SIX MEN OF EVIL............................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. AT THE BORDER ............................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. BOLD CRIME.................................................................................................................6

CHAPTER III. WALTON EXPLAINS .................................................................................................11

CHAPTER IV. THE CIVIC FUND .......................................................................................................17

CHAPTER V. THE SECOND ALIBI ...................................................................................................20

CHAPTER VI. THE SHADOW SUSPECTS.......................................................................................24

CHAPTER VII. A THIRD CRIME .......................................................................................................28

CHAPTER VIII. HELD FOR MURDER ..............................................................................................32

CHAPTER IX. THE SHADOW FINDS...............................................................................................36

CHAPTER X. THE FORCED CLEW..................................................................................................39

CHAPTER XI. THE MESSAGE DELIVERED...................................................................................45

CHAPTER XII. GUNS IN THE DARK ................................................................................................50

CHAPTER XIII. THE RESEARCH ......................................................................................................54

CHAPTER XIV. THE MOON MESSENGER.....................................................................................60

CHAPTER XV. THE AZTECS TELL ..................................................................................................64

CHAPTER XVI. THE FOURTH PLOT...............................................................................................67

CHAPTER XVII. INTO THE NIGHT..................................................................................................70

CHAPTER XVIII. THE SHADOW STRIKES .....................................................................................74

CHAPTER XIX. THE SHADOW STRIKES AGAIN ..........................................................................77

CHAPTER XX. BEYOND THE LAW .................................................................................................80

CHAPTER XXI. THE SHADOW SPEAKS .........................................................................................84

CHAPTER XXII. FIVE OF THE SIX ...................................................................................................87

CHAPTER XXIII. "THE CHICQUATIL"............................................................................................91

THE torrid Mexican sun had set. The lingering rays from the distant horizon threw a faint afterglow that

presaged a sweltering night. The gloom barely outlined a party of weary horsemen who were wending their

The men were talking. Their voices were hushed as though the dimness of the arid plain held them in awe.

Solitary wanderers in a deserted plain, they were temporarily traveling through a world peopled by

The voices faded. The horses dragged along through silence. The mounted figures were dimming in the

gathering night. Then the tension broke as one of the plodders emitted a savage, growled oath.

The curse brought a coarse laugh from one of his companions. Grumbled mutterings followed from the

"We'll get there before dawn," growled the man who had cursed. "Yes we'll get there and then what?"

"We've got our divvy," returned one of his companions, thumping his hand upon a rough sack that lay across

"Sure," cut in a third voice. "Every guy for himself. That's the only way we can make a go of it."

The dull, labored thudding of hoofs replaced the brief conversation. Then a querulous speaker cut in with a

"We're splittin' eh?" he asked. "It's all we can do, I reckon; but it ain't goin' to get us nowhere."

The lone man who had maintained his silence still refused to speak for himself. He was riding behind the

others, now, his horse three lengths in back of them. He could hear every word that was expressed; and his

"He's the brains of this outfit, Charley is," said someone, with a laugh. "Had a way for us to make a cleanup.

"Would you go through another six months for it?" came a question through the dark.

"For a few thousand?" Another laugh came with the response. "Say, bo, I wouldn't go through a week of that

"Shh!" A warning tone hissed beside the speaker's ear. "Lay off that stuff! It gives me the creeps. Don't talk

about the chicquatil! Every time I shut my eyes I see that green glow! Green everywhere green that never

ends" the man's voice was rising to a high, nervous pitch "green light driving me mad "

An arm thumped through the dark and punched the speaker roughly on the back. The man's words ended

Subdued mumbles came from the other riders. It was evident that they, too, held a nervous dread of

something that they all had witnessed. At length, one of the riders voiced the subject in an easy, reflective

"We're out of it," he said. "We'll forget it, soon. There's nobody going to take us back to the Aztec temple.

Let them keep the chicquatil there at Zeltapec. It's theirs, and they can have it. There's no one who could take

"To stake us?" The question came in a high tone from the nervous man who had been silenced. "To stake us

for what? We aren't even ourselves! Do you understand me? Not even ourselves! We're no one no one!

and Charley's to blame! He took us to that hell! I'd kill him if he hadn't suffered with us!"

"Yeah, Charley got his along with the rest of us," said another man, in philosophic tone. "He's not feeling

chipper, no more than us. Keeping mighty mum, there in back. Hasn't had much to say since we left Zeltapec.

The speaker glanced over his shoulder as he said the last words. He could not see the man to whom he had

referred as Charley. Only the slight thud of hoofs told that there was another man riding back there in the

darkness. Somehow, Charley seemed to feel himself ostracized from the companionship of these men.

"See?" questioned the one who had called back. "Charley's got nothing to say. Afraid of us, maybe. He ought

to be. He led us up into the mountains. Called himself our leader. A big shot, Charley and now he's afraid

The others laughed in sarcastic tones. There was malice, not mirth, in their laughter. They were unanimous in

the thought that the man behind them was afraid; and their growled utterances were boding ill for the one

THE repeated challenge was broken by a harsh voice from the darkness. The lone rider had drawn close to

the others. Now, he was thrusting his horse among them, and his silence had been broken. He was speaking in

"I? Afraid of you?" Charley's question came in emphatic words. "Why be fools? There are five of you, that's

all. I'll take on ten more like you. You say I put you in wrong at Zeltapec? You lie!"

Not one of the five grumblers dared respond. Charley, coming up among them, had demonstrated his power

of command. As he paused to await an answer, the only response was the swishing of the mesquite through

"You made trouble for yourselves at Zeltapec," declared the man called Charley. "I was no more to blame

than any of you. We took a chance for a big stake and we lost. Be satisfied that you got away with your

"I guess Charley's right," admitted one of the others, in a low, rueful tone. "But it's not helping us much. It

seems all right here in the dark but wait until dawn, when we look at each other. Then it will seem as black

"Cut it!" ordered Charley tersely. "I've listened to the same talk until I'm tired of it. You say I've been keeping

quiet. That's because I've been thinking. When you are ready to be quiet, I'll have my say and it will be

A suppressed silence was instantaneous. With a few wellspoken phrases, the former leader had regained his

command. There, in the darkness, Charley's horse took the lead, with the others clustered close beside, each

"We're coming close to the border, now," stated Charley quietly. "That's where we split as you fellows

decided. You say we've got to split that if six men like us were together, we'd hit trouble just on our looks.

"We stuck together at the start, didn't we? We thought alike; we talked alike; we acted alike and finally

we became alike. Six of a kind is what we are. Six men with brains" he paused after the compliment

There was no response. The men rode on, a docile, willing group. Each seemed to lose his individuality when

"What are you?" he questioned. "I'll tell you. Five men that can fight a hundred if they follow instructions.

The trouble is, you've weakened. You figured you could go back to the United States and pick up. You had

"Maybe they've got you listed as men who scrambled across the border into Mexico maybe they haven't. If

worst came to worst, you could say that bandits had dragged you there. But that's all ended now, because

"You've been little crooks little enough to get away with it. You enlisted in the army so as to hide, like I

did. You didn't like it, and when you found others of your kind, you deserted, like I did.

"I knew where there was something worthwhile getting, at Zeltapec. We went after it; we flopped; and now,

with a few thousand dollars worth of gold apiece, you want to go back to where you left off.

"I want to go back, too, but not the same man as I went away. So I'm glad of what happened to me at Zeltapec

now that it's all over. I've got my brains; I know the ropes; and I'm free from recognition. When I hit New

York, I'll be ready for business, and there's nobody going to know me. That's why I'm glad I'm different!"

Buzzed responses showed that the others understood their leader's meaning. Then, in mollified tones, one of

"That's right, Charley," said the man. "It's good for you. You're fixed right. But what about the rest of us

Mumbles of agreement showed that the rest shared the opinion of the speaker. It was the final challenge to

"How does it help you?" he asked. "It helps you great! I know you fellows like a book. Smalltowners, all of

you. You went away from home; you got in dutch; you tried to grab a big haul so you could go back and

"You forget that you may be in wrong there. Those alibis might not hold up. Uncle Sam is none too easy on

"You all figured on going back home; the more you talked about it, the more you liked it. I let the idea ride

until later; then those Aztecs at Zeltapec changed the whole works. Here you are crying about the tough

luck that's hit you and all the while, you're passing up the opportunity that's worth a million each!"

Excited gasps came from the riders. They caught the ring of the leader's words. They crowded close in

"Spring it, Charley," came an eager voice. "Give us the lay. We're with you. What'll we do stick together?"

"We will go our own ways," declared the leader, in a low, firm tone. "Go as we had planned each man to

the place of his choice. But we shall go as men unknown. Forget your old names, and adopt new ones. You

will be welcome, for each of you will have money. Forget crime; for it will be your duties to create

"As respectable citizens, you will soon be recognized. Remember that you have perfect opportunities, for you

will be acquainted in your own home towns. The place of my choice is New York; there, I intend to harbor

my funds, and to be guarded in my actions. I could pull jobs there now but I intend to pass up the chance."

"Because," stated the leader, "I am going to wait for bigger opportunity. Each of you will have the time that

you require. Each will plan his own course; yet all will have the same objective; and I shall figure in each

"Six months ten months a year time does not matter. I shall wait until each of you is ready. Then, one

by one, we shall reap the harvest. We are different; yet we are the same. Each will contribute; all will share."

"It ain't clear to me yet, Charley," announced a gruffvoiced rider, "but it seems like you're gettin' to

somethin' worthwhile. We're to split; then each of us keeps in touch with you. I got that part straight. But how

"No one sees another," responded the leader emphatically. "There will be no letters between us. Each works

toward his own objective. Then, when his time has arrived, he lets me know by special sign. You remember,

"Exactly," declared the leader. "Make your plans; notify me when you are ready. Have the details for my

The leader laughed. He rode ahead in silence; then, with carefully lowered voice, he began to speak.

