way into the La Plata Storage Building was a problem in itself. The place appeared to have only

one door, big enough to drive the biggest truck through, and blocked by a steel barrier that would have

Going around the building, Janice looked in vain for other entrances and in her hunt, she was annoyed when

her high heels caught in a steel grating that looked like the opening of a culvert. Stumbling onward, Janice

decided to be more careful, so she looked back at the grating to check it in case she encountered another like

That was when footsteps shuffled up beside her. Turning, much startled, Janice found herself confronted by a

pair of leering faces that looked yellow and apish in the dim light. Instantly, she knew that these two men

They proved it by the deft quick way they laid their slimy hands upon Janice's arms. So tight was the grip that

the girl was afraid to resist. She felt that if she did, those hands would go to her neck and strangle her on the

Now, swiftly, these fiends were sweeping Janice back to the broad grating. They lifted it, slid her through,

and the bars dropped with a clang, against the sidewalk above. Bent forward by the gripping arms, Janice was

rushed through a low, pitchblack tunnel, where she heard things scurrying ahead.

Janice saw the rats when she emerged into the dim light of a lower cellar that they reached by a downward

slope. But the rats and there were dozens of them were not the worst sight that Janice faced. In fact, the

He was standing there beyond the brink of a slimy pool that ebbed in a corner of the slanted cellar. The pool

was composed of stagnant water that had accumulated as the result of a stopped drain and it looked deep and

So deep that Janice shuddered. Somehow, she felt as though that Stygian pool had been gathered to receive

her. For at sight of Malmordo, Janice found herself wishing that she had never wanted to meet him.

The other night, Janice had no more than glimpsed Malmordo's face. He had been in action and murderous,

but he had seemed more like a fighter finishing a feud than something belonging to an actual realm of fiends.

Now, snakish, his body practically coiled, his face as twisted as his contorted frame, Malmordo was his most

The words that Malmordo mouthed were unintelligible to Janice, but the fiend's followers understood them.

Dragging Janice along, they brought her past the far end of the pool, to a ledge that ran along its brink. As

they passed Malmordo, he whipped a knife from a frayed jacket that he wore and Janice, her gasp stifling the

scream she wanted to give, found herself staring at the deadly blade, raised to the level of the ugly fangs that

All this was by wavery light, the glow from ship's lanterns hanging along the low ceiling. The recoil that

Janice gave brought a happy snarl from Malmordo and it was echoed by similar glee from other ratty throats.

For now, as Janice's two captors pressed her against the wall at the ledge, the girl could see a dozen or more

of Malmordo's ugly clan, peering from niches and other openings in the cellar wall.

Small wonder the rats had scurried away, when this fiendish assemblage was about to hold court! This was no

feeding time for the pets kept by Malmordo's followers. Malmordo, champion of injustice, was about to

It dawned on Janice then what Malmordo intended. The two men were starting Janice along the ledge,

dragging her between them in what could best be described as a sideward single file. From further along

came a sucking sound and as Janice turned her head, mostly so she wouldn't have to look at Malmordo, she

There was a gap in the ledge, crossed by a plank, which was at the mouth of a small, low archway, no more

than waist high. The sound came from that arch; it was an outlet that sucked the overflow from the stagnant

pool which was being gradually replenished by water seeping from the walls about.

And it was down through that black, forbidding arch that Malmordo's two followers intended to thrust Janice!

"Ni mortigos la malliberulo senpere!" announced Malmordo. "Morgau la laboro estos finita!"

Those final words echoed: "La laboro estos finita" as if uttered by the leering lips that showed from every

crevice. Yet it was not Malmordo's men who added that shout. The echoes were from Malmordo's voice

The very tone made Janice shudder. If she could have translated that statement, she would have realized that

The pair who were working Janice along the ledge understood what Malmordo meant. The man on her left

was already on the plank that bridged the open arch, hauling at Janice to bring her along, while the man on

her right was pushing from his side. A few feet more and Janice would be on the plank alone, ready for a tilt

that would carry her back and down into that flowing depth that emptied into some pit from which there

And then, as if picking up the echoes of Malmordo's pronouncement came a shivery laugh that rose to a sharp

That pronouncement was The Shadow's. He was saying, "You are wrong Malmordo! The work is beginning

at this moment!" Those words, understood by Malmordo's followers, produced a consternation that proved

his statement. Whatever Malmordo's idea of work, The Shadow's was rapid action. Instinctively, Malmordo's

men swung into it thereby playing into The Shadow's hands, since they were complying with his wish.

The Shadow's tone, caught up by the walls, was quite as elusive as Malmordo's. The shots that were fired at

him never found him, but they formed a camouflage for his own. For among the numerous gunbursts, there

was no way of identifying which The Shadow supplied. Malmordo's men began to reel among their niches,

He was telling his followers to look out, to come along, and to hurry. Like the rats they were, they dived

among the crannies. They fired parting shots at the only targets they could see, the lanterns, hoping to black

Only two remained, deserted by their fellow rats. They were the pair who held Janice captive. One lantern

had been missed in the general barrage; it was the lantern hanging near the planked ledge. Its glow showed

one man hauling, the other shoving, in a last effort to get Janice on the plank; to hold her fate in their own

But already, blackness was gliding into that lamplight, along the ledge itself, like an encroaching mass of

doom; not for Janice but her captors. And with it came The Shadow's sinister tone telling Malmordo's

The man on the near side of the plank let go of Janice, whipped out a knife and flung it into blackness,

shrieking: "Prenu la ponardo, Ombrajo!" but The Shadow did not take the knife as the hurler hoped. The

blade flicked into blackness only and from below its line of flight came wellplaced gun stabs that toppled

the chunk of human scum into the shallow slime of the unsightly pool that flanked the ledge.

