MASTER OF FLAME.......................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. MASTER CRIME.............................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. THE CONQUERING FLAME ........................................................................................7

CHAPTER III. A DANGEROUS DEVELOPMENT...........................................................................12

CHAPTER IV. GUNS OF THE SHADOW ..........................................................................................17

CHAPTER V. A VANISHING BANKER ............................................................................................24

CHAPTER VI. ENTER MR. FROST...................................................................................................29

CHAPTER VII. FLAMING DEATH ....................................................................................................34

CHAPTER VIII. EXIT MR. FROST .....................................................................................................39

CHAPTER IX. MOTHER GOOSE .......................................................................................................44

CHAPTER X. HIDDEN CRIME..........................................................................................................50

CHAPTER XI. BLONDE'S TRAP ........................................................................................................56

CHAPTER XII. KILLER'S PAY ...........................................................................................................62

CHAPTER XIII. THE THIRD STOOGE ..............................................................................................68

CHAPTER XIV. THE THREE LETTERS...........................................................................................73

CHAPTER XV. THE WIDOW'S TRIUMPH.......................................................................................78

CLIFFORD MASON glanced at his watch. With a start, he realized that the hour was later than he thought. If

It was hard to realize the passage of time in the windowless laboratory where Mason sat. Electric lights

burned all day long. But Clifford Mason was used to this hermitlike place of work. It had been built under his

Mason was an inventor. In his younger days, he had worked for big industrial concerns and had commanded

a high salary. But he hated to work for others. As soon as he had money enough, he bought a secluded home

in northern Manhattan. He had erected this windowless laboratory on the grounds of his small estate.

It was a circular room under a curved dome of massive concrete. Prom the outside it looked like an igloo.

Inside, it was packed with scientific equipment. Here, the mind of Clifford Mason probed into the forces of

His work table was covered with sheets of mathematical and chemical calculations. He had checked his

findings to catch any possibility of error. There were none. Mason smiled triumphantly. Ahead of him

stretched a vista of fame and wealth. It was the culmination of his life's work.

Mason didn't think about wealth, however. All he could think about was his daughter. She would no longer

have to count pennies. Dorothy was young enough to enjoy wealth. She was only twentytwo.

Mason burned all his calculations to ashes in a zinc wastebasket. Then he unlocked his laboratory safe. From

the safe he took a square blue envelope. The envelope contained the chemical formula of Mason's invention.

He scanned the papers hungrily. Then he replaced the blue envelope in his fireproof safe.

His home was only fifty feet away. It was on the high northern tip of Manhattan, in the Inwood section. The

road that passed it was an isolated one. Behind the house and outdoor laboratory the ground sloped gradually

Dinner was on the table when Mason entered his home. Dorothy was waiting excitedly. But her father was

She was dressed in an evening gown, the only one she possessed. It molded her slim figure to perfection. She

had fixed her dark, curly hair in a new fashion. There was added color in her cheeks. She was like a flame of

But Clifford Mason remained unaware that Dorothy was staring smilingly at him, waiting for his gasp of

"I've done it!" he said huskily. "A week ago, I was certain. Tonight, I am mathematically sure."

"A chemical miracle!" Mason said. There was pride in his voice. "Something that will make my name

famous. Something that will bring you wealth. You will be able to move in the best of society."

"Speaking of society how do you like the way I look tonight? You haven't even noticed!"

MASON'S eyes widened as he took in her loveliness. Dorothy explained why she was wearing the evening

gown. She had been invited to the firstnight performance of the biggest musical show of the season. It

Dorothy had never attended a firstnight performance. Her dark eyes sparkled at the prospect. She showed

"It came in a sealed envelope by special messenger. There was no note just the theater ticket. I'm going, of

"I don't know. Evidently, it must be from someone who knows us. That's why only one ticket came, I

imagine. The sender realized that you are slightly deaf and don't care much for the theater for that reason. Do

"Not at all," Mason murmured. "I'm quite tired. My eyes ache from checking facts and figures all day in my

He sat down at the dinner table with a sigh. During the meal that followed, Dorothy tried to find out the

nature of the invention that had so elated her father. But he refused to discuss it.

"The formula is in a blue envelope in my laboratory safe. There's nothing crackpot about it, either. It's the

The time after dinner passed quickly. Dorothy came down from her bedroom with a furred wrap over her

evening gown. She telephoned for a taxicab. When its horn honked outside, Dorothy hurriedly kissed her

He sad down with a newspaper. But he was too tired to read. He began to think about the theater ticket that

had come so mysteriously to Dorothy. Who could have sent it? Dorothy had few boy friends. Besides, what

boy friend would send one ticket, and thus miss the pleasure of escorting Dorothy to the theater?

In the darkness outside the house, two men were also thinking about Mason's daughter. But not sleepily. They

were grimly alert. From a thick clump of shrubbery the two men watched the disappearing taillight of

"The show will keep her away about three hours. For guy's like us, that's time enough to rob the mint. Come

They moved toward Mason's home, making no sound. They were old hands at crime, these two. There was no

A rear window afforded an easy entrance to Mason's home. The window was not locked. Like most people,

He was still dozing in his chair in the living room when Slim and Toby tiptoed in. They made no sound. But a

draft of air from the opened window in the rear blew against Mason's face. It wakened him.

He shouted with terror as he saw the faces of the two thugs scarcely six feet away. Leaping to his feet, Mason

Before the inventor could take two steps, Slim was on him. One hand twisted Mason's outflung arm behind

his back. The other choked off his cry. Toby leaped close and swung a heavy gun.

The butt of the weapon struck Mason on the skull. He fell unconscious to the floor.

Toby could easily have killed the inventor with that blow; but he was careful not to. Mason's scalp bled, but

there was no skull fracture. The orders of the Boss had been strict on that point.

This was to be a wellcamouflaged kidnapping job. Death for Clifford Mason would come later.

SLIM took care of the camouflage, made sure nothing was out of place to attract the eyes of possible police

investigators. There was no blood on the rug. Slim smoothed the rumpled rug and replaced the chair. He used

Their parked car was concealed down the dark road. The inventor lay in a quiet huddle under a lap robe in the

rear of the car. Presently, the car cut across Dyckman Street. It headed for a house in sparsely settled district

Some of the thugs' elation disappeared as they approached an empty house. Its dark windows were crusted

with dirt. A sign outside said: "FOR SALE." But there was no broker's name or address on the sign. Within it

Slim and Toby became uneasy every time they thought about the Boss. They had never seen his face. They

had no idea what his physical appearance was. But whoever he was, he knew plenty about his hirelings.

He had gathered enough evidence about this pair to put both of them in the electric chair, if he so desired.

After telling them this, he had laughed gently, like a woman. He had offered Toby and Slim five grand apiece

The two thugs carried their unconscious prisoner into the dark house, entering through the rear. They

descended into the cellar. Light glimmered feebly through the cracks of the coal bin. The light could not be

He was hooded and robed. Only the flash of his eyes was visible through the slits in his hood. His hands were

gloved. He was a tall man, as tall as Slim. But he looked heavier and in better physical condition.

His slitted eyes were like flame, as he stared at his henchmen. But his voice was curiously soft, like a

"Excellent! First, I'll want Mason's laboratory key. He's bound to have it on him. Inventors have a silly habit

of darting into their laboratories by day or night as ideas come to them. So it is reasonable to assume that the

Toby's methods were not gentle. In a minute or two, Mason groaned and opened his eyes. He quailed as he

saw the robed supercriminal staring at him. His terror increased as he heard the "simple question."

"I'll never tell you!" he screamed. "You want to rob me of the climax of my life's works"

"Correct," the masked leader said. "I'm after a square blue envelope in your safe. I can't get it without

leaving awkward traces of burglary unless you tell me the combination. You'll be smart to talk. Pain is

"Sorry. You've got things reversed, Mr. Mason. You'll die later! You'll be tortured first. All right, boys!"

Slim and Toby leaped at the struggling inventor. They used flame and they used steel to make him talk. A

gag on Mason's jaws stifled his screams of agony. In a few minutes, he was ready to talk.

The masked man recorded the complicated combination of the fireproof safe in Mason's laboratory.

"Thank you, Mr. Mason. Now that you realize that disobedience to my wishes is extremely painful, I'm sure

you'll cooperate in my second request. Read this paper, please. I want you to repeat these words aloud."

MASON took the sheet of paper tremblingly. There were words written on it, strange words. Mason glared at

"Silly, isn't it?" the robed man said. "But perhaps that's what I want. Repeat those sentences. And shout as if

He held a mouthpiece to Mason's lips. The mouthpiece was at the end of a flexible tube. The tube led to the

cylinder of what looked like a small portable phonograph. A blank record was on the machine.

Clifford Mason was too terrified to disobey. He repeated the words written on the paper.

"'Don't bother me, Dorothy'!" he cried. "'I'm busy! I'm working on the biggest invention of my career. I've

conquered flame! I know the secret of fire! I'm going to master the world with flame!'"

It sounded like crazy gibberish. Mason's painracked voice helped the illusion. But the masked man was not

satisfied. He made his victim repeat the phrases until he was satisfied they sounded right. Then he turned off

Then he leaped. It was like the spring of a wild beast. His gloved hands caught the inventor by the throat.

Slim and Toby were used to murder, but they quailed at the coldblooded efficiency of the Boss. Their

masked employer seemed devoid of any human feelings as he slowly choked Clifford Mason to death. He

"Strangulation, you observe, leaves no marks except on the flesh. It makes no change in the bony structure of

the skeleton. It's barely possible that some day Mason's body may be found. Accidents sometimes occur. In

There was a tarpaulin on the floor in a corner of the coal bin. When it was removed, a hole in the concrete

Clifford Mason's corpse was lowered into the hole by the two thugs. The masked criminal poured acid on the

body from a receptacle which he handled with cringing care. The stuff smoked as it splashed on the dead

They shoveled furiously when the masked leader signaled. On top of the filled grave they spread fresh

cement. They worked carefully to make a perfectly aligned patch with the rest of the concrete floor. When

they were finished, the masked criminal sifted a coating of dirtygrayish powder over the new cement.

"When it dries," he said quietly, "there'll be no easy way of distinguishing this amusing little patch. And now,

His laughter sounded ghoulish. From an adjoining compartment in the cellar, he dragged a long, flat box.

Inside the box lay a skeleton. Where it had come from, was the masked man's secret.

It matched the height of the murdered inventor. In its grinning jaws were the evidence of considerable dental

work. The fillings, inlays and caps were a duplicate of the dental work in the mouth of the buried Clifford

He produced from beneath his disguise a square, blue envelope. He gave the envelope to Slim, together with

the combination of the murdered inventor's safe. He also gave Slim a small metal sphere to which a fuse was

"There's no danger. You'll have plenty of time to get away after you light the fuse. The explosion will be

delayed and not a very strong one, either. As I've already explained, I don't want to harm the skeleton. I

"You shall have it, after you mail me the blue envelope the real one from Mason's safe. Now get busy! I

want everything in readiness by the time Mason's daughter returns from the theater."

The two thugs carried the flat box that contained the skeleton out the back door of the empty house. They also

took the portable phonograph with the record the murdered inventor himself had dictated. Presently, the

A master crime was under way a crime so devilishly planned, that no police detective would ever suspect it

was a crime, much less solve it! There was only one brain in New York capable of ripping away the mystery

LAMONT CRANSTON was smoking a cigarette in the crowded foyer of the famous old Queen Theater.

It was the final intermission of a successful musical comedy. From the buzz of talk all around Cranston, it

was apparent that the new show was a smash hit. This one would be the fourth on a chain of successes backed

Cranston could see Leo Keller from where he stood. Keller was a tall man, heavily built. He was a shade too

muscular to appear to advantage in evening clothes. He was surrounded by a circle of Broadway stooges of

Keller seemed contemptuous of the cheap flattery of his henchmen. He began to thread his way through the

crowded foyer in an effort to exchange a word or two with more desirable personages.

He didn't have very good luck. Most of the people Keller spoke to gave him scant courtesy. A few snubbed

Lamont Cranston knew why. Ten years earlier, the name of Leo Keller stood for all that was notorious in

crime. He rose to underworld power in New York. But Keller had recognized the handwriting on the wall

when the F.B.I. began to scan the bank accounts of the big hoodlums. Keller paid his income tax down to the

That kept his nose clean financially. He also escaped criminal prosecution by killing his key thugs. There was

no proof that they had been killed to shut their mouths. They conveniently disappeared.

With his pockets full of criminal profits, Keller had turned to the theater. Now he was a successful producer

of the most lavishlyexpensive musical shows on earth. But he wanted more than that. He wanted social

recognition. Not the flashy Broadway kind, but the blueblooded Park Avenue variety.

A glint like flame came into the watchful eyes of Lamont Cranston as he saw Keller head toward him. It was

a gleam that transformed Cranston's face for an instant into something grimly different. There was challenge

Cranston shielded the look by lifting his theater program in front of his face. It didn't suit him to have Keller

His face was calm by the time Keller strode close and held out a hand in greeting.

He knew that other people were watching the bold attempt of an exracketeer to claim acquaintanceship with

him. These people expected Cranston to snub Keller. But The Shadow did nothing of the sort. His sharp eyes

Cranston shook hands deliberately. Keller's fingers were nervous and icycold. But his eyes seemed to jeer at

A LIGHT touch on The Shadow's arm made him turn. This time, it was no social climber. George Gregory

was an important figure in industry and finance. He was chairman of the board of Federated Woolens. He and

"Crooks never reform," Gregory said. "They merely change their methods. You know why Keller is in the

theatrical business. He married a flashy chorusgirl who demanded that he star her. Do you know why his

"Exactly! Money and threats! Keller spends money like water for the best talent on the stage to support his

actress wife and hide her shortcomings. No dramatic critic dares to tell the truth about her. A couple of them

tried and ran into trouble. One was almost killed in a peculiar automobile accident. Another was beaten

"Since then, Keller's musical shows always get rave notices from every critic in town. He's transferred his old

A moment later, The Shadow's glance moved toward a beautiful girl in the crowded lobby. She smiled as

Cranston was puzzled at Dorothy's presence. He knew her father well. They seldom had money to spend on

luxuries. Most of Clifford Mason's cash went into expensive equipment for his laboratory.

The Shadow agreed with her that it was a piece of good luck. But instantly he was suspicious. There was no

such thing as a free ticket to an opening night such as this. Whoever the unknown sender was, he must have

spent considerable to get hold of a choice orchestra seat such as Dorothy's stub showed. And why had he

When the brief intermission ended, he escorted Dorothy back to her seat. The lights were dimming. The

Shadow slipped from the darkened auditorium. He went back to the deserted lobby and chatted with the man

From that casual chat, The Shadow learned that Dorothy's ticket was one of a block that had been sent to a

big ticket broker to be resold at a high premium. The boxoffice man was not conscious that he had been

pumped. There was nothing about Lamont Cranston to suggest anything more than idle curiosity.

But The Shadow's eyes burned, as he hurried to the office of the ticket speculator.

Again, Lamont Cranston chatted aimlessly. But presently he found out what he wanted. The ticket which had

been sent to Dorothy Mason was not a free one. Quite the contrary! It was one of the last pasteboards left and

The clerk didn't know who had bought it. It had been reserved over the phone by a man who hadn't given his

name. He had sent a messenger who paid cash. All this queer secrecy might be innocent and accidental but

The final act of the show was ending. The Shadow posted himself in the lobby. When Dorothy Mason

emerged, he pushed close to her side and made a courteous suggestion. He said he'd be delighted to drive her

Dorothy accepted. To be escorted by so prominent a social light as Lamont Cranston was the final, happy

event of a delightful evening. Cranston's sleek limousine sped swiftly uptown, driven by Stanley, The

DOROTHY was surprised to see a light burning on the ground floor of her home. Her father had told her he

But The Shadow wasn't listening. He had seen a parked car a few yards up the dark road. A man's face

peered, then the car moved swiftly away. But that swift glance had permitted The Shadow to recognize the

The Shadow didn't pursue Toby's car. To do so would be to betray the fact that the suave Lamont Cranston

was a foe of crime. Besides, there was a dangerous possibility that Clifford Mason might be in peril inside

The Shadow entered with Dorothy. There was no sign of Mason in the lighted living room.

But Clifford Mason wasn't in his bedroom, either. Nor in any other room of the silent house. Dorothy wasn't

alarmed. She figured that her father had gone out to his concrete laboratory at the rear of the house.

"He's probably working on that new invention of his. He said it was worth literally millions."

"No. It hasn't been patented yet. The formula is still in his laboratory safe. He never discusses an invention

The Shadow's eyes gleamed. The presence of Toby took on a more ugly significance. The Shadow led the

way quickly to the iglooshaped laboratory at the rear of the house. He noted that the structure had no

"Dad! I'm home from the theater. Mr. Cranston was kind enough to bring me in his car. He'd like to say hello

There was silence within. Then it was broken by a muffled shout from Clifford Mason:

"Don't bother me, Dorothy!" he cried. "I'm busy! I'm working on the biggest invention of my career. I've

conquered flame! I know the secret of fire! I'm going to master the world with flame!"

It sounded crazy. The Shadow's eyes narrowed. Talk like that was not like Clifford Mason. There was

nothing crackpot about him. But the snarling voice from within was Mason's voice. Lamont Cranston had

Within the sealed laboratory, a man with a sly, foxlike face heard the conversation outside the locked door. It

was Toby's thuggish partner, the lean, hatchetfaced Slim. Slim's hand had started the portable phonograph

On the floor near the phonograph lay a skeleton. Close by it was an ovalshaped bomb that looked like a

black duck egg. In Slim's pocket was a square blue envelope that contained the chemical formula for Clifford

Mason's biggest invention. A fake envelope of the same size and color had already taken the place of the real

Slim rose catlike to his feet. He stopped the phonograph and picked it up. His other hand touched a match to

Carrying the phonograph, Slim descended through a trapdoor in the wooden floor of the laboratory. The

edges of the trapdoor showed that it had been freshly cut. Slim grinned, because he knew that ravages of

The concrete laboratory was built close to the ground. But there was ample room under it for Slim to crawl

A car without lights was waiting on a back lane. Behind the wheel was the squat figure of Toby.

FROM the distant laboratory came the sound of a muffled explosion. It wasn't a loud roar, but it was loud

enough to cover the departure of the car as it raced through the deserted darkness of Inwood, toward

While Toby drove, Slim wrote an address on the blue envelope which he had stolen from Clifford Mason's

The address was a classifiedad box in the uptown office of the New York Classic. It read as follows:

"X2291, Classic, Uptown." For months, a masked supercriminal had rented the box through a dummy and

Toby and Slim speculated grimly about the identity of the Boss, after the blue envelope had been dropped

into a mailbox. They were smart crooks. If they played their cards right, there might be a juicy opportunity

"We may be able to get a line on the Boss through that newspaper box," Toby growled.

"Yeah and don't forget that empty house where Mason was buried," Slim rasped. "Five grand hell! If we

The car picked up speed. Slim and Toby headed for what they thought was their first payoff. They didn't

THE dulled explosion within the locked laboratory was the first warning of danger The Shadow received.