Step by step, he weaved the details of the scheme that was in his mind. Not an utterance disturbed his

discourse. Miles went by beneath the steady feet of the plodding horses. Still the riders listened to the words

At last, the story was told. Words of admiration broke forth in jumbled chorus. One man had shown the way

to five. All six were prepared for work that lay ahead. Terse questions sounded in the dark. To each, a reply

THE glow of distant dawn was showing across the plains when the little caravan came to a halt. The border

"Remember all that I have told you" the leader's voice was stern "and wait until the proper plans are

made. There are five of you, and each has his job. I have told you how to reach me in New York. This is the

He paused and stared through the dim light at the outlined forms of the men who rested on their horses. Like

"Each goes his way," he declared. "Each stays in his own place. No one can know our scheme not even "

His voice broke off; then continued in a reminiscent tone, tinged with a gruff chuckle.

"When I make plans," he said, "I plan big. I left New York because I was up against the only man big enough

to lick me. I say a man, but he is more than that he is The Shadow. Every crook that has tried to cross The

Shadow has lost out. The payoff has been death. We got away alive from Zeltapec. No one gets away alive

"I was up against The Shadow; but I had time to get away before he spotted me. I saw what was coming;

that's why I scrammed. You fellows may think New York is big; but you're wrong. I was afraid to go back

"But now, it's different. I've got nothing to fear in New York. The Shadow can't spot me now. I'm beyond his

reach. He thinks that he can cope with crime. We'll show him crime that he can't touch! When we are ready,

The horizon was glowing pink. The leader stared toward the east and waved his hand in warning gesture. It

was the signal for the parting. The others understood. Here, in the United States, by light of day, they were

FIVE men spoke to their horses. One by one, they pulled away, each heading in a different direction. The

leader alone remained. He watched the departing figures until they became tiny specks in the distance.

Now, in the glow of early morn, the one man lifted the reins of his horse. He had sent five men upon their

missions. He was the sixth alone and unperturbed. His face was visible in the rising light. That countenance

was as impassive as a molded cast. Only the lips moved as their owner sat in thought.

"The Shadow!" The name was uttered in a low, slow tone. "The Shadow the man who knows! This is a

scheme he does not know; one that he can never know! Let him try to meet these crimes that will end when

A coarse chuckle sounded from the spreading lips. The last of the six men slapped the reins upon the horse's

One man had schemed. He had crossed the border. He had sent others on their way. Each carried limited

wealth upon his saddle; each had, somehow, gained immunity from that suspicion which spells the end of

Five had gone; the sixth was choosing his own course. Yet, even now, his way was certain. In the months to

He was a man who had dealt in crime before; but now, within his scheming mind lay plans for supercrime.

He was ready to defy The Shadow! This band of criminals would strike no one knew when. But until they

When this crime broke forth, would The Shadow know? Could The Shadow solve this crime?

TWO men were seated in an oakpaneled study. The room was obviously a portion of a palatial home, for its

heavy furnishings, from thick rugs to massive mahogany desk and chairs, symbolized the last word in

One man, evidently a visitor, was sitting in a comfortable chair, idly smoking a cigarette. There was a certain

restlessness in his attitude, but it did not betray itself upon his face. His features bore an impassive look. In

fact, all who had ever met Earl Northrup were impressed by the singularity of his appearance.

The immobile expression of Northrup's countenance was accentuated by the characteristics of his

physiognomy. His nose was broad and his cheeks, chin, and forehead seemed to slope away in uniform

His lips were thick and heavy. His eyes had a steady stare that changed only when they sparkled. Eyes and

lips alone were the portions of Northrup's countenance that gave any evidence of emotion.

The other man the owner of this home was a dignified, elderly gentleman, with aristocratic gray hair. He

was seated at the desk, going over a stack of papers with absolute indifference to Northrup's presence. That

was the way with Anthony Hanscom. He was a business man who had become successful through

At last Hanscom glanced up, and his eyes met Northrup's. The elderly man smiled wanly. He pushed the

papers aside, and leaned back in his swivel chair. He folded his hands and rested them beneath his chin.

"You're a very patient man, Northrup," he commented. "I think you are probably the most patient man in this

part of Illinois. That's why I enjoy having you out here. Work comes first with me, and it's a pleasure to have

Northrup indulged in a slight smile. His restlessness, which had been unnoticed by Hanscom, was now gone.

He glanced idly above Hanscom's head, and gave a short grunt of surprise as he noticed a clock upon the

"Quarter of nine," he commented. "It's getting quite near train time, Mr. Hanscom."

"That's right," he remarked. "Let's see that express to Chicago stops here in Tilson at nine fifteen. It will

take us fifteen minutes to reach the station. I had no idea time had gone so rapidly. I must call my secretary at

HANSCOM rang a bell beside the desk. A quietly dressed young man entered the room. This was Carl

"It's getting late, Walton," said Hanscom. "I didn't notice the time. These bonds" he drew a package from a

desk drawer "will have to wait. I intended to go over them while you took off the numbers. I don't like to

neglect the job, especially as I will be a week in Chicago; at the same time, I ought to be on hand. Northrup

"I can come back from the station," interposed Northrup quietly. "There's no reason why Walton and I cannot

"Don't put yourself to that trouble, Northrup," responded Hanscom. "The work can wait until I come back. I'll

"Very well," declared Hanscom. "I'll leave the bonds here, Walton. You can take off the numbers while Mr.

Northrup and I are riding to the station. When you're finished, let Northrup go over the bonds when he comes

back. After that, put the bonds in the safe and lock the combination. If Northrup does not come back, lock

Carl Walton nodded and left the study. Anthony Hanscom began to make the last preparations for his

"I'll be glad to get to Chicago," asserted Hanscom. "It seems as though I am anchored in Tilson. Business is

good here; I have this beautiful home; and I should be satisfied. Nevertheless, I like the big city. I have to get

up there frequently. I don't see how you can stand it here in Tilson all the time."

"I've only lived here about eight months," responded Northrup, with a sour smile. "Maybe after a few years

"You have established yourself very nicely," said Hanscom, with an approving nod. "You have the right idea,

Northrup. If a man comes to a small city with a reasonable amount of capital, and applies himself to a stable

business, he is bound to succeed especially when he is honest and friendly, as you are. Good will means a

"I have found that to be true," answered Northrup. "I have found Tilson an exceptional town. Of course,

much of that is due to your presence here. Without Anthony Hanscom, Tilson would be merely another spot

"Becoming complimentary now, eh?" laughed Hanscom, "Well, I guess you mean it, Northrup. You have a

good business head, and I like your sincerity. Most of the people around here are limited in ideas. Well we

can have a last chat on the way to the station. I'll go along in your car with you. Sorry you aren't going to

Hanscom rang the bell; then went to the door to meet Carl Walton. The secretary was bringing Hanscom's

bag. The grayhaired man took it from him and hurriedly left, accompanied by Earl Northrup.

CARL WALTON closed the door of the study and picked up the stack of bonds. Noting the numbers, he

marked them down one by one on a sheet of paper. Walton was slow and methodical in his work. That was

Secluded here in Tilson, Hanscom, despite his wealth and numerous interests, managed to keep his affairs on

a simple, definite basis. He did not require a secretary with initiative. Hence Carl Walton had an easy task,

Walton's job involved very little responsibility. When Anthony Hanscom left Tilson, the secretary merely

handled minor affairs during the employer's absence. Walton did not even know the combination to the wall

safe in the room. It was a strong box of the latest pattern; one built to defy the most expert cracksman; yet it

Tonight was one of the few exceptions. Hanscom had conducted business involving the transfer of various

securities and had kept the bonds at home for a few days. Now, the examination of the bonds had been

postponed, and after taking off the numbers, Walton's only duty would be to put the bonds in the safe and

While Walton was completing his task, he heard the whistle of the train leaving the station for Chicago. It

reminded him that Earl Northrup had intended to return and that the bonds must be kept out in case

Walton knew little about Northrup except that he had come to Tilson several months ago, and had made a

good impression in the town as a man of means. Northrup had easily acquired the confidence of Anthony

Hanscom, and it was because of Northrup's own interest in sound investments that Hanscom had invited him

to look over the bonds. Here, in the house with Walton, the securities were safe, especially as Mosier,

When he had completed his list of numbers, Carl Walton placed the bonds in the open safe and went back to

the desk. There, he made a careful copy of the list. Pushing both papers toward the front of the desk, Walton

The secretary brought forth the securities and placed them on the desk. Northrup began to study them while

Walton strolled about the room. The secretary noted that Hanscom's friend was examining the lists that had

He picked up the pile of securities and went to the wall safe. He carried the lists of numbers with him.

Standing in front of the safe, Northrup made a motion of placing the bonds inside. He closed the door of the

Coming back to the desk, Northrup folded the lists and dropped them in the desk drawer. He picked up his

A DUBIOUS expression came over Carl Walton's face. A sudden suspicion had come to the secretary's mind

a suspicion that all was not well. He waited until Northrup had opened the door; then raised a sudden

"You should have let me put those bonds away," declared Walton. "I'm responsible for them."

"Open the safe, then," volunteered Northrup. "Look them over. I put the lists back in the desk drawer."

"I don't have the combination to the safe," objected Walton. "Mr. Hanscom told me to put the bonds away. I

Northrup laughed in an indulgent tone and shrugged his shoulders. He started through the door; then paused

"Wait a minute, Mr. Northrup!" called Walton, in a serious tone. "You may be a friend of Mr. Hanscom; but

I'm responsible for affairs around here. I don't like the way you walked in. You must have taken the liberty of

coming into the house without ringing; otherwise Mosier would have notified me that you had returned. I'm

The secretary walked to the desk and drew out the two folded papers that Northrup had placed there.