Next, The Shadow was gripping Janice's arm as he sidestepped as far as he could to aim at the man still on

the plank. But before The Shadow could fire what would have been a certain shot, Janice's other captor

The plank swayed and heaved as Janice left it, hauled to safety by The Shadow. The girl heard a wild,

incoherent shriek behind her and turning, she saw her late captor writhing in a strange fantastic twist that

carried him away from sight, down through the arched opening. With him went the plank, crackling as it

disappeared, as though some superhuman force had carried it along with its occupant.

The walls quivered with solemn echoes. This time, The Shadow's laugh was like a knell, in appreciation of

justice singularly delivered. Whatever it was that produced that sudden climax, snatching a foe from the very

But now The Shadow was rushing Janice up through the grating, where on the sidewalk, he paused long

enough to deliver bullets, turretstyle, at scattering creatures who represented some of Malmordo's human

rats, fleeing their underground lair. Next, police cars, with whining sirens and slicing searchlights, were

There was a cab around the corner and The Shadow pointed Janice to it. Stumbling ahead, the girl was sure

that her cloaked friend was in the background, ready to aid her in case of last minute complications. She

thought she was meeting such when a man sprang suddenly from the curb and gripped her arm. Then she

It was Trent Stacey, chiding Janice on the fact that she had come to this vicinity against his advice. In her

turn, Janice was stammering that she was all right, that she was sorry, that all she wanted was to get away.

They were at the cab door; the driver was opening it, and Stacey saw that the cab was empty. He helped

To remind the driver to forget, Stacey handed him a five dollar bill and the cab wheeled swiftly away.

Turning, Stacey went to look for Inspector Cardona, who by now had probably reached this area.

If Trent Stacey thought that he was really Janice's rescuer, he was wrong. He was mistaken, too, if he thought

that the cabby would purposely forget the address the girl gave him. For the cab driver happened to be

Back by the corner a whispered laugh denoted The Shadow's satisfaction as Janice's real rescuer faded into

The little man who had been asking the questions gave a nod and mopped his forehead with a handkerchief.

Commissioner Weston, who had given the answers, leaned back in his chair and beamed across the desk.

As a chance visitor, Lamont Cranston looked puzzled. The Commissioner gave a gesture to the little man.

"This is my Esperanto teacher," defined Weston. "He has been giving me questions and I have answered

As proof, Weston handed Cranston a list of questions and answers. The first three, which were checked, ran

"A few more lessons," decided Weston, "and I can question any of Malmordo's men we capture. In fact, we

"They had a quarrel among themselves," explained Weston, "in the cellar of a warehouse where they made

"Too bad you didn't have a chance to quiz him," remarked Cranston. "Where did the rest go?"

"To some other warehouse," returned Weston. Then, glumly, he added: "We don't know which. We shall

Cranston gave a nod as though he understood and Weston in turn was quite surprised. Then Weston

"The same as you would, Commissioner" Cranston replied. "From our mutual friend Mr. Stacey."

"Of course I know Trent," returned Cranston, picking up the first name instantly. "I met him in Europe."

The Shadow was playing a good hunch that Stacey had recently come from Europe in order to know so much

"Not odd at all," declared Cranston. "He doesn't know you are a friend of mine. He wrote me he was coming

Cranston pondered, as though trying to recall the exact time. Weston put a prompting question:

The Esperanto teacher having left before this conversation started, Commissioner Weston decided he could

speak quite freely. And since Cranston, in whom Weston usually confided important matters, knew so much

about Stacey already, it wasn't long before the commissioner detailed the remaining facts.

All those details interested Cranston. Stacey's Canadian background, the fact that he had gone to school there,

the way he had acquired other languages, gone out to see the world, and finally become invaluable to

Scotland Yard in the widespread search for Malmordo all marked Stacey as the one important key to quick

Which in turn meant that the sooner Cranston contacted Stacey, the better. Indeed, Cranston expressed that

"What's that, Cranston?" Weston looked up to see his friend glancing at some of the language sheets. "Did I

"I was trying to pronounce the words in this lesson." Cranston laid one of the sheets aside. He stared at some

papers Weston had taken from the desk drawer. "But what do you have there, Commissioner?"

"Some odd papers Stacey picked in Malmordo's place," Weston declared. "They give something of an insight

to Malmordo's ways, but not enough. Here is evidence that Malmordo was recently in Algeria, under the

name of Pierre Dubroc. More references to certain notorious New York criminals, at present in Sing Sing

Prison. Apparently Malmordo wanted them to operate with him here, so I have sent some detectives to

"This European police report" Weston tossed another paper across the desk "proves that some of the

gypsies there were leagued with Malmordo. The same may be true here" Weston gave a frown "because

Gathering the incomplete papers, Weston thrust them back in the drawer and brought out a largescale street

map. While he was doing this, the phone bell rang; Weston lifted the receiver, found that the call was for

Cranston's call was brief. He spoke in monosyllables, then finished the call abruptly. By then, the map was

spread and Cranston was watching Weston point out certain buildings, each marked with an X.

"We have checked this map with Stacey," stated the commissioner. "All these are warehouses where

"Of both," affirmed Weston. "Now we have learned this: there are underground connections between some of

the warehouses. Stacey suggested that fact, through having observed the way Malmordo's men appeared in

various unexpected places. We made a brief check to prove the fact, but it would have been suicide to send

Remembering the arched pit that had swallowed one of Malmordo's men as substitute for Janice, Cranston

could have certified the commissioner's statement, but didn't. Instead he broached a theory of his own.