Dorothy Mason heard it, too. Her face paled. She laid a trembling hand on the locked metal door, then pulled

There was no answer. In the dreadful silence, the roar of the flames within increased. The Shadow flung

himself vainly against the barrier. It was impossible to break down that door with flesh and blood.

Dorothy fainted. Leaping over her limp figure, The Shadow raced to the inventor's house, telephoned an

emergency call to fire headquarters. Then he darted back to the domeshaped laboratory.

He carried the unconscious Dorothy away from the possible danger of a more deadly explosion. But no more

Presently, the night became hideous with the sirens of fire apparatus. Stout tools from a hookandladder

truck broke down the redhot metal door which The Shadow had been unable to budge. A crimson inferno

was disclosed within. Firemen retreated with cracked faces and smoldering hair. Water was useless.

It took a long while before the last flickers died. The inside of the laboratory was a ghastly sight. Everything

had been destroyed but the fireproof safe and a blackened skeleton. The skeleton lay close to the tumbled safe

From the dental work in the bony jaws, Lamont Cranston identified the skeleton as being that of Clifford

Mason. Mason's daughter had been mercifully removed from the scene. Cranston made his identification to

Cardona and the fire marshal accepted the explanation that Clifford Mason had perished because of a crazy

invention that had gone wrong. Dorothy Mason had repeated the words her father had shouted from within

"Too bad," Cardona growled. "You never can tell about inventors, eh? They all go wacky in the end. His

daughter says the formula her old man was working on is in a blue envelope inside the safe. Luckily, the safe

is fireproof. After it cools, we'll have an expert open it. Then we'll know what this 'flame' stuff is all about."

Cardona spoke confidently. But he was wrong in his optimism. It would take a mind keener than Joe's to

bring to light the crime that was behind this seemingly accidental death of a crazy inventor.

THE tragedy of the night before seemed remote, as Inspector Cardona sat talking quietly in his private office

Two men were with Cardona. The Shadow was there in his role of Lamont Cranston. Cranston had been a

His name was Daniel Tarkin. Like Mason, he was a wellknown research worker and inventor. Tarkin was

not a tall man, but he was heavily built. His voice seemed rather mild for his rugged frame.

"It's hard to believe," Tarkin said. "Mason was the last man on earth I'd have expected to go haywire like that.

But it's perfectly clear that he must have suffered from a mental crackup. As an inventor myself, I know the

strain that constant thought puts on the mind. He worked too hard, with too little rest. The result madness!"

"Mr. Tarkin has examined the formula on which Mason was working at the time of his death," Cardona

explained. "I recovered the blue envelope from Mason's safe. It was scorched by heat, but otherwise

undamaged. No wonder Mason was killed! That fire formula of his is crazy gibberish!"

"Quite true," Tarkin nodded. He had a long nose and closeset eyes that seemed always half shut. "Naturally,

I examined Mason's formula with a good deal of scientific interest. I was prepared to find some serious

chemical error in it. But I was not prepared to find what Inspector Cardona has correctly described as

For a moment, Tarkin's lidded eyes bored straight into The Shadow's. Then they became sleepy again.

"Poor Mason combined terribly dangerous reagents in a perfectly insane combination. I could explain it in

scientific terms, but a layman's mind wouldn't understand. You know what a thermite bomb is?"

"It produces instant and terrific heat. Bombing planes have used variations of Mason's formula to burn down

whole towns. The general principles of thermite are well known. But not the suicidal combination of

elements that were assembled by Mason. A child, playing recklessly with chemicals, might have produced

The formula was everything that Daniel Tarkin had asserted. The Shadow was no tyro at chemistry. His own

private laboratory was one of the best of its kind in the country. The Shadow expressed mild interest as he

read the crazy equations on the sheet of paper. He spoke in the easy voice of Lamont Cranston.

"Yeah. I'm glad to have it out of the way, too. I've got more on my mind now, than the accidental cremation

"Yeah. Last night, a halfhour or so after Mason died, two thugs were blown up when a car in which they

were riding exploded. There was a time bomb planted somewhere in the machine. It was a break for the

police, to get rid of those two thugs. But I'm going to nab who did it, if I have to turn the whole underworld

upside down! I've clamped the lid down on mob warfare and I meant it when I told the newspapers!"

"A gorilla named Slim Griffin and a pal of his named Toby Schwartz. I'd have never known who they were,

if it wasn't for a piece of sheer luck. Both bodies were badly maimed. But Toby's hands and one hand of

THE SHADOW turned away to hide the gleam in his eyes at the mention of Toby Schwartz. He walked idly

Toby was the crook whom The Shadow had seen outside the lonely residence of Clifford Mason. Now he was

dead, and another thuggish pal with him. Mere chance had brought about the identification of the bodies. But

was it chance that Toby and Slim had died so soon after the death of a supposedly mad inventor?

Those two thugs had something to do with the death of Mason. The Shadow knew Clifford Mason well

enough not to believe all this talk, on the part of the suave Daniel Tarkin, about sudden insanity. Mason was

no crackpot. Yet the formula which Cardona had found in the blue envelope was plain gibberish. What was

It could only be that substitution had taken place. The blue envelope which Cardona had taken from the safe

was not the real one. A fake one had been put there probably by Slim, while Toby waited outside as

Slim must have been inside the laboratory only a few moments before a muffled blast had turned the place

The Shadow's deductions, while clever, were still faulty. He took it for granted that Clifford Mason had

actually died in the laboratory. There was nothing to point to any other possibility. But one fact was

The Shadow turned back again to face Cardona and Tarkin. He had covered his walk toward the window by

His voice, too, was Cranston's, as he remarked, "If you gentlemen don't mind, I'll toddle along. Coming,

The inventor shook his head. He had a few more things to discuss with Cardona, he said.

His suite there was designed for privacy. Cranston used it whenever he was in town from his big estate in

New Jersey. The phone had no switchboard connection downstairs. The Shadow picked up the phone and

dialed a number unlisted in any directory. A calm voice replied almost instantly.

Burbank was the contact man in the organization which The Shadow had built up over a period of years to

combat crime. His job was to receive and transmit orders that passed between The Shadow and his other

The orders which The Shadow gave Burbank were to be forwarded to Rutledge Mann. Rutledge Mann posed

as an insurance broker. He maintained a modest office downtown, where he did a small legitimate business.

The Shadow's orders concerned Clifford Mason's lifeinsurance policy. Rutledge Mann was told to find out

with which company Mason had been insured, to go to that company and examine the office files,

particularly the medical card that had been filled out when the insurance physician had examined Mason.

Then he nodded, and hung up. The sibilant laughter of The Shadow made an eerie echo in the shadedrawn

suite of Lamont Cranston. It was a laugh which criminals shuddered at hearing. It meant that The Shadow

The Shadow opened a secret compartment in his room. His eyes blazed as he examined the black cloak, the

broadbrimmed slouch hat that was the hallmark of The Shadow. Twin weapons of .45 caliber slid with

practiced ease into the fingers of The Shadow. They were heavy weapons, but they looked light in The

He replaced them with the black robe and the slouch hat and closed the compartment. Action was not yet

advisable. The blackrobed avenger of the law would not strike until the report of Rutledge Mann was

LAMONT CRANSTON descended in the elevator to the ornate lounge of the Cobalt Club. He smiled

George Gregory was still emotionally upset by the death of Mason. Like Cranston, Gregory had known

Mason a long time. Once Mason had worked in the research department of Gregory's huge woolen mills. The

inventor and the industrialist had liked and respected each other. They had parted only because Mason

Gregory expressed concern for Mason's orphaned daughter. But his sorrow was a lot more practical than the

empty talk of Daniel Tarkin at Cardona's office. Gregory suggested that perhaps Dorothy might like to take a

Cranston was pleased. It would mean a good salary and an opportunity for advancement. Dorothy would need

a job. Her father's death would leave her nothing but his insurance. Mason had sunk all his money in his

Gregory waved away Cranston's thanks for the favor to the girl. He seemed nervous. Watching him more

closely, The Shadow noticed that the manufacturer's hand was trembling. Gregory had turned partly about

A man had just entered the club lounge. At his entry a faint murmur of antagonism had risen from the other

members in the room. The sound of that murmur had caused Gregory to glance around at the new arrival. It

Keller walked confidently across the room, well aware that his entrance into the exclusive Cobalt Club had

caused a sensation. None knew better than Keller that, as an exracketeer, he was poison to the lawabiding

and socially prominent members of the Cobalt Club. It added a sneer to his lips.

Before he could reach them, he stopped by a club attendant. The attendant looked frightened. His voice was

"An exclusive dump, eh?" Keller snarled. "Well, don't get excited, pal. I'm not a member, but I got a right to

enter this joint whenever I feel like it. I saw so many of these club bigwigs at my theater last night when my

"I don't have to be. I've got a guest card. Here. Have a good look and shut up!"

He shoved the guest card against the nose of the attendant. It was genuine. The attendant backed away and

made a discreet retreat. Voices all about the room made annoyed comments in low tones.

"Who gave that fellow a guest card? Whoever did so ought to be blackballed himself!"

Leo Keller ignored the whispers. With a nasty grin, he continued toward The Shadow and George Gregory.

"Hello, Cranston! How are you, Gregory? How about having a drink with me in the bar?"

Gregory hesitated He wanted to refuse, but he was obviously afraid to. Cranston helped him out of his

"Sorry, Mr. Keller. Gregory and I have just finished a drink. Some other time, if you don't mind."

KELLER swaggered through the doorway of the ornate bar. His harsh voice could be heard demanding a

whiskey sour from the barman. The barman evidently moved so fast to obey Keller's curt snarl, that he upset

and broke a glass. The crash of the glass was followed by Keller's nasty laughter.

In the outer room, George Gregory tugged suddenly at The Shadow's arm. His face was flushed and unhappy.

"I'd like to talk with you a moment, Mr. Cranston, if you don't mind. Privately."

The Shadow's keen eyes had missed nothing of Gregory's frightened behavior at the appearance of Leo Keller

in the Cobalt Club. He divined the reason for that dismay. Before the woolen manufacturer opened his mouth,

George Gregory explained. Keller had demanded a guest card from the woolen manufacturer in the lobby of

the Queen Theater the night before. The exracketeer hadn't made any open threats, but his hints of trouble in

"Trouble at my woolen plants," Gregory said. "Sabotage! The possibility of an accidental fire that might

The Shadow made no comment, but his eyes gleamed for an instant. Keeping to his role of an innocent

clubman, The Shadow encouraged Gregory to talk further. He was rewarded by another significant statement.

"Keller asked me an odd question last night," Gregory went on. "At the time, I thought it was queer. Now I

think it's even queerer. Keller asked me the name of Clifford Mason's legal adviser."

The exclamation spat harshly from The Shadow's lips. He covered his grim surprise quickly. Gregory was too

intent on his own worry to notice the brief hawklike expression in Cranston's face.

"Keller noticed Mason's daughter in the theater lobby. He expressed surprise that Dorothy could afford to

attend an expensive opening night. Then he laughed and said that perhaps someone had given her a

complimentary ticket. He referred to the fact that her father usually spent all his ready cash on his inventions.

"Yes. I told him the name of Mason's lawyer in order to get rid of him. But I had to give Keller the guest card

for the Cobalt Club. He evidently intends to make use of it, too. It puts me in a terrible social spot, having to

The Shadow spoke soothingly. He kept to the subject of the guest card, rather than the matter of Mason's

lawyer. He didn't want Gregory to realize how greatly the latter disclosure had disturbed him. As soon as

possible, The Shadow left the worried woolen manufacturer and returned to his private suite upstairs.

This time, he removed the black cloak and the broadbrimmed slouch hat that betokened grim personal

activity on the part of The Shadow. Twin .45s were stowed away in the special leather brief case that carried

The Shadow's regalia. Sibilant laughter hissed in the quiet room. It was laughter that contained more menace

The Shadow was grimly aware now that personal peril endangered the life of Rutledge Mann.

Orders which Burbank had transmitted to Rutledge Mann had contained one definite suggestion. The Shadow

had ordered Mann to pretend to be Mason's legal adviser in order to have a reasonable excuse to examine the

It might be a coincidence, but The Shadow was taking no chances. If Keller was the unknown supercriminal

who had stolen Mason's original formula and killed the two thugs who had done the job for him, he'd be

The moment Rutledge Mann was exposed as an impostor at the insurance office, he faced murder!

RUTLEDGE MANN was quick and businesslike when he stepped from the elevator into the huge New York

His goal was the vital statistics department of the company. He knew exactly where to go and whom to see.

But he encountered unexpected delay at the desk of the male receptionist to whom he spoke.

The receptionist was a pudgy, grayhaired man named Randolph. Randolph was affable enough, but he was

slow about admitting Mann to the room where the records were kept. He explained that such matters were

Rutledge Mann produced his card. He declared that he was the legal adviser of Clifford Mason. Naturally, he

wanted to familiarize himself with Mason's insurance investment as an aid to clearing up the dead inventor's

He began talking about Mason's sad end. He had read about the unfortunate laboratory accident in the

newspapers. Shocking, how an inventor of brains and ability could go so haywire in an experiment with

Mann chatted courteously for few minutes, then he glanced hintingly at his watch. Privately, he thought that

this pudgy Mr. Randolph with the fat face and the bulbous eyes was a good deal of a bore.

He was blissfully unaware that Randolph was a crooked cog in a criminal organization!

The moment Mann vanished into the record room, Randolph's ruddy face paled. He stared at his desk

telephone, as if dreading to pick it up. The man whose number he was about to call was a personage who

Randolph had seen the Boss only once, in the musty darkness of a vacant uptown dwelling. But he had a

terrific memory of a cowled head, a robed figure. Words of warning and death had been spoken in a voice as

"My rewards for service are prompt, Randolph. So is my reward for failure! Be careful about the slightest

There was sweat on Randolph's forehead as he reported Rutledge Mann's arrival over the wire. He described

"He's in there now," Randolph said nervously. "I hadn't figured on Mason's lawyer showing up. I thought you

"Rutledge Mann is not the name of Mason's lawyer," the Boss snarled. "Why didn't you make sure by calling

Randolph muttered a quickdenial of blame. "I was afraid to phone you while he was in my presence."

"He's probably a private detective, blast it! There must be something in those records that's dangerous to me;

otherwise, why should a dick be nosing around? There must be something I've overlooked!"

Randolph breathed a little easier. If the Boss admitted error, how could it be his fault? But the next words on

the wire, spoken so softly that they were barely audible, made Randolph shudder.

"Pay close attention! If you fail me now, I'll kill you like a rat! Don't let anything take you away from your

desk until Rutledge Mann comes out of that record room. When he does, talk to him. Keep on talking! Don't

let him get away from you until you receive another phone call from me. Do you understand?"

"O.K. I need a little time to arrange things so this nosy Mr. Mann can be put very quietly out of the way.

There was a click. The wire went dead. Randolph saw other clerks looking curiously at him. He realized his

face was as white as paper. It warned him to be careful, if he wanted to allay the suspicions of Rutledge

BY the time Mann reappeared from the record room, Randolph had a better grip on his nerves. His face had

resumed its normal ruddy color. The wild pumping of his frightened heart helped bring that flush to his face.

Again Mann found himself buttonholed by a garrulous clerk. He didn't mind the delay. In fact, he was glad to

It was possible Mann might pick up some elusive bit of information from the desk clerk. But he heard

nothing of interest. Randolph merely repeated facts which Mann had already read in the newspapers.

He was glad when the telephone rang. It gave him a chance to depart from the talkative clerk. Randolph

watched Rutledge Mann disappear downward in an elevator. Relief that he had obeyed implicitly the savage

"Is anything wrong, Mr. Randolph? You looked so pale before. Now you're so flushed."

"It's my heart," Randolph muttered hastily. "It sometimes gives me an attack of vertigo."

He didn't realize it, but he had just made a ghastly error. Without meaning to, Randolph had provided a

plausible alibi to an unknown criminal chief who had already decided to kill him!

The solicitous clerk repeated Randolph's lying words to other clerks. An assistant executive approached

Randolph's desk and asked him if he wouldn't like to take the rest of the day off. Randolph shook his head.

MEANWHILE, Rutledge Mann was trying to enter a public phone booth in the street lobby of the building.

Mann's face was flushed, too. He had found something of extraordinary value in the medical records of

But he found it difficult to locate an empty phone booth. All of them were occupied with longwinded

people. There were two or three men waiting outside each booth. These men had hastily arrived from the

But Mann didn't know that. He was too intent on his own business to notice their hard, unpleasant faces.

He went outside, to take a taxi to his office. By a miracle of luck, he found an empty cab at the curb. The

driver beckoned, and flung open the door. But this time, Mann hesitated. He noticed the driver's face and he

There was a nasty glint in the hacker's eye, a strange eagerness in that opendoor gesture of his. Mann

He changed his mind about hiring the cab with the thuggishlooking driver. He walked up the avenue toward

Two men followed him. They trailed Mann with deft skill. He was unaware of what was happening until he

reached the head of the subway steps. Then one of his trailers closed up behind him. The other hurried ahead.

The hurrying man spilled the beans. He was so eager to get down to the subway platform ahead of Mann, that

he tripped and bumped into him. Mann caught a glimpse of the fellow's face and instantly recognized him. It

was one of the men who had blocked off the phone booths in the insurance building's lobby.

Thoroughly alarmed, The Shadow's agent stopped short at the head of the subway stairs. Again he changed

his mind. A taxi was safer. He walked a block onward, looking for one. He was lucky enough to hail an

empty that was rolling along slowly through the traffic. He climbed in and gave the driver his address.

Satisfied, Mann relaxed on the cushions. His mind was in a whirl concerning the important discovery he had

made in the record room of the insurance company. When his cab halted at a red light, he paid little attention.

He noticed that another taxi had halted alongside his, but he didn't see the extended hand of his own driver

A scrap of paper on which was written the office address of Rutledge Mann changed hands.

The other cab was the machine which Mann had decided not to take outside the insurance building. He didn't

recognize it because most battered cabs look alike. And there was now a different driver behind the wheel.

The moment the red light changed to green, this other cab shot swiftly away. Rutledge Mann's driver

proceeded more slowly. He didn't seem to be very efficient. He got pocketed in a traffic jam that wasted

considerable time. He apologized to his passenger, and made up for the delay with some fast driving later on.

The hacker's eyes gleamed when he saw that the curb in front of Mann's office building was empty. He knew

that his pals in the other cab had made good use of their time. They were already inside the building, planted

When Mann was halfway down the dim corridor of his own floor, he was seized swiftly from behind!

The attack was made without warning. No thud of footsteps gave him the slightest inkling of danger. A

sinewy hand grabbed him. Another hand flung itself toward his throat as he ducked.

His mouth opened to emit a yell for help. But the cry remained unuttered. Mann's desperate effort to duck

was what had brought the hand against his throat. It lifted swiftly and covered his mouth. His unseen assailant

Mann whirled. Then his eyes bulged with amazement. He was in the grasp of The Shadow!