Watching Northrup, Walton unfolded the papers and looked at them. They were blank!

The truth struck home to Carl Walton. He knew the game now. Those bonds were not in the safe; they were

in Northrup's pocket. So were the lists of numbers. Earl Northrup had deliberately stolen Anthony Hanscom's

bonds securities worth a quarter of a million and had ingeniously substituted blank sheets of paper for the

"You can't get away with this!" cried Walton hoarsely. "You've got those bonds, Northrup, and the lists, too!

An evil scowl showed on Northrup's puffy lips. By the action, the crook virtually confessed his guilt to Carl

Walton. The secretary sprang across the room and seized Northrup by the shoulder.

In reply, Northrup hurled the secretary halfway across the room. Walton plunged into the desk and caught

But as he stared into the desk drawer, Walton saw the object that he needed. This was a revolver that

Walton knew that the gun was loaded. He grasped it and swung toward Earl Northrup, holding the weapon in

Carl Walton never realized that in this action he had openly betrayed his intentions to the watchful man

beside the door. Before Walton had a chance to aim the revolver, Earl Northrup was upon him. With a quick

motion, Northrup seized the secretary's wrist and twisted the revolver from the hand that held it.

Walton struggled fiercely. Northrup, his evil lips grinning, met the secretary's attack. Warding off Walton's

gripping hands, Northrup made a vicious swing with the revolver and struck a glancing blow beside Walton's

Northrup's gloating ended suddenly. With a quick turn, the man faced the door, just in time to meet Mosier.

Hanscom's butler had heard the altercation. He had come upstairs. He had seen Northrup strike down the

Now, a new struggle was coming, and this time Northrup had no weakling as an adversary. Mosier, two

hundred pounds in weight and six feet tall, was a powerful antagonist. His face was grim as he hurled himself

Northrup did not hesitate. He fired pointblank at Mosier's heart. The bullet reached its mark. Earl Northrup

stepped calmly aside as Mosier's heavy form plunged forward and fell face downward on the floor. The

butler's outstretched hands were within a foot of Carl Walton's motionless body.

There was no delay in Northrup's next action. The murderer leaned over Walton and laughed as he carefully

wiped the handle of the revolver and placed it in the secretary's grip. The gun slipped from Walton's nerveless

fingers, and dropped to the floor. Then the secretary's hand moved feebly. Earl Northrup grinned as he saw

Rising, Earl Northrup walked swiftly to the door of the room. He descended the stairs, found a darkened

doorway in the rear hall, and stepped out into the night. The sound of distant shouts could be heard.

UP in the room where Mosier lay dead, Carl Walton was slowly opening his eyes. The secretary rubbed the

side of his head in dazed fashion; then a bewildered look appeared upon Walton's face as he saw the dead

Walton could not understand. He recalled that Earl Northrup had been here; that was all. He was thinking

vaguely of the bonds. What was Mosier's connection? The butler had not been here.

In the midst of these reflections, Carl Walton saw the revolver beside him. He picked up the weapon and

looked at Mosier. For the first time, Walton realized what had happened. Mosier was dead slain with this

Earl Northrup! He was the murderer! Grasping the desk with one hand, Carl Walton rose unsteadily and

wavered there, near the center of the room. His eyes stared about, noting that the room was empty. His ears

Then came footsteps on the stairs. Walton looked up to see two uniformed men rushing into the room. As he

tried to steady himself with his hand upon the desk, Walton pointed to the body that lay upon the floor, using

"Northrup killed Mosier!" he gasped. "Northrup Earl Northrup after he stole the bonds he killed

CARL WALTON was sitting in a chair in the corner of Anthony Hanscom's study. Mosier's body still lay

upon the floor. Two uniformed policemen and a physician were in the room; beside them was a sternfaced

man in a lightgray business suit. This was Police Chief Culver, who headed Tilson's small but efficient

Carl Walton still wore a halfdazed expression. He was staring blankly at the wall ahead. He had told his

story to Chief Culver, and the chief had immediately issued important orders. Now, as Walton rubbed his

forehead and lost some of his bewilderment, Culver came over to the corner and sat down in front of him.

"Let's go over this again, Walton," requested Culver quietly. "You say Earl Northrup left here about ten

"About quarter of ten," answered Walton. "He said he might be coming back and I was waiting for him."

"He said he was putting them in there. He closed the safe and locked it. But I didn't think he put the bonds

Chief Culver was artfully turning this resume into a statement on the part of Walton. The chief was moving

"Then," declared Walton, staring straight ahead, "I told Northrup I suspected him of stealing the bonds. I

pulled the revolver from the desk drawer to make him wait until I called for help. He took it from me and hit

me here" the secretary rubbed the side of his head "and and that was all I knew until I came to and saw

"Yes, sir, Northrup took him to the station, like I told you. They went out together."

"Very good," asserted Culver. "Well, we'll have Mr. Hanscom with us soon. We phoned ahead to

Grahamstown to have him leave the train and come back. He's less than an hour out from Tilson."

LOOKING toward the door, Culver saw a man in plain clothes enter the room. The police chief walked over

"At the station!" Culver's echo was a puzzled one. "I can't figure why he would have gone back there. The

"There was no one at the station," said the man in plain clothes. "The ticket office closes at nine thirty, you

"Hmmm," said Culver thoughtfully. "Then Northrup must have gotten someone to drive him back. I can't

"Seems rather queer to me," responded the plainclothes man. "If I could have located the agent, I might

"Here's Walton's story," remarked Culver, going over the details that impressed him. "Northrup expected to

come back, and he came back. He knocked out Walton and evidently made a getaway. Now if he came in

another car beside his own, he may have had an accomplice or he may have had a second car parked at the

"The question is whether or not those bonds are in the safe," continued Culver. "We'll find that out when

Hanscom gets here. As it now stands, all the evidence we've got is that Mosier was dead, and Walton was

"Yes, but that could be a fake. For that matter, Mosier might have cracked him, but not enough to have kept

Walton from shooting. No, the bonds are the important matter. I'll tell you why. If they're gone, there's a third

"Maybe," said the police chief cryptically. "That's what Walton says, and that's why we've got to find

Culver glanced at his watch and strode nervously up and down the floor. He stopped his pacing and turned to

"Wait until Hanscom gets here," he said. "Then we'll know more than we do now. He ought to be here at any

As the police chief finished his statement, a man appeared at the door of the room. He was a wanfaced

"Ah!" exclaimed the chief. "You're the man I want! Did you see Earl Northrup down at the station with

"They came into the ticket office," he declared. "Mr. Hanscom bought a ticket for Chicago. Then Northrup

"Wait!" Culver's exclamation was an excited one. "Here's Hanscom now and there's Northrup with him!"

The words were true. Anthony Hanscom and Earl Northrup had come up the stairs together. Hanscom was

staring at the body of Mosier. Northrup's odd features were impassive, but the lips were puckered in a

Chief Culver did not know what to make of the double arrival. He glanced from one man to the other; then

"Please open the safe at once," requested Culver. "We're worried about your bonds, Mr. Hanscom."

WITHOUT a word, Hanscom went to the safe and turned the dials. The door swung back. Hanscom gasped.

"They're gone," said the police chief solemnly, "and the man who's got them either killed Mosier or knows

Culver swung toward the door. Earl Northrup's lips were opened in amazement. He did not seem to

"How did you get back here?" demanded Culver. "Why did you attack Walton and kill Mosier? What have

Before Northrup could respond, Anthony Hanscom intervened. The grayhaired man thrust himself in front

"What do you mean?" he demanded. "This is preposterous! What do you mean by questioning Earl Northrup,

Culver was taken aback. He could not understand the cause of Hanscom's sudden wrath. Then he realized that

"I'm going by what Carl Walton told us," he explained. "He said that Northrup was to come back here; that he

Striding across the room, Hanscom glowered at his secretary. Walton, bewildered, shrank away from the

accusation that he saw in his employer's eyes. Hanscom cast a withering glance; then pointed toward Walton.

"There is the culprit, Chief Culver," he declared. "His story is a deliberate lie. He has hung himself in his own

"He expected Earl Northrup back here. But Earl Northrup did not come back. When we reached the station,

Northrup decided to go to Chicago with me. He left his car parked by the station. He got off the train with me

at Grahamstown. He has been with me every minute since ten past nine the time we left this house!"

Culver was too astonished to reply. He looked at Hanscom; then at Northrup; finally at the station agent. This

"I was just going to tell you about it, chief," declared the agent. "When Mr. Hanscom bought his ticket to

Chicago, Mr. Northrup decided to go along, too. He asked me if his car would be safe outside the station. I

told him it would be. So I sold him a ticket, too, and I saw him get on the train with Mr. Hanscom "

Chief Culver waited no longer. He sprang across the room and grabbed Carl Walton by the shoulders. He

"Answer up!" he exclaimed. "What do you know about this? Was Earl Northrup back here?"

Carl Walton was totally bewildered by the statements that he had heard. He tried to rub his head as he feebly

"I I" Walton's words were confused "I thought I saw Northrup come in here like I like I told you. I

I got hit on the head, you know and and maybe I don't remember things just like they happened "

Police Chief Culver beckoned to an officer. He pointed to Walton's huddled form in the chair.

"No no" Walton's protesting voice became a scream "no no you can't take me! I didn't shoot

"Yes?" mocked Culver grimly. "You found it in the desk drawer, according to your last statement."

