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

CHAPTER I. MANHATTAN MENACE...............................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. THRUSTS FROM THE DARK......................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. BROKEN CRIME..........................................................................................................9

CHAPTER IV. THE WAYS OF THE SHADOW................................................................................12

CHAPTER V. THE MAN WHO COULD BE CROOKED ..................................................................15

CHAPTER VI. BRAIN JOINS BRAWN ..............................................................................................19

CHAPTER VII. LOST AND FOUND..................................................................................................23

CHAPTER VIII. THE WRONG BLUFF..............................................................................................27

CHAPTER IX. DEATH'S TRAIL .........................................................................................................30

CHAPTER X. BLASTED BLACKNESS.............................................................................................33

CHAPTER XI. HARRY TRIES AGAIN..............................................................................................37

CHAPTER XII. THE WAY OF A FRIEND .........................................................................................41

CHAPTER XIII. SHOWDOWN AT MIDNIGHT ................................................................................45

CHAPTER XIV. CRIME'S CROOKED TWIST ..................................................................................49

CHAPTER XV. CRIME'S BOMBSHELL ............................................................................................53

CHAPTER XVI. CROOKS GO ASTRAY...........................................................................................57

CHAPTER XVII. VANISHED FOEMEN ............................................................................................61

CHAPTER XVIII. CRIME'S SECRET.................................................................................................65

CHAPTER XIX. THE DOUBLE MOVE.............................................................................................68

CHAPTER XX. CROOK VERSUS CROOK.......................................................................................71

CHAPTER XXI. DEATH'S TREASURES ...........................................................................................75

LIKE a crouched monster watching for its prey, the Argyle Museum squatted in its own gloom, surrounded

by darkness that was itself a relic of departed years. No location could have been better suited to silence and

It was the vortex in the maelstrom of the metropolis, a calm center in a perpetual storm this brownstone

edifice once the residence of Henry Argyle. Living and dying in the days of plutocrats, Argyle had left the

ornate mansion and its surrounding grounds as a museum, not only to bear his name but to contain the many

The status of the Argyle Museum had never been quite fully established. It was open to the public, but only

during brief periods of the day. This enabled it to go taxfree under the head of a public institution, but its

destinies were controlled by a board of private directors, as ordained by Henry Argyle.

Men of wealth, all these, who cherished the memory of Henry Argyle and kept close watch upon the

preserves over which they had been appointed guardians. In actuality, the museum was a fortress, policed by

The reason? War! Old Argyle, in all his elaborate precautions to protect his treasures for posterity, had not

foreseen the day when attacks would be possible from the air. His mansion had concrete foundations that

matched the thickness of its walls; the windows were triplebarred; but the roof, though sheathed with a layer

of metal and equipped with alarms, could never stand the strain of a highexplosive charge.

Should a lone air raider fly over Manhattan and drop a single demolition bomb in the blackened hollow

where the Argyle Museum was flanked by towering skyscrapers, there would be utter devastation among the

Hence the directors were in session behind the drawn steel shutters of their conference room in the museum

itself. Not a preliminary meeting this, but a final one. Long since, Ewell Darden, chairman of the directors,

had ordained the transfer of irreplaceable treasures to somewhere outside the city.

Somewhere that even Darden did not know. The choice was to be made by lot. Various directors had

individually investigated suitable places, in accordance with the strict requirements set by the board. On the

table in front of them lay hollow wooden capsules some directors had as many as four or five in which

they had written the names of remote strongholds where the treasures could be safely housed for the duration.

Ewell Darden was a grayhaired man, thin of features, but sharp of eye and strong of jaw. Himself an art

collector, he had become the chairman of directors through dint of long service. Compared to him, the

The man who violated the rule was hawkfaced, his expression almost masklike. He looked younger than the

rest, by far, yet it was impossible to determine the exact age of that calm, immobile countenance. Suffice it

As Cranston, The Shadow posed as a man of leisure, who hobnobbed with his friend the police commissioner

and sought the company of the wealthy. For in his other self, The Shadow, his business was to crack down on

crime. By knowing the moves of the law, by studying in advance the targets against which criminals might

shoot, The Shadow, along with cleaning up crime, did marvels in preventing evil.

IF ever crime could wish an opportunity, it had one the priceless possessions of the Argyle Museum!

Recognizing that fact, Ewell Darden was admitting it in no mincing terms. Crisply, he was reading the list of

items to be moved. There were jeweled crowns and other regalia from the palaces of rajahs; statuettes of

There were priceless paintings that certain unscrupulous collectors would purchase, had they the opportunity,

even if they had to keep them hidden for years to come. There were rare porcelains, fabulous tapestries,

which might by clever alteration be changed to pass as other specimens that were known to exist.

There was no hiding the value of the Argyle collection. Its rarities had been catalogued in a volume replete

with illustrations. Artists and craftsmen had been allowed to make replicas of certain treasures for exhibit

Yes, the whole world and particularly its lower strata knew what the brownstone museum contained,

"Tonight, our most valued treasures are being packed. Within another hour, the armored vans will carry the

There was a buzz of approval among the directors when Darden ordered them to drop their capsules in a

wooden collection box as it passed around the table. He stepped over to an ancient wooden wheel mounted on

a creaky frame, a double wheel with an inner trough. It was a device once used in Roman lotteries, and from

"We shall deliver the selected lot to Carl Croom," declared Darden. "He alone will learn the destination and

guide the vans there. The longer our new treasure house is kept secret, the more time Croom will have to add

As he spoke, Darden looked to his right, where a stranger was seated. He was Clyde Burke, a selfpossessed

newspaper reporter who had chanced into the conference. However, the precautions were such that a member

of the press was allowable, though none had been invited. Nevertheless, Burke was smart enough to act as

A telephone rang on the table at Clyde's elbow and the reporter answered it. The call was for Cranston, so

Clyde handed it over. An interesting procedure, considering that Clyde Burke was secretly an agent of The

Shadow, here by his chief's design! For The Shadow had expected a call that might necessitate his departure,

Most casually, Cranston strolled from the meeting. He had another appointment elsewhere, and since even

Cranston moved through the exhibit rooms of the museums, where workers were finishing the crating job

under direction of Carl Croom, the blunt, forceful man who had been selected to convey the treasures to their

Only the irreplaceable items were to go, hence the museum was still well stocked with exhibits. Likewise,

Croom had personally selected the attendants who were to accompany him. The museum being overstaffed

with elderly guards who dated back to Argyle's day, Croom showed preference for younger men, though

some were newcomers. Those that he'd handpicked were working with the stacks of crates.

And Cranston, in passing, noted a cleancut chap among that select group whose presence was an excellent

addition. The man in question was Harry Vincent, another of The Shadow's competent agents.

Yes, all were well within the museum, where The Shadow's aids were on duty. Cranston's impassive lips

registered a very faint smile as he walked between two standing rows of antique armor that was to stay in the

Then, through the outer door, Cranston passed two human sentinels in the form of private detectives. At the

gate, another pair of such watchdogs eyed him as he entered a waiting limousine.

And then the big car was rolling around the comer, its observers little knowing that Cranston was already

transforming himself into The Shadow, that cloaked fighter whose prowess could outmatch a horde!

MEANWHILE, Clyde Burke was watching the progress of the lottery, ancient Roman style. Trying not to

look too interested, he leaned his elbow on the table, plucked a rubber band from some that were loose in the

drawer and idly looped it over forefinger and thumb, to trigger it at a bronze bust beyond the lottery wheel.

Darden was dropping his own capsules in the box with the others. He delegated one director to shake the box

and pour the wooden pellets into the groove of the antique lottery wheel, which another man was directed to

The wheel whirled and the capsules rattled around within its double rim, but none flew free. All that flew

anywhere was another rubber band with which Clyde bopped the bronze bust in the nose.

About to reload, Clyde heard indignant buzzes from the directors near him and realized that the heroic bust

represented old Henry Argyle, the presiding deity in these precincts. So Clyde guiltily tossed the rubber band

As the wheel slackened, its pellets subsiding toward the bottom, Ewell Darden ran his hand against the stream

Clyde shifted for a closer look as Darden stepped forward. Again, directors gave him reproving glances, so

Clyde pretended he was picking up the rubber band which he did, because he found it promptly. It

happened, however, that Darden wasn't going to open the capsule that he had picked at random. Instead, he

"As supervisor of the new museum," declared Darden, "it will be your duty to convoy the trucks there,

Croom. Out of two dozen possible places, the new museum has been chosen by lot. You will find your

destination named in the paper within this capsule. Do not open it until the armored procession is safely

Nodding, Croom shook the wooden capsule and heard the wadded paper rattle inside it. So he put the closed

pill in his pocket, while Darden was adding that everything was in Croom's hands. Once established at the

new goal, Croom was to inform the directors of his whereabouts, but not until he felt that all was secure.

As Croom left, Clyde took advantage of his reporter's privilege, putting questions straight to Darden.

"Would I be right," inquired Clyde, "if I stated that you've placed everything in the hands of this one man

Directors broke in before Darden could reply. They had chosen Croom for this assignment by a majority vote,

on the basis of his capability and service. While he had charge of the expedition, other responsible men

would be with Croom, accountable for the welfare of the treasures quite as much as he.

"But this place where they're going" Clyde spoke with a speculative note "how can they move in on such

Darden explained that every country stronghold picked by the directors had been taken on option, such being

a necessary proviso. The options ran until the first of the month which was a few days off and after that

date, all options expired except on the one place where Croom and his caravan happened to arrive. Mere

While Darden stated this, the directors nodded to show they hadn't missed a trick. So Clyde put another

"Wasn't it an oversight," he queried, "not notifying the police that this was moving night?"

"On the contrary," he replied, "it happens that we have notified the police. None are present because it would

have been poor policy to advertise the time at which the collection was to be removed. The trucks will arrive,

"But surrounding the nine city blocks, of which this is the center, will be police chiefly plainclothes men

who will close in as soon as the armored caravan has passed. We can all assure you, Mr. Burke, that no one

Darden's stern smile intimated that reporters would be blocked off like any other trailers, a hint that Clyde

would be wasting his time if he tried to follow the caravan. Meanwhile, one of the directors, peering from a

Politely, Darden invited Clyde to come along and witness the loading, so the reporter did. On the way past

the crates, Clyde sidled a shrug to Harry Vincent, a gesture that his fellowagent understood. There wouldn't

be any fireworks tonight; couldn't be, with all the precautions that Darden and the directors had taken.

Clyde took it that The Shadow had simply received lasthour information that the police were to be covering

the shipment of rarities that totaled millions of dollars; hence, as Cranston, The Shadow had probably left to

congratulate his friend the police commissioner on a duty well performed. In reaching that conclusion, Clyde

The situation at the Argyle Museum still offered a lure to crime. What seemed to be a double precaution

could better be termed a baited trap. Like the museum directors, like the police commissioner, Clyde Burke

Perhaps through ignorance, men of crime would not realize that the odds were heavily against them. But that

OUTSIDE the Argyle Museum, the armored vans had slithered smoothly to a stop in front of the great stone

gates. All was quiet on this secluded street too quiet. This oasis in the midst of Manhattan's turmoil was just

In from a neighboring corner glided a figure of blackness, the cloaked shape of The Shadow. The nonchalant

Mr. Cranston had not traveled more than a block before leaving his limousine in the guise of black that

marked him as The Shadow. Hence Cranston had not learned of the police provisions to safeguard the vans

It was a call from Burbank, The Shadow's contact man, notifying him that certain crooks were on the move.

Reports from agents in the underworld attributed the mobilization of crime's hordes to a notorious malefactor

named Wolf Lapine, whose ability at cracking into banks was equaled only by his skill at covering such

In brief, Wolf's criminal listing was "known" rather than "wanted," where the law was concerned. But Wolf

was wanted by The Shadow, who was quite as anxious to crack down on Mr. Lapine as the latter was to crack

There was something that The Shadow noticed even before he left the limousine. Cars were sliding into this

area to join a few others that were parked inconspicuously near the museum. Those cars were already

established before The Shadow saw the armored trucks arrive, to be greeted by the private detectives outside

They'd been here all day, easy for Wolf's spotters to observe and report that this was to be moving night. The

cordon the police were forming, unknown to The Shadow, was geared to the arrival of the armored vans, no

sooner. Hence it was too late for anyone to thwart the infiltration of Wolf's notorious criminal band.

Already, huddly figures were stealing from those parked cars, the rangy, stoopshouldered figure of Wolf

Lapine among them. On the outskirts, The Shadow paused by the last car that had rolled in place and

suddenly made himself known to its occupants, two in number. Usually, The Shadow's process was to use his

This time, he gave a commanding whisper. The two men came about. One was brawny, bluntfaced; the

other, a small, wizened man with sharp, quick eyes. Cliff Marsland was the bluntfaced chap; he was a

strongarm specialist who served The Shadow in the underworld. The wizened man was Hawkeye, craftiest

They'd sent the tipoff to Burbank regarding the moves of Wolf Lapine. True followers of The Shadow, Cliff

and Hawkeye had trailed the motley crew, expecting contact with their chief and they were getting it now.

Posting Cliff on the fringe, where he was at present, The Shadow started Hawkeye on a sneak along the

street, to the opposite flank. Timing his own action to the wizened man's, The Shadow moved through streaky

blackness across the street toward the Argyle Museum, intending to work into the very midst of Wolf's

unsuspecting tribe. The crates were just beginning to come down the long front walk. Logically, Wolf would

The fault lay with the drivers of the armored vans. Instructed to make a quick pickup of their cargo, they

didn't wait for the crates to arrive. Like mechanical puppets pulled by a single string, four men popped from

the bulletproof cabs of their individual vans, bounded to the back and flung wide the loading doors.

This happened just before The Shadow could reach Wolf's lurking mob. A commanding snarl broke the

darkness: Wolf's word to go! He didn't have to specify the rest. As the truckers turned, startled, a dozen

hoodlums came lunging from the darkness, brandishing guns in the glow of the gate lights that fronted the

SHOTS didn't initiate the drive, otherwise The Shadow would have fired on his own. His restraint was for the

benefit of the flatfooted truckers. Wolf Lapine, hat pulled down low over his eyes, was snarling for the

trapped men to get away from the vans a thing also ordered by the gestures of Wolf's followers. What Wolf

intended was to take over the vans, grab the treasure crates and make an armored getaway!

Not that Wolf knew about the police cordon; he simply wasn't leaving things to chance. Turning implements

against their owners was a Lapine specialty, something he'd staged often in his bank robberies. And the men

by the trucks, thinking they still might live if they obeyed, proved themselves suckers for Wolf's trick.

Still doing their puppet act, the truckers fled with one accord for the gateway to the museum, only to have

Wolf's ugly snarl follow them. Having kidded these men into forgetting the security that their own vans

afforded, Wolf didn't intend to let them remain at large to figure in a counterthrust or help protect the crates

from the museum. His snarl was an order for his murderous followers to chop down the fleeing men as they

That was where The Shadow had his say with guns! Slashing down the nearest marksman, he delivered a

fierce, challenging laugh that rose to a mighty, shivering crescendo, waking what seemed to be the echoes of

Few crooks could ignore that defy. On this occasion, none could. For The Shadow, slugging opponents from

his path, not only wheeled to present gun muzzles in their direction; he was veering between them and the

nearest armored van, indicating his full intent to take over the mobile stronghold that they sought as theirs!

They still had a way to stop him with bullets that would more than match The Shadow's fire. Wolf's

command came, but it wasn't needed, for it was drowned amid the burst of guns, Wolf's men supplying the

Gunfire couldn't have eradicated him completely, nor would his laugh have mirthed a new taunt if any shots

had reached him. Yet laugh The Shadow did, from blackness that blotted him. He'd thrown his foemen

A quick reverse spin was The Shadow's method. He'd abandoned his pretended drive to take over the van.

Crooks were welcome to occupy the vans and drive them away, so long as those vehicles were empty. They

hadn't guessed that while they fired, aiming ahead of The Shadow's wellfaked drive, so as to clip him as he

Gone the other direction, The Shadow had accomplished his real motive. The fleeing truckers, forgotten by

the men who would have massacred them, were safely through the gate and spreading to the inner shelter of

And now The Shadow's guns began to jab. Like echoes came the talk of other automatics at longer range,

from both flanks. Cliff and Hawkeye were in the fray, herding Wolf's crowd into The Shadow's jurisdiction.

Crime was set for a mopup in reverse for The Shadow, elusive in the darkness of the street, was the

fighter who now controlled those gaping spaces that marked the ways of entry to the open vans.

Given brief opportunity, The Shadow would have thinned Wolf's ranks by half, with Cliff and Hawkeye

chopping off all fugitives who tried to escape in flanking darkness. But Wolf, through accident rather than

design, offset The Shadow's strategy. There still was escape from this untimely battleground, and Wolf took

They dashed except for a few who staggered straight through the gate that led to the Argyle Museum!

Inside the wall, they scattered as the truckers had. Without wasting a moment, The Shadow followed,

allowing his foemen no time to reorganize. Immediately, the old grounds of the Argyle mansion became the

scene of a fray so incongruous that it seemed impossible that such could have happened in Manhattan.

OLD Henry Argyle hadn't been satisfied with collecting rarities solely for the interior of his mansion

museum. He'd made a curio grounds outside. Roughly, the place resembled an Italian garden, with pillared

bowers, marble benches, and smallsized bathing pools. To these he had added stone terraces, topped by

granite statuary, a few monoliths, and even a pair of Egyptian sphinxes that flanked the entrance to a portico

Amid this potpourri, van men and crooks dodged alike, while The Shadow in his turn picked a handy shelter.

So bullets were chipping statuary and ricocheting from pillars and benches, with no appreciable effect. The

occasional splashes that intervened indicated merely that some dodging fighter had tripped into a pool and

The men from the vans had guns and were using them, but to no more effect than any others. It was battle hit

or miss, practically all of the latter, but The Shadow preferred it that way. Wolf and his crew were putting

The Shadow's main purpose was to control the gate, outside which Cliff and Hawkeye would meet the crooks

when they fled through and The Shadow would then lead others in a drive upon the pausing mob.

All this while, Carl Croom was showing himself boldly in the doorway of the museum, where Clyde Burke

was cornered along with Ewell Darden and the other directors. Croom could afford to be bold, for four

private detectives were flanking him, taking pot shots at the mobsters they couldn't even see. Meanwhile,

Croom's workers, who included Harry Vincent, had rushed the crates back into the museum.

Now matters reached a crux. Croom wanted the detectives to make a sortie. They refused flatly; their guns

were empty, for one thing. They'd be willing to defend the museum under Croom's command, but only if the

battle surged into its heart. So Croom bluntly ordered them indoors as a reserve and gestured to Harry and the

They had guns, too; unfired weapons that were ready. At Croom's urge, they sallied out through the wide

doorway. Wolf howled for his tribe to "give it," but the command was wasted. Before more than a few

scattered shots could respond, Harry and the other attendants were spread in the fancy garden. Half a dozen in

Wolf and his ruffians broke for the gate in keeping with The Shadow's expectations. All was set for a general

roundup, when the sound of sirens formed a converging wail from opposite corners of the front street. The

police cordon was manifesting itself in response to the prolonged outburst of gunnery from the Argyle's

Warned that police would block the desired outlet, Wolf Lapine again showed quick headwork. He'd brought

his mob through the Argyle gate, and being still intact, he thought the outfit could survive another inward

trip. Springing right to the center of the walk, he beckoned his cohorts into the brownstone museum itself!

Harry and others came hurtling through the Pompeian scenery, not without some mishaps around the

swimming pools. Rather than risk having his allies block off his own fire, The Shadow launched on a

shortcut toward the mansion to cut off the crooks and throw them back to the reception committee of the

In the doorway, The Shadow saw Croom taking a quick glance out. The bluntfaced man dodged swiftly

from sight, shouting for the reserves those private dicks who, by The Shadow's calculations, would by this

So The Shadow gave no further thought to the interior of the museum. Lunging from beside the brownstone

building wall, he wheeled to meet the rush of Wolf and his thugs, planning to outslug them and then deliver

He met them just below the steps and let them carry him upward with their drive, so that he could bash down

Then The Shadow was stopped, hard. Stopped with the halting of the crooks themselves. More, he was flung

downward along with those very foemen as they reeled back from a superior attack, a charge that carried

Fresh fighters were in this strife, battlers who were immune to harm, powerful through their sheer inertia.

Fighters launched by Croom, the dependable protector of the Argyle treasures. They came in a clanging

avalanche, sweeping The Shadow into the wave of crooks before him a mass of battlers in full armor, living

IF The Shadow wanted advice on how to end a closerange struggle, he was getting it a perfect

demonstration. In one swoop, Croom had poured a flood of human tanks into a slugfest to produce immediate

results. The armored men weren't knights of yore, they were the four private detectives acting on Croom's

These four weren't bringing guns. They didn't need such weapons, considering that they were wearing mental

gauntlets. They swung the mailed fists right and left, flailing heads that could not duck them. And the results

they gained almost included The Shadow, who to them was just another fighter in the crowd that tried to

The Shadow had more than once conjectured on the fighting ability of such human ironclads and had passed

the idea by, which was logical enough, considering that a fighter weighted down with armor would lose in

mobility whatever he gained in strength. But Croom had saved the system for an ideal situation wherein it

He'd pitched his metallic squad into a human tangle that hadn't time to escape the surprise attack.

Furthermore, the term "pitched" was accurate. They came headlong because they couldn't help it, stumbling

down the steps with gathering momentum that made them all the more formidable. Only by diving headlong

and taking a swift sideward roll did The Shadow escape the battering power of these improvised Galahads.

Wolf Lapine managed to dive the other way while the toppling knights were flattening a few of his followers.

Coming to hands and knees, The Shadow thought the drive was over, considering how the armored men had

misjudged their footwork. But there came an element on which The Shadow hadn't calculated. One man in

armor might have clattered helpless, but with four involved, there was a chance for cooperation.

They clanked against each other, stopping their own falls, even to the point of helping one another up, the

weight of the mail adding the needed leverage. They were swinging those metal fists, with Croom goading

them to action, and it went badly with more thugs who couldn't elude their path. A few of Wolf's men, who

still had cartridges, tried some spasmodic shots from longer range, therewith proving something else.

Armor wasn't bulletproof not to a direct hit. But in dodging, marksmen couldn't shoot pointblank. Their

shots were glancing ones that ricocheted from the plates of armor. Finding their footing on the level ground,

Good policy, considering that they ruled the warpath, which happened to be the way to the gate. With Harry

and the attendants flanking that route, crooks couldn't get clear of the boilerplate brigade except by dashing

out to the street, where police in uniform and plain clothes were coming through. Crime was broken in a way

Then was manifested the flaw in Croom's strategy. As police locked with the hemmedin crooks, the armored

troop came clanging down upon them, battering even harder than before. The visors of their illfitting

helmets were down across their eyes; in the semidarkness, they couldn't tell friend from foe. They expected

the former to keep out of their way; when the police failed to do so, they were promptly classified under the

The whole walk was a melee, with Harry and the other flankers leaping over benches to drag the armored

reserves from the necks of the police. Timely intervention, because a swarthy police inspector, Joe Cardona

by name, was just deciding that the ironclads were crooks clad in stolen armor. The museum attendants

managed to shove the imitation knights apart and sprawl them among the fringes of the garden, like so many

Wolf Lapine was among them. They were through the gate, while The Shadow was flanking the piled men

along the walk. Outside, Cliff and Hawkeye ripped shots at the fugitives, but the range was long, for The

Then The Shadow was with them, but a chase was futile. An odd crook crouched at the wheel of a waiting car

had picked up Wolf, and the few thugs with him. They'd rounded the next corner before The Shadow could

Ordering Cliff and Hawkeye to track the fugitives, The Shadow resumed his guise of Cranston and returned

to the museum premises. Challenged by officers at the gate, he identified himself as a director and was

admitted. Inspector Cardona was in full charge, quizzing captured crooks, the remnants of Wolf's outfit. True

Croom was receiving congratulations for the victory that was rightfully The Shadow's. He took the praise in

prosaic style while he ordered the attendants to resume the removal of the crates. Crooks hadn't even seen the

Some of the garden statuary was chipped; the suits of armor dented. But the trappings that the private

detectives were shedding proved nothing more than common armor that was to be left in the museum. The

Under police supervision, the vans were loaded, and Cardona assured Darden that the police would convoy

the caravan to Manhattan's limits. The directors were looking on and it wasn't out of line that they should

Thus Lamont Cranston exchanged a few words with Harry Vincent and gave him an encouraging slap on the

shoulder, during which Harry was conscious that something reached his pocket. When the trip began,

Cranston did not follow. It wouldn't have been policy to walk out on the directors twice the same evening.

