MASTER OF DEATH ........................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. THE MAN WHO SMILED..............................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. A TRAVELER RETURNS ..............................................................................................6

CHAPTER III. DEATH UNOBSERVED ...............................................................................................9

CHAPTER IV. THE SHADOW SEES.................................................................................................13

CHAPTER V. THE SHADOW'S DISCOVERY..................................................................................19

CHAPTER VI. VELDON SMILES AGAIN .........................................................................................22

CHAPTER VII. THE SHADOW LEARNS ..........................................................................................25

CHAPTER VIII. DEATH WINS AGAIN .............................................................................................28

CHAPTER IX. CLEWS ARE LINKED ................................................................................................31

CHAPTER X. THE FIRST REPORT...................................................................................................35

CHAPTER XI. A STRANGE VISIT .....................................................................................................40

CHAPTER XII. A TRAP CLOSES .......................................................................................................44

CHAPTER XIII. WORD TO THE SHADOW ......................................................................................48

CHAPTER XIV. MILLIONAIRES MEET ...........................................................................................52

CHAPTER XV. MINIONS OF THE FIEND ........................................................................................56

CHAPTER XVI. MOBSTERS FIGHT.................................................................................................60

CHAPTER XVII. THE LIVING SKELETON ......................................................................................63

CHAPTER XVIII. THE COUNTERPLOT ...........................................................................................68

CHAPTER XIX. THE TRAIL BEGINS...............................................................................................73

CHAPTER XX. CRANSTON EXPLAINS ...........................................................................................76

CHAPTER XXI. CARDONA'S TURN .................................................................................................79

CHAPTER XXII. WITHIN THE WALLS ............................................................................................81

CHAPTER XXIII. FIEND VERSUS SHADOW ..................................................................................84

The taximan swerved toward the curb as he crossed Sixtysixth Street and stopped free of the Broadway

traffic. The passenger, leaning forward with his face beside the window, smiled as the cab halted at the

Opening the door, the man alighted and paid the driver. He was still wearing his smile. The taxi driver noted

it in the dim light, and gazed askance at the sallow face. There was something about the passenger's smile

As the man pocketed his change, the driver pulled the cab from the curb and glanced back. His expassenger

Even from the distance, the taximan fancied that he could see the ugly leer upon the fellow's face. The driver

shrugged his shoulders, and let the cab roll on. After all, the man had been just another passenger; yet even

this hardboiled jehu felt a sense of relief to know that he was rid of this fare.

BACK on the corner of Sixtysixth Street, the smiling man stepped from the curb. A red light had stopped

traffic. The man strolled across the wide thoroughfare, turned toward the nearby avenue, and walked along

An illuminated sign proclaimed the identity of the establishment: Hotel Garonne. The strolling man entered

There, he approached a secluded booth, and sat down at the table. An owlishfaced man, seated opposite,

The sallowfaced man no longer wore his leering smile. Without it, his visage showed no evil trace. There

was a certain briskness in the arrival's manner, and he addressed the waiting man with a quick, lowtoned

"I try to keep my appointments, Veldon," returned the owlish individual, as he peered seriously through

largeglassed spectacles. "You said that it was urgent that I must be here promptly at seven thirty. So I

Veldon nodded. A waiter was approaching, so the sallowfaced man picked up a menu and gave his order.

The waiter nodded to Clussig, and the bespectacled man pointed out items on the bill of fare.

As soon as the waiter had departed, Veldon again turned his attention to his companion. He drew a folded

"What's the idea of this?" he demanded sharply. "I told you to keep out of print, yet you go ahead and give

Clussig grinned sheepishly as he looked at the headline. The heavytyped words were terse and commanding

"There's nothing harmful in the article," protested Clussig. "I merely told the reporter that many of the

longpredicted electrical developments were already perfected, and would soon be introduced to the public. I

said nothing of my own improvements; in fact, I did not even mention the matter of rays "

"Not in this interview," interposed Veldon. "But what about the next one? Don't you realize what you've

done? You've put the name of Merle Clussig into the news. Some smart reporter will start to pump you, and

"No! No!" returned Clussig. "I'll never do that, Veldon. I understand the need for secrecy."

"Yes?" Veldon eyed his companion coldly. "Well, Clussig, I can read between the lines of this newspaper

CLUSSIG became nervous. His whole manner showed that Veldon had made a pointed remark. Clussig

gazed away while the waiter stepped up with the first course. Then he caught Veldon's steady stare, and

"Let's be frank about this," suggested Veldon. "I know your trouble, Clussig. You're becoming impatient.

"Yes," admitted Clussig. "Veldon, I've placed a lot of confidence in you. I gave you all my uncompleted

electrical inventions any improvements on Xray apparatus my development of the heatray tube the

"And I attended to the proper mechanical construction," interposed Veldon calmly. "Not only have I kept

your devices secret; I have arranged for their promotion. You were broke; I have given you sufficient money

"I want results!" blurted Clussig. "My devices are worth a large amount of money. Why should their

"So," said Eric Veldon, in a sarcastic tone, "you decided to force the issue. You deliberately thrust yourself

into print, knowing that a campaign of that sort would gradually bring you into the limelight."

"Why not?" questioned Merle Clussig nervously. "You have kept me buried too long, Veldon. You have my

inventions; you are negotiating with some wealthy person who is willing to back them. Why should I be kept

Eric Veldon waited patiently while the waiter changed the dishes. The sallow man was gazing sternly at

Clussig; and the bespectacled inventor saw the faint traces of a saturnine smile that appeared upon Veldon's

Clussig sensed that he had invoked the promoter's complete displeasure. He was apprehensive, for he feared

an outburst. Veldon, however, showed no further trace of anger; on the contrary, his manner became

"You must not be anxious," purred Veldon. "Remember, Clussig, that the mere perfection of an invention or

mechanical device does not assure the reaping of a monetary harvest. Effective promotion is accomplished

"I have been paying you what constitutes a retainer's fee. I have been exercising an option on your inventions.

I have not told you the identity of the man with whom I am dealing, nor have I named you to him.

"I have promoted other inventions in the past. I intend to handle new ones in the future. I am the important

link between the inventor who thinks oddly in ideas and the financier whose trend is commercial.

Direct contact between you and the man of wealth would be disastrous, at present."

VELDON paused emphatically when he had completed his statement. Clussig found himself nodding

unconsciously. The inventor was forced to agree with Veldon's persuasive words. Nevertheless, he put forth

"I understand," he said, "but I cannot forget that you have been telling me this same story for many, many

weeks. I have been constantly looking forward to a satisfactory completion of negotiations, yet the final result

still seems to be distant. Inactivity and obscurity have long been troubling me. That is why I took advantage

"Very fortunately," returned Veldon smoothly, "you have kept the cat in the bag. You have talked only of

your past experience with no mention of your present activities. That is why I called you and arranged this

important appointment. I see how your little newspaper story can be turned to great advantage."

"By suiting it to circumstances," replied Veldon. "By a real coincidence, I have arrived at a point in my

negotiations which will enable me to introduce you to the man who intends to finance your improved rays

"I shall tell you then. There is, however, one proviso. You must work with me to create the impression that I

wish to give the financier with whom we shall deal. There must be no false step between now and tomorrow

"You must understand in full," asserted Veldon. "You must follow my instructions to the letter. First, I want

"Exactly. At the same time, I want you to avoid all communication with newspaper reporters."

"Absolutely," Clussig assured. "I shall go directly to my apartment when I leave here. There, in my little

study, I shall prepare a complete and accurate account of all my previous experience."

"I shall be out. I promise you that, Veldon. It is easily arranged at my apartment house. I shall leave word

"Very good," approved Veldon. "I am relying upon you, Clussig, for everything is now at stake. I intend to

visit our financier this evening, and to arrange tomorrow night's interview. But I warn you, he is a keen man;

if he should gain any notion that you were talkative, he would shy away from the investment. Secrecy,

Clussig nodded wisely as he peered through his thick lenses. He was finishing his meal, and he arose to leave,

apparently impressed by Veldon's plea for careful action and restraint. Veldon stopped Clussig's departure

Glancing idly at his watch, the promoter began to speak in an easy, genial tone. He talked with the air of a

suave salesman. His purring words brought a glimmer of enthusiasm to Clussig's dull eyes.

VELDON was painting a picture of wealth and fame a brilliant rainbow which lay just beyond the horizon.

To Clussig, the portrayal was fascinating. During his months of dealing with Veldon, Clussig had constantly

been swayed by promises, backed with small advances of cash. Never before, however, had Veldon been so

Once again, the promoter glanced at his watch. The timepiece registered a few minutes before nine.

"Tomorrow night," he remarked, "I shall meet you here at seven o'clock. You will have the complete outline

"Certainly," returned the inventor. "I shall go directly to my apartment and work upon it there."

"As for money," purred Veldon, "if you need some now" the inventor paused as he drew forth a roll of bills,

then replaced the cash in his pocket "ah, well, why should we worry about that until tomorrow? The deal

will be settled then. Wealth will be yours with whatever advance you may require. Let us postpone

The two men walked from the grill room. Clussig, shoulders stooped, but head erect, displayed an eagerness

which was uncurbed. Veldon, speaking softly, still talked suavely of the immediate future.

At the portals of the hotel Garonne, the two men parted. Clussig, after another handshake, scuffled along the

avenue, his footsteps turned toward the side street, which led to his apartment house, nearly a mile away.

It was then that the evil smile again displayed itself upon the promoter's lips. A sneering chuckle came from

Eric Veldon's lips. Turning, the sallowfaced man went back into the hotel, and entered an obscure telephone

Veldon's watch was dangling from his fingers. The hands upon the dial now denoted the hour of nine. A low

chuckle ended as Veldon raised the telephone receiver; but the promoter's smile still remained.

Despite the expressions of friendliness which he had given, Eric Veldon, now unobserved, showed plainly

that enmity was the dominating factor in his mind. The malice which was evident in his expression foreboded

Indeed, Eric Veldon had all the semblance of an evil plotter, who possessed complete confidence in his

The chimes of an antique clock were ringing forth the hour from the mantelpiece above the fireplace, in a

sumptuous living room. As the clear tones ceased, the doorbell rang. A uniformed servant leaped to his feet

Opening the front door, the servant stepped back to admit an expected visitor. Into the light stepped a tall

man, whose face was momentarily obscured until he had removed his hat and handed it to the waiting

"Good evening, Richards," replied the arrival. "Has everything gone well during my absence?"

"Yes, sir," said the servant. "It will be much better, though, now that you have returned, sir."

"I am glad to hear you express that thought, Richards. Here is Stanley. Help him with the luggage."

The servant stepped forward to assist a uniformed chauffeur who was entering with a pair of heavy bags.

As each man started upstairs, Cranston strolled across the hallway, entered the living room, and seated

himself in a comfortable chair. He smiled as he heard the distant tones that were passing between Richards

Whenever Lamont Cranston returned to his New Jersey mansion, his arrival constituted an important event in

the affairs of the large household. Lamont Cranston, multimillionaire and globetrotter, always maintained

His departures and returns were invariably unexpected. Tonight had been no exception. A telegram received

by Richards, the valet, had caused Stanley, the chauffeur, to set out for the Newark airport with just time

LAMONT CRANSTON, in appearance, was quite as remarkable a character as his habits would indicate. He

was tall and well proportioned. His hands, though slender and supple, possessed a latent strength in their

The most remarkable phase of the millionaire's appearance, however, was the distinctive countenance which

Lamont Cranston possessed. His face was immobile; its features, as though molded by a sculptor's skill, held

The dominating characteristic was an aquiline nose below a strong, high forehead. From the sides of this

hawklike beak peered eyes that were stern and unflinching. Lamont Cranston's countenance was more than

While Cranston sat motionless, enjoying the environment of his luxurious living room, Richards appeared

from upstairs, bringing a large envelope. The valet approached the millionaire and placed the letter in

While the clock on the mantel ticked away its minutes, Lamont Cranston opened the envelope. From it, he

drew forth folded sheets of paper. These bore blueinked notes in what appeared to be a code. Cranston read

them rapidly; when he had finished each note, the writing disappeared from the paper word by word.

With the notes was a newspaper clipping. This was the same item that Eric Veldon had discussed with Merle

Clussig in the Hotel Garonne. It referred to the inventor's interview concerning the dawning era of electrical

A soft, whispered laugh came from Lamont Cranston's chiseled lips. Like Eric Veldon, the millionaire was

able to read between the lines. He could tell that Clussig's interview had been given with the definite purpose

of creating interest; yet with the definite intention of concealing something more important and specific than

The laugh which had been uttered; the keenness which had been displayed these were indications of a

personality which differed from that of the idle, blase millionaire. These were the revelations of a

wellconcealed identity. This personage who called himself Lamont Cranston was actually The Shadow!

The sighing laugh died. Only the ticking of the clock could be heard. The long hand marked the exact time as

Lamont Cranston arose from his chair. His tall figure threw a long, grotesque silhouette across the thickly

carpeted floor. Swiftly, this transformed being passed through a door, and entered a small darkened room. He

The quiet, almost lazy tones of Lamont Cranston gave the number. Brief silence followed. Then came a

No longer did the voice of Lamont Cranston occur. It was the whisper of The Shadow which responded to

"Instructions to Burke." The Shadow's tones were weird, delivered in a peculiar tone, which no one could

have counterfeited. "Go immediately to the home of Merle Clussig, inventor. Request an interview

concerning electrical inventions. Burke to represent himself as Classic reporter."

The receiver clicked. The Shadow laid the telephone aside. He stood in total darkness, as though his present

Quick, deductive thoughts were passing through that acute brain. The Shadow, master of mystery, had

returned from one of his strange journeys. During his absence, his agents in New York had been on watch for

RUTLEDGE MANN, a man who posed as an investment broker, but who served as agent for The Shadow,

had spied the unusual clipping which pertained to Merle Clussig. He had forwarded it with reports from

The fact that The Shadow had displayed a prompt interest in the clipping was proof of Mann's capable

service. Divining that Merle Clussig's interview might be a sincere effort to attract public notice, The Shadow

Burbank, in turn, would notify Clyde Burke, reporter on the New York Classic, to form immediate touch with

Merle Clussig. Clyde Burke, in his capacity as news gatherer, was an active and useful agent of The Shadow.

A soft laugh sounded in the darkness. That laugh was expressive of The Shadow's thoughts. A master of

darkness who fought constantly with crime, The Shadow possessed the uncanny capability of sensing when

Rutledge Mann had probably clipped that news paragraph because he knew The Shadow wanted all facts

concerning new scientific developments. But The Shadow had seen more in the clipping than Mann could

The guarded mirth ended. The Shadow stepped from darkness. He entered the living room. He was no longer

The Shadow. He was Lamont Cranston, multimillionaire, who found life a bore save when he was traveling

Richards was at the door of the drawing room, near the hallway. The valet saw his master approaching. He

"I am going out, Richards," declared the millionaire. "Tell Stanley to bring the limousine to the door. I intend

"Yes, sir," gasped Richards. "But you have just arrived home, sir" the valet was staring at the clock "just

"I know," interposed Cranston calmly. "But I have some matters to which I must attend. I am going to New

While Richards hurried away to give the order to Stanley, Lamont Cranston entered a closet in the hall. He

drew a small key from his pocket. He unlocked a panel that was practically invisible at the end of the closet.

Just after Cranston emerged from the closet, Richards returned through the front door to announce that

Stanley was ready with the limousine. Cranston walked from the house, entered the car, and was driven away.

THE valet could not understand the master. He could appreciate Lamont Cranston's love for travel; but this

habit of coming home unexpectedly, and leaving with such swiftness, was something which Richards had

There was another fact which perplexed the valet. He sometimes felt that Lamont Cranston must be two

beings. There was a quiet, lazy Lamont Cranston, who kept his affairs to himself, but who never displayed

rapidity of action. There was a thoughtful, taciturn Lamont Cranston as impassive as the first who seemed

In his term of service, Richards had noted that the old Mr. Cranston whom he remembered from long ago

was invariably the same. The new Mr. Cranston, however, had a way of gazing at people with eyes that

sparkled as though imbued with sudden light. This was the Cranston who had returned tonight, and who had

The valet had gained only an inkling of the truth. Actually, there were two masters whom he served. One was

really Lamont Cranston. The other a personage who calmly took his place when the real Lamont Cranston

At present, the real Lamont Cranston was in Abyssinia. The pretender was in his place, living in his home,

posing as the millionaire. He it was who had gone away for a short trip by plane, to return tonight. He it was

who had just departed in the limousine with Stanley. The false Lamont Cranston an impersonator so

The clock on Lamont Cranston's mantel was chiming the quarter hour. In the brief space of fifteen minutes,

The Shadow had entered the mansion, and had again departed. He had answered the call of the mysterious.

His keen intuition had gained an inkling of some hidden motive which savored of impending crime.

The limousine in which the false Lamont Cranston had set forth was rolling along a side road that led to a

New Jersey highway. Immersed in the darkness of the rear seat, The Shadow was contemplating what lay

Clyde Burke would soon be at Merle Clussig's. There the reporter would talk long with the inventor. Before

Perhaps this night's episode would be productive; possibly it would offer nothing. Yet The Shadow had an

uncanny ability to scent the unusual. He had spotted it tonight, through the newspaper clipping received from

Long white hands opened the brief case which lay by The Shadow's side. Deft fingers drew forth the folds of

a black garment. The spreading edges of a black cloak moved through the darkness. The flattened shape of a

slouch hat was fitted to a head. Hands gripped the cold steel of two automatics, and slid the weapons beneath

The features of Lamont Cranston were obscured. The millionaire had vanished. In his place was an invisible

being who could move with the silence of falling night. When the limousine reached Manhattan, that amazing

The Shadow was playing the part that had become himself. Cloaked in blackness, shrouded in mystery, he

IT was seventeen minutes past nine when Merle Clussig entered the lobby of his apartment building. The

inventor had walked swiftly for a while after leaving Eric Veldon, then the pace had tired him, and he had

This apartment house the Starleigh was an antiquated place, which had fallen into secondclass ways.

The lobby was fitted with chairs which were cheap and uncomfortable; only one of the two elevators was in

operation. All the guests who resided beneath the fourth floor preferred the stairway to the elevator.

There was a little booth in the corner, where an operator took incoming calls. The service was none too good,

for the girl at the switchboard also performed secretarial duties in the apartment office, which adjoined the

The girl observed Clussig's approach. Before the inventor had a chance to speak, she referred to a scrawled

"There was a call for you, Mr. Clussig," she said. "I rang your apartment, but there was no answer."

"It was a man calling," returned the operator, "but he left no name or message. He asked me to ring your

"One!" exclaimed Clussig. "More than one. Several, perhaps. It is very important that no reporters should see

"I'm sure that this man could not have been a newspaper reporter. Suppose he calls again. Will you be in your

"I shall be there. But tell all reporters that I am out. If that man calls, find out who he is, and notify me. I can

"Mr. Clussig is out," said the operator emphatically, as she marked the words on a slip of paper.

The inventor started up the stairs. The girl watched him. A perplexed look appeared upon her face.

In all his term of residence at the Starleigh, Merle Clussig had scarcely spoken more than a dozen words to

the operator. The girl had not read the newspaper interview which Clussig had given. Hence she was at a loss

to know why the man had suddenly turned to statements regarding newspaper reporters.

MERLE CLUSSIG, as he climbed the stairs, was apprehensive. The inventor had gained a peculiar state of

mind. Eric Veldon's insistence upon the maintenance of silence seemed well advised, yet there had been

In reviewing his engagement with Veldon, Clussig saw where he had committed certain errors. First, he

should have insisted upon learning the identity of the financier with whom Veldon had opened negotiations.

Second, he should have insisted upon money from Veldon when the promoter had been on the point of

Suppose something should go amiss tomorrow night! Veldon might then declare all negotiations ended. That

would mean no more money, and Clussig was dependent upon the funds which he had been receiving from

This thought was alarming. Clussig was grumbling to himself as he reached the third floor, and paused to

puff after the steep and tiring climb. Clussig turned toward the short corridor at the left. It terminated in a

turn; at right angles was the long passage which led to the inventor's apartment.

Coming directly toward him was one of the oddest men whom he had ever seen. This individual was short

and stocky; his clothes were plain, He had the heavy hands of a brute; his face was coarse, and the most

Yet the man's expression was more startling than his physiognomy. His eyes were dull; they were staring

straight ahead. The color of his face was an unnatural white. The waxen countenance gave the man the

Moreover, this stranger's stride was mechanical. His body, though erect, was leaning forward. To Clussig, the

man seemed a human gorilla, with powerful hands ready to grip the throat of any who might block his path.

For a moment, the inventor was paralyzed; then, responding to an instinctive desire for flight, he turned and

sidled along the corridor at the right. Glancing over his shoulder as he neared the angle in the passage,

Clussig saw the apelike man enter the doorway that led to the staircase. He waited until he was sure that the

intruder had descended. Then, with furtive footsteps, Clussig hurried to his own apartment.

Once he had reached his little living room, Clussig shuddered. He felt safe behind the locked door;

nevertheless, the recollection of that corpselike fellow in the hall was something that troubled him.

Clussig was positive that he had never seen the man previously. Perhaps he was a new tenant who had only

recently taken an apartment on this floor. The thought brought a new shudder. Clussig did not relish this

The inventor went into a small room that adjoined the outer portion of his apartment. He turned on the light,

It seemed good to be back here back in this little chamber where he could forget the outside world, and

devote himself to a sincere review of his long experience in the development of electrical appliances.

THE room was by no means orderly. Its furniture consisted of a large desk, three brokendown bookcases,

and a few chairs. Papers were scattered over the floor. A wastebasket was overturned beneath the desk.

Yet Clussig liked this disarray. He closed the door and bolted it. He raised the shade of the single window,

The window was barred. This was customary with all the court rooms of the Starleigh, where trouble had

been experienced with tenants throwing objects into the court. The bars crisscrossed to form a sort of grating.