The policemen were dragging Walton away. Culver watched them go. Then he turned to Hanscom. He spoke

"Walton didn't fool us," declared Culver calmly. "I figured his story was bad, all along. But he talked about

those bonds and I knew that if they were gone, there must be a third man. The question was whether

"Maybe Carl Walton killed Mosier. Maybe the other man did. We have the circumstantial evidence on

Walton all we needed was to find something fishy in his story. We've got it now, because he slipped when

"Driving alone in his car whether he was coming here or not Northrup would have been up against it for

an alibi. But this trip to Chicago makes it great. Walton's goose is cooked now. We'll grill him for all he

"Too bad about the bonds, Mr. Hanscom," he added, "We'll do all we can to get them back. Give us a chance

Men were removing Mosier's body. The police chief followed them. The room emptied. Only Earl Northrup,

Anthony Hanscom slumped in the chair by the desk. He mopped his forehead; then regained his composure

"It may be a big financial loss to me," declared Hanscom, "but those bonds weren't all I have in the world. I'd

rather lose four times their value than see a real friend like you suffer through the false accusations of a

"I never trusted Walton very far, Northrup. I didn't think he was crooked, but I never considered him reliable.

"There's someone else in this someone bigger than Walton. Some real crook was after those bonds, and he

Hanscom was staring straight across the room. He did not see the twisted smile upon Northrup's lips. When

Hanscom did glance toward his friend, the smile was gone. An impassive expression had replaced the one of

IT was after midnight when Police Chief Culver returned to find Anthony Hanscom and Earl Northrup still

together. He reported that Carl Walton had collapsed under the strain of a continued grilling; that the

secretary's story had become confused, although he still adhered to the impossible idea that Earl Northrup

Northrup left a short while later, and the police chief lingered long enough to add a few remarks to Anthony

"We'll get the truth out of Walton," declared Chief Culver. "He played a good bet when he tried to lay it on

Northrup, but he lost the gamble. The fact that Northrup was with you cleared Northrup himself; but there's

"Any plea of mistaken identity on Carl Walton's part," responded Culver wisely. "The only way he has tried

to meet the facts is by saying that he thought the man who came in was Earl Northrup. That doesn't go with

"Take a look at your friend Northrup. He's an oddlooking fellow, with that flat, solid face of his. I've seen

plenty of types of faces but never one that could match Northrup's. That was where Walton played a clever

card. He knew that unless Northrup had an alibi which Walton thought was impossible we would believe

"Earl Northrup? You could spot that fellow out of a million. I don't believe there's another man in the whole

"I think you are right," agreed Hanscom. "I am glad Northrup was with me tonight. I agree with you that there

Chief Culver and Anthony Hanscom were wrong in their assumptions. At that very moment, a man was

boarding an eastbound limited at a junction point more than a hundred miles from Tilson. The man's face was

obscure in the darkness of the vestibule. His eyes were turned away as he handed the conductor a ticket that

But when this individual was safely behind the closed door of the compartment which he had taken for the

Immobile features steady, staring eyes lips with a twisted evil smile all were the characteristics of Earl

IN Barmouth, Maryland, the First National Bank was an imposing edifice that stood on one of the principal

streets of the town. Its effective architecture was enhanced by the low row of shade trees that ran along a little

There were entrances from both the principal street and the little lane; but it was seldom that depositors

entered by the side door of the bank. Most persons preferred to come in from the business street, passing by

the office where Gorgas Talmadge, the staid old bank president, spent quiet hours in solemn dignity.

Today, Gorgas Talmadge was seated at a desk which bore high stacks of paper currency. Two men were in

the office with him when he summoned Sherman Brooks, the cashier. Talmadge indicated the money with a

"There are the civic relief funds, Mr. Brooks," stated Talmadge. "I am placing them in your charge. Two

"You understand," continued Talmadge, "that the money is to be delivered only to Harold Thurber, the

chairman of the Civic Relief Committee. He will call for the cash today. Place it in the vault until he arrives."

Sherman Brooks signified that he understood the arrangement. The money was gathered, and the two guards

accompanied the cashier to the vault at the back of the bank. Brooks put the cash away and went to his office.

The room was an isolated spot between the vault and the side entrance of the bank.

The fact that he was temporary custodian of nearly a quarter of a million dollars was not disturbing to

Sherman Brooks. The matter of the civic relief fund was merely a matter of routine. Talmadge's instructions

had been no more than a formality. Brooks already knew what was expected of him.

Through contributions extended over a period of six weeks, the city of Barmouth had passed its goal of two

hundred thousand dollars. The sum had been converted into cash to be distributed among the unemployed.

The Civic Relief Committee had, until recently, been a latent institution in Barmouth. Its present activity was

due entirely to the active interest of one man Harold Thurber. The drive for civic relief funds had begun

when Thurber, a newcomer to Barmouth, had urged the local business men to support the movement.

Thurber, himself, had made the first contribution, several months after he had opened a small business in the

town. His example had stimulated a flood of contributions, and Thurber, because of his activity, had been

When the final mark had been passed, Thurber had announced that on a set date today he and the other

members of the committee would disburse the funds in cash. All arrangements had been made for Thurber to

IT was a custom with Sherman Brooks to leave the bank at two o'clock on Wednesday afternoon, to catch a

train for Baltimore. Today was Wednesday, and the cashier was a trifle disgruntled because of this special

duty. There was no telling when Thurber would arrive; it was probable that Brooks would have to wait for the

Stepping from his office door, Brooks noted that the clock registered ten minutes of two. He shrugged his

shoulders and returned to the office. There was no way of hurrying matters. Brooks had not dared to suggest

to Gorgas Talmadge that someone else take charge of the relief fund. The cashier's job had, for many months,

been of a doubtful status. It was a known fact in Barmouth that certain directors of the First National Bank

were dissatisfied with the cashier, and Brooks was using the utmost discretion in his actions.

At the same time, Brooks had frequently expressed his feelings to certain men whom he judged as friends.

They knew that if opportunity should present itself, the cashier of the First National Bank would gladly leave

Barmouth and seek employment elsewhere. Brooks had conducted negotiations with banks in other parts of

Maryland; and today, his thoughts turned to his constant desire to locate in another town.

While the cashier was speculating thus, the door of the secluded office opened, and Brooks looked up to see

Harold Thurber enter. The chairman of the Civic Relief Committee closed the door behind him and

"I have come for the relief funds," stated Thurber quietly. "They are in your charge, are they not, Mr.

"Can you get them for me immediately?" asked Thurber. "They are needed now. We are ready for the

Brooks nodded as he rose from his desk. Thurber was standing by the desk, a faint, friendly smile upon his

impassive features. Brooks left the office and went directly to the vault. He returned, bringing the money with

Thurber produced a portfolio, and the cash was placed within it. The head of the Relief Committee motioned

"Others are meeting me outside," he remarked. "We decided that it would be best to receive the funds in an

unpretentious manner. The less time we spend in the transaction, the better it will be."

"That suits me," observed Brooks. "I'm going down to Baltimore, as usual, and I'll just have time to make the

"That reminds me" Thurber's voice became confidential "that I have a suggestion for you, Brooks. It

"When you arrive in Baltimore," said Thurber softly, "take a train on to Westgate. Inquire there for Mr. Philip

Garmon. He is interested in the forming of a new bank and he wants an experienced cashier."

Thurber nodded as Brooks repeated the instructions. He calmly took the portfolio from the cashier's hands.

"Suppose I step in and speak to Mr. Talmadge," suggested Thurber, in a friendly voice. "I can give him a

receipt for these funds; and tell him that I thought it best to talk with him. That will give you a chance to

make your train, Brooks and be sure to mention my name to Garmon. The job is there and the salary will

Thurber's persuasive tone was effective. Brooks knew Thurber well, and the two had frequently held

confidential talks. Of all his friends in Barmouth, Brooks felt that Thurber was the best. Nodding, the cashier

reached beneath his desk and took out a small traveling bag that he had in readiness.

"I'll speak to Mr. Talmadge," declared Thurber. "I told the others to drive around to the front of the bank,

after I dropped off at the side entrance. I think that you can make your train."

Brooks nodded and hurried from the office, after a quick handclasp. He went through the side door, because

No one was in sight, and Brooks quickened his pace, confident that he could catch his train with ease. He felt

a warmth of gratitude toward Thurber for the man's friendly cooperation. Thurber was a fine fellow; he was

in Talmadge's office now, finishing the negotiations. More than that, he had given Brooks the lead he wanted

IT was with satisfaction that Sherman Brooks looked back upon the past. He was glad that he had a friend

like Harold Thurber, a man whom he had taken into his confidence. Personal influence, Brooks decided, was

the one way to get ahead in life. It was good to have a man like Thurber working in one's interest.

Back in the First National Bank, however, the actions of Harold Thurber were developing in a manner quite

When the cashier had left, Thurber had been standing in the door of the office, about to go to see Gorgas

Talmadge. But from the moment that Brooks had left the office and turned into the hallway which led to the

Instead, the chairman of the Relief Committee had actually withdrawn into the seclusion of the cashier's

office. He was standing there now, calmly waiting for some unknown purpose. In one hand, Thurber held the

Five minutes passed. Thurber replaced the watch in his pocket. He stared directly ahead, and his eyes

sparkled cunningly. His oddly molded face was expressionless, save for the lips. Upon them appeared a

Harold Thurber opened the door of the cashier's office. He glanced cautiously beyond. Seeing no one, he

walked softly toward the side door of the bank. There he descended the steps and gazed out into the quiet

Instead of returning into the bank to pay a visit to Talmadge's office, Thurber walked deliberately down the

street for a short distance. He turned abruptly, and cut between a high hedge and a deserted house. He arrived

With the twisted smile still emblazoned on his gloating lips, Harold Thurber placed the portfolio within the

coupe, and took the driver's seat. He backed his car from the drive, and headed along a narrow lane that led

With calm demeanor and perfect calculation, Harold Thurber had received a fortune in cash. He had acted

without haste; and no one had seen him enter or leave the First National Bank. Sherman Brooks, lulled by

The money had reached the hands of the man for whom it was intended so Sherman Brooks believed. The

entire transaction had excited no suspicion in the cashier's mind. Only two men knew what had happened in

the ten minutes preceding two o'clock. One was Sherman Brooks, now traveling in the train to Baltimore; the

other was a calmfaced man driving a coupe swiftly along a deserted Maryland road.