EYES like flame glared warningly at him from beneath the tilted brim of a black slouch hat. The face above

The Shadow's cloak was barely visible. All that could be seen clearly were The Shadow's flaming eyes and

his strongly beaked nose. His voice was an urgent whisper that made no audible sound except in Rutledge

The guarding palm fell away from Mann's lips. Quietly, The Shallow's startled agent obeyed the whispered

order. In a tone pitched so low that no one listening two feet away could have heard it, Rutledge Mann

The notes he had so carefully copied passed into the possession of The Shadow. They disappeared beneath

the black cloak. The hissing laughter of The Shadow gave evidence that the job performed by his agent

A final whispered order sent The Shadow's agent retreating down the dark hallway. There was a staircase in

the back, that connected with a rear street. Rutledge Mann departed by this route. The Shadow was taking no

chances on his agent being picked up again by lurking thugs outside the main entrance of the building.

He himself advanced noiselessly to the locked door of Mann's office. A swift glance at the lock told The

Shadow that the room beyond that closed door was not empty. There were several fresh scratches on the

A trap had been prepared for Rutledge Mann by murderous thugs. Knowing it, The Shadow did a bold thing.

The office within was dark. The darkness in the corridor also aided The Shadow's deception. It concealed the

fact that the visitor was not Rutledge Mann. Calmly, The Shadow withdrew his key from the door and closed

The next instant, an unseen thug leaped toward the spot where The Shadow had stood. But The Shadow was

He had moved swiftly aside and dropped close to the floor. He heard a grunt, a swish that sounded like cloth

In the next instant, the beam of a small electric torch centered full on the thug's face. He was crouched near

the inside of the door, an empty burlap bag held upside down in his hands. He had intended to yank the bag

over the head of Rutledge Mann to prevent any outcry on the part of his victim. Now, he found himself facing

His scream at sight of the black robed apparition a few feet away, showed that he understood the peril of

From the other side of the dark office another thug moved into view. Both crooks clawed for their guns.

A big .45 had jerked into his left hand. In the beam of the flash, that gun was like rock. It stiffened the thug

He was diagonally across the room, partly behind The Shadow. He flung himself flat behind a desk as his

hand jerked out a weapon. The crook's gun roared. A bullet ripped at the sleeve of The Shadow and he felt a

Then his .45 went into action. It made a cannonlike roar. The heavy bullet sent splinters flying from the top of

But the thug behind the desk was mad with terror. His own gun sent answering slugs in steady stream. He

was an excellent shot, too. The Shadow was forced to throw himself sideways and roll swiftly across the floor

His dropped electric torch had gone out. It was one against two, in semidarkness!

BOTH thugs were firing viciously. Their gun flashes made betraying patches of light. But The Shadow found

it difficult to battle two foes who fought simultaneously from different sides of the room. The thug near the

door was the lesser danger. Terrified, he was firing wildly. The killer behind the desk was the more accurate.

And he was a killer! He fought with the vengeful fury of a jungle beast. The Shadow uttered a quick grunt of

That cry misled the killer. He thought he had inflicted a mortal hurt. He didn't realize that the slug had

ricocheted from a metal screen and inflicted merely a flesh wound. It had dug only an inch or so into The

With a yell of triumph, the thug rose from concealment. His gun aimed for a finishing shot. The Shadow had

In that split second between life and death, two fingers tightened on two triggers. The blackgloved finger of

The Shadow was the quicker. The double report made almost a single roar in the room. Both men toppled.

But the thug alongside the bulletscarred desk was dead before he hit the floor. The heavy .45 slug had torn a

The Shadow's fall was premeditated. He hadn't forgotten the presence of the second thug. He flung himself

But no shots came. The second thug had all he wanted of The Shadow's gun prowess. He flung open the

As The Shadow rose to pursue, he heard an unwelcome sound. The shrill blast of a police whistle echoed in

his ears. The noise of the gunfire had been heard. Police had been called. Cops were running to this floor.

It spurred The Shadow to swift pursuit of the fleeing thug. He wanted that crook alive. He had to catch and

kidnap him before the arrival of the police. Only by questioning the gunman and forcing him to talk, could

The Shadow hope to gain some definite knowledge of the unknown supercriminal who had hired these two

The fleeing crook had almost reached the end of the hall by the time The Shadow raced out of the office. The

elevator shaft was there. Alongside it, a flight of stairs led to the street lobby. The thug whirled toward the

But as he turned, there was a sudden clang from the door of the elevator shaft. A car had risen swiftly from

the street level. Two policemen leaped from the opening door. Their guns lifted as they saw the armed thug

and the blackcloaked figure farther down the hall, twin .45s in his gloved hands.

The fleeing thug fired almost pointblank at the two cops. It was impossible to miss at that short range. A

bluecoat fell, mortally hurt. His partner leaped aside, then flung himself forward in a bellying dive, firing as

soon as he hit the floor. The muzzle of his weapon roared out thunderously, as he emptied his Police Positive.

Out of that desperate spray of bullets, one shot found its mark. The thug at the top of the staircase plunged

It was the one thing The Shadow had not wanted. Both thugs were dead. Their mad lust to kill and escape had

silenced their crooked lips forever. But The Shadow had no time to ponder on his ill luck. He was in

He dove forward before the cop on the floor could reload his empty weapon. It was against The Shadow's

principle to harm a policeman working courageously in the performance of his duty; but this time, The

Shadow had no choice. The butt of his .45 put the cop out of action with a quick blow.

The Shadow turned, raced back to the office of Rutledge Mann. The thug who had died there lay in a limp

Swiftly, The Shadow bent over him. His fingers ransacked the pockets of the dead gunman. The Shadow's

nerve in risking his own capture by this daring delay was rewarded with a find. He found a thick leather

Thrusting it under his cloak, The Shadow raced for the rear stairway, the one down which Rutledge Mann

AS he fled, The Shadow could hear the shouts of more police from the elevator end of the hall. The terrified

operator had dropped the car to the street level. Other cops had arrived from radio cars. They forced the

But they found no trace of The Shadow. Nor was their luck any better when they darted down the rear

staircase. A thin trail of blood showed that the vanishing Shadow had been wounded. But the police could

find no one in the crowded rear street who had seen a blackrobed fugitive with grimly blazing eyes and twin

Lamont Cranston drove quietly away from the scene in a small coupe that contained a bulky brief case. There

was nothing to distinguish him or his car from a hundred others. But his lips were tight with pain as he drove.

A temporary bandage covered the bleeding wound in his thigh where a spent bullet had buried itself in the

The bullet was gone now. The Shadow had been able to extract it by probing briefly with a knife blade,

previously heated in the flame of his cigarette lighter. More careful treatment could wait until later.

With only a slight limp to mark his disablement, The Shadow drove to the ornate building that housed the

As Lamont Cranston, he received a respectful greeting from the man at the door. He had a plausible excuse

about changing his insurance policy, in case anyone asked him. But he found no need to camouflage his call

The whole office was in an uproar. Lamont Cranston found out why, when he glanced at the empty desk of

Randolph had fallen twentyfive stories to his death from an open washroom window!

"He must have suffered an attack of vertigo," a man whispered. "Poor devil, he complained only a short while

The Shadow's lips tightened. He alone suspected the truth about the reception clerk. Another link to a master

criminal was dead! Like Toby and Slim, who had died in a dynamited automobile. Like the two thugs in

But in the breast pocket of Lamont Cranston's coat was a bulky billfold which had been snatched from a dead

The Shadow limped grimy away from the insurance building. He entered his car and drove swiftly to his

THE darkness was blacker than velvet. Nothing could be seen. The silence was equally profound. Not even

the faint tick of a clock testified to the fact that this darkness and silence concealed a room in which a human

Suddenly, a whisper of sibilant mirth became audible. There was power and challenge in that mocking burst

of laughter. As it died, a blue light glowed. It was a small light, but very powerful. It threw a brilliant oval on

In that bright oval lay the hands of The Shadow. The rest of his figure was invisible.

Slowly, The Shadow's hands moved out of the radius of the light. When they returned they were holding a fat

The Shadow opened it, and again his ghostly laughter made an ominous whispering. His fingers neatly sorted

There was cash ten crisp onehundreddollar bills. Evidently the dead thug had been handsomely paid

while he lived. There was a packet of white crystals, which The Shadow sniffed and recognized. Dope! The

two always went hand in hand where professional killers were concerned dope and plenty of money.

But The Shadow found two more unusual items. One was a railroad ticket. The other was a membership card

The name of the place was the Eureka Gymnasium. It was frequented by Broadwayites of shabby reputation,

a sprinkling of cheap prizefighters, and quite a few of the more sporty figures in the underworld.

Once or twice arrests had been made at the Eureka Gymnasium, but there had never been much scandal in the

newspapers. Publicity was usually squelched. The place was run by a tightmouthed exreferee named Ralph

The Shadow picked up his telephone and called Burbank. He gave orders to find out more about the

Clyde was the star reporter on New York's biggest newspaper, the Classic. But, secretly, he was a lot more

Next, The Shadow turned his attention to the railroad ticket. It was a coach ticket to a town in New Jersey.

The light at his desk vanished abruptly. In the darkness, no sound was audible. But presently another light

glowed, this time on a section of the wall opposite. The section of the wall looked like a blank picture frame.

Alongside it was a metal box with rows of different colored buttons. The Shadow pressed one.

Instantly, the framed section of the wall was filled with a largescale map of New Jersey.

The Shadow had some trouble finding the town of Faxton on the map. To locate it, he had to trace the spidery

Moving to a bookcase, he consulted an index, learned that Faxton had a population of only twelve hundred.

There was only one hotel in the town. And only one small industrial plant. The latter was a stainedglass

The Shadow's finger made the map vanish. The lighted wall became dark again. Back at his desk, The

Shadow waited for the report from Clyde Burke. He preferred to know that before he studied the information

Presently, Burbank transmitted the report which had been gathered by Clyde Burke.

Clyde had discovered that the Eureka Gymnasium was owned by the man who ran it, Ralph Petrol. But it was

ownership in name only. There was a tremendous mortgage on the property. The mortgage was held by Leo

It didn't surprise The Shadow. From his conversation with George Gregory at the Cobalt Club, The Shadow

knew that Keller had been interested in finding out the name of the dead inventor's lawyer. The attack on

For the moment, Keller loomed as a more important figure in The Shadow's calculations than the sly,

INTO the bright oval of light on The Shadow's desk moved the report that had been secured by Rutledge

There were many facts of interest in that report, but one only one made The Shadow's eyes gleam with

triumph. It was a copy of the medical record of Clifford Mason, made by the examining physician of the

It showed that Mason had been operated on years earlier as the result of a severe attack of pleurisy. In order

to remove fluid from the diseased lung cavity, one of the inventor's ribs had been cut away by a surgeon.

The grim laughter of The Shadow echoed in the dark sanctum. The Shadow knew now that Clifford Mason

had not died in the terrific laboratory fire that had left only a blackened skeleton in the ruins!

That skeleton found inside the laboratory had all of its ribs intact! It could not possibly be the skeleton of

The Shadow's hand now drew a sheet of paper into the radius of his desk light. With an antique quill pen, he

The Shadow watched the words on the paper slowly fade into nothingness. Disappearing ink. When the sheet

1. Mason's blue envelope stolen. Fake formula about flame substituted by Slim inside lab. Toby outside as

2. Fire started by small bomb. Probably thermite. Toby and Slim flee, leaving fake skeleton. Blue envelope

The last proposition was a hard one for The Shadow to write. But he saw no other possibility. The grim

Slowly, the quill pen wrote two names. First, he inscribed the name of Leo Keller. Under it he wrote the

name of Daniel Tarkin. But it was not a final judgment. This was proved when the names faded swiftly from

He balanced it by adding the other half of a mathematical equation: X = the town of Faxton in New Jersey.

The Shadow's logical thought ceased. Thought had pointed the way to action. For the last time, he picked up

Vincent maintained a modest suite at the Hotel Metrolite. He was one of The Shadow's most dependable

agents, the oldest of them all in point of service. To Harry went orders to leave at once for Faxton, New

MEANWHILE, a strange sequence of events was starting in a modest home in another part of New York.

A man named Harold Young was in his bedroom, dressing for dinner. He was a successful, middleaged

man, with a wife and two children. His position was that of vice president of the Drovers' Bank. His

Young had almost finished dressing, when his bedroom telephone rang. Smilingly, he answered the call. But

It was soft and womanish, but there was menace in every quiet word. Sweat broke on Young's forehead.

Terror grew in his eyes as he heard the instructions over the wire. The instructions were followed by an ugly

Not death for Harold Young. He might have nerved himself to fight against the criminal had it been peril

against himself. But the whisper was directed against Harold Young's wife and his two children!

He did something queer for a man of his sober habits. He went to a small cabinet and took out a bottle of

whiskey kept there for medicinal purposes. He poured himself two stiff drinks and gulped them down. The

liquor brought color into his pale cheeks. He waited until the haggard look faded from his eyes, then he went

"I've run out of cigarettes," he told his wife. "I'll have to go down to the corner and buy a pack."

There was a cigar store on the corner. Harold Young entered the store. But he didn't stop to buy any

cigarettes. He left the store at once, using a side entrance that gave access to the avenue around the corner.

A coupe was waiting at the curb. It was empty. Young got in hurriedly. The few passersby paid no attention

to either the man or the car. His bare head made them assume the obvious thing that he had parked for a

There was a key in the ignition lock. Young started the engine and drove rapidly away.

His course took him uptown on the east side. It was a region of cheap stores, tenements, furnished rooming

houses. Young stopped in front of one of the latter. He went up the front stoop and rang the bell.

A leanfaced woman answered the ring. Harold Young said nothing. Neither did the woman. The vice

president of the Drovers' Bank slipped inside. The door closed and a chain rattled into place.

The vanishing of Young was witnessed from across the street. A man stepped out of a doorway where he had

been lounging. He wore a cap and shabby clothes. But that made his movements less noticeable in a

He stepped into the coupe which Young had left at the curb. The ignition key was still in the lock. The

There was no further sign of activity at the rooming house. Dusk waned into darkness. The front door of the

rooming house remained shut. Whatever Harold Young was doing inside, he was in no particular hurry to

BUT there was plenty of excitement at the home Harold Young had left so suddenly. The dinner his wife had

prepared for her husband and children was cold on the table. His wife was weeping. A couple of

plainclothes police detectives were trying to soothe her so that she could talk more rationally.

Cardona had come to the house as soon as he heard of Harold Young's strange disappearance. The flight of

the vice president of an important bank was no ordinary affair. Cardona was eager to start the wheels of

He listened to Mrs. Young's sobbing story. She didn't know about the phone call upstairs. But she did know

about the smell of liquor on her husband's breath. That was what frightened her. Harold never drank a drop

ordinarily. To do so just before dinner was unheard of for him. And his eyes had looked funny, too.

Mrs. Young had hurried down to the corner cigar store when her husband had not returned. She learned from

the clerk that Young had merely walked in one door and out the other. There, his trail ended.

"He must be in danger," his wife wailed. "It's no use telling me that there may be trouble at the bank. That's

Cardona didn't reply. Wives always talked like that. He knew what the answer would be: the stock market or

A detective turned away from the telephone, said to Joe, "O.K. I got the bank's president on the wire."

Cardona jumped to the instrument. He mentioned his suspicions about a possible bank shortage. But he

received a stunning surprise. The bank president laughed at talk about theft. Two days earlier, he revealed,

examiners had gone over the bank's books. Everything was in perfect order. Not a penny was missing!

"Young could have dipped into the till after the examiners left," Cardona growled.

But he had an uneasy feeling that the banker was right. Something else was behind this strange runout on the

part of a trusted bank official. Cardona's head began to ache. He went back to headquarters.

An hour later, the missing vice president of the Drovers' Bank appeared once more in the open. He walked

It would have been hard to identify this man as Harold Young. His hair had been dyed black. He wore a small

black mustache. His clothing, too, was different. It bore no resemblance to the dark suit that Young had worn

He signaled a rolling cab and told the driver where he wanted to go. The taxi took him to Pennsylvania

But Harold Young didn't linger there long. Emerging by a different exit from the huge terminal, he took a

cab. This time, he went to a Hudson River ferry slip. Crossing the river, he went to a railway station and

THE hotel clerk at Faxton was a baldheaded little man who was flattered by Harry Vincent's friendliness.

"No, you're not the first artist who stopped at this hotel," he said. "Faxton is a pretty little town. You'll find

Harry Vincent smiled. He had never drawn a picture in his life. But he certainly looked the part he was

playing. He had arrived in a dusty old secondhand car, piled with easels and canvas and all the outward signs

"Nice and quiet here," the clerk said. "You and another gentlemen are the only two guests I have, right now."

Vincent knew that. He had already taken a peep at the register. His fellow guest was a man named David

"No. But we have one factory we're proud of. Chemical dyes for stainedglass windows."

"A couple of brothers named Beecher. They don't do a very big business, but it's a quality trade. You see,

ordinary dyes are difficult to stain on glass or metal. But the Beecher brothers have a dye formula that's

"No, siree! This formula is registered in Washington. No one can use it unless the Beecher brothers license

The orders of The Shadow had warned Vincent that something criminal was afoot in Faxton. Obviously, it

pointed toward the only industrial plant in town. But what did stainedglass windows have to do with the

Harry had no time to speculate. A man was coming down the oldfashioned stairs of the hotel. He gave

Vincent had read in the morning paper about the strange disappearance in New York of a bank vice president

named Harold Young. There had been a photograph of Young in the paper. But it was impossible for Vincent

to suspect the truth that this sleek Mr. Frost and the missing vice president of the Drovers' Bank were the

Frost's jetblack hair and mustache gave him the appearance of a younger man. His clothing was new and

"I shouldn't think there'd be anything here to interest a man like Frost," he said to the clerk.

"Ah, but there is," the clerk said. "He wants to buy out the Beecher stainedglass factory!"

"I shouldn't really tell you this, but Frost was so darned secretive when he came last night, that I made it my

business to find out what he was in town for. I listened in on the switchboard when he made a phone call. He

talked with the Beecher brothers. He made an appointment to see them today at their plant."

Vincent shrugged. He showed no curiosity. But he managed to learn the location of the factory. Changing the

subject, he asked about scenic spots where he could draw some charcoal sketches. The clerk made some

The bridge had one virtue which Harry didn't disclose. It was on a side road, not too far from the

Noisily, Harry went up to his room and collected some of his art paraphernalia. He drove off in his dusty

HALF an hour later, Harry approached the factory on foot, taking care not to be seen. The factory looked like

a shabby brick warehouse. It had a few slitted windows on the side. The rear wall was blank brick.

There was space at the back for loading trucks. Behind this loading area was a thick patch of scrub oak. Harry

The rear area looked like a junk yard. Chunks of discarded metal and pieces of broken stained glass were

piled high. A pair of discarded overalls was lying near one of the rubbish heaps. They were stained with dye,

Harry removed his coat, his collar and tie. He donned the overalls, tousled his hair.