RIDING in the van with Croom, Harry saw his taciturn companion open the wooden capsule from the lottery

wheel. Learning the destination, Croom tore the slip of paper into very tiny shreds and turned away to consult

a road map. The vans were heading north toward Westchester, but Croom did not alter their course. Which

gave Harry an idea that he'd be able to trace the route from then on an impression which he changed soon

Though the police were one hundred percent positive that no one had so far trailed the vans, Croom bluntly

refused to believe it. He guided the caravan over a wandering course, which frequently seemed to double on

itself. He preferred secondary roads that were difficult to recognize, and not only did Harry admit himself lost

After hours of twisty driving, the vans might have been anywhere between the Hudson River and Long Island

Sound; as for the airline distance from Manhattan, Harry computed that as somewhere between twenty

miles and one hundred, which was considerable range. At least, Croom was methodical; if anything, too

Inspector Cardona had attributed the assault on the museum to what seemed a logical source spy work by

the crooks themselves. The fact that the Argyle treasures were to be removed, had leaked to the public,

though the time of such removal had remained a strict secret. Yet there was the possibility that criminals had

Now Harry frankly conceded that any of the picked guards, like himself, might be responsible, but none of

them had flashed anything unusual except Carl Croom. Funny how Croom, in playing a valid hero's role,

had actually paved the way for the escape of certain mobbies, including the leader of the motley horde.

Croom had launched his armored reserves after the real attack was over. The thrust crooks made into the

museum was something more than desperate. They'd practically been boxing themselves in, without a chance

of harming the scared directors who were barricaded in their conference room. As for the precious crates, the

marauders wouldn't have time to even open them, let alone lug them to the vans that they'd failed to capture!

The net result of Croom's ironclad thrust, as Harry analyzed it, was the forestalling of The Shadow's triumph.

Yet Croom's detailed description of the fray had not included mention of a cloaked fighter. Maybe Croom

hadn't seen The Shadow, for no one else made such claim. Still, if Croom were hand in glove with Wolf

Mistrusting Croom on that score, Harry likewise suspected that the man's meticulous handling of the journey

could be a show to cover up his connection with crime. At least, the show was coming to its finish, for as the

leading man jounced across a railway crossing, Croom announced that they were close to their journey's end.

The rest of the procession followed along a road beside the tracks, and shortly Harry heard the blare of a

Harry catalogued the train as a night mail bound for New York. Soon the van stopped, and Croom opened the

back to clamber out. They were near a station that bore the name of Wilbury, and across the way Harry

observed a darkened post office, along with a few houses of the town. Though he had never heard of

While Croom was contacting the other vans, Harry opened The Shadow's note and read it by a hanging

lantern above a crate. It was a code that Harry could read rapidly, which was necessary because the

blueinked lines faded rapidly, as was the way with communications between The Shadow and his agents.

The vanishing ink having performed its trick, Harry moistened his thumb and dabbed it on an upper corner of

the note, causing the brief appearance of the number "1," which marked this as the first message of a series.

Croom arrived suddenly from the direction of the post office. Harry had just time to toss the wadded sheet

from the back of the van, while closing the door at Croom's direction. He stooped as he did it, and turned

about to catch a flash of suspicion from Croom's eyes, but not a word was spoken.

Confident that Croom had not seen him toss away the blank paper, Harry took it that the man's glance had a

different reason. It could be that Croom felt that Harry was watching him too closely; maybe checking on him

QUITE bland again, Croom was beckoning Harry through to the front of the van. There Croom bluntly told

the driver that he and the other van men were to quarter their vehicles and stay with the museum hirelings

The trucker didn't object; he was tired from the trip. Small wonder, considering that they had been on the

road for hours, as evidenced by the Wilbury town clock, that was beating eleven muffled strokes.

Then, his roundabout tactics finished, Croom pointed a stubby finger toward the windshield. On a hill up

which the van had begun to labor, Harry saw an object in the moonlight. It was a large building, odd of shape

Dark, dismal, the curious heap of architecture offered no welcome to those who were to make it their abode.

But at a glance, Harry could tell that it qualified for the preservation of the Argyle treasures, and was there as

a residence for the men who had those priceless antiques under their protection.

"We'll unload the vans as soon as we arrive," Croom told Harry. "Afterward, each man will take his own

belongings to whatever room I assign him. In case you'd like to know, Vincent" again Croom's eyes gave a

Maybe Croom was trying to learn if Harry linked the name with the town of Wilbury. But Harry's return

glance was honestly blank. Not having heard of Wilbury, he knew nothing of the Grange, so he appeared to

be quite ignorant of both. Inwardly, however, Harry was pleased, not just because he'd learned the location

From The Shadow's note, Harry had learned something about the contents of his largest bag that he didn't

want Croom to know about. Something that made it all the more important that Harry be acquainted with his

whereabouts. In addition, the note had stated enough to prove that The Shadow intended to check along the

lines of Harry's own theory regarding a possible tipoff as the reason behind crime's balked thrust.

Succinctly, The Shadow's message advised Harry to check on all members of the expedition. Since the first

step would be to begin with the most important person in the group, Harry interpreted the word "all" to mean

STRANGE was The Shadow's sanctum, that blackwalled room hidden somewhere in Manhattan, a place

where seclusion was absolute. Day or night, pitchdarkness reigned amid The Shadow's sanctum, save when

At such times and this was one of them a bluish light glimmered its blue rays on the polished surface of a

table; and there, hands like living things moved beneath the glow, sorting and arranging data that had to do

Keen were the eyes above those hands. At moments they caught the reflection of the blue light and

outmatched it with their glitter and their burn. Such were the eyes of The Shadow, strange orbs with a

hypnotic power. Likewise symbolic of this master genius was another glowing token, the ring upon a finger

Furnished with a rare fire opal, termed a girasol, the ring scintillated in the light, flashing back a myriad of

hues. Everchanging, the color of that girasol. From the ruddy crimson of a Promethean eye, it would sparkle

through the whole range of the spectrum, finishing with a royal purple that announced its owner's mastery

Newspaper clippings, first. They contained a wealth of misinformation, but with a few kernels of fact amid

the chaff. An attempt had been made to steal the principal treasures of the Argyle Museum at the hour of their

shipment to parts unknown. The attack had failed and the ringleader of the thrust had escaped. Who he was,

It was fairly evident that the malefactor was Wolf Lapine, but Inspector Joe Cardona preferred to keep that

fact unmentioned. So the newspapers weren't printing Wolf's name, for two reasons. First: they weren't sure,

so they preferred not to commit themselves. Second: Cardona had promised them a bigger story if they would

Cardona wanted to ensnare the big bad Wolf. Knowing the bank raider's penchant for covering his tracks,

building alibis, finding loopholes in the law, Cardona intended to build his case first. Bits of evidence,

batches of testimony, were all parts of the mesh. These were to be linked with threads from Wolf's past into a

All this was known to The Shadow, because on his table lay duplicates of Cardona's reports to his superior,

There was a whispered laugh from hidden lips as the Shadow's keen eyes finished their survey of Cardona's

data, and the hand with the girasol stacked those papers to one side. These didn't represent the inspector's full

load of ammunition. Something stronger would be needed toward the trapping of Wolf Lapine. What it was,

Other reports were upon the table, reports from The Shadow's own agents, Cliff Marsland and Hawkeye.

They'd progressed further than Cardona in one important phase: they'd actually run across Wolf Lapine since

the thwarted robbery of the night before. Which wasn't at all surprising, considering that Cliff and Hawkeye

had wised to Wolf's moves the night before and sent lastminute word to The Shadow.

Since the police did not want Wolf as yet, there was no reason why The Shadow should deliver him. On the

contrary, it was better that he should remain at large. Meanwhile, The Shadow could add a stronger weave to

Reaching for earphones beyond the table, The Shadow produced the glow of a tiny light from the wall. A

"Instructions," announced The Shadow. "Marsland and Hawkeye to meet with Wolf Lapine. If possible, to

THE earphones vanished with the tiny light. Again The Shadow's lowtoned mirth stirred the darkness.

There was recollection in that laugh, a memory of how well darkness had served The Shadow on the night

The Shadow wasn't thinking in terms of his own surprise attack; he was remembering how well he had kept

such aids as Cliff and Hawkeye in the background. There wasn't the slightest chance that Wolf Lapine could

identify them as the snipers who had tried to stop his getaway, along with the pitiful remnants of his crew.

Thinned ranks meant that Wolf would need new followers. None could qualify better than Cliff and

Hawkeye. At least Wolf had seen The Shadow, and with fear of the cloaked avenger pressing him, Wolf

would require more than ordinary mobbies. He would need specialists and who could be better than Cliff

Cliff was noted as a strongarm worker, a man of Wolf's own toughened caliber. Whereas Hawkeye was a

spotter of the best degree. Last night, Wolf Lapine had needed a strong running mate; also someone

sharpeyed enough to pick out The Shadow. Yes, Cliff and Hawkeye would rate as top candidates with Wolf.

The Shadow skimmed through other reports some museum data that he had personally obtained as

Cranston. Notes from Clyde Burke covering happenings after Cranston had left the museum, but they were

inconsequential. Facts compiled by an investment broker named Rutledge Mann, another agent of The

Mann covered the present status of the curio business from an investor's standpoint. He stated that there was a

definite, though undercover, market for art treasures something The Shadow was already planning to

Contrasted with the more voluminous reports was a thin slip of paper more important than all the rest.

Again, The Shadow's laugh throbbed through the sanctum. This message had come in response to the note

that The Shadow had given Harry. The small thin paper, plus the brief message, indicated how it had reached

The Shadow by carrier pigeon. In turn, this explained The Shadow's own reference to Harry's luggage.

Having foreseen that he must promptly learn the destination of the Argyle art treasures, The Shadow had

provided for sure and quick communication. Holes punched in the end of Harry's black suitcase, to

correspond with those in a box that contained the bird such was the preparation The Shadow had made

Following instructions, Harry had loosed the pigeon from his room in Glenwood Grange. Harry hadn't

needed to guess in what county Wilbury was located, nor even in what State. Those were facts that The

Shadow could learn, and did. Across the polished table, those deft hands spread a copious map that covered

Having heard of Wilbury, The Shadow knew it to be in that area, and when he located the town he had no

trouble finding Glenwood Grange. It showed on the map as a large block above the contour lines of a hillside,

Tracing roads through that terrain, The Shadow found the one that the trucks had doubtless followed, though

Harry hadn't mentioned it. The road crossed a branchline railway that veered in from a valley off in a

different direction than Glenwood Grange. Harry hadn't tried to reckon the distance between New York and

Wilbury, but The Shadow gauged it accurately on the map. The town near which the Argyle collection was

Most important, though somewhat contradictory, were Harry's last two sentences; but The Shadow

interpreted them correctly. Adequate protection meant, of course, that Glenwood Grange was a readymade

stronghold which, in itself, would be good reason for watching Croom, if Harry suspected the fellow of

doubledealing. A citadel immune to everything but treachery, such was the inference. Still, danger could not

This fitted with The Shadow's own analysis of Croom. The man was strictly an opportunist. He'd proven that

when he'd used his armored squad, whether he'd sent those blundering helpers to squash Wolf Lapine or

One thing was certain: Croom was a person who could bide his time, no matter what his purpose. Hence The

Shadow could afford to spend another evening in Manhattan, before visiting the town of Wilbury and its

showplace, Glenwood Grange. And it was nearly evening now by the curious clock that perched on a corner

of The Shadow's table, a timepiece that registered from hours down to fractions of seconds.

The bluish light went off. In the utter gloom pervading the blackened sanctum, echoes pronounced the

trailing notes of a departing laugh. The climax was an utter hush, symbolizing that The Shadow, master foe of

COMMISSIONER RALPH WESTON was doubly annoyed. He'd left his office early and had come to his

favorite leisure spot, the exclusive Cobalt Club, expecting to find his friend Lamont Cranston. Weston had

even summoned Inspector Joe Cardona for what might prove to be an important conference.

Weston hadn't found Cranston, which was one reason why the commissioner was annoyed. The other reason

Weston could show reporters short shrift, particularly when they bothered him at his club. But Clyde was too

smart to be here as a gentleman of the press. He classed himself as a witness present at the attempted robbery

of the Argyle Museum, and talked along that line. But it became more and more apparent that Clyde was

simply fishing for information, since the facts he provided were nothing but details already covered.

There were times when Commissioner Weston could outsmart the best of pests. Twitching the points of his

military mustache, Weston gave Clyde a blufffaced stare, then turned abruptly to Cardona.

"What about those phone numbers, inspector? The ones you think may link with Wolf Lapine? Let's have

Cardona hesitated in response to Weston's order, so Clyde appeared to be indifferent. He didn't guess why Joe

hesitated. The reason was, there weren't any phone numbers. But that made Cardona's own bluff all the better.

Drawing a report book from his pocket, Cardona thumbed through its pages, found a suitable blank and began

Clyde had a memo book of his own, a small one, in which he'd made notes the night before. Opening it

carelessly, he began to jot down the numbers as Cardona gave them. Instantly, Weston swung about and

"Just doodling," returned Clyde quickly. "How about some more facts on last night, commissioner? I've got

"Perhaps," remarked Weston dryly. "And I'd say that you've been adding further data. Show Burke that list of

Cardona showed Clyde the blank page. Then to Clyde's further chagrin, Weston reached for the reporter's

own notebook. Clyde managed to forestall the commissioner by closing the little book and turning from his

Clyde's right hand went to the shallow section of his right coat pocket, found the rubber band he'd dropped

there during the director's meeting at the Argyle Museum. Spreading the elastic between thumb and

The rubber band wouldn't make the grade. It snapped under too much strain and stung Clyde's fingers.

Hurriedly, Clyde tucked the notebook into a vest pocket, while Commissioner Weston supplied a brusque

"A lesson for you, Burke!" Weston snorted. "You just can't stretch things too far, can you? Except when you

write stories for your newspaper, the Classic. But some day" the commissioner's tone was sharply

significant "you'll stretch facts too far, even there. When you do... look out!"

Clyde decided he'd better be leaving, which brought approving nods from both Weston and Cardona. So

Clyde left, properly rebuked, and continued right out to the street, rather than wait until Weston ordered his

Ten minutes later, Lamont Cranston arrived. He heard no mention of the Burke episode, because Weston was

impatient to take up something else. He wanted Cranston to go with him to the Argyle Museum for a

conference with Ewell Darden. So they left in the commissioner's official car, taking Cardona with them.

SURPRISE awaited them at the brownstone museum. Surprise in the person of Clyde Burke, who had gone

there for another interview with Darden. Clyde was seated by the corner table where he'd been the evening

before, while Darden, busy with the lists of the museum treasures, was stiffly ignoring the reporter.

Clyde tried to be nonchalant when Weston entered. He'd plucked some rubber bands from the drawer and he

let one travel, thumbtrigger fashion, right to the nose of the bronze bust that represented Henry Argyle. At

least, Clyde was proving that all rubber bands didn't snap when he handled them, but Weston wasn't in a

mood to admire the accurate aim of Clyde's forefinger. The commissioner simply thumbed toward the door

Clyde left without an argument. There was no need to stay while Cranston was present. With the reporter

"We're looking for evidence against Wolf Lapine," he told Darden. "We've figured that Wolf was watching

this museum to learn when the shipment left. Now tell us, Mr. Darden, would it be possible for Wolf to know

"Absolutely impossible," returned Darden. He arose and stepped to the ancient lottery wheel. Spinning it, he

produced a rattle of wooden capsules that lay between the flanges. "This is the way we decided upon the

Darden illustrated the process of scooping a chance capsule as it passed. He told how he had given the chosen

"But what about the remaining pills?" queried the commissioner. "Couldn't someone have opened them and

learned the place where the treasures didn't go? Then, by a process of elimination "

"We foresaw all that," interrupted Darden. He pointed across the room. "Immediately after the drawing, I had

the directors open all the other capsules and dump the folded wads of paper in that fireplace, where they were

"Burke was present as a witness. I supposed that he had told you all about it. I asked him to give you a

complete report on all that happened hereabouts... that is, whatever he happened to observe. Being a

newspaper man, he should have prepared an accurate description. If he hasn't left yet, commissioner, we

Weston shook his head. He could take Darden's words regarding the destruction of the unchosen pellets. It

was just one of those details that Clyde had been keeping in reserve as an excuse to stay around and listen in

on conferences. There was a slight smile on Cranston's face that Weston didn't notice.

Having received Clyde's report in full, The Shadow knew about the aftermath that Darden mentioned. As

Cranston, The Shadow could have assured Commissioner Weston that every extra wad of paper had been

burned unread. Since Weston was accepting Darden's statement, there was no need for Cranston to

"I can assure you most positively," declared Darden in a firm tone, "that no one knows where the treasures

have gone except Carl Croom, the man we appointed as custodian to the collection. True, Croom has helpers

with them, but the trip was made by night and it is unlikely that even they have learned their exact location.

"However it cannot be kept a permanent secret, much though we might wish it. After a due lapse of time

say in a week, or better still, a fortnight Croom may see fit to communicate with us. We have left that to his

judgment, dependent chiefly on the time he may require to properly fortify his premises.

"When we do hear from Croom, I shall inform you, commissioner, but only with the understanding that the

news be kept from the public. Every director of the Argyle Museum is under solemn oath to make no public

Weston looked at Cranston, who, as one of the museum directors, nodded in corroboration. The man most

pleased was Cardona. To the veteran inspector, this meant that Wolf Lapine would not move for at least

another week more likely not for two weeks and perhaps not even then! This would work finely in the

"There's another angle on Wolf Lapine," expressed Cardona. "Suppose he had bagged a few million bucks in

"With all the danger threatening those valued treasures," stated Darden, "it is miserable to realize that we

must also guard against human leeches, who happen to be more prevalent than ever before. But such, I regret,

FROM among his papers, Darden passed over duplicate lists of a sheet published by a collectors' association.

It told of reported transactions in various foreign countries, all of which were questionable; though details had

"Why have conquered European countries been ravished of their art treasures?" queried Darden. "The answer

is very plain: there is a market for such rarities and a large one. Many unscrupulous men of wealth foresaw

what the trend of war would bring and secretly established themselves with the heads of enemy nations.

"Grateful for immunity, such rascals are investing in stolen art. After chaos ends, they will be the owners of

rare treasures that will always be valued by the human race. Such knaves have only one regret: namely, that

so much of European art reached America prior to the war's outbreak. So they are working through

"These reports mention legitimate shipments of art treasures to South America. We definitely believe that

many of those are the coverup for the disposal of stolen goods, though statistics also indicate that there is a

heavy trade in futures, rather than art works already pilfered. Certain legitimate art dealers are under

Darden pointed out the name. It was Mark Jarratt, a wellknown purchaser of auctioned works of art. Listed

as a wholesale art dealer, Jarratt was unquestionably in such business, but many of his transactions

especially his sales were matters still untraced. This wasn't a total surprise to Weston and Cardona, for

they'd both heard of Jarratt; but until now, they'd classed him only as a shrewd dealer in antiques.

"This may be something big!" popped Cardona, unable to retain his usual pokerface attitude. "Say,

commissioner, Mark Jarratt could be the fence that fellows like Wolf Lapine work through. Maybe his art

It was Darden who answered. He passed Cardona a file of correspondence, letters from Jarratt to persons

associated with the Argyle Museum, offering to buy any items that the museum might want to sell if forced to

move to smaller quarters. Reading the letters over Cardona's shoulder, Weston declared:

That was a real problem. Nothing could be gained through a direct attempt to make a slippery chap like

Jarratt show his hand. Fortunately, the letters themselves provided the answer. They were profuse with

invitations to Darden, asking him to call at Jarratt's if interested in any offer.

"There we have it!" exclaimed Weston. "You call on Jarratt, Darden, and we'll drop by. We can say we came

The idea appealed to Darden. He inquired how soon the visit should be made, and Weston replied that he'd

like it to be done immediately. So Darden gathered hat, coat and cane. Departing, he told an attendant that he

was going to Jarratt's, in case any one wanted to see him. Thus Darden was truthfully bolstering himself for

"We'll give Darden a quarterhour," declared Weston, "and then we'll drop by. You're coming, of course,

Slight was Cranston's smile, but deep its meaning, though Weston didn't catch it. As usual, the commissioner

had overshot his mark by classing Jarratt as a crook prior to meeting the fellow. The Shadow had another

In The Shadow's estimate, Jarratt was a man who could be crooked. And that, by The Shadow's rule, might

JARRATT'S antique shop was located in a wholesale district which, perhaps as much by design as by chance,

was near the fringes of a most disreputable area. If ever a man had opportunity to deal with respectable

visitors through his front door and those of questionable variety by the back, such a man was Mark Jarratt.

But there was nothing in his demeanor to prove that he handled a twoway racket; nor, for that matter, to

He was a master of suavity, Mark Jarratt, a man who could be dapper or shrewd as the mood seized him, yet

In the secondfloor office above and in back of his great groundfloor display room, Jarratt was rising

politely, with a sallowfaced smile, when his night clerk introduced a trio of visitors headed by

Beside the desk was Ewell Darden. His sharp eyes flashed a relieved welcome, backed by the determined

thrust of his jaw. Fifteen minutes had been enough for Darden; in fact, too much. He was trying to hold the

ground that he had gained. The proof lay in the fact that he had spread his hand upon a strew of papers on

Jarratt's desk. Darden didn't want the antique dealer to put those documents away until Weston had gotten a

There was a squint of suspicion in Jarratt's thinlidded eyes after the visitors were seated. He directed it at

Darden, as if to ask if the latter had purposely arranged for the police commissioner to pay a visit, bringing

In turn, Darden looked to Cranston for assistance. Taking the cue, Cranston obligingly accepted the blame for

"I was checking the records, Darden," spoke Cranston calmly. "I remembered some talk about selling certain

"I have sold nothing to Mr. Jarratt," interrupted Darden crisply. His followup to Cranston's lead was neat.

"Here!" He took the strewn papers in a handful and delivered them with a glare. "See for yourself, Cranston!

Jarratt's sallow face looked none too pleasant while Cranston was sorting through the papers and handing

them to Weston and Cardona in turn. All the while, Darden retained a pose of indignation, as though he

belonged on Jarratt's side. At last, when the visitors had completed their survey, it was Weston who snapped

"You went to a lot of trouble, Jarratt, trying to acquire what you wanted from the Argyle Museum."