The events that had followed after Brooks had left the bank were unknown to the cashier, however. The only

man who could have described them was the one in the coupe the man whose twisted smile alone betrayed

IT was nearly three o'clock when a group of men entered the office of President Gorgas Talmadge, in the

First National Bank of Barmouth. The old gentleman rose to greet them. He singled out the one whom he

"Good afternoon, Mr. Thurber," said Talmadge. "We have been expecting you. The funds are ready. Mr.

The group followed the old bank president as he led the way. Thurber was speaking to Talmadge.

"We've been in conference all day," he remarked. "So many details to attend to, we left the money until the

last minute. Then, when I saw it was close to three o'clock, we hurried over here."

"Quite all right, Mr. Thurber," responded Talmadge. "I told Mr. Brooks to wait until you arrived. It would not

Talmadge had reached the door of the cashier's office. He called to Brooks as he opened the door. He was

An annoyed expression appeared upon Talmadge's face. He had expected the cashier to be here. Instead,

Brooks was missing. Waving his scrawny hand, Talmadge indicated chairs to the committeemen. He left the

It was three minutes afterward when Talmadge returned, accompanied by two tellers. He was talking in an

"I can't find the cashier!" he exclaimed. "He had no right to step out. He knew my instructions. I am sorry to

delay you, gentlemen. This is gross negligence on the part of Mr. Brooks. He shall answer for it!"

"No," responded Talmadge, "but that is no excuse for him. He has been negligent with other duties; and this

was too important a matter. However, I shall not delay you, gentlemen. The funds are in the vault, and I shall

One of the tellers followed the old bank president. Talmadge's destination was the vault. He was gone for five

minutes. Then he returned abruptly to face the men in the cashier's office. Talmadge's countenance was

ashen. Davis, standing behind Talmadge, reflected the bank president's expression.

"The relief funds!" gasped the president. "I I cannot find them! They are not in the vault!"

A curious smile flickered upon Thurber's lips. It spread into the beginning of an ugly leer; then it stopped

"I must find Brooks!" cried Talmadge. "I must find him! He had the money he was to place it in the vault

The bank president paused, a look of consternation upon his wizened face. His own words frightened him. He

tried to show signs of composure; then failed. The thoughts that were in his mind could not be withheld.

"Has Brooks gone?" he questioned, suddenly turning to the tellers. "Did you see him go out of here?"

"No, sir," answered Davis, while the second teller shook his head. "I only know that he intended to go to

Baltimore, on the two o'clock train, if possible. He had his bag under his desk to "

The members of the Civic Relief Committee were sensing the situation. One man peered beneath the desk

"Be calm now, gentlemen" Thurber's voice was solemn, as he took up the theme that all were thinking

"we must be calm. There is some mistake. Mr. Brooks is trustworthy and reliable "

The strain was too great for Gorgas Talmadge. The old man collapsed into a chair and piteously bleated the

SOLEMN nods were passing among the committeemen. All were worried. None knew what to do. Davis, the

"If Brooks has gone to Baltimore," he declared, "his train is just about there. He might be intercepted at the

The suggestion brought approval. It was the signal for action. One of the committeemen seized the telephone

Gorgas Talmadge was in a pitiful state, now that he saw his fears being realized. Harold Thurber and the

tellers helped the old man back into his own office. It was almost half an hour before they could fully revive

him. When Thurber again joined the tense group in the cashier's office, he was met with a chorus of elation.

"They've got Brooks!" exclaimed one man. "A call just came in from Baltimore. They're bringing him here!"

"Nabbed him in the station," said another. "They were too late to catch him when he came in, but they

searched outbound trains, and found him in the smoker of one just about to leave."

"Let us hope, gentlemen," he said, "that Mr. Brooks can satisfactorily explain the disappearance of the relief

Accompanied by the committee, Thurber left the bank and went to the hotel, where the group had its

headquarters. There was need of an urgent conference. Means were proposed whereby the activities could be

postponed until the next day. This matter required considerable time. The committee had scarcely concluded

Thurber and the others hurried there. They all arrived simultaneously with Gorgas Talmadge. An officer took

"We've got the man," he said seriously. "but he didn't have the money when they picked him up in Baltimore.

He won't talk until he sees you, Mr. Talmadge. He says that he can explain. That's why we wanted you here

The old president nodded and motioned to the others to follow him. They found Sherman Brooks sitting

stolidly in the corner of a room. The cashier's eye lighted as he observed Gorgas Talmadge; then a clouded,

"Where are the city relief funds, Brooks?" questioned Talmadge. "What did you do with them?"

The cashier's features hardened. His puzzlement turned to keen antagonism, as he stared steadily at Harold

"I'll tell you what I did with the relief money, Mr. Talmadge," announced Brooks firmly. "I did exactly as you

told me. I put the money in the vault. At ten minutes of two, I gave the cash to Harold Thurber, in my office."

Talmadge stepped back in amazement. He looked at Thurber; then at Brooks. The cashier tightened his lips

"At ten minutes of two," he repeated. "That's when Mr. Thurber entered my office and told me to give him

the money. I took the funds from the vault. I gave them to Thurber. He said that he would take them into your

"Just a moment, Brooks," interposed the chief detective. "Before you go on with this, tell us why you were on

"I was going to Westgate," responded Brooks. "I wanted to see a man named Philip Garmon, a friend of

Thurber's. I was acting upon Thurber's suggestion. Garmon is opening a new bank; I thought I might get a

Brooks saw his mistake. He shrugged his shoulders and glared past the detective, toward Thurber.

"Talk to Thurber," he said. "Ask him what he did with the money. He had it the last I knew."

"Call Westgate," said the detective to one of his men. "Find out about this man Garmon. Westgate's a small

Harold Thurber shook his head sadly. He looked around the group of committeemen. He stared at Sherman

"I am sorry," he said, "that I can do nothing to substantiate what Mr. Brooks has said. By accusing me, he has

proven his own guilt. I had hoped that Brooks was not to blame; that he could have helped us in the recovery

of these funds. He states that I came into his office at ten minutes of two. That is untrue "

"You lie!" cried Brooks. "You were there, Thurber, and you know it! You knew I was taking the train at two

The words faded on the lips of Sherman Brooks. The cashier could see that no one was accepting his

statement. The members of the Civic Relief Committee were glaring at him with accusing eyes. Bewildered,

"GENTLEMEN" Thurber was turning to the members of his committee "it is evident that Brooks was not

aware of my whereabouts today. Otherwise, he would not have offered a statement that is so palpably

One of the committeemen stepped forward. Ignoring Sherman Brooks as a being beneath his contempt, he

"Our committee conference began at nine o'clock this morning," the man testified. "Mr. Thurber called the

meeting to order. He remained in charge throughout the entire morning. He lunched with us, and we were in

"I can vouch that Mr. Thurber was not out of our presence for even one minute all this day, except when he

A chorus of unanimous agreement came from the other committeemen. The chief detective turned to face

"You tried to lay it on the wrong man, Brooks," growled the detective. "You picked a bum bet. Come clean,

now. Who did you meet in Baltimore, to hand that money to? Where were you going when you were

"To Westgate," protested Brooks, bewildered. "To see Philip Garmon the man who is opening a new bank

An interruption came from the doorway. The man who had called Westgate was reporting.

"Word on Philip Garmon," he announced. "Chief of police at Westgate says that Philip Garmon has been

dead for five months. He never was connected with any banking business. He ran a small grocery store."

Sherman Brooks leaped to his feet. He hurled himself across the room, and grappled with Harold Thurber.

"You doublecrosser!" he cried. "You dirty crook! You pulled this job there in my office today "

Half a dozen men were dragging Brooks away. The cashier was screaming his defiance. His words were wild

and incoherent. The police had him in charge, roughly shoving him toward the cell room. Those who had

intervened were watching the departure. None observed the triumphant, twisted smile that appeared upon

"That finishes Brooks," announced the chief detective grimly. "We've got the goods on him. He was clever

enough to slip the dough to someone else but he never guessed that we'd have him pinched in Baltimore.

Old Gorgas Talmadge was swaying unsteadily. The scene had weakened him; but now he suddenly regained

his dignity. He walked across the room and extended his hand to Harold Thurber. The chairman of the Civic

Relief Committee accepted the clasp and placed his free hand upon the old man's shoulder.

"Our bank will stand this loss," declared Talmadge quietly. "We misplaced our confidence in an unworthy

employee. We are responsible. We shall have money on hand tomorrow for the relief fund. The loss of the

money is bad enough, Mr. Thurber but it hurts me more to hear a lying accusation directed against your

"That is all right, Mr. Talmadge," interrupted Thurber, in an even tone. "Brooks has shown his treachery. It is

better that he should have made an absurd accusation than one which might have been possible to believe. He

has shown his guilt beyond any doubt. He merely made a hopeless effort to save his worthless hide."