"There could be other passages," suggested Cranston, "leading to the river. They would account for the fact

Cranston was harking back to that first night when, as The Shadow, he had witnessed the disappearance of

stowaways plopping overboard from the Santander. However, Weston, though he approved Cranston's theory

"Stacey has already analyzed that situation," declared the commissioner. "But he added a point to prove it."

"I can do the same," declared Cranston. "There must be connections between the river and the warehouses

because of the rats. They wouldn't have traveled above ground as Malmordo's men might."

"You've struck it exactly!" exclaimed the commissioner. "Stacey's proof to the dot. But you see what would

happen, don't you, if we invaded the warehouses wholesale, to capture Malmordo's human rats?"

"Precisely. But where would that outlet be?" Weston shrugged hopelessly. "We would need all the available

men to stage the warehouse raids, but that leaves too few to watch the piers. Nor do we have enough police

boats to do more than patrol the water front. However, we are ready, because if we drive those human rats

from the warehouses, we will have accomplished half the job and can then concentrate on the rest."

Cranston let the discussion end there, since he had an appointment elsewhere. But as he left the

Doing things by halves did not satisfy Cranston, either as himself or The Shadow. He could foresee that if

Malmordo's men were driven from some warehouse out to the river, only to be allowed to scatter, they would

However, there could be a way of finding the right warehouse and, after that, the outlet which belonged to it.

But first, the person to find was Malmordo. Cranston had hinted that to Weston by saying "Morgau la laboro

estos finita" which Weston, if he'd progressed enough in Esperanto, would have interpreted as "Tomorrow the

Yet there was still time for Lamont Cranston to act as The Shadow. Like Trent Stacey, The Shadow had a

Like Stacey, Cranston was following the lead. The call that Cranston had received in Weston's office was

from Burbank, his contact man. Hawkeye had just reported seeing a man who looked like Stacey entering the

Azalea Plaza, the hotel where Janice and her father, Andrew Bradford, were living incognito. Hawkeye had

Whatever Trent Stacey learned from Andrew Bradford, The Shadow intended to be on hand to learn it too!

IT was only afternoon, but the day was rainy and the low clouds made it as gloomy as dusk.

And such gloom made Janice shudder, even though she was safe in a hotel suite, in the company of her

Andrew Bradford was a man of elderly appearance but Janice could testify that his age had begun to show

only recently. Even his broad, rugged features were sagging through worry and his eyes, usually keen, had

It had taken Janice half an hour to convince her father that he should meet Trent Stacey. Once Bradford had

agreed and had seen Stacey face to face, the result was like a tonic. They had come right to business, these

two, and Stacey's blunt insistence on settling the Malmordo question once for all, had given Bradford the real

"The situation is plain," declared Stacey. "Obviously, Mr. Bradford, you are not to blame because your

business partner, Lucien Thorneau, wrote off half a million dollars to business losses on account of South

"Those shipments were to come from Nazi firms," declared Bradford, seriously. "Thorneau gave the orders

"Except that Thorneau knew the inside facts," inserted Bradford. "The shipments were never even planned.

Thorneau paid a quarter million to a Nazi agent who represented those firms and received a receipt for a half

"Not enough to matter. Here is the real evidence." Bradford brought some sheets of photostats from his

pocket. "Exact copies of papers that the Nazis kept. The originals are in the hands of Malmordo; he sent me

"Quite simple," Stacey decided. "Now Malmordo wants the other quarter million for the originals."

This time it was Bradford who nodded and Janice gave another shiver, but not from repressed fright or

harrowing recollections. It happened that Janice was seated by the door to a connecting room and she felt a

This was odd in itself, because she was sure the window was closed. Getting up from her chair, Janice went

into the other room to see and found that the window really was closed. What she didn't observe was the

blackness that glided away from that window just before she arrived. In the dusk of the room, the blackness

followed unnoticed around the wall and stationed itself behind the open door through which Janice had come.

There the blackness stayed while Janice went back to join Stacey and her father; living, shrouded blackness

that Janice would have welcomed had she seen it. For the arrival was her cloaked rescuer of the night before,

"My dilemma is this," Bradford was telling Stacey. "Malmordo wants to pin Thorneau's guilt on me. Given

time, I can assemble facts that will uphold my innocence. Then I can turn all the data over to the government

"At a cost of a quarter million dollars," put in Janice, as she resumed her chair. "They will probably demand

"The government may demand a half a million," declared Bradford, "but Thorneau's estate will be forced to

pay it, once I can prove that the claim belongs to his account, not mine. I believe, however, that Malmordo's

original documents, which include some that he did not copy, will clear me completely. But I can not gain

From his listening post, The Shadow could well appreciate the dilemma which confronted Bradford. It was

"About the yellow flower," said Stacey. "Malmordo wanted you to wear one to identify yourself."

"Yes," replied Bradford. "I was to come to the Cafe de la Morte and bring the money with me in cash or

"That must have been your mistake," Stacey told the girl. "Malmordo picked you as a substitute or a decoy.