The word "acquire" went home to Jarratt and the sallow man did more than parry it. He knocked the props

"If you mean that I hired certain crooks to raid the museum," spoke Jarratt tartly, "you are defeating your own

theory, commissioner. The manner of your visit proves that you do not regard me as a fool. Therefore, why

"When I buy art objects," continued Jarratt smoothly, "I make my purchases from persons forced to sell, a

situation which I hoped existed at the Argyle Museum because of its removal plans. My profits in such cases

are tremendous. In fact" Jarratt's thin, brown lips gave a crafty smile "my competitors have frequently

In his duel of wits with Jarratt, Weston had assumed the proportions of a punching bag. Never had Cranston

"Go through those letters carefully," insisted Jarratt. "You will see that I corresponded not only with Darden,

but with other directors and employees of the Argyle Museum. I even corresponded with Carl Croom, the

"Darden will admit that my offers were ridiculously low, and Cranston will corroborate the fact. Indeed, I

would say that they were lower than the prices that crooks would ask, if they stole such treasures. Still"

Jarratt rose with a shrug "I am not in a position to judge. You should be able to answer better than I,

Then, to complete the commissioner's flustration, the suave Mr. Jarratt tapped the papers as he took them, and

"My latest letters having been ignored, I took it that the deal was still possible. I have just now learned from

Mr. Darden that there will be no sale. So should I deal with criminals, commissioner, it would be in the

WESTON was rising, dumbly. Cardona's swarthy face was purple. Only Cranston retained his calm

composure, for Darden was trying to cover the retreat with a show of indignation.

"You are wrong," returned Jarratt smilingly. "I did receive a letter from Croom. He mailed it yesterday before

From a desk drawer, Jarratt produced the letter, dropping its envelope back in the drawer. Darden read the

letter and showed it to the rest, but in a manner filled with pride. For the letter, though a parting shot at

Tersely worded, it stated that Croom was not interested in anything that Jarratt might offer; that henceforth,

Croom would be where letters would not reach him and that further correspondence was therefore useless.

Showing his visitors downstairs and out through the front door, Jarratt watched their departure and waited,

He'd shown those busybodies exactly where and how they stood. His sallow lips grinned at recollection of his

preliminary interview with Darden. He laughed aloud at the way he'd nonplused Weston and Cardona. As for

Jarratt was more right than he knew. Cranston had literally merged with the scene outdoors. He'd gone

neither with Weston nor Darden; each supposed that Cranston had left in the other's car. Actually, Cranston

had strolled around the corner, there to stop beside a waiting taxicab which happened to be The Shadow's

own, piloted by an agent named Moe Shrevnitz. Moe, or Shrevvy, as some friends called him, was here at

Stepping in one door and out the other, Lamont Cranston became The Shadow. His pause between doors was

very brief, just long enough for him to gather black cloak and hat from a special drawer beneath the cab's rear

seat. That was how Cranston happened to join the scenery as The Shadow. For there was blackness all along

the street on which Jarratt's show windows fronted and The Shadow blended absolutely with the inky gloom.

Across the very sidewalk where Jarratt stood, past the man himself and into the doorway, The Shadow glided

like a segment of night itself. The shop lights revealed the cloaked entrant, but Jarratt's back was turned, for

The night clerk stared at the sight of drifting blackness, but didn't define it as a living being. The clerk saw

the doorway only from an angle; by the time he came around from behind the counter, the fleeting figure had

Off through Jarratt's shop, deftly avoiding stacks of knicknacks in the gloom, The Shadow trailed a zigzag

course unseen, finally reaching the steps to Jarratt's upstairs office. As he made the turn in the steps, The

Shadow glanced back and saw Jarratt coming indoors. So The Shadow sped his ascent to the office.

The Shadow needed only half a minute alone. In less than that period, he whipped open the desk drawer and

found the envelope that had contained Croom's letter. The typing on the envelope matched that of the letter,

but there was one point amiss enough to assure The Shadow that he'd guessed the truth beforehand.

The envelope bore the postmark: "Wilbury." It hadn't been mailed from Manhattan the night before. Instead,

it had been mailed from the town where Croom had conveyed the Argyle treasures. Leaving Wilbury on the

very evening of Croom's arrival, the envelope itself gave the vital information that Croom had been instructed

Clever, this! That the very letter exonerating Croom should have carried evidence of the fellow's treachery,

Dropping the envelope back into the drawer, The Shadow reached the window and loosened its catch so he

could make a speedy exit. Then, moving across to the door, he looked for Jarratt and saw him.

The curio dealer had just finished a phone call downstairs; in putting aside the telephone, he seemed in no

hurry to come up. So The Shadow waited several minutes, until the sound of a muffled buzzer announced

When the sallow man reached the office, The Shadow was gone. Oddly, though still visible, he couldn't be

seen. For The Shadow was beyond the window and had drawn it almost shut behind him. What appeared to

be solid night was actually a cloaked observer whose burning eyes were concealed by a downturned hat

Locking the office door, Jarratt crossed to a huge safe. Opening its massive front, he stepped back. From the

"I THOUGHT you'd get here quickly," said Jarratt to Wolf. "I knew that telephone number of yours must

"You're telling me," returned Wolf. "That's why I took the dump I'm at, so I'd be able to move the Argyle

"But you didn't get the stuff," declared Jarratt. "And you were a fool to go after it without first telling me!"

"Only if you did a clean job, Wolf. You should have told me you were going after the Argyle collection

An interesting situation! Wolf Lapine, operating on his own, had hoped to unload his swag through Mark

Jarratt. Actually, Jarratt had played no part in crime, but he was equally truthful in telling Commissioner

Weston to watch him in the future. For sheer audacity, Jarratt matched any schemer that The Shadow had

Wolf still wanted to argue. He'd take on any job, he told Jarratt, but the Argyle proposition had looked bigger

than anything else. To all of which Jarratt nodded, finally showing Wolf the correspondence that he, Jarratt,

"Farther than you did," returned Jarratt suavely. "I built myself a perfect alibi with the police, along with

He showed Wolf the Croom letter with the envelope that matched it, and Wolf's yellow teeth showed in a

"Say!" he exclaimed. "You'd already primed that Croom guy! No wonder he was so tough last night. If he'd

only known I was a friend of yours it might have been different. Anyway, he helped us shake The Shadow."

"Nothing should have happened last night," asserted Jarratt. "Can't you understand, Wolf? The place for

robbery was not where the treasures left from. The right spot is where they went!"

Wolf nodded glumly. "If I'd had sense enough to tag that caravan, instead of cracking down!"

"You'd have done even worse," argued Jarratt. "As it now stands, we know where the Argyle collection went,

but nobody suspects that we do. Your destination is the town of Wilbury. Establish yourself there, Wolf, but

Wolf nodded and beckoned Cliff back into the safe, remarking that it was a neat gadget a safe with an

elevator to the basement. Smiling at the compliment, Jarratt added that it was another thing he'd willingly

disclose to the police. He could explain it as a secret exit intended for the removal of his own valuables in

The elevator descended without the slightest noise, its thrum totally muffled by the heavy safe front. Jarratt

strolled to the window to make sure his visitors didn't reveal themselves below. He could see the street, for

his view was now unobstructed by living blackness. All Jarratt noticed was a passing taxicab, but such

It was Hawkeye in an alleyway below who had noted the cab actually pull out from sheltered darkness below

Jarratt's building. When Cliff arrived with Wolf, Hawkeye, serving as lookout, gave them the allclear signal.

But as they sneaked off through the dark, with Wolf in the lead, Hawkeye plucked Cliff's sleeve and his

They'd report this visit through Burbank, as a matter of course, though it wasn't really necessary. The Shadow

VIEWED against a starlit sky, Glenwood Grange formed a most peculiar landmark. To persons moving along

the borders of its grounds, the mansion seemed to blot out at moments, only to reappear. It also had a habit of

The reason was the irregular terrain. The Grange was built on rolling ground that could be termed a

combination of several hillsides. Little knolls, hardly discernible even in daylight, could rise up strangely at

There were trees on the hillsides but they, too, were in irregular clusters, and there were clearings that

represented abandoned farmland. Thus the strangers who patrolled these boundaries found it difficult to

choose a perfect observation point. There was one good lookout spot on a slope a quarter mile from the

Wolf Lapine was the chief expert. He was pacing the cramped quarters that some of his scouts had found, a

little shack among bordering trees that were off the Glenwood Grange premises. From the doorway, Wolf

was tilting his head from one side to another, trying to spot the big building that loomed beyond the woods.

"That's the joint, all right," assured Wolf. "We've covered enough back roads to know there ain't another

dump that would do to hold that Argyle stuff. Trouble is, you can't see enough of the place from here, but

Wolf's followers, an assortment of new but experienced ruffians, offered their expert opinions with the

opposite verdict. They said the trees hid the shack almost completely; that it was too small to attract any

"I'd say yours was the vote that counted," returned Cliff bluntly. "Maybe this shack is hard to see, but it leaks

light like a sieve. Unless you're going to operate on a blackout basis, it's no good."

Stepping into the shack, Wolf glared at the hanging lantern, then at the walls. Cliff was right: the place

wouldn't do for a headquarters. Wolf wasn't worried though, because he'd seen only some high windows of

the Grange and none of them were lighted. He gruffed that they couldn't have been spotted; not yet.

"We'll use this for a lookout shack," decided Wolf. "And remember: go easy on the glim when you're around

here nights. The old farmhouse is where we'll make headquarters. I know it's a mile or more toward town, but

I figure we can find a shortcut. However, we might as well take more of a gander while we're around here."

Wolf beckoned his men from the shack and they brought the lantern with them, keeping it turned low and

holding it close to the ground as they did with their flashlights. A wind was whispering amid the trees and

perhaps it was the cluster of their swaying boughs that made darkness encroach so closely to the lowered

But Cliff and Hawkeye held a different theory. In the sigh of the wind, they fancied a sibilant laugh. The

rustle of leaves could denote the swish of a black cloak. Blackness, sweeping away from the moving,

spreading lights, represented the gliding departure of a mysterious cloaked figure The Shadow!

THEY were right in theory, Cliff and Hawkeye. Such a shape was at large, though more distant than they

thought. Already, The Shadow was clear of the fringing woods and circling toward Glenwood Grange itself.

There was no swish from his cloak and his whispery laugh was too subdued for any but his own ears to hear

Glenwood Grange was indeed a stronghold. Its builder had sunk a fortune in a home that he had destined for

posterity by creating a structure of solid concrete, the wonder substance of its day. The passage of years had

brought cracks in the walls, but they were negligible as yet; merely indications that the place would not

Windows were deepset and fitted with bars on the lower floor, which meant that the Glenwood who built it

had also stocked the house with elaborate furnishings. When The Shadow reached the wall and looked

upward, he observed that the higher windows were similarly reinforced, but in more artistic style. Their bars

Most of the lights were on the ground floor, as Wolf and his outfit had observed. Close by the house, The

Shadow could see flickers from certain windows, indicating a burning log fire in a groundfloor great hall.

It was difficult to exactly classify it, since most of the windows seemed to be on different levels. However,

this one had a light burning beneath a tilted shade, which cast a curved streak of blackness half across the

It was obviously the room belonging to Harry Vincent; its peculiar mode of illumination, though seemingly

To scale the wall, The Shadow used his suction cups. They were a nest of four rubber disks, which he took

apart to fit to his hands and feet. The oiled disks gripped hard when twisted against the concrete wall; to

detach one, The Shadow merely exerted a forward pressure that let air through a tiny hole. Thus he was able

Reaching the window, The Shadow stayed to the side that Harry had so obligingly shaded with darkness. It

was Harry's room, all right, for The Shadow recognized the luggage, particularly the large black bag that was

lying open on a chair. A table was standing quite close to the window and there was another chair beside it.

Harry must have used the chair and table as a ladder in launching the carrier pigeon. Climbing up beside the

window and hanging partly from above it, The Shadow found what he expected, a small loose pane which

served as a ventilator. It pivoted horizontally when The Shadow pressed it, and below he could see the clamp

that actuated a lower section of the window. A strong clamp with a padlock, beneath the window sill where

no one could reach it. Breaking a window pane wouldn't help, for the clamp was fitted to the floor, far

No means of entry by that window, so long as the padlock remained closed, as Croom had probably ordered

that it should always be. The barred panes of the lower window section came right flush with others, forming

solid frames. Perhaps a smashed window and an hour's work with a file would have sufficed in the old days,

but no longer would the rule apply. The present windowpanes were of bulletproof glass.

So The Shadow had to be content with the one hinged pane that served as ventilator. It was all that he

Bringing a stiff envelope from beneath his cloak, he used his one free hand to reach through the pane and

send the flat missile skimming through the air. A difficult trick, considering the odd angle, but The Shadow

had practiced it with such variations. The envelope skimmed right into Harry's bag, slicing like a knife's edge

His message delivered, The Shadow applied the fourth suction cup again, descended the wall and began his

own survey of the mansion's irregular walls from a proximity that he knew none of Wolf's men would dare

IT wasn't long before Harry arrived in his room. His cue to The Shadow's visit was the little windowpane set

at a new tilt. Harry looked about the room and was puzzled for a while, until he saw a whitened corner

sticking from between two colored shirts in his suitcase. Finding it to be an envelope, Harry soon was reading

Here were details of happenings in Manhattan, that had carried to Wilbury: mention of Wolf Lapine and his

mob, with Cliff Marsland and Hawkeye members. Right up to date, this message, for The Shadow had

written it under the walls of Glenwood Grange. It told of the shack that Wolf's outfit was abandoning except

Turning off the light, Harry mounted the table, tore the blank sheet to shreds and fluttered the pieces into the

All the while, the final words of the message kept drilling through Harry's mind. They were simply a

reiteration of a certain policy, but The Shadow had stressed them with new import. Those words were:

Harry's chance to watch his present boss arrived the moment that he went from his room. He'd last seen

Croom downstairs, but the bluntfaced man was there no longer. Hearing cautious footsteps on a curved

stairway leading up, Harry stole through a dim hall and took a look. He saw Croom peering from a window

fully a floor above, a spot from which, by Harry's calculation, Croom could be noting any glimmers

particularly signal flashes from the direction of the shack mentioned by The Shadow!

Croom was coming down again, so Harry paced him, sure that the other man's footfalls would drown his

own. Reaching the great hall, where two men were chatting by the fire, Harry turned unnoticed into a gloomy

passage. Watching for Croom, he saw the blunt man arrive and guessed by his manner that Croom was

So Harry slid into a side passage until Croom went by. Croom opened an outside door and stole out. After a

brief hesitation, Harry followed. After all, the word was to watch Croom. The outside terrain was The

Shadow's province; still, it was large territory. Not only was Harry following instructions to the letter; he

As Harry surmised he would, Croom turned in the direction of the shack. The starlight was sufficient for a

lawn free of pitfalls, so Croom moved through the darkness and Harry did the same. It wasn't until they

neared the woods that Harry heard any stumbles from Croom; then came brief glints from a flashlight close to

Guiding by it, Harry followed without stumbling and saw Croom's light enter the shack. There it blanked like

It couldn't be that Croom had contacted anyone in the deserted shack. He might have picked up a message

from Wolf; but if so, how could he be reading it in darkness? Debating such points, Harry moved close to the

shack, feeling his way carefully, and stopped by the door. There wasn't a sound except the creak of the door

Gingerly, Harry caught the door as it swung slightly open and eased inside. Then he realized why the door

swayed: a breeze was coming from a window opposite. Croom, finished with his survey of the shack, had

As proof of Harry's theory, there was a gleam from the woods Croom's flashlight back at the lawn again.

A lost trail that Harry would have to find again by a process that seemed quite simple, that of returning to the

Grange by the shortest possible route. To save time, Harry turned to the door, which thumped hard from the

Pushing the door, Harry heard its hinges groan louder than before. Unfortunate, that sound, for it drowned the

snap of brush from the ground close by. Just too late did Harry catch that warning crackle.

In from the darkness lunged a pair of foemen, striking blindly but hard. They met Harry at the bottom of the

door step, tripped him back across it. His head hit with a thump that forced a groan from him, like an echo of

the door hinge. A grab, a smash from driving hands, and Harry's head took another thud that put him out like

Croom's trail was lost, but Harry's was found by hard hitting foemen who now held him a senseless prisoner!

WHEN thoughts returned to Harry's aching head, they were inspired by a lantern's glow quite close to his

eyes. In it, Harry saw the outlines of faces, and he heard gruff voices. He knew that they must belong to

A real dilemma this, one for which Harry could blame himself. He'd crossed everything by trailing Croom

from the house. Indeed, Harry's own stealth, on which he had prided himself, was the worse fault of all.

Assuming that The Shadow had remained close by the mansion, Harry's chief would certainly have picked up

the blinks of Croom's flashlight near the woods. If Harry had only given a few guarded blinks of his own, The

But Harry hadn't, so the chances were that The Shadow had simply trailed Croom back to the mansion and

Logical enough, since Croom had left the Grange so soon, that Harry would have needed luck in plenty to

have spotted Croom's sneak. The long chance had come Harry's way, only to put him in his present trouble

from which The Shadow, through with investigating the shack, could hardly be expected to rescue him.

At that point, Harry's reflections ceased. His captors were responsible for his change of thought. Thrusting

forward in the light, they began to jolt Harry's jaw with the heels of their hands and he rolled backward on the

floor. It was then that Harry realized his arms and legs weren't just cramped. They were bound, tightly.

Gathered up again by his tough captors, Harry was propped into a corner. This wasn't a charitable service;

they wanted to keep him upright so they could pommel him more. As one hand poked him, Harry winced, but

not from the jaw jolt. He'd gotten a jab from the sharp edge of a nail head projecting from the corner wall. It

"Listen, lug," growled a captor, pushing the lantern so close that its heat nearly singed Harry's eyebrows.

Harry blinked, only to receive another blow, at which he grinned, since it put his face away from the heat. He

pressed his hands against the wall to avoid the nail head and felt the spike wedged between his wrists. Then

into the light wagged a rubber hose, a much stouter threat than jolts from horny hands.

To talk as these crooks wanted could prove fatal, and Harry recognized it well. To admit he'd trailed Croom

would be very bad, if these captors, working for Wolf, knew that Croom was in any way linked to their

leader. To claim that Croom had sent him here would be giving away everything that Harry knew, even

though it might produce a respite. There would have to be something different, bolder, that would really

Every agent of The Shadow was trained to act on his own when occasion demanded trained by the greatest

master of them all, The Shadow himself. The rule that Harry had learned was to meet an issue simply, point

by point, and let one step lead to another. It wasn't hard to apply it in this case.

One thing Harry couldn't admit that he had come from Glenwood Grange. That settled firmly in his mind,

Harry saw immediately that he could spring almost anything on these fellows. Even while he licked his lips,

he began to see a panorama open ahead. Each time he started to speak, he caught himself, looking for a way

to worry these captors as an opening. And it came, very simply. Blinking into the light, Harry settled back

SHARP oaths came from the two men, but they were definitely startled. Then one demanded what gave

"We figured Wolf would be around," said Harry coolly. "Why not? The cops didn't nail him after he fluked

The term "nail" reminded Harry of the one between his wrists. As he pressed his hands lower, he could feel

"So you've figured Wolf Lapine," came a sneer. "What else do you birds in the house find to talk about?"

That was the question Harry wanted, and expected. He was back to the house matter, the very thing he was

"Ask the clucks who live there," suggested Harry. "I've never been in the place. We're glomming the lay, like

Who "we" were, Harry didn't specify. He simply knew that his statements would bring dividends. It did, for

Then both were back at Harry again, wanting to know the name of the bigshot he worked for, which Harry

naturally wouldn't tell. As crook to crook, he put it to the pair would they blab about Wolf Lapine if they

It wasn't that Harry had anything against Wolf or the guys who worked for him. He'd have signed up with

Wolf himself, if he'd known how to reach him. Once sworn in to serve a rival bigshot, Harry couldn't help

it. He'd talked, as he promised he would, but he couldn't say any more except maybe to Wolf Lapine in

All that made logic to Harry's captors, who didn't realize the hope their prisoner held. They could picture

Wolf making this palooka talk, in plenty. What they didn't guess was that Harry had two friends in Wolf's

If taken to Wolf, he'd meet with Cliff and Hawkeye. Which was better than a slugging from these lesser

crooks, a thing they'd certainly have dished out if Harry had admitted that he belonged to the guardians of

Glenwood Grange. Indeed, his captors might have decided to rub him out and report it to Wolf afterward.

Very neatly, Harry had sold himself a ticket to Wolf's headquarters, meanwhile stalling for valuable time

which might, by a long chance, bring The Shadow. Even if it didn't Harry would be seeing Cliff, or Hawkeye

The second of those two names was more than an added reflection. It was brought to reality by a wizened

face that poked through the door. Then came Hawkeye's voice, hoarsely criticizing the men who held the

lantern, reminding them that Wolf had put a taboo on lights in this lookout shack. In response to beckons,

Hawkeye came over for a look at Harry and learned that the prisoner belonged to another faction.

Five minutes later, Hawkeye returned, not with Wolf but with Cliff as Harry expected. All the while in

darkness, Harry had worked at the wrist ropes, digging them against the nail head. The bonds were frayed,

nearing the breaking point, when Cliff appeared and arranged a properly shaded light to focus on the

Cliff gave weight to Harry's bluff by taking it for granted. Bluntly, he quizzed the prisoner and considered

Harry's case. He didn't demand the name of Harry's bigshot. Instead, Cliff showed the harshly threatening

"You're in a tight spot, guy," Cliff told Harry. "Has that gotten through that head of yours?"

"Not so tight as it looks," returned Harry. "I've found ways out from worse than this."

He was telling Cliff in so many words that he'd worked the wrist ropes loose, and Cliff understood it,

Such suggestions could bring trouble. Fortunately, the men who had captured Harry weren't part of the few

who had escaped during the museum fracas. Cliff spiked their theory with a snort.

"If The Shadow was wise to things," assured Cliff, "he'd be around himself, instead of using stooges. We'll

The thugs assured Cliff that the bonds were perfect; when they tied prisoners, they did it right. Which, with

Hawkeye as a witness, was the sort of statement that would square Cliff and toss the blame for Harry's

coming escape on the original captors. So Cliff told the two to snoop around with Hawkeye and make sure

HARRY made short work of the frayed wrist bonds. He dropped them on the floor as testimony in Cliff's

behalf, and soon had the ropes off his ankles. Leaving them as further evidence of a valid escape, Harry stole

There were no lights outside, but he heard Hawkeye's hoarse voice maintaining a contact with the lurking

thugs and it told Harry the direction that he wasn't to take. Crawling the other way, careful not to make any

noise that would cause him to be mistaken for one of his own imaginary friends, Harry reached the edge of

There the thought struck him that if anyone chanced to see him stealing toward the Grange, his whole bluff

would be ruined. So Harry skirted the woods and followed the lawn on a long circuit around to the other side

of the house. There, from a vantage spot where Glenwood Grange loomed high above a rising knoll, Harry

Close by was something that looked like a crouched figure; so black and motionless that, if alive, it could

only be The Shadow. As Harry approached, the shape resolved into a tree stump, the terminus of a cluster of

Considering the stump to be a good lookout spot, Harry decided to test it. He pushed through the bushes,

disregarding their crackle. Noise didn't matter, for all of Wolf's tribe were on the far side of the mansion, fully

Harry was recalling how well he'd bluffed that crowd, by telling them that he was a member of a rival mob

that didn't exist. Maybe they'd be just silly enough to start looking for that product of Harry's imagination.

That a rival faction could exist seemed quite impossible to Harry, until events proved it.

Up from the bushes beside the stump sprang two men, so suddenly that the ground seemed to deliver them!

They couldn't be members of Wolf's outfit, which Harry had outdistanced; nor could they belong to Croom's

Therefore, these were interlopers, members of a rival party that even The Shadow hadn't heard about!

Who they were, why they were here, how they had come to learn about Glenwood Grange, Harry couldn't

These persons unknown were as tough as they were mysterious. Under their savage drive, Harry was

completely ambushed. Sagging from the effect of hardslugged blows, Harry Vincent again became a

As his senses left him, Harry was overwhelmed by the horrible conviction that even The Shadow could not

nullify this capture, accomplished as it was by men whose very presence had escaped the observation of the

WHILE Harry was falling into the hands of thugs who seemed the impossible made real, The Shadow was

peering through barred windows into the great hall of Glenwood Grange. Having trailed Carl Croom back

from the shack, The Shadow was studying the man along with the interior of the ground floor.