Circling the plant, he slipped in the front doorway. A few workmen were visible at dye vats and chemical

The roof was braced with steel girders. There was a central girder, running the length of the building, on

which a traveling crane was suspended. Evidently it was used to carry the contents of one chemical vat to

Vincent turned his attention to a smaller building next door. Walking boldly in, he found himself in a narrow

corridor with open rooms on both sides. A couple of men were working at drafting boards. An aged

Faces glanced briefly at Vincent's dyestained overalls as he passed. He climbed a flight of stairs to the upper

The hallway door to the office of the factory owners was closed, but its transom was ajar. Staring upward,

Vincent could see part of the ceiling. Instantly, his heart jumped with satisfaction.

Gently, Vincent raised the window at the rear of the corridor, stepped out on the sill. The rear edge of the roof

A moment later, Vincent was hanging in midair, hoping grimly that the metal gutter would bear his weight

without ripping loose. The tin sagged ominously as he chinned upward. But he was muscular and quick. He

The tin roof was crackly, but Harry made no noise. He crept slowly on hands and knees toward the skylight,

" see no damn sense to it at all," a tall, grayhaired man was saying. "I tell you, Tom, I don't want to sell!"

Watching the two men, Harry Vincent knew they were Tom and Joe Beecher. Tom was the tired one. Joe was

"Why should we sell?" Joe growled. "I'm proud of the plant! Our dye formula is unique. There isn't a dye in

"Just the same, we're getting old," Tom Beecher sighed. "Forgetful, too. You yourself nearly forgot about the

The talk between the two brothers was cut short by a knock on the door. It opened and a man came in. The

caller was David Frost. He was smiling, but his face betrayed an inner nervousness that was not lost on Harry

Frost lost no time in coming to the point. He expressed his desire to buy the business, and mentioned the

Even Tom Beecher, who wanted to retire, was outraged by the price. He sputtered angrily. David Frost

"It's all your formula is worth, gentlemen. The dye formula is all I really want. Your plant is out of date and

worthless. I want to build a new plant in New York. To do that would require a large investment. You've

VINCENT didn't tarry on the roof. He crawled noiselessly to the rear edge and lowered himself to the sill of

the corridor window. He darted downstairs just in time to see Frost disappear inside the plant next door.

Lounging past, Vincent caught a glimpse of Frost. Frost was staring toward a small inclosure that was

evidently the shop office of the foreman. In a moment the foreman emerged from his cubby. His surprised

The foreman told Frost in great detail. But Harry Vincent didn't wait outside the factory door to listen. He had

seen the quick glance that had passed between the foreman and Frost. There was an understanding between

Harry was not in sight when Frost went back to his parked car. But he departed quietly when Frost did.

The car was driven to a house a mile or so from the factory. Frost parked. Presently, the foreman arrived in

"Naw. Those guys run the plant like a couple of old women! Let's go in the house. I want to talk about

Harry Vincent emerged from his cramped hiding place as quickly as he dared. He was grimly anxious to hear

that talk. Darting through the shrubbery alongside the cottage, he almost betrayed himself by his haste to find

Frost and the foreman appeared suddenly out the back door of the cottage. It seemed a queer thing to do. Why

But their movements became even more suspicious. They took a path toward a wooden shed in the rear of the

It put Harry Vincent to considerable trouble to make another detour. His goal was the rear of the tool shed. It

was a shabby little structure of thin whitewashed boards. Harry hunted for a small crack or a knothole, but he

" ought to be safe for both of us," Frost said. "But what about the fire insurance?"

"A cinch," the foreman chuckled. "Those old guys never remember anything. Their fireinsurance policy

"Sure, they did. I was on the lookout for it. I swiped the letter and destroyed it. The place is ripe for a nice

"The hell with the machinery!" Frost snapped. "What the Boss wants is that dye formula!"

There was a brief silence. Vincent strained his ears, but he couldn't hear a thing. He was wondering what to

do, when he again heard the voice of Frost. Frost was talking about the layout of the Beecher plant.

The foreman didn't interrupt. It seemed like a longwinded monologue. Harry fidgeted as he waited back of

Then, suddenly, a frightening thought crossed his mind. Nobody would listen to a longwinded talk like that

without making a comment of some kind. The foreman's silence was ominous. He wasn't answering Frost's

Realizing the truth, Harry whirred. But he was too late. The foreman had tiptoed behind him with a short iron

The blow missed Harry's skull, but it landed on his shoulder with terrific force. It dropped him in a paralyzed

The foreman shouted. There was a rush of feet around the shed and Frost appeared.

"I knew it," he whispered. "I was right! The fellow from the hotel! He's no more of an artist than I am. He's a

"You made a bad mistake," he whispered grimly to Harry. "You shouldn't have told the hotel clerk that you

were going to draw pictures of that covered bridge. I made it my business to check up. You weren't there! I

Vincent tried feebly to avoid the blow. It was a vain effort. He felt numbing pain. Then everything went

WHEN Harry Vincent recovered consciousness, daylight had changed to darkness. He was lying under a

His wrists and ankles were tightly bound. The woolen covering was a lap robe. The bumps against his skull

Harry recognized the ugly rasp of the factory foreman. It was followed by the voice of David Frost.

Frost was evidently driving the ear, for the foreman slid over the back of the front seat and jammed a gag into

The road was a bumpy one. Vincent guessed where he was being taken. He was being carried back along the

same unpaved road in which he had traveled earlier, inside the closed rumble of Frost's car.

Presently, the car stopped. In the darkness, Vincent could see the squat shape of the Beecher factory.

The foreman unlocked the front door of the plant with a duplicate key. Vincent was carried inside and

dumped on the floor near a big acid vat. Frost laughed coldly as he saw the fright in Harry's bulging eyes.

"Sorry," he said harshly. "I've got to protect myself. If you don't die, maybe I'll have to!"

Frost uttered an oath. He seemed horribly nervous. "Get to work! You know what to do."

"You bet I do. These dyes and chemicals will burn better than any kerosene job. The vapor is explosive, too.

The minute the first big vat blows up, no fire department on earth could put the flames out."

The foreman raced away. Vincent could hear the slop of chemicals as the foreman spilled stuff all over the

Frost obeyed. Vincent tried desperately to squirm in his tight bonds. It was impossible to move.

Suddenly, there was a hiss from the floor of the factory. The foreman had lighted a match and tossed it.

Flame made a bright bluish flicker. It didn't explode, but it burned briskly. Fire began to run along the wet

The foreman raced toward the doorway. Then he uttered a cry of astonishment and fright. The door was shut!

Frost was still on the inside, a queer look on his strained face. The foreman thought that Frost had become

rattled. He sprang toward the closed door and tried to push Frost out of the way.

Frost's left hand whipped out from under his coat. He was holding a gun. He jammed the muzzle into the

stomach of the foreman. The victim had no chance to dodge as Frost's finger pulled the trigger. The foreman

"Sorry," he gasped. "I had to do it or be killed myself. The Boss wanted it this way."

He dropped the sagging body close to Vincent. The crackle of the flames made a bright, flickering glow in

the factory. The flames were spreading with incredible rapidity. They leaped along the floor like colored

He found himself already cut off! There was a wall of flame between him and the closed exit. For a minute,

he stood paralyzed with terror. Then he whirled. The sight of a side window helped to collect his wits.

The window was still out of the path of flame. But there wasn't much time left in that direction either. Frost

jumped onto the top of a small keg, grabbed at the high sill of the window and began to haul himself up.

As he did so, he heard a roar outside the plant. It came from the darkness of the road that led to Faxton. It was

the steady hum of a car. A car that was racing at wild speed toward the dye plant.

A STRANGE figure was behind the wheel of that car a driver robed in black. Eyes like twin stars gleamed

from under the brim of a black slouch hat. A strongly beaked nose was visible over the scarletlined cloak

The Shadow had driven at this mad pace the moment he had gotten away from the heavy traffic at the mouth

of the Holland Tunnel. He had picked unfrequented roads. His foot jammed on the gas pedal with reckless

No report from Vincent had been received by Burbank. The time for making that report had come and gone.

It was sheer disobedience. But The Shadow knew enough about Vincent to know that he never disobeyed.

As he brought his powerful car screaming to a halt, The Shadow saw the flicker of flames from the factory

windows. Quick jamming of the brakes slewed the car around. But The Shadow was out in an instant,

Frost came wriggling like a bug out of one of the flamewreathed windows. He dropped to the ground and

His hand whipped out the gun that had shot down the crooked foreman. He sent lead spitting toward the

A .45 had leaped into The Shadow's hand, but he didn't use it. He flung himself to the ground, rolling aside as

He didn't want to kill this man. He wanted to take him alive. This arson expert with the jetblack hair and the

black mustache was someone The Shadow had never seen before. He didn't look like a professional criminal.

But he was obviously a living link to the master criminal who had murdered Clifford Mason in New York.

The Shadow's .45 made a cannonlike roar. But it didn't stop Frost. The Shadow's zeal in avoiding hitting the

fugitive in a vital spot, wasted the shot. Frost vanished into the blackness of the bushes behind the rear wall

There was another reason why The Shadow didn't try to pursue the man. The life of Harry Vincent was at

A swift race to the front door of the plant showed The Shadow that the door was locked immovably on the

It was like diving headfirst into the cone of a volcano. But The Shadow didn't hesitate. With his black cloak

He landed in a blazing, puddle on the floor. Then he flung himself to his feet and whipped the cloak from his

face, batting out sparks that had begun to eat into the fabric. He glanced about with bloodshot eyes, searching

Vincent was lying in an inert heap close to the biggest dye vat in the plant. Mercifully, the fire hadn't reached

the contents of that vat yet. But it was licking hungrily toward its steel sides. The floor all around Harry was

With a bound, The Shadow reached his agent. Then he received a grim shock. He saw that there were two

victims! A man lay alongside Vincent a man who was neither bound nor gagged. A man with a bullet

The Shadow realized the truth instantly. He understood the treachery of the blackmustached fugitive as

clearly as if he had witnessed the shooting. Fate had put a pawn in The Shadow's hands. This second crook

was badly wounded, but he was still alive. Before he died, he might be made to talk to confess what he

But the first task was to rescue Vincent. Harry was already badly burned. The thick tarlike smoke had been

THE SHADOW flung Vincent over his shoulder and fought his way back toward the window. It looked like a

hopeless task, but The Shadow didn't lose his head. Instead of darting straight to the blazing window, he

whipped an electric torch from under his robe. Its bright beam pierced through the rolling clouds of black

Understanding the regulations about factories and factory equipment, The Shadow was looking for a wall

Almost instantly, he saw what he was seeking. His harsh laughter sounded briefly above the roar of the

flames. He seized the chemical fire extinguisher, shot its milky contents in a powerful stream at the window

It gave him a momentary chance to shove Vincent outside, and to follow himself. He carried Vincent to the

Then The Shadow did a mad thing. He raced straight back to the flaming factory! Grabbing the fire

extinguisher he had dropped outside the window, he sprayed it fiercely at the writhing flames. Back went The

This time, he was intent on saving a worthless crook. But it was a thug who might disclose the whole secret

of a criminal conspiracy that had begun miles away in New York with the cleverly camouflaged murder of a

famous inventor. The Shadow knew he was taking a suicidal risk. But it was a risk he felt was justified.

It was a bitter struggle to fight his way across the blazing pools of dye on the floor to where the wounded

foreman lay. A vain struggle, too. The Shadow, advancing grimly, saw a tongue of vertical flame crawl

between the steel side and the lid of a huge dye vat not ten feet away from the victim he was trying to reach.

The explosion was terrific. Clots of burning dye flung out wildly in all directions, like an enormous display of

There was a hole like a crater in the floor, where the dye vat had been. The body of the wounded foreman

The Shadow was trapped near the windowless wall at the rear of the factory. There was no possible way for a

living human being to get back to the side windows. There was little hope now to get anywhere!

Smoke was so thick that The Shadow would have been blinded completely, had it not been for the powerful

ray of his electric torch. He flung the ray fiercely about, coughing and gagging from the chemical fumes in

his lungs. His throat felt like raw meat. It hurt him to breathe. But his brain remained untouched by panic.

His light pointed upward. He saw the nest of steel girders high above his head, beneath the roof of the

The bucket on the crane was above the fiercest of the flames. It was slowly turning redhot. But it wasn't the

crane that brought snarling, defiant laughter from The Shadow's throat. It was the sight of the small air vent

As The Shadow retreated closer to the blank rear wall of the factory, faint sounds became more audible

outside his flaming prison. The sirens of fire apparatus. Shouts of men. Firemen had arrived at the doomed

But their task was hopeless. They had no chance of getting into the burning building. The Shadow's only

A STEELTIPPED pole rested against a corner of the brick wall where The Shadow had been forced to

retreat. It was a pole used for releasing the dumping mechanism of the steel bucket on the overhead crane.

Bracing it at the bottom with a heavy crate, The Shadow climbed up the inclined pole. His gloved hands

clawed at the wall above him, until he had one foot poised on the metal tip of the pole.

His hands caught desperately, at the nearest girder. He swung like a plummet over an upward draft of roaring

flame. Sparks stung against his face. He could feel his robe beginning to smolder.

But the draft that made the flames leap upward told him also that a way of escape from the roof was open.

The fierce heat had smashed out the glass of the air vent in the roof. That was what caused the updraft!

The Shadow swung from girder to girder like a monkey. There were jagged chunks of glass in the frame of

the broken skylight, but he ignored the pain that gashed at his shoulder as he hauled himself upward to the

Gulping fresh air into his lungs for a moment, he then rolled down the slight slope of the factory roof to the

rear. Hanging by his blistered hands, he dropped to the soft earth behind the dye plant.

The Shadow's escape had been seen. A fireman who had rounded the building raced swiftly to intercept and

capture the blackcloaked figure. He recognized that figure as The Shadow. He thought, mistakenly, that The

The fireman was carrying a steeltipped pike. He swung it fiercely at The Shadow. The Shadow was too

exhausted to duck that blow. But before it lauded on his head, there as a terrific explosion.

Chemical vapors in the doomed plant had detonated. The roof and part of the rear wall spouted debris. The

Shadow felt a chunk of masonry whiz over his dazed head with a whine like shrapnel.

Quickly, The Shadow fled toward the patch of underbrush beyond the rear of the factory, where he had left

the unconscious body of Harry Vincent. He whipped off his own burning cloak and stamped out the flames.

Vincent was in bad shape. He was suffering severe seconddegree burns. Most of the clothing had been

The Shadow picked him up. Staggering out of the dark woods with his burden, He headed away from the

flaming plant. His goal was the car which he had parked beyond the front of the plant. He approached it from

Darkness aided him. All eyes were turned in horror toward the factory. A yell from firemen at the rear of the

factory showed that they had found their comrade who had been knocked unconscious by a chunk of falling

Divested of his robe, The Shadow had no difficulty driving away from the excited mob of spectators. No one

The Shadow drove swiftly toward New York. As soon as it was safe, he raised his speed to a terrific pace.

But there was one thing The Shadow did not know. The spot in the underbrush behind the factory from which

The Shadow had rescued Harry Vincent was no longer empty. A man had crept slyly into view.

HIDDEN in nearby bushes, Frost had watched the rescue of Vincent. Frost's eyes gleamed with nasty triumph

as he picked up the halfburned cloak which The Shadow had discarded. He shoved it under his coat.

Unaware of this, The Shadow drove swiftly to New York. He sped to an uptown hospital maintained secretly

by him for emergencies such as this. Harry Vincent was examined by a competent surgeon. The surgeon

looked grim. He whispered a warning to The Shadow, as a nurse gently cut away the clothing from Vincent's

The Shadow raced to a phone. His curt voice lashed an order over the wire to Burbank. Not many minutes

later, a private airplane rose swiftly into the black sky. It was piloted by Miles Crofton, the trusted pilot of

The plane headed west. Its goal was a town nearly six hundred miles away. In that town lived one of the most

noted skingrafting surgeons in America. The Shadow was neglecting nothing in his desperate fight to save

AT tenthirty the next morning, David Frost came down from his room at the quiet little inn at Faxton. He

looked quite unlike the disheveled fugitive whom The Shadow had been forced by fate to let slip through his

Frost's jetblack hair was smooth and slick. The ends of his black mustache were neatly pointed. He was

wearing a new suit. Only his eyes betrayed the man's inner nervousness. There was a strained, sleepless look

"I'm afraid that the plant foreman was burned to death. He's missing this morning. He probably tried to get in

to stop the blaze, and was trapped. It'll be another day before the ruins will be cool enough to search for his

"One of the firemen was hurt too," the inn clerk added. "A hunk of masonry hit him on the head when the

"There wasn't a penny of insurance on the plant," the clerk continued. "I heard a rumor this morning that the

The clerk was eager to ask Frost if he were still interested in buying out the plant. But he was afraid to. To

bring up the subject would be to let Frost know that the clerk had listened in on a private phone conversation

Frost didn't delay any longer to discuss the fire. He went outside to where his car was parked. With smiling

lips, he drove to the home of the Beecher brothers. It wasn't a pleasant smile. There was nasty triumph in it.

Frost found the Beechers stunned by the disaster that had befallen them. Neither brother had slept a wink.

Their eyes were red and dazed. When Frost suavely brought up the subject that had brought him to their

"There isn't a plant any more," Joe Beecher muttered, dully. "It's gone! Finished. Wiped out!"

"No. The policy had lapsed. We... we didn't realize it. I don't remember ever receiving a notification from the

"You probably were busy and overlooked it," Frost said, smoothly. "Too bad. You must be close to being

"That's why I'm here. As I told you before, I wasn't really interested in your plant and equipment. Its loss

doesn't have to keep us from making a deal. What I'm interested in is your dye formula. I'm prepared to buy

the formula now and pay cash. But you'll have to make up your minds quickly. Some pressing business of

"We're badly in debt," Tom Beecher admitted. "But I rather hate to sell that formula. I've been hoping we

"You're both too old for a fresh start," Frost said. "If you don't believe that, try asking the bank for fresh

Frost opened a fat wallet. From it, he drew a sheaf of bank notes, spread them under the eyes of his hosts.

There were ten of them, each one a thousanddollar bill. It was a powerful lure to a couple of dazed men

"All right. Shop around, my friends. You're in no position to bargain. I'll give you five minutes to think it

Frost walked out of the room. He left the cash on the table. Presently, a tremulous voice summoned him back.

FROST felt a tight band of worry drop away from his heart. But he covered up his grim relief. He became

He drove them to a lawyer in town. A legal transfer was drawn up and notarized. The ten thousand dollars

He drove back to the inn with nervous haste. His job at Faxton wasn't quite finished. Frost had a reminder

that he was working for a watchful taskmaster, when he entered his room upstairs at the inn. There was a

small sheet of paper under his traveling clock on the bureau. Frost discovered the paper when he picked up

It was a curt message of congratulation from the Boss. It instructed David Frost the exact route he was to take

on the way back to New York. Frost had reported by telephone the afternoon before from a pay station on

the outskirts of town the fact that he had captured Harry Vincent. He had voiced his belief that Vincent

This note, smuggled into Frost's room by unseen hands, was the answer of the Boss.