Clussig lowered the shade. He liked the bolted door and the barred window. They gave him the feeling of a

The inventor went to a small closet found a stack of notebooks, and brought them to the desk. He picked up a

sheet of paper, and thrust it into the roller of an antiquated portable typewriter. He began to tick the keys

MINUTES went by. Merle Clussig did not sense the passage of time. He was wrapped in the details of his

present work, yet at moments he paused to consider a medley of thoughts that persisted in his brain.

Eric Veldon, suave and convincing somehow, Clussig doubted the man's sincerity. He felt that he would

like to talk to Veldon here; yet that would be impossible, for the promoter had no headquarters where he

Merle Clussig recalled how he had met Eric Veldon. The promoter had found him working on electrical

inventions. Clussig had been trying to obtain funds to keep on with his little workshop. Xrays of great

intensity, heat tubes of remarkable power; these had been the dangerous devices with which Clussig had

dealt. Because of the danger involved, Clussig had developed his screening devices.

The means which he had adopted to prevent injurious results without decreasing the intensity of the rays, had

been Clussig's greater work so the inventor believed. Eric Veldon had voiced the same opinion. The

promoter, himself an expert in the field of scientific research, had insisted upon experimenting with Clussig's

Veldon claimed to have a laboratory. Where was it? Clussig did not know. Veldon stated that he had put

Clussig could not answer. He knew only that Veldon was able to tap some source of ready money, cash

Worked almost to death, wearied and in need of rest, Clussig had gained temporary respite through his

association with Eric Veldon. He had taken this apartment, and had led a life free from worldly care. Lately,

restlessness had begun to dominate the inventor's mind. With it had come a mistrust of Eric Veldon.

Was the promoter a thief one who stole inventive ideas in return for mere subsistence? Clussig felt sure that

there were other men depending upon Veldon to market their inventions. Were they experiencing the same

Veldon had been talking with a backer. Was he deceiving the moneyed man also? Clussig wondered.

He began to make new notations. Veldon had promised an interview tomorrow night. Clussig decided that it

Then came a new disturbing thought. That fellow in the hallway! What had he been doing here?

Within the little room, Clussig began to feel a horror of the waxlike face that he had seen. He wondered if it

would be best to inquire who the man might be. The inventor decided to find out. He stopped his work,

leaned down beside the desk, and reached for the telephone which was standing on the floor.

A peculiar dizziness came over Merle Clussig. With his left hand, the inventor gripped the edge of the desk.

With his right he fumbled for the telephone. His fingers became listless. As they touched the metal

Clussig's left hand gave way. The inventor lost all grip. Tumbling heavily from his chair, he crumpled to the

New minutes went by. Merle Clussig did not move. His body had become a pitiful figure. His face was

ghastly. Over it was creeping a gruesome darkness. In this room, alone and undisturbed, the inventor had

Unobserved, unable to cry for help, this man had been struck down by some insidious force that had lost no

WHILE Merle Clussig, alone and unobserved was experiencing the prelude to death, Fate was playing its

tricky hand in the whole affair. Clussig himself had signed his death warrant when he had told the telephone

Down in the lobby of the Starleigh, a visitor was waiting to see Merle Clussig. Clyde Burke, reporter from

the New York Classic, had arrived less than five minutes after the inventor had gone upstairs.

Seated in one of the uncomfortable lobby chairs, Clyde was puzzling over certain incidents which had

attended his arrival here. At the Classic office, the reporter had received a telephone call from Burbank. He

Clyde was a reporter who could exert the privilege of choosing his own assignments. He had left the Classic

office promptly. He had arrived at the Starleigh in a taxicab. Something had occurred immediately.

Approaching the apartment house, Clyde had observed a man coming out. The fellow had walked along with

a peculiar gait. Clyde had seen his face beneath the light of a street lamp. The sight of that countenance had

As a police reporter, Clyde had come openly in contact with certain persons of the underworld. As an agent

of The Shadow, Clyde had also encountered such individuals on other occasions. Clyde seldom forgot a face,

and, this one was familiar to him. That square jaw, with its pockmarked chin, was the sign of recognition.

"Spud" Jagron, smalltime racketeer, who had disappeared some time ago he was the man whom Clyde

Burke saw upon the street. Spud, Clyde recalled, had incurred the enmity of more influential racketeers, and

Nevertheless, as Clyde had seen the man pass around the corner of the apartment building, he felt more

convinced that the fellow was Spud Jagron. He decided that the racketeer must be laying low, living in an

IN the lobby of the apartment house, Clyde had encountered his second surprise when he had approached the

In response to his inquiry for Merle Clussig, the girl had asked if Clyde was a reporter. When Clyde had

answered in the affirmative, naming the Classic as the journal for which he worked, the operator had stated

Instead of leaving, Clyde had decided to wait a while. Time had rolled along. No one had come in or gone

out. The reporter had become impatient. His thoughts had been directed more toward Spud Jagron than to

Merle Clussig; now, with ten o'clock approaching, Clyde had decided that it was useless to waste further

The reporter approached the operator's booth. The girl looked up and spoke sharply.

"I told you that Mr. Clussig was out," she stated. "I do not know when he will return. Probably not tonight."

"No?" inquired Clyde, as he noted the girl's tone. "I had an idea that he would be here. Would you mind

"Because he told me so," said the operator. "He told me that he was going out that he would be out "

The girl became impatient. She stared at Clyde Burke, and the reporter met her gaze with a smile.

"I understand," he said. "I should have known it in the first place. Mr. Clussig told you not to ring his

"Did Mr. Clussig give any reason for his action?" queried Clyde. "Did he state why he did not wish to see

"That makes it different," asserted Clyde. "I have an idea why Mr. Clussig might not want to see reporters.

He wishes to avoid an interview. I came here for a different purpose. I have a business proposal which might

interest him. Signed articles, under his own name. It is to his advantage to see me."

"Suppose," he suggested, "that you call Mr. Clussig. Simply tell him that Mr. Burke is here, and would like to

speak to him. Mention that I came from the Classic, but do not refer to me as a reporter."

"If I call him," declared the girl, "will you agree to leave in case he decides not to see you?"

The girl plugged the switchboard, and rang Clussig's apartment. There was no answer. Again she rang; still

"He must be there," said the operator. "He said positively that he would be in. That is, except to reporters. He

"Yes. I am sure that he did not go out. There was a stranger who came down the stairs just after Mr. Clussig

went up. A terriblelooking man his face was ghastly. I wondered what he was doing here."

"Yes," decided the operator, nodding. "He seemed quite worried. He is not answering my ring. Do you think

Clyde Burke was prompt. He saw a sure way of reaching Merle Clussig. He responded with a wise nod of his

THE operator left the booth and went to the office. She returned with a man in shabby uniform, evidently an

attendant who served as both janitor and elevator man. She was explaining the situation. The janitor

beckoned to Clyde Burke. He conducted the reporter to the elevator. They ascended to the third floor.

The janitor rapped on the door of Clussig's apartment. When no response was received, he unlocked the door

They found Clussig's living room deserted. The janitor knocked heavily at the inner door. There was no

"He's in there," asserted the janitor. "It's bolted from the other side. Say this guy Clussig is a queer duck.

Maybe something's the matter with him. I don't want to call a copper, but I guess I'll have to."

He led the way across the hall to a deserted apartment. He called the operator and told her to get detective

The reporter heard a voice from the other end. He recognized the tones of Joe Cardona, ace detective of the

"Hello, Joe," volunteered Clyde. "This is Burke, of the Classic. Up at the Starleigh Apartments to interview

an inventor named Clussig. He's locked in his room, and won't reply. Something may be wrong!"

"Detective Cardona will be here right away," he said. "In the meantime, let's bang again. Maybe we can get

It was not long before Joe Cardona arrived. The detective was not alone. There were two men with him

one, another detective, the other a police surgeon. This was proof of Joe Cardona's confidence in Clyde

Burke's judgment. The detective knew that when the Classic reporter scented trouble, it was likely to exist.

Cardona looked carefully about him, to study the situation before he proceeded. He drew a blackjack from his

pocket, and dealt a vicious blow against the panel of the door, just above the knob. He repeated the action.

The panel cracked; then broke. Cardona thrust his hand through the opening, drew the bolt, and swung the

MERLE CLUSSIG'S body was in full view. The inventor's face was turned toward the door. It had a

After a short pause, Cardona strode into the room and went directly to the window. He raised the shade; then,

noting that the sash was locked, he smashed the glass to admit a current of fresh air without disturbing the

The police surgeon approached the body. He did not stoop over it until he was assured that the air in the room

"You mean from the door and window being closed?" asked the detective. "The air supply giving out?"

"No," returned the surgeon. "This is not a case of death by suffocation, produced simply by the exhaustion of

"I've handled garage suicides," returned Cardona, "but they have always been due to the exhaust from the

"I do not know," admitted the surgeon. "This room is just about airtight. The carbon monoxide must have

Leaving his assistant in charge, Cardona went down to the lobby. Clyde Burke accompanied him. There, the

detective called headquarters for more men. Clyde went to call the Classic office. Instead, he telephoned

It was when Clyde was returning across the lobby that he saw something which made him stop short.

The stairway beside the elevator was dimly lighted. Projecting from its edge was a streak of blackness that

lay along the floor. Although that patch was motionless, Clyde knew its meaning. It indicated the presence of

Cardona was calling from beside the switchboard booth. Clyde moved in answer to the detective's bidding.

"This girl," announced Cardona, "states that a man came down the stairs and went out after Clussig had gone

up. She describes him as short and stocky about my build and says that he had a big, heavy jaw that

looked scarred. You came in a few minutes afterward. Did you see any man who answered the description

"I did," returned Clyde. "I saw the man outside here. I thought I recognized him."

"Do you remember Spud Jagron?" asked Clyde. "The smallfry racketeer who got out of a couple of jams,

Clyde paused. Cardona, smiling sourly, was shaking his head. Evidently he doubted Clyde's recognition.

"Guess again, Burke," said the detective. "Spud Jagron took the bump. I got it straight from three different

"I don't blame you, Burke. The girl's description sounds a lot like Jagron. But Jagron got his a good while

"We've got a good tip, though. There's lots of boys on the force who know Jagron's mug, and if they're out to

Cardona strode toward the elevator. Clyde followed. The reporter's eye swung toward the stairway. Clyde

saw the streak of blackness fading as it drew away. He knew that The Shadow had heard.

THE wheezy elevator was slow in its ascent. There was trouble opening the door. When Cardona and Clyde

stepped out on the third floor, the reporter knew that there had been ample time for any one to come up by

Instinctively, Clyde looked toward the opening to the stairway. Again, be saw a projecting blotch of black.

When Cardona reached the room where Clussig's body lay, he began a careful study of the place. He closed

the door to the little room, and noted that the barrier came against a raised strip on the door sill. No one could

Cardona examined the window. The lock was strong. Through the broken pane, the detective tested the bars.

Cardona strode from the inner room and examined the outer door of the apartment. Its lock was in good

order. As the detective returned to the center of the living room, Clyde looked beyond him to the hall.

There, the reporter saw an unnatural patch of blackness almost a silhouette that rested against the wall.

Again, the reporter, secret agent of The Shadow, knew that his chief was close at hand.

"Here's the story," he declared. "Clussig came into his apartment. Someone could have entered, but it's

obvious that Clussig found the place empty. He went into the inner room and bolted the door. He began to

"That gas couldn't have been there when Clussig came in. It generated while he was here. Somebody

arranged it. There's only one answer. The gas must have been piped into the place. Wait until my men arrive.

IT was not long before the detectives appeared. Their arrival was preceded by a distant clang of the elevator

door. Clyde Burke knew well that The Shadow would glide from the outer door when he heard that noise.

The sleuths, when they reported to Cardona, said nothing of having seen any one.

"We're going to go through this little room," explained Cardona. "Take everything apart all the books come

Detective Cardona had the status of an acting inspector. He performed his work with unfailing method. In the

course of one hour, detectives had completely dismantled the room. All the objects moved had been replaced.

Nothing had been neglected. Even the desk, at Cardona's order, had been taken apart. Yet Cardona stood

"We haven't found a thing," he said, as he shook his head. "All we've learned is that there was no possible

The ace detective went over by the desk, and moved a few notebooks to the correct position in which they

first had been. As he stepped back, he noted the wastebasket standing beneath the desk.

He tipped it on its side, pointing inward at an angle the way it had been when he had first seen it.

"That's all," decided Cardona. "I'm coming back here, Burke, to look for clews. But I've missed the one thing

I was sure must be here either jets or a tank. How that carbon monoxide entered this place is a mystery."

Motioning to his crew, Cardona led the way from the apartment, after closing the inner door and bolting it by

reaching through the panel. He locked the outer door, and the squad followed the chief. Clyde Burke went

The reporter threw a sidelong glance toward the dim blind end of the hall behind him. There he fancied that

he once again saw a formation of preternatural blackness the indication of a hidden, spectral shape.

Mystery had surrounded the death of Merle Clussig. Clyde Burke had watched the thorough search for hidden

gas jets. Like Detective Cardona, the reporter was baffled. Yet Clyde knew one fact that Cardona did not.

All during this exhaustive search, hidden eyes had been watching. Where clews could escape the cleverest of

detectives, they could not elude the keen eyes of that supersleuth known as The Shadow.

The apartment of death was empty. It had been rearranged in its original condition. The Shadow had seen the

Crime had struck tonight. Clyde Burke was confident that The Shadow, emerging from blackness, would find

a starting point to war against the insidious brain which had so amazingly designed the death of Merle

SHORTLY after Clyde Burke had departed with the detectives, a shape moved at the end of the corridor

outside of Merle Clussig's apartment. The tall figure of The Shadow came in view. It seemed to emerge from

darkness like a materialized form. Even in the light, The Shadow's appearance savored of the incredible.

A being clad completely in black; one whose visage was invisible beneath the brim of a slouch hat; a

personage whose hands were incased in gloves of inky hue The Shadow appeared only as a mass of

The black cloak swished as its wearer advanced. A lining of deep crimson flashed momentarily. The Shadow

stopped before the door of the apartment; metal clicked as his hand pressed a pick into the lock. The door

Within the apartment of death, The Shadow produced a small flashlight. A bright spot of illumination a

flickering disk of silverdollar size pointed the way toward the room where Merle Clussig had died.

The Shadow's hand crept through the broken panel and drew back the bolt. A few moments later, this

The light, flickering intermittently, traveled throughout the room. Sharp eyes peered from darkness, studying

the various spots where the detectives had made their search. The brilliant rays centered upon the desk; they

showed the chair in which Merle Clussig had been seated when he had met his doom.

With a brief inspection, The Shadow had observed that Cardona's search had been a thorough one. Had

special pipes or hose apparatus been responsible for the injection of the deadly gas, the detectives would

certainly have discovered it. Until the mode of gaseous influx had been ascertained, there could be no

The Shadow's purpose was to solve this problem, to learn whether the plotters of Merle Clussig's death were

merely clever contrivers at concealment or ingenious persons who had discovered some baffling method of

The flashlight continued to glimmer in the region of the desk. Cardona had dismantled that piece of furniture.

He had discovered nothing within it. In such action, the detective had unwittingly followed the course of

The closer the outlet to the victim, the more surely and more rapidly would the deadly gas accomplish its

effect. With this fact in view, The Shadow began a methodical examination of the spot where Clussig had

The tiny light shone on the telephone; it passed to the surface of the desk, then to the chair; finally, it

flickered beneath the desk. It revealed the overturned wastebasket. A blackgloved hand came into the sphere

The wastebasket was of metal construction. It was an ordinary trash container, with no possibility of special

The keen eyes, as they viewed those metal sides, spied something which Joe Cardona had completely failed

The eyes of The Shadow studied the evidence that lay before them. It was impossible to believe that an

opentopped wastebasket could have contained a quantity of free carbon monoxide. There was nothing

which could have retained the deadly gas. Yet the soft laugh which came from the hidden lips above the light

The flashlight disappeared. The wastebasket clicked as an invisible hand replaced it beneath the desk. A

slight swish was the only sound which marked the passage of The Shadow from the room.

What had The Shadow learned that would prove of value? Only The Shadow knew. His keen brain had

gained a clear inkling to the method whereby Merle Clussig had been so effectively murdered. The aftermath

SOME time later, a click sounded in a darkened room. A bluish light shone upon the polished surface of a

table. The hands of The Shadow no longer gloved appeared beneath the light. Upon the third finger of the

This stone, a fire opal of unique value, was the symbol of The Shadow. It was a rare jewel known as a girasol

The hands of The Shadow were living things of detached action as they moved upon the table. Long fingers

produced a pen and wrote in ink of vivid blue upon a sheet of paper. The Shadow's thoughts appeared in terse

Methodically, The Shadow was tracing the course by which Merle Clussig had been slain. His statements

emphasized the fact that a death trap had been laid for the electrical wizard. Someone a stranger who had

departed had placed a sure snare for Clussig; and so effectively had the work been done that no clew had

The hand of The Shadow wrote a name: the one which Clyde Burke had given to Joe Cardona. It was that of

Spud Jagron, the exracketeer who the detective had stated was dead. A soft laugh came from The Shadow's

Joe Cardona was acquainted with affairs of the underworld, yet The Shadow knew well that the star detective

was not always correct in his final assumptions. The Shadow had overheard the conversation between

Cardona, Burke, and the switchboard operator. He had his own way of learning what had taken place in

With quick strokes, The Shadow prepared a coded note. As the ink dried, his hands folded the sheet of paper

and placed it in an envelope. With another pen one that inscribed a less vivid blue The Shadow wrote the

The envelope contained a message which would disappear after its recipient had perused it. It was a note to

Cliff Marsland, The Shadow's agent who operated in the bad lands. Through Cliff, a capable worker who was

accepted by criminals as one of their ilk, The Shadow would learn the details of Spud Jagron's fate.

The second note which The Shadow prepared was to Clyde Burke. It did not mention Spud Jagron's name.

Instead, it set forth definite assignments which the reporter, through his connection with the Classic, was to

Once again, The Shadow had gone a step beyond Joe Cardona. The detective had left Clussig's apartment

with thoughts of hidden pipes and mechanical artifices. The Shadow was going directly to the cause. His

instructions to Clyde Burke ordered the reporter to look up data concerning experiments which had been

The Shadow knew that he was dealing with a supermind who relied upon more than mere mechanical means.

Clussig's death, by carbon monoxide, meant that someone acquainted with the possibilities of that gas had

Any schemer might well have pumped a lethal flow into a closed room, but one who placed the gaseous

substance without the aid of mechanical contrivances must surely possess an advanced knowledge of the

Why had Merle Clussig sought publicity? Why had he been slain? How had he been lulled to a sense of

These were questions which now confronted The Shadow. The master of deduction was still working in the

dark. He had divined that some discontent was rankling Clussig prior to the stroke of death, yet no clew

What part had been played by the stranger whom Clyde Burke had recognized as Spud Jagron? The Shadow

suspected that the man had placed the snare. Yet the whole plot savored of a scheming brain behind it. The

mystery of a supposedly dead gangster being in the vicinity of a death trap also showed the presence of a

THE SHADOW'S laugh sounded hollow beyond the circled range of light. There were problems involved

that made Merle Clussig's death appear as but a single incident. The Shadow knew that this obscure inventor

Where inventions were concerned, supercriminals could rise high by acquiring them. In all of his weird wars

with crime, The Shadow had encountered the most amazing situations when he had dealt with scientific

plotters. Murderous gangsters were men who could be met with bullets, but subtle perpetrators of unknown

Tonight, The Shadow stood upon the threshold of startling adventures. Well did he know that new and

unexpected developments were to be anticipated, that the players in this drama of life and death had so far

The demise of Merle Clussig was but the prelude to insidious situations that would soon develop. Strategy

would prove essential, swiftness of action would be a necessity. New deaths might occur before The Shadow

could intervene; yet once the master had gained the key to the threatening power, he could prevent the run of

The hands of The Shadow raised the two addressed envelopes and placed them in a larger one. Upon this

Through the contact agent, the messages to Cliff Marsland and Clyde Burke would be delivered in the

The blue light clicked out. The laugh of The Shadow sounded in the darkness. It bore no mockery; it carried

no mirth. That laugh was a grim note of mysterious knowledge a sound that indicated a struggle of the

future. Eerie tones echoed from the blackwalled rooms of The Shadow's sanctum. Uncanny reverberations

NOT long afterward, Stanley, Lamont Cranston's chauffeur, was startled to hear his employer's voice

speaking from the rear seat of the limousine. The car was parked on a side street near Times Square. Stanley,

watching those who were passing by, had neither seen nor heard his master enter the automobile.

The chauffeur detected a wearied note. Evidently Lamont Cranston had found nothing of interest in

Little did he suppose that he was chauffeur for The Shadow that tonight his master had alone gained the

clew to a crime which would excite New Yorkers on the morrow, when they read Clyde Burke's journalistic

ERIC VELDON was seated in the corner booth of the Garonne grill room. It was exactly twentyfour hours

since he had dined with Merle Clussig. Singularly, Veldon was keeping his appointment with the dead

A newspaper lay in front of the promoter. It contained another story relating to Merle Clussig; tonight,

however, the inventor's name was emblazoned in frontpage headlines. The death of Merle Clussig had

An evil smile crept over Veldon's lips. The promoter seemed to take a cynical joy in the report that he was

reading. Only once did his malicious leer fade. That was when he noted the statement that a man had been

The fact that the police believed the intruder might be identified with the underworld seemed to displease

Veldon. The sneering lips regained their smile, however, when Veldon finished the brief account. There was

no mention of any name in connection with the man who had been seen at the apartment building.

A footstep sounded on the stone floor. Veldon looked up to see a soberfaced individual standing beside his

table. Lessening his smile, Veldon motioned to the other man to sit down. The arrival obeyed. He took the

"Good evening, Dustin," greeted Veldon. "I am glad to see that you are on time. I have an important matter to

"So I supposed," returned the other man. "You seemed very serious when you telephoned me this afternoon."

Veldon laid the newspaper aside. He noted that his companion looked toward the printed sheet. Veldon

studied Dustin warily. He suspected that an odd thought was in the man's mind. He put his opinion to the test.