Inlaid armor was on display; rare tapestries hung from the walls. Framed paintings were carefully set in a

corner, waiting to be hung. An old safe, showing from another room, was probably the place where Croom

had put the muchprized royal jewels. The safe didn't have to be strong in this wellfortified mansion.

Visible treasures were but a modicum of those still in their special crates, all listed as to contents. Yet Croom

looked worried as he stared about the great hall. He spoke gruffly to the two men at the fireplace, gesturing

Dropping from the window, The Shadow crossed the lawn and was sufficiently distant in its darkness when

the guards came out by the side door and started opposite circuits of the house, Croom waiting at the door

In trailing Croom back to the mansion, The Shadow had lost all track of doings at the shack, due to the

contour of the ground, which by its rises, cut off a view of those particular woods, at least from ground level.

But The Shadow, though he hadn't traced Harry along with Croom, was thinking in terms of the forgotten

shack. One of The Shadow's marked abilities was that of piecing two negative facts to form a positive.

One negative factor was Harry's absence from his room, which The Shadow had viewed from a knoll; the

other, the fact that he wasn't in the meeting hall. Positively, these spelled some other business on Harry's part,

and in keeping with instructions to "Watch Croom," it was plausible that he had trailed his boss from the

So The Shadow headed for the shack on the definite possibility that Croom might have turned it into a trap

for some unwary trailer of Harry's ilk. Again, the time element was playing tricks, for when The Shadow

reached his goal it was vacant. Returning after their prowl, Wolf's men Cliff and Marsland and Hawkeye

included had taken the ropes and departed after finding out that Harry had escaped.

But the open window, marking Croom's twoway route, was a clue for The Shadow. Maybe Croom had

preferred a different exit for his own protection, but it had the earmarks of a trap enough to decide The

Shadow's next course. With a lowtoned laugh, he started off in another direction.

The night mail was chugging out of Wilbury when The Shadow started across a stretch of farmland. In the

woods, then out again; as he neared an old farmhouse, The Shadow heard the town clock gonging eleven.

Then, through the farmhouse window, he was viewing Wolf Lapine, whose hat was tilted back to reveal his

surly face as he listened to accounts of men who had only just arrived, because their route had been longer

They were the pair from the shack, bringing the frayed rope as evidence of their lost prisoner. Standing by

was Cliff, bluntly taking blame for the oversight, which won the admiration of Wolf's tribe but didn't

The facts, in Wolf's opinion, put the blame on Harry's captors, not Cliff. If they had tied their prisoner

"So the guy said he belonged to another outfit," he snarled. "All right, we'll keep an eye out for them. Next

time, hang on to any guy you grab, even if you have to croak him! Sometimes a dead guy is all I've got to see,

Off through the night, The Shadow moved back toward Glenwood Grange. He was debating a moot point:

had Harry's yarn been sheer bluff, or had he by some chance actually spotted other prowlers hereabout?

Such speculation stimulated The Shadow's calculations. He worked from the basis that Harry could have run

into trouble from an unknown mob. Since The Shadow himself dealt in the incredible, he was willing to

credit the imaginary as real. The who, where and how of a mystery mob, did not alter its possibility.

Calculating Harry's course as a circuit, The Shadow soon found the lookout stump, which rivaled the shack as

a vantage point. Under The Shadow's probing flashlight, which kept its tiny gleam concealed by cloak folds,

The Shadow discovered trampled underbrush, broad by the stump, narrower as it led away into the woods.

Again, the wind that stirred the trees caught The Shadow's whispered laugh and enveloped it just as night

UNDER a blaze of light, Harry Vincent opened his eyes. This time his thoughts suffered a lapse, for he'd

taken some brutal treatment from his present captors. He thought a pair of huge lanterns were glaring at him.

Instead, he was in the focus of automobile headlights. Harry muttered half aloud:

"Working... for another outfit. So... what? Same as you guys... I'd join up with anybody... like Wolf Lapine

It was just a continuation of Harry's talk at the shack, for he supposed that Wolf's tribe still held him. He

couldn't remember how they'd grabbed him again, but he did recall his bluff and stuck to it. His words

happened to be ambiguous enough to let his present listeners form their own interpretation. A man with a

sharp, yet smoothlooking, face pushed those features into the light and let Harry see them.

"So you're working for Wolf Lapine," came the buzzsaw tone. "Maybe you know who I am?"

Harry blinked. The action cleared the film from his brain. He realized that this wasn't Wolf, and back to mind

sprang the battle at the stump. The fight that had proved his bluff was real. Groggily eyeing his new captor,

"Don't know me, huh?" The man rasped a chuckle. "That's because I don't show my mug too many places, the

way Wolf does. Nobody has a good idea of what I look like, the bulls in particular. But they've heard my

The name buzzed deep into Harry's whirling brain and repeated itself like a rasped echo:

It was impossible! Kip Reddick was supposed to be dead. A chameleon among crooks, he had gone from one

type of outlawry to another, until he had finally disappeared. Rumors of his death had mingled with reports

that Kip had chosen to have his face lifted instead; but the death rumor persisted when Kip failed to return to

"You figured I'd been croaked," taunted Kip. "But I had a better reason for laying low. They never mugged

me, but they took my fingerprints. So I've been playing smart, waiting for a big job. I've found it. This lay is

Groggily, Harry muttered that he'd be glad to tell Wolf Lapine. Whereupon Kip gave a raspy snarl and drove

the heel of his hand against Harry's jaw. Going backward, Harry's head hit a table leg and he rolled to the

"Tough you're working for Wolf," sneered Kip. "We thought you belonged in the Grange. They can't spare

guys, but Wolf can. He's going to lose a lot before he's through, because he's the fall guy in this proposition.

"The whole thing was set, when Wolf barged into it on his own. After that, it looked like a good idea to play

ball with him. Why not? It's giving me a better out if anything goes wrong, and Wolf deserves to be a sucker

"Maybe you're wondering why I'm telling you this. If you are, you're plain dumb. It's because you won't be

telling Wolf or anybody else anything I've said. You think this Glenwood proposition is an inside job. It is,

only it's a smarter kind of inside than you ever heard of! So smart, that Wolf will never wise "

KIP cut off with a snarl as he realized that Harry hadn't heard a word. The jolt against the table had knocked

him cold. Kip made a gesture and two members of his compact crew hooked Harry's arms and brought him to

his feet. Receiving hard slaps against the face, Harry opened his eyes and gazed about, wondering where he

Guns began to prod Harry's ribs. They were starting him on a death march. Seeing Kip again, Harry

remembered who his captor was. Through Harry's thoughts throbbed the fact that Kip Reddick was writing

him off because he'd been foolish enough to claim that he worked for Wolf Lapine. But all that Kip had said

Captors were binding Harry's hands behind him as they shoved him off a low road and up a brambly path,

that the prisoner recognized. It led to a quarry that Harry had seen from his window.

The view from the mansion had shown the upper portion of the quarry, a sheer cliff jutting amid overhanging

trees. The road where Kip's cars were parked was evidently in a small gully that skirted to the lower reaches

of the Glenwood premises. Harry was trying to think of such things, to shake off the horror of his coming

And then, ahead the quarry! Something for Harry to remember as long as he lived a point which one of

his executioners jested in his ear. A white surface of rock, ghostly amid overhanging trees, a stretch of natural

Blackness lay beyond, thick engulfing gloom, its inky mass a symbol of looming death. Yet blackness could

Then hope vanished. Rescue could never come from that gaping dark. It represented space that soon would

echo with the crash of Harry's death plunge. And the grim forethought of that sound to be banished all else

from Harry's mind even the whispers of the brooding wind that a strained imagination could transform into

ONLY when his feet struck the uneven rock that marked the final stretch in his parade of doom, did Harry

Vincent yield to the mad impulse of speeding his death sentence by a hopeless struggle. It was better to die

fighting than be dumped to doom like a loaded sack even though there wasn't a chance to win.

Fifty feet to go on the horizontal. He'd show some action in that space before taking a vertical trip of twice

the distance! Maybe imagination would help; at least it would be some solace, dying while he still fancied

A thing that gripped you, halting a mad deed, must be something more than mere imagination! And

something did grip Harry, clamping his arms, with an illusion of a whisper almost in his ear. Funny his

captors didn't note it as they prodded with their guns, one from each side, and growled that they'd drag their

Those gruff voices drowned the whisper. It was purposely low, so the speakers couldn't hear it. The words it

delivered were the proof that this was no illusion. Seemingly far away, yet very near, the voice of The

Those gripping hands from in back of Harry, they were The Shadow's too. They relaxed as soon as Harry

mumbled something to let his chief know he understood. And on went the death march, the captors gripping

Harry's elbows as he faked a wearied stumble along the cracked surface of the rock. A strange march, that

For The Shadow was close in the background, so close that Harry's captors almost gripped him, too. Close,

but unseen, in this pitchdarkness, a phantom of night become a corporeal form. Cool was The Shadow's

action, steady his hand, uncanny his precision, as he inserted a keen knife blade between Harry's wrists and

Harry felt a slight jerk as he stumbled. Coming up with the pull his growling captors gave him, he was

tripping forward again, amazed to realize that his hands were free. He kept shifting them back and forth just

beyond the limits of the rope, had it still been there. But he didn't try the break he'd hoped for earlier. Harry

There wasn't any token of The Shadow in the darkness. No whisper, no grip of hands. Only the severed rope

which Harry was beginning to think might have broken of its own accord. Indeed, he was beginning to

wonder why The Shadow should have released him at all, for Harry's captors were only two in number, a

Still, the voice had ordered Harry to keep steady and to wait. But it was difficult to wait in motion with a

And then, with the whitish stone curving downward like a cataract of rock descending at his very feet, Harry

faltered. Only for an instant; then he was lunging forward, snatched by something that seemed to pluck him

Harry made a wild spin on the quarry edge, slipping one foot first down through a fringe of brambles as a pair

of guns stabbed angrily from behind him, whining their bullets just above his head.

The answer rang home amid that horrifying hover on the brink. Those shots were meant for the moment of

Harry's falter. Against his body, their reports would have been muffled the proper sendoff to the victim.

Foreseeing just that, The Shadow had moved swiftly ahead; crouched and waiting; he'd snatched Harry from

the prodding guns in what the killers had taken for a crazed lurch by their victim!

Harry's hover had become a slide. Full across the brink, he was going, going... almost gone, while new bullets

ricocheted upon the fringe of the yawning pit. Those bullets couldn't clip Harry, for he was below the brink.

Nor could they find The Shadow, who wasn't in the path of fire. He was to one side, his legs hooked in a

crevice, while his hands, from their angle, were carrying Harry in a pendulum swing along the sheer rock

UNABLE to claw for the surface, Harry tried for a foothold and found it. The rock was chunky, which

helped, though differently than Harry supposed it would. One foot placed at a far angle, Harry started to

shove upward to ease the strain on The Shadow, whose gloved hands had an iron grip on Harry's wrists.

The clutch relaxed and immediately Harry was flying wide again, back in the opposite direction, this time

For the jagged rock along the quarry's surface could not hold. It had been blasted so often that it was full of

cracks, and the knob on which Harry so depended had given way, once his weight was full upon it. One hand

flying wide, Harry was clawing for nothing, while new shots ripped downward, almost searing him.

Then Harry was whirling full about, wrenched by a mighty twist that shook the shoulder socket of his other

arm! The Shadow had dropped one grip to clamp a double, so that he could walk hand over hand right down

the length of Harry's arm, but in a fashion that brought the spinning man upward to the cloaked human anchor

It all happened in the course of seconds that were marked by a thumping clatter down the quarry edge, a

tumble that ended in a resounding splash, followed by those echoes that Harry had pictured earlier. What

smashed the water was the chunk of rock that Harry's foot had literally kicked, to hit where crooks had

The splash sufficed. Killers thought their duty accomplished. They could tell Kip Reddick that pot shots in

the dark had jolted a bound victim who was crawling on the rocky edge, sending him to a fate that had been

They'd come closer to something very much bigger, that pair who were hurrying back across the broad

expanse of rock. If they'd spread their field of fire they might have found an unseen target in The Shadow, the

superfoe so feared by crimedom. But The Shadow had timed things well, even calculating that Harry's wild

pendulum swing would send debris down into the chasm, thus completing an intended deception of death

without rescue. Why The Shadow had acted thus, Harry began to learn as his chief hurried him along the path

that crooks had taken. The Shadow was asking Harry what he'd learned, and the agent was naming Kip

Reddick as the leader of the rival mob. There were moments when The Shadow's laugh came low and

The Shadow wasn't merely interested in thinning down a batch of crooks. He wanted to deal crime a

complete knockout. So far, he'd been handling events at Glenwood Grange both inside and outside. Links

between Carl Croom and Wolf Lapine would have to be proven solidly, in order to become a chain that

And now the appearance of a rival faction headed by Kip Reddick had become a thing to make or break The

Shadow's cause. All for the better, if this tribe stayed on the job, revealing its connection with the case and

serving as a foil. All for the worse, should Kip and his followers think that their game had gone afoul through

the survival of a victim namely, Harry Vincent whom they had destined for destruction.

Hence The Shadow's daring strategy, culminating in an amazing rescue of his doomed agent without

disclosing his unseen hand! One life saved, yet marked as gone on the calendar of Kip Reddick's crimes!

The pair who thought they'd disposed of Harry were reaching Kip's car. Telling Harry to wait, The Shadow

The selfstyled killers were in the car when The Shadow neared it, but they weren't receiving congratulations

from Kip. He was telling them that they'd wakened half the county with their wild, unmuffled fire; that there

Kip's car sped away with its quota of thugs. As the taillight took a turn in the gully road, The Shadow's low

laugh reached Harry as a signal. Approaching, Harry was impressed by the confident tone of The Shadow's

mirth. It meant that The Shadow's ruse had worked, despite Kip's hasty departure.

"They will return," assured The Shadow. "By tomorrow night at latest. Once Kip hears that you are dead, his

worry will pass. He may wait to make sure that no one heard the shots and visited the quarry to find a body.

Harry was glad that no one would. He was saying so, when The Shadow laughed again in a tone of further

satisfaction. Following his chief's point, Harry saw lights spreading out from Glenwood Grange. Croom had

heard the distant gunfire and had brought his men outside. Telling Harry to follow, The Shadow led his agent

ON the way, they passed a tumbling mass of ruins on the verge of the estate. Keeping Harry wide of that

pitfall, The Shadow hurried him across the lawn, almost into the range of the spreading flashlights. A few

Harry saw him soon after, when The Shadow deliberately cut across a beam of light. One man gave a yell

that brought another. Again The Shadow was caught in a streak of light, but he reversed his trail, back toward

the house. He was between the men who waved the flashlight, and they found no one but each other.

Then Harry was cutting in among them, swinging a flashlight of his own, pointing them along an imaginary

course. He'd become the leader of this batch, giving them the impression that he, too, had hurried from the

house at Croom's command. Knowing the direction that The Shadow intended to take, Harry was swinging

his light toward the other side of the house, when a shout came from the opposite direction.

It was Croom. Coming around a corner, another man with him, Croom had run right into a lunge of living

blackness. He hadn't time to distinguish his adversary; he simply shoved a gun ahead of him and tried to fire

That bullet must have nicked one of the gables atop the Grange, for Croom was somersaulting when he pulled

his trigger. He landed hard, Croom did, while his companion, seeking to stem the human avalanche, was

overtaken by the same disaster, losing his flashlight and his gun as he did a flying spin.

Closest at hand, Harry saw the gun and grabbed it, his own having gone to Wolf's men when they captured

him. Sweeping his light along the corner, Harry caught a fleeting glimpse of The Shadow, so he wheeled in

another direction and blasted a few shots at blackness that wasn't cloaked. Then he was leading a mad foray

across the lawn, which finally ended with a few of Croom's men shooting valiantly at the old dead stump

Back to the mansion, Harry was at the side door calling for the distant marksmen to return, when Croom

came around the corner of the house, still trying to get his wind back. From the corner of his eye, Harry

Croom's blunt face was purplish; his heavy fists, drawn tight, were signs of repressed anger, which was also

evident in his glare. Whether he meant that look for Harry, or for the others whom gone on a wildgoose

chase, was something Croom did not specify. Finding his breath, he shouted for the guards to return to the

Inside the mansion, Croom bolted the door and told two men to stay on duty, while the rest turned in for the

night. Croom's manner was more blunt than ever; he hadn't another word for anyone, which made Harry think

and hope that Croom's anger was due to his own mishap rather than anything else.

From the window of his room, Harry watched a while for any glimmer from The Shadow's light. There was

none, but that was no surprise. The Shadow's work was finished for tonight. He had gone his mysterious way

into his favorite habitat, darkness. The same blackness that guns galore had blasted, to find The Shadow

DAWN brought a knock at Harry's door. His sleepy answer brought the announcement that it was time for

him to go on guard duty. So Harry got out of bed, dug in his suitcase for a shirt, and came across another

As with the others, Harry thumbed a corner after the writing vanished, and produced the number "3." This

For Harry's information, the coded message stated that the shooting had been heard in Wolf's camp, but had

apparently not disturbed the town of Wilbury. Not the shooting from the quarry it was too distant for Wolf's

tribe to hear but the fusillade around the mansion when Croom's men were gunning for The Shadow.

Wolf had sent Hawkeye to spot what he could. Contacting The Shadow, Hawkeye had brought back the

simple story that Croom's men had gotten excited on patrol and had wound up pumping bullets into a tree

So Wolf Lapine had resolved to stay, though he expressed the hunch that Croom's crowd must have seen

some member of the rival crowd that had muscled into what Wolf regarded as his own territory. However,

that didn't bother Wolf, who felt that he could depend on Croom when Mark Jarratt gave the word to go.

Harry finished his guard duty that afternoon. It was boring work, going here and there about the house,

checking on the crates in the cellar as well as the art objects that had been placed about the mansion. There

No ordinary garage would have held them, but this one had an unfinished gymnasium alongside it and the

The van men were still around, getting paid on an overtime basis, so they didn't care how long they stayed,

provided it wasn't much more than a week. But Harry couldn't inform them on that point, nor did he discuss

the shooting of the night before, except to intimate that it was largely a mistake.

Later in the afternoon, Harry was dozing by the fireplace when Croom came in and sat down at the other side.

Harry could see his boss watching him, but there wasn't a betrayal of any emotion in that stolid stare. No

wonder Croom had been chosen for this assignment; the fellow had everything that went with

selfsufficiency. On the surface, Croom looked as incorruptible as a machine, and that was doubtless what

Only a sharpshooter like Mark Jarratt could have thought of reaching Croom. But there wasn't a thing in

Croom's demeanor to show that his conscience bothered him. A tough nut, this chap, and Harry couldn't

figure a way to crack him. In fact, it was Harry who began to feel uneasy, wondering if Croom had guessed

he was awake. So Harry stirred, shook himself, and returned Croom's stare openly.

"I thought you'd soon wake up," spoke Croom in that blunt tone of his. "I want you to go into town with me,

They went to the garage and took out a car that was parked in a corner beside a van. During the ride into

Wilbury, Harry kept wondering why he had been thus favored. But Croom hadn't a word to say until he'd

"Keep your eyes open, Vincent," Croom suggested, "so we can both hear what's being said around here. Let's

The post office was just across the street, though the railroad depot partly obscured a view of it. Croom

certainly should know just where it was not because the vans had stopped nearby, for Croom might have

failed to see everything in the dark, but because of the letter that he had sent to Jarratt bearing the Wilbury

A neat trick, this, professing ignorance regarding the local post office. It showed that Croom was subtle as

So Harry played the perfect sucker and found the post office for Croom, who went to the generaldelivery

window and inquired for mail. He came back emptyhanded to find Harry casually studying a bulletin board.

Whereat, Croom smiled in a way that seemed genuine. He thwacked a friendly hand on Harry's back.

"Glad to hear that, Vincent," he said. "One thing we can't send out of here that's letters. Not for a while,

anyway. I brought you along because I was sure you weren't a man to break a rule. I need somebody like you:

AGAIN, Croom was bolstering the impression that he personally would not have mailed anything from

Wilbury. Next he took Harry into local stores, where they bought food and other supplies in quantities that

Storekeepers put leading questions, of course, as though presuming that these were the new residents of

Glenwood Grange, but Croom furnished them no information, nor did Harry. Altogether, Croom became

They wound up in the local hotel, where Croom suggested dinner instead of returning immediately to the

Grange. He'd provided for about everything, Croom had, except a good cook. Glenwood Grange needed a

real chef, but Croom didn't care to advertise for one. If Harry knew of one who could be trusted, Croom

Pondering, Harry decided that he would get just such a man, but Croom decided to postpone the subject, for

The hotel meal proved good, a welcome change from the poor cooking at the Grange. While Harry and

Croom were dining, a fraillooking young man with light hair came into the dining room and took another

table. He gave Harry and Croom a few curious looks, then ordered his dinner. Croom didn't seem to notice

"About last night," began Croom. "If anyone really knew what we are doing at Glenwood Grange, we might

be in for real trouble, Vincent. We should have looked up the sheriff today, but what he won't know can't hurt

Harry interrupted with a warning gesture. He didn't want the frail chap to hear. So Croom, after a side look

"We didn't just meet with an ordinary prowler." Croom was referring to The Shadow. "That fellow in the dark

was smart... too smart. I'll tell you something else, Vincent. I think I know where he came from. Early last

Again Croom paused to make sure the other dinner guest was hearing nothing. Leaning well across the table,

Croom told how he'd gone out of the mansion secretly, to check on lights he'd seen in the woods. He

mentioned the shack he'd found there, and while Croom talked, the dying sunlight from the diningroom

window gave a flicker to his eyes that Harry could well liken to the glitter of a snake's gaze.

Purely accidental, that glint, but timely. It simply emphasized Harry's opinion that Croom was sounding him

out, trying to learn if he, too, had roamed from the mansion earlier, and if perchance Harry was in any wise

It would be very important for Croom to learn this while working for a doubledealer like Mark Jarratt.

Certainly the crooked antique wholesaler would want his lieutenants to be on lookout not only for The

So Harry matched Croom's pokerfaced attitude and became an excellent listener. Suddenly noting that the

sun had set, Croom decided to get back to the Grange. While he was calling for the check, he had another

"I'm going back alone, Vincent," decided Croom. "Stay around here until your dinner settles, then come back.

Harry nodded. His gun was an extra that he'd brought along in the suitcase, but he didn't add that fact.

"Anything you notice, let me know," concluded Croom. "You're sort of an outside man for tonight. Unless "

He didn't finish. His eyes simply watched to see if Harry showed objection, either in expression or manner.

But Harry didn't object, so Croom turned to the hotel desk, drew a wad of fresh new currency supplied by the

museum directors and peeled off the dinner money in the same way that he'd made purchases at the local

Outside, Harry watched Croom speed away in his car in an effort to reach the Grange before dark settled.

Figuring out Croom was quite a problem, so Harry tried first to tackle it in simple terms. Rejecting Croom's

First, the trip to town: that was to throw suspicion from Croom's own shoulders, the postoffice gag as a

sample. Next, the need for a new chef was obviously to sound out Harry's contacts, if any. Finally, this

Croom had guessed that Harry was watching him. By putting Harry outside, all that was ended, for this

evening, anyway. Which could mean, most definitely, that Croom intended to contact someone outside of

IT was too early for Harry to seek contact with his own chief, The Shadow. But the time was ripe to spike

Croom's game. Remembering Croom's suggestion to stay at the hotel a while, Harry promptly discarded it.