"Because Gregor was watching for him. Maybe Malmordo was tipped off by Madame Thalla. He uses

Stacey's analysis was good, a good one hundred percent wrong, since it was based on the mistaken notion that

the gypsies were leagued with Malmordo. The Shadow made a mental note of that and waited to check

"Since you did not contact Malmordo," Stacey told Bradford, "it is obvious that he needed some stronger

threat against you. When Janice acted against my advice and fell into his hands last night, Malmordo must

"Janice is always acting against people's advice," declared Bradford. "That is why I didn't want her mixed in

this situation at all. You see, Janice?" Bradford turned to the girl. "Where would I be now, if you were

"You mean where would I be!" exclaimed Janice. She swung to Stacey. "You're wrong about Malmordo

"Dead or alive," stated Stacey, coolly, "you would still have been a hostage, or a garantiulo in Malmordo's

"That means a prisoner. But whether he intended to keep you as such or kill you, he would have told your

father that you were still alive and redeemable at a cost of a quarter million dollars. Since you managed to

"Very soon," replied Stacey in a positive tone. "The police are pressing Malmordo hard and from the way his

scurrying rats were shouting 'Ombrajo' they were unquestionably having trouble from an enemy called The

"And in your case, Mr. Bradford," continued Stacey, "Malmordo must know that any delay is in your favor,

In reply, Stacey reached to the right lapel of his coat and zipped it open, to produce some thin papers from a

hidden pocket, much as he had once brought his own credentials from the other lapel. Going through the

"The rubber wholesaler!" exclaimed Bradford. "Why, Ghent had a regular black market in that commodity.

We even heard about his operations in Mexico, but nobody could prove anything against him."

"Malmordo could," declared Stacey, "at least where dealings with Nazi agents were concerned. Next"

"An exporter." Bradford nodded slowly. "With a reputation beyond reproach. That is why he could have

covered any Nazi dealings, but it is not for me to judge. Waybrook may be as innocent as I am."

"I don't think so," declared Stacey. He came to the third paper. "Felix Kelfert, the jeweler is most certainly

involved. We have already traced false sales of diamonds that were shipped from Amsterdam and they lead to

"Scotland Yard," explained Stacey. "You see, there were British blacklists of firms with Nazi inclinations,

differing from the American. This is confidential data, not final evidence. Unless certain facts are admitted by

the persons involved, I have no right to make such cases an international matter."

"Because by now they must fear Malmordo. The fact that they were afraid to contact him is proof. They are

even afraid to contact each other, but if one man were bold enough to suggest it, I believe the others would

Even before Stacey finished, Janice caught the logical conclusion. She turned to Bradford and exclaimed:

Halfbewildered, Bradford stared at his daughter, then turned to Stacey, who nodded.

"She is right," Stacey declared. "Your position is enviable, Mr. Bradford. Since you are innocent, you would

be inclined to regard others as the same. If you called any of these men, told them your predicament and said

that you had heard them mentioned in the same connection, they would be only too glad to come here for a

Rising, Bradford became his old strong self, as he announced with ringing emphasis:

Call them Bradford did and with the result that Stacey had predicted. The very mention of the dread name

Malmordo was enough to make men like Ghent, Waybrook and Kelfert listen. Bradford, a man of strict

integrity, whose very tone expressed his indignation, was the perfect man for such a mission. Through his

whole discourse ran a challenge that he wanted others to accept and in one brief speech he expressed it thus:

Grandly though Bradford handled it, the effect was a strain. Finished with the phone calls he sank back in his

For answer, Stacey picked up the telephone and made a call of his own. The call was to Inspector Cardona.

"Hello, Inspector," said Stacey. "Yes... This is Stacey... I've arranged for another try tonight... Yes, we'll need

a squad and a cordon... No, not too tight... We can go over the details together and profit by previous

"I can tell you the location now, so you can check the neighborhood... It's a hotel, the Azalea Plaza... No, not

Aurelia. It's Azalea... AZALEA... Not C... Z as in Zenith... PLAZA... That's right... Azalea

The phone call finished, Stacey turned to find both Bradford and his daughter facing him in amazement and

"Do you mean" Bradford's voice came with a falter "do you mean you expect Malmordo here tonight?"

"I do," returned Stacey, in a positive tone. "He had local criminals covering for him last night, but the police

lost track of them. You can be sure that Malmordo is using some of those crooks to keep tabs on Ghent and

"Malmordo will show up, expecting it to be the payoff; and it will be, but not in the way Malmordo expects.

Don't worry" Stacey was putting on his hat and opening the door "I'll be here before nine o'clock."

As the door closed behind Trent Stacey, Janice Bradford thought she felt a draft of air from the hallway. She

was wrong; it came from the window in the other room. That window had opened and closed again, to let a

cloaked figure slide out and find a rubbersoled footing on the raindrenched cornice.

Obscured by the settling dusk, The Shadow delivered a whispered laugh that was anything but a parting

IT was really pouring rain when nine o'clock approached. From the doorway where Inspector Cardona had

posted them, the detectives could scarcely see the dim lights that represented the windows of the sizeable

Azalea Plaza. It was a bad night for the police, which made it a good night for Malmordo. Perhaps Stacey had

Cardona had compromised by moving the cordon in a trifle closer, but it still wasn't close enough. Joe could

see better hiding spots nearer to the hotel, but decided not to use them. They were the sorts of places that

might be noticed by any one entering the hotel. Remembering how well Malmordo had taken the bait the

night before and realizing how capably Stacey had functioned as the inside man, Cardona was resolved to

Cars were stopping in front of the hotel and some had the lights of taxicabs. Which was bringing whom,

Cardona didn't know, except that Stacey was among the visitors. If Joe had let his men move to closer posts,

Perhaps it was more important than Cardona supposed. At any rate, watchers were at those posts, having

reached them easily in the rain, by keeping clear of the hotel lights. Those watchers were the crooks who had

fled from Malmordo's roof the night before, hoodlums like Kirky Schleer and the other thug who had been

Figures were snaking into the Azalea Plaza right through the outer cordon of detectives and the inner circle of

crooks. Figures that emerged from culverts and manholes, wriggled to the gutters and gave the effect of

swimmers as they moved through the torrents that flowed there. That was, they would have looked like

They were Malmordo's own breed of human waterrats. They'd left the warehouses that the police were

watching, to infest this fancy hotel. Arrived beside the Azalea Plaza, they wiggled in by side passages and

delivery entrances, found cellar windows to their liking and plopped into the preserves of the hotel itself.