"I don't blame you," responded Veldon. "It shows that someone may have struck upon one of Wycroft

"Yes," replied Veldon suavely. "You recall that dry ice which you manufactured with carbon monoxide?"

"That was your idea, Veldon!" exclaimed Dustin. "I would never have thought of it if it had not been for your

"You performed the experiment," reminded Veldon. "After all, you deserve credit for the innovation. It is one

WYCROFT DUSTIN'S face grew stern. This man was different from Merle Clussig. He seemed more

businesslike than the dead inventor, although his face bore the placidity of a typical experimenter.

"There is no use in arguing it, Veldon," asserted Dustin. "You talked with me regarding my experiments in

neutralizing the effects of carbon monoxide. You suggested that it might be possible to make dry ice which

"I developed the idea purely to have carbon monoxide available for my neutralizing experiments. My new

dry ice was successful too much so. Its evaporation produced a much greater quantity of carbon monoxide

than I had anticipated. I never repeated the experiment. I gave you the formula, however."

"So you did," declared Veldon thoughtfully. "I had forgotten that fact. Do you know, Dustin, this Clussig

"Certainly," returned Dustin seriously. "The newspaper reports alarmed me. It would have been quite possible

for that unknown visitor to Clussig's apartment house to have left a quantity of dry ice containing carbon

monoxide. I read the news account only a few hours ago. I had thought about informing the police of my

"So I decided," admitted Dustin. "I realized that I was actually the experimenter who had produced a deadly

form of dry ice. I feared that the police might connect me with this unfortunate death. I have been wondering,

Veldon" Dustin's tone became almost apologetic "if you had ever met this man Clussig."

"I am glad to hear that," remarked Dustin, in a relieved tone. "I knew that you promoted various forms of

inventions; I thought possibly that you might have been acquainted with Clussig."

There was a short pause, while Veldon again shook his head. Then Dustin spoke again in an apprehensive

"You have always been interested," he said, "in my dangerous discoveries. The sedative gas which produces

harmful effects; the powder which causes lethal vapor; this dry ice with carbon monoxide you have the

"Forget them," interposed Veldon. "What I want, Dustin, is the opportunity to promote your neutralizer.

Imagine the money to be made if every garage used it to offset carbon monoxide from exhaust pipes. I could

"I am looking forward to results," returned Dustin, becoming enthusiastic. "My tests with palladium chloride

have been improved to make a more effective measurement of carbon monoxide when it exists in the

atmosphere of a room. But so far as a neutralizing agent is concerned, I have not accomplished all that I

"I have followed the old method used in purifying the air of an oversurcharge of carbon dioxide, namely by

the use of sodium peroxide, which has the absorbent property which gives off an equivalent amount of pure

oxygen. Carbon monoxide, however, is insidious. Its neutralization must be accomplished with a certainty "

"I understand," interrupted Veldon. "However, I am interested in learning exactly what you have

accomplished. I believe that I can undertake a profitable promotion. Would it be possible, Dustin, for you to

"To ascertain, by careful measurement, the exact results which you have gained in neutralization of carbon

"I can do that," nodded Dustin. "You understand, Veldon, that I have been prompted by two plans. One is to

eliminate carbon monoxide by the replacement of an equivalent amount of pure oxygen. The other is to

surcharge carbon monoxide with an additional supply of oxygen, thus producing carbon dioxide, which,

lacking the poisonous qualities, would prove harmless unless it occurred in a large amount."

"Give me all your results," decided Veldon, "after you have made definite experiments tonight. You can

"Certainly," said Dustin. "I have a man there at present. The place will be open."

THE discussion was forgotten as the two men ordered their dinner. Wycroft Dustin was completely ignorant

of the fact that Eric Veldon had dined here with Merle Clussig on the preceding evening. There was a strange

similarity in the two occasions. On each, Veldon had acted as the host; he had also suggested special work for

Strangely, Dustin's conversation again reverted to Merle Clussig. The chemical experimenter, as he ate his

meal, began to talk of the dead inventor. The cause of Clussig's death was preying on his mind.

"I should notify the police," Dustin told Veldon. "I really feel that it is my duty. Suppose that the carbon

monoxide ice had been planted in that room, Veldon! It evaporates as rapidly as ice formed from carbon

dioxide. I can picture it in my mind. Ice formed of carbon monoxide hidden in that room, giving off its

"Perhaps you are right, Dustin," said Veldon. "However, the thought is not a pleasant one. Suppose we forget

it until tomorrow night. You can meet me here for dinner. We can then discuss your tests. After that, we can

"I note that the detectives searched for gas pipes," persisted Dustin. "They found none, Veldon. That makes

me feel positive that someone has duplicated my experiments. Just think of it! The dry ice could have been

"You seem to have a plotting mind," chuckled Veldon. "You must not forget your calling, Dustin. You are an

experimenter, not a detective or" Veldon paused, and a smile flickered on his lips "a criminal."

Dustin was startled by the final words. The suggestion added to his worriment. He wanted to make a protest

at Veldon's artful remark. He realized that he, Wycroft Dustin, had actually produced a substance which

Silence persisted as the men continued eating. Dustin was still worried. Veldon adopted a saturnine

expression which did not allay the chemist's anxiety. When the meal was ended, Dustin stalked gloomily

The men shook hands. Wycroft Dustin entered a cab and gave a destination to the driver. Eric Veldon retired

to the quiet lobby of the hotel. There, the sallowfaced promoter entered a telephone booth and made a call.

As on the night before, Eric Veldon had adopted the countenance of a fiend. Twentyfour hours had elapsed

since his hideous smile had presaged doom for Merle Clussig. Tonight, that same smile boded disaster for

A SINGLE light was shining in a squarewalled room. Its rays were reflected by glistening walls of shining

black. Even the floor had the appearance of polished ebony; the furnishings of the room were all of the same

Standing in this room, so motionless that he seemed to be a part of the somber setting, was the Shadow.

Garbed in his habitual black, he formed a sablehued statue. It was not until his gloved hands appeared from

The gloves which The Shadow wore were formed of thick rubber. The master investigator was in his private

laboratory. Before him, on a jetblack table, rested a polished black box. The Shadow opened this object. The

Vapor ascended in a curling smoke. A tiny heater was located close beside the box. Attached to it was a

thermometer. Simulating the temperature that had existed in Merle Clussig's apartment, The Shadow was

This amazing investigator had struck upon the truth. The dry ice which he was using was of the harmless

variety, being of the usual carbon dioxide formation. But through his observation of its effects, The Shadow

was learning what must have happened in Merle Clussig's room, where carbon monoxide crystals had without

The vapor from the box was showing a heavy emission of gas. In proportion, a wastebasket filled with dry ice

of deadly formation could easily have produced Merle Clussig's death. The Shadow was putting his theory to

A light glimmered on the wall. The Shadow reached forward and picked up a pair of ear phones, objects

which had lain almost invisibly upon the blacksurfaced table. The Shadow spoke in a low, weird whisper. A

"Word from Burke. He has located an experimenter in the chemical neutralization of carbon monoxide."

The Shadow's whisper became a sinister sound. The blackclad speaker was giving Burbank definite

instructions. This work ended, The Shadow replaced the ear phones on the table. The light went out. With his

gloved hands, The Shadow raised the black box to watch the effects of the evaporation.

Definitely, The Shadow was getting to the cause of Merle Clussig's death. He had made a tremendous step in

deduction; yet even his remarkable intuition had not brought him past the present conclusion.

MERLE CLUSSIG had been murdered by that deadly gas, carbon monoxide. Through its release, from

concentrated form in the shape of dry ice, the subtle death had been accomplished. Only a capable

The direct evidence, however, pointed to some chemist as being the deviser of the means by which Clussig

had been slain. Wycroft Dustin, through Clyde Burke's inquiries, had been spotted as the possible

Still, the evidence did not go beyond Dustin, should he prove to be the man. There was nothing as yet to

Thus Wycroft Dustin could logically be picked as a man responsible for Merle Clussig's death but not as a

man whose own life was now being threatened. When The Shadow dealt with subtle murderers, he wove a

perfect mesh about them. At present, his study of dryice evaporation was a necessary step; hence he was

Time passed. The bulb glistened on the wall. The Shadow's eyes turned from the box, where the dry ice had

nearly completed its process of evaporation. The blackclad experimenter picked up the ear phones and

"Call to Wycroft Dustin," came Burbank's quiet tones. "His laboratory is open. His assistant is there. He

The Shadow placed the ear phones on the table. The light went out. For long, tense moments, The Shadow

Burbank had called Wycroft Dustin's laboratory. He had left a return number. That number was a booth in the

Grand Central Station. Located at a nearby spot, Burbank would be watching the booth. A ring there would

indicate that Wycroft Dustin had returned to his laboratory, and had called the number given his assistant.

Burbank would not answer the call. No one would answer it. Calls to public phone booths in a large terminal

invariably went unanswered. Burbank, however, would instantly notify The Shadow that Dustin had returned

Should Dustin, by any chance, choose to look up the number which had been given his assistant, he would

gain no clew whatever to Burbank's location. The Shadow had used this subterfuge in the past. It invariably

The Shadow, however, was not thinking of Burbank's arrangement. His keen brain was responding to a new

clew. His thoughts were passing beyond Wycroft Dustin as a perpetrator of crime. The Shadow was drawing

a distinct parallel between Wycroft Dustin, now living, and Merle Clussig, who was now dead.

Clussig had been an inventor. Dustin was an experimenter. Last night, Clussig had gone to his apartment to

draw up a list of his past inventions. Tonight, Dustin was returning to his laboratory, presumably to engage in

Was there a connection between these similar courses? The Shadow saw one. He sensed the possibility of a

new crime that might be impending. When The Shadow gained such inklings, he resorted to one definite

THE rubber gloves slid from the long white hands that wore them. The girasol glittered on The Shadow's

finger. Sharp eyes, that shone vividly as the gem, stared toward the tiny bulb upon the wall as The Shadow

With a swift motion, The Shadow swept toward the end of the little laboratory. His tall form made a

contrasting splotch of blackness as it moved along the polished floor. The Shadow's hand pressed a switch.

The echoes of a grim laugh sighed within the room. The element of mirth was lacking, yet there was a strange

The Shadow, in his report from Burbank, had received a statement of where Wycroft Dublin's laboratory was

located. The assistant had expected his employer back in an hour. There was time for The Shadow to reach

Until a few minutes ago, The Shadow had been seeking for a man engaged in crime. His purpose had

changed. His intuitive brain had paralleled two cases. The Shadow's mission was to prevent another stroke of

Although he had gained no clew to the hidden perpetrator of evil, The Shadow knew that another victim was

A TAXICAB pulled up in front of an old building near Tenth Avenue. Wycroft Dustin alighted, paid the

driver, and entered a doorway that showed in the side of a dingy wall. The chemist ascended a flight of

Here the scene changed. The ground floor of the building was a dilapidated place; the second story was

modern and well equipped. Wycroft Dustin had chosen this spot for his experimental laboratory; he had

In the first room which he entered, Dustin encountered a peakedfaced little man clad in a white coat. This

was Garfield, Dustin's assistant. The aid looked up in surprise when he saw his employer.

"I had not expected you so soon, Mr. Dustin," said Garfield. "You told me that you would not return until

"I changed my plan, Garfield," replied the chemist. "Has anything occurred during my short absence from the

The assistant glanced at a large clock on the wall. It registered half past eight. Garfield nodded thoughtfully.

"I do not know, sir. The man who called left a return number, and wanted you to call immediately upon your

"Call him, Garfield. When you get the number, summon me and I shall speak to the person. Was there

"Nothing important, sir. A man came to collect those old beakers and bottles. I helped him pack them in the

inner laboratory. An oddlooking chap, Mr. Dustin; he gave me the creeps. A funnyjawed face and stary

"Never mind the details, Garfield," said Dustin. "Call the telephone number. I am starting work in the inner

The chemist walked through a doorway and came to a bench in the inner room. The bench was located in a

sort of alcove; electric incandescents projected from three walls and the ceiling. Wycroft Dustin turned on the

lights one by one. Two bulbs refused to glimmer. Dustin merely ignored them. The illumination was more

This was Wycroft Dustin's chosen spot. At this bench, he conducted all his final experiments and tests. Dustin

was exacting in all his methods, and he had adapted this alcove to his use chiefly because it offered the best

THE brilliant bulbs produced considerable heat. Dustin did not mind that fact. He was used to it. He stood in

Equipment for the final tests lay close at hand. Wycroft Dustin, as he began to set up apparatus, recalled that

he had worked here once in Eric Veldon's presence, and that the promoter had expressed his admiration for

All that Dustin now needed were compressed gas tanks that he kept in a side room. Garfield could bring them

Dustin arranged a row of hydrometer tubes; he examined a vaporizing device, and found it clogged. While he

Garfield departed. Dustin finished his work with the vaporizer. The chemist felt annoyed. Garfield should not

have allowed the piece of apparatus to remain in a clogged state. The assistant had evidently been lax in one

Wycroft Dustin mopped his forehead; it was becoming quite warm, here in the alcove. The chemist looked at

the brilliant incandescents, and turned out two of the offending lights. Thus made four blank bulbs altogether.

Dustin wondered at the heat. He had never been troubled by it before. With four lights out, however, he

As the chemist reached for a beaker, his hand wavered. Dustin gripped the edge of the bench. He had been

here no more than ten minutes, yet the heat from the accustomed lights had suddenly reached mammoth

The man became incapable of action. He wobbled as he clung to the bench. He felt his hands slipping. He

reached out wildly and knocked two glass containers to the floor. The crash of the breaking jars brought

Dustin's form was slowly sinking. Garfield appeared ludicrous as he attempted to support the heavy weight of

his crumpling employer. The effort was too great; Dustin, leaning upon Garfield, caused the assistant to

Together, they moved away from the alcove. Out in the center of the room, Dustin collapsed completely, and

The little assistant stared into his employer's face. Dustin's eyes were staring. His face was dripping with

Garfield bustled away and returned with a glass of water which he placed to Dustin's lips. The chemist

Garfield brought up another glassful. Dustin trembled as he tried to seize the tumbler. Half of the liquid

contents poured over the chemist's face. Dustin sank prone upon the stone floor of the laboratory. He panted

Realizing that he could do nothing further to aid his stricken chief, Garfield hurried to the outer room and

When Wycroft Dustin had chosen this building for his laboratory, he had made arrangements with a

physician who lived only a few blocks away. The doctor was prepared to render emergency service, should

Garfield was calling the physician. He received a prompt response across the wire. Quickly, he told the

medical man that Wycroft Dustin had met with an accident. The doctor promised to come at once.

Garfield went back to Wycroft Dustin's side. He did all that he could to aid his stricken employer. He shoved

a rolledup burlap bag beneath the chemist's head. Dustin seemed in a terrible state of agony. His dry lips

Each minute increased the man's misery. It seemed to Garfield that he could feel a tremendous heat that

The assistant brought a new supply of water. Dustin was too week to even reach for it. The pupils of his eyes

were dilated. He was staring toward the ceiling as though picturing strange and terrible fantasies.

FOOTSTEPS made Garfield turn. He recognized the physician whom he had summoned. The doctor had

arrived promptly. He knelt beside Dustin, and placed his hand upon the man's forehead. With an expression

"This is beyond belief!" he exclaimed. "I never experienced a case of such terrific fever "

A hoarse scream came from Wycroft Dustin's lips. Vainly, the stricken man clawed at the stone floor. With a

mighty effort, he raised his body from the floor. He stared at the men beside him, as though his wild eyes

pictured them as demons. Then, with a spasm of agony, Dustin sprawled his body sidewise, and crashed to

The physician was bending over the chemist's body. Garfield, weakly and anxiously watching, put forth a

"Is that is it a good sign, doctor?" asked the assistant. "Do you think we can get him to a hospital?"

The physician's face was serious. Garfield's expression showed intense amazement. While the two men who

had witnessed death faced each other, neither thought of turning toward the door. Hence they did not see the

A figure had appeared at the open doorway. Tall, black, and spectral, it had arrived at the moment of

Garfield's cry. Had either the assistant or the physician seen that form, they would have taken it for a ghoulish

Silently, The Shadow had reached his destination. He had sought to prevent the death of Wycroft Dustin. He

Fate had tricked The Shadow. Wycroft Dustin had returned an hour early; he had stepped into the insidious

The stonefloored laboratory; the kneeling men beside the inert form of the dead chemist; the brilliant lights

shining from the little alcove which housed the workbench these were the sights which The Shadow

The cloaked form stood motionless. Keen eyes surveyed the scene. No laugh came from hidden lips. Grimly,

The Shadow sought an explanation of Wycroft Dustin's sudden and unfortunate demise.

When the physician arose and beckoned to Garfield to follow to the outer room, the spectral shape of The

Shadow no longer stood on guard. The master of darkness had stepped away from view. Yet his presence still

A long splotch of blackness projected upon the floor of the outer room, coming from the doorway that led to

the dingy stairs. The physician was using the telephone to call the police. The law would study the strange

After that, The Shadow's turn would come. As in the case of Merle Clussig, The Shadow would seek for

DETECTIVE JOE CARDONA had arrived on the job. He was standing in Wycroft Dustin's inner laboratory,

turning his attention from the dead man to the living persons with whom he was speaking.

"What is your opinion, Doctor Gregory?" questioned the detective, turning to the physician who had seen

"Dustin died from a fever," returned the doctor. "It was the most extraordinary case that I have ever

witnessed. I had no opportunity to take his temperature. The symptoms, however, were obvious."

A police surgeon who had arrived with Cardona voiced his agreement with Doctor Gregory's statement. The

"Natural, yes," said Doctor Gregory, "but almost beyond belief. Unless Dustin already had an extraordinarily

high temperature when he came into the laboratory, I cannot understand how it increased to such intensity

"No," replied the assistant. "He seemed a trifle annoyed, that was all. I was telling him about the junkman

coming to get old bottles and beakers. I began to describe the fellow, and Mr. Dustin cut me short."

Cardona, like Dustin, appeared to have no interest in the matter of the man who had come for bottles. The

detective was eyeing the alcove with its range of brilliant lights. He walked in that direction, and stood beside

"It's hot here," was his comment. "Do you think that all of these lights could have had an effect on Dustin?"

"Not unless his temperature was already high," returned Doctor Gregory. "The excessive heat could have

"Mr. Dustin turned out two of the bulbs," remarked Garfield. "Two were already burned out, and I had not

Joe Cardona clicked the individual switches of the different incandescents. As Garfield had stated, two were

burned out. Cardona extinguished one of the illuminated bulbs, and produced a handkerchief which he used

The detective walked from the warm alcove, and placed the bulb on a table. He saw that it was an ordinary

"I shall make a report of Dustin's death," he stated. "I think it would be advisable to take the body to the

morgue. From what you have said, Doctor Gregory, regarding the intensity of the man's fever and the sudden

death it produced, I shall make a study of Dustin's past activities. It might be possible that this fever was put

Wycroft Dustin's body was removed. The bright lights were extinguished. Garfield turned a switch in the

SILENCE remained. Then came a faint swishing sound. Someone was in the laboratory. A form was coming

The Shadow had been stationed within hearing distance during the entire police investigation. His turn had

arrived. He was going over the ground which Joe Cardona had rejected. The flickering disk of light

A soft laugh whispered in the gloom. Even in the act of approach, The Shadow had made a discovery. It lay

One incandescent in the threesided row was set at the edge of the alcove. It was least conspicuous of all. It

could be seen only from within the alcove itself. This was one of the burnedout incandescents. Here, in

Through the frosted surface of the bulb glowed the dim rays of a bluish light. The Shadow's torch threw a

steady flicker. The dull glow of the incandescent was no longer apparent. The Shadow's light, however,

Running down the inner corner of the alcove was a thin wire, visible only when viewed under the sharp light

of the torch. This passed beneath the workbench, into a wooden box. The open top of the box showed only

The Shadow's light went out. The dead incandescent still showed its faint bluish glow. The hands of The

Shadow drew the box from the alcove. The dull glimmer of the incandescent vanished. The Shadow's light

showed the cause; the removal of the box had disconnected that tiny wire which ran up to the row of lights.

Another matter manifested itself beneath the probing flashlight. The removal of the box had broken a

connecting cord between the box and a floor plug under the bench. The cord remained, adhering to the wall

The flashlight glimmered on the waste material in the box. The Shadow's free hand removed the crumpled

paper and the mass of cotton. Embedded in this useless material was a square electrical transformer,

The Shadow laughed. He knew the answer. He could reconstruct exactly what had happened. A man had

come to collect old bottles and beakers. That man had brought some boxes with him. Garfield had aided him

Garfield, however, had not been watchful. The supposed junkman had accomplished a purpose other than the

During convenient moments, probably when Garfield had unthinkingly gone to the outer laboratory to look

for more old bottles, the insidious visitor had placed this special box beneath the workbench.

He had plugged its projecting cord into the wall socket. He had run its special wire up to the row of

incandescents. He had inserted what appeared to be a burnedout bulb in the end of the row.

Rising, The Shadow turned his flashlight's rays upon the incandescent which was now dead. He unscrewed

the bulb from its socket. The little wire dropped, almost unnoticeably, to the floor.