Leaving the hostelry, he strolled through the little town, quickened his pace on the outskirts and took a short

Thickening dusk became darkness, but Harry used his flashlight sparingly. He kept mostly to the road, and

when he reached the grounds around the Grange he didn't use his light at all. From the hillside, the sky

showed faint traces of afterglow, so Harry was cautious as he approached the mansion, where he wanted to

Reaching a house corner by a circuit, Harry decided on a better angle. So he moved away, but as he did, he

Another figure shifted from the shelter of the wall. It wasn't The Shadow; he wouldn't have been visible in

such darkness. Nor Hawkeye, for the figure wasn't huddly enough. No other man of Wolf's crew would have

Sneaking around the house, Harry glanced backward and saw the other man still on the trail. That settled it.

Clever of Croom, not only to stop Harry from watching him but to reverse the situation. Good guesswork,

too, his figuring that Harry would return to the Grange. But Croom couldn't be sure that this was Harry; at

least, not yet. Nor would he learn, the way that Harry led him. For The Shadow's agent was picking the

downward slope toward the rear of the grounds, where there wasn't any background of sky to let his trailer

The old ruins down below; they were the perfect objective. Toward the quarry, they would link with the shots

of the night before, thus bothering Croom, who didn't know about Kip's faction. Moreover, the ruins would

be dark, a perfect place for Harry to slip Croom and double back to the mansion, where he could arrive

So much did this please Harry, that he was at the ruins before he realized it, and there his footsteps clattered

on old chunks of masonry. Bad business, this, but he could rectify it as long as Croom merely heard, but did

not see him. So Harry shifted along a low wall only two feet above ground. Pausing, he listened for sounds of

With his foot, Harry found some planking that creaked, but not too badly. He shifted again and listened; his

hand slid to his gun pocket as he heard a clamber just in front of him. Puffed breath, like Croom's the night

before; the fellow was groping almost to Harry's position, which called for another shift. Harry made it; again

a board creaked. A hand made a grab from somewhere and brushed Harry's coat, waist high.

No need for a gun. Instead, Harry lunged, thrusting his hands ahead, intending to fling Croom back from the

wall before the fellow was fully on his feet. But Harry's lunge was met head on by an attack much nimbler

than he supposed Croom could supply. No grapple this, but a fullfledged flay with fists!

Harry was dodging as he swung. He felt his blows land home, though his opponent's punches were riding past

him. Nice to know that his fists were pommeling Croom, as the fellow's staggers proved. Hearing a stumble

to his left, Harry wheeled across the planks to meet Croom coming up. But things changed very suddenly.

A punch met Harry going down! Old boards were splitting with a sudden crackle, and Harry, chopping

through them to his knees, was grabbing with one hand and waving the other uselessly when a fist took him

Reeled sideward, Harry didn't have to worry about the cracking boards. There wasn't any planking where he

went; nothing but space, which came up to swallow him like the depths of the dreaded quarry!

Fortunately, the fall was shorter less than a dozen feet to the cellar of the old ruins. But the jolt that ended it

was unpleasant, enough so that Harry felt it very briefly. Stunned by his crash, Harry Vincent was again a

victim of his overzeal, this time before either The Shadow or his fellowagents could be on hand to aid him!

HARRY'S own flashlight was glowing on his face, but he thought it was Croom's. Anyway, coming out of

his daze wasn't as bad as the others not at first. But in his maze of jumbled recollections, Harry recalled that

he'd found shorter shrift from Kip's crowd than from Wolf's. Maybe Croom would go them both one better,

Still, Croom would probably let Harry talk. Otherwise, Harry wouldn't be waking up at all. So, with a sickly

grin, Harry propped himself into the light, stopping as a face entered the glow. The face wasn't Croom's, nor

The man in the light, whose hand was juggling the gun from Harry's pocket, happened to be the frail young

"All right, let's hear it," said the lighthaired man, quite firmly. "What you're doing here and why? The whole

Truth seemed as good as anything, so Harry fed it in a minor dose by stating that he belonged at Glenwood

Grange. That brought a snort from Harry's captor, who retorted that he knew as much already. He wanted to

know what was going on in the Grange, to which Harry, with a lurking idea that this chap might be teamed

with Croom, stated frankly that he was under obligation not to tell. The young man promptly tightened his

"Come along, then," he said. "We'll talk to the sheriff. Unless you'd prefer the Feds, without a lot of wasted

"I saw that cash your friend was passing out," the young man replied. "It's all over town and it looks good

enough to be real. Except that people don't take over a house like the Grange and begin spending new money

At that, Harry really laughed. This chap was obviously sincere and he had it all so sure that Croom and Harry

"If I'm wrong, stop me," the fellow said. "But I still will feel I'm right until I've heard a sound reason why

you're stopping at the Grange. Particularly" he added this with emphasis "when I already know that

you're contacting an outside crowd, who were here at Lower Glenwood a day before you arrived."

By Lower Glenwood, the speaker meant the ruins. But the crowd to which he referred could only be Kip's

outfit. This was the sort of information Harry wanted for The Shadow. It would be worthwhile to feed out

"Tell me who you are," he suggested. "Maybe you're crooked like you think I am, but you don't look that

It was a good thrust, even with Harry's present unkempt appearance. The young chap took it right to heart.

"I'm Phil Glenwood," he declared soberly. "Last of the family and all that. Out of luck with the rest of them

when my grandfather blew his fortune building the new house on the hill. But I didn't blame the old man; his

"Right now I can... or could. I'm worth a lot more money than you'd think. Just a runofthemill success.

Went into chemical research because I liked it, and came through with some formulas the big companies

liked even better. I found a new explosive, enough of it to blow me out of the lab and into a fortune.

"What it's made from is classed as a government secret at present. The main thing is, I'm still alive and in the

money. I came to Wilbury hoping to buy Glenwood Grange and keep it as is, except for the gym my

grandfather didn't finish. That's to be my new lab, or it would be" Phil's tone became rueful "if somebody

HARRY came to his feet unsteadily and began to introduce himself, with proper amplifications. He gave his

name and Croom's, stating that the latter was the custodian of the Argyle Museum collection, now installed at

"I've gone further than you did," said Harry. "I've revealed the secret that I shouldn't. The money you saw

was new because it came fresh from the bank. Ewell Darden, chairman of the museum board, gave it to

Obligingly, Phil Glenwood returned Harry's gun and extended his hand instead. Phil proved quick at putting

Harry included Croom in the specifications, and truthfully, since he connected Croom with Wolf's enterprise,

not with Kip's. Then Harry noted that Phil's face was furrowed deep with thought.

"That bunch made their headquarters right here in Lower Glenwood," declared Phil. "That's what the old

"Maybe it's just a coincidence," he declared, "their choosing these old ruins. Or maybe "

"Tell me, Vincent," he asked frankly, "do you think there's any chance of my buying the Grange before that

"I'd say yes," returned Harry helpfully. "The lease may be dropped in five weeks instead of five years, the

"I understand," Phil interrupted. "Suppose we go back to the hotel, Vincent. I have my car here."

Harry looked blankly about the ruined cellar. All that he saw were foundation walls, deep with debris and

passages. Charred wood was among the remnants indicating that Lower Glenwood must have been a wooden

"The car is over near the road," explained Phil. "I drove here, then went up to the house to watch for you.

From things I overheard Croom say, I thought it was a good idea. Whatever I could get on crooks would be

helpful to the public, though I must confess a personal interest, too. I wanted to see you out of Glenwood

Phil led the way to the car, which was some distance up the gully road. As they stood there in the darkness,

"You've been frank with me, Vincent, so I'll be fair with you. Keep this confidential. Don't even tell Croom if

Harry promised it with pleasure. The less he could tell Croom of anything, the better. Phil hadn't learned that

yet, for if Harry had accused Croom of doubledealing, he would have confused the issue and perhaps forced

"It's about those crooks who came here," said Phil slowly. "If they really chose Lower Glenwood with a

Phil stopped abruptly. Lights were coming along the gully road, dim lights of cars that swung in toward the

abandoned foundations of Lower Glenwood. They passed the deep turnout where Harry and Phil were

standing, and to Harry they could only represent Kip Reddick, returned with a more sizable outfit. They

meant the same to Phil, except that he didn't know Kip's name. Phil swung to Harry savagely.

"As a traitor!" inserted Phil. "The inside man, I suppose you'd call it. Otherwise, why would you be sneaking

It was a tough question. To answer it thoroughly, Harry would have to accuse Croom of being the traitor.

And that just wouldn't wash, on top of Phil's accusation. To define the word "dilemma," just call on Harry

Vincent! He could get into twoway jams with the greatest of ease. And this dilemma was the jackpot of

"Let's get back to the hotel," argued Harry. "We can go over the whole thing when we're there. We don't want

"So you know the bigshot!" broke in Phil, before Harry could cover his slip. "And I, a sap, gave you back

Instead of adding that he could do it again, Phil tried it. He wasn't bad with his fists, so he could be excused

for taking credit for Harry's downfall. Probably Phil thought he'd landed the deciding wallop before the

wooden planking splintered. His fists came jabbing onetwo style, and one blow landed, but it hadn't the

It was Harry who supplied the beef, with the one punch that counted for a dozen. He folded Phil like a

jackknife, landing him so far from the car that he had to look around to find him.

Phil was limp when Harry picked him up, but his heart was still beating, though Harry was inclined to think it

was in the wrong place. Anyway, Harry tumbled Phil into the seat on the right, fished his keys from his

KIP and his caravan were by that time too far along to be even of nuisance value. The gully road curved away

from the ruins, and it had ruts so deep that there was no need even to touch the steering wheel. After a quarter

mile it ran into a better road, and there Harry jogged the motor into gear. He drove toward Wilbury, then

compromised, and stopped where he could take a quick crosscut to Glenwood Grange, where he was

Phil was moving around, pressing both hands to one side of his jaw. He was waking all right; Harry knew the

symptoms from personal experience. So Harry slid from the door on his side, pulling Phil over to the wheel,

which Phil gripped and nodded. He was awake, and it pleased Harry. He preferred to regard Phil Glenwood

It was the way of a friend, to fight it out and then be decent afterward. Phil had shown that style with Harry,

who was now returning the favor. They'd meet again and have a laugh about it, but how soon they'd meet

wouldn't really matter. Whatever Phil had been going to say about the ruins of Lower Glenwood was

probably quite unimportant compared to the fact that Kip Reddick had returned there.

Reaching Glenwood Grange, Harry banged at the side door. It was Croom who answered, a look of honest

inquiry on his flat but friendly face as he drew Harry into the great hall. On the way, Croom inquired in an

"Only that some cars were easing along the gully road," replied Harry. "Down in back, over toward the old

"Too far away to worry us," decided Croom. "But I'll tell the men on patrol duty to keep special lookout. If

you're hungry, you'll find sardines and crackers in the kitchen. They're all that's worth eating until we get a

Harry nodded. He'd be pleased to introduce the new chef. Very pleased, considering the man he had in mind.

If Croom thought he'd learn anything through that channel, he'd be wrong. So wrong, that Harry was grinning

all the way up to his room. All he needed now was a message from The Shadow, one bearing the number "4."

Only briefly, was Harry puzzled. Then he had the answer. In arriving, The Shadow must have spotted the

approach of Kip Reddick. Naturally, he'd have gone to the ruins of Lower Glenwood for a closer look. Such

business, and the fact that The Shadow was keeping contact with Cliff and Hawkeye, to check up on Wolf

Harry was right. His chief was very busy. What Harry overlooked was the fact that his own absence from

Glenwood Grange might be known to The Shadow. In fact, The Shadow's own acquaintance with matters in

the town of Wilbury would indicate that he had learned of Harry's trip there. In which case, The Shadow

It just happened that in finding one reason, Harry forgot another. A reason that was a name: Carl Croom. It

wouldn't be long before Harry would learn much more regarding Croom and his particular brand of treachery.

So dark was the night that the ruins of Lower Glenwood had turned black, to the degree that the men who

clustered there were as hidden as the stumpy walls themselves. So, in due proportion, was The Shadow. He

was as invisible as night itself as he listened to the low tones of Kip Reddick, the man who could boast

"We're all set," Kip was saying. "The trucks are stowed where nobody will find them. So let's scram, the way

we did last night, only we'll do it before we need to croak another of Wolf's outfit. We don't want to

Kip didn't add further details. His statement, as it stood, contained enough significance. That Kip was after

the Argyle treasures, went without saying; there wouldn't be any other reason for him to visit this terrain in

company with a picked band of murderous followers. His problem, of course, was how to attack Glenwood

The same problem confronted Wolf Lapine, and therein lay an answer. Since Kip "needed" Wolf without the

latter knowing it, Kip's scheme, apparently, was to use Wolf's efforts to cover up his own. In turn, Wolf was

waiting for the "go" signal from Mark Jarratt, who was too smart to be working on a blind basis. Indeed, by

For Croom was the "inside man" at Glenwood Grange. He held full control there, and his only reason for

biding his time would seemingly be the building of an alibi, a process which Jarratt considered very valuable.

But The Shadow, for the present, was more interested in learning the status of Kip Reddick and his relation to

Down in the cellar ruins which had once been Lower Glenwood, Kip's men were digging into side passages,

as if to firmly entrench themselves. The Shadow could see flashlights moving from those depths of debris,

It was an excellent setup for a surprise attack, but The Shadow preferred to forego such opportunity.

Whenever he found crooks in opposition, it was better to play them against each other. The rivalry between

So The Shadow moved away from the ruins where Kip's men were entrenching themselves, and found the

trucks that Kip had mentioned. The way The Shadow found them was by following a single light that blinked

like a wayward firefly. One of Kip's half dozen men was retracing the route to as neat a hiding place as could

be wanted. The light moved through a split between two rocks some distance from the gully road, and there it

Reaching the crevice, The Shadow decided not to follow through. Instead, he took a grip on one rock wall

and started upward. No suction cups were required for this climb; indeed, they would have proven useless

against the roughhewn rock. It happened that The Shadow's test of when to use the disks was simple.

Any surface too smooth to scale without them meant that the cups were needed. This rock wasn't too smooth.

It allowed finger clutches, toe holds, and by such measures The Shadow reached a brink that looked like a

Here The Shadow found a perfect vantage spot from which he could view the trucks. They were parked some

twenty feet below, in a natural pit shaped like a horseshoe. The crevice from which The Shadow scaled was a

split in the horseshoe itself; wide enough for men to go through two abreast and to carry burdens with them,

The route the trucks had used was between the prongs of the rocky horseshoe, a gap worn smooth by water

draining from the flatbottomed pit. Trees leaning from the sloping rock formed an archway clearly

discernible by the increasing moonlight, and two more of Kip's followers were busy camouflaging the space

with clusters of brushwood. That done, people could pass the outlet, even in full daylight, without guessing of

There was no sign of the cars that had come with the trucks. They were still somewhere on the gully road.

And now The Shadow saw the flashlight glimmer again, indicating that the messenger from Lower Glenwood

was contacting the workers who were on the camouflage job. So The Shadow began a circuit of the rocky

Had any of Kip's men turned around and looked upward, they would have observed what looked to be a giant

beetle making a circular crawl. For against the gray stone, The Shadow was plainly discernible as a blotch of

black in motion. The risk of such discovery was slight, however, as The Shadow proved when he merged

There, quite invisible again, The Shadow was close enough to hear the voices of the workers, less than twenty

THE messenger was growling for the others to hurry up, that Kip wanted them back at the cars. In reply, one

"Why should anybody stay?" demanded the messenger. "Who's going to find the trucks... and what if they

do? The trucks are empty, ain't they? Kip says we've done all we need to do for tonight."

The workers chucked the last few stacks of brush and started back toward the trucks with the man who had

summoned them. Obviously, they intended to go out through the little crevice and rejoin Kip.

Hopeful of gleaning more information, The Shadow was about to retrace his course along the curving rock

Someone was getting past the brushwood, not by crashing through the camouflage but by drawing himself up

and around it, using a grip on the overhanging saplings. A figure plopped to the ground on the inner side of

From where they were, these newcomers could see the outline of the trucks, because Kip's three men,

returned there, were using flashlights without sufficient caution. The Shadow promptly calculated that the

newcomers belonged to Wolf's tribe, and the fact was proven a moment later when a hoarse voice whispered

"Listen, you guys! Lay off until we've slipped the word to Wolf. He won't want us to queer this setup."

It was Hawkeye's voice. He was appealing to the pair who had been doing scout work with him. But they

weren't listening to his advice. Looking straight down at the two crouched figures, The Shadow saw that the

two were drawing guns. They were going to put the blast on those fellows by the trucks, who even now had

turned their back and were moving away with flashlights that transformed them into easy targets.

The Shadow held no advance regrets for the fate that threatened Kip's three henchmen. All had been party to

the attempted murder of Harry Vincent and deserved all that might be coming to them. But if it came to them

right now, delivered by Wolf's equally vicious killers, The Shadow's plans would be blasted, too. He wanted

crime to reach its culmination in an attempt on the Argyle treasures; not to end in a mere gang fight that

would cause the real brains of crime to draw in among themselves and scheme a new campaign.

There was a simple way to end this premature thrust, though it outmatched simplicity with daring. Leaning

outward from the brink, The Shadow clutched two saplings. Poising, he suddenly let go in a widearmed dive

Hawkeye saw the swoop of living blackness, hurtling into its reckless plunge. Wolf's gunners didn't; they

were too intent upon aiming at the flashlights of Kip's departing trio. Then blackness landed, a mass of

substance hurled from nowhere, striking silently but hard upon the two crouched marksmen!

Caught by the sweep of widespread arms, the pair were flattened beside the tangled brushwood. Still

clutching their guns, they struck out savagely, but wide. Solid was the fist that smashed one gunner's chin,

jarring him to the limit of his gun hand, loosening the fingers that gripped their revolver.

Tight was the clutch that caught the other's throat, the thumb below the gripping fist pressing a neck nerve

with a paralyzing effect. Numbed, the second killer lost his gun, too, and before he could recuperate The

Another form was landing close by. It was Hawkeye, identifying himself with an unneeded whisper. The

Shadow simply caught his arm and thrust him toward the groggy pair who were grappling weakly with each

Close to Hawkeye's ear came a whispered laugh, telling that all was clear. Kip's men and their lights had

disappeared through the opposite crevice, quite unaware that they owed their existence to their archenemy,

LEAVING the stupefied pair to Hawkeye, The Shadow moved past the trucks and found them empty, as

Kip's men had stated. Reaching the crevice, he heard motors start, caught glimpses of lights moving up the

gully road. In bringing the trucks and visiting the ruins, Kip and his tribe had accomplished their mission for

That proved immediate and easy. There were sounds from the brushwood tangle at the mouth of the

horseshoe pit, then Hawkeye's voice, still reasonably cautious, stating how to get past the barrier. The

The first man to arrive was Cliff Marsland, who turned a flashlight on Hawkeye and the little man's

halfdazed companions. Then more were climbing around the brushwood camouflage, until finally Wolf

Already, Cliff was handling matters, bluntly complimenting Hawkeye on having induced his companions to

restrain their fire. Cannily, Hawkeye passed the credit to the men themselves, saying that each had "wised

Both gunners nodded when they heard this statement, but they exchanged sidelong glances. Knowing that

Hawkeye couldn't have downed them both, they took his story for granted, but each thought the other

Thus from the minds of both vanished a hazy recollection of blotting blackness that began the struggle. If

either suspected that The Shadow was the primary cause, the idea didn't jell. It wasn't The Shadow's usual

way to swoop on enemies, daze them, and promptly disappear while they recuperated. What banished the

impression completely was the fact that Wolf was glad that his gunners hadn't opened fire on Kip's men.

Hence the pair couldn't see how The Shadow would have benefited, too, his purposes naturally being the

It was Hawkeye who mentioned what he and his companions had heard while lurking outside the brushwood

barricade. Mention of "Kip" was all that Wolf needed to supply the rest of the name.

"So Kip Reddick is the muscler!" snarled Wolf. "He always was a rat, that guy, doing a mooch when

somebody else found the lay. Got his trucks all stashed and waiting where he thinks we won't spot them. He'll

Flashlight ahead of him, Wolf was advancing toward the trucks. The blackness that faded toward the crevice

looked like nothing more than dispelling darkness. Wolf was far too concerned about the trucks to guess that

The Shadow formed a portion of the fading gloom. Furthermore, Wolf's attention was diverted by a man who

"Maybe we can use these wheelers," suggested Cliff, noting that Wolf intended to riddle the truck tires with

bullets. "All we got to do is keep Hawkeye posted to let us know when Kip's crew comes back. They won't be

"That makes sense, Cliff," approved Wolf. Then, reluctantly, he added: "Only we can't take chances on Kip

cracking the Grange first. He's wise that we're around here, because we let one of his mob slip us."

"That just makes it even up," said Cliff. "Kip won't be back tonight, or he wouldn't have stashed the trucks.

That gives you all day tomorrow to tip off Mark Jarratt and see what he thinks about it."

This time, it was Wolf who nodded as he played his flashlight away from the trucks and found the crevice

into which The Shadow had glided off beyond, when Wolf moved toward it. Silently, The Shadow was

taking his own course through the night when Wolf's tribe used the narrow exit to leave the hidden pit.

Already the night mail had rattled out of Wilbury. The town clock was donging eleven as The Shadow moved

toward the ruins of Lower Glenwood. There for a short while, he turned his flashlight on the piles of

wreckage that Kip and his crowd had shifted to make crannies that would be helpful in case of battle.

Then, seeing other lights approaching, The Shadow knew that Wolf and his outfit were coming to take a look

Again The Shadow faded into night, taking a skirting route among the knolls that led up to Glenwood

Grange, where he had a routine call to make. Strange that this trivial detail could prove of more consequence

The Shadow was on his way, to a midnight showdown which even his keen mind had not foreseen!

FROM the window of his room, Harry Vincent had been keeping watch in the direction of Lower Glenwood,

hoping for some trace of Kip Reddick. He had seen none, for the simple reason that Kip's men had confined

their flashlights to the depths of the ruins. When lights did appear, a long while later, they marked the advent

Calculating the time factor, Harry came to a correct conclusion. He'd encountered Phil Glenwood some time

between eight and nine, so Kip must have arrived soon after the latter hour. Now it was getting close to

midnight, too long a while for Kip to have waited before showing lights if he intended to show them at all.

So, to Harry, the lights meant that Kip had left and that Wolf Lapine was in that neighborhood accompanied

Or were Wolf's men clumsy? Maybe those lights were meant for benefit of Carl Croom! A chance for him, as

inside man, to contact the outside mob. Which, if true, would be of great importance to The Shadow, who

through some unexplainable oversight had not yet favored Harry with a coded message covering this

evening's moves. So Harry, seeking some answer to the riddle, thought of crackers and sardines.

Nice of Croom to have mentioned them. A midnight snack would be sufficient excuse for Harry to slide

downstairs and learn what was happening in Glenwood Grange. Acting on the thought, Harry tilted his lamp

so that it shaded half the window, and therewith went from the room. There was a back stairs leading to the

At the bottom of the stairs, the trip brought dividends. Peering into the passage that led to the side door,

Harry was sure he spotted motion there. Halting the creak of a door behind him, Harry stole along the

concrete floor, listening for sounds ahead. He heard them, footsteps less guarded than his own, and when he

Harry saw Croom against the firelight from the great hall, pausing to chat with a guard on duty there. But he

wasn't sure whether Croom had postponed an outward trip or had just returned from an outdoor excursion.

While Harry debated the question, Croom took a chair beside the fire and the guard arose to start his rounds,

coming straight toward the passage where Harry watched. So Harry retreated rapidly and went up by the back

stairway to have another look toward Lower Glenwood. He felt rather sure that Croom had already completed

a clandestine excursion, if the fellow planned one at all. Those distant lights at least would be an index.

There were no longer any lights when Harry peered from the window. Wolf's crowd had come and gone, so

that was that. But there was something here, in this very room, that meant much more to Harry. It was a

Rapidly, Harry opened the message, read the coded lines, and learned of his chief's excursion to the ruins and

the hidden stone pit. As the message faded, Harry moistened his thumb and ran it across the corner of the

The usual routine, this. Into sight came the number "5," marking the sequence of the message in the present

The thought struck him like a shot! This was the fourth of The Shadow's messages, not the fifth. Somewhere,

Harry had missed a number and the logical time must have been early this evening, when he had first

expected word from The Shadow. When and how message number "4" had gone astray, were important

questions. More imperative, however, was the need for quick communication with The Shadow.