Frost's eyes lost some of their tension as he read the final sentence of congratulation from his unknown chief.

Frost had vanished from his home in New York and had done a dirty job for a criminal, because he dared not

He could return home in his own respectable identity as Harold Young. A plausible explanation for his

Frost grinned as he went downstairs with his bags. Before he checked out, he dropped a large envelope into

the inn's mailbox. The envelope contained a bill of sale and a copy of the Beecher brothers' dye formula. It

For twenty miles, Frost followed a State highway, as he drove toward New York along the route prescribed

for him by the Boss. Then he made a left turn and followed an older road. The road, in turn, gave way to what

The car bumped and swayed. Frost was forced to drive slowly. Once he stopped completely and consulted the

directions the Boss had given him. Satisfied, he continued his slow progress through the hills.

Rounding a sharp turn in the narrow road, Frost uttered a sudden gasp. His foot jammed on the brake.

A grimlyattired figure confronted him with uplifted hand. Frost could see the gleam of watchful eyes. It was

the only clue to the identity of the man in the road. The eyes gleamed through two slits in a hooded mask that

Frost felt cold terror as the robed figure advanced toward him. But the voice that issued from beneath the

"You understand now why I asked you to come by this unfrequented route. It was necessary for me to have a

"Excellent!" the Boss said. "You haven't made a single mistake. You shall have your reward now!"

As he spoke, he lunged forward. Frost screamed. The gloved hand of the Boss had whipped from

concealment. It clutched a long doubleedged knife. The knife plunged into Frost's body.

But it was not a death blow. Frost, writhing with terror, had jerked aside. The knife had not stabbed at a vital

The masked criminal was as pitiless as if he had been made of stone. He didn't utter a sound. He grasped the

handle of the knife and pulled it loose from the flesh of his victim. Then he stabbed again, with better aim.

NO sound followed Frost's single cry. The murder had taken place at a wild, desolated spot in the hills. The

only audible noise, as the masked murderer slid behind the wheel of Frost's car, was the hum of the idling

motor and the rustle of leaves from the trees that hemmed in the deserted mountain road.

The masked man put the car in motion. He knew exactly where to drive with the bleeding corpse. He didn't

have far to go. Turning another sharp curve in the rutted lane, the masked man halted near the edge of a steep

declivity cut in the rocks on one side of the road. It was a manmade precipice. It was the remains of an old,

Seepage from many a cold mountain spring had turned the bottom of that abandoned quarry into a deep lake.

A fence guarded the road's edge, but its rails were old and rotted. The masked man lifted one of the rails and

He weighted the corpse with a stone of heavy granite which he found after a brief search through the weeds.

He found another chunk of rock not so big a chunk which fitted easily in his clenched hand.

Then he did a horrible thing. He leaned over the corpse land struck savagely, again and again.

When the masked man straightened, David Frost no longer had a face. Both his dead hands were badly

mangled. His fingers were so smashed that it would be impossible for anyone to take a single recognizable

The masked man didn't expect the corpse to be found. His ghoulish battering of the victim was an added

The weighted body of David Frost fell like a plummet into the depths of the quarry lake. There was a quick

splash, a ripple of white foam spread then the corpse vanished into the ooze at the deep bottom of the

Calmly, the murderer replaced the rotted rail he had lifted from the fence along the deserted road. The last

Harold Young, alias David Frost, was dead. The missing vice president of the Drovers' Bank, in New York,

would never reappear to be questioned by police. There was no risk of the Boss being tripped up in a minor

detail of his alibi by persistent police detectives. Harold Young's disappearance would take its place with

The dye formula for which Harold Young's alias, David Frost, had given his life, was now safely in the

United States mails. It was on its way to the hands of a supercriminal whose gigantic conspiracy was ready

AN hour after the mutilated corpse of Frost vanished into the waterfilled quarry among the Watchung hills,

It was the fireman who had been badly hurt by a falling chunk of masonry at the blaze of the dye factory in

The fireman had suffered a serious concussion. His eyes were bright and shiny. The nurse thought he was

But he was not delirious. He shoved aside the sedative which the nurse tried to give him. He insisted on

talking to the chief of the Faxton police. The nurse called a doctor, who made a quick examination of the hurt

fireman. He listened to what the moaning man was trying to say. Then he spoke quietly to the nurse.

To the police chief, the fireman whispered the grim story he had told the doctor. Arson! A criminal had

escaped from the flames by dropping from the roof at the rear of the factory. A criminal in a black robe with a

For the first time since the fire had occurred, deliberate arson was clearly indicated. The police chief

remembered certain queer facts. He recalled what the Beecher brothers had told him on the night of the fire.

Their insurance had lapsed because of the strange disappearance of a letter of notification from the insurance

company. A mysterious visitor named Frost had tried in vain to buy their business the day before the blaze.

The police chief sent for Joe and Tom Beecher. They brought him more suspicious news. Frost had left town

after accomplishing what he had come for. He had purchased the dye formula for a ridiculously low price.

The police raced to the quiet little inn where Frost had stayed while he was in town. There, they made another

sinister discovery. Frost was not the only person who was missing. A second guest at the inn had vanished,

too. A man who had claimed to be a wandering artist making a sketching tour of the countryside.

A search of Vincent's room confirmed the police chief's suspicions. Luckily, Vincent had registered under

another name, but he had left his artist's materials behind him. There wasn't a single sketch of any kind in the

bulky portfolio he had brought with him. Every sheet of drawing paper in the portfolio was blank.

It was perfectly clear to the police that David Frost and this fake "artist" were criminally teamed together.

They had come to town to burn down the factory, to beggar its owners, to buy in the dye formula cheap.

Frost's room at the inn received an exhaustive search. The search brought to light the final proof of The

A badlyburned cloak was discovered hidden in the room that had been occupied by Frost. The fireman at

"That settles it," the police chief cried. "Frost is The Shadow! That fake artist was a criminal pal of his!"

It was a doubly wrong statement. The chief of police didn't even begin to understand the clever ramifications

of this masquerade of theft and murder. An unknown supercriminal was entirely in the clear! He was ready

for his next move in a conspiracy whose stakes were literally millions of dollars.

Part I had ended with the death of an inventor and the theft of his secret. Part II had put into the unknown

It was a puzzling question. Even The Shadow was not ready to answer that question correctly, yet!

THE SHADOW was reading a morning newspaper. There was sinister news in that paper, news which

brought a flicker of flame to The Shadow's eyes. But no one in the Cobalt Club realized the significance the

For the moment, The Shadow's grim identity was hidden behind the more harmless role of Lamont Cranston.

The account in the paper summed up the "facts" in reference to a sensational arson job which occurred in the

town of Faxton, New Jersey. Police were searching for a man named David Frost. Frost and a criminal

henchman of his, who had posed as an artist, had been accused of causing the disastrous fire at the Beecher

plant. Both were missing. But Frost had been positively identified as The Shadow!

A whisper of faint laughter came from behind the shield of Cranston's newspaper. The Shadow had left the

bedside of Harry Vincent only a short while before. Harry was no longer in danger of death. The arrival of a

famous medical specialist by airplane had turned the tide. But it would be many weeks before Vincent would

A friendly greeting interrupted The Shadow's train of thought. He lowered his newspaper. A man was smiling

at him. It was George Gregory, the wealthy woolen manufacturer who had promised to aid Clifford Mason's

Gregory was not his ordinary self. He looked worried. The Shadow stiffened when Gregory told him what

was behind that worry of his. Dorothy Mason was behaving very queerly, it seemed.

"Well, as I promised you a few days ago," Gregory explained, "I offered Dorothy Mason a job as a junior

secretary in my organization. She accepted it. She was supposed to report for work this morning. But she

"It annoyed me, at first, because I went to considerable trouble to make a place for her. Then I began to

Cranston concealed his alarm. But he suggested that it might be a good idea to investigate.

"I feel a sort of responsibility for the girl," Gregory said. "It's so unlike her to act like this. I can't forget how

The two friends drove uptown in Cranston's car. The Inwood home of the dead inventor looked almost as

deserted by daylight as it did by night. But there was nothing sinister about it from the outside. Dorothy's

"Perhaps she overslept," Gregory said. "She evidently meant to drive to Dyckman Street and take the subway

The Shadow rang the front doorbell. Nothing happened. Two or three more rings brought only silence within

The Shadow shook his head. Rounding the house, he tried some of the side windows, found one that was

Entering noiselessly, he helped Gregory over the sill. The two men quietly searched the entire ground floor.

SHE was lying, unconscious, in the upper hall. A trickle of blood from her bruised forehead showed that she

had been struck down. She was lying near the open doorway of a room that her father had used as a library,

and was fully dressed except for her hat. The hat had fallen from her head when she had received the blow

The Shadow noted that the blow had been a hasty one. The girl was not badly hurt. Under his treatment,

Dorothy had intended to start work for Mr. Gregory that morning. She left the house and drove her coupe

toward the subway station at Dyckman Street. But on the way, she remembered that she had forgotten

Going upstairs, she had heard a sound. It came from her father's library. Dorothy thought she had left a

window open and that the wind had blown something off a table. But when she reached the doorway of the

"He was masked," Dorothy shuddered. "He was standing on the bookcase ladder, with a book in his hand.

Before I could scream, he sprang from the ladder and struck me over the head. That's all I remember."

The library was solidly lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling. The ladder was a movable affair that ran

on a rail along the floor. The fact that the burglar had mounted the ladder indicated that the volume he had

While Gregory and the girl stared blankly, The Shadow leaned inconspicuously against a table across the

room. He picked up a small object which his keen eyes had noted. The object seemed out of place. It was a

Neither Dorothy nor Gregory noticed The Shadow pick up that odd tool. He replaced it exactly where he had

found it. He had a shrewd purpose in so doing. The Shadow suspected that this tool belonged to the masked

Its loss would be discovered by the burglar before he got very far away. There was a strong possibility that

The thought had barely passed through The Shadow's mind, when an electric bell buzzed loudly downstairs.

The visitor looked surprised when he was greeted by Lamont Cranston and George Gregory. It was Daniel

Tarkin, the stocky, heavilybuilt chemistinventor friend of Dorothy's dead father.

For an instant, there was a cold flick in Tarkin's eyes. Then it vanished. He smiled at Dorothy. He had called,

The sight of her pale face drew an exclamation of alarm from him. He asked quickly what had happened.

When Dorothy repeated her story about the masked book thief, Daniel Tarkin expressed puzzlement. He

"Perhaps you or Mr. Gregory might be able to help on that point," Cranston suggested quietly. "You were

both friends of Mason. You've visited him in his library many times. The position of the ladder shows which

section of the bookcase the thief was interested in. Suppose you climb the ladder and see if any volume on the

Neither man was aware of Cranston's real reason for this request. The Shadow had noticed that the steps of

the ladder were like everything else in the dead inventor's library covered with a film of dust. On that dust

were faint smudges where a man had already climbed the burglar who had stolen the book. Gregory

mounted the ladder first. He shook his head after a brief glance. Tarkin had no better luck with his scrutiny of

It seemed like a senseless performance. But The Shadow knew now who the burglar was!

GREGORY, who was a tall man, had not mounted to the top of the ladder. Tarkin, stockier and shorter, was

On each of those ladder steps, including the top one, was an unmistakable smudge from the masked burglar's

But it was only partial proof of The Shadow's suspicions. Any other man of Tarkin's height would be equally

"Yes. There's a title card for each volume. Each book had been numbered. The number also appears on the

"Then it should be easy to check the top shelf," Cranston said. "I'll call out the volume numbers one by one.

You and Mr. Gregory can compare them with the index in the file. Since the numbers are consecutive, the

He mounted the ladder, was apparently absorbed in his task. So were Dorothy and Gregory over at the filing

The inventor had moved toward the table where The Shadow had replaced the clue left by the masked

burglar. Tarkin's back was toward the table. Neither Gregory nor Dorothy could see his hands.

There was a tilted wall mirror on the other side of the room. Tarkin's shielded hand slid toward the tiny

screwdriver on the table. It was picked up in an instant, and dropped deftly into the inventor's pocket.

However, The Shadow kept the knowledge to himself. He continued to call out the volume numbers.

Presently, the missing number was reached. It belonged to a rather unusual volume. The Shadow examined

The title of the stolen book was "Fire, Earth and Water." The card described it as a medieval volume about

alchemy. There were only two other copies in existence, both of them in private museums. It had been written

It had no scientific value whatsoever, Dorothy Mason vouched in a puzzled tone. Tarkin was quick to agree

"The thief got nothing for his pains," he said. "The book is merely a literary curiosity. Evidently, the burglar

The Shadow knew that Tarkin was lying. There was more to this "Fire, Earth and Water" book than the

crooked inventor wished to be known. Tarkin had run a terrific risk in stealing it. The Shadow thought grimly

of the murder of Mason and the arson job in New Jersey. Was this ancient book back of those two crimes?

Accepting Tarkin's opinion of the burglary, The Shadow persuaded Dorothy and Gregory that the whole

Gregory promised to send his personal physician to make sure Dorothy hadn't suffered any serious hurt. He

told her he'd keep the job in his office open for her until she felt ready to report for work. Tarkin added his

The Shadow drove swiftly back to midtown Manhattan. After dropping Gregory off at the Cobalt Club, he

He went there in the role of Lamont Cranston. As Cranston, he often dropped in socially on Inspector Joe

THE SHADOW hadn't forgotten the unsolved killing of Toby and Slim. Cardona still thought the two thugs

had been murdered as a result of mob warfare. But it was possible Cardona might have some fresh clue.

Joe, however, had a bigger problem to bother him. He was more worried about the disappearance of Harold

"Not a single thing to explain where Young went or why," Cardona growled. "And that's not the worst of it!

Last night another man vanished! This time, a prominent Wall Street broker named Albert Truxton. Gone!

"Truxton left his house just before dinner. Same as Young. The only difference was that Truxton pretended

his stomach was upset. He went out to get some bicarb of soda and no one has seen him since. His business

was in good shape. Plenty of money. Thoroughly respectable. What in Heaven's name is behind these two

The Shadow shrugged. As Lamont Cranston, he wasn't supposed to know much about crime. But he managed

He learned from Cardona that Young talked with a slight lisp. Instantly, The Shadow remembered a fact he

had learned from Harry Vincent. David Frost, the blackhaired mystery man who had bought the dye formula

Were Young and Frost the same man? If so, crime was the basis for that first vanishing. By the same

The Shadow learned that Cardona was about to pay a visit to Truxton's home. He asked if he might

accompany Joe. It was on his way to the Cobalt Club, Cranston pointed out. Cardona nodded.

Truxton's weeping wife added little to what Cardona had already told The Shadow. But she did add one fact.

Truxton had received a telephone call before he had made his hurried departure. The phone, unlike the one in

Young's bedroom, was in the living room. Truxton's wife had seen and heard her husband when he took the

"Practically nothing. Just 'yes' and 'all right' and things like that. He told me, before he rushed out, that the

call was a routine message from a business friend. But he was terrified! I'm afraid some harm has come to

Cardona found out the approximate time of the phone call. He got in touch with the telephone company. But

it was wasted effort. The call to Truxton had been made on a dial instrument. It couldn't be traced.

The Shadow, however, found keen interest in a pad that lay on the telephone stand. The top sheet was

covered with scrawled designs. Stars and curlicues, squares and triangles, all drawn hastily with a pencil. In

one corner of the sheet, Truxton had printed in small capital letters: "MOTHER GOOSE."

"Albert always scribbled like that at the phone," Mrs. Truxton said. "It was just a nervous habit."

But The Shadow had other ideas. The stars and triangles and curlicues might be nonsense but not the words.

Why should a frightened man write "Mother Goose?" Unconsciously, Truxton must have recorded important

Cranston made a few inane remarks, then he left Cardona and hurried back to the Cobalt Club. In the

darkness of his secluded suite, he lifted his private phone and called Burbank. To Burbank, The Shadow gave

Marsland was instructed to comb the underworld for news of some place or person of thing referred to by

A SHORT time later, Marsland's report was received by The Shadow. It was an enlightening one.

"Mother Goose" was a fleshandblood woman. Her real name was Lizzie Goss. Years earlier, she had been

associated with criminals, especially those in the prohibition racket. She had operated hideouts.

According to Marsland's report, Lizzie Goss had reformed. She was running a respectable rooming house in

But the whisper of The Shadow's laughter was ominous, as he wrote down the address of the rooming house.

The Shadow intrusted the preliminary task to the smartest taxi driver in New York: Moe Shrevnitz. There

wasn't a street or an alleyway in New York that Moe didn't know. He was on friendly terms with practically

every hacker in Manhattan. Moe could ask questions without exciting suspicion. He was ideal for a job of this

By cruising in the neighborhood of east Harlem, and drinking a lot of beer with fellow hackies, Moe soon

narrowed down his search. He located a talkative taxi driver who had taken a guy late at night from the

The fare bore no resemblance to the cleanshaven Albert Truxton. This man was bearded and had

differentcolored hair than the missing broker. He was driven to Grand Central Station. The cabby helped to

But why was Truxton sneaking away in disguise to a small industrial town near Albany? What hold did an

The Shadow suspected that a new arson job was in the making. Was Leo Keller behind it? Or the suave

The laughter of The Shadow put an end to speculations. The Shadow, too, intended to travel. He had a grim

IT was long past dark when the train pulled into a small railroad station in upper New York.

Only a few people alighted. The big streamlined trains didn't stop here. There were a few small industrial

plants. The town's chief attraction to visitors lay in an entirely different direction.

On its outskirts was a small health resort. There were mineral springs and healing baths.

His tall figure was stooped. He walked with a shuffling step. Dark glasses shielded his strong eyes. When he

spoke to the lone taxi driver outside the station, he used a querulous, whining voice.

He was fussy about taking the taxi, until he knew to which hotel his "friend" had gone. He mentioned the first

The Shadow described his friend. He repeated Moe Shrevnitz's description of the bearded man who had

sneaked away from Mother Goose's shabby rooming house in New York soon after the disappearance of

At the Palace Hotel, The Shadow was even fussier than he had been with the taxi driver. He went into a long

While he talked, he scanned the register. But it was impossible to learn from the book what name the

disguised Albert Truxton was using as an alias. There were several guests from New York. Anyone of them

Meanwhile, The Shadow made the clerk's life miserable with the fuss he made about the selection of a room.

There was purpose in this. The Shadow didn't intend to occupy whatever room the clerk assigned to him for

more than one night. He tipped the clerk liberally. He also handed the bellboy a bill that made the lad's eyes

Word passed rapidly around that this fussy old guy was willing to pay well for any annoyance he caused. The

Shadow was well taken care of when he returned to the lobby to read a magazine. He selected a chair fairly

The bearded man took the yellow envelope, but didn't open it. He shoved it, unread, into his pocket. Quickly,

The Shadow didn't follow. A hasty move might bring disaster. The Shadow was eager to have a look at that

telegram. But he preferred to wait until morning, when he could better control his method of search.