Whether he noticed any of these snaky figures when he stepped from Shrevvy's cab, Lamont Cranston gave

no sign. At least he had provided for future developments, because over his arm he carried what looked like

an opera cape but wasn't. It happened to be a black cloak, neatly folded, with a slouch hat beneath.

Crossing the lobby, Cranston didn't go to the fifth floor by elevator. The fifth was Bradford's floor but

Cranston preferred to use the stairway. Hardly past the first turn, he paused, put on his cloak and hat and

became The Shadow. From the hat, he removed a small, waterproof bundle which be tucked beneath his

Cranston's guns, the automatics which were The Shadow's, were already packed beneath his wellfitted

evening clothes in special holsters. So now, in the evasive, almost invisible style that characterized his black

clad self, The Shadow continued up to Bradford's apartment. Choosing a side hall, The Shadow paused

outside a door which had a lighted, half open transom above it. From a small box that he produced from a

fold of his cloak, The Shadow released a little green bird that promptly flew through the transom.

In her own room, Janice Bradford gave a sharp start and a little cry as a bird fluttered to her hand and dropped

a fortune card from its beak. On that card was a silhouetted profile of a hawkish face topped by a black hat,

with cloaked shoulders beneath. Looking toward the door, noting the open transom, Janice hurried there and

It was hardly necessary, this form of entrance, for The Shadow could have easily unlocked that door, but he

was sparing Janice's wellshaken nerves. Besides, he had instructions to give the girl and along with those

"Stay here," The Shadow undertoned to Janice. "If anything happens, go there" he gestured to a closet in

the corner "and if you need to use the gun, do so. I can assure you that any danger will be brief."

Then, moving to a far door, The Shadow inched it open. There was a short passage beyond so he went

through to the next door and handled it in the same style. This time, however, The Shadow halted the door

after the first few inches. He was looking into the main room of the suite, where Andrew Bradford was

Ghent, Waybrook, Kelfert all three could be defined by their faces as men of guilt.

They had no reason to hide that guilt, rather they were proud of it, although their situation made them tense.

But it was plain that Ghent, a man with a bigjawed, overbearing face; Waybrook, of bloated visage with a

triple chin; Kelfert, sallow and scheming in expression, regarded themselves as comrades in a cause that

included Andrew Bradford. In fact, this was their way of congratulating Bradford for his smart work in

Yet honest Mr. Bradford hadn't tumbled to a thing. He wasn't even surprised by the fact that these visitors had

brought wellpadded brief cases with them. Charitable at heart, Bradford was hoping that they, too, were

A knock sounded at the door of the apartment and the visitors became alert, Ghent's hand, for one, going to a

pocket of his coat. Bradford stepped over, opened the door and admitted Stacey, who stepped into sight

wearing evening clothes. At sight of such a visitor, Ghent relaxed, thinking perhaps that Stacey was another

"Gentlemen, this is Mr. Trent Stacey of Scotland Yard. He has data that I think will interest all of you."

Stacey did have. From his pockets he produced it, separate bundles, small ones, yet much larger than those

tissue paper reports he had shown to Bradford that afternoon. Stepping behind a table, Stacey laid the packets

And Stacey's eyes were watching Ghent so coldly, so steadily, that the bigjawed man let his own hand move

free from his pocket. Then, in a blunt tone that carried the hardness of flint, Stacey said:

"Cash," declared Waybrook. "Large denominations, but I suppose you can find a way to pass them."

There was still suspicion in their eyes and noting it, Stacey laughed. With his free hand he picked out a

"I have already settled with Bradford," declared Stacey. "His case was rather special. He will assure you that

Beyond the door, The Shadow was removing his hat and cloak. Hanging them on a hook in the passage, he

stepped into the conference room quite calmly, just as Bradford gave an amazed exclamation.

"Why, these are the originals of Thorneau's papers!" exclaimed Bradford. "They clear my case entirely. Why

Bradford was looking up at Stacey, ending the sentence in a gasp. It was Cranston's calm tone that completed

Although ready to admit the fact himself, Stacey couldn't repress a snarl at hearing it from this unexpected

quarter. He was drawing his revolver as he wheeled back from the table, but he stopped the draw half way.

"I heard about you from my friend the Police Commissioner," Cranston told Stacey, in an even tone. "You

knew a great deal about Malmordo, so much that you should have been right on all the facts. For instance,

such points as Malmordo using local criminals and inducing gypsies to serve as his accomplices. I was quite

"It was remarkable how well you set the stage," continued Cranston. "Too well in fact. As Malmordo you

slipped from the Cafe de la Morte; as Stacey you met Janice soon after. When you told the police to give you

leeway in order to enter the empty house, you did not go there at all, until you arrived as Malmordo. Then

"Very well," he conceded. "I fooled the police, didn't I? Particularly when I knifed that crook, Kirky Schleer,

from the doorway and then took pot shots at the roof, claiming Malmordo was still up there. They were

making trouble for me, that gang, and Gregor was spying for them. I had to make the police think they were

These statements were bringing a narrowed look from Ghent, the most aggressive of Stacey's victims. Ghent's

left hand was moving now, not to his coat pocket, but to his vest, and only the forefinger and thumb were on

"I warned Bradford's daughter about a trap," added Stacey, "because I knew that would make her walk into it.