The members of the Relief Committee crowded about the two men now, offering their sympathy to

Talmadge, expressing their confidence in Thurber. The chief detective was letting in reporters for an

An hour afterward, Harold Thurber left the police station. His statement had been made; the members of the

Relief Committee had stood by him to a man. For the first time today, Thurber was alone and free from

A smile flickered over Harold Thurber's lips. The smile developed into an evil grin. The lips straightened

Sherman Brooks had failed in his accusation. He would remain in jail, charged with the theft of two hundred

and twenty thousand dollars. But Harold Thurber would be free, a man of honor in Barmouth, for he had

Again a crime had been carried out to perfection. The ground was well covered; the alibis were perfect. Two

But somewhere there was a being whose mind was attracted to these strange occurrences. The Shadow,

master of crime detection, whose eyes were everywhere, had seen more than was on the surface of these

A CLICK sounded amid darkness. A paleblue light appeared in midair. Its weird rays threw a lurid glow

upon the polished surface of a table. Yet within that sphere of light there was no sign of a living being.

The bluish glare seemed to fade at its outermost edges. It was a solitary gleam that was battling with

surrounding darkness that restrained the light like a living shroud. The very atmosphere betokened the

This was the single light in the sanctum of The Shadow. Somewhere in Manhattan, tucked away from the

roar and bustle of crowded New York, this spot formed the sanctuary where a master mind evolved its mighty

Of all mysterious abodes, The Shadow's sanctum was most amazing. Its very existence was not even

suspected. The Shadow, himself, was a mystery. His true identity was unknown. Yet he was recognized as a

personage of power whose strange activities were not restricted to New York alone.

It was an axiom among fiends of crime that The Shadow could be everywhere. The biggest shots of

crookdom feared The Shadow when they plotted crime. Months before, a man of evil had spoken The

Shadow's name with awe while riding northward through Mexico. That was no exception to the rule. In every

In London, in Berlin, in Madrid, crooks of all nationalities lowered their voices when they discussed The

Shadow. In Paris, skulking crooks still mumbled tales of The Shadow's prowess of that eerie night when an

unknown being in black had battled singlehanded against a horde of apaches. In Moscow, there were men

who remembered the time when The Shadow had fought himself free from a regiment of Red troops.

No one knew. Gangsters recognized him as an overpowering menace. The police of New York knew him

only as a fierce foe to crime. Studious criminologists had expressed the wellfounded opinion that The

Shadow was the single factor that prevented the balance of justice from swinging to the side of lawlessness.

When crime became rampant, then did The Shadow strike. A living being of the darkness, he came and went

Dying gangsters had expired with the name of The Shadow upon their bloodflecked lips. Hordes of

mobsmen had fallen before The Shadow's wrath. A man garbed in black, his face unseen beneath the

turneddown brim of a slouch hat that was the spectral form that gangdom called The Shadow!

HAD leaders of the underworld suspected the existence of The Shadow's sanctum, they would have spared no

effort to discover it. Often had vicious plotters sought to reach The Shadow; but they had seldom gained more

Those who had found themselves upon The Shadow's trail were no longer living to pursue their quest. Time

and again had The Shadow turned upon those who sought to kill him; and those who had encountered The

Thus, The Shadow, secret in his identity, preserved the places where he lurked. This sanctum was inviolate.

Not even the trusted men who served The Shadow knew its location. In fact, they, like The Shadow's

When the weird blue light glowed, as it was glowing now, its strange rays were seen only by The Shadow.

Into the revealing gleam came the first visible symbols of The Shadow's presence. Two long, white hands,

with tapering fingers, crept across the surface of the table beneath the light. They were like detached things,

Upon the third finger of the left hand shone a mysterious jewel. The rays that struck it from above were

reflected in a gleaming glory. At first they showed the blueness of the light that illuminated this corner of the

Its hues deepened and turned to purple. Then they acquired a crimson touch that developed into a vivid red.

This gem was unique. A rare fire opal, known as a girasol, its splendor was unmatched in all the world. That

stone was The Shadow's symbol, its everchanging shades a token of The Shadow's own prowess. For The

Shadow, when he appeared by day, could adopt disguises that deceived the most brilliant sleuths.

When the hands of The Shadow crept beneath the sanctum light, they were guided by wellformed purpose.

Tonight, they suddenly produced a long envelope. Deft fingers opened the packet. Out dropped a folded

The hands opened the paper. Hidden eyes read the coded lines that appeared in ink. As the hands still held the

sheet, the writing began to disappear. Letter by letter, all traces vanished, leaving nothing but a blank piece of

This was the method of communication that The Shadow utilized in correspondence with his agents. This

coded letter, which The Shadow read with ease, had been written with a secret ink that vanished immediately

after exposure to the air. It was a report from Rutledge Mann, a chubbyfaced investment broker whose

office in the Badger Building was a contact point wherein The Shadow's agents met for instructions.

THE white hands spread the clippings on the table. These were accounts of unusual crimes, gathered by

Mann for the inspection of The Shadow. Mann selected them in accordance with two formulas: first, those

cases in which police were baffled; second, those which possessed some twisted element of crime.

The specimens that lay before The Shadow tonight were of varied types. Long, pointing fingers swept over

the clippings, and one by one eliminated until only two remained. These, the hands placed side by side.

The item on the left told of a crime in Tilson, Illinois. The report stated that Carl Walton, secretary to

Anthony Hanscom, was under arrest for the murder of Mosier, Hanscom's secretary. It gave the details of the

bond theft, and mentioned how Walton's attempt to implicate Earl Northrup had been shattered by a perfect

The other report concerned a theft of funds from the First National Bank in Barmouth, Maryland. Sherman

Brooks, the cashier, was being held; and his futile endeavor to cast blame upon Harold Thurber, chairman of

the Civic Relief Committee, had served only to add further proof of Brooks's guilt.

Evidently, there were definite points of similarity in these cases, so far as The Shadow's observations were

concerned. Rutledge Mann had indicated no connection. The Shadow, himself, had chosen these two reports

The hands produced a sheet of paper and laid it between the clippings. A pen appeared, and the hand of The

The freshly written statements told their own story. Despite the differing circumstances, the essential details

of these two cases were identical. In widely separated parts of the country, the same crime had occurred

Some one had been after wealth. Valuable spoils had been captured. One man was implicated. He had

accused another. The accusation had been discountenanced because of a complete alibi. Such was the

Could two such incidents, gleaned from local newspapers, have been mere coincidence?

The writing was fading from the paper; but the effect of The Shadow's thoughts still remained. Those

In Tilson, Carl Walton lay in prison, charged with a crime which he had futilely blamed upon Earl Northrup.

In Barmouth, Sherman Brooks was in jail, hopelessly declaring that Harold Thurber was the culprit.

Each case was of importance locally; but it was highly improbable that either had attracted attention in the

other town. It had remained for The Shadow, in New York, to grasp the duplicated facts.

A low, weird laugh echoed through the spectral gloom. The laugh of The Shadow! That ghostly utterance was

THE white hands became restless. The left, with its sparkling girasol, held a sheet of paper upon which the

As the blue ink dried, the hands dropped the first clipping from Tilson in the center of the message, and

The hands were busy again. They were supplying a code message to another sheet of paper. The second

clipping of the Barmouth theft was folded within the second note. Upon the envelope, The Shadow

Both Harry Vincent and Clyde Burke were agents of The Shadow. They were men who had served him

faithfully. Now, they were to act as his investigators. With Vincent in Tilson and Burke in Barmouth, The

Shadow could gain the further facts that he required in the campaign which he had now instituted.

Both envelopes went into a larger one. This, The Shadow addressed to Rutledge Mann, in the Badger

The light clicked out. The Shadow's sanctum was in darkness. Not even the sound of breathing disturbed the

silence; yet the air was charged with a strange hush that betokened the presence of the invisible being who

Even the silence seemed to lull as though awaiting what was to come. Then a low, whispered laugh crept

through the darkness. Its ghoulish tones crept upward to a higher pitch. They broke into a ringing peal of

The strange mirth ended abruptly; then, from the blackened walls, came answering cries. A horde of fantastic,

unseen demons might well have been concealed herein; for the returning tones were a sobbing echo that had

no human note. Those weird reverberations came in rising waves; then, gradually, they died away until only

A change had come throughout this room. No longer did it hold The Shadow's presence. In the midst of his

mighty laugh, the strange being of blankness had made a mysterious departure. He was gone, through some

secret exit, leaving fantastic echoes to cry forth the fact that he had been here.

The Shadow was gone, to meet the challenge of unsuspected crime. His mission was to bring hidden crime to

light. One man had been murdered; half a million dollars had been stolen; the crimes lay foisted upon the

What was the answer to the riddle? How could the perfect alibis be counteracted? The Shadow's task was to

learn. When The Shadow sought crime, the schemes of superminds were wont to fail!

The hand of The Shadow was reaching out to thwart crime. Two crimes had already been done. Would The

OF all the prominent men in the city of Daltona, Georgia, Cuthbert Davenport was most influential. At one

time he had controlled the manufactory which afforded employment to the greatest number of workers in the

town. Now retired, Davenport still retained realestate holdings of considerable extent, and his private

Cuthbert Davenport was a widower with two children. He had been successful in life; now, his later years

The cause of Davenport's discontent was the behavior of his son Perry, a ne'erdowell, whose waywardness

A year before, Perry Davenport had left his father's home, but had continually refused to depart from Daltona.

Perry's vices had become excesses. He was now a hopeless drunkard, and his presence in the city emphasized

To offset this misfortune, Cuthbert Davenport had gained the satisfaction of seeing his daughter happily

married. Less than a year ago shortly after Perry's actions had passed the bounds of reason Thomas

Rodan had arrived in Daltona. An enterprising man, Rodan had entered the realstate business on a moderate

scale. He had made contacts with Cuthbert Davenport, and had become a frequent visitor to the Davenport

A courtship had resulted between Rodan and Sonia Davenport, Cuthbert's only daughter. The old man had

given his consent to the marriage; the wedding had taken place after a few months; and now Tom Rodan was

Many persons wondered how Tom Rodan had managed to make such effective headway with the Davenport

family. The man was not wealthy; and he was by no means handsome. In fact, his facial characteristics were

Tom Rodan's physiognomy consisted of a somewhat flattened nose and sloping cheeks, chin, and forehead.