Inasmuch as message "5" must have arrived within the last dozen minutes, Harry decided upon a quick signal

flash from his window. That was why he shoved his left hand to his pocket for a flashlight, instead of using

A quick choice, and a wrong one. From behind Harry came a hardtoned voice. He turned to see Croom

standing in the doorway, giving a cold eye over an equally frigid revolver muzzle. Croom meant business, so

IF that paper had only fallen close by Harry's feet! It would have been good bait to draw Croom off guard.

But a breeze from the little ventilator pane at the top of Harry's window caught the sheet and fluttered it

"Gone blank," grunted Croom. "I thought it would. I found the one that came earlier, Vincent. It blew in

"You mean while I was out following your orders," returned Harry coolly. "The whole thing happened to be

"Yes, my idea, and a good one. I knew I could bluff you, Vincent. And now" Croom waved the torn paper

"I saw for myself," interrupted Croom, "when I picked up that other cockeyed message. It was in code, and

the writing disappeared. But I saw you reading this one, which means you know what was in it. So let's have

The word "or" meant Croom's gun, which he gestured very understandingly. Harry's raised fists clenched, as

he wished Croom would come within reach. A good wish, that one, for it gave Harry an idea.

"You win, Croom," spoke Harry dejectedly. "But I ought to see the other note first. What did you do with it?"

Croom produced it from his pocket, but drew back suspiciously when Harry reached for the blank paper.

"All right, then," continued Harry, "develop it for yourself, Croom. All you have to do is hold it close to the

Harry was hoping that Croom hadn't already tried such a system. Once faded, The Shadow's messages never

would reappear. If Croom had found that out, Harry's bluff was through. But Croom, to Harry's relief,

approached the lamp and held the paper up against it, at the same time keeping a wary eye Harry's way, along

"I knew you were phony, Vincent," spoke Croom. "Knew it the first night we arrived here. I saw you open a

note and read it when the vans stopped in Wilbury. Whatever the message was, you couldn't have answered it

that night, because the late mail train pulled out while we were coming into town, and there wasn't another

until the next noon. But you must have answered it, or you wouldn't have gotten this message "

"Never mind," broke in Harry. "Hold the sheet still and I'll read it for you. There's the message, back again."

Croom turned to look and saw the same blank sheet! Only for half a second did the ruse surprise him, but that

was long enough. A side step, a lunge, and Harry was clear of the gun muzzle, springing for Croom's throat

Surprising himself by his own speed, Harry had Croom reeling to a corner the moment he completed the

drive. That was just the trouble the corner. Hitting it back first, Croom went into reverse, or rather Harry

did. For Croom gave an imitation of a bull coming up from its haunches into a terrific charge.

It was his turn to send Harry ahead of him, each with a hand on the other's neck and both wrangling for the

gun. But Croom's chunky bulk was enough to telescope Harry when they reached the opposite corner.

It was then that Harry saw blackness come to life. In from the little ventilator pane shoved a cloaked arm that

disgorged a gloved hand which in turn wangled an automatic. A twist of the gun and it was aiming toward the

strugglers, only to divert itself when Harry, by a lucky foot thrust, tripped Croom short of the corner.

They were reeling sideward now, those two, and Harry was vainly trying to twist Croom about so that the

Strange, the direction of that shot. The Shadow didn't direct it toward the grapplers. He fired it straight

downward, at the floor. For a moment, Harry thought it was intended to draw Croom's attention; then the real

The Shadow had aimed at the padlock which held the heavy window clamp. The result, a mashed bullet but

Like a black lash, The Shadow whipped downward from outside the window, flinging his cloaked form into

the light. He'd abandoned his suction cups and was swinging by one hand only, which gripped the edge of the

open ventilator pane. His other hand was weighted with an automatic, but his feet flying wide were carrying

him so fast that his gripping hand lost its hold on the space above. He'd lost control, The Shadow had but

At the very instant when Harry thought The Shadow's swing had turned into a hopeless plunge, those flying

feet kicked the lower section of the window and drove it inward, thanks to the released clamp. Then did the

force of The Shadow's mighty heave prove its worth, for it carried the cloaked fighter right through the

Harry, inspired by his chief's terrific arrival, did his proper part by twisting as Croom charged anew. It was

Croom who banged the wall again, his gun hand hitting first, so hard that the weapon popped from his clutch

Harry slapped wildly as the gun clattered the wall just overhead. A lucky pluck and the weapon was in his

own fist. Croom was jabbing blindly to regain it, and Harry saw fit to let him have it, on the head. Down

came Harry's swing, only to be met by a slash that crisscrossed upward: an intervening blow from The

Shadow's gun. As the weapons clanged, it seemed hard to tell for whom The Shadow fought for Harry or

The Shadow was fighting for Croom! He took Harry in the midst of a stagger, sent him on a spin that carried

him across his cot to the floor beyond, where Harry landed gunless, never more astonished in his life.

COMING to hands and knees, he stared at The Shadow, who was helping Croom to his feet. Right then,

Harry would have classed his chief as an impostor, but for the fact that no other fighter could have

Low, sibilant was The Shadow's laugh, as though he appreciated the sudden mystery. Hardly had it died

before a hammering sounded at Harry's door. Croom looked toward The Shadow, who promptly covered

Harry with his gun, using his other hand to gesture toward the door, while he ordered:

Croom obeyed. Through the crack of the door, he spoke to a guard who had heard the gunshot. Croom simply

stated that he and Harry had been testing the range of a revolver from the window. The guard went away and

No longer was The Shadow holding Harry covered. He'd gestured his agent to the middle of the room, and

there Harry met Croom with extended hand. It wasn't that The Shadow had deserted Harry; he'd simply

learned that they had both been mistaken on the Croom question. The man wasn't a traitor, as Mark Jarratt

To win Croom over, The Shadow had sided with him long enough to gain his confidence. Now meeting

Harry under The Shadow's own auspices, Croom was finding out that Harry was honest, too. It was Harry

"We had you wrong, Croom," declared Harry. "On account of the letter you sent to Jarratt."

"But why?" Croom's eyes were puzzled. "I told Jarratt I wasn't interested in his deal. There was nothing in

"But I didn't send it from here!" Croom exclaimed. "I left it at the museum, to go out with the rest of the mail.

There was honesty in Croom's expression and his tone. To certify it came The Shadow's laugh, supplying the

"Remember what you said to me, Croom? Just before we went at each other? You said I couldn't have sent a

letter from Wilbury the night we arrived here, because the last mail train passed us when we were coming

"Your own statement cleared you," explained Harry. "Because your letter couldn't have reached Jarratt the

next day if you had mailed it yourself. Somebody brought that letter here ahead of you, Croom, and mailed it

The words were Harry's, but he spoke them only as The Shadow's proxy. For The Shadow had recognized the

point the moment that Croom had uttered it. Again came the sibilant laugh, this time with a final note of

approval. For when Harry and Croom turned, they saw no trace of The Shadow. He was gone, past the

The Shadow had gone to find crime's answer outside of Glenwood Grange. Between them, Harry and Croom

could handle matters within that citadel, now that their mutual suspicions had been cleared. Two honest men,

both alert and working in accord, would prove a solid safeguard against crime's coming thrust.

EARLY the next evening, the directors of the Argyle Museum gathered there at the request of Ewell Darden.

They were surprised, when they arrived, to find reporters present; in fact, some of the directors were badly

worried. Daily they'd been wondering if the museum's priceless treasures had reached their proper

destination, wherever it might be, and sight of reporters smacked of a calamity.

One smile from Darden put the directors at ease. Seated at the head of the long table, Darden announced

"I have heard from Croom. The shipment arrived safely and is properly installed on premises suitable for its

Immediately, the directors wanted to know where the treasures had gone. Darden could only shake his head,

because he didn't know. He'd learned the news by telephone from one of Croom's assistants, named Vincent,

who had come into New York on an errand. Pursuant to instructions, Croom intended to keep his present

The reporters present were rather disappointed at such a slim story. Hoping for a clue, one of them asked

about Vincent's errand. With another of his dry smiles, Darden explained that Vincent had come to get a new

chef, because Croom's men weren't satisfied with their meals. Outside of that, everything was perfect.

"That is all, gentlemen," declared Darden, in a final tone. "Where the Argyle treasures may be at present, is a

subject on which you may speculate as you choose. I can assure you only that the really valuable rarities are

no longer in this museum. Here are some catalogues in which all the items were checked, when shipped. If

you wish to look around and make sure that they are gone, you are welcome to do so."

Most of the reporters decided to look around. As the directors left, Cranston strolled with them and found a

chance to chat with Darden by the outer gate. He asked if Darden had heard further from Jarratt, to which

"I believe our rebuff totally discouraged the fellow," declared Darden. "Still, Mark Jarratt is persistent. I am

holding a reception at my home tomorrow night I mailed you an invitation, Cranston and I wouldn't be

surprised if Jarratt had the cheek to come there. As a dealer in antiques, he seems to feel himself a privileged

Other directors were getting into Darden's limousine, for he was dropping them at their homes. His own car

being handy, Cranston declined an invitation to go along. So Darden entered his limousine, rapped at the

As soon as the car had left, Cranston returned into the museum. There he found Clyde Burke demonstrating

the ancient lottery wheel for the benefit of the other reporters. Tired of watching the thing, they picked up

catalogues and went out to check the exhibits, as Darden had suggested. Catching a glance from Cranston,

"Sit over by the table, Burke," suggested Cranston, "as you were the other night."

Clyde nodded and took his proper place, while Cranston stood by the wheel, as Darden had. He asked about

the other directors and Clyde explained how one had shaken the wooden capsules into the groove, while

another was delegated to spin the wheel. Playing both parts, Cranston came to the final action, that of

"This was the whole process?" he queried. "Nothing else... up to the time Darden summoned Croom?"

"Only this." Clyde gave a sheepish grin as he plucked some rubber bands from the table drawer. "I took a few

To illustrate, Clyde triggered a rubber band to the statue's nose; then brought another from the drawer. He

insisted he'd been watching the wheel despite the byplay with the rubber bands; in fact, had turned that

feature to advantage. Clyde demonstrated by flipping the elastic to the floor, then reaching to pick it up as

"That's where I tried to peek," said Clyde. "But there wasn't a chance. Darden didn't open the capsule; he

gave it to Croom, who shook it" Clyde acted Croom's part by reaching for the pill "like this."

CRANSTON gestured for Clyde to toss the pill back into the wheel, which Clyde did, remarking as an

"I still had it there," Clyde added, "when I stopped at the Cobalt Club. The commissioner tricked me into

writing down some fake phone numbers" Clyde brought the little memo book from his vest pocket "so I

Clyde illustrated by doubling the rubber band around the little booklet, which brought the comment from

"Not the other night," returned Clyde ruefully. "The rubber band wasn't big enough. It snapped."

"You should remember such things," remarked Cranston in a tone of mock criticism. "So much hinges on the

tiniest details." Then, with one of his slight smiles, he added: "I suppose that was why the commissioner

Clyde flavored his nod with a grin, whereupon Cranston swung the conversation to a more serious turn.

"Go out and join the other reporters," he told Clyde. "Find out two things: first, when Mark Jarratt was last

here; second, how often the mail is sent out from this museum and who carries it."

When Clyde returned, Cranston was still spinning the old lottery wheel and idly plucking wooden pills from

its groove. On both counts, Clyde had something to report. He had chatted with one of the oldtime

"The old chap says he hasn't seen Jarratt for a couple of weeks," informed Clyde, "and he says everybody

takes the mail out. They just pile the letters on the catalogue desk and whoever goes off duty at noon or five

Cranston nodded, then inquired how the other reporters were making out. Clyde said they weren't. They'd

hoped to find some slipup in the catalogue markings, but there was none. Everything listed as shipped was

"If they could just find one odd item," declared Clyde, "some real rarity that didn't go along, they could shoot

pictures of it and run some sort of a story about a forgotten curio. As it stands, they have nothing."

They were walking down to the gate, Cranston and Clyde. There, Cranston invited the reporter into the

"I think Darden gave you a good story lead, Burke. He said you could speculate as you wanted as to where

Clyde's eyes widened. As an agent of The Shadow, he'd already learned the actual destination of the Argyle

treasures, but he couldn't crack that story unless his chief said so. And it almost seemed that The Shadow

"You mean" Clyde was really puzzled "that I'm to give the Classic the whole thing on Glenwood

"Quite the contrary," returned Cranston. "I said you were to speculate. To begin with, you take it for granted

that Darden, as chairman of the museum directors, knows where the treasures really are."

"He might have told Croom to disregard whatever was in the pill," rejoined Cranston. "We know he didn't,

"Then Darden would be solely responsible," interjected Clyde. "Say, that's a good point, chief, considering

"Confine your thoughts to Darden," smiled Cranston. "Yes, he would be responsible. And so "

"And so" Clyde pondered "so he'd have to keep his own eye on the treasures, Darden would. Say, that

means he'd have shipped the whole works to that big house of his in Westchester, where he has a young

"And where Darden is holding a reception tomorrow night," added Cranston. "I think you have a story,

They were at the Classic office. Clyde hopped out in a hurry. He wanted to get that story through to meet the

deadline for the early edition. Hurrying up the steps, Clyde saw Cranston's big car starting, and above the

pound of presses in the Classic building, Clyde was sure he heard the departing laugh of The Shadow!

Perhaps that laugh was merely an illusion, considering that The Shadow was not his cloaked self at the time.

But even when guised in black, The Shadow dealt in illusions, as he proved at Jarratt's wholesale shop, a

THERE, as on a previous evening, The Shadow sifted in through the doorway as though a fragment of night

Past the counter where the clerk was busy with some late customers, in among the knickknacks, up the

stairway that led to Jarratt's office there, The Shadow materialized on the very threshold as his gloved hand

Inch by inch, the door moved inward, until The Shadow could see Mark Jarratt at his desk. Across from

Jarratt sat a visitor whose presence was an actual surprise. The caller was Cliff Marsland.

Just as Croom had sent Harry into town, Wolf must have done the same with Cliff. But Harry had reported to

Burbank, whereas Cliff had not. Which meant that Wolf must have sent a few others along with Cliff, while

"So Wolf Lapine is worried," Jarratt was saying. "You say he wrote me a letter? When?"

"Funny I didn't get it yet." Jarratt gave a wary look at Cliff. "Well, it won't matter, now that you're here,

The delay on Wolf's letter was actually a vindication of Croom, as analyzed by The Shadow, one night ago.

Cliff recognized it, but didn't say so. Instead, he concentrated on the matter that had brought him.

"Wolf is getting restless," argued Cliff. "I don't blame him. When a guy like Kip Reddick stashes trucks near

a place, he puts them there for something. Wolf wants to know why you didn't happen to think about trucks

"No trucks are necessary," declared Jarratt. "The vans are still out at Glenwood Grange. You could take them

"Like Wolf tried to, once," Cliff retorted. "Anyway, let it ride. We'll use Kip's trucks, if he doesn't show up

"Tomorrow night, if I hear from Croom," returned Jarratt. "If not tomorrow... well, the next night."

Cliff's blunt question brought an indulgent smile from Jarratt, who had regained his usual suave composure.

"Don't worry, Marsland," he declared. "Whoever this Kip Reddick is, he hasn't a single chance! Tell Wolf to

forget him; and the trucks, too. There won't be any trouble taking the vans, because Croom will have

Jarratt paused to draw a diagram on a sheet of paper. It showed the interior of Glenwood Grange, which Cliff

couldn't dispute when Jarratt explained what it was. From the doorway, the Shadow could see the diagram,

too, and having learned such details from Harry, he knew that they were correct. Which proved that Jarratt

"The garage is the best point of attack," declared Jarratt. "That will enable you to capture the vans before you

raid the house. But remember: Croom will put up a strong fight in order to give himself an alibi later. By the

"Just about," replied Cliff. "One guy deserted on us, but a few more are joining up. All right, Jarratt... what do

Jarratt hesitated, then wrote down a number, saying he could be reached there. So Cliff went out by the

special elevator, while The Shadow took his own route down through the shop, where the clerk had disposed

Outside, The Shadow heard a car pull away and knew that Cliff and his companions were starting back to

If ever The Shadow had viewed an ace of doublecrossers, that man was Mark Jarratt, whose interview with

Cliff Marsland had told The Shadow all he came to learn and more. Crime's machinery was ticking so loud

All that it needed was a bombshell to explode it, and The Shadow had already provided one. Whatever had so

THE SHADOW'S bombshell was the Classic story, as written by Clyde Burke. It was a masterpiece, that

yarn a whole fabric of speculation woven around a few threads of fact. It was amplified by photographs that

told a story in themselves. Old Henry Argyle, with the home that he had transformed into a museum; Ewell

Darden and his palatial residence in Westchester, suitable storehouse for the Argyle Museum treasures

To them, Clyde added more. He kicked over the traces on the question of Wolf Lapine, letting out the fact

that the police were after the notorious bank robber who had so far slipped the law. In another column

appeared a photograph of Mark Jarratt, but Clyde handled his case very subtly, stating only that Jarratt had

Of course, there was a lot about the Argyle treasures, old stuff that Clyde dug from the files in the newspaper

morgue, but it all seemed new when given this timely twist. Just to spice the story, Clyde added a picture of

Clyde completed the story by leaving it in the air, asking the pointed question: Would Ewell Darden surprise

his guests this evening by showing them the choicest treasures of the Argyle Museum collection, housed

By noon, the Classic had heard from everybody mentioned in the story, with the exception of Wolf Lapine.

Absolute was Darden's denial that he had the Argyle treasures in custody; great was Weston's indignation at

having been included in what he chose to class as an "unwarranted hoax." The Classic plastered these

Even Jarratt was much annoyed and asked that his name be stricken from the records, on the grounds that he

had merely wanted to buy any leftovers from the Argyle Museum and not the rare items that formed the

basis of the story. But the Classic didn't change a line of Clyde's original description.

By afternoon, the biggest of all coming events was the reception due at Darden's house, and the local

authorities were busy dispersing the curious throngs that wanted to trample all over Darden's estate and peer

But the real smash happened even later, almost at dusk, when Cliff Marsland strolled into the farmhouse near

Glenwood Grange and handed Wolf Lapine a copy of the Classic bought in a neighboring town.

Wolf took one look at his own portrait, a rogues gallery shot, and read the incriminating caption beneath it.

Casting his eye across the page, he saw the smug face of Mark Jarratt, the gentleman who wanted to acquire

the Argyle treasures by legitimate purchase. Thereupon, Wolf began to bounce the furniture.

"Why, the doublecrossing rat!" bawled Wolf, after running out of more expressive epithets that he felt

summed up Jarratt's case. "So that's why he sent me out here... so he'd be rid of me. He's got us playing a

"Ease up, Wolf," suggested Cliff. "Maybe Jarratt didn't know the goods went to Darden's."

"Didn't know!" sneered Wolf. "Hasn't he got this guy Croom on the inside? So what?"

"Maybe he hasn't heard from Croom yet. And besides" Cliff reflected "there's Kip Reddick to think

"I've thought about Kip Reddick," snarled Wolf. "I'll tell you how it all adds up. Kip brings a lot of trucks

TO Cliff it meant that Kip was playing the same game as Wolf. When Cliff so stated, Wolf broke loose. Wolf

didn't see it that way any longer. In his opinion, the trucks were just a blind, the sort that a doublecrosser

"Jarratt never figured on cutting me in on this deal," argued Wolf. "It was after I'd made my own try that he

sent for me. He had the lay all doped, with Kip working for him. Once he got me planted here, Jarratt hands

Cliff happened to know that Wolf was more than halfway right. Last night, Jarratt had made two slips: one,

proving that he had no hold on Croom; the other, that he did have contact with Kip. The angle on Kip had

come up when Jarratt queried about Wolf's mob, trying to learn if any of its members were missing. In stating

that one man had deserted, Cliff covered the question of Harry Vincent, the prisoner that Kip thought

So Wolf was right, assuming that Kip was linked with Jarratt. Right, too, in supposing that Kip was staging

some sort of bluff which wasn't to Wolf's own advantage. Where Wolf went wrong was on the final point:

"Get the mob together," ordered Wolf. "We're going to crash that party at Darden's. We won't worry about

trucks or vans. We'll pile the stuff in cars we find there and get going with it."

"Suppose you've doped it wrong, Wolf," he argued. "You'll be leaving things wide open here for Kip, if he

It wasn't the sort of argument Wolf liked; nevertheless, he couldn't entirely ignore it.

"You handle this end, Cliff," decided Wolf. "Keep Hawkeye posted as a lookout. I'll leave a couple of

"I mean, why any?" put in Cliff. "It won't take more than two of us, Hawkeye and myself, to put those trucks

"We'll leave them to Croom and the guys in the house. It ought to be about an even show. And suppose Kip

"So Kip will lam," continued Cliff, "and you won't have to convince Jarratt that you're a bigger shot than Kip.

I'm not too sure that Jarratt has given you the twoway X." Cliff picked up the Classic; glanced at it and

There was this about Wolf Lapine. He liked to cover every angle. Maybe it was ten to one that he was right,

but he wasn't willing to ignore the long shot. He could insure that bet by following Cliff's suggestion, so he

did. Ten minutes later, Wolf and his outfit pulled out, leaving Cliff and Hawkeye to handle whatever might

ONLY an hour's ride away, the guests were arriving at the suburban home of Ewell Darden. By this time, the

local police had solved the question of the curiosity seekers by blocking off the entire area around Darden's.

The only cars permitted to come within a quarter mile of the palatial residence were those that contained

Darden's house occupied an elevation in the midst of lawns that were thick with flower beds and amply

supplied with towering oaks. As the guests arrived, they were ushered to verandas that opened from a large

reception room. There, servants supplied them with refreshments while they awaited the important

At last the time had come. Guests flooded in from the verandas and grouped themselves in doorways,

watching Darden, who was flanked by the directors of the Argyle Museum. Darden's keen eye surveyed the

"This evening I shall shatter an outrageous hoax. The claim has been advanced that this house holds the

priceless treasures that were shipped from the Argyle Museum. I declare that such a rumor is entirely untrue.

To prove my statement, I shall conduct you through every room in the entire house. These gentlemen can tell

you" he gestured to the directors "if there is a single item present from the Argyle collection."

The directors began to huddle around Darden, some of them speaking excitedly, though in undertones.

"There is the question of replicas," he stated. "Many of the Argyle rarities have been duplicated for purposes

of special exhibition, but always with the proviso that they be destroyed to prevent any one from passing

imitations as originals. In most instances, those replicas were shipped back to me, as a matter of good faith.

"My fellowdirectors are asking if I still have any of those reproductions. They think that some of the

reporters present" Darden looked toward a group of newspaper men that included Clyde Burke "might

seize upon that circumstance to back their absurd idea that the Argyle treasures are housed here. My answer

is that you will not find a single replica upon these premises. I scrapped every such imitation as soon as it was

With that, Darden waved his guests on the tour and they thronged through the house in batches, with bowing

servants opening doors ahead. During their trip, they saw many of Darden's own curios, but none resembled

the priceless possessions of the Argyle Museum. The tour carried from cellar to attic, ending with a side trip

The garage was large, but totally empty, because Darden's chauffeur had moved the cars out to the driveway,

First to congratulate Darden, on completion of the trip, was Commissioner Weston. As the two shook hands,

they both looked for Clyde, who had wisely drifted away when he saw the vacant garage. Instead of Clyde,

they saw Jarratt, who, true to form, had crashed the party just in time to join the tour.