I was in and out of it, acting as Malmordo in between. I suppose The Shadow guessed it and told you,

"You told me yourself," stated Cranston calmly. "I happened to overhear the phone call you made to

Inspector Cardona this afternoon." From the way he spoke, Cranston gave the impression he had heard it

from Cardona's end. "You had told Commissioner Weston that you were educated in Canada. Your phone

Stacey, his face showing an ugly scowl that suited Malmordo, was staring at Cranston, puzzled.

"In Canada," declared Cranston, "the letter Z is called Zed. When you spelled Azalea Plaza, you used the

letter Z twice, even terming it 'Z as in Zenith' an odd thing for a person who would hardly know that Zed is

It was Jerome Ghent who supplied a short laugh of approval. He turned to Cranston with a bow.

"Very good," asserted Ghent. "The little details are the sort that crack big cases. But what about these local

"You did," returned Cranston. "They fit with your black market operations. You were using them to trap

"Correct," acknowledged Ghent, "and the police are always prompt to respond to a whistle. That is a little

With a sudden twist behind Waybrook and Kelfert so that their bodies shielded him from Cranston's gun,

Jerome Ghent flipped a whistle from his vest pocket and gave it a shrill blast that could be heard for blocks

It was Ghent's summons for his waiting mobsmen to appear and deal with both The Shadow and Malmordo!

Before Cranston could shift and produce a second gun to cover the black marketer, Bradford made a spring to

grab Ghent and inadvertently blocked Cranston's drawn gun, which was aimed at the man who called himself

Stacey. Already Malmordo had begun to drop the Stacey pose, now he was acting in full Malmordo style.

Hurling the table ahead of him, Malmordo sent its papers and its wealth scattering everywhere, then dropping

behind it with a writhe, he swung his gun upward, and blasted at where he thought Cranston was. Except that

Cranston was no longer there; he had wheeled back through the door to become The Shadow.

Outside, whistles were blaring everywhere and guns were barking in response, which left Jerome Ghent

frozen in horrified surprise. Ghent's great stunt had backfired the moment he staged it, for his cordon of

The moment Ghent's men had risen from cover and surged toward the hotel, Cardona's sharpshooters had

sprung out to chop them down. Even Malmordo couldn't have figured out a better trap for Ghent's doomed

Just as blackness swung from the connecting passage, skirted the group of men and came with a surprise

lunge toward Malmordo, doors buckled everywhere and slinky men with baggy clothes and drawn knives

Malmordo had lost sight of Cranston and was receiving The Shadow instead. The Shadow, in his turn, was to

become the focal center of a mass drive delivered by this tribe of murderers who, as humans, did the term 'rat'

Janice's gun was popping from the closet in the other room, but Malmordo's men weren't stopping on account

of it. Bradford was flinging Waybrook and Kelfert to an isolated corner of the big room and both were taking

the hint, thoroughly willing to escape with their lives and take whatever other consequences followed.

Ghent, hauling out his gun, was lunging at Malmordo, who was now completely his writhing distorted self,

his evening clothes rendering him the uglier and more incongruous than ever. All Ghent gained for his effort

And then, as Ghent sprawled, Malmordo, twisting half to his feet, met the cloaked figure of The Shadow in a

sudden surprising grapple. In all that chaos, Malmordo's arriving followers had scarcely seen The Shadow's

launching form until the tangle came. Now from the whirl that followed, they heard Malmordo's call:

The Shadow! Kill him! Unnecessary orders to these fiends. Their question was how to manage it as The

Shadow spun about with Malmordo in his clutch. All they could really see were snatches of Malmordo

himself, in the midst of a kaleidoscopic whirl, his hands and face disappearing and reappearing like a blinking

The Shadow held the upper hand in that grapple, but to finish Malmordo would have been suicidal. Any

letup in the struggle would define The Shadow clearly enough for Malmordo's men to strike with their

regained knives. In fact, some were already preparing to hack at The Shadow as he whirled past them with

Whatever The Shadow might have done on his own account and he had turned the tables on enemies like

these more than once before delay was imperative to protect Bradford and the two men who had now

become his willing prisoners: Waybrook and Kelfert. Janice too would be in danger if any of Malmordo's

crowd returned, to seek her. Right now, all of Malmordo's followers were in a sense immobilized, since they

And The Shadow himself settled that question by changing it, producing a new bewilderment among his

A slouch hat scaled across the room; next, a black cloak went flapping after it, as two fighters sprawled apart,

then came to hands and knees, facing each other. Somehow, The Shadow had lost his identifying garb and

was now unmasked. To pick him from Malmordo would be easy, so it seemed. Ready to spring with their

knives, Malmordo's followers paused briefly, then retained their pose like statues.

Writhing from the floor were two Malmordos, each contorted and vicious. They were pointing at each other

and their faces registered all the venom that belonged with their snakish postures. And from each pair of lips

The man who was known as Malmordo had encountered an actor whose skill was equal to his own. That

actor was The Shadow. He was able to distort his features, those of Cranston, as capably as Malmordo could

twist the face he used when he styled himself Stacey. As they were now, there was no choice between them.

How could Malmordo's followers kill when they saw no one to be slain except Malmordo?

Both figures were in disheveled evening clothes. Each spoke the language that the murderous ratmen

understood. If Malmordo had straightened and let his features snap back into joint, he would have identified

himself as Stacey, whereas The Shadow, doing the same, would have answered to Cranston.