His expression was immobile; only his lips and eyes showed his emotions. When Rodan smiled, which was

The answer to Rodan's successful courtship was his apparent sincerity. Sonia Davenport had led an unhappy

existence since her mother's death. From Rodan, she had gained a sympathy which she had never known

Cuthbert Davenport liked Tom Rodan because the young man was the direct antithesis of Perry. Rodan was

sober, capable, and enterprising. Those three qualifications made Cuthbert Davenport appreciate him as a

TONIGHT, in the Davenport home, the father, daughter, and soninlaw were gathered in the living room;

and the topic of their conversation was Perry. The two menservants were upstairs. Family trouble was open

"That son of mine!" growled Cuthbert Davenport, as he stalked up and down the room. "He is worse than

ever before! He is living downtown in a squalid boarding house, constantly under the influence of liquor.

"It is most unfortunate," observed Rodan. "I have met Perry on various occasions, and I should like very

much to be instrumental in bringing him home. He has been very well disposed toward me; but, as you say,

There was a studied carefulness in Rodan's speech. It indicated him as a man who had gone to great pains to

improve his grammar. In fact, his tone had an aping touch that seemed an imitation of his fatherinlaw.

"I appreciate your willingness, Tom," declared Cuthbert Davenport, "but I can only repeat what I have told

you often before. A reconciliation is impossible between Perry and myself. I have disowned him absolutely.

"Dad is right, Tom," added Sonia. "When Perry comes in here, it is sure to mean trouble. He was so

threatening on one occasion that dad was forced to have him ejected. I really thought that he was going to

attack dad. That was a good many months ago, Tom but the town has not yet forgotten the incident."

"I have cut off Perry without a cent," declared Cuthbert Davenport, in a decisive tone. "All my worldly goods

will go to Sonia. Tom shall never receive a penny of my money. That is why I insisted that Sonia should

Rodan nodded thoughtfully. The arrangement had been completed a few weeks before, after Cuthbert

In fact, Tom Rodan had foreseen that this would result. He had known in his own mind that his marriage

to Sonia Davenport would put him directly in line for the Davenport estate. Nevertheless, Rodan had always

"I am sorry," remarked Rodan, in a slow, sincere tone, "that I did not know Perry before he became

uncontrolled. I would have used all my influence to have helped him. Even now, I can hardly believe that he

The doorbell rang, and Tom Rodan arose. He went into the hall and opened the front door. He ushered in two

men, and shook hands with them. These were friends whom Rodan had made during his sojourn in Daltona.

One was Glade Fitzroy, the county attorney; the other was George Seaton, the county sheriff.

"Hello, Tom," greeted Glade Fitzroy, "Where's Cuthbert? Oh, there he is, in the living room. Hello, Cuthbert.

Both of these visitors were old friends of the Davenport family. Cuthbert Davenport shook hands with the

attorney and the sheriff, and they exchanged pleasant words with Sonia. Then Tom Rodan announced that he

was going over to Fitzroy's home for a few hours. After kissing Sonia goodby, he departed with the two

SONIA DAVENPORT and her father remained in the living room. The girl did not mind her husband's

absence, because it was seldom that Tom Rodan went out in the evenings. On the rare occasions when he was

A half hour drifted by. Sonia Davenport was reading a book; her father was smoking a cigar, deeply

engrossed in thought. It was the sound of the front door opening that made them both look into the hallway.

Two men had entered the house. One was Tom Rodan; the other was the black sheep, Perry Davenport.

Trembling with suppressed anger, Cuthbert Davenport arose at sight of his son. Sonia laid a restraining hand

upon her father's arm. Tom Rodan and Perry were approaching. Rodan was supporting Perry, who was

"I saw Perry on the street," remarked Rodan, in a low voice. "I left Fitzroy's car to look out for him. He

"Wuz I on the street?" questioned Perry thickly. "Thass funny. Thought I wuz in my room. Thought you

Sonia Davenport looked wonderingly at her husband. There was something in Tom's tone that seemed

unfamiliar. He was speaking without his usual precision. Yet there was no mistaking that this was her

husband. Tom Rodan's unhandsome features were unlike those of any other man she had ever seen. Other

"Come on, Perry," said Rodan briskly. "Brace up. Here you are. Did you want to talk to your father?"

Rodan shook Perry roughly. The black sheep stared at Cuthbert Davenport. The old man's challenging

attitude awoke an instant response in the besotted son. Perry Davenport's face reddened with antagonism, as it

"Wanna talk to my father?" questioned Perry coarsely. "Course I wanna talk to him. Wanna tell him what I

think of him. Wish he never was my father thass what I wish! Says he's got no use for me, eh? Well, I've

The old man shook his fist in Perry's face. Rodan suddenly released his grip upon the son, and Perry

staggered until his hands gripped the back of a chair. Sonia Davenport was watching those two, while Tom

Perry's response was an angry thrust. He let go of the chair and precipitated himself forward. He seized his

father with one hand and tried to pummel him with the other. Cuthbert Davenport broke away and staggered

TOM RODAN was standing by the telephone table. As Perry Davenport began to cry out mad expletives,

Rodan pushed the telephone to the floor. The receiver fell off. The operator's voice could be heard buzzing

The girl leaped forward and threw her arms about Cuthbert Davenport. With one free hand, she tried to ward

off Perry's staggering advance. In her fear for her father, she had forgotten the presence of her husband.

By the telephone table, Tom Rodan had calmly drawn a revolver from his pocket. He aimed it deliberately,

but not at Perry Davenport. His objective was Cuthbert. Rodan pressed the trigger.

Sonia screamed again, as she felt her father's body fall away. Turning, she saw Tom Rodan, the smoking gun

Sonia gasped as she observed her husband's face. No longer were those features impassive. Tom Rodan's lips

Wild indignation overruled the girl's terror. Clenching her fists as she faced this hideous traitor, Sonia

Deliberately, Tom Rodan pressed the trigger of his revolver. His aim was calculated. The bullet found its

As Sonia Davenport collapsed to the floor, her brother Perry came to his senses. With a cry of madness, he

Rodan, still maintaining his evil smile, turned swiftly as he detected footsteps in the hall. A man appeared at

the door of the living room. It was Fairchild, Cuthbert Davenport's house man. Perry Davenport fell upon

Tom Rodan just as Fairchild appeared. But Perry was too late to prevent Rodan's next deed.

Coolly, Rodan fired two shots into Fairchild's body. The servant collapsed. Then Rodan sprawled upon the

floor, under Perry's plunge. Perry's attack was futile, however. With one swift motion, Rodan sent the

besotted young man rolling across the floor. Rising, Rodan looked quickly at the three persons whom he had

The way was clear for escape. Rodan gave one last glance toward Perry, who was trying to rise from the

floor. He threw the revolver against Perry's shoulder; then turned quickly and left the room. Hurrying through

the hallway, Rodan slipped out through a side door and made his exit to the darkened lawn.

A few minutes later, Billings, Cuthbert Davenport's chauffeur, arrived upon the scene. The man had been

asleep on the third floor. He saw the motionless bodies; he saw Perry on hands and knees, trying futilely to

pick up a revolver. The front door burst open, and two neighbors came dashing into the house. Billings

Seeing the arrivals, Perry Davenport clutched the revolver and stared with challenging gaze. He shouted the

"Tom Rodan!" he cried. "Where's Tom Rodan? I'll kill him, thass what I'll do! I'll kill him for this!"

Three men leaped upon Perry Davenport and bore him to the floor as he tried to rise. The revolver was

A siren sounded from the outer street. The police were coming, summoned by the telephone operator.

A group of men were in the midst of a card game at Glade Fitzroy's home. This had started immediately after

Tom Rodan picked up the pack and began to shuffle. His face was immobile a perfect poker face save for

Off in the distance, Rodan fancied that he heard the faint echoes of a shrill sound. Mentally, he pictured a

Then Rodan's thoughts reverted to the last hour. He saw himself seated with Cuthbert and Sonia Davenport;

he remembered the arrival of Seaton and Fitzroy. Then he pictured himself driving directly to Fitzroy's home,

Rodan was dealing, and he turned his shrewd gaze toward Glade Fitzroy; then glanced at George Seaton. He

had been with these men every minute since he had left his fatherinlaw's home. That fact brought secret

A telephone bell rang. Glade Fitzroy left the game to answer the call. The other men could hear his voice

"What's that?" Fitzroy was questioning. "Wait a minute wait a minute it would be better for you to talk

"Some big trouble, George," he said to Seaton. "Shooting police on the job take the phone yourself."

The sheriff went out into the hall. A tense silence came over the group. Serious crimes were not common in

The card players could hear Sheriff Seaton grunting as he listened to details over the wire. Then came a

"I'll be there" Seaton's voice was grim "yes, right away. This is terrible terrible "

The phone thumped upon a table. A few moments later, George Seaton walked into the cardroom. His face

was colorless. His friends stared at him in alarm. They knew that some terrible calamity must have occurred.

GEORGE SEATON'S eyes rested on one man Tom Rodan. Walking across the room, the sheriff extended

his hand. Rodan, staring, puzzled, accepted it. Seaton's bluff voice broke as he tried to speak.

"Brace yourself, Tom," he said. "You're going to be hit hard harder than you were ever hit before" the

sheriff's voice was choking "but I've got to tell you. It's murder, Tom, and we've got the man that did it; but

Gasps of sympathy came from the group. Tom Rodan's face never flinched. His lips were straight; his eyes

stared ahead. He still gripped the sheriff's hand, but Seaton could feel the tension of the grasp release.