This was ingenious. The mere removal of a box of waste; the simple act of unscrewing a burnedout

incandescent these were sufficient to destroy all evidence. Only a small piece of wire would remain upon

the floor. Waste and bulb would be thrown away. Nothing could remain to show the cause of Wycroft

The Shadow's flashlight flickered across the laboratory. It disappeared altogether. From then on, The

Shadow's course was invisible. When next his presence became apparent, it was in the room which he had

THE light switch clicked to reveal The Shadow in his garb of sable hue. Upon the table, The Shadow placed

two objects; one was the transformer which he had removed from the box of waste; the other was a small

Donning his rubber gloves, The Shadow unwrapped this and produced the incandescent which he had taken

Swift preparations followed. Soon the bulb was resting in an upright socket; to this was attached the

There was no sign of activity until the blackgloved hand pressed the light switch of the room. Darkness

On came The Shadow's flashlight. A hammer poised above the incandescent. A short, quick stroke. The glass

was shattered. The bluish glow remained. It came, not from the bulb itself, but from a short tube that was

The Shadow detached the transformer. While his flashlight still focused its rays upon the discovered tube,

The Shadow's laugh crept fantastically through the darkened laboratory. The weird investigator had learned

The tube within the bulb was the creation of some highly inventive mind an intensified emanator of a

feverproducing ray. Its like was already known to science, but this heatcausing apparatus was obviously of

Glowing within what appeared to be a dead incandescent, emitting its powerful rays through the aid of the

transformer, this tube had brought death to Wycroft Dustin. The chemist, standing steadily within its

The Shadow knew. Merle Clussig must be the man responsible. Clussig had died, through the use of dry ice

containing carbon monoxide, a deadly substance designed by Wycroft Dustin. Each victim had unwittingly

Some unknown schemer had played one against the other. No trace of his evil identity had been left. Merle

Clussig could have revealed his name; so could have Wycroft Dustin. These men were dead, and the fruits of

their inventive and research genius belong to the plotter who had designed their doom!

What other secrets had been gained by this murderer? That question could not be answered until The Shadow

had gained the key to the unknown's identity. Well did The Shadow know that neither the plotter nor his

agent the tool who bore a remarkable likeness to Spud Jagron would return to the scenes of crime.

The overturned wastebasket at Clussig's; the trashburied transformer, and the burnedout incandescent

these were clews which Joe Cardona had failed to discover. The murderer, however, had not reckoned with

The Shadow. The master of crime detection had found the clews and had linked them!

THE SHADOW'S laboratory was empty. A light now glimmered in the sanctum. Bluish rays upon a

shiningtopped table white hands with their sparkling girasol sending back its vivid flashes. The Shadow's

How had the murderer formed contact with Merle Clussig and Wycroft Dustin? There was only one logical

He had unquestionably offered them possibilities for financial gain through the development of their

inventions. Both had intrusted him with their devices. By eliminating both parties, he had gained all usage for

What promises had he made? Promotion was the answer. This unknown individual was undoubtedly a man

with recognized financial contacts. Possibly he had previously brought gain to inventors and research

The Shadow's hand was writing swiftly. Coded words appeared in vivid blue. Before the drying ink could

vanish, the hands closed the note and sealed it, in an envelope. Upon this, The Shadow inscribed the name

Cliff Marsland was already searching the underworld for clews to the disappearance of Spuds Jagron.

Tomorrow, Rutledge Mann would begin an investigation in The Shadow's service. Where Cliff was working

As an investment broker, with a wide range of activity, he would offer opportunities for those who might be

interested in the purchase of newly developed inventions. Through this course, Mann would learn the identity

The Shadow had correctly visioned a triangle of circumstance. Merle Clussig and Wycroft Dustin represented

two points; the third was some man of money who they believed was ready to capitalize the results of their

Somewhere within that triangle lay the hidden murderer. He had slain the two creators who knew his identity,

but the moneyed man with whom he had negotiated had evidently not been touched. Perhaps that man's life

was also threatened; perhaps not. At any rate, The Shadow sought the financier through him to learn the

With the aid of his capable agents, The Shadow was reaching out to avenge past crime, and to prevent the

stroke of greater evil that might lay ahead. It was The Shadow's aim to thwart a dangerous crook before the

To date, The Shadow had not encountered Eric Veldon; yet the master of darkness was directly on the trail of

the man with the fiendish smile. Eventually, their paths would meet. The Shadow had linked the clews that

TO the underworld, The Shadow was known as a lone wolf who battled crime. None had an inkling to his

methods. There were those who had sought to thwart The Shadow. They no longer lived.

The eyes of The Shadow were always focused upon affairs in gangdom. So uncanny was The Shadow's

ability to learn the facts of impending crime that it was generally conceded that The Shadow visited the bad

Thus mobsters were constantly on the lookout for The Shadow. Reward and fame awaited the skulking

gunman who could terminate the career of this terrible being who was called The Shadow.

The Shadow, however, was ever elusive. He never appeared until crime was due to break. Then he arrived,

No one in the bad lands had ever solved the full secret of The Shadow's strategy. There were times when the

master sleuth prowled the underworld at random, but those times were few. While crime was latent in

How, then, did he gain an inkling of approaching deeds of desperate crime? Mobsters did not know. Those

who did know were The Shadow and his agents. For The Shadow, as a preliminary to his own operations,

Of the Shadow's agents, the one most suited to gangland investigation was Clifford Marsland. This man had

Cliff had served time in Sing Sing for a crime which he had not committed. Only The Shadow knew that fact.

He had taken Cliff into his service. Cliff, in turn, had preserved his own reputation among crooks. He was

Cliff Marsland always had a bank roll. He never appeared anxious to throw in his lot with the mob leaders

who wanted his services. Cliff knew the big shots; he gave deliberate consideration whenever he was offered

This was proof of The Shadow's strategy. The stool pigeons whom the police employed as agents were

skulking smallfry, easily spotted if they tried to learn too much. But Cliff Marsland, the man who spied for

The Shadow, was recognized as a superior type of crook. Whenever he was absent from the haunts of

gangland, it was presumed that he was pulling some big job. Cliff always returned with plenty of money in

ON the night after Wycroft Dustin's strange death, Cliff Marsland was present at a gangster hangout known

as the Black Ship. This was the third successive visit that he had made to that notorious dive. Two nights ago,

Cliff had dropped in from nowhere. Last night, he had arrived a second time. Apparently, his only purpose

Seated at a corner table in the Black Ship, Cliff was spied by a scrawny, hunchshouldered mobster who

chanced to enter. The fellow came sidling in Cliff's direction and his mealy mouth formed an ugly smile as he

seated himself opposite. Cliff Marsland, calmfaced and stolid in demeanor, gave a slight nod as he

"Hello, Cliff," returned the mealymouthed gangster. "Where you been keepin' yourself?"

This was the regular form of greeting that Cliff had given to other old acquaintances. Every time a mobster

had accosted him, he had let the fellow do the talking. This particular denizen of the underworld, "Punks"

Gumbert, was no different from many of the others with whom Cliff had exchanged brief words.

"Ain't seen you often since we was out of the Big House," asserted Punks. "Guess you've been doin' like I

Cliff nodded. Punks Gumbert had been in Sing Sing during Cliff's term of residence at that institution.

"I ain't askin' none of your business," continued Punks, "because it's your business not mine. But I ain't got

no reason to keep mum on my own layout. I'm runnin' with Duke Scurley, an' it's a great racket."

Cliff had heard of "Duke" Scurley. The man was a former mobster who had turned to racketeering. Scurley

"If you ain't doin' nothin'," resumed Punks, in a friendly tone, "I can square you in with Duke Scurley."

Cliff gave no sign of being interested in the offer. He did, however, make a comment which brought a grin

"Shorthanded?" questioned Cliff. "What does that mean is the racket spreading out or have some of the

"Both," responded Punks. "Say, you figure things quick, Cliff. You know how the rackets work. Once in a

"Naw," Punks shook his head, "You don't think I'd be in the graft if there was trouble with the bulls, do you?

"There's wise guys that mooch in every racket, Cliff. That is, guys that think they're wise until they bump

Cliff shrugged his shoulders. The gesture indicated that he was not interested in the affairs of Duke Scurley.

"Duke's all right," asserted the gangster. "He don't take nobody for a ride, except the guys that have tried to

PUNKS GUMBERT leered. He looked about him to make sure that no one was listening. Leaning across the

"Listen, Cliff," were his words. "Duke Scurley ain't no slouch. He's a wise bimbo. When he puts 'em on the

"Not like Duke does it," retorted Punks. "Say he don't leave no corpses layin' around on dump heaps.

Where they go well, Duke's the guy that knows. Listen maybe you've heard about a few smart gazebos

who went for rides and never came back. But you don't know what's become of 'em."

"No." Cliff's manner became derisive. "What are you doing, Punks? Handing me riddles?"

"I ain't kiddin', Cliff," protested Punks. "You've heard of Sailor Cook, ain't you? He went for a ride, didn't he?

Did they ever find him full of lead? You bet they didn't. I'll tell you another guy's name, too. Spud Jagron.

Cliff had. His purpose here in the underworld was to gain traces of Spud Jagron. The Shadow's agent,

however, gave no sign of interest in the name. Cliff nodded slowly, as though the mention of Spud Jagron

"Duke Scurley took both of them guys for a ride," declared Punks. "I was with him. I seen what happened to

"What does he use?" snorted Cliff. "Goldplated bullets? To make them feel good when they're going out?"

"He don't do nothin' to 'em!" returned Punks, triumphantly. "He leaves that for some other guy. He takes 'em

for a ride all right; but he drops 'em off and some other bimbo picks 'em up to do the dirty work."

"Have they come back? None of 'em. Listen, Cliff. Duke has got a racket that has me buffaloed. He gets rid

of them eggs that he doesn't want and that ain't all of it. I'm puttin' you wise because I know you. Duke

"Have you gone goofy, Punks?" questioned Cliff. "I didn't know you played the loop joints. Let's see your

"Think I'm kiddin' you?" laughed Punks. "Well, I ain't. I've told you the lay. Listen to the rest of it. I'm in

right with Duke Scurley, see? One night, I hear him gettin' a phone call. Says O.K. to somethin' and wants

"After that, we grab Sailor Cook and take him for a ride. We got him tied and gagged. Duke drives way

uptown somewhere I don't know where the place is, because I'm in the back seat shovin' a gat into Sailor's

"We pull up by a little alleyway, outside of an old empty house. We dump Sailor in the alley. We go out and

"You know what happened? Somebody grabbed Sailor Cook and took him out the other end of the alley.

"We done the same thing with Spud Jagron. And there's other smart wisenheimers that have gone the same

route. A grand, Duke Scurley gets, for each of 'em for gettin' rid of guys he don't want."

"That ain't Duke's racket," protested Punks. "That's just a side line. Say Duke needs a good guy like you for

his mob. Stick along with me, Cliff you're my pal, see? I'll get you in the money and if you don't believe

"A protective association," explained Punks. "You know the idea. He shakes down warehouse owners. If they

don't come across with dough, we raid their vans. The trouble is, guys like Sailor Cook and Spud Jagron get

the idea of startin' a racket on their own. When Duke sees that, he gets rid of 'em. Savvy?"

Cliff Marsland considered. He gave no sign of being interested in Punks Gumbert's proposal. Yet he made no

refusal of the offer; and that fact caused Punks to become urgent. The mealymouthed gangster began an

"Get with Duke Scurley," advised Punks. "I'll put you wise to the way to work with him. You'll be in soft,

THE scrawny gangster grinned as Cliff departed. Punks Gumbert saw a prosperous future. It would fix him

well with Duke Scurley to bring in so capable a worker as Cliff Marsland. Moreover, with Cliff as his pal,

Punks, in reviewing his conversation with Cliff, thought that the most important phase had been the

conclusion. Punks, in his description of what had happened to Spud Jagron, had been merely endeavoring to

To Cliff, however, the preliminary discussion had decided his plan of action. Cliff had come to the Black

Ship on three successive nights, hoping for some break that would give him a clew to how Spud Jagron had

been bumped off. He had gained the break and with it the knowledge that Spud Jagron might still be alive!

If so, where was Spud Jagron now? The gangster with the scarred jaw had not been seen in the underworld.

Police and gangsters, alike, believed him dead. There was mystery here and the key to it lay through

Cliff Marsland had read the accounts of two deaths; he knew that the police regarded Merle Clussig's end as

Cliff knew nothing of what The Shadow might have learned. At the same time, he realized that somehow,

The situation seemed incredible. How could Spud Jagron still be alive and yet not seeking vengeance

The answers were unfathomable to Cliff, but they would not be to The Shadow. Cliff Marsland's report

would weld another link in the chain which was being formed to reach the source of strange crime.

Cliff knew well what his next instructions would be: to join with Duke Scurley and to learn the spot where

With a thousand dollars waiting for each gangster that he delivered, Duke Scurley would soon send another

victim along the route which the others had followed. Cliff Marsland, as Duke's underling, could gain insight

into what had happened to Spud Jagron. That, Cliff felt sure, would lead to someone higher up the crime

The deaths of Merle Clussig and Wycroft Dustin were linked with the strange fate of Spud Jagron. That was

something which Cliff Marsland knew must be true something which hitherto, only The Shadow had

THE SHADOW was in his sanctum. Before him, on the illuminated table, lay a report from Cliff Marsland.

One day had elapsed since Cliff's meeting with Punks Gumbert. During that time. Cliff had communicated

with The Shadow and had received orders in return. This message was the assurance that tonight Cliff would

Another report appeared between The Shadow's hands. This was from Rutledge Mann. The investment

broker had followed instructions, but so far had received no replies to his attempt to interest financiers in new

There was grimness in the whispered laugh that come from The Shadow's unseen lips. The Shadow knew that

he was dealing with a master plotter a man who moved with convincing precision. Merle Clussig

Would Duke Scurley also prove a blind clew? The future alone would tell. It was probable that the unknown

plotter behind the game of insidious murder had been cagy in his dealings with Duke Scurley.

Much depended upon Rutledge Mann. If the investment broker could discover a financier linked in any way

Again, The Shadow laughed. His weird mirth betokened a further thought. The unknown plotter had duped

both Clussig and Dustin, because they possessed scientific skill which he required. Were there other persons,

The Shadow was seeking to uncover such persons. A new report appeared as evidence of that fact. This was

from Clyde Burke. The reporter had been accumulating all the data that could be gained through the Classic

A typewritten column gave the names of various men whose scientific accomplishments were recognized.

Columned beside these were the particular branches of work which these individuals had performed. It was

not in the lists themselves that The Shadow gained the thought which inspired his next action. It was in the

Their meaning was plain. In his quest for data which might be useful to The Shadow, Clyde Burke had

uncovered news of no scientific devices which might be used in crime; also, however, he had produced no

Ear phones appeared. A tiny light flickered from darkness. Burbank's voice quickly responded as The

"Instructions to Burke," ordered The Shadow. "Obtain names of all physicians who have produced new

Darkness pervaded the sanctum. When this order had been accomplished, The Shadow would have at his

disposal the final details that would enable him to eliminate all possible fields wherein the hand of the master

Somewhere in Manhattan, isolated from discovery, might be a third dupe who shared the knowledge which

Merle Clussig and Wycroft Dustin had possessed, namely, the ability to point out the evil man whom The

Shadow sought! Until the last possibility had been eliminated, The Shadow would seek for such an

EVEN while The Shadow's keen brain was working on this problem, definite proof of his theory existed in

another section of Manhattan. A tall, darkhaired man with furrowed brow was nervously pacing back and

A phone bell jingled. The tall man strode to a table and picked up the receiver. He spoke in short, brusque

"This is Doctor Joseph Barratini," were his words. "Who?... Oh. Yes. You say Doctor Rupert Sayre is waiting

Doctor Barratini hung up the receiver and walked over to the window. From this room, high up in a

mammoth Manhattan apartment building, he could see the myriad lights of the vast city. Something in the

There was a knock at the outer door. Barratini steadied himself with an effort. His face became composed. He

strode across the room and opened the door to admit a seriousfaced young man who gave a friendly nod and

Barratini invited his guest to sit down. Cigars were lighted; the visitor looked quizzically toward his host.

There was a reason for Doctor Sayre's attitude. Although he had gained an enviable reputation as a practicing

surgeon, Rupert Sayre was far younger than Joseph Barratini. He wondered why he had been called here at

The older man seemed to understand the other's mental question. Yet Joseph Barratini was loath to speak. He

arose from his chair, strolled to the window and peered out toward the lights of the city, while Rupert Sayre

wondered. At length, Barratini swung and gazed steadily toward the young physician before him.

"Sayre," he said, in a thick voice, "I called you here this evening to discuss a matter which is of vital

importance to my welfare. It involves a question which cannot be considered purely from an ethical

"I want to talk to you. I want to ask your advice as a friend. Let us forget that we are medical men except

for the fact that you may understand certain impulses that guided me under unusual circumstances. So I have

Barratini's tone, more than his words, caused Sayre to nod his head. It was evident that the elder physician

was troubled. His frank statement was one which Sayre could not follow by refusal.

"You know my reputation," began Doctor Barratini. "Despite the fact that ill fortune has followed me

throughout my medical career, I have gained international fame through my accomplishments in brain

"I made a fortune during the regime of the Russian czar. I lost it when the empire fell. A refugee, I found a

suitable abode in Spain. There I gained new wealth until the monarchy ended and King Alphonso went into

exile. A royalist by necessity for my practice depended upon the support of the nobility I was forced to

RUPERT SAYRE had heard the story of Joseph Barratini's misfortunes. To him, this international surgeon

was a man who deserved admiration. Barratini, with his knowledge of medical science, had always found his

"In the course of my travels," resumed Barratini, "I found varied customs in different lands. I saw specimens

of our race who could scarcely be classed as higher types than gorillas. I learned to hold contempt for

individuals of brutish caliber the type which constitutes the average American criminal.

"Here in New York, where freedom of speech is prevalent, I advanced a theory which I long had held:

namely, that brain surgery performed upon criminals would be justified by its results. Others had advocated

the same practice; yet my recommendation was greeted with disapproval. Americans, it seems, are governed

Rupert Sayre smiled. He knew of Barratini's statements, of the furor they had created in limited surgical

circles. There had been antagonism toward Barratini; he had been advised to keep his suggestion to himself.

"One man, however," resumed Barratini, "appeared interested in my suggestions. It was due to his reactions

that I became involved in the strange circumstances which now entangle me in their mesh."

"No," replied Barratini, lowering his tone. "The man's name is Eric Veldon. He is a promoter of scientific

"Probably not. Veldon is very secretive in all his actions. He is something of a scientist and an experimenter.

"Yes, He came here to my apartment. He talked persuasively. He stated that he had taken in a criminal who

had been seriously injured; that an operation upon the man would be necessary. He asked if I would perform

"No. I simply agreed to visit the injured man. Veldon insisted that I wear a blindfold while I rode in his car, I

agreed, purely because of my curiosity. I have always enjoyed adventure; and I could understand why Veldon

wanted to keep the subject's hiding place a secret. That, Sayre, was the beginning of the network which has

Barratini arose from his chair. He drew long puffs on his cigar as he paced the room. He wore the expression

of a man who feared he had said too much; then, observing Sayre's sympathetic countenance, Barratini

"WE arrived at an isolated house," he stated. "I believe that it is somewhere on Long Island. That is all I

know. I took no instruments for a surgical operation. It was to be an examination that was all.

"Imagine, Sayre, my amazement when I reached Veldon's unknown place. He took me into a completely

fitted operating room. There, bound to a table, was the criminal. The man was uninjured, Sayre! He was in a

"Exactly," resumed Barratini. "That was not all. He proceeded to threaten me. He drew a revolver and a fierce

expression of malice appeared upon his face. He told me that he had listened to my theories he repeated

"To reduce the criminal to the state of a mere human mechanism to perform the miracles which I believed

were possible through brain surgery. I was called upon to remold a brain to its primitive state."

"That was impossible. Veldon could have killed me. I saw that I must accede to his demands. Then, Sayre a

deep interest seized me. I was willing to proceed, that I might test the proof of my theories. I regret the desire

exceedingly yet the circumstances offered me no choice. I performed the operation. Veldon drove me,

Sayre's question had a marked effect upon Barratini. The tall physician slumped into his chair and pressed his

"Sayre," he whispered, "I heard nothing for two weeks. Then, one evening, there was a rap upon my door. I

"Yes, but a criminal no longer. An automaton a figure who moved with grim, mechanical determination, a

creature who approached me with staring eyes. The man gave me an envelope. I opened it. Within, I found

"Yes. But the man remained. He looked at me with steady eyes and said one word: 'Come.' I shrugged my

shoulders. The staring man produced a revolver. He would have shot me where I stood had I not promptly

"I accompanied this transformed crook to the street. There the human automaton pointed to a large

automobile. I entered. The door shut. I could not open it. I could not see through the windows. Sayre, I was a

"That is not all," resumed Barratini. "The car started. I knew that the automaton was at the wheel. I found a

light and illuminated the interior of the car. When the journey ended, the door opened and I found myself at

Veldon's house. He was awaiting me. He wore his vicious smile. He told me that there was a new task.

"Yes. I performed the operation. The first man drove me home. Two weeks passed. Then came an unexpected

"Imagine it, Sayre to see this living proof of how effective my skill had been a criminal, possessing all his

intuition and instinct, but lacking all initiative other than that supplied by his master, Eric Veldon!"

"That was not the end," said Barratini in a weary tone. "More operations followed. Always the same

procedure. Each subject appeared in person, bearing my payment, to summon me to a new task. I was afraid

to disobey. I feared Veldon's enmity. Now, Sayre, I have reached a terrible dilemma."

"No, but I have come to a fearful realization." Barratini paused. He picked up a newspaper. "I have read of

two strange deaths. An electrical experimenter named Clussig has been murdered. A chemist named Dustin

"Possibly," admitted Rupert Sayre. "From what you have told me, the man must possess fiendish traits."

"He is a fiend," asserted Barratini. "I must learn the location of his hiding place. Sayre, I am counting on you

Barratini's low whisper died on his lips. The blackhaired physician stared at his companion with bulging

eyes. Rupert Sayre heard the cause of Barratini's alarm. Someone was knocking at the door. Raps were

"It is the summons!" whispered Barratini. "Another victim has come to Eric Veldon's abode. Help me, Sayre!

THERE was a pause in the rapping at the door. Then came heavy thuds, repeated with a stern, impatient

stroke. Joseph Barratini turned to Rupert Sayre. The older man's face was aghast.

Springing to his feet, the young physician moved hurriedly toward a door at the side of the living room.