There lay Malmordo's weakness. His followers knew him only by that forced appearance which made his

features hideous. To show any other face would have been a symbol of weakness on Malmordo's part. As

Stacey, he would be accepted as the false Malmordo, just as The Shadow would if he reverted to the looks of

Snarls passed back and forth and the listeners understood them. Accusations, but always in the language that

Malmordo had taught his followers to use. All was at a standstill and the longer it remained so, the more to

As moments turned to minutes, the time limit ended. Footsteps came pounding from the hallway, announcing

the arrival of the law. One Malmordo snarled "Foriru!" telling his followers to go away and the other gave the

It was then and only then, that the situation broke. One of the writhing figures turned, scooped up the slouch

hat and the black cloak and made a dive straight for the window. As the window crashed, knives followed,

but they flew wide, for the police were pumping shots at the men who threw them.

Halfcloaked, the Malmordo who had thus declared himself The Shadow, made a landing on an adjoining

roof a floor below. His rival, left on the scene as the real Malmordo, straightened in a swift lunge for the

door, reaching it despite the grabs of the detectives, shouting "Venu!" as a call for his men to follow, which a

Down the stairs and out to the street went the man in tattered evening clothes, the last of the rat men dashing

with him. Swallowed by the rain, they were on their way to the warehouse area, with a slender chance of

beating the roundup planned by the law. Elsewhere, his course unknown, a figure garbed in black was

So far at least, The Shadow had scored. For up in Bradford's apartment, the law was taking over in a thorough

way. Bradford was safe, so was his daughter Janice; while two men who had traded with foreign enemies,

Waybrook and Kelfert, were prisoners, along with their funds and the papers that proved their guilt, all

They were glad to give up, that pair, rather than share the fate of Ghent, who lay dead on the floor, with the

The Shadow had cracked Malmordo's game. The next task was to settle scores with the Master Rat himself!

POLICE whistles were shrilling in the warehouse sector when a little cluster of men came tearing from a side

Sweeping searchlights picked out those fugitives, scrawny men in baggy clothes followed by a loping figure

that wore the remnants of a dress suit. Police guns barked, but as they did, a grating came flying up and the

fugitives dropped through it with all the speed that characterized Malmordo's rats.

By the time police reached the grating it was clamped and guns were shooting up from among its slats. If the

police intended to enter the corn warehouse, they would have to find some other way.

There were other ways. Around the corner, a cloaked figure was already using one. He was climbing the fire

escape of an adjoining building to reach a little window that led into the warehouse. He was gone by the time

Sirens screeched announcing the arrival of more police cars. From one sprang Inspector Cardona, ready to

take command. Informed that Malmordo had gone into the corn warehouse, Cardona urged his men to

The police were smashing doors leading into the warehouse when someone thrust an envelope into Cardona's

hand. By the time the inspector looked around, the donator was gone; all Cardona saw was a quick,

shambling figure making off through the heavy rain. Tearing the envelope open, Cardona read its contents by

That note, delivered by Hawkeye, was a message from The Shadow, who had posted Hawkeye in this area to

give it to the right man at the right time. What Cardona read was something that caused a complete change in

his personal plans. Leaving the capture of the warehouse to his subordinates, the ace inspector sprang into the

Deep beneath the corn warehouse was a scene even more extravagant than the one that Janice had viewed the

night before. Here was no mere cellar with a shallow, slimy pool. Malmordo's men had reached a subcellar

consisting of a succession of low brick arches through which gushed a broad stream of water flanked by stone

At the last arch in the line, four of Malmordo's reserves were prying at a huge grating that looked like a

prison entrance. Once loose, that would give them exit to a channel leading out to the river. They would have

to swim for it, because past the arch the outlet became no more than a rounded pipe, filled almost to capacity.

From somewhere far above came clangs and pounding sounds, indicating that police were crashing their way

into the warehouse. Then, louder than those muffled beatings, the clatter of footsteps sounded on stone. From

narrow openings on either side of the sullen stream, men appeared, arriving from old stairways that led down

These were the rest of Malmordo's depleted horde, the survivors from the lopsided fray at the Azalea Plaza,

less a few who had been clipped by police bullets during flight, but plus a quota of reserves that had been

As the big grating wavered, Malmordo appeared from one pair of steps and snaked his way along the ledge,

shouting to his men above the gush of the swollen stream. As they turned, the slinky men saw Malmordo

If Malmordo's men could have found a better footing on the ledges, they would have blasted their cloaked foe

before he could have opened fire. But the slime handicapped even these creatures who loved it and being men

who were quick with knives, they were naturally slower with guns. By the time they were taking aim, a snarl

came from The Shadow's side and with it, he peeled off his cloak and hat, flinging them across the torrent.

Facts dawned suddenly in the ratty minds of the ugly men who saw this new change of affairs. They had been

There had been two Malmordos up at Bradford's. One had seized upon The Shadow's garb just as the police

As for the other, the one who had called upon surviving rats to follow him, why could he not be The Shadow?