When he was convinced that Truxton, alias Carter, meant to stay put in his room, The Shadow rode up to the

But the next morning as soon as he had made certain that Carter had gone out The Shadow became very

He demanded that his room be changed. It was drafty; it had a northern exposure; it was on the top floor and

The day clerk didn't scowl when he heard the long list of complaints. The night clerk had told him about the

old guy's generous tips. A fivedollar bill changed hands. The clerk told The Shadow to pick out any

The Shadow liked the one on the second floor that adjoined the room of Mr. Carter.

IN the privacy of that room, the querulous old "invalid" disappeared. In his place appeared an ominous,

The shadedrawn room made the blackgarbed Shadow almost invisible. His eyes gleamed as he stowed

twin .45s under the robe. He made swift preparations. From a bag came an efficient listening device,

Aware that Carter was not in his room, The Shadow bored a tiny hole in the baseboard of the connecting

wall, close to the floor. He placed the end of the thin wire in the hole, where it could be easily pulled through

Five minutes later, The Shadow was in Carter's room. No one had seen him pause in the corridor before the

bearded suspect's locked door. No one heard the faint click as the cheap hotel lock opened under the powerful

On the outside knob The Shadow hung a "Do Not Disturb" card. It was insurance against the unexpected

The Shadow worked fast. He installed the microphone beneath the desk where Carter's telephone rested. He

ran the wire under the rug from the hole in the wall. The wire was made for exactly just such a purpose. It

was thin enough to make no perceptible bulge under the fuzzy thickness of the rug. The rug extended to the

Next, The Shadow made a swift, competent search. He found nothing to incriminate Carter. There was no

sign of the telegram which Carter had received the night before. It was either on Carter's person, or, more

likely, destroyed. But The Shadow's hissing laughter indicated that he was satisfied with the course of events.

He waited patiently, as motionless as a statue carved from black stone. After a long time, thumping footsteps

sounded from the next room. Headphones made those footsteps extremely loud under the amplified current

from the batteries. But the echo was confined to the listening ears of The Shadow.

Presently, he heard the telephone ring. The call was answered quickly by Carter.

"Hello?... Who?... Oh, yes! How are you, Mr. Hilton? I was sorry you were not at the plant when I called.

Perhaps I can make an appointment with you for this afternoon... What?... Yes, that's right. Your secretary

told you correctly. I represent an important New York syndicate. I'd like to buy out your plant and machinery,

A gleam came into the eyes of The Shadow. Carter certainly wasn't wasting any time. The same procedure

that had been employed in New Jersey was now under way. A criminal move would undoubtedly follow this

The Shadow knew the offer was phony when he heard the sum that Carter declared he was willing to pay.

There was a long pause. Hilton was evidently protesting vigorously at the relatively small sum offered. Then

"It's a fair price for what I want, Mr. Hilton. I'm not interested in acquiring your whole factory. All I want is

the machinery. If I buy the machinery, I intend to ship it to New York. I'll build a modern factory of my own.

"My offer won't remain open very long. Don't be too hasty in refusing. I happen to know that your new

equipment cost you exactly a hundred thousand. You've paid off only ten thousand of it and you are having

trouble meeting the other payments. Think it over, Mr. Hilton! I'll come in and see you this afternoon."

Carter hung up. There was a slow thump of footsteps, then the creak of a bedspring. Carter was evidently

stretching out comfortably on his bed. His ugly chuckle showed that he was not too worried by Hilton's first

THE SHADOW had plenty to think about. He had made it his business to find out about every industrial

plant in town. The Hilton Wire Works was the last place The Shadow had suspected of being in danger. It

Seemingly, there was no connection whatever between the Hilton plant and the burned factory of the

The Hilton factory was a wirespinning plant. It manufactured the thin, delicate wire filament for all types of

electric bulbs. The new spinning machinery to which Carter had alluded had been only recently installed. It

had been designed by Hilton himself, and delivered to him a month or two ago by a large machinetool

That Hilton was having trouble in meeting his installment payments for the machinery, made things look

grimly like the financial spot the Beecher brothers had been in. Carter's unknown criminal employer seemed

From next door, where Carter had stretched out comfortably on his bed, came nothing but silence. Finally,

that silence was broken by the slow, rhythmic sound of snoring. Carter had calmly gone to sleep.

The Shadow removed the headphones. It was still too soon for him to make a personal move. But the time

Over his telephone, The Shadow spoke a seemingly trivial message. The message concealed a grim order to

CLYDE BURKE was talking to his plump, middleaged landlady in a cheap boardinghouse on the other side

There was nothing of the star newspaper reporter about Clyde. He wore a shiny blueserge suit and heavy

worn shoes. His flannel shirt was open at the throat. Clyde looked what he claimed to be a husky young

Mindful of The Shadow's orders, Clyde tried to pump his landlady about the Hilton wirespinning plant. It

was difficult to ask her about the prospects of his getting a job there, because Clyde had made an initial

mistake. He had told the landlady, on his arrival, that he was an experienced dye mixer.

"There wouldn't be a chance for you," the landlady said. "The Hilton plant has nothing to do with dyes."

"I'm willing to work at anything," Clyde said. "I've had plenty of mechanical experience."

"Maybe so. But Hilton doesn't employ a large force. His new machinery is semiautomatic. He hasn't hired

Clyde asked more questions. He learned that the Hilton factory was completely fireproof. The chances of the

bearded Mr. Carter being able to cause any firebug damage to the wirespinning machinery seemed remote.

But Clyde was aware that Carter was planning a criminal move. It was up to him to find out what it was.

Clyde asked the talkative landlady about the prospects of a watchman's job. She shook her head.

"No chance. The night watchman used to board here. He'd like well enough to quit, but he hasn't got money

Clyde yawned. But he managed to learn that the watchman's daughter lived in Chicago. Idly, he asked her

From a telephone pay station, Clyde got in touch with Burbank. When he hung up, he was smiling. Burbank

would swiftly refer the problem to Rutledge Mann. Mann had financial and business contacts in all the big

cities, including Chicago. The matter would be handled efficiently, and quickly. Clyde had emphasized the

It was almost closing time at the Hilton wire factory when Clyde alighted from a bus and entered the yard

gate of the plant. He spoke respectfully to the frowning superintendent and asked him for a job. Clyde stated

"I think I've got a job here for you. Our regular watchman quit us cold a halfhour ago."

"That's something you'll never have to worry about here. We've never had any labor trouble since Mr. Hilton

He wanted to keep the superintendent's mind off the fact that he, Clyde, had arrived so miraculously on the

"The darn fool got a telegram, from his married daughter in Chicago," the superintendent growled. "He has a

new grandson that he's never seen. His daughter wired him the bus fare to go out West. That's a break for

CLYDE already had his eyes wide open. A big sedan had whirled through the open gate of the factory yard.

It was driven with reckless speed by a goodlooking young man. He braked it to a swift halt and sprang out

"Gosh, no! That's Hilton's son, Roy. There's a heap of difference between Roy and the old man."

"Fast all around, I'd say. Roy used to be a lot too fond of pretty girls, and liquor, too."

"That's his father's car Roy was driving. The old man made Roy give up his own car. He got into a couple of

accidents while he was a little tight. But Roy's on the water wagon now. He's only allowed to drive his

father's car in the daytime, on strictly business calls. I think he has learned his lesson, even if he does like to

Clyde didn't reply. A grim thought occurred to him. He knew that a criminal conspiracy was under way to get

control of the Hilton plant cheaply. Was Roy Hilton the weak spot at which smart criminals might be aiming?

The whole setup here was completely different from the factory in New Jersey. There were no inflammable

chemicals and dyes here. The plant was completely fireproof. Nor was there any exclusive formula for the

The mystery deepened as Clyde crossed the open yard of the plant to sign up for his job. His eyes narrowed

"Ore," the superintendent said. "The ore of a rare earth metal. It's used as an alloy with the metal we draw

Clyde didn't show any more curiosity. He turned away to hide the grim light that came into his eyes. The title

There must be some ugly reason why Daniel Tarkin had stolen that volume from the library of his dead

inventor friend. Fire had been the first destructive method used by criminals to gain their crooked ends. Was

Puzzled, Clyde Burke prepared to spend the night at the factory. He was prepared to block the first sign of

Outside the hotel, darkness had settled on the town. Within The Shadow's shadedrawn room it was even

He was wearing headphones, was listening to utter silence from the adjoining room in which his dictograph

microphone had been so cleverly planted. The silence had continued for a long time. But not for an instant

He knew that the bearded Mr. Carter was still in that next room. In spite of the suspect's continued silence. it

A small mirror was placed at an angle near the open transom above The Shadow's closed door. Another

mirror lay on the desk at The Shadow's elbow. A tiny spot of light the size of a dime made the desk mirror

visible. The reflection of a ceiling light from the outside hall took care of the mirror near the transom.

To keep close tabs on Carter was The Shadow's task. The Hilton wirespinning plant was already under

The ears of The Shadow could hear the slightest sound that came over the dictograph wire. But his vision was

limited to the small patch of hallway outside Carter's door. He could hear a faint scratching. It sounded like

the slow movement of a pen across paper. It was The Shadow's only clue to Carter's activity.

Carter was writing. He sat hunched over his desk, with a code book close to his elbow. The passage of time

was apparently important to Carter, for he kept glancing at his watch, which lay on his desk. Its hands

Suddenly, a trivial accident occurred. In consulting his code book. Carter laid his fountain pen on the desk;

The desk top was not quite flat; the pen rolled off and fell to the floor. Carter bent to pick it up.

He found that it had rolled between the edge of the rug and the wall. He had to raise the rug edge to lift out

He was staring at a thin wire that the fuzzy rug had hidden. The wire vanished into a small hole bored

Carter realized at once that someone in the adjoining room had rigged up a dictograph during his absence.

The knowledge made his face whiten. But he was a cool, quickthinking man. Noiselessly, he traced the

Carter's first impulse was to cut the wire. But he changed his mind swiftly. He left the listening device

untouched. Quickly, he capped his fountain pen and put it back in his pocket. The flat code book also

A magnificent chance to mislead his foe in the next room was now possible. Carter had intended to leave his

own room at the stroke of eight o'clock. It involved a personal alibi on his part for certain criminal events that

Now, Carter saw a way to make that alibi of his doubly strong. He'd make an unwilling witness of the man in

Noisily, he picked up his telephone, mumbled a number. But it was a number that no one heard except Carter

and The Shadow. The bearded man held down the receiver fork of the phone as he faked the call.

"Hello... Mike?" Carter's whisper was tense. "Everything is set for the blowoff. How about your end of it?

Already to start?... Good! I'll meet you in ten minutes. I'm leaving right now."

He put down the telephone noisily. A few moments later he left his room, locking the door carefully behind

THE SHADOW watched Carter's departure through the mirror over his darkened transom. No longer robed

Before Carter could enter the elevator, which had risen from below in answer to his ring, The Shadow

Carter gave no indication that he was delighted by the appearance of the fussy old invalid from the room next

door. Politely, he inquired after The Shadow's health. But he managed to turn for an instant so that he faced

the elevator operator. He nodded briefly. The operator understood the crooked signal.

As the car descended, the closed hand of the operator rested for an instant above the slot in which the control

handle of the elevator worked back and forth. Certain small metallic objects dropped unseen into the

There was a flash as the operator moved the handle. The car jerked. Then, with horrible swiftness, it began to

Carter cried out with alarm. So did the operator. Swiftly, his hand darted to a panel alongside the control box,

pulled a redpainted lever. It was an emergency safety device. It halted the car's dizzy plunge down the shaft.

The Shadow was careful to keep to his role of a fussy old invalid. He added his frightened exclamation to that

When The Shadow found out that there was no way to escape from the stalled car until workmen from above

cut through the metal roof of the elevator, he was certain that the whole "accident" was a prearranged device.

"I'm afraid we're going to be stuck here for some time," Carter said smoothly. "We may as well sit down on

"No," Carter replied. "But it's damned inconvenient to be cooped up like this! How long before you can get

"Probably an hour," the voice called. "The whole lifting apparatus has been shortcircuited. The emergency

control lever has jammed the car. There's a small escape panel in the elevator's roof but nobody seems to

"We'll have to get an acetylene torch and cut through. I'm sorry this happened, gentlemen. At any rate, you're

in no danger. Just make yourselves as comfortable as you can, until we can get workmen here and cut a way

Carter swore with loud annoyance. But there was a faint hint of a smile on his bearded lips. He glanced at his

AT five minutes past eight, Roy Hilton halted his father's big sedan at a lonely crossroads on the outskirts of

Roy had received a message that a surprise party was being given for a friend of his at the country club. He

didn't know that the message was a fake. But he didn't mind stopping at the crossroads.

The girl who was holding up her hand in a hesitant signal was darned goodlooking! She was a

honeycolored blonde with a beautiful figure. The evening gown she was wearing helped to emphasize her

charms. Her hiplength furred jacket flared loosely open at her throat and bosom.

Breathlessly, she explained that she had missed the interurban bus that stopped at the crossroads. The next

bus wouldn't be along for a halfhour. If she was late, she'd lose her job at the Green Door Inn. She hated to

ask a strange gentleman for a favor like this, but if the Green Door Inn wasn't too much out of his way

Hilton forgot about the country club. He took the left turn and headed toward the Green Door Inn. He knew

the place well. He had been there many times in the past, before his father had clamped down on his sporty

The inn was a popular roadhouse, with a snappy floor show and excellent liquor. But young Hilton had never

taken a girl there half as pretty as the one who now sat so demurely at his side.

Her giggle made him laugh, too. He stepped on the gas and sent the powerful car whizzing ahead at a terrific

clip. The blonde clutched timidly at his arm. Roy could smell the perfume of her hair.

"Maybe we could have a drink when we get there just to celebrate our acquaintance," Marcella said.

"I'd like to, but no liquor for me, I'm afraid. I promised my father to cut the stuff out. I had a near accident a

couple of weeks ago with my car, when I was tight. Dad took my car away from me.

"This one I'm driving tonight is his. I borrowed it without his permission to go over to the country club so

"I have to watch my step about liquor, too. None of the girls in the floor show are allowed to drink with

"Why can't we have a beer together in one of the private rooms at the back? I've got to sneak in the back

anyway, because I'm late. No one out front will be the wiser if you walk in alone through the inn's front

entrance. Meet me in Room No. 3. The waiter assigned to that room is a friend of mine. He won't squeal."

"Wait," Marcella whispered. "Let me get in the rear of the car. I don't want the doorman to see me drive in

with you. He's a rat; he'd report me. I'll keep down out of sight, and sneak out of the car when you park in the

Marcella remained crouched on the floor while Roy Hilton parked in the inn's grounds. Then she vanished

"Hello, Mr. Hilton. I didn't expect to see you here tonight. I thought your old man had forbidden you to use

He walked toward the rear of the place. The floor show hadn't started yet, but most of the tables were

crowded. Roy nodded to a few people he knew. Then he turned into a rear corridor, where the private rooms

Marcella was waiting for him. She had removed her furred wrap. Her lowcut evening gown made Roy stare.

The ordered a highball for herself and a beer for Roy. The pockmarked waiter who brought the drinks gave a

knowing look, and withdrew. Roy didn't like the taste of the beer much, but he drank it anyway. He'd have

much rather sipped a highball. But he was loyal to the promise he had made his father about whiskey.

Marcella sat close to him, talking in a low voice. It was hard to be conscious of anything except the blonde's

Before he realized it, Roy's head began to sag. He was too dopey to be surprised or alarmed. He was too tired

Roy's eyes were closed, when the two men stepped noiselessly into the room from a rear door. They grinned

as they saw Hilton slumped over the table, his head resting on his outstretched arms.

Her blue eyes were no longer soft. They were as cold and hard as chips of ice. But she was not as tough as the

"Beat it, babe!" one of them whispered. "You did a neat job with John Sap here but we ain't finished yet.

Duck out the back door and sneak around to this guy's parked car. Get in the back and lie down on the floor.

As soon as she had vanished through the back door, the thugs got busy with their doped victim. One of them

lifted Roy's slumped head, the other held a glass of pinkish liquid to his lips. They talked to him in persuasive

A little color came back into Roy's pale face as the stuff went down his throat. He was still dazed, but he

found he was able to stand on his feet. He had a puzzled feeling that a long time ago he had been talking to a

girl. He couldn't remember where he had met his two new friends or where the girl had gone.

He could barely see the two men's faces, but he knew they were friends when he heard their warning

"You've had a bit too much to drink, pal. Better get out of here before somebody sees you and tells your old

Before he knew it, Roy Hilton was alone in the corridor outside the room. He walked with unsteady steps

through the Green Door Inn to the main entrance. People at crowded tables stared curiously at him as he

stumbled past. His breath reeked from the pinkish stuff the thugs had given him to drink.

"Hey! You better not drive home like that, Mr. Hilton. You're stinko! Better sleep it off in your car for a

Roy was so sore about it, that he started his father's big car with a vicious jerk. He drove swiftly out of the inn

grounds, and scraped so close to one of the gateposts that he almost ripped off a fender. Then the car

ROY got it very soon. The car was hardly out of sight of the inn, when two men rose from the rear of the

Dazed, Roy saw the glint of a gun. He obeyed. The man with the gun clubbed him over the head. As Roy

pitched sideways, the other thug climbed over the seat and slid behind the wheel.

The car got under way again. It headed toward the deserted crossroads where Roy had originally picked up

Marcella, too, had risen from the floor in the back of the car. She looked frightened when the thugs drove into

"Shut up!" one of the thugs rasped. He got into another car that was hidden in the barn.

There was a dead man in that car! He had been struck a terrible blow on the head. Blood was all over the

frontseat cushion. But the two thugs didn't mind that. A bloodstained front seat was part of their plan.

They drove the dead man's car to a point close to the crossroads. They left it facing in the proper traffic

direction. Then one of the thugs went back to get Roy's car. He headed it swiftly toward the motionless

He was steelnerved. He leaped to safety barely a few seconds before the crash. The impact locked both cars

and piled them against a telegraph pole. The two automobiles crumpled. Glass was scattered in jagged

The thugs dropped Roy Hilton's unconscious body on the ground nearby. The wrenchedopen door of his

father's car made it look as if Roy had been thrown out at the moment of impact. The thugs helped to make

the picture clearer by slashing the unconscious Roy's cheek with a fragment of broken glass.

Then they fled to a third car, where the frightened blonde was waiting. They made a swift left turn at the

crossroads. Two minutes later, they turned again this time into a deserted road that was little more than a

lane. The fleeing thugs knew exactly where they were heading. They had planned everything carefully in

Their chuckles made the blonde lose some of her terror. Her clenched fingers relaxed. After a while she ran a

"Attagirl!" the man next to her said. "A couple more jobs like this and you'll be a firstclass moll."

"We got a date with a watchman. It's the guy's first night on the job. We got a tip that this wise guy landed the

job suspiciously quick after the regular watchman quit this afternoon. The Boss thinks he may be a dick!"