"Go with him," ordered Sayre. "My car is out front. I shall follow. After you have returned we can discuss

A look of elation appeared upon Barratini's face. He clasped Sayre's hand; then turned toward the door where

Reaching the door, Barratini paused long enough to see that Rupert Sayre was out of sight. The blackhaired

A thin, cadaverous man stalked into the room. With swinging hand, he closed the door behind him and

Rupert Sayre, eyeing the situation through the crevice of the side door, was horrified by the ghastly scene. To

the young physician, this exceeded the description which Barratini had given him.

The arrival was unquestionably the final criminal upon whom the famous surgeon had operated. There was

recognition in Barratini's eye, and Sayre could see him shrinking away from the corpselike visitor.

This creature was a monster and Barratini might well be the one who had created him. Fear and remorse

were registered upon the eminent surgeon's face, and Sayre could see his body tremble. For a moment, the

young doctor was ready to spring forth and grapple with the hideous visitor; then, like an automatic figure,

the man stopped, and his threatening gestures ended. Drawing a hand from his pocket, he thrust an envelope

The surgeon received the envelope. He faltered as he opened it. Crisp bank notes came forth in Barratini's

hands. The physician sidled across the room and inserted the money in a table drawer. The cadaverous man

stalked slowly after him. Barratini turned to face this vigilant automaton who was dogging his footsteps.

The ugly creature uttered the summons in a harsh voice. His hand again moved toward his pocket. Sayre

could see that whatever the brainriddled criminal had lost in initiative, he had gained in purpose, under the

Joseph Barratini smiled weakly. He bowed as he picked up his hat from a chair. Accompanied by the

summoner, he walked deliberately from the apartment. At the door, however, he paused, to throw a desperate

As soon as the outer door had closed behind Joseph Barratini and the corpselike man, Rupert Sayre sprang

from his hiding place. The young physician realized the need for caution. He knew that this transformed man

who accompanied Doctor Barratini was evidently under definite instructions. It would be wise not to excite

suspicion. The monster might be dangerous, if he saw any one coming to interfere with Barratini's departure.

The corridor was empty when Sayre reached it. The moving dial above an elevator door showed that

Barratini and his conductor were descending. Sayre rang the bell. Another elevator stopped a few moments

later. Sayre reached the lobby just in time to see Barratini and the mechanical man passing through the

revolving door. The young physician hurried on their trail, carefully keeping them within sight.

On the sidewalk, Sayre saw the automaton usher Barratini into a large limousine. The door closed. The man

climbed to the driver's seat. Sayre hurried across the street, and gained his coupe. The limousine was moving

The limousine threaded a devious route. Obviously the driver had instructions to totally bewilder the

passenger's sense of direction. The strange pursuit reached an avenue. Traveling in the rear Sayre followed a

course toward upper Manhattan. Time and again, the limousine stopped before a traffic light. Policemen were

available; yet Sayre dared not call them. He remembered his promise to Barratini.

The young physician realised, as he drove along, that Eric Veldon must indeed be a dangerous man with

whom to deal. It was probably that he wanted Barratini to perform another operation. If so, it would be best to

let this adventure reach its natural conclusion. The more that Sayre could learn, the better could he aid

The young physician did not approve of Barratini's forced operations; nevertheless, he respected the eminent

international surgeon, and did not feel himself qualified to offer criticism. He had promised to aid Barratini as

Furthermore, Sayre could appreciate the mental condition of Doctor Joseph Barratini. He fancied that a ride

in that darkened limousine, piloted by a cadaverous chauffeur who had been resurrected from a life of crime,

could be anything but cheerful. Thoughts of the gruesome monster who had summoned the old physician

THE whole chase seemed mechanical, an incredible occurrence in the midst of teeming Manhattan. Sayre

found himself staring straight ahead as he kept his gaze steadily upon the moving limousine. It was with an

effort that he managed to turn his head to note the part of Manhattan that he was traveling. The strange chase

On through a maze of streets. The limousine was again following an eccentric course. At last, it swerved into

a side street and ran past a row of old, dilapidated houses. Sayre slowed the speed of his coupe. He eased the

Reaching the corner, Sayre noted that the limousine had stopped a short way up the block. With a quick twist

of the wheel, the young physician kept straight ahead. He brought his car to a quick stop, and prepared to

Was this the end of the trail? Barratini had said something about a deserted house. The surgeon had

Sayre decided to investigate. He turned off the ignition switch, and extinguished the lights on his coupe.

Pocketing the key, he left the car and approached the corner. He could still see the tail light of the limousine.

The street was very dark. Rupert Sayre felt sure that he could reach the limousine undetected. He moved

along the silent building walls until he had reached the large car. He could see through the side window of the

front seat. The car was empty. The cadaverous driver had evidently left to report.

Cautiously, Sayre reached the side of the limousine. He listened intently to make sure that no one was near

by. He placed his hand upon the handle of the rear door. He noted, as he stared at the glass, that it reflected

only blackness. It looked like an ordinary car window, except upon close inspection; then Sayre realized that

Sayre hesitated. He knew from what Barratini had said, that the door would not open from the inside. If the

knob should function from the outside, however, it would be possible to effect Barratini's release, should the

surgeon now desire to escape. Sayre resolved to try. At least he could assure his friend that he was on the

trail, and also give him the location of the neighborhood which they had reached.

The knob turned. The door opened. A sharp gasp came from Rupert Sayre's lips. A flood of illumination

Had that been all that Sayre saw, the young physician would quickly have closed the door. But there was

Doctor Joseph Barratini still occupied the interior of the limousine. But the light which came from the ceiling

Sprawled upon the cushions of the rear seat, Barratini was staring straight upward. His hat had fallen from his

A TRAINED physician, Rupert Sayre forgot all other than the stricken man who lay before his eyes. He

leaped into the car and bent over Doctor Barratini's body. He realized rapidly that the celebrated surgeon was

Then came a sound from the sidewalk. Sayre turned quickly, but too late. In the glare of the dome light, he

caught a glimpse of the leering, cadaverous face of the man who had summoned Joseph Barratini to his death.

Rupert Sayre, like Joseph Barratini, was in a blackwalled prison. Vainly, the young physician shouted and

beat at the surrounding glass. The limousine began to move. Sayre realized that his cries could not be heard;

that this shatterproof glass would resist every effort that he applied to break it.

The limousine swung around a corner. Barratini's body came toppling along the seat. Sayre was jolted down

beside it. He gave his attention to the form of the dead physician and found that his first surmise was correct.

What had killed him? Stark terror came over Rupert Sayre. The mysterious force whatever it might be

that had slain Barratini could still be present in the car! Would he, Rupert Sayre, become a victim also?

As the thought flashed through his mind, Sayre began to experience an unaccountable dizziness. Joseph

Barratini's body went slumping to the floor. Rupert Sayre made no effort to stop it. The light was dimming

before his eyes. A whirling sensation possessed him. The limousine seemed to be climbing tremendous

Rupert Sayre sank gasping upon the seat. His listless body began to respond to the rolls of the big car. His

staring eyes were livid until the lids closed over them. Rupert Sayre's breathing became a painful, mechanical

Two victims lay within the rear of the limousine. One was Joseph Barratini, dead; the other was Rupert

Sayre, unconscious. These two physicians, who had so recently discussed the insidious schemes of Eric

Veldon, had paid the penalty for their attempt to pry into the evil devices of that master plotter.

MILES passed. The limousine came to a stop. The door opened. The light from the inner dome showed a

It was not the cadaverous visage of the human automaton who had summoned Doctor Joseph Barratini; it was

the evil countenance of a personage more terrible than that man who looked like a living corpse.

Eric Veldon, the man who plotted murder, was surveying the bodies that lay within the limousine. Joseph

Barratini, dead, came under his leering inspection. Rupert Sayre, alive, but in complete stupor, also

The fiend's lips formed a snarling smile. Stepping back from the open door, Veldon uttered a short command.

Two men, moving with the mechanical stride of automatic figures, stepped forth from the darkness. They

A few minutes later, they returned. They raised Rupert Sayre's limp body and bore it into darkness. Eric

Veldon's evil face surveyed the emptiness. The smile still showed upon the plotter's lips, as Eric Veldon

Another man had died another whom Eric Veldon had used as a dupe another who could have revealed

Doctor Joseph Barratini, like Merle Clussig and Wycroft Dustin, was no longer of use to Eric Veldon. Death

Rupert Sayre still lived. What fate awaited the young physician? That rested, at present, in the hands of Eric

Two days had elapsed since the eventful evening when Doctor Joseph Barratini had died and Doctor Rupert

Sayre had fallen into the toils of Eric Veldon. The evanishment of the two prominent physicians had become

In an office situated high in the towering Badger Building, a chubbyfaced man was busy at his desk. The

great buildings of upper New York formed an amazing sky line when viewed from the window by the man's

side; but this lethargic, slowmoving individual paid no attention to the scene without. He was entirely

A stack of items formed a little pile upon the desk. The chubbyfaced man slipped them together and inserted

them in an envelope. Just as he was about to seal this, there was a rap at the door. In response to the man's

The lethargic individual showed unusual haste as he dumped the bulky newspapers into a wastebasket and

laid the envelope at the side of the desk. He arose from his chair and opened the door into the outer office. A

"Ah, yes!" exclaimed Mann. "The gentleman who is interested in inventive investments. Come in, Mr.

Seated in the inner office, Edkins looked quizzically at the investment broker. He expected to hear Mann

begin a sales talk. On the contrary, the investment broker opened conversation along a different trend. He

"You have made previous investments of this nature?" inquired Mann. "Specifically, have you ever financed

"A rather unusual question," laughed Edkins. "I hardly see what that has to do with the present matter."

"A great deal," explained Mann, seriously. "You must understand, Mr. Edkins, that I usually deal in

giltedged securities. I would not recommend my present proposition to any one who is unfamiliar with the

"Very fair of you," agreed Edkins. "However, Mr. Mann, I can satisfy your apprehensions upon that point. I

"This one," announced Mann, "relates to certain Xray devices which may revolutionize the present

The investment broker stopped short. Holbrook Edkins was offering an interruption. Mann's statements had

"Xrays?" queried the prospective investor. "Can you be more specific, sir? I am very much interested in

"Indeed," said Mann. "I did not know that other investment brokers were offering such propositions."

"This did not come through a broker," explained Edkins. "In fact, I am not at liberty to state the complete

"I am worth more than a million dollars, Mr. Mann. I made my money through wise choice in the

development of useful inventions. I formed contact with certain promoters who had access to different

inventions. Through one of these men, I recently learned of a new and practical Xray device. I have

"Naturally, I am interested in any other device of the sort. I cannot name the promoter with whom I have been

talking. Nevertheless, I should like to consider the merits of any device which might duplicate, or parallel, the

"VERY fair," decided Mann. "I think, Mr. Edkins, that it would be wise for you to meet my first client the

"A gentleman named Lamont Cranston. A multimillionaire who lives in New Jersey."

"I have heard of him. A great traveler, is he not? A member of the Cobalt Club?"

"Yes. Mr. Cranston holds an option for one half of the new stock issue. I would prefer to have you talk with

him. He is investing in the Xray not promoting it. He understands its merits. His enviable reputation..."

"I should be glad to meet Mr. Cranston," interposed Edkins. "Very glad. I have heard that he has been highly

successful in unusual investments. Your suggestion is a good one, Mr. Mann. When can this meeting be

"Mr. Cranston will be in New York this evening," returned Mann. "Will you be at home, Mr. Edkins?"

"Certainly," said the millionaire, "Could you arrange to have Mr. Cranston call at my residence?"

"I shall telephone the Cobalt Club," assured Mann, "and have him communicate with you, Mr. Edkins."

The interview ended, Rutledge Mann returned to his desk and began to prepare a report. His role of

Sealing his report in another envelope, Mann picked up the one that contained the clippings and sealed it,

The investment broker took a cab to Twentythird Street. He entered a dingy building and went to an upper

floor. He stopped before a deserted office, where a dirty, cobwebbed glass panel bore the name:

Mann deposited his envelopes into a small chute. He left the building. The slot that allowed the passage of

messages into an empty office constituted The Shadow's letter box. All data deposited there reached The

Shadow himself. No one had ever been seen to enter or leave the locked office; but Mann knew well that The

LESS than one hour after Rutledge Mann had visited the office on Twentythird Street, a light clicked in a

darkened room. Within the confines of his sanctum, The Shadow placed two envelopes upon his table. His

long fingers opened the first; out fell the clippings which Rutledge Mann had accumulated.

The Shadow studied these items swiftly. They related to the new and baffling mystery, the disappearance of

Doctors Barratini and Sayre. They included a statement regarding the discovery of Rupert Sayre's coupe,

The Shadow's hands produced a large map of New York City. While the girasol glittered beneath the bluish

light, keen eyes surveyed the chart and a long finger marked the spot where the coupe had been found.

Again, The Shadow had recognized the insidious hand of the fiendish enemy whom he was seeking, but

A typewritten paper fell upon the table. It was a later list from Clyde Burke; in it appeared the name of

Doctor Joseph Barratini, the noted brain surgeon. This data had been gained too late. Burke had learned of the

eminent physician's presence in New York on the morning after Barratini's strange disappearance.

The Shadow's laugh was grim. In all his career, the master of detection had never encountered a more

An abandoned coupe in northern Manhattan; that was the only clew. No trail led on from there. It was known

that Doctor Sayre had called upon Doctor Barratini in the latter's apartment. It was assumed that the two had

The Shadow had not been idle. He had been to the spot where Sayre's car had been discovered. He had noted

an alleyway off the silent street. That place jibed with the description that Punks Gumbert had given to Cliff

The Shadow was relying upon his agent in the underworld. Cliff was with Duke Scurley's gang. When the

word came to put some new victim on the spot, Cliff would learn the exact locality where gagged gangsters

Would that be the same alleyway as the one near the corner where Sayre's car had been found? The Shadow

believed it was. His keen study of the maze of crime showed a new link between the disappearance of the two

In the face of circumstances, however, The Shadow was playing a waiting game. Whatever the fate of Joseph

Barratini or Rupert Sayre, the best way to meet the superfiend was when he moved once more. That time

THE fingers opened the second envelope. In carefully coded writing appeared the report of Rutledge Mann's

The paper remained motionless in The Shadow's hands. Its vivid writing inscribed in the disappearing ink

which characterized all messages between The Shadow and his agents vanished word by word.

Ear phones clicked across the table. Burbank's voice came over the wires as a tiny light bulb announced the

connection. The Shadow's whisper gave important instructions to the hidden contact agent. Burbank

The bluish light went out as The Shadow clicked the switch above the shade which surrounded it. A peal of

strident mirth reechoed through the total darkness of the sanctum. The Shadow's mockery rang forth with a

In Rutledge Mann's message, The Shadow had grasped the key. He had found the final link. The chain was

completed. Tonight, as Lamont Cranston, he would learn the identity of the supercrook behind the crime.

Word to The Shadow word that proved the keenness of The Shadow's methods word that rewarded the

patience which the blackgarbed investigator had shown in his difficult campaign against an enemy whose

Such word had come from Rutledge Mann. The investment broker, by following The Shadow's instructions,

had uncovered the financier whom The Shadow sought the innocent person who, The Shadow knew, must

Tonight, Holbrook Edkins would receive a guest. He would talk to Lamont Cranston, multimillionaire,

regarding the merits of electrical inventions. Edkins had said but little to Rutledge Mann. He would say much

to Lamont Cranston, for he would be dealing with The Shadow not the master's agent.

Weird echoes took up the cry of the taunting laugh as it broke into a sibilant spasm of merriment. Sobbing

ghouls seemed to hurl back their answer from limitless corridors of space that were shrouded in the gloom.

When the last dying jibe had ended, deep silence reigned throughout the blackwalled sanctum.

The Shadow, master of vengeance, had departed. Tonight, his hand would stretch forth to grasp a hidden

HOLBROOK EDKINS lived in an old brownstone house among the Nineties. From the outside, the place

was unpretentious; within, it was sumptuously furnished. The millionaire had altered the ancient mansion to

The downstairs living room contained a gorgeous array of ornate furniture of Louis Quinze style. Edkins, as

he walked among a galaxy of fragile, gilded chairs, looked like the proverbial bull amid a collection of

A doorbell rang dully. Edkins glanced at his watch. It showed nine o'clock. This was the hour for which he

had set his appointment with Lamont Cranston, through a call to the Cobalt Club. A plainly dressed

A few moments later, Holbrook Edkins was shaking hands with Lamont Cranston. The host invited his guest

to take a chair; the servant appeared with a box of imported cigars. Meanwhile, both men took a mental

Lamont Cranston's keen eyes summarized Holbrook Edkins in rapid fashion. Edkins, tall and overweight,

was evidently a man who enjoyed comfort rather than luxury. He was some fifty years of age, a trifle bald,

and inclined toward paunchy cheeks and double chin. While Edkins appeared to he a man who might have his

own peculiar prejudice, his countenance betokened a natural friendliness and honesty.

When Edkins looked toward his visitor, he was quick to observe that Lamont Cranston was a most

extraordinary man. Tall, lithe, and attired in a black suit, Cranston presented a somber appearance which was

Holbrook Edkins had never seen so immobile a countenance. Cranston's hawklike nose, his sharp, penetrating

IT was Edkins who opened the conversation. The blufffaced man felt a trifle ill at ease. He decided that it

might be the formal environment of the austere living room. He made a suggestion to his visitor.

"Suppose we go up to my den," he said. "That's where I like to talk business. This showroom is my wife's

Cranston responded to the suggestion. He followed Edkins up the stairs. They reached an isolated room and

The place was not tidy, but it appeared comfortable. Edkins motioned Cranston to a large armchair.

"I understand you have invested in a new Xray invention," said Edkins. "I was talking with your broker,

"I have made no investment," returned Cranston. "I merely hold an option for a part interest in the device,

"So Mann informed me," remarked Edkins, chewing the end of his cigar. "Have you seen the device, Mr.

"No," replied the calmfaced visitor. "The terms of my option are entirely dependent upon my final

satisfaction. I merely took Mann's word for it that the invention has reached a satisfactory stage of

Holbrook Edkins made no immediate reply. Cigar smoke was becoming thick in the little room. Edkins

coughed, walked over to the fireplace, and drew back the screen. He threw the halfconsumed perfecto into

the pile of ashes. He opened a box that lay upon a table and produced a cigarette.

"If you prefer these," he remarked, "help yourself. I occasionally find cigar smoke too heavy."

"Not at all; not at all," assured Edkins. "There are other cigars if you want them. Or cigarettes, as you prefer.

Cranston's question was a direct one. It came just as Edkins was lighting his cigarette at an electric lighter.

Edkins looked sharply toward his guest. He caught the steady expression of Cranston's eyes. He hesitated on

"I am somewhat familiar with electrical appliances," declared Edkins. "In fact, I have financed the

development of certain successful inventions. On a moderate scale, you understand."

"I hold the same opinion," announced Cranston quietly. "That is why I wanted this discussion with you. I am

anxious to consider the proposition from the investor's angle. So I am particularly desirous of learning

Edkins puffed his cigarette thoughtfully. There had been no question in Cranston's tone, but those steady,

penetrating eyes were demanding in their glance. Edkins had finished no more than half of his cigarette;

nevertheless, he went to the fireplace, pulled back the screen, and nervously tossed the butt into the ashes.

ALL the while, Cranston remained silent. The visitor was evidently awaiting some comment from Edkins.

"I understand your apprehensions," he said. "It would be unwise to invest in some device that might be

Cranston's question was calmly interposed yet its tone was now apparent. Holbrook Edkins realized that he

had said exactly what be had not intended to discuss so soon. He had intimated that he had already been

"Not exactly," he said, hoping to correct the error. "I have been concerned more with a screening device a

"Necessary, I suppose," rejoined Cranston, "with improved Xrays of greater power than those now used."

"Yes." Holbrook Edkins paused suddenly. He threw his second cigarette into the fireplace. He turned to meet

Cranston's steady gaze. He could not tell whether or not those eyes were challenging.

Edkins recalled that he had mentioned negotiations with a promoter during his conversation with Rutledge

Mann. Had Mann passed that fact to Cranston? Whatever the case, Edkins had just admitted an interest in

pending Xray developments. He realized that Cranston, though silent in his inquiries, was gradually forcing

"I have had dealings," asserted Edkins, suddenly, "with a promoter whose name I have promised not to

reveal. He has shown me models of Xray machines which are already developed. He represents the

"Indeed," remarked Cranston quietly. "Then, Mr. Edkins, you are probably not interested in the invention

"No, no!" exclaimed Edkins, as he saw his guest rising to leave. "I am intensely interested, Mr. Cranston. It

would be most unfortunate if either one of us should be investing money to a futile purpose."

"Events will show that," decided Cranston in his easy tone. "I have no desire, Mr. Edkins, to cause you

financial loss. Nevertheless, I feel that my position is more desirable than yours. I am dealing with a

legitimate specialist in investments. Rutledge Mann has no desire to conceal his name. You, however, are

concerned with a wildcat promoter who prefers to keep under cover. I cannot compliment you on your

There was a sting to Cranston's words. They made Holbrook Edkins uncomfortable. Mechanically, Edkins

gripped the hand which his visitor extended. Then, as Cranston turned toward the door, the blufffaced man

"Wait!" he exclaimed. "We must talk this over. Perhaps I have made a serious mistake. I may need your

"Any one," returned Cranston quietly, "makes a mistake in dealing with a person who prefers to keep his

identity secret. Naturally, I do not ask you to abrogate any agreement which you have made with this

"Let me talk to you," pleaded Edkins. "I want you to hear the circumstances, then give me your fair opinion.

WITH a slight smile, the visitor consented to remain. Holbrook Edkins nervously lighted a fresh cigarette.

"This man," he said, "offered me an opportunity to invest in a patented invention which seemed good. I did so

more than two years ago and made money. He repeated with a similar offer, one year ago. It, too, resulted

"Finally, this promoter offered me a new proposition. In this very room in fact, Vel" Edkins caught

himself. "This promoter was seated in the very chair which you are occupying. He gave me the details of an

"I agreed to the preliminary financing. It was his job to coax along the inventor whom I have never met.