He had let the fugitives outrun him and in doing so, they had led him straight to Malmordo's own stronghold,

Two men were straightening on their respective ledges. The one who had come here as Malmordo revealed

himself as Cranston. The other, who had just flung the hat and cloak to their real owner, showed the blunt,

squarejawed features that went under the name of Stacey, Dubroc, or any of a dozen names that Malmordo

And yet the question of identity was still in doubt among members of Malmordo's tribe who still had no way

of telling their real chief from the false. The doubt might have persisted had The Shadow cared to let it. But,

Malmordo was drawing a gun and The Shadow, as Cranston, would have to do the same. Whichever fired

first and surest would have the satisfaction of spilling his adversary into the flood. But in the minds of half

the witnesses, the victim would be the real Malmordo. They would aim at the victor the moment that the

Whatever the case, justice would be the winner, for Malmordo would perish. But The Shadow would be a

loser too, from a personal standpoint. It would be better to declare himself and shoot it out with Malmordo's

crew at large, before they had a chance to aim his way. It would mean avoiding Malmordo's own fire

There were factors that decided The Shadow's choice. One was the topple of the grating, down there at the

lower arch; a few more tugs and it would fall. The other was a peculiar swirl in the stream itself, a sign for

which The Shadow looked and saw in the vague light of lanterns that Malmordo's men had brought with

Twisting skillfully along the slippery ledge, The Shadow scooped up the black hat and cloak, planting one

upon his head, the other over his shoulders. With a challenging laugh that hurled back separate echoes from

Malmordo made a quick writhe along the opposite shelf and his men did the same to avoid the ricocheting

bullets. The Shadow found it both hard to aim and difficult to tell if he scored a hit, the way his enemies

acted. They were shooting back and wildly, but every blast was helpful to The Shadow.

For those shots, with their deafening detonation in these cramped quarters, were producing what The Shadow

wanted, a strange, twisty commotion in the stream as though the water itself had begun to rise in protest.

Then, from beneath his cloak, The Shadow flung the packet that he carried, ripping its end as it left his hand.

The missile struck the water down toward the final arch. There was a terrific burst of flame, for the packet

contained a chunk of potassium. The rest of its contents consisted of a reddish dye, that spread like a gushing

blot of blood amid the water. But the flame was the feature that counted at the moment.

Heaving itself from the water came a great shape more than twenty feet in length, a thing that outwrithed

even Malmordo. The creature was an anaconda, a giant snake of the constrictor class, recently a dweller

among the coastal lagoons of the South American jungle. As it swept its great head along the ledges, lashing

its coils as if to encircle its tormentors, the anaconda created terror among Malmordo's crew.

The grating fell with a loud clang and toward the wide opening rushed the human rats, their leader Malmordo

among them, all anxious to reach that outlet and escape the anaconda. After them trailed The Shadow's laugh,

bidding them a bon voyage as they slipped and slid into the water, just as some of them had splashed

It was then that The Shadow had recognized the presence of the anaconda. Only such a creature could have

crushed the unlucky stowaway who had fled to the hold to hide among the mahogany logs. The giant snake

Only something as powerful as an anaconda could have broken the hatch above the hold of the Santander.

Once on deck, the snake had slithered overboard like the rats and stowaways that preceded it, finding the

same pipeline that they used, leading in from the river to one of the warehouses.

The anaconda was the reason why rats vanished from each warehouse that Malmordo picked for his men to

use as temporary headquarters. It went where they went, because they coaxed more rats to become their pets,

And this anaconda was the thing that The Shadow alone had seen pluck one of Malmordo's men off the plank

from which The Shadow had rescued Janice Bradford. That was the reason why The Shadow had expected

It was turning now, this massive writhing foe that Malmordo's followers had so unwittingly harbored, and

what disturbed it was the echoing clang from the grating. By then, Malmordo and his companions had been

carried into the pipe beyond the final archway, so The Shadow had no reason to remain.

Blackness faded from the lantern light as The Shadow went up the stone steps leading from the ledge on his

Out in the river, Inspector Cardona had taken command of a police boat and had sent orders to all others to

sweep their searchlights in among the piers. Finding human figures would have been difficult, almost

impossible, in such sweeping style, but the police were looking for something else.

From beneath a pier came a great, spreading splotch of dark crimson that seemed to be reaching for the boats

themselves. It was the dye that The Shadow had flung into the stream beneath the warehouse, the type of dye

The tremendous potency of that dye was proving itself as usual, but tonight its purpose was unique. Having

preceded Malmordo's men in their last flight, it was marking their outlet into the river. Instead of continuing a

This was Cardona's followup of the instructions he had received from The Shadow.

And now, as heads began to bob from beneath the fringes of a pier, revolver shots peppered at them while

machine guns raked the bottom of the pier itself. Malmordo's waterrats came out, waving their hands in wild

surrender from amid the redstained water. Some of them didn't wave, they merely floated, indicating that

they had stopped some of the bullets. Nevertheless, the police hauled them into the boats too, just to make

Among the faces that he saw, Cardona was looking for one that would answer to either description of

Malmordo, his twisted features or the blunt visage that enabled him to pose as Trent Stacey, the man with

Malmordo was not among any of the prisoners or dead men that Cardona's boat took on board.

Then came a shout from another police boat. Men were pointing out a figure that was doing a swift twist back

toward shore, hoping to reach the concrete buttress of the pier, where bullets wouldn't count.

It was Malmordo, clear of The Shadow's vengeance and now eluding that of the law. Yet his fate was already

Something curled around the frantic swimmer. A horrible scream came from Malmordo's twisty lips as huge

coils embraced him. Hoisted there, he was a struggling thing in the grip of the great anaconda, which had fled

the warehouse last of all and had overtaken the one man who had made an effort to retrace his path.

Cardona could almost hear Malmordo's body crunch as it went beneath the surface, warped more grotesquely

than Malmordo had ever managed to twist himself when faking the part of a human freak. Such was the fate

of the evil genius who had followed the ruin of war to perpetrate crime and had met his match in a new land

Silence settled above the murky water where the great ruddy spread upon the surface was thinning, as though

its work were done. Silence, except for the beat of rain, the lap of waves, and something else that seemed to

That something else was a weird laugh that Cardona heard from the shore beside the pier, telling that its

author had arrived to witness the climax that he had arranged as an end to monstrous crime.

It faded into shivering echoes that the blanketing night absorbed, The Shadow's laugh of triumph!