THE elevator at the Palace Hotel was still jammed immovably between floors. But release of the three men

From the roof of the elevator a shower of hot yellow sparks was falling into the car like molten rain. An

acetylene torch in the hands of an expert had almost cut a hole through the elevator's roof.

The bearded Mr. Carter glanced at his watch and muttered an oath of fake annoyance.

"We've been cooped up here for more than an hour," he said. "It's an outrage! I intend to sue the hotel!"

It was impossible to keep the hidden triumph out of his voice. The Shadow knew that this "accident" had

been caused deliberately, by the connivance of a bribed operator. Carter, having put forces of crime into

Presently, the overalled workman with the blowtorch finished his task. The blinding shower of sparks ceased.

The imprisoned men in the elevator were hauled up through the hole in the car's roof. Willing hands pulled

The worried hotel manager offered medical aid. The Shadow refused. Having noted that Carter had hurried to

Immediately, The Shadow examined his dictograph setup. The wire was still exactly as he had left it. The

The Shadow could hear the slight creak of bedsprings next door and the rustle of a newspaper. It seemed

Quickly, The Shadow removed the headphone. He turned to his telephone and made a guarded call to the

Clyde Burke had made arrangements beforehand that such a call would reach him promptly. A wire had been

Any outside call would ring the phone bell in the night watchman's room, where Clyde waited between his

tours around the deserted plant. The bell was a loud one. Clyde could easily hear it, even if he were in some

The Shadow could hear the monotonous buzzing in the earpiece of his own instrument. He didn't listen long.

His means of departure were unorthodox. Raising his secondfloor window, he stepped quietly to a narrow

stone ledge that ran along the side of the building. Below him was an alley that connected with a rear street.

The Shadow's car was parked back there. He had rented an automobile soon after his arrival in town.

His black cloak made him seem part of the darkness, as he stood on the narrow ledge and noiselessly closed

his window. No light came from his darkened room. Carter's room was dark, too. Its shade was tightly drawn.

The Shadow lowered himself from the ledge until he hung by his gloved fingertips. Then he dropped.

His rubbersoled shoes made no sound. The Shadow melted swiftly down the dark alley. He scaled a fence

and vaulted into the rear street, after making sure that no pedestrians were in sight. A moment later, the

It headed by unfrequented streets in the direction of the Hilton plant. The sibilant laughter of The Shadow

But, for once, the confidence of The Shadow was not justified. His departure from the hotel had been seen!

THE drawn shade on Carter's window masked a tiny hole. A grim eye watched The Shadow's alley fadeout.

But there was no elation in Carter's face. Fright was in his eyes, sweat on his pale forehead. He knew the

Quickly, he raised his shade and stepped out to the stone ledge. Shuffling sideways, he reached the window

of The Shadow's room. The Shadow had been unable to lock it from the outside. Carter had no difficulty

He moved with grim speed. A sharp cutting tool snipped the wire that ran through the tiny hole in the

baseboard. Carter spread a concealing wad of chewing gum until it covered the wall hole completely. He

He returned along the ledge to his own room. The headphones and the batteries of the dictograph went with

him. He had to make two trips. He was dripping with nervous sweat when he finished. But there was still

This time, Carter left the hotel by the front door. He told the night clerk that the experience in the jammed

elevator had given him a bad headache. He was going out to get some sleeping tablets at a nearby drugstore.

He bought the tablets, but he didn't make a contemplated phone call there. A block away, he found a place

more to his liking. It was a crowded cafeteria near a movie theater. No one noticed Carter when he laid his

He slipped quietly into an empty booth, called police headquarters. When he finished his swift, lowtoned

Carter joined a group of departing customers after quickly drinking his hot coffee and dropping his two

sandwiches in his pocket. Carter was smart enough not to leave a full tray behind to draw attention later to his

Meanwhile, a couple of miles away, The Shadow was bending grimly over the helpless body of Clyde Burke

There was blood on Clyde's matted hair from a cut on his scalp. A gag was jammed into his jaws. Loops of

But Clyde was not seriously hurt. As soon as The Shadow pulled the gag from his aching jaws, he was able to

He had been attacked by two thugs who were evidently familiar with the factory. They had slugged him

swiftly as Clyde passed the open doorway of a dark storeroom. The blow had not been a murderous one. All

There had been a girl with them, a beautiful blonde. She had tried to duck out of sight, but Clyde had gotten a

"I'm sure she was Belle Keller!" Clyde gasped. "Leo Keller's actress wife! I interviewed her at the opening

The two welldressed thugs whom Clyde pictured were not familiar to The Shadow. It probably meant that

they were imported hoods, perhaps from the West coast. Another link to Leo Keller. Keller had theatrical

contacts in Hollywood. Undoubtedly, he also had contacts with the Los Angeles underworld.

Clyde voiced his bewilderment. He had suspected the suave Daniel Tarkin of directing the criminal

conspiracy. Tarkin's theft of a rare book from the library of his dead inventor friend, Mason, had seemed to

But The Shadow had no time to waste on theories. The attack on Clyde was a phony. Clyde had not been

badly hurt. A swift inspection of the factory showed that no sabotage had been attempted. The answer was

Clyde had been tied up to keep him from answering any phone calls. The thing was a trick to lure The

It meant that Carter was aware that the "invalid" in the room next to his was The Shadow! He had used The

Shadow's absence to destroy the dictograph connection. Perhaps Carter was already checking out of the hotel,

EVENTS were forcing The Shadow's hand. He had no choice now but to seize Carter and force him to talk.

Scientific methods would unlock the stubborn lips of the respectable Mr. Truxton, who had vanished from

New York to become the crooked Mr. Carter under the orders of an unknown supercriminal.

The rented car of The Shadow raced from the Hilton plant to the shabby street back of the Palace Hotel.

Clyde Burke went along. He remained in the alley as lookout, after The Shadow swung up from his shoulders

Carter's shade was drawn. The Shadow moved sideways and raised his own unlocked window. He slipped

The next instant, his eyes were dazzled by a blaze of light. Drawn guns menaced The Shadow. The room was

Uniformed cops leaped to the attack. They had been warned by an unknown tipster over the phone that the

role of a querulous old invalid hid the identity of a big New York criminal. They were dazed by the result of

The blackrobed figure at the open window made a perfect target for them. His gloved hands were empty.

But no guns blasted at him as the cops leaped forward. They meant to take him alive.

But the sudden light that had blinded The Shadow had made the police blink, too. There was a splitsecond

interval before the cops had sprung forward. That split second was all that The Shadow needed.

He squirmed over the sill like a vanishing blot of darkness. He leaped feetfirst from the stone ledge to the

alley below. The shock of that wild jump sent quivers of pain up his legs. He staggered and almost fell.

But as he staggered, his hands whipped beneath his robe. Twin .45s leaped into his gloved hands. He sent

flame jutting toward the window, where two cops were shouldering one another in their haste to get out.

Lead chipped at the brick facing of the window. Bullets drilled below the sill and slanted through the open

The two cops at the window flung themselves to the floor under the hot lash of that harmless but terrific blast

of lead. The explosive roar of The Shadow's twin .45s sounded like the boom of a cannon in the alley.

Clyde whirled at The Shadow's command. They raced for the broad fence at the rear of the alley. As they

fled, bullets zoomed at them through the darkness. The cops had recovered from their surprise. One had

already leaped downward to the alley. Another was poised on the stone ledge. More were framed in the

The fence at the end of the alley was filled with sudden holes. Splinters flew. But Clyde was already over the

fence, racing at the heels of The Shadow. A leap took them into the car The Shadow had rented.

It was not an easy getaway. There was a garage nearby. Cops boiled out of it in two borrowed cars. An alarm

The Shadow was forced to use grim tactics in that headlong flight beyond town. Twice he changed cars. Each

time, it meant terror to a motorist who had been forced to the side of a lonely road. But each time it meant a

The police were out of sight, far behind. The Shadow halted, after a wild crosscountry race along a little

used road had brought him to a highway considerably distant from the Hudson River.

On that brief stop, The Shadow disappeared. Clyde Burke's bloodsmeared scalp was washed clean. He took

But there was bitter rage in The Shadow's eyes. Attack had been swiftly turned into defense. It wasn't often

But Fate had called the turn, and The Shadow never quarreled with Fate. He headed swiftly back to New

York. He hadn't forgotten the blond moll who had accompanied the two thugs to the Hilton wire factory.

THE bearded Mr. Carter smiled grimly. He was waiting to meet a representative of the Ajax Automatic

The front page was black with the news of Roy Hilton's arrest for homicide. Roy's guilt as a drunken driver

was unquestioned. He had been in minor accidents before. He was driving his father's car without permission,

Roy's story, about a blonde who had lured him to the Green Door Inn and doped him with a spiked drink, was

fantastic. The doorman testified that Roy had arrived and departed alone. The waiter in Room No. 3 swore

Roy's description of the blonde brought a prompt denial from the manager of the inn. No one resembling her

worked in the floor show. The dance director and all the girls in the chorus backed up the manager's story.

The man who had been killed in the auto crash was a prominent citizen. His wife brought suit for heavy

damages against Roy's father because of his ownership of the car that had caused the fatal crash. Every asset

Hilton owned was tied up. His home, the factory, his bank account all were frozen by the swift legal action

Everything except the wirespinning machinery that had been recently installed in the Hilton plant.

Only one installment had been paid on that machinery. The second payment was legally past due. The

machinery remained the property of the tool company that had made it. The tool company's representative

Carter wasted no time getting to the point when the Ajax Machine Co.'s man came to see him.

Carter's proposition was simple. The defaulted machinery had cost a hundred thousand dollars. Ten thousand

had been paid by Hilton. Carter offered to buy the machinery for the ninety thousand dollars still owed.

"On one condition," Carter concluded smoothly. "I represent a factory syndicate in New York. I won't need

the machinery for the present. But I'll buy it if you'll crate it, store it for me free of charge, and forward it

Carter showed a certified check for ninety thousand dollars. It was drawn on a New York bank, in the name

of Elwood Carter. Carter didn't explain that this was all the money there was in the bank under that dummy

name. If an investigation was made later, it would be impossible to trace the real depositor. Cashing of the

The certified check and a bill of sale for the machinery changed hands at the office of a local attorney. Later

He spent the rest of the day taking things easy. It was dark when he checked out of his hotel. He told the clerk

that he was driving to Albany. But soon after he left town, Carter headed southward.

Thirty miles to the south, he halted his car at an unfrequented part of the shore along the Hudson River. There

Carter hurried aboard. He expected the craft to be empty, and it was. All that remained was a swift run down

the river to New York. Carter would vanish. The respectable Truxton would reappear, with a plausible story

to explain his absence from town. Carter chuckled as the craft reached midriver.

A knife had plunged swiftly into his back. A man with a knife had leaped soundlessly from concealment. He

stabbed with savage efficiency. Carter was dead a few seconds after he uttered his single gasp.

The murderer was masked. A slitted hood fitted over his head and concealed his identity. A swift glance to

left and right showed him that the boat was too far from either shore for the murder to have been witnessed.

Little time was lost by the killer in disposing of the body of his victim. A heavy weight was attached. The

Once more, a master criminal had removed a dangerous link to his own identity. The second move in a

conspiracy that involved millions of dollars was now successfully completed. Only the final move remained.

CLYDE BURKE looked very fashionable as he entered an exclusive apartment building in the select East

River section of Manhattan. There was nothing to connect him with the bloodsmeared fugitive in workman's

He had trouble getting past the uniformed attendant downstairs. People living in an exclusive apartment

building like this paid well for protection from intrusion. But a telephone call upstairs to Mrs. Leo Keller

cleared up the difficulty. Clyde announced that he wanted an interview with her for a fullpage feature in the

Keller's actress wife was delighted. Her new show was a smash hit; but no actress ever turned down free

The interview took place in her bedroom. Keller's blond wife was wearing a silk negligee thrown loosely over

She announced that she had retired very late, after a delightful party the night before. She was quite tired.

There were faint circles under her blue eyes. But Clyde wondered about that "party" story of hers. Had she

retired so late because she was the mysterious blonde who had helped a couple of thugs to frame an innocent

Clyde asked her at what hotel the party had been given and the name of the prominent guests. But his bland

query got him nowhere. Belle Keller said the party had been held at her apartment, that her guests wouldn't

Clyde saw no sign of Leo Keller. He asked if he might interview Keller, too, as the producer of the town's

But the shot missed fire. No change of expression came to Belle Keller's lovely face.

"I thought only politicians went to Albany," she yawned. "No, Leo went to Bridgeport. There's a chain of

She ended the interview soon after that, and Clyde departed. He hesitated downstairs, then walked over to the

stone steps that led downward from a terrace to the East River. Below the terrace was an anchorage for

A workman in sailor's dungarees was shifting one of the moored boats. Clyde sauntered out on the float and

"Nope. Just moving it back where it belongs." The man's tone was disgusted. "Somebody tied it up to the

"Belongs to Mr. Keller. The guy on duty last night musta been drunk when he moored it. Keller's boat is

Clyde's ears pricked up. He wondered if Keller himself might have made the mistake, after arriving in a grim

Clyde moved around the craft's cabin, his eyes alert. There was a small stain on the cabin rug, close to a

settee. Clyde took out a packet of cigarettes and awkwardly dropped it. His slow bend to pick it up gave him

Clyde didn't hang around any longer. Time was important. But he had a hunch, and he played it. His hunch

concerned the identity of the blonde who had put the finger on Roy Hilton upstate. The more Clyde thought

about Belle Keller, the less positive he was that she was the girl in question. A smart idea occurred to him.

CLYDE told the stage doorman about his Sunday feature story. He said it might be a swell idea to write up

The doorman found one. Clyde's heart skipped a beat as he studied the photo. The understudy looked so

much like Keller's blond wife that the two might have been twins. Clyde felt dizzy studying that picture. His

hunch had backfired! One of these two blondes was the girl who had framed Roy Hilton. But which one?

There was no positive answer. The only positive fact was that Leo Keller's boat had been used during the

night, and that there was a spot suspiciously like dried blood on the cabin rug.

He had a smooth story to explain his visit. This time, Clyde was doing a series of articles on wellknown

inventors for the feature page of his paper. Naturally, he wanted Daniel Tarkin in the series.

But, his clever buildup was wasted. The servant to whom he spoke shook his head.

"I don't know, sir. He's gone to Bridgeport, Connecticut. I believe he's working on a new invention that

requires some specialized machinery. Mr. Tarkin went to Bridgeport to see about it."

His eyes blazed as he hurried to a phone booth. What were Keller and Tarkin both doing in Bridgeport? Were

they in some secret conspiracy? Or was their double presence there a coincidence?

THE SHADOW was in his sanctum. A single light in the darkness threw a blue pool of brilliance on the

polished surface of the desk. The only part of The Shadow that was visible were his hands.

They were holding a volume that had been published at a Midwestern college twenty years earlier. The book

was open at a fullpage photograph. It was a picture of a senior class that had graduated twenty years ago.

Two of the faces in that photograph were ringed with red ink. They were the younger faces of two men who

had mysteriously vanished from their homes in New York. One was a vice president of the Drovers' Bank

The Shadow knew that Young had changed into a crook named Frost. Truxton had become a bearded

The Shadow had learned from Inspector Joe Cardona that Truxton and Young had attended the same college.

But he went a step further than the inspector in his investigation. A private plane, flown by Miles Crofton, his

private pilot, had carried The Shadow to that college town in the Midwest. He learned that Young and

The Shadow uncovered hints of a criminal scandal at the college twenty years ago. There had been a

wellorganized sale of narcotics among certain of the students. Dope had been peddled for profit. Students

Suspicion had centered on members of the senior class. Police raided a house near the campus. But a

mysterious tip in advance made the raid a failure. No drugs were found. The house was empty of clues. Not a

The day after the raid, the illicit drug traffic ceased. The scandal finally blew over. The senior class was

But to The Shadow, that drug scandal of the past was now making ugly echoes in the present. He was grimly

certain of the nature of the hold that an unknown criminal had on both Young and Truxton. They had been

Proof undoubtedly existed of their guilt. That proof in the hands of a ruthless criminal explained much!

Young and Truxton had become respectable members of society. Both held responsible positions that

depended on the confidence of the public. No one would ever trust a Wall Street broker who was suddenly

exposed as a crook. The threat of ruin was even worse against the vice president of a bank.

Harsh laughter echoed in The Shadow's sanctum, as his hands moved the college annual out of the pool of

light on his desk. A sheet of paper took its place. The sheet contained a digest of the report made by Clyde

The Shadow knew of the sudden trip of Leo Keller to Bridgeport. He knew that Daniel Tarkin, the inventor

friend of the dead Clifford Mason, had also gone to Bridgeport. The Shadow expected a third man to join

Like Truxton and Young, this third man would be a stooge, a frightened graduate of that college class of

twenty years ago. To protect himself from ruin, he'd be willing to do anything even murder!

Danger was brewing for another industrial plant; this time in the vicinity of Bridgeport! The Shadow's

As the echoes of his laugh faded, the sanctum was suddenly plunged into darkness. No sound was audible in

the quiet blackness. It was impossible to tell that The Shadow had made an exit from those closelyguarded

A FEW minutes later, in a busy city street, Lamont Cranston stepped into his parked car. He drove swiftly to

There was much to be done in the way of preparation before The Shadow was ready for his trip to Bridgeport.

He hurried to the elevator, not wishing to be buttonholed by any of his friends at the club.

He frowned as he saw George Gregory beckoning to him. A glib excuse rose to his lips. Then he changed his

There was fear in the worried eyes of Gregory. Over a drink at the club bar, he spoke hesitantly about his

The Shadow sipped his own drink calmly, apparently not much interested in Gregory's story. But his

"As you know, I'm a woolen manufacturer," Gregory said, in a low tone. "I have factories all over the

country. I treat my employees well, and they like my management. I've never had a hint of dissatisfaction, or

"It sounds as if somebody has been at work stirring up my employees. I'm going to make a personal

Gregory looked surprised. Quickly, Cranston explained the reason for his queer request. He was a large

stockholder in many industrial enterprises, he said. It would be interesting to see how a problem of

Gregory nodded, and agreed. Not for an instant did he understand The Shadow's real purpose in going to

Meanwhile, Clyde Burke was busily obeying the orders of The Shadow in a different part of Manhattan.

CLYDE was hidden behind the shaded window of a house in east Harlem. Across the street was the shabby

rooming house of Lizzie Goss who was known more familiarly to crooks as Mother Goose. Slanting

sunlight made a vivid patch of brightness at the top of the roominghouse front stoop. The house from which

This arrangement suited Clyde fine. He had a concealed camera trained on that sunny spot opposite. The

room behind him was equipped with developing and printing apparatus. On a wall bracket was an enlarging

It was a long time before the man arrived. When he came, he stepped out of a small, shabby coupe. He

apparently left the key in the ignition; because a moment later, another man entered the coupe and drove it

Clyde kept his attention riveted on the man who hurried up the front stoop of the rooming house. Luck was

with Clyde. The man turned his head to watch the coupe. He stood directly in the bright patch of sunlight. In

The negative was quickly developed in a closet dark room which Clyde had rigged up. A print was made. But

Clyde was not satisfied. He enlarged the picture by fourfold before he compared it with another photograph

in his possession. This other photograph was a picture of a college graduating class of twenty years earlier.