Matters have been progressing nicely, but slowly. The promoter has visited me occasionally; in fact, I expect

to hear from him either tonight or tomorrow. Meanwhile, I learned of the invention which Rutledge Mann is

"I understand," rejoined Cranston. "Nevertheless, your story does not change the circumstances. I still feel

"The man is convincing," declared Edkins. "He has other inventors on his private list. He states that he will

pyramid each enterprise, until the final one, financed by money which I have accumulated, will exceed all

"Because I am the only person who has shown the willingness to invest in what he terms futuristic

enterprises. My capital is somewhat limited. If I could pool my resources with other men of vision "

Edkins paused suddenly as he caught the gleam which appeared in Cranston's brilliant eyes. The blufffaced

man did not know that his visitor's expression was a feigned one. Edkins thought that Cranston had given a

"Perhaps," ventured Edkins, "you might be interested in such enterprises, Mr. Cranston. Would you like to

"Scarcely," returned Cranston in a languid tone, his feigned interest suddenly waning. "I am not accustomed,

Mr. Edkins, to holding conference with persons without knowing their names before I meet them."

"I can tell you this man's name," assured Edkins, "provided that you will not mention it to any other person.

You understand, of course, that my negotiations have all been secret. If I have your assurance "

Cranston appeared reluctant; then, with an air of indifference, he nodded slowly. Edkins took the sign as one

"The promoter's name," he announced, "is Eric Veldon. Beyond that, I know nothing concerning him. There

is no place where he can be located. I expect to hear from him; when I do, I shall tell him that you would like

"No," responded Cranston, in a steady tone. "That will not be necessary. I should not like to disappoint you, if

something prevented me from the meeting. Suppose, Mr. Edkins, that you merely arrange to have Eric

Veldon call to see you. Then send me word of the meeting time. I shall be here if possible. Let my arrival be

Holbrook Edkins acknowledged the wisdom of Cranston's decision. The blufffaced millionaire tossed his

consumed cigarette in the fireplace. As he turn to speak again, there was a rap at the door. The servant

EDKINS accompanied Lamont Cranston downstairs. He heard his guest conduct a short conversation. The

words were meaningless; evidently Cranston was receiving some message. This proved to be the case.

"I must go back to the Cobalt Club," announced Cranston, as he hung up the receiver. "I have just received a

call regarding an important appointment which I have been expecting for some time. I shall hear from you,

After a parting handshake, Cranston left by the front door. Holbrook Edkins watched him enter a trim coupe.

He saw the car drive away. But Edkins did not observe what occurred within the automobile.

In the darkness of the coupe, Lamont Cranston underwent a quick transformation. His hand drew a mass of

black cloth from an opened bag upon the seat. The folds of a dark cloak spread over his seated form. A

broadbrimmed slouch hat settled upon his head. Heavy automatics went beneath his cloak.

Only the eyes of Lamont Cranston remained visible. They were the keen eyes which Holbrook Edkins had

noted; but, from the darkness, they burned with vivid light as they gazed along the street ahead.

Lamont Cranston had become The Shadow. A weird laugh rippled from his unseen lips. Tonight, The

Shadow had learned the identity of the man whom he sought Eric Veldon, the superfiend who dealt in

More than that, The Shadow had received a message which promised quick activity. He was starting on a

mission which might lead him to the hidden lair of the very enemy whose name he now knew!

The coupe traveled swiftly as it reached an avenue. The firm hands of The Shadow were upon the wheel. The

eyes of The Shadow glowed as they looked ahead. The Shadow's creepy whisper again formed its sibilant

AT the moment when Lamont Cranston was leaving the home of Holbrook Edkins, Cliff Marsland, agent of

The Shadow, was entering the side door of an old garage in northern Manhattan. Tonight, Cliff expected

He had come to this spot with Punks Gumbert. Cliff and the mealymouthed gangster were to meet Duke

Fortunately, they had arrived ahead of Duke and his gang. That had given Cliff time to saunter out to a cigar

store and buy a pack of cigarettes. At the store, he had also telephoned to Burbank.

Cliff was thinking of the call that he had made. He had been able to inform Burbank of but one potent fact:

Duke Scurley intended to put someone on the spot. The mob with Cliff as a member was going out from

the rendezvous. They would pick up some victim and take the unfortunate man for a ride which would end,

Where was the place? Cliff had not yet been able to learn. He knew that Burbank would relay his message to

The Shadow, but Cliff felt the information would be of doubtful value. Before The Shadow could reach this

This unfortunate situation was due to Punks Gumbert. The scrawny gangster had said nothing about the

evening's work until he and Cliff had neared the rendezvous. It was the first time that Cliff had heard of the

All that Cliff could hope for was a break that might enable him to trace the course from the garage to the final

Hazy forms showed within the garage when Cliff entered. Duke Scurley and his gangsters had arrived. A

growled voice spoke from a corner. Cliff recognized Scurley's tones and approached.

Cliff joined the racketeer. Duke Scurley was a big, heavy fellow, whose huge bulk was easily recognized,

"We're going on a big job," said Duke, in a low tone. "Out to get a guy that thinks he's wise. Punks tells me

"Good," declared Duke. "We're going to grab this phony when he don't expect it, see? That's why I'm

Cliff responded. In quick fashion, he produced both his automatics and thrust their barrels toward Duke

"Say," he remarked. "You handle them guns tike they were .22s, instead of .45s. Boy! What gats! You're the

first bird I've had in my outfit that carried smoke wagons the size of them. Let's see one."

Cliff lowered one automatic. He handed the other to Duke Scurley. The racketeer weighted it, turned the

barrel toward Cliff Marsland; then, with a quick jab, thrust the muzzle against the body of The Shadow's

"Drop that other rod!" he ordered. "Drop it! You're the guy we're going to get!"

CLIFF'S response was a quick twist that carried him away from the gun which Duke Scurley held. At the

same time, Cliff swung his right hand upward to open fire on the astonished racketeer. He would have turned

These ruffians had edged forward while Cliff's back had been toward them. They fell upon Cliff, and gripped

his arm. Cliff's hand went up as his finger pressed the trigger. The bullet shot within three inches of Duke

Scurley's head. Then Cliff, the automatic wrenched from his hand, went down beneath the two men who had

Other mobsters added the weight of numbers. While Duke Scurley cursed, Cliff was stretched upon the floor

and belts were fastened about his arms and legs. Punks Gumbert, joining the others, supplied a gag which

The circling beam of a flashlight showed Cliff Marsland helpless. Duke Scurley, speaking from above, spat

"Thought you'd pull a fast one, eh?" he demanded. "Well, you slipped, smart guy! I thought there was

something phony when you joined up with my mob. You ain't an ordinary gorilla like the rest of the crew.

"I put the clamps to Punks Gumbert, see? Asked him what the idea was bringing you into the outfit. He

figured you thought it was fun to put guys on the spot. Told me he'd said something to you about the way we

"So I figured we'd show you. We've got rid of doublecrossers before this, and you looked like another good

one. Maybe you've been wondering about what happens to the guys we take for a ride. Well, you're going to

Chuckling harshly, Duke ordered his men to put Cliff into an old touring car. The mobsters set forth. There

were half a dozen in the crew, and they had a battered sedan in addition to the tottering car. Both automobiles

Cliff Marsland, flattened on the floor of the touring car, accepted his lot grimly. He realized that he had

overplayed his game. This was the result. Duke Scurley had chosen him as the victim for whom someone

Cliff knew that he would learn the destination where he passed to other hands. He realized, also, that his

journey would not end there. The fate that lay beyond! Speculation on that subject was not enjoyable.

Worst of all, Cliff felt sure that he could expect no aid. He had fallen into a simple trap. Instead of being

present to see an unknown victim sent on his mysterious way, he himself was going, without any possibility

Cliff had assured Burbank that all would be well. When he had made the telephone call, Cliff had held no

doubt about that fact. These altered circumstances had proven totally unexpected. Yet, with it all, Cliff

Danger was part of The Shadow's service. Often, in the past, Cliff had gained miraculous escapes. Yet he had

never lulled himself with the thought that all adventures would have a happy outcome. In fact, Cliff had

always resigned himself to an adventurous career with violent death as its inevitable termination.

THE touring car was swerving corners. Duke Scurley himself was driving it. The sedan was following in the

rear. The gang leader was taking a roundabout course to the junction point where he would pass Cliff

Cliff had no idea of which way the car was heading. He felt sure that they were still in northern Manhattan

and that the transfer place would not be far away. That surmise proved to be correct. The touring car

The swerve threw Cliff's chin against the footrest on the floor. It was a brutal blow; the gangsters laughed as

they saw their victim take the bump. To Cliff Marsland, however, the jolt meant good fortune. It gave him the

chance he wanted. As he moved his head from the spot where it had struck, he felt the gag loosen between his

Working grimly, Cliff forced the bandage down upon his chin. He was afraid to tug at the straps which bound

As the touring car came to a stop, Cliff gripped the gag between his teeth so that its looseness would not be

The mobsters clambered from the touring car. They carried Cliff Marsland along the sidewalk and deposited

him in a narrow alleyway. One of the gangsters added a derisive kick as an afterthought. He turned to follow

"Cheese it!" Cliff heard the first mobster whisper. "There's a car just pulled up see it? Over there near the

"Some guy parking," came the reply. "He's got the lights out. Come on we'll sneak back with Duke."

Evidently Duke Scurley had also noticed the car. Cliff heard the gang leader's growl at the end of the alley.

"Punks has sneaked over to see who's in the car," he stated. "Wait till he gets back. We'll scram after we're

Tense silence followed. Then Cliff heard someone slouch up through the darkness. He heard a voice Punks

"Say, Duke!" The scrawny mobster's tone was awed. "There ain't nobody in that car! Honest, there ain't!"

"Are you goofy?" questioned Duke. "No guy could have got out of there. You started off before the car was

A sudden elation seized Cliff Marsland. He knew the situation. The person who had come in that car was The

In the midst of his sudden exhilaration, a rapid succession of thoughts gave Cliff an understanding that he had

not gained before. This was the neighborhood in which Doctor Rupert Sayre's car had been discovered. The

Shadow had linked it with Cliff's own report of an abandoned district where Duke Scurley stowed his

New ideas swept through Cliff's brain. The Shadow was here to see what happened to the man whom Duke

Scurley left. The Shadow had not learned that Cliff Marsland, his own agent, was the victim. Hence The

Shadow was not here to wage war with Duke Scurley's mob; he was here to watch after they had departed!

"We'll slide along," came Duke's new growl. "That guy must have gone in some house before you got up

Cliff Marsland grinned. When Duke and his crew departed, The Shadow would arrive. Cliff knew, that the

phantom figure was close at hand, unseen by the watching mobsters. As soon as Duke was gone, Cliff could

FOOTSTEPS sounded as the gangsters moved away. Cliff listened for The Shadow's approach; he also

waited for the cars to start away, figuring that The Shadow would be cautious until they had departed.

Then, of a sudden, two men arrived. Coming like vultures, they swooped upon Cliff's body and raised it from

the alleyway. Cliff realized instantly who this pair must be. They were the mysterious men who carried away

There was no time for waiting now. Duke and his men were at the cars; The Shadow was advancing

somewhere close at hand; in the interim, Cliff would be gone and The Shadow would be none the wiser.

A loud oath came from beyond the alley. Duke Scurley had been loitering by the car. Cliff's cry was bringing

Cliff's final shout ended. A hand clapped a saturated cloth to Cliff's nostrils. A powerful anesthetic took

immediate effect. Amid a whirlwind of scattered ideas. Cliff heard distant shouts. He felt himself being

The minions of the fiend were carrying away their victim. Cliff Marsland, agent of The Shadow, was being

swept away from the spot where he had hoped for aid. Eric Veldon's mechanical men were performing the

DUKE SCURLEY believed in action. Cliff Marsland's cry had brought the gun leader on the run. As Duke

hurried toward the end of the alley, he clicked the button of his flashlight and turned a broad beam of light

upon the building wall. In response, the gangsters who had reached the parked cars shot on the headlights to

Duke had drawn a revolver. He had one purpose: to slay Cliff Marsland where he lay; then to remove the

body with all haste. Duke was ready for the deed the moment he reached the corner of the building. He did

not know that Eric Veldon's minions had seized The Shadow's agent. He raised his hand to fire a quick shot

A sharp cry came from the touring car. Responding, Duke Scurley swung his flashlight away from the alley.

As the beam glared upon the wall of the next building, Duke saw the object which had caused the cry.

Before him, like a sinister specter of the night, stood a tall form garbed in black. A mammoth being in that

It was Punks Gumbert who had spied the phantom shape. Approaching the alleyway, The Shadow had

hastened forward to beat Duke Scurley to the goal. The lights of the touring car had brought the master of

Swiftly did The Shadow act. Had he concentrated upon his nearest antagonist, Duke Scurley, all would have

been ill. The Shadow, however, whirled in the direction from which the warning cry had come. Punks

Gumbert, leaning from the right side of the touring car, was leveling a revolver.

A huge automatic spoke. Its shot came from The Shadow's hand. Punks Gumbert's warning had sounded his

own doom. The marksmanship of The Shadow proved its accuracy before the scrawny mobster could

respond. Punks Gumbert tumbled from the touring car. His mealy mouth coughed bloody gasps. The rat who

Another fighter might have concentrated his fire upon the touring car. Not so The Shadow. Again, his

strategy proved its merit. Punks Gumbert's sudden end had brought a momentary lapse from that direction.

The racketeer's gun was up. Duke's finger was on the trigger. Just as that finger pressed, the tall form of The

Shadow dwindled. Duke's bullet, aimed for The Shadow's glittering eyes, went high. Its hot lead singed the

A mocking laugh resounded; with it came a loud report from two feet above the sidewalk. Duke Scurley

staggered with the sound of The Shadow's automatic. The master's aim had reached the racketeer's heart.

The gangsters in the touring car were stunned. They recognized this phantom fighter. The terrible results of

The Shadow's opening fire brought in them the desire for flight. Punks Gumbert, then Duke Scurley those

SO far as the witnessing mobsters were concerned, the path to the alleyway was clear. It was the ignorance of

The men from the sedan were piling forth. They had seen Duke Scurley fall. They had not seen the shape

beyond their leader. With one accord, they leaped to the sidewalk. Dashing past the touring car, they headed

Crouched against the wall, The Shadow held his fire. His foemen had not seen him. They were firing pot

shots in the dark. The men in the touring car the only ones who knew the situation, arose to draw their

guns, encouraged by the fact that there was no response. They did not know The Shadow's strategy.

Just as the gangsters from the sedan came on a line with the touring car, The Shadow raised his automatics.

Two muzzles blazed with full force as The Shadow pressed the triggers. He was aiming straight for the

advancers; his bullets, like an enfilade, were also directed toward the touring car!

The Shadow had replaced his sharpshooting tactics with a veritable barrage. He was meeting a mass attack,

pouring a leaden deluge into the ranks of the attackers, with every odd bullet sweeping on to the massed men

Amazing strategy! One man from the sedan fell before the others realized the presence of their enemy. Hot

lead ripped through the running ranks. Snarling mobsters sprawled upon the sidewalk. Gunaiming men sank

One gangster dropped his revolver and leaped to the wheel. The bullet from an automatic shattered the

windshield. It found its lodging place in the driver's breast. The mobsman slumped behind the wheel.

Those who had fallen on the sidewalk thought no longer of return to the sedan. Two were still capable of

motion. Wounded by The Shadow's bullets, they rose and staggered to the touring car. They tumbled in

One man had gained the wheel. Alone unscathed, he shot the car forward. As the automobile passed the spot

where The Shadow loomed, a wounded man arose from the back and with a tense, almost dying, effort

The Shadow's automatic spoke. Not toward the man who held the gun, but toward the driver of the car. The

automobile swerved as the driver cried aloud. It headed for the opposite curb. The gunraising gangster fired.

His shot went wide. The bullet thudded against the wall above The Shadow's head.

The man who had fired made no further effort. All his strength had been spent in that last attempt to down the

dread fighter whose name meant terror to the underworld. The touring car jolted along the curb; one mobster

The wounded driver, although sinking fast, managed to step upon the accelerator. With wobbly, serpentine

course, the car of beaten gangsters shot ahead until it came to a crashing stop beyond the next corner.

The echoes of the shots had ceased. A peal of mocking laughter had replaced them. The tiny ray of a

sharpdisked flashlight glimmered in the alleyway. The Shadow had gained the spot he sought. His torch

Out went the light. A phantom shape traveled swiftly through the alley to the street at the other end. Again

the quest was in vain. The minions of the fiend had profited by the delay of battle. With Cliff Marsland in

Even then, the master of darkness was not beaten. He glided back to the street where the battle had been

fought. Swiftly, he gained his coupe. Headlights showed brilliantly. The car shot forward and turned the

Though his start might be a blind one, The Shadow intended to take up the trail of those captors who had

wrested his agent from their grasp. Relying only upon intuition, The Shadow was seeking a trail that might

IT was another unforeseen occurrence that blocked The Shadow's plan. The shrill note of a siren came to the

pursuer's ears. Straight up the street swept a car with glaring headlights, not more than a block distant. Police

The Shadow swung the wheel of the coupe. The trim, lowbalanced car responded. It swerved through a

narrow thoroughfare that showed suddenly before the headlights. With roaring motor, The Shadow took this

More sirens. The Shadow knew the reason. This district of Manhattan had been heavily patrolled since the

disappearance of Joseph Barratini and Rupert Sayre. With cunning and skill, The Shadow picked a course

which lead him through the network of streets. His coupe passed beyond the district into which the officers

Along the street where the gangster cars had been, policemen found the relics of The Shadow's battle. Duke

Scurley lay dead at the entrance of the alley. Punks Gumbert was an inert form. Other mobsters were

In the touring car, some men were moving, others were not. The driver, crippled by The Shadow's final

bullet, was slumped beneath the wheel, his right hand extending through the broken windshield.

Gang warfare. That was the answer. The policemen who surveyed the riddled touring car were convinced that

this smashing result could have been accomplished only by a barrage of bullets from a dozen gangster guns.

Orders went out to stop all large cars that might appear to contain a squad of desperadoes.

THE trim coupe was rolling easily along an avenue, headed southward in Manhattan. Unscathed, his car

untouched, The Shadow was returning from the conflict. His keen eyes were steady as they watched the

A soft laugh came from The Shadow's lips. Partly a tone of triumph, partly a note of regret, that laugh

The master of darkness had proven his skill tonight. Singlehanded, he had brought disaster to a complete

Yet in his fight, The Shadow, in dealing with superior numbers, had been unable to accomplish the task

which he had sought. He had heard Cliff Marsland's cry for aid. He had realized, on the instant, the dilemma

Chance had played against The Shadow. Cliff Marsland had fallen into the hands of the enemy. He was in the

power of the superfiend; all chance of tracing him tonight was ended. Yet The Shadow's sibilant laugh

Cliff Marsland was still alive. Perhaps fate would play the other way in return for its unwarranted trickery.

For The Shadow asked no long delay. He had learned the identity of his master enemy.

By tomorrow night, The Shadow would be face to face with Eric Veldon, the murderous fiend who toyed

with human life. If Clifford Marsland still were living then, The Shadow would surely save him.

Through Holbrook Edkins, The Shadow would reach Eric Veldon. That thought was prophetic. Yet before it

HEAVY tires crunched on a gravel driveway. A big limousine came to a stop before an isolated house. Two

men moved through the darkness. They carried a limp body into the building. Laboring footsteps echoed with

The solemn tread died away. Cliff Marsland, agent of The Shadow, had reached the end of his journey. His

captors were bringing him within the portals of Eric Veldon's mansion of mystery.

In an upstairs room, a young man was listening to the sounds that betokened Cliff's arrival. Calm, yet

seriousfaced, Doctor Rupert Sayre accepted the rhythmic footsteps as proof that another prisoner had

The room in which Sayre dwelt was not uncomfortable. On the contrary, the young surgeon had found many

items provided for his comfort. He was a prisoner, in a highwalled room where daylight penetrated only

through an inaccessible skylight. But the burden of confinement seemed less at night.

On this particular evening, Sayre was smoking his favorite pipe, which had been in his pocket at the time of

Rupert Sayre had awakened in his room. Between his discovery of Joseph Barratini's dead body and the

awakening, there had been a complete lapse. Sayre knew that he had been under the influence of some

In one corner of the room stood a pedestal which held two instruments. One was like a stock ticker, with its

paper ribbon; the other was a small typewriter which had only capital letters. Sayre had first noticed the

device when it had ticked a message; he had recognized it as a teletype apparatus.

Brief instructions had imprinted themselves upon the paper ribbon. Some operator, probably in a distant

The physician had typed back that he would obey the injunction. That had been the beginning of a routine. A

corpselike man had stalked mechanically into Sayre's room, bringing food. Since then, new provisions had

Yet Sayre knew that this captivity could not go on indefinitely. He wondered why his life had been spared.

He sensed that he would soon learn. Tonight, he had heard an automobile set forth; he had heard it return.

Was that a sign that Eric Veldon contemplated plans which might involve Sayre's welfare?

WHILE the young physician pondered on this question, the teletype began to tick. Puffing his pipe, Sayre

strolled to the corner and began to read the words that appeared upon the paper tape.

"MY SERVANT, ALPHA, WILL CONDUCT YOU TO THE MEETING PLACE," came the next words.

No further message appeared upon the tape. Sayre knocked the ashes from his pipe and sat down to await the

coming of Eric Veldon's servant. Shortly afterward, the door opened. A human automaton entered.

This man was tall and his features seemed to be molded of a pliable substance. In fact, his face, lifeless in

expression, looked like a mass of manilatinted wax. The man's eyes, though steady, were expressionless.

This human machine stared directly at the young surgeon. The molded lips formed a single word:

Sayre arose. The creature stood aside to let him pass. A hand rose like a semaphore signal to point the way

along a corridor. Sayre came to the head of a gloomy stairway. He stopped short. Another corpselike figure

was standing there. This one was short; the face of the living automaton was of a criminal type. Sayre noted a

The man's arm swung up and pointed toward the stairs. Sayre could hear the approaching beat of footsteps.