Worriment was written on the face of Mark Jarratt, but only one person observed it. That was Lamont

Cranston, and he knew what troubled Jarratt. The crooked art dealer had waited somewhere for a phone call

that didn't come. Jarratt must have finally realized that Wolf Lapine had gotten out of hand; hence to preserve

A fortunate break for Jarratt too fortunate, in fact because The Shadow had hoped to involve the double

dealer in a real dilemma. Nevertheless, Cranston was not disappointed at seeing Jarratt.

For Jarratt was an index to the crime situation, a danger signal that Cranston recognized. This was the reason

why Lamont Cranston detached himself from the throng that was going to the house and stopped at his

limousine which was parked on the driveway below the cluster of cars from Darden's garage. Beside the

"Stand by, Burke," said Cranston quietly. "You overdid yourself with that last story, but you can redeem

yourself with the next. This may help" from within the car, Cranston passed Clyde an automatic "so do

The last words came in a sibilant whisper which brought a stare from Clyde. No longer was he viewing

Cranston; instead, he saw The Shadow, garbed in black, placing a brace of guns beneath his cloak. Posting

Clyde beside the car, The Shadow moved away and was swallowed by the darkness of the driveway.

NOT even a streak of blackness betrayed The Shadow's hidden course. The streaks that came were from the

oak trees and the patchy flowerbeds, where huddly men were using such cover to best advantage. Their sneak

became more apparent when they neared a veranda. There, with quick bounds, three of them hopped up the

From the middle door one man voiced a savage snarl. Darden, Weston, all the rest turned in astonishment to

see themselves covered by three masked raiders. The central man he of the snarl was the leader of the

vanguard; his mask was hardly a disguise. For there was just one man of crime who would stage this

foolhardy raid. He was Wolf Lapine, already branded as the outlaw who sought the Argyle Museum

There was murder in Wolf's ugly voice, as if he sought to vindicate himself through evil. Hatred glittered in

the narrowed eyes above the handkerchief that crossed Wolf's face. Wolf didn't know as yet that he was

seeking wealth that wasn't on these premises; he still was playing his own hunch against Cliff's. But he was

First Weston, who represented law. Next Darden, whose precautions had spoiled Wolf's earlier thrust. Then

the directors of the Argyle Museum, lacking but one member, Cranston, whose absence no one noticed.

Finally Wolf spotted Jarratt, who was sidling behind the group to get out of reach.

Through his mask, Wolf spat words that only Jarratt understood. He'd blast a path with bullets, Wolf would,

to reach the doublecrosser. At that moment, Wolf Lapine thought that he'd reached the summit of his

The thing that made Wolf forget was the laugh that pealed from the porch behind him. Fierce, challenging, it

rose to a pitch of mockery that could madden men of crime, particularly Wolf Lapine. All other scores,

Jarratt's included, could wait until Wolf had settled with the enemy he hated most of all.

Wolf and his band of outlaws had wandered far astray on a mission that could be written off. Robbery, mass

murder, those were trifling things when they could deal with crime's superfoe, The Shadow!

CLYDE BURKE had his story one that no one would believe. Rooted beside Cranston's limousine, the

reporter viewed the horrifying sight of The Shadow pitting himself against odds that no lone fighter could

hope to survive. Up past the edge of the veranda, The Shadow was in the glare from the living room,

confronted by three men Wolf and his lieutenants who were wheeling from their doorways.

Had three been all, Clyde would have given The Shadow a fighting chance; but there were others, nearly a

dozen of them, all lurking in the lower darkness behind the shrubs and ornamental trees that flanked out from

How The Shadow expected to slip that noose of marksmen, was too much for Clyde. So much, that the thing

itself was in transition before Clyde could realize that he, too, had a gun, though he couldn't have used it if

he'd wanted. For there were just two fighters who counted in that onslaught: The Shadow and Wolf Lapine.

This was their duel. In seeking it, they left the others flatfooted. Clyde's case, as an aid of The Shadow,

simply typified the status of Wolf's followers. The Shadow's first shot was needed to bring Clyde to action;

similarly, Wolf was the mainspring of his entire outfit. By driving straight for Wolf, The Shadow was holding

For The Shadow didn't fire as he launched for Wolf; he left that to his adversary. And Wolf, seeing blackness

lunging with swinging gun, sidestepped to take better aim. The cloaked shape was almost on him when Wolf

tugged the trigger, and at that instant, blackness spread. Wide went The Shadow's arms, and the spot that

Wolf took for his cloaked opponent's heart proved to be space between The Shadow's cloak sleeve and his

Wolf's shot missed. A shot that hardly seemed to matter, considering that it was the signal for a dozen other

guns to blaze. Some of those guns did spurt, but in the action crooks deliberately jerked away their aim, while

others more wisely withheld their fire. For by then The Shadow had reached Wolf and was whirling him

All the while, Wolf was swinging his gun at The Shadow, hoping to jab one pointblank shot. Each time his

revolver was met by the clash of an automatic that stopped Wolf's weapon like a trip hammer. Wolf smashed

panes from the glass door that opened into the reception room. He chipped chunks from the stone house wall.

He ripped a huge stretch of flimsy trellis with a single shot. But he couldn't clip The Shadow.

In from the flanks came the two thugs who had taken the other doorways. They'd fix The Shadow so that

Wolf could finish him. They came in slugging hard so hard that when The Shadow suddenly released Wolf

Wolf thrust his gun in between them, only to have The Shadow drive from the other side, reeling Wolf

All was a tangle, with Wolf firing a shot that found the eaves of an overhanging roof. To distinguish The

Shadow was impossible, now that the fight had rolled away from the door. He was blackness nothing more

amid the threeman melee that lashed about the veranda. Only numbers in plenty, and at close range, could

THE numbers came as Wolf's reserves billowed up across the porch edge, a wave that threatened to engulf

The Shadow along with the three men he fought. Clyde began to fire, using his lone gun to snipe that flood of

sluggers, but it seemed a pitiful attempt. He staggered one man; whether he'd winged another, he didn't know,

Away from the swirl of figures, Clyde saw a thug turn suddenly as though to shoot at something near the

porch edge. Before Clyde could even aim, the fellow sagged. The report that Clyde heard didn't come from

the thug's gun, which went flipping from its owner's fingers. That shot was a muffled stab from blackness.

The Shadow was out of the tangle! He'd knifed right between the inrushing reserves and only one man had

spotted him. But in dealing with that lone foe, The Shadow had attracted the attention of the others. They

were coming around with shouts, to begin another surge for the fighter in black who was cleaving into

Clyde couldn't see The Shadow, but he saw crooks in plenty and he found his gun pumping of its own accord.

Too late, it seemed, for the thugs were over the porch edge, flattening a tall form that blocked their path.

Then they were sprawling with their victim, which came snapping up again from their midst. Flapping as it

did, the thing identified itself as one of the ornamental cedars that fringed Darden's veranda.

Wolf and the smarter crooks weren't fooled by the intervening tree. What they drove for was the huddled

shape of blackness that crouched beyond it, clear of the light. They landed with a crackle in the midst of a

From somewhere anywhere that might have been nowhere came the taunting laugh of The Shadow,

strident mockery that defied Wolf's tribe to find him in this terrain replete with shadows, of which only one

Clyde flattened as the maddened marksmen began to fire in all directions. Within a space of mere minutes

The Shadow had turned their onslaught into a rout. They'd had him ambushed, so they thought, but he'd put

He revealed himself, The Shadow, by tonguing shots from darkness. Shots that were always on the move

from the direction of the oaks. Those huge trees were perfect barriers, but The Shadow favored no particular

All the while, his gibing laugh shuddered its tone amid the echo of guns, baiting enemies to efforts that could

only result in their complete defeat. Once their ammunition was exhausted, Wolf's crew would be easy prey

Then, totally unexpected, came a flood of powerful flashlights from the outskirts of the oaks converging

lights that picked out The Shadow's position from the other side. Clyde saw a cloaked figure wheel and

Another tribe of killers had filtered into this terrain, a crowd that could only belong to one leader: Kip

Caught between two deadly factions, The Shadow seemed doomed. Literally, he appeared to be dodging

bullets among the useless oak trees. Then, in the very midst of all that light, The Shadow vanished as

Clyde understood, as his breath came back. The Shadow had simply shifted to the near side of an oak. That

tree, like all the rest, was blocking off the brilliant glare. The oaks cast long lines of blackness in Wolf's

direction and in one of those blots was The Shadow, on this side of an oaken pillar. It could be any of a dozen

trees or more, and The Shadow's gun, now silent, was not betraying his position.

WOLF snarled for his men to find The Shadow. Short on ammunition, they drove for the oaks, each hoping

that he wouldn't be the man to meet the cloaked fighter first. Then, from the midst of that excited crew, came

a recurrence of The Shadow's laugh, its mockery a greater clarion than any of his previous taunts. This time

the ground certainly disgorged him, for he was in open territory, yards this side of the trees!

Only Clyde caught the answer. The Shadow hadn't stayed against an oak. He'd followed the long path of

darkness representing the outline of the tree, using that invisible channel to leave the spot where Kip had

Surprise it was in plenty. Wolf's crowd scattered like a whirl of chaff when they saw The Shadow spin among

Guns ripped from the oaks. Kip's murderous shooters didn't care if they chopped down Wolf's tribe while

getting at The Shadow. Wolf and his frenzied men scrambled for the oak trees, to crouch there, snarling and

Hardly past the oaks, Kip saw that finding The Shadow wasn't a game any longer except as the cloaked

fighter might choose to play it. For The Shadow had reached his former stamping ground, the shrubbery

beside the veranda. Better than tall oaks were squatty bushes by the dozens, any one of which might, or might

Like a sinister welcome came The Shadow's laugh, an invitation to doom that Kip Reddick decided not to

accept. His crew was better disciplined than Wolf's. At Kip's sharp command, all turned and sped back

among the oaks, just as Commissioner Weston and Ewell Darden appeared upon the porch, heading a batch

of guests who were armed with improvised weapons from pokers and fire tongs to sabers and muskets from

At that moment, things happened among the oaks. Like Wolf's crew, Kip's men were masked, but they could

tell each other apart because one group was clustered, the other scattered. Wolf owed no thanks to Kip, whose

gunners hadn't cared who they clipped while going for The Shadow. At Wolf's snarl, his band sprang from

It was what The Shadow wanted. Clyde saw him start from darkness, so the reporter followed. Both saw the

encounter of the rival leaders, Wolf Lapine and Kip Reddick, as they snatched away their masks. Wolf's face,

yellow and fangish, showed viciously from beneath his hat brim. Kip's features, hard, yet queerly smooth,

were even uglier. They were set for a duel, not realizing that The Shadow was arriving to confront the victor.

Then, conscious of the shouts that were coming from the porch, each killer found his wits. Wolf darted away

with the rest of his scattering tribe; Kip sprang to join his men as they raced off in a compact band.

The Shadow halted on the fringe of darkness, throwing out an arm to hold back Clyde. Too late now, for

Weston, Darden and the rest were cutting in between The Shadow and the fleeing crooks.

Wolf's men disappeared in all directions, dodging the police who were coming in from blocks around. Some

of them remained, those crippled by The Shadow, and it took police bullets to suppress them when they tried

to rise and renew the battle. It wasn't surprising that Wolf managed a getaway with most of his followers, for

Kip's outfit was a different matter. They'd run around the house and The Shadow took the opposite direction

to head them off. Instead of meeting Kip's tribe, he ran into some of the pursuing guests, so The Shadow

Apparently, Kip's fighters had cut through a hedge that flanked the grounds, since there was no other place

Returning back to his limousine, The Shadow became Cranston again and approached the veranda,

accompanied by Clyde. Darden's servants were arriving from various parts of the house, where they had been

Stolidly, the servants went to the lawn to carry away the bodies of Wolf's abandoned fighters who had forced

Only one man was on the porch: Mark Jarratt. He nodded a bit nervously when he saw Cranston, but he was

suave again when Weston and Darden returned. For once, Jarratt could boast that he had been in the right

camp, and he elaborated that point by suggesting that he, more than anyone else, had been Wolf's target.

Forced to agree, Weston asked testily if Jarratt wanted police protection, to which the suave man shook his

head. He merely wanted to get back to New York as soon as convenient, so Darden arranged that detail.

Darden's chauffeur was bringing a big car from the batch near the garage, to take some of the more jittery

guests into town, so Darden told Jarratt to go along with them, which Jarratt did, most gratefully.

The scene had quieted completely when Cranston entered his own car, inviting Clyde to come along. Guests

had returned from their futile search for Kip's crowd. The police were leaving and Darden's servants had gone

indoors. All that remained was the mystery of vanished fighters: first, Wolf's shattered crew; next, Kip's

Where the others had gone, only The Shadow knew. Likewise, he could predict where they would meet

again, those rival factions headed by Wolf Lapine and Kip Reddick. When that time came, The Shadow

IN the great hall at Glenwood Grange, Carl Croom and Harry Vincent were seated at the fireplace awaiting

word from The Shadow. So far, there had been no message, for The Shadow hadn't come to Wilbury. Nor

was contact necessary as yet, because all Croom and Harry had to do was sit tight.

So they were sitting tight. Spread before them was a very tasty meal prepared by the new chef that Harry had

brought back from New York. While Croom talked about the food, Harry thought about Cliff and Hawkeye.

He was sure, at least, that they had heard from The Shadow. One or the other would certainly have

It happened that both had gained such opportunity since Wolf Lapine had left them in sole charge of the

grounds around Glenwood Grange, but that was something that Harry hadn't yet learned.

"There is one thing worries me, Vincent," declared Croom suddenly. "It's the ease with which these crooks

could seize our treasures if they once worked inside this place. So much of the collection is still crated down

"Those" he gestured to a few sets of armor, the paintings in a corner "they could be gathered in a single

swoop. As for the old safe where I put the various jeweled pieces, its combination is very simple. Anybody

"But first," observed Harry, "they would have to get inside the mansion. And that would be difficult, the way

we're guarding things. By the way, I'd better take a look outside and see how the men are handling their

Harry arose and turned in the direction of the side door. He took just four steps, then halted with halfraised

hands, while Croom, swinging about at Harry's exclamation, paused just as suddenly, Glenwood Grange

Confronting Harry was a determined young man who held a leveled revolver. Harry recognized him instantly

as Phil Glenwood, the wouldbe owner of the family mansion. Croom didn't remember Phil, for he hadn't

noticed him that day at the hotel. But Phil remembered Croom and was including him with gun gestures,

"Sorry to intrude this way," spoke Phil, meaning the words for Croom. "But I want you to wait right where

you are... and listen." With that, Phil stared hard at Harry. "Because you're going to do the talking, Vincent.

Apparently, Phil was more than much in earnest. He was nervous, too, hence his gun wasn't a pleasant thing

"You're all wrong, Phil," said Harry coolly. "I hadn't a thing to do with that crowd at Lower Glenwood."

"They are back again tonight," returned Phil steadily. "They've learned what I was going to tell you,

Vincent... but didn't. That's why I came to talk to Croom. I knew you'd be lulling him with fancy talk while

The return of Kip Reddick was a surprise to Harry. He threw an anxious look at Croom, whose face displayed

a similar worry. Of course, Phil took it to fit with his own theme. In Harry's glance he saw proof of treachery;

Across Phil's shoulder, Harry saw a mammoth figure fill a doorway. It was the new chef, a huge African

named Jericho Druke, coming for the dinner trays. Jericho happened to be more than a chef, though Harry

hadn't stressed that point to Croom. Like Harry, Jericho had served The Shadow on more than one occasion.

With all his bulk, Jericho could be softfooted when he chose, as he was proving now. Advancing with a

reassuring grin to Harry, the giant was promising that he'd be heard from within the brief time stipulated by

Counting them he was, while Harry stood stolid, silent. It was at the count of four that things happened,

though not quite as Harry expected. Indeed, the call was very close, though blame could be equally divided.

Watching Phil, Croom wasn't faced the right way to observe Jericho. So Croom acted on his own when he

made a sudden dive for Phil, grabbing for the young man's gun. And Phil, stepping quickly back, pressed the

Those faults were bad enough, but Harry's was even worse. Thinking Croom would successfully grab Phil's

gun, Harry didn't budge of his own accord. He'd have stopped that bullet if it hadn't been for Jericho.

Seeing Croom's lunge, Jericho forgot Phil and grabbed Harry with one hamlike hand. Yanked from his feet,

Harry was flying headlong half across the great hall when Phil's gun stabbed, to flatten its bullet against the

WITH that, Phil dropped the gun. Croom picked it up, while Jericho was helping Harry to his feet. Shaken by

his own blunder, Phil was in a mood to listen when Croom assured him that Harry was all right. Finally, at

"Then you don't know... none of you? You haven't an idea why those crooks picked Lower Glenwood as a

Headshakes responded. With a determined smile, Phil said he'd provide the answer. The one sure way was to

make a trip to the ruins down the slope. So Harry and Croom produced their own guns and followed Phil out

No lights showed from Lower Glenwood until the three men had reached the stone foundations. Then, deep

from a passage once filled with debris, they caught the reflected gleam of flashlights. Carefully, Phil let

himself down into the ruins, beckoning the other two to follow. As they did, he whispered:

"There can't be many of them. We can trap them easily. When we do, you'll learn the thing I came to tell

Phil was moving ahead, Croom almost beside him. But Harry lingered, looking up at the darkened parapet.

Harry felt an uneasy sensation that someone else was present. Knowing the ways of Kip Reddick, he

considered it likely that a lookout might be stationed above, while men were busy below.

Shaking off his worriment, Harry finally moved along to catch up with the two ahead, who were guiding by

They were at the very corner of the passage. There Harry paused again, to make sure that there was nothing

in the darkness behind him. At that moment, there were sounds beyond the corner sudden sounds,

indicating that Kip's men were aware that others had approached. Harry wheeled to see Phil and Croom lunge

The whole passage seemed to lunge past Harry, until he realized that the mighty mass was Jericho, who had

followed them from the Grange! The near tragedy in the great hall had convinced Jericho that he might be

Phil and Croom, both foolhardy, were about to jab a pointblank fire at those men beyond the corner, whose

only recourse was to beat them to the shot. It was the sort of thing that could have meant death to all, but for

The giant didn't bother to grab Phil and Croom. He brushed them aside, so hard that they smacked the walls

As for the two men who were aiming back, Jericho's great hands grabbed them with a tremendous reach,

hoisting them upward and backward as they fired. Their bullets cleaved the planking above the passage.

Jericho could have cracked two heads together, settling their owners for a while, but he desisted. Instead, he

shook the pair so hard they lost their guns; then shoved them into the light where Harry had arrived, coming

past the stupefied forms of Phil and Croom. And in the glow, Harry recognized his fellow agents: Cliff

Helping Croom and Phil to their feet, Jericho brought them forward for Harry's introduction. When Harry

explained that Cliff and Hawkeye were friends of his, Croom understood that they must be working for The

Shadow, too. As for Phil, he was dazed enough to accept anything. Staring straight ahead, Phil blinked and

Both Harry and Croom saw what Phil meant. The passage didn't end here in the rums. Beyond the cleared

debris it became a pitchblack tunnel, rising upward through the very slope that led to Glenwood Grange.

Phil, gaining his voice further, explained that this was what he'd wanted to tell Harry how the old house,

Lower Glenwood, had been linked underground with the newer mansion, Glenwood Grange!

Harry looked at Croom. Both had the same sinking thought, of how they'd been living in a stronghold that

wasn't one at all. It was plain, now, how Wolf's crowd could be used to advantage by Kip's outfit. While Wolf

was worrying about an open attack and keeping the guardians of Glenwood Grange quite busy, Kip could be

Nor was that all. A bigger surprise was due. Turning their flashlights into the tunnel, Cliff and Hawkeye were

revealing what else they had uncovered while following instructions from The Shadow.

Within the tunnel were rows of crates that Kip's men had carried here the night they brought the trucks.

Crates identical with those in which the Argyle treasures had been shipped from the old museum. And when

Within the crate were tapestries, which to the naked eye were exact duplicates of those now in Glenwood

Grange. Another opened crate disclosed armor, cunningly wrought yet inlaid with metal that was not gold,

though it looked it. Gradually, crime's secret was dawning on these men who saw.

And then, as though created by the thoughts within their minds, came a token of the master investigator who

Turning, all saw the blackcloaked being standing with them. Riding ahead of the crooks that he had

scattered, The Shadow had arrived at Lower Glenwood to learn how Cliff and Hawkeye had fared.

Sight of the others pleased him, as his lowtoned laugh declared. Then, in his commanding whisper, The

Shadow was telling the parts that each were to play. Crime's secret known, The Shadow intended to use it to

And those who listened knew that from this moment onward, The Shadow would be real master of the show!

MORE than an hour later, Cliff and Hawkeye approached the farmhouse which formed Wolf Lapine's

headquarters. It didn't matter whether or not Wolf had returned, because he wouldn't expect Cliff and

It turned out that Wolf hadn't returned, because Hawkeye pointed out that cars were coming through a

wooded road, their headlights dim. That puzzled Cliff when he looked toward the farmhouse, for a lamp was

"We left the place dark," reminded Cliff. "You'd better take a look, Hawkeye. That's your specialty."

Hawkeye sneaked and made the peek. He came back and nudged Cliff toward the door, telling him to go

inside. Why, Hawkeye did not specify; he seemed to prefer that Cliff should be surprised. So Cliff entered the

farmhouse and stopped, very short. A nervous man was coming to his feet, only to relax. The man was Mark

"So it's you, Marsland," said Jarratt smoothly. "I'm just as glad, though I don't expect any difficulty from

A car pulled up in front of the house. Jarratt motioned Cliff to a corner; apparently he wanted to prove his

For a moment, Wolf's eyes glared the anger that his lips snarled, while his hand produced a ready gun.

"You win, Jarratt," he declared. "I shouldn't have gone to Darden's. I was a dope to think the Argyle stuff

"No more a dope than Kip Reddick," assured Jarratt smoothly. "You took him on a blind lead that didn't do

"He was," nodded Wolf. "I saw him. Now we've got to get busy here, before the coppers trace us."

"They won't," smiled Jarratt. "Those men you left behind are all dead. However, we shall move tonight, after

Cliff had come from his corner and Hawkeye was entering the door. Neither had anything to report, but Wolf

decided that he could use Hawkeye. He wanted him to go over and take another look at Kip's trucks. But

"Forget Kip," he insisted, "He can't be here yet, because the police were still chasing him the last I heard.

We'll spring the fireworks before he knows it. But we can't risk him grabbing any of our men tonight. I'll take

this chap with me" Jarratt nudged at Hawkeye "and post him where I can signal him from the Grange."

Jarratt didn't refer back to the previous "capture" that Kip's men had made. But he was playing safe on the

Hawkeye question. If Wolf had insisted that Hawkeye go and watch the trucks, Jarratt would see to his actual

Cliff understood and flashed a warning look to Hawkeye, but it wasn't needed. Wolf decided to follow

LEAVING with Hawkeye, Jarratt showed familiarity with this terrain by following the contour of a hill and

From there on, Jarratt could head to the Grange, but it happened that he was quite as close to the ruins of

Lower Glenwood, where he actually intended to go. However, Hawkeye simply played dumb and waited,

Skirting the woods a short distance, Jarratt cut in back of a knoll and hurried beneath the dim moonlight

down to Lower Glenwood. Near the ruins, he blinked a flashlight along the ground. His signal was answered

There was a wariness in Jarratt's manner as he came into the light beyond a corner passage where Kip

Reddick awaited. Noting it, Kip supposed that this first visit to the depths of Lower Glenwood was worrying

Jarratt. Kip showed a hardfaced grin as Jarratt peered back across his shoulder.

Kip was right; it was Jarratt's first trip here. But he wasn't nervous, he was merely sensing things more clearly

than Kip did. To Jarratt, the encroaching darkness of the passage corner represented substance, and it took

him a short while to decide that he was wrong. In such decision, Jarratt was wrong again.