The man who had vanished into the rooming house was one of the students in that picture!

Clyde curbed his impatience and sat down for another long wait. It was a boring task. Hour followed hour.

Sunlight changed to dusk, dusk faded into darkness. But Clyde never once relaxed his vigil.

At last, he was rewarded by the sight of the man who had entered the rooming house earlier in the day. His

whole appearance had changed. It would have been impossible for an ordinary observer to have recognized

him. But Clyde had studied every detail of that enlarged photograph he had taken, and was not fooled.

By the time the suspect had walked several blocks from the neighborhood and had taken a taxi, Clyde was in

another car behind him. The man went to Grand Central Terminal. He purchased a ticket. Clyde was near

enough in the line at the ticket window to hear the name of the town that the man asked for.

Clyde was out of the line by the time the man received his change and had turned to look suspiciously about

him. The Shadow's agent went to another ticket window. Then he moved toward the train gate.

TWENTY miles from Bridgeport, a Connecticut valley lay quiet under the stars. Flickers of light showed

Industrial plants dominated the north end of the valley. The biggest and most important was the woolen

factory of George Gregory. Below it was the factory of a man named Oscar Selkirk. The third was a

waterpurification plant. It supplied drinking water to the workmen's cottages in the valley.

A huge dam blocked off the valley's closed end. Above it was a deep lake whose pennedup power fed the

The dam was well built. The possibility of a disastrous flood in the valley seemed remote. But tonight that

A figure was crouched flat in the darkness on top of the dam. Hands were busily engaged with a small black

box. A long wire entered the box from one end. It left the box through a hole at the other end and disappeared

From the front of the black box a shorter wire led over the edge of the dam, to a spot in the wall near the

The furtive figure finally rose to his feet. His face was completely invisible. The mask he wore was a hood

that fitted over his head. Two slitted holes showed the gleam of murderous eyes.

Death was being prepared tonight for every square inch of the peaceful valley. A master criminal intended

swirling waters to engulf the factories of Oscar Selkirk and George Gregory. Gregory's plant, which was

nearest the dam, would be wiped out completely. Tons of angry flood waters would tear it to pieces.

The Boss chuckled. He was not intrusting this important final stroke of a milliondollar conspiracy to any of

The black box he had adjusted was only one of a series. Each of them was a link in an electrical circuit that

was hooked up to hundreds of pounds of terrific explosive. There was a tiny alarm clock in each box. The

small hand of the alarm indicator on everyone of those clocks pointed to the same time.

Less than two hours from now, at the stroke of midnight, the mined dam would erupt in a roar of flame.

Stepping from the end of the dam to grassy earth, the Boss moved stealthily toward a steelwire fence that

protected private property from intruders. The fence was electrically charged. Outside it was a smaller fence,

with a sign. The sign warned trespassers away from the high voltage that coursed invisibly through the

But electricity had no terror for the Boss. He moved a small boulder aside. Under the boulder was the slanting

entrance of a short tunnel. The tunnel dipped under the electrified barrier and rose on the other side.

Plugging the entrance from below, the Boss crawled through swiftly and covered the exit mouth with another

He had barely disappeared when a whisper of sibilant laughter came from the opposite side of the dam. The

Blackcloaked, his blazing eyes screened by the low brim of his slouch hat, The Shadow rose to his feet.

Powerful night glasses were clenched in his gloved hands. He had watched every movement of the Boss.

The Shadow divined who the Boss was. But he needed proof. Proof would have to be obtained during the

deadly interval of time that had been allotted by the hooded master criminal who planned wholesale death on

FARTHER down the valley, a light was burning in the main office of the Selkirk plant. Oscar Selkirk was

I've arrived to take personal charge of this labor trouble that has developed in this valley. If you and I work

out a plan that will please the men, and make a speech to them at their labor hall, we may be able to clear up

The friendly letter puzzled Selkirk. Until now, there had been little cooperation between the two men.

Gregory's plant manufactured woolen cloth. Selkirk's factory produced wirewoven fences. Their industrial

problems had nothing in common. This sudden note of friendship didn't sound like the aloof Mr. Gregory.

Selkirk examined the signature, half suspecting it might be a forgery. He had an uneasy feeling that he ought

With a sigh, Selkirk put the note back into his pocket. He rang his buzzer. The watchman on duty in the

"I'm going up the valley to the woolen plant below the dam," Selkirk said. "I've got to confer with Mr.

AT almost the same moment Leo Keller, theatrical producer and exracketeer, was reading another letter

from Gregory in the privacy of his hotel room in nearby Bridgeport. Like the wovenwire fence

manufacturer, Keller was puzzled by this note from a man with whom he had never had any business

But there was sense to the letter, and it promised a tidy profit for Keller if he chose to obey the summons that

I found out about your presence in Bridgeport by a lucky chance. I'd like to avail myself of your services

and pay well for the privilege. Trouble has broken out at my woolen plant. I need the help of an experienced

man like you. I know that your interest is now in the theatrical business but if you care to put your past

experience at my disposal you can write your own check as far as your fee is concerned. Please come at

Keller grinned. Industrial trouble had once been his meat back in the old days when he had headed the

The financial angle sounded promising. Keller had sunk a lot of cash lately in the theatrical business. He

He stuck the note in his pocket and hurried down to his car. He drove toward the valley where Gregory's mill

But Leo Keller's ride wasn't a pleasant one. A series of minor accidents slowed him up. One of his tires

developed a leak. He had the leak fixed and went on. Then trouble developed in a fuel intake pipe. Keller

swore when he found the pipe clogged with dirt. Again, he wasted considerable time hunting a night garage.

"Looks like these things come in bunches," Keller growled at the stolid garage mechanic.

"Yeah. Sometimes things pile up like that. You musta been careless, mister. You got a nice car."

DANIEL TARKIN was having his troubles, too, on this fateful night. He had never expected to go to the

woolen plant of George Gregory. The letter that had come by special messenger to his Bridgeport hotel had

But it was a logical letter. It promised a neat profit for an inventor who was continually broke because of the

constant need for specialized machinery in his experiments. Tarkin needed money more than ever before in

Industrial trouble has broken out at my plant. Workmen have gone on strike because of dissatisfaction with

highspeed machinery. Your reputation as an inventor made me decide to ask your help. If you can redesign

the machine setup in my plant so that my men will return to work, I will pay any fee you name. If you can

Tarkin's chuckle deepened. He burst into soft, purring laughter. He didn't give a damn about the needs of the

woolen plant; wealth was all that interested the suave Mr. Tarkin. His eyes gleamed as he headed for the

He was so eager to get there before midnight, that he almost had a fatal accident. His car skidded on a lonely

road. It swung around in a dizzy circle and nearly smashed up in a deep ditch at the side of the road.

Tarkin was not quite so dapper when he crawled dizzily from his car. He was scared stiff. But one glance at

The patch on the smooth road surface was spilled oil. Evidently it had dripped from a tank truck heading into

There was no sign of oil anywhere except at the sharp bend where the road curved around the base of a

"I wonder if something funny is going on tonight that I hadn't counted on?" Tarkin growled, under his breath.

The rage in his eyes was replaced by a sly look. He got back in his car and straightened out the front wheels.

IN the lighted office at George Gregory's woolen plant, two men were quietly conversing. One of them was

Gregory himself. The other was Lamont Cranston. They were wearing hats and coats. They had just entered

The Shadow's face was placid. It would have been difficult to detect in his appearance any hint of the

blackrobed master foe of crime. The Shadow had found little trouble slipping away from the busy Mr.

His chief concern now seemed to be a grease mark on his overcoat, which he had smeared as the two men

"Better hang up your coat," Gregory suggested. "You'll find hangers in the locker room at the end of the

corridor. There are office coats there, too, in case you want to protect your jacket."

Nodding, The Shadow went down the hall and vanished into the locker room. But his careless departure

concealed a knowledge which he had not revealed to Gregory. The Shadow was aware that a stealthy intruder

He had caught a distant glimpse of the man twice during the slow inspection of the plant. The man kept well

The Shadow suspected that the mysterious man was trying to communicate privately with Gregory.

Cranston's departure was a deliberate effort to make things easier for that meeting.

The minute The Shadow vanished into the locker room at the far end of the corridor, the intruder glided

Gregory gasped at sight of him. The fellow was redhaired, with a reddishbrown mustache. A gun in his

taut hand menaced the woolen manufacturer. There was rage on his face, and fear but mostly fear.

He was the disguised fugitive whom Clyde Burke had watched leave the shabby rooming house of Mother

Gregory backed up under the menace of the aimed gun. His face was pale, as he barked:

"Put down that gun! I'm willing to deal with any workman who wants to talk over a grievance with me. But I

"You may as well cut out the hypocrisy," the redhaired man snarled. "I'm no workman and you know it! I'm

talking to you as one crook to another. I'm talking not to George Gregory, but to the Boss!"

"I don't know what you mean! Of course, I'm the boss of this plant. Is that what you're trying to say?"

"Here's the note you gave Mother Goose for me, damn you! I had to obey your orders because you've got a

blackmail hold on me. But two can play at that game! I suspected what was up when Truxton and Young

"Someone has deceived you," he said. "I never wrote this note. The signature is a clever forgery!"

For a moment, the redhaired man glared at him. There was quiet sincerity in Gregory's face. Before the man

with the gun could make up his mind what to do, there was a sound of footsteps from the corridor outside.

The Shadow, having heard all he wanted to, had tiptoed backward from his post near the doorway. He was

The redhaired man quickly pocketed his gun. His whisper warned Gregory to explain his presence or else!

WHEN The Shadow entered the room, no hint of the conversation he had just overheard appeared in his face.

He kept to his unsuspicious role of Lamont Cranston. His question to Gregory betrayed little interest in the

Gregory's glance flicked toward the intruder. The man's right hand was sunk in his pocket. The woolen

"I've got two men on duty tonight," Gregory murmured. "This man is an assistant. I... I thought we ought to

Gregory had hardly spoken, when there was a thud of approaching footsteps from the hallway outside. The

"How in the world did you get past my watchman at the gate?" Gregory asked, dumfounded.

"The one you sent to me, asking me to confer with you about changing the design of your factory

Some of the suavity went out of Tarkin's appearance. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. He reached into his

"Gregory is right. It's an extraordinarily good fake. Somebody who is very familiar with Gregory's

Before anyone could reply, the mystery was doubled. Another visitor came hurrying down the corridor

This time it was Oscar Selkirk, owner of the wireweaving plant farther down the valley. The Shadow knew

The same person who had sent the letter to Tarkin had also lured Oscar Selkirk to the woolen plant!

"It sounds crazy," Selkirk muttered, when the peculiar state of affairs was made clear to him. "Why should

There was no direct answer, as yet. The only reply came again from the corridor. A third visitor was arriving.

Keller was obviously in an unpleasant mood. He spoke of the trouble he had encountered on his way to the

conference. He mentioned his tire leak, the strange mishap that had developed in the fuel intake pipe of a car

"Looks almost as if someone was trying to delay me from getting here," he fumed.

"I had trouble on the way here, too! I wonder if that near accident of mine was framed?"

He told about the patch of oil that had almost sent him skidding to death in a ditch alongside a sharp curve.

There was a cold gleam in his eyes. Keller looked astounded when Gregory pronounced his note a forgery.

During all this excitement the redhaired man said nothing. He kept his eyes grimly on Gregory.

"We've been deliberately lured here," he said. "We face peril of some sort. I think we ought to telephone the

"The hell with the police!" Keller said harshly. "I don't want cops. I can handle any trouble myself!"

A CONFUSED argument developed. Before any decision could be made, the telephone bell rang. Gregory

answered it. The room was so quiet that the voice at the other end of the wire was faintly audible.

"Mr. Gregory?... This is Pat Harrison... chairman of the strike committee. The men haven't taken a strike vote

"I'm willing to meet you at any time," Gregory said tremulously. "I've always been fair to my employees. If

you have a legitimate complaint about working conditions, I'm ready to correct it. Where are you holding

"No good! If both of you go, you'll spill the beans. The workers will think that two employers are ganging up

It was the lead The Shadow had been waiting for. He seized his opportunity. Before anyone could object, the

"I'm not involved in this strike controversy. Wait just a second, Gregory. I'll go along. My hat and coat are in

He hurried down the corridor. Gregory, who lad thrown his own hat and coat over an office chair, started to

put them on. He was ready to leave, when a distant sound made everyone in the room stiffen with alarm.

It was a cry of terror, followed by a groan. The cry came from the direction of the locker room. There was an

The redhaired man jerked out his hidden gun. But before he could level it toward the doorway, a menacing

"Drop it!" a harsh voice rasped. There was a yell from the redhaired man. His cry was echoed by frightened

In the doorway, The Shadow's blackrobed figure seemed gigantic. Twin .45s pointed steadily at the group

before him. Above the gleaming barrels of those guns were flaming eyes, shielded by the brim of The

Sibilant laughter made mocking echoes in the room, as the redhaired man dropped his gun to the floor.

The grim command of The Shadow brought obedience. One of his gloved hands dropped toward the surface

of Gregory's desk. For a split second, the gun in that hand was laid aside. A paperweight lifted. The Shadow

The smash of glass drew every head around. A man was lifting the broken window from the outside. He

Clyde had been crouched patiently on a stone ledge for a long time. The signal of the broken pane brought

He backed out of range of The Shadow's big .45s, and drew a lengthy typewritten sheet out of his pocket.

THE statement which Clyde Burke read was a damning document. It had been prepared by The Shadow in

Gregory and Selkirk, Leo Keller and Tarkin; the man with the red hair all listened in awe as Clyde Burke

Clyde made clear first what had happened at the laboratory of Clifford Mason. He described the theft of a

blue envelope, the substitution of a fake one filled with gibberish about flame, followed by the destruction of

Mason's laboratory and the finding of the skeleton in the ruins. Grimly, Clyde made it clear how a master

"Then the murderer moved to cash in on the secret he had stolen from Mason," Clyde said.

He was watching The Shadow's hawklike face above the barrels of the twin .45s. Clyde saw The Shadow nod

imperceptibly. It was a cue which Clyde had been waiting for. His eyes jerked briefly toward the big clock on

"You'll have to excuse me if I bore you, gentlemen," Clyde said. "The description of the crimes that followed

the theft of Mason's secret won't take long. The time is now a quarter of twelve. I promise you I'll be finished

No one said a word. The Shadow watched those pale faces intently. He could detect not the slightest sign of

Clyde continued his exposure of intrigue and murder. He told of the disappearance of Harold Young who

had become Mr. Frost in a small town in New Jersey. He made clear how the dye formula of the Beecher

He told of the conspiracy against the wirespinning plant in upper New York. He laid bare how Albert

Truxton had vanished from New York as Stooge No. 2 to become the bearded Mr. Carter. He exposed the

A supercriminal had reached his second goal. He had secured the special wirespinning machinery from the

Hilton plant. He was ready to take advantage of the rare "earth element" that went into the making of thin

"Fire and earth!" Clyde's voice intoned. "All that was left was water! Tonight, there is water dangerously

He glanced at the wall clock. Five minutes had passed. It was now ten minutes before midnight.

"A book was stolen from the library of Clifford Mason," Clyde accused. "The title of that book was, 'Fire,

"I'm not guilty!" he cried shrilly. "I stole the book yes! I admit that. But I had nothing to do with Mason's

Tarkin's words raced. He was interested in alchemy, he said. He believed he was on the verge of changing

lead and other base metals to gold. The book in Mason's library contained medieval information vitally

important to him. Mason, during his lifetime, had refused to lend it to Tarkin. So Tarkin, desperate to get the

The charge came from Leo Keller. Keller's face was pasty. He stared viciously at Tarkin.

It was the redhaired man. He pointed a trembling finger at the only person in the room who had kept quiet.

"There's your killer!" he screamed. "Gregory! He forced me to come here to help murder all of you. He's

The stern command came from The Shadow. The redhaired man obeyed. He cringed from the angry stare of

the manufacturer. The Shadow advanced soundlessly behind him. A quick clutch seized his hair.

A red wig came away in The Shadow's hand. The partly bald head of the man was disclosed.

"MEET Dr. Richard Klein," Clyde said, curtly. "The third man who vanished from New York because an

unknown killer threatened him with death if he refused. A member of the graduating class of a Midwestern

college twenty years ago. Now a reputable physician. The personal physician of Leo Keller."

No one uttered a word. The hands of the clock on the wall drew The Shadow's ominous gaze. The time was

now five minutes before midnight! The Shadow waited. The clock ticked on. Four minutes now... Three

Only one man in the room knew the dreadful significance of those fleeting seconds. One man and The

Shadow! But The Shadow didn't reveal his knowledge of a mined dam high above the factory of George

Suddenly, a scream of blind terror broke the horrible stillness. A man whirled and fled. At the doorway, he

turned. A gun leaped from concealment into his grasp. He fired at the figure of The Shadow.

But The Shadow had been prepared for the hysterical flight of a guilty murderer. He sprang aside. His own

The Shadow was not surprised. He had expected this. But his proof was not legal. He had forced the guilty

The hands of the clock were quivering on the stroke of midnight. Gregory, wounded and helpless, was

Words spurted from the man on the floor. He admitted the truth. He had stolen Mason's master formula. It

THE clock began to strike twelve. Gregory shrieked with terror. But nothing happened when the last note

To the horrified men in the room, he explained the truth. The massive dam above the woolen plant would not

explode. Gregory had meant it to explode. He had intended to engulf his own factory in order to avert

suspicion from himself. His real aim was the wireweaving plant of Oscar Selkirk.

The phone call from a "labor leader," a halfhour earlier, was a clever trick to save Gregory's own hide

His crisp command sent Clyde to the telephone. Clyde summoned the police. As he hung up, The Shadow's

stern voice exposed the real meaning of George Gregory's criminal bid for millions.

Clothing woven from synthetic wool could be made for approximately twentyfive cents, under the Mason

That price would give Gregory a monopoly of the clothing industry. Every woolen company would be forced

He owned the special dye formula of the Beecher brothers. He had the unique wirespinning machinery from

Hilton. He had planned to take over the wireweaving patents from the unfortunate Oscar Selkirk. Slight

changes would adapt those specialized machines to the chemical fibers of artificial wool.

A Napoleonic crime had failed! An invention worth hundreds of millions would become the property of the

They found no trace of The Shadow. The robed avenger of crime had vanished. In the locker room at the end

of the corridor, police found the limp and apparently unconscious body of Lamont Cranston.

The police took it for granted that Cranston, blundering into The Shadow's hiding place, had been slugged.

There was nothing to connect Lamont Cranston with the blackcloaked foe of crime who had vanished so

A baffling mystery had been solved. A crook too cunning for the ordinary methods of police, had paid the

The Shadow had returned to the darkness that shrouded his real identity. When fresh crime brought new