Alpha, the automaton who had summoned him, was following. Sayre went down the stairs. There, a few feet

beyond the last step, he encountered a cadaverous creature that stood like a lifeless sentinel.

Sayre recognized the monstrosity who had come to Joseph Barratini's apartment. The human automaton

pointed to a corridor that led to the left. Sayre took that path until he found the way blocked by still another

Alpha arrived and uttered a single, unintelligible word. The last of the sentinels stalked away, with slow,

monotonous footbeats. Like echoes, came the sound of other steps. Sayre knew that the men who had guided

him were also tramping away from their appointed spots. The physician stood with only Alpha beside him.

The sides of this corridor were paneled. Sayre heard a slight whirring sound. He looked just in time to see a

panel slide open. He turned toward Alpha. The mechanical man raised his hand and pointed through the

SAYRE went into the room. He found himself in a small chamber with darkpaneled walls. There was a

On the table, Sayre spied a large frame with dark glass. These objects were barely distinguishable in the

Rupert Sayre sat down. He faced the dark glass. He heard Alpha tramp away. He caught the sound of the

A hidden mechanism began to thrum. The lights in the room went out. Total blackness prevented Sayre from

observing anything that happened until a glow began to penetrate the dark glass of the frame. Suddenly, the

glow burst into an aura of radiant, violet light. Rupert Sayre gasped in utter amazement.

Framed in the space before him, within reach save for the blocking glass, was a terrifying object. A living

skeleton, its upper ribs in view, was facing him from the other side of the table. Sayre found himself staring

This was no illusion. The creature was real. Yet Sayre was quick to recognize the truth. He was looking at the

skeleton of a living man. These bones were visible instead of flesh because the person was within the focus of

an Xray machine of extraordinary power. The dark glass formed a screen of fluoroscopic particles which

Skeleton hands appeared. Bony arms rested their elbows on the table beyond the screen. The jaws of the skull

Sayre was prompt with his reply. He suspected that this bony frame was Eric Veldon, the man whom Joseph

"That is good," announced the skeleton. "Tell me. How did you come to follow Doctor Barratini?"

Sayre made a quick decision. He felt that a partial revelation of the truth would enable him to cover up the

facts which he did not wish to tell. Tersely and in methodical fashion, he offered his explanation.

"I was calling on Doctor Barratini," he said. "Someone rapped at the door of the apartment, Doctor Barratini

became alarmed. He asked if I had my car available. I told him yes. He put me in another room and told me

"An oddlooking fellow entered. He gave money to Doctor Barratini, who then went out with him. I saw

them enter a limousine. I followed in my machine. When the limousine stopped, I alighted. I opened the door

The skeleton interrupted with a grating laugh. There was no need for Sayre to continue. The young physician

"You are a surgeon," announced the living skeleton. "Your work is known to me. I learned your identity

through cards upon your person. I have work for you to perform. Chance has given you an opportunity."

RUPERT SAYRE shuddered at the harsh tones of the skeleton's voice. He knew well that this was Eric

Veldon. He felt that he could foretell what the fiend intended to propose. He, Rupert Sayre, would be

requested to take up the work which Doctor Joseph Barratini, dead, could no longer perform.

"I have servants," declared the skeleton, "who serve me well. These minions were once criminals. Doctor

Barratini performed operations upon their brains. The men have preserved their natural capabilities, but they

"Their old names have been forgotten. They are designated by Greek letters. The servant who brought you

"Unfortunately, Doctor Barratini and I disagreed. He felt that his operations should be for the benefit of the

subjects; that these former criminals could be allowed to take new places in society.

"I decided otherwise. It was necessary for me to eliminate Doctor Barratini. I chose the method which he

would least suspect. I summoned him apparently to perform another operation. My minion obeyed two

instructions: first, he released a quantity of lethal gas into the interior of the limousine; second, he stopped at

"I wanted to be sure that Barratini was not followed. You appeared; you stepped into the limousine. My

"The admission of air into the limousine had thinned the gas. You were overcome by the effects, but you did

not die. I, naturally, was interested when I learned your identity. I had intended to attempt any future brain

operations myself. It has now occurred to me that you can serve in the capacity of operating surgeon."

The skeleton ceased speaking. Rupert Sayre stared. He was in an incredible situation. He was facing a man

whose features he could never recognize. As a means of disguise, Eric Veldon had chosen the amazing course

The grating laugh of the skeleton interrupted. Harsh words came from the grinning teeth.

"You have this choice," announced the fiend. "You may operate upon the subjects whom I provide; or you

may pass that privilege on to me. Should I be forced to play the part of surgeon, you, Doctor Sayre, will be

The thought was gruesome. Sayre thought of the human automata who paraded the gloom of this horrible

house. The young surgeon faltered at the idea of reducing other human beings to that mechanical state; but

"There is only one possible choice," remarked Rupert Sayre. "That is to perform as operating surgeon. After

all, these men are criminals. I ask only that you provide me with subjects of that type."

A laugh came from the living skull. Eric Veldon had evidently expected this answer. He was pleased by

Rupert Sayre's attitude. He did not know that young surgeon was working for a delay. Sayre was discreet

enough to feign indifference to the fate of the subjects whom Veldon might provide.

"Your request will be granted," announced the skeleton. "I choose criminals only. They are easy to obtain.

"You, Doctor Sayre, shall provide me with a host of mechanical men. All will be factors in my schemes. At

my beck, they will aid me in whatever purpose I may choose. They will not turn from crime. They will

commit new crimes in obedience to my mandates. Deprived of past memory, free from their individual

With these words, the skeleton began to disappear. The bony form was wiped out by degrees, darkness

moving upward until the entire figure was gone. A few minutes passed; dim lights glowed within the room.

THE physician realized what had caused this evanishment. The panel in the wall, just beyond the screen,

must be capable of sliding up and down. The Xray machine was behind it. The panel, probably coated with

Eric Veldon had come into the darkened room through some secret entrance. He had taken a chair beyond the

table. He had dropped the panel to come within the focus of the rays. Another operation had raised the panel

With Merle Clussig's powerful Xray machine; with the improved screening that the inventor had devised to

prevent injurious effects, Eric Veldon had accomplished the seemingly miraculous.

Even to Doctor Rupert Sayre, whose knowledge of Xrays gave him an inkling to the method employed, the

The slide panel of the room came open. A new worry swept through Rupert Sayre's brain. There, at the

opening, was Alpha. The servant had come to summon him to a new adventure. The odd, mechanical creature

Rupert Sayre arose, trying to repress the feeling that he could not overcome. He knew that he had made an

agreement with Eric Veldon. He sensed that the fiend was ready to put him to the test!

RUPERT SAYRE was not mistaken in his apprehensions. Alpha, the taciturn servant, was leading him to

another portion of the building. Instead of starting back by the corridor through which Sayre had come,

Alpha, with a beckoning motion, drew the physician toward the farther end of the long corridor.

Alpha opened a door. Sayre entered. The servant closed the door. Sayre stood alone in a little anteroom.

Beyond this, a door stood ajar. It was obvious that the physician was to advance alone.

The moment that he pushed open the door, Sayre stopped short. He had not expected the scene that lay before

him, even though Doctor Barratini's account had forewarned him of what might be seen here.

Sayre was at the threshold of a brightly lighted operating room. Two figures garbed in white were standing on

either side of a wheeled table. The physician recognized them as a pair of Veldon's stolid,

This was the result of Sayre's pact with the living skeleton! The surgeon had expressed his willingness to

operate upon criminals. One had already been provided! The recollection of the returning car and the

rhythmic pound of feet flashed through Rupert Sayre's mind. Eric Veldon's minions had been returning with

The situation was grotesque. Former criminals, reduced to primitive, steadymoving machines, served Eric

Veldon as their master. With their intelligence brought to a mere instinctive level, they went forth to bring in

others of their ilk that the fiendish controller might have new servants in his retinue.

The two minions stepped aside as Rupert Sayre approached the table. The physician bent above the

outstretched man. He gained a puzzled frown as he surveyed the face of Clifford Marsland.

Cliff was still under the influence of the anesthetic which Veldon's henchmen had used to stifle his outcry. In

repose, Cliff's face had lost some of the harshness which it usually displayed. When dealing with mobsters,

Rupert Sayre had felt a keen reluctance even in faking consent to perform an operation under Eric Veldon's

auspices. Had the surgeon found a toughfaced crook awaiting him, he might have fought against his inner

feelings, knowing that his own future welfare would be at stake. When he viewed Cliff Marsland's cleancut

countenance, Rupert Sayre experienced a surging antagonism toward Eric Veldon. The physician became set

THE sound of a ticker attracted Sayre's attention. Turning, the physician saw a pedestal close by. It resembled

the teletype apparatus in the room where Sayre had been kept a prisoner. Going to the pedestal, Sayre saw

In response, Sayre boldly stretched out his hands to the little typewriter and printed his objection to the order

"THIS MAN," the physician typed, "DOES NOT APPEAR TO BE A CRIMINAL. HIS CASE IS NOT IN

"YOU ARE MISTAKEN," came the ticker reply. "I KNOW THE MAN'S HISTORY. HE IS A CROOK

Sayre walked back to the operating table. He made a brief examination. He solemnly returned to the

"THE MAN HAS SLIGHT INJURIES," was the message he dispatched. "HE HAS BEEN GIVEN TOO

"PROCEED," came the words on the tape. "REGARD THIS CASE AS AN EXPERIMENT. OTHER

In the face of this order, Rupert Sayre gained a sudden inspiration. He knew that Eric Veldon, whom he had

seen as a living skeleton, was a man who had small regard for human life. At the same time, Sayre also knew

that Veldon was anxious to assemble the most capable of human machines. The physician resolved to make

an appeal along this line following a course that would make him appear to be in harmony with Veldon's

There was a pause; then came methodical words from Veldon statements that made Rupert Sayre smile

"YOUR ADVICE SHOWS FORESIGHT," printed the ticker. "I COMPLIMENT YOU UPON IT. HOW

Sayre pondered. He wanted to make the time as long as possible, yet he did not care to arouse Veldon's

That was all. Rupert Sayre stood beside the teletype apparatus, wondering what would happen next. Cliff

Turning, Sayre saw the young man's eyes open. The physician stared directly into Cliff's face; even in his

Cliff's lips moved. They made no intelligible sound and Rupert Sayre was ignoble to reply, knowing that Eric

Veldon might still be watching from some hidden loophole. The physician, however, gave a slight nod, which

Then came footsteps. Sayre turned to see Alpha entering the room. The servant beckoned to the physician and

As Sayre prepared to leave, Alpha gave a guttural word and the other two mechanical men picked up Cliff

With Alpha at his heels, Sayre paced through the long corridor and ascended the stairs. He walked directly to

his own room and entered. Alpha followed. Framed within the doorway, the minion watched until the

INSTANTLY, Rupert Sayre responded to a new inspiration. Impulsively, he raised his hand and uttered a

For the first time, the automaton showed a definite return of human initiative. The power of the word seemed

to have a marked effect. His own eyes meeting those of Rupert Sayre, the minion seemed to yield to the

Sayre uttered the words in a slow, steady tone. Without hesitation, Alpha obeyed. Not once did the

In a trice, Sayre decided that this must be the system which Eric Veldon used in controlling the braindulled

The surgeon was well acquainted with the methods which Doctor Barratini had advocated. With brains

reduced to primitive activity, it would be possible to remold them. This was exactly what Eric Veldon had

been doing; but he had made no effort to obliterate the criminal instinct. Instead, he had turned it to his own

Did Alpha recognize Rupert Sayre as a master? The physician believed he did. Sayre beckoned. Alpha

Alpha was evidently the first of the henchmen whom Veldon had obtained. In all probability, his intelligence

had returned in a fuller measure. He had reached the stage where he served almost as Veldon's lieutenant.

"Tell me your name," he ordered, being careful to phrase the sentence as a command, not as a question.

"That is your new name," declared Sayre. "Tell me the old name the one you had before you came here."

This was encouraging. The man must have some recollection of the past. If it could be stimulated, Alpha

"There is another man," said Sayre, cautiously, "who has called himself master."

The monotone of the man's reply convinced Rupert Sayre that there was a wide gap between Eric Veldon and

all his henchmen even this chief lieutenant. It was probable that Alpha and the others responded to orders

but hesitated when they were questioned. Holding this theory, Sayre was sure that no word of this episode

"Tonight," said Sayre calmly, "I saw a man who is a prisoner here. Remember, Alpha, I am your master. I

The human automaton hesitated. Sayre wondered what medley of thoughts could be passing through that

As Sayre arose from his chair, Alpha turned and stalked toward the hall. The physician followed. The

automaton stopped before a door farther down the corridor. He opened it. Boldly, Sayre entered.

He found Cliff Marsland seated in a chair. The room was a counterpart of the one which Sayre occupied.

Alpha stood within the doorway. Sayre was afraid to dismiss him. Instead, he ordered him to close the door

Taking a chair, Sayre seated himself by Cliff. The Shadow's agent seemed weak, but be had regained some of

"MY name is Doctor Rupert Sayre," he explained, in a low tone, talking rapidly so as to elude Alpha's

comprehension. "I am a prisoner here. I am anxious to escape. I have made some progress with this jailer. He

"Let's hope so," nodded Cliff. "My name is Marsland. A gang of mobsters took me for a ride. I landed here."

"They thought I was a crook," admitted Cliff. Then, seeing Sayre's puzzled expression, he added: "I was

"No." Cliff was deliberate. "A private investigator. Working on a special case."

"Good," said Sayre. "I can rely upon you. Would you advise our making a break for it right now?"

"Is that fellow" Cliff nodded toward Alpha "the only one whom you have lined up?"

"Yes," admitted Sayre, "and I don't know just how valuable he will prove to be. He may balk "

"Hold it," he said. "Wait until we're sure of ourselves. If we're up against it, we can make a break. But if this

"You're right," agreed the doctor. "These men, Marsland, are nothing more than machines. Their brains have

been altered. They obey commands to the letter. They are criminals, who have come under the control of a

Rupert Sayre leaned close to Cliff's ear before he pronounced the name of the master plotter. He was afraid

"So far as you are concerned," said Sayre, gravely, "he is anxious to have you join his crew of minions. He

"I gained a delay of fortyeight hours. That means, Marsland, that we must act before that time has expired."

"Do not think," he said, "that our capture will be forgotten. Fortyeight hours is ample time. We shall be

"Perhaps," rejoined Cliff. "But the one who will come to our aid has a power all his own. I cannot give his

name. I can only assure you that he will find some way to this place. He will learn the name of the fiend who

Cliff's tone was so convincing that Sayre nodded in instinctive understanding. The physician realized

suddenly that it would be unwise to prolong this meeting. He arose and turned toward the door.

As the servant conducted him to his own apartment, Doctor Sayre felt a new hope. He had talked with

Marsland, his fellow prisoner. The man's positive conviction that aid was coming made the future seem

At the same time, Rupert Sayre was determined to continue his experiments with Alpha. He believed that he

Back in his room, Cliff Marsland, too, was elated. The short conference with Doctor Sayre had given him

proof that he had, at least, two more days to live. Within that space of time, The Shadow would be here!

CLIFF MARSLAND had tremendous confidence in The Shadow; that confidence was based upon the

amazing feats which The Shadow had accomplished in the past. Had Cliff, however, analyzed the difficulties

of his own situation, he would have held grave apprehensions regarding the fate that awaited him.

The crux of The Shadow's effort had come with that singlehanded fight which he had waged with Duke

Scurley's mob. The Shadow had wiped out the gangsters, but he had been forced to lose the great opportunity

Thus handicapped, The Shadow was playing the one trump card that remained a close watch over the

affairs of Holbrook Edkins. The millionaire had assured Lamont Cranston that word would come from Eric

Veldon and that he would arrange an appointment without telling the promoter that a stranger would be

In the meantime, there was the chance that Veldon, calling in person on Edkins, could be trailed. Hence,

when evening again came to Manhattan, a pair of keen, observant eyes were keeping close watch upon the

front of the house where Holbrook Edkins lived. The Shadow, himself, was on watch.

With darkness forming a gloomy shroud, a stealthy figure moved toward the house. The Shadow reached the

blackness of a side area. His tall form poised beside the wall. Reaching upward through the darkness, The

The lock yielded under silent pressure. The sash lifted. Unseen, unheard, The Shadow entered the gilded

Here, The Shadow had a vantage point. The room was unlighted. Edkins was evidently upstairs. If a visitor

arrived, if Edkins decided to go out, The Shadow would quickly learn the fact. As yet, there had been no

It was not The Shadow's usual role to play a waiting part, particularly when circumstances had placed one of

his agents in a precarious situation. Yet it was chance, alone, that had tricked The Shadow; and tonight, The

Shadow was playing for the turn. His keen analysis of Eric Veldon's methods had given him positive

Merle Clussig Wycroft Dustin Joseph Barratini those three had held a definite association with Eric

Veldon, whose name The Shadow had so recently learned. Two of those men had died; the third had

It was inconceivable that Veldon would omit the precaution of keeping in touch with Holbrook Edkins, the

A CLOCK struck eight. Scarcely had its chimes ceased before a ringing sound came from the hall. It was the

telephone. The Shadow listened. A servant answered; then went upstairs. The heavy footsteps of Holbrook

The Shadow moved through the darkness of the living room. His keen eyes peered between a hanging curtain

"Hello," began the millionaire. "Ah! Veldon! I am glad to hear from you... Yes, I expected a call last night

certainly tonight... You should come to see me, yes. It is not usual for you to telephone...

"I must see you, Veldon... Tonight, positively... It concerns the financial arrangements... No, no. Do not

misunderstand me. I am not impatient. I have larger ideas... New capital... Others interested...

"You disapprove?" Edkins voiced doubt. "You may have your reasons, Veldon, but do not forget that my

money is concerned... No, I have made no agreement with any other person... Certainly, Veldon, I shall keep

your confidence... Well, yes I have been looking for someone else to put up additional capital "

The Shadow's eyes were glistening. Was Edkins about to name Lamont Cranston? It did not matter, so long

as Veldon's interest was aroused; yet the less that Edkins said from now on, the better.

"I have done nothing final," Edkins was saying. "Nevertheless, I see complications other inventions that

may nullify the ones that you are developing... Surely, Veldon. That is fair enough... Yes, I shall remain at

home this evening... Alone... Until you arrive. About ten o'clock? Earlier perhaps? Very good. Very good."

The call was concluded. Holbrook Edkins went upstairs. The hallway was empty. Apparently, the millionaire

would abide by his agreement and call no one until after Eric Veldon had arrived.

Coming from the curtain, The Shadow loomed in spectral shape as he approached the telephone and raised

the receiver. His quiet tones were confined to the mouthpiece as he gave the number that he wanted. Burbank

A short call followed, The Shadow's words being no more than hollow whispers in the deserted hall. Then the

Several minutes elapsed. The telephone bell rang again. The servant answered and went upstairs to summon

"What's that?" questioned Edkins. "Mr. Cranston, you say?... Is he there?... Oh, I understand now... Coming

here... Later in the evening... There must be some mistake. I did not call him at the Cobalt Club... Is there

Edkins half turned as he laid the telephone aside. The Shadow's eyes were watching him. The puzzled

expression which played upon the big man's bluff features were as plain as print on an opened page.

HOLBROOK EDKINS was pondering upon the mistake which was to bring Lamont Cranston here tonight.

Evidently someone had called Cranston at the Cobalt Club; Cranston had supposed it to be Edkins inviting

him to this house and had told a secretary to call up Edkins and verify the appointment he had made.

This meant complications, but they were clearing as Edkins considered them. Lamont Cranston was anxious

to meet Eric Veldon. Holbrook Edkins had suggested such a meeting. It was to be arranged informally.

Circumstances now made the meeting possible. If Cranston should arrive before Veldon, Edkins could

introduce Veldon to the multimillionaire. If Veldon came first, Cranston could be introduced to the

A smile appeared upon the bluff face. Holbrook Edkins seemed pleased. He had not intended to call Cranston

until after he had talked over the matter with Veldon, but with matters attending to themselves it would be

It was after eight o'clock. Eric Veldon might arrive any time before ten. Holbrook Edkins decided to remain

downstairs. This thought struck him when he was on the fourth step. He turned toward the living room.

The Shadow, meanwhile, was gliding into darkness. His eyes, peering toward the hall, saw Edkins approach.

With a soft swish of his black cloak, The Shadow swung over the window sill. His deft hand lowered the sash

When Edkins pressed the switch to illuminate the living room, the eyes were no longer at the window. The

Fifteen minutes passed. An invisible sentinel kept watch outside of the Edkins residence. The Shadow was

deliberately delaying the visit of Lamont Cranston until Eric Veldon should arrive.

A coupe pulled up across the street. Its lights went out, then on, then off the second time.

A simple signal. The Shadow glided noiselessly to the side of the car. His hand thrust an object through the

crevice of the window. The driver looked up suddenly as a piece of paper fluttered to his lap.

On came the dash light. The features of Clyde Burke, New York Classic reporter, appeared in the fringe of

illumination. Clyde had come here to wait instructions, responding to a call which he had received from

Burbank. He unfolded the sheet of paper. It contained a brief inked note, in The Shadow's code:

The writing faded. Clyde extinguished the dash light and waited in darkness. He knew that some important

trail was to be followed. If all went well, The Shadow would follow it himself. Clyde, however, would be

Another fifteen minutes. A limousine drew up in front of the house. Its lights went dim. Just as that flicker

occurred, Clyde fancied that he saw a batlike shape move toward the wall of the Edkins house. Clyde could

not see who stepped from the limousine. The Shadow for he had merged with the front of the house did

IT was not Eric Veldon who alighted. The Shadow knew that fact, although he had never seen the master

fiend. The person who alighted was a stocky individual who stalked up the steps with the regular motion of

The Shadow glided to the side of the house. He reached the bay window. Lifting his body, he pressed the sash

of the window three inches upward. Peering through the narrow space, he saw the servant entering to speak to

"The man has come for the antique clock, sir," said the servant. "You know the one, sir it was delivered

"Oh, yes," recalled Edkins. "Of course. It is on the mantelpiece in my den. Show him up to get it."