A figure was lurking in that gloom. The Shadow had taken personal charge of this sector, so that no details of

crime's double move would escape him. Jarratt's shortlived restlessness ending, The Shadow stayed where

"There's the tunnel," Kip told Jarratt. "We covered it up again after we planted the crates the other night. The

boys are clearing it again. It's only a fifteenminute job, and we've been here pretty near that long. How

"All right," decided Kip. "I'll start these crates going through, and we'll bring back the ones that have the real

goods in them. That won't take long either, except for whatever stuff Croom has already unloaded. We'll have

to look that over, so as to switch it proper. The safe won't give us any trouble, if Croom is using it. I have the

"Good enough," declared Jarratt. "Now listen, Kip. When you sneak upstairs, get through to the garage first

"That will be easy," Kip showed a floor plan of the Grange. "I know that place perfect. What do I do then:

"That's right. Then get back and give me a flash from here. When Wolf attacks, you can start switching the

"And by that time," chuckled Kip, "everything else will be on the trucks. Handling those odds and ends will

be a cinch while Croom's guards are all busy fighting. Wolf's mob in the garage. And the best of it is, we

Blackness moved away, because Jarratt's visit was ending. Already the crates were going through to

Leaving the ruins, Jarratt waited a while before going back to find Hawkeye. There were times when he

glanced nervously about, as though suspecting something moving past him in the gloom.

SOMETHING did move up the long slope to Glenwood Grange, where it paused, invisible in the night. There

was a swish from the cloaked arm of The Shadow as his deft hand scaled an envelope through the tiny

Jericho saw the white missile strike a shelf near the stove and took the message into the great hall, where he

"We might as well pave the way for Kip," decided Croom, rising from the fire. "Though it would be easy

"Our real job will come later," returned Harry. "I think we can time it, though, letting Wolf through. He won't

take it to be a trap, because Jarratt has fed him the bunk that you're the inside man."

They went out to the kitchen, but left a door ajar. It wasn't long before they heard a sound accompanying the

crackle of the flames in the great fireplace. The sound identified itself as Kip Reddick sneaking through to the

Kip wasn't alone; he'd left men in the hallway behind him. The footsteps returned, only to pause. Harry

"Kip's at the safe. We'll let him finish that job. I'll let you know when he's through."

Footsteps again, barely audible. Harry rattled the kitchen door slightly as he signaled to Croom, who in turn

stepped to a passage and called to men upstairs. He wanted to know what was keeping them; it was time to

From his door, Harry could hear Kip and his companions sneaking for the cellar. They didn't want a runin

with Croom's men; not yet, or ever, if they could help it. That was being left to Wolf Lapine.

Over by the woods, Hawkeye edged from his position for a short sneak along the lawn edge. He saw Jarratt

huddled, waiting; then came a blink, not from the Grange but from Lower Glenwood. Jarratt turned and came

The flash had been given: Wolf Lapine was to move. Already, Kip Reddick was in action; hence crime's

A dim hulk beneath the moonlight, Glenwood Grange looked like a citadel, if ever there was one. But how

weak a fortress, considering the secret way that existed through its very foundations as an open road for

crime! Despite that fault, no stronghold could have been more formidable. For Glenwood Grange was under

Strange were the ways of The Shadow, as his dealings with double crime would prove!

ALL was deathly quiet in Glenwood Grange when the stroke came. Its signal was a sudden shot fired from a

Carl Croom sprang to his feet from beside the fireplace, shouting for Harry Vincent, who promptly appeared.

Together, they dashed to learn the cause of the alarm, calling for others as they went.

Only Croom and Harry were in the know, for Phil had gone back to Wilbury. Of course, Jericho expected

this, but he was staying in the kitchen on special duty. Together, Croom and Harry had agreed that the guards

would work better if they didn't expect the thrust when it came. The guess was more than right.

Wolf Lapine and his followers had captured the garage first crack and were in full possession of the vans in

which they expected to load the Argyle treasures. Stubbornly, arriving guards were shooting from within the

Nor were the guards doing this in fun. The first of Wolf's crowd showed themselves too openly and were

nicked as a result. Wolf snarled that they had only themselves to blame; he'd told them that Croom's men

would put up a real fight for a while. He advised the rest to copy the tactics of Cliff and Hawkeye, who poked

their guns warily past door edges instead of shoving half their bodies into sight.

The retreat of Croom's men satisfied Wolf. It showed that they were acting as they should, and Wolf wished

that Jarratt had stayed to witness it, instead of going back to town. Conversely, Cliff and Hawkeye were quite

pleased that Jarratt had left. He might have decided that things were going too well to be right!

Sounds of spasmodic gunnery echoed through the entire house, the proper signal for Kip Reddick and his

cellar crew. They piled into the great hall, bringing a rare assortment of items from the duplicate crates: inlaid

helmets and armor, gorgeous tapestries woven in gold, fine paintings that exactly duplicated the stack in the

Amid the muffled gunfire, these crooks worked with rapid speed, simply gathering the treasures already on

Calmly, Kip eyed the work, giving suggestions, particularly as to the hanging of the tapestries. At times, he

tilted his head to check the stubborn battle. Plenty of time, Kip told his followers. Croom's crowd was

Then, as Kip's men came down from chairs and tables to gather the heaped treasures that they were to take

It started in the kitchen, where Jericho's eye was watching through the long passage to the great hall. Hopping

across the kitchen, Jericho banged a dishpan hard against a door. Croom and Harry heard it and gave both

Croom yanked open a door that led upstairs! Harry shoved the one into the kitchen. Gesturing to the

astonished guards, they brought them in two directions. Some guards grasped the idea. It seemed to be a

double ambush. When the first guards responded to the beck, the others had no choice except to follow.

As the guards disappeared, Wolf's men drove through like a living deluge. Wolf might have stopped at the

barricaded doors, if Cliff hadn't shouted that he'd take care of them. With Cliff staving off the guards, Wolf

saw a clear path to the great hall just ahead. Whatever treasure was there, he'd grab; then find the way to the

Wolf found something sooner than he expected. Reaching the great hall, he saw other men, burdened with

tapestries and armor, staggering off through a passage with their swag, while a savage few turned with guns

to cover the mad flight. And by the firelight, Wolf recognized the foremost of his foemen: Kip Reddick!

Guns roared wildly across the broad stretch of the huge room; then Kip and his gunners were racing for the

cellar, too. Wolf didn't need blueprints to tell him what their game was. He saw that the standing armor and

the hanging tapestries were perfect matches for the prizes that Kip's men carried. Yelling for his men to

By then, Cliff had sent Hawkeye through, just to jog Wolf with any details that might slip him. But the cellar

told its own story. There, past stacks of crates, mostly filled but with a few empties, Kip's harried men were

The last to go, Kip dropped to the steps as bullets whistled past him. He jabbed a few shots that made Wolf's

henchmen scatter; then, with a quick roll, Kip was in the tunnel. A huge door clanged shut, to cut off all

Bullets thudded the barrier to no avail. Its front was a layer of concrete that matched the other sections of the

solid wall. A perfect concealment for the tunnel above, which Wolf was smart enough to link with the ruins

Stopping, Wolf's men began to gesture toward the crates, thinking they'd found some of the Argyle

collection. Hawkeye edged up to suggest just the opposite, but Wolf was already convinced on the point in

"You mean Kip has the stuff!" he snarled. "I knew Jarratt was a doublecrosser. He's been collecting phony

stuff to switch for the real. He's taken the right crates out through, leaving us the wrong ones! Come on...

UP from the cellar, Wolf led the reverse charge. He yelled at Cliff when he saw him, telling him to hold off

Half of Wolf's men followed him out through the garage; the rest remained with Cliff. By then, Croom and

Harry couldn't hold back the guards. Flinging the doors open, they sprang on Wolf's reserves.

It was fortunate that Cliff was present, otherwise there would have been a few dead guards, for the attack was

foolhardy. Cliff snapped an order for a quick retreat, which the thugs started to obey. Then, with the guards

actually among them, the killers turned in spite of Cliff. At that point, Jericho took over.

Coming along with the surge of guards, Jericho brushed them aside in his convincing way and waded right

into the gunners. In the narrow hall, they hadn't a chance to dodge him, as his great arms jabbed like pistons.

With each grab Jericho snatched one thug and flung him against another, spoiling the aim of all concerned.

Some scurried around through side passages to reach the great hall. There two of them swung about beside

Jericho settled that stalemate when he arrived by the kitchen route. He picked up a suite of armor and heaved

it at the thugs, who turned when they heard it clattering in air, only to receive it full abreast. That stroke

Croom's men had suffered only minor wounds, but Wolf's reserves were finished, except for Cliff. Harry

found him in the garage, waiting to learn the outcome. Hearing that all was under full control, Cliff continued

Down by Lower Glenwood, Kip and the final burden bearers were scudding from the ruins to reach the

trucks. There they chucked the loose treasures with the crates that held the whole collection. The trucks

roared out from the horseshoe stone pit, ripping through the brushwood camouflage.

Ahead lay the gully road. Far off to the flank, lights were coming down the slope from Glenwood Grange,

revealing Wolf's main band in a belated chase to cut off Kip's escape. By the time Wolf's crew arrived, the

trucks would be far away or so Kip thought, until he saw a barricade ahead. It lay across the road, a pile of

Above the barrier, silhouetted in the lights from the first truck, was the cloaked figure of The Shadow! As

guns spoke wildly from the trucks, The Shadow delivered a long, taunting laugh, with which he disappeared.

But with the echoes of his mirth came the blast of his big guns from behind the barricade!

Other marksmen aided The Shadow's barrage. He had Clyde Burke and Phil Glenwood with him, to give

them some experience in firstclass target practice. But the targets didn't stay around.

Savagely, Kip turned his truck the other way and hurled it into low gear, to take a steep road up past the

Again came The Shadow's laugh, its tone a prophecy of trouble. He'd timed his action to the dot and it was

bringing the climax that he wanted: crook versus crook, a fitting finish to a run of crime. For the delay the

trucks had met, their forced change of direction, plus the hard climb up the rough grade, were the very

They came piling from the roadside as the trucks went past, anxious to settle scores with Kip Reddick and his

doublecrossers. They climbed the running boards into the trucks, where battle raged with fury. Below, The

Shadow put away his automatics and pointed up to the quarry brink, where Clyde and Phil watched, as did

One newcomer was Hawkeye, who had detached himself from Wolf's wild tribe; the other was Cliff, just

come from Glenwood Grange to report on happenings there. But Cliff was keeping his report until later,

Three trucks had reached that high level, toy vehicles against the moonlit sky. The first was Kip's, and from it

rolled tiny figures Wolf and a few of his followers. They'd been outnumbered in that attack, and Kip's truck

was away, but it was carrying only a third of the loot that Wolf and his frenzied fighters wanted for their own.

Bouncing up like rubber men, Wolf and his castoffs boarded the next two trucks as they came along.

ALREADY, those two trucks were filled with fighters. These newcomers turned the tide. Wolf and his

company were putting the slug to all, drivers included. The first truck skewed and took a crazy tilt, its front

nosing toward the quarry, its rear blocking the last truck, which promptly rammed it.

Trucks, rather than men, became living things that writhed, for the human fighters looked like insects

brawling on the backs of stricken beasts. Taking an overweighted slide, the first truck brought the other with

it, for the crash had locked them tightly. Amid the howls of tangled men who saw their fate too late, the

One man jumped and caught himself on the same crevice that The Shadow had used as a mooring spot for

Harry's rescue. That man was Wolf Lapine, distinguishable by the longpeaked cap he always wore. He was

Down came the trucks, twisting slowly, grotesquely against the whiteness of the hewn cliff. Crates were

dumping lazily, in contrast to the wild flinging figures of the thugs who clawed the air instead of one another.

Trucks, crates, crooks all disappeared in a hodgepodge beneath a line of scrubby trees.

One mighty splash accounted for them all. Water sprayed high above the trees; with it came the sound of the

engulfing crash a great roar followed by echoes and reechoes, that seemed to be tolling off the evil lives

that the quarry pit had swallowed. After that, long silence, a hush broken by The Shadow's laugh, mirthless

That strange tone carried to the quarry top where Wolf Lapine scrambled upward and away. Like Kip and a

few others, Wolf had survived the catastrophe, but he had witnessed the fate of crook versus crook. A fate

that seemed designed by The Shadow and approved by that conqueror of crime, even though his hand had not

been needed for the climax which a dozen men of crime had personally produced by wiping themselves out!

Strange were the echoes of The Shadow's laugh. They carried an unfinished note that foretold a mission still

COMMISSIONER WESTON was still at Darden's a few hours after the excitement there. More than that,

he'd sent for his ace inspector, Joe Cardona, to bring all data available on Wolf Lapine, so they could go over

What puzzled Weston and Cardona both was the matter of the rival faction that had met Wolf's tribe in a

grudge combat, for ordinarily such groups would have concentrated solely on The Shadow. But the records

hadn't a thing to show. The name of Kip Reddick didn't even come to mind when Weston and Cardona

They were ready to call it quits, when a big car pulled into the driveway. It proved to be Darden's limousine,

and it contained a passenger: Mark Jarratt. When Darden expressed surprise that Jarratt had returned from

Manhattan, Jarratt gave a look toward Weston, then threw a side glance at Cardona.

"I'm worried about Wolf Lapine," declared Jarratt. "I thought it all over, for a whole hour, while I was riding

into town. It's that story that appeared in the Classic. It said I was trying to buy the Argyle Museum

In bringing up the Classic story, Jarratt was appealing to Weston and Darden, for the thing was a sore point

with both. Cardona hadn't liked the story either, but he couldn't see Jarratt's angle.

"So what?" demanded Joe. "Wolf wanted to steal the Argyle stuff, while you wanted to buy it. That ought to

"Perhaps not to Wolf," argued Jarratt cagily. "He saw me here, and right afterward he ran into trouble with

some enemies of his. Wouldn't it be like Wolf to blame me for setting that crowd on him?"

Cardona conceded the point. Meanwhile, Darden was ordering his chauffeur to move the extra cars that were

still outside the garage. Rejoining the group, Darden heard Jarratt's tale of woe and shrugged. Darden spoke

"When even criminals mistrust you, Jarratt, it reflects on your character... or your conscience."

"I'd like to get away from it," pleaded Jarratt. He turned to Weston. "I'm glad I found you here, commissioner.

Suppose I took a plane trip to South America, starting tonight. Would you object?"

Weston said he wouldn't. No one had brought any charges against Jarratt. To implicate him in the gun fray

"Would you take charge of my wholesale business, Mr. Darden? Or choose the proper person for it? You

"The real values, Jarratt? Or the prices you paid to people who couldn't afford to refuse?"

Jarratt winced at that one, which satisfied Darden, who said that he would give Jarratt's wares a proper

"As soon as the cars are moved, I shall have my chauffeur take you to the airport. You won't even have to

Jarratt looked quite relieved. Darden called indoors and when a servant appeared, he told the man to notify

the chauffeur that the limousine would soon be needed. They could hear the cars being moved out by the

The car that wheeled up was Cranston's. But it wasn't Cranston who stepped forth. One of the passengers was

"I'm working on a real story tonight," asserted Clyde. "Mr. Cranston told me to bring Croom out here. He

came in from a place called Wilbury, where the Argyle treasures happened to be."

"Come inside," suggested Darden anxiously. "We can talk over matters better there... Ah, here comes my car.

Cranston's car was pulling over to allow space for Darden's. Only Clyde saw the blackcloaked shape that

was moving into view. The Shadow would certainly have his say before Jarratt left. Maybe he'd hold his talk

with Jarratt privately, since the others were going into the house. In fact, they'd almost forgotten Jarratt, when

From beside a corner of the house sprang a man with drawn revolver, whose hat was pulled down across his

eyes. The brim, however, didn't hide the vicious leer that came with the fellow's snarl, both traits of Wolf

WOLF'S gun blasted twice, as Jarratt tried to dive into the car. Both bullets were straight to the

doublecrosser's heart. With only the beginning of a gasp, Mark Jarratt struck the running board and

It wasn't odd, in a way, that The Shadow should let such vengeance take its course. For The Shadow, halfway

to the car, had wheeled very suddenly to escape a gun thrust coming his direction. The chauffeur, on the point

of giving aid to Jarratt, had suddenly directed a drawn revolver toward The Shadow.

And now, as the chauffeur's shot went wide because of The Shadow's sudden whirl, another cry of

recognition came from Wolf. He was snarling another name and aiming with it, when the chauffeur dropped

It was Wolf who scored again, for Kip couldn't twist around in time. Reaching the car's front door, Wolf

yanked it open to make sure he'd finished his rival. Wolf had, again with two bullets. As he swung the door,

And then, the lust of murder upon him, Wolf remembered that he had two more bullets in his gun. Two

bullets... for The Shadow! Turning to look for that superfoe, Wolf used the car door as a shield. He heard The

Empty darkness The Shadow wasn't there! He was coming in from the front, ready to thrust his automatic

through the window of the swinging door, to cover Wolf and capture him when the crook swung about.

Never could Wolf Lapine have beaten The Shadow to that shot. The frame of the car window stopped his gun

as he tried to swing it inward. That, however, was the limit of Wolf's try. Another gun ripped from the house

As the crook sagged, The Shadow wheeled back into darkness as men dashed down to make sure that Wolf

On the steps of the house stood Ewell Darden, holding a smoking revolver. He was the marksman who had

felled Wolf Lapine after the murderer had scored two kills and was trying for a third!

Inspector Cardona pocketed a gun that he hadn't found a chance to use. Finding Wolf dead, he shoved the

killer's body aside. He wanted a look at Darden's chauffeur. A long look at a face that Cardona had often

heard described, though he'd never seen it. Finished with that look, Cardona nodded.

"Kip Reddick?" echoed Darden. "Why, this man's name is Fendler! At least, that's the name he went by when

"Kip Reddick would have," put in Cardona. "He was one of the smartest crooks in the business."

"So smart," put in Croom, who was standing by, "that tonight he raided Glenwood Grange, where we had the

Argyle treasures. Not openly, you understand, but underground. For every item that he took, he left a replica,

"But there are no replicas!" exclaimed Darden. "I mentioned before that they were all destroyed." He paused,

Remembering the cagey methods of the crooked art dealer, Commissioner Weston nodded. If any schemer

could somehow have managed to steal those replicas from under Darden's nose, or somehow duplicate them,

Jarratt was the logical candidate. But Jarratt was dead, like Kip and Wolf. Three of a kind, whose full stories

It was Clyde Burke who prodded the next surprise, by calling from the direction of Darden's garage. They

went there and found a truck loaded with crates from the Argyle collection. Springing on board the truck,

Croom discovered a square box, which contained the princely jewels that he had placed in the safe at

"But this is only one load, Mr. Darden. There must be two more trucks, at least."

"Bring the jewels into the house," suggested Darden. "We can start a hunt for the missing trucks. All this

CROOM was telling one thing as they entered the reception room. He'd learned he didn't specify how

that his letter to Jarratt had been picked up at the museum and taken to Wilbury, where it was mailed to serve

"But the letter went too soon," explained Croom. "Wolf Lapine couldn't have mailed it. He didn't find out

"I have it!" put in Darden, with a sudden finger snap. "Kip Reddick! Why, he's the key to the whole business!

Working here as my chauffeur, he could be responsible for everything. He must have taken Jarratt to Wilbury

"And that letter of yours, Croom! Reddick drove me to the museum every day. He used to go in and browse

around. I always wondered why Fendler I mean Reddick took such an interest in art. He didn't look the

A laugh interrupted. Its tone was strangely weird, like a past echo, amplified. Startled, Darden almost

dropped the square box as he was setting it on a table; then, with others, he turned to stare as the laugh was

repeated, this time with a significant throb, the sort that only The Shadow could voice.

There stood The Shadow, blackness come to life. But it wasn't his laugh that they heard now. It was the

clatter of wooden pellets bouncing in an ancient lottery wheel that had come from the Argyle Museum in

"Yes, all is explained," declared The Shadow, fixing his burning eyes upon the astonished group. "All things

but one. Kip Reddick could not have gone to Wilbury, nor could plans have been made for secret robbery,

Again The Shadow's gloved hand stroked the wheel to keep it spinning, while the capsules jounced and

"Mark Jarratt was on it, too," expressed The Shadow. "He was to dispose of the stolen treasures on his

coming trip to South America. He brought in Wolf Lapine after Wolf had failed at robbery on his own. Wolf

was the one feature needed, a scapegoat to cover Kip's hidden work. But still, we have the question of the

Spreading one hand wide, The Shadow dipped it into the traveling groove and let the capsules rattle past.

Suddenly, his fingers closed and came out with their prize. Holding the pill between his thumb and

"A modern trick," declared The Shadow, "applied to an ancient device. The trick you used, Darden, to pick

The truth drove home to Clyde Burke. He remembered how Darden had let the pills bounce past. How simple

it was to tell the right one when it came along; how easy to push off the rubber band and let it drop unnoticed

to the floor. The rubber band that Clyde had picked up by mistake, the one so small that it had snapped when

YES, the truth was out, and Darden himself admitted it when he drew back with a snarl, as if to clamp his

hands upon the box that contained the most valued items of the Argyle collection. Then Darden shrank still

"Too bad about the other trucks," spoke The Shadow. "They went to the bottom of a quarry, their cargo with

With a laugh, The Shadow opened the square box, picked out a jeweled coronet and bent it between his

hands. Sparkling beads went flying from their flimsy settings, losing their luster as they left the light. These

weren't the real Argyle treasures; they were the replicas that Darden himself had saved, along with all the

"You see, Darden," spoke The Shadow, "we learned exactly what was coming. Croom and some friends of

mine switched the crates beforehand, even changing the exhibits set up in Glenwood Grange and exchanging

the imitation gems for the true ones in the safe. When Kip and his men arrived, they did the work all over,

putting back the real and taking away the false. The real treasures are all where they belong in Glenwood

Utter fury seized Ewell Darden. With a mad fling, he sent the table flying toward The Shadow, the box of

false treasures with it. Wildly, he broke through the clutching hands of Weston and Cardona and yanked the

door open with a shout. In sprang a handful of Darden's servants, men who had been oddly absent the last few

For they were the remnants of Kip's vanished gang, planted here in Darden's own home along with their

leader. No wonder they had been on hand to fight off Wolf and his crowd, nor that they had disappeared so

quickly. They'd simply ducked into the house, to leave with Kip later. But only a third of them had come

back, bringing one truckload of worthless treasures. The rest were in the bottom of the quarry with the

They were rallying now at Darden's summons, hoping to help him eliminate their archenemy, The Shadow.

But with the rise of The Shadow's strident laugh, doors cracked open all along the veranda. Cliff, Harry,

Hawkeye all three were jabbing with their guns before Kip's remnants could furnish a single shot.

And the automatic that whipped from The Shadow's cloak was swifter than the revolver that Darden yanked

from his pocket. The big .45 spoke first, under the squeeze of a gloved finger as steady in its draw as the

Darden reeled, his own gun jouncing from his grasp. And then came settling blasts from other guns. Weston,

Dead on the floor sprawled Ewell Darden, master mind of crime, who for years had cunningly created

confidence and trust that he might stage a master stroke to obtain a priceless fortune. A man whose hidden

opportunity, contrived and executed to the greatest degree, had foundered when it struck one obstacle The

When the crippled servants had been properly suppressed, Commissioner Weston turned to look for the real

master of this drama, The Shadow. No longer was the cloaked fighter present. He'd gone through the middle

door, departing with his agents, with the lone exception of Clyde Burke, who was here to get his story.

And what a story, this tale of death's treasures for which men of crime had striven and died while the very

wealth they sought was no longer in their grasp. And strange as the tale itself was the departing laugh that

floated back from the outer reaches of the night, to fade in a shiver of uncanny echoes.

The weird mirth of The Shadow, registering another of his mighty conquests over crime!