The servant pointed out the way to a man who appeared in the hall. Holbrook Edkins caught only a flash of

the fellow's face. He was startled by the fixed, waxen expression. Footsteps tramped on the stairs.

Edkins lighted a cigarette. He was thinking of the clock. It had been delivered here; some time ago on the

occasion of Eric Veldon's last visit. There had been no return address. A telephone call had come, stating the

Eric Veldon, Edkins remembered, had admired the old clock, and had set it on the mantelpiece. Edkins, who

A few minutes passed. Thumping footsteps resounded from the stairs. Clock in arms, the messenger was

departing. Edkins strolled to the hall to see the fellow out. Again, he noted the cadaverous physiognomy of

The Shadow's eyes disappeared from the window. As the man with the clock stumped from the house, a

fleeting figure passed across the street. Just as the limousine was about to move forward, Clyde Burke, at the

wheel of the coupe, heard a single whispered word, so sinister in tone that he could not tell from what spot it

The street was a oneway thoroughfare. The limousine moved ahead. Clyde Burke eased off to follow the

trail. A clever driver, a keen observer because of his newspaper experience, Clyde had a simple task of

Eric Veldon had not yet arrived. Had the murderer come and departed, The Shadow himself would have

taken up the trail. But The Shadow had recognized that this mechanicalmoving visitor must be no more than

a minion of the superfiend. He had dispatched his agent on the trail. He, himself, had a task before him that

The trail had begun. One of Veldon's automatic henchmen was returning to the lair. The purpose of his visit

was as yet unknown, but it was obvious to The Shadow that the driver of the limousine was unprotected

While Clyde Burke followed on the trail, The Shadow's figure blended amid blackness, underwent a change.

It came to view upon the front steps of the house, but it was the shape of The Shadow no more.

A tall man, dressed in evening clothes, was ringing the doorbell at the residence. Lamont Cranston had

arrived to call upon Holbrook Edkins. He had for an important purpose arranged his visit ahead of Eric

A SERVANT opened the front door to admit Lamont Cranston. As he heard the visitor's name, he bowed and

"Mr. Edkins has just gone up to his den, sir," was the announcement. "He asked that you come up there upon

With incredible swiftness, the tall man ascended the steps. There seemed to be no effort in his pace, yet he

The door of the den was ajar. Cranston entered so suddenly that Holbrook Edkins, standing by the fireplace,

Edkins smiled as he recognized his visitor. Holding his halfsmoked Cigarette in his left hand, he extended

his right to Cranston. After the handshake, Cranston quietly seated himself in an easychair, while Edkins

"This visit is a surprise," remarked Edkins, "and a welcome one. I had not expected you, Mr. Cranston. It is

most fortunate. I am expecting Eric Veldon the promoter whose name you agreed not to reveal."

"Indeed," returned Cranston. "I understood that you called me at the Cobalt Club. They said that Mr. Edkins

"It must have been old Hoskins," remarked Cranston. "He's been bothering me for some time. He insists that I

must see his collection of Malay weapons. He claims to have picked them up in the East. I doubt it. I am glad

All during the conversation, Cranston's sparkling eyes had been studying the setting of the room. There was

vacancy on the mantelpiece where the clock had been. Nothing else, however, seemed out of place. Cranston

As Holbrook Edkins was taking a last long draw on his cigarette, Cranston's steely gaze went directly beyond

the heavy form of the blufffaced millionaire. It was then that Cranston acted in a swift, yet natural, manner

AN open box of cigarettes was lying on the table at Cranston's left. Long white fingers upon one of which

shone a sparkling fire opal, plucked a cigarette from the box. Cranston, his eyes upon Edkins, arose at the

same moment. With two long, easy strides, he stepped toward his host just as Edkins drew back the screen

Cranston's cigarette was in his mouth. His left hand shot forward. Its swift motion came to a gentle stop as it

caught Edkins by the right wrist, just as the big man was about to release the cigarette from his grasp.

The motion of Cranston's right hand explained the action. Easily, his right fingers look the lighted butt from

To Edkins the occurrence was purely incidental. The big man did not notice that Cranston, after obtaining his

light, extinguished the cigarette butt in an ash stand, instead of tossing it into the fireplace. Throwing

cigarettes among the ashes was simply a habit with Edkins; his visitors did not always duplicate it. Edkins

"Yes," laughed Edkins. "A man called for an old clock that had been sent here by mistake. He took it out just

"The absence of smoke stains on your mantelpiece is interesting," said Cranston, in an idle tone. "I take it that

"I burn a fire there about once a year," explained Edkins. "That's why there are no smoke marks on the

"Odd," said Cranston. "Those ashes have a smoothness that is unusual. Did your servant rake them?"

Cranston laid his cigarette aside and stepped forward to the fireplace. Edkins was rather puzzled as he

watched his visitor remove the screen. Cranston, staring toward the ashes, held up his hand, as a sign for

Cranston moved backward. He grasped his host's right wrist, restraining the hand in which Edkins held his

"Do you notice those silvery flakes among the ashes?" inquired Cranston. "You can see them when the

"We shall find out," asserted Cranston quietly. "I have seen granulations of that sort before. Come out to the

Cranston picked up his cigarette and led the way. In the hall, he closed the door until it was but slightly ajar.

Holding, his cigarette between thumb and forefinger, he flicked it toward the fireplace with expert precision.

While the tiny object was still in the air, Cranston pulled the door tightly shut.

A MOMENT'S silence. Then, from beyond the barrier came a sighing, explosive puff a gigantic sob that

resembled a discharge of a photographer's flash powder. Edkins, alarmed, leaped toward the door. Cranston

As Edkins moved bulkily to the safety spot, Cranston turned the knob and pulled the door open. He sprang

The room was filled with a settling cloud of thick green smoke. The cloudy vapor had penetrated every

"Downstairs," suggested Cranston. "We're away from the danger zone, but it's best to be farther off until the

"Poison gas," announced Cranston abruptly. "I know a lot about it through my war experience. It was a trap

set to kill you, Edkins. One cigarette into that powder which lay in the ashes that would have been all."

"Apparently," remarked Cranston dryly. "You would do best to call the police at once."

Holbrook Edkins picked up the telephone. Bewildered thoughts ran through his brain. He mentioned a subject

"You mean if Eric Veldon arrives," returned Cranston, with a quiet smile. "The possibility, however, is

remote. Eric Veldon has already come and gone by proxy. He, himself, will not visit this house tonight!"

Holbrook Edkins did not understand. Dully, he called detective headquarters. Confused thoughts still

dominated his mind. Amid them, he realized that he owed his life to Lamont Cranston's amazing observation.

DETECTIVE JOE CARDONA stood in the room where death had failed. The greenish gas had long since

settled. Only blackstreaked walls and sooty fixtures remained as evidence of the tragedy that might have

With the detective were Holbrook Edkins and Lamont Cranston. The story had been told. It was Cranston,

"I noted the ashes accidentally," he said. "I had seen powdered preparations which produced deadly gases. I

suspected that this might be one. After the test, another thought occurred to me namely, that this man, Eric

"No," said Cranston smoothly. "I have never met him. But when Mr. Edkins first told me about Veldon, and

stated that he was a man who played between inventors and financiers, I suspected that the fellow might be a

"I am probably mistaken," admitted Cranston, in an absentminded tone. "Perhaps, the circumstances startled

me. I jumped to a fantastic conclusion, probably induced ah, now I have it by something that I read in the

"You see, Mr. Edkins and I had been talking about Xray inventions electrical appliances. The blackened

marks upon the walls brought up the suggestion of carbon monoxide. I remembered something about an

As Cranston's subtle suggestion ended, Joe Cardona's face lighted with sudden understanding. Before the

"Xrays," he remarked, "generate terrific heat. I read another odd item in the newspaper about a chemist a

man experienced in the study of deadly gases who died from a strange, burning fever "

This time Cardona's interruption came. The detective brought one fist against the open palm of his other

"Merle Clussig!" he cried. "Wycroft Dustin! Say do you think this bird Veldon knew those men?"

"Yes," exclaimed Cardona. "They were the two whom you read about in the newspapers."

"I didn't recall the names," said Cranston. "The only name I remembered recently was that of a physician a

"Maybe he was mixed in it, too!" blurted Cardona. "Look here, Mr. Edkins" he turned to the blufffaced

millionaire "can you tell me anything about this Veldon? Where he lives? What he does?"

"He is a promoter," said Edkins. "But I never knew where he made his home. I never had correspondence

A SERVANT came into the room. He announced that there was a call for Mr. Cranston from the Cobalt

Club. While Edkins was talking with Cardona, Cranston sauntered downstairs. He spoke quietly over the

"Report from Burke," informed the contact agent. "He followed the car to its destination. Old mansion, at

No one was in the lower hall. From his pocket, Lamont Cranston produced a printed calling card. It bore the

With a pencil, Cranston scrawled the address that Burbank had given him. Pocketing the card, he strolled

upstairs and joined Edkins and Cardona. The detective was going through a pile of papers, which included

A bill slipped from Cardona's hand. It fluttered to the floor. Cranston's hand dropped to his vest pocket.

Cranston stooped to pick up the bill. Cardona was a moment late; he did not see the card that was neatly

As he placed the bill upon the stack of papers, Cranston made another dexterous manipulation. He did not

drop the card directly beneath the bill; instead, he inserted it farther down in the stack of papers.

"I have received an urgent call from the club," he remarked. "I must run down there; I can return later, if I am

"That's all right," agreed Cardona. "I'll call you there, Mr. Cranston, if it proves necessary."

Cranston shook hands with Edkins, and left the den. His footsteps died on the stairs. Cardona, with Edkins

staring over his shoulder, kept on through the stack of papers. A cry came unexpectedly from the detective.

"Here it is!" exclaimed Cardona. "Say this is a find! Veldon's own card with his address on it!"

"I don't remember him giving it to me," said Edkins, in a puzzled tone. "I wonder if it's the place he lives "

"I'm finding out!" asserted Cardona. "It's all I want. I'm starting with a raiding squad. That fellow sent another

man in here tonight the one who planted the powder when he took the clock. Maybe there's a bunch to deal

TEN minutes later, a siren sounded in the street in front of the house. Joe Cardona hurried down the steps to

join four men in a police car. The siren shrieked again, as the automobile shot on its way.

Joe Cardona and his men were heading for the spot on Long Island. Their car whirled rapidly through the

streets of Manhattan, heading toward an East River bridge. It passed the traffic areas, and shot along a clear

Joe Cardona was following the trail. He was going to give combat to Eric Veldon, the murderer.

Yet, with all its swiftness, the police car did not overtake a powerful coupe that was burning up the road

Slashing onward at a ninetymile clip, his firm hands gripping the wheel of his lowbuilt car, was an intrepid

driver who was certain to beat the police to their destination. Unseen in the darkness of his car, the only sign

which this personage gave of his presence was a mocking laugh that sounded clearly above the roar of the

Preceding Joe Cardona to the quest was the strange being who had secretly given the detective the

information that he needed the one who had actually learned the location of Eric Veldon's abode of horror.

The Shadow, swift and formidable, was speeding onward to begin the final battle with the superfiend. It was

Stolidly, Eric Veldon's chief automaton obeyed. He went from the room where Sayre was located. He

"Alpha," said Sayre, as the waxenfaced servitor stared solemnly, "you are one of us. With us, you will go

"His intelligence is increasing," explained Sayre to Cliff. "I have stimulated it. He is ours. We can count upon

"Alpha has a revolver," asserted Sayre. "I can get it from him. You will be the one to use it."

"No." Sayre shook his head. "We must be ready to return to our rooms if the odds appear impossible. Alpha

Cautiously, the two men went out into the corridor. Alpha followed at Sayre's back. The trio stopped when

they reached the head of the stairs. They could hear the rhythmic beat of a steady pacing sentinel. One of

New footbeats sounded. Another sentinel had joined the first. Cliff shook his head.

"We'd better wait," he decided. "We don't know the way out. That's the trouble. We can't fight if we're

The men did not immediately return to their rooms. They waited, sure that they were safe from observation.

BACK in the room which the three had left, a strange phenomenon occurred. A black mass seemed to spread

upon the floor, as though projected from some outer sphere. It was a flat shape, yet it seemed imbued with

The skylight lifted in the top of the gloomily lighted room. Outer night pressed inward. The splotch upon the

floor moved grotesquely. Then, from the skylight, a long form developed. A figure hung momentarily; it

The Shadow, tall and sinister, had arrived within Eric Veldon's terrible domain! Garbed in black cloak and

hat, a fantastic being whose long body cast a quadruple silhouette, the master of darkness stood supreme.

Swiftly and silently, The Shadow reached the open door. His peering eyes looked down the hallway. He saw

the three men standing at the stairs. He waited while minutes seemed to move in slow procession.

The rhythmic tramp of feet continued from below. The three men, Cliff Marsland, Rupert Sayre, and the

creature called Alpha, still remained on vigil. Two Cliff and the physician were hoping for the break they

The monotony was like the strange quiet that comes before a breaking whirlwind. The Shadow, his eyes

burning as they watched, was expecting imminent results. The tension broke, of a sudden, as a new sound

came from the floor below. Someone was pounding at an outer door! A muffled cry was heard. Then came a

blow, as something smashed against the barrier. Cliff Marsland uttered a prompt exclamation at the sound of

Footbeats ended below. Guttural cries came from Eric Veldon's minions. The instinctively guided automatic

The Shadow's long right arm extended from the room. His hand gripped an automatic. The weapon covered

Alpha. The action was timely. A bell was ringing from below. In response to the alarm, Alpha's loyalty had

With a brisk motion, the man whipped out his revolver. He turned the gun toward Cliff Marsland and Rupert

Sayre as he backed away from the men whom he had been set to guard. The Shadow's finger was upon the

Cliff Marsland had seen Alpha's action. With a savage leap, he fell upon the man and hurled him to the floor.

"Cover the stairs!" ordered Cliff. "Look out for trouble from below. I'll hold this man; we'll need him later!"

"He was responding to the old impulse," exclaimed Sayre. "Keep him there. We must not kill him unless he

Alpha had ceased struggling. Under Cliff Marsland's powerful attack, he had been rendered helpless. The

Shadow watched while Cliff Marsland dragged the man to the nearest room. Sayre, realizing the wisdom of

RESOUNDING blows of batteringram force were breaking down the door below. The Shadow, moving

with swiftness, now that the corridor was cleared, hastened to the stairway and descended. He reached the

A huge outer door came crashing forward. With it, Joe Cardona and his detectives hurtled into view. With

guns in hands, they faced a menace which they had not expected. Hastily, they raised their revolvers to fire.

Lined across the wide lower corridor were Eric Veldon's minions. Like statues, these onetime criminals had

been waiting stolidly for the breaking of the door. Each monstrous creature held a pair of revolvers. As the

detectives came in sight, the instinctive reactions of these killers took effect.

Tried detectives against transformed mobsmen. Brave men of the law against sullen, automatic minions who

did not fear to die. Shots burst forth as both sides fired, but with that opening attack came roaring bursts of

The Shadow, a brace of automatics in his hands, was aiding the cause of Joe Cardona. Timely aid, for the

detectives had plunged headlong into the path of fire. As The Shadow's automatics barked, Veldon's minions

swung instinctively to meet the fire from the rear. Though gangsters once rats who would then have feared

But with that fatal motion, the minions of the fiend were doomed. Their fire had been turned; only one of

Cardona's men had been wounded. Detectives blazed from one direction. The Shadow, elevated on the stairs,

Shooting deliberately, Eric Veldon's men began to fall. They did not crumple; they uttered no cries of pain.

Instead, they stood staring in their tracks. Rigid, they plunged dead upon the floor.

The Shadow was retiring. Dumfounded detectives, excited by the battle, were riddling the fallen minions with

lead. The sight was uncanny; forms that seemed corpselike more than human had dropped like tenpins.

At the head of the stairs, The Shadow merged with the darkness of a side corridor. Footsteps sounded. Joe

Cardona reached the top of the stairs. He saw a man awaiting him at the door of a lighted room. It was Doctor

The raiding squad reached the room. Doctor Sayre declared his identity. He pointed to Cliff Marsland, who

"This is Marsland," explained Sayre. "He was brought here as a victim. He and I were planning to escape."

"One of Veldon's henchmen," said Sayre. "The only intelligent one. He was aiding us to escape when the

attack began. We feared trouble from him, and Marsland overpowered him. He is the one man we need. He is

Cliff Marsland had released Alpha. The dullfaced man was standing on his feet. Rupert Sayre was attending

Facing Alpha, Joe Cardona began his quiz of Veldon's minion. Alpha, with eyes steady and staring, answered

Steadily, Alpha walked forward. The detectives followed as the man mechanically led the way to the floor

"I cannot," said the man in his deliberate tones. "Only my old master can open it. From within."

Doctor Sayre had arrived with the wounded detective. He nodded as he heard Alpha's statement.

"Veldon's room is somewhere near," he asserted. "He has an Xray device that makes him look like a living

"Quiet, every one," whispered Cardona, with a nod. Then, to Alpha: "Does your master summon you here?"

The group moved back as Alpha approached the panel and stood in listening attitude. Cliff Marsland and

"I think the panel will open," whispered the surgeon. "We can go in then and wait until the lights go out.

The skeleton will then appear. It will not be invulnerable. By shooting from the sides of the screen "

A full minute passed. Suddenly, as Alpha stood staring, the panel slid open. Cliff Marsland gripped the

minion's arms. Quickly, the detectives entered the dim room. Cliff and Sayre followed, with Alpha. The

The lights went out. Only a slight flicker of dull illumination came from the corridor, for the panel was still

open. Then came the bright glow beyond the screen on the table. The skeleton came into view. Doctor Sayre

gave a gasp of elation. He realized that from the skeleton's seat, one could not see who was in the room!

The command came from Joe Cardona. With it, the detective fired. Shots burst from the sides of the room.

A DETECTIVE discovered one with the aid of a flashlight. Another found another switch. Both pressed. One

switch brought illumination to the room; the other caused the radiant light to vanish from the farther wall.

The second switch had raised the leaded panel covering the front section of the Xray projector.

A cry of amazement came as Cardona rounded the end of the table. Upon the floor, instead of a human body,

All eyes turned toward the exit. The panel had shut. With it came the knowledge of a trap. In the confusion,

A teletype was working in the corner. Doctor Sayre sprang to it and began to read the ribbon. Cardona joined

him; so did Cliff Marsland. The detectives stared about them, ready with their revolvers, but seeing no one at

The ticking ceased. The doomed men looked at one another. They realized that the extinguishing of the dull

light and the appearance of the rays had been automatic. They were truly due to die. Somewhere, they could

picture Eric Veldon, the superfiend, ready to release poison gas through jets that lined the walls of this

The mental image was correct. Outside, by a small panel which he had opened in the side of the corridor,

stood Eric Veldon. From his face, the fiend had clawed away the waxy substance which he had used to make

The evil smile was upon Eric Veldon's features. His left hand was raised to draw the heavy cord which would

loose a vast volume of poison gas. In his right hand the precaution seemed unnecessary the murderer held

Murder dominated Veldon's mind. He would slay these enemies; after that, he could travel away at will. With

his mechanical equipment packed within the darkscreened limousine, hidden by the special glass which

Merle Clussig had devised, he could go where he chose, and set up a new home of crime.

His knowledge of Barratini's methods would serve him in the accumulation of another horde of henchmen.

All these ideas of an evil future swept through Veldon's crimemad brain. It was some fleeting fancy, only,

that caused him to stare along the corridor as his hand prepared to draw the fatal cord.

ERIC VELDON'S evil leer became a fixture on his bloated lips. There, framed in dull light at the end of the

corridor, stood an enemy whom he had not yet met. A tall, sinister being clad entirely in black, was staring

Eric Veldon had heard of this weird enemy of crime. The Shadow had come to stop his evil deed! The

Shadow would fail! A fierce hiss came from Veldon's lips as he leveled his revolver toward the phantom

A mighty roar burst forth not from Veldon's gun, but from an automatic in The Shadow's hand. With that

shot, Eric Veldon staggered. His revolver fell from his grasp. With a defiant effort, the fiend clutched the

cord, hoping that it would draw as he fell. Again The Shadow's automatic burst its thunderous report.

The shot struck Veldon's left wrist. Numbed fingers opened. The cord swung back and forth within the little

niche which contained it. A ghastly scream came from Veldon's smilefrozen lips. The superfiend sprawled

With silent tread, The Shadow advanced. He stood above the body of Eric Veldon. His smallrayed flashlight

played upon the features of the dead man. For the first time, The Shadow had seen Eric Veldon's

countenance. The man who had eluded him while living, could not escape him when dead.

The Shadow turned. He strode to the end of the corridor, to the spot where the hidden panel made an entrance

to the room where Eric Veldon had played his role of living skeleton. With sweeping stride, The Shadow

The panel opened. Startled cries came from within. Seconds intervened; then the deluge burst forth as Joe

Cardona and his detectives rushed to safety, followed by Doctor Rupert Sayre and Cliff Marsland.

They found Eric Veldon's body. Dead, the fiend was as hideous as in life. The cord, still swinging, marked

his vain attempt to slay the men who had battled him. But there was no sign of the mysterious avenger who

The Shadow, mysterious, had vanished. Cliff Marsland, alone, knew that it was he who had played the part of

rescuer. Joe Cardona, wise but taciturn, suspected the same fact. The ace detective had seen evidence of The

A TRIM coupe was speeding toward Manhattan. Sweeping along the broad highway, it was far, far in

advance of the men who were also due to return to New York. As the automobile whirled along a lonely

The Shadow, triumphant, was crying forth his victory in tones of strident mockery. That laugh, uncanny in

the chill night air, marked the final touch to the battle of justice against evil.

Eric Veldon, murderer and fiend extraordinary, was dead. The Shadow's hand had again brought vengeance

Fiend versus Shadow. That had been the climax. The Shadow had gained the triumph.