The momentary pause seemed endless. Then Seaton spoke again, this time addressing the other men who

"Perry Davenport did it," he explained. "Came in there after Fitz and I had taken Tom out with us. One of the

servants was killed, too. They've got Perry drunk as usual. I've got to go over there."

Seaton released his handclasp. He turned on his heel and walked to the door. Glade Fitzroy joined him. Tom

"Wait," he said, in his slow, even tone. "I've got to go along. I can't stay here. I've got to go with you."

Walking steadily, Tom Rodan joined his two friends. A solemn trio, they left the house and entered Fitzroy's

Not a word was spoken during the ride to Cuthbert Davenport's home. The three entered the front door

wordless that door which they had left not long ago, chatting in anticipation of the evening that had lain

George Seaton glanced at Tom Rodan. The man was bearing up. The sheriff knew that his friend could meet

The three walked across the hall and stopped at the livingroom door. Police were in attendance. Solemnly,

Rodan's face remained emotionless, but both Seaton and Fitzroy could picture the mental anguish that was

The people in the room were watching them those who had come to the rescue and the police who had

arrived. The only one not watching was Perry Davenport, who was seated with bowed head. Now, the

prisoner sensed that new arrivals were here. He glanced upward. His bleary eyes sighted Tom Rodan.

BEFORE his captors could restrain him, Perry was on his feet, scrambling across the room toward his

Men were seizing him now. Despite his helplessness, Perry was still trying to struggle forward. The sight of

death had sobered him. His mind was furious, but clear. None could stop the words that he uttered.

"Let me get him! Let me get him! He did this! He is the murderer! Look at him standing there Tom Rodan

Breathing heavy gasps, Perry looked about him and saw none but antagonistic looks. His hectic rage changed

"Don't you understand?" he questioned. "Tom Rodan did this! I was in my room, when he came there. He

wanted me to come with him. He drove me along the lane out back; then he walked me to the front door. I

saw him kill! That's why he brought me here so he could kill, and place the blame on me!"

Not a believing eye met Perry's. The young man's fury returned with desperation. Breaking free from those

who held him, he plunged forward with clenched fists to attack the silent man whom he had accused.

Sheriff Seaton intervened. Stepping swiftly between Rodan and the attacker, the sheriff swung a quick

upward punch that reached Perry Davenport's jaw. Perry folded on the floor. It was a perfect knockout.

"Gentlemen," said the sheriff quietly. "I wish to make a statement to those of you who have heard this

"Tonight, Mr. Fitzroy and myself called at this house and talked with Cuthbert Davenport and his daughter

Sonia, while they were still alive. Tom Rodan was with us when we left. He has been with us every minute

since. He was playing cards with us when the news of these crimes was phoned to me.

"Tom Rodan was a real son to Cuthbert Davenport. He took the place that this scoundrel" the sheriff

indicated Perry Davenport "had failed to fill. Tom Rodan is suffering now, on account of Perry Davenport's

work. To have him accused of something he would never have done of crimes that he could not possibly

"I'm glad that I'm Tom Rodan's friend. I'm glad that Glade Fitzroy is his friend. We are both here to protect

him against a blackguard's accusations. There on the floor" Seaton shook his fist at Perry's crumpled form

"is a yellow, lying hound. He is the murderer, and his attempt to wrong an innocent man is a new proof of his

A buzz of affirmation followed the sheriff's outburst. His dynamic words had spiked the belated accusation

that Perry Davenport had made. In the eyes of all, Perry Davenport was a murderer of the worst type.

It was only the sheriff's conscientiousness of duty that made him add a short remark. Seaton could sense the

"No talk of lynch law!" he warned. "That yellow hound deserves to be strung up, but the State will take care

Rough hands dragged Perry Davenport from the room. The police arranged for the removal of the bodies.

Tom Rodan turned away and walked to another room, followed by George Seaton and Glade Fitzroy. These

two spoke a few words of consolation to their bereaved friend. Then, as Rodan sat wearily in a chair, and

As soon as the other men were gone, Tom Rodan allowed a twisted smile to curl itself upon his puffy lips.

That smile brought an expression of hideous evil to his face. Had his friends seen him at that moment, they

would have instinctively believed the accusations that Perry Davenport had uttered. For Tom Rodan's

All anguish had been feigned by Tom Rodan. His secretly concealed emotion was one of gloating triumph.

His plans had reached their culmination. Cuthbert Davenport was dead. Sonia was dead. The family wealth

The only living person who might have fought to break the wills was Perry Davenport and he was

Yet Perry Davenport was not a murderer. Tom Rodan knew that. He held the secret which none could

possibly suspect. He knew why Perry had accused him. He was triumphant because welllaid plans had

succeeded. With Fitzroy and Seaton to support him, no one could possibly implicate him with these murders.

Like other men of evil, Tom Rodan possessed a perfect alibi. The law would take its course. Perry Davenport

would pay the penalty for the murders he did not commit. In the meantime, the Davenport wealth would

Who could prevent it? Rodan's mind went back to a night when he and others had been riding northward

across a mesquitestudded plain. That night had brought the inspiration from which this plan had developed.

A name had been mentioned on that night. Somehow, the name had stuck in the mind of the man who had

come to Daltona as Tom Rodan. He could hear the name whispered now as the leader of a band of six had

Who was he? What could he do? Nothing! No one in all the world could divine the secret which Tom Rodan

Tom Rodan still held his twisted smile as he thought of that empty name. Where hardheaded men had been

deceived, shadows could not prevail. Tom Rodan was one of six, headed by a leader who had evolved a

perfect regime of crime. All were free to act as they had individually planned. All were immune from danger.

Why worry about an unknown person called The Shadow? He The Shadow could not even begin to

Had Rodan known more, the smile of evil would have faded from his crooked lips. Already had The Shadow

suspected crime like this; another link was all The Shadow sought. The wild accusations made by Perry

Davenport might reach unlistening ears; but there was one whom destiny had provided to fathom their true

WITHIN his sanctum, The Shadow was at work. The girasol glimmered beneath the strange blue light. White

Beneath the supple fingers were report sheets from The Shadow's agents. Harry Vincent and Clyde Burke had

reached their destinations. From Tilson and Barmouth, these two capable men had sent their findings.

The written reports were negative. They had served only to substantiate opinions that existed in the towns

In Tilson, Illinois, no one held any doubt regarding the high reputation of Earl Northrup. The man had been

vindicated by his alibi. Carl Walton was to be prosecuted for the murder of Mosier, the servant, and he was

The same situation existed in Barmouth, Maryland. There, the status of Harold Thurber, chairman of the

Civic Relief Committee, was higher than ever. His friends had laughed at the ridiculous charge that he was

All were positive that Sherman Brooks was the real culprit. The cashier had been caught in flight. He had

made a wild accusation that had only served to prove his guilt. His case was being scheduled for court, and

there could be no doubt as to the outcome. Sherman Brooks was unanimously classed as guilty.

An identity between the reports of The Shadow's agents was apparent. Since the Tilson and Barmouth crimes,

both Earl Northrup and Harold Thurber had led serene, unruffled lives. They had gone about their usual

affairs with no thought of the past. Neither one had moved from his own town. They were free from

There was nothing to show that either Northrup or Thurber could have had contact with each other. In fact, all

evidence pointed the other way. These men seemed content to remain within the sphere of their own

One coincidence was manifest, however. Vincent's report of Northrup, when compared with Burke's account

of Thurber, showed that each man had come to his respective town on approximately the same date, nearly

IN preparing their reports, both Vincent and Burke had encountered a certain difficulty. When Vincent had

sought for a photograph of Northrup, he had been unable to locate one. In the same way, Burke, looking for a

Both agents had persisted. Vincent had visited a local photographer, and had, through artifice, gained access

to a batch of photographs taken in different parts of the town of Tilson. Among these was the picture of a

group gathered in front of Anthony Hanscom's home. One of the men in the group was Earl Northrup.

Burke, visiting the local newspaper in Barmouth, had presented himself as a New York newspaperman

interested in the Civic Relief Committee and its work. The newspaper had no photograph of the committee;

but they referred Burke to a printer who had prepared a pamphlet, outlining the purpose of the relief fund.

Obtaining a copy of the little pamphlet, Burke had discovered that it contained a picture of the Relief

On The Shadow's table rested the two pictures. Vincent had indicated Northrup; Burke had marked an arrow

pointing to Thurber. A pair of tiny scissors gleamed as The Shadow cut out the separate photographs and

placed the pictures of Northrup and Thurber side by side upon a sheet of white paper.

Now the hands of The Shadow held a magnifying glass. Beneath its powerful lens, the photographs were

enlarged so that eyes from the dark could compare them. A short laugh came from the gloom beyond the blue

The features of Earl Northrup and Harold Thurber were identical! From flat nose to sloping chin, cheeks and

forehead, each was a counterpart of the other! It was remarkable that two such men should look exactly alike;

it was more remarkable that each should be a man who could boast a perfect alibi!

Here was an answer to crime. Was it possible that Earl Northrup and Harold Thurber had worked together,

A skilled sleuth, with this evidence before him, would have leaped easily to such a conclusion. Yet The

His keen mind was considering the time element. Between the bond robbery and the bank theft, there had

been sufficient time for two such men to have traveled from Illinois to Maryland. Yet there was a reason why

That reason lay in the report from Harry Vincent. It stated clearly that Earl Northrup had made no move from

It was true that Vincent had not arrived in Tilson until after crime had struck in Barmouth; yet Vincent's

inquiry had been a careful one, and he would surely have learned if Northrup had taken a sudden trip

It was obvious that Northrup had stayed close to base a sure protection for his alibi. So far as these two men

were involved, the only point against them was their identity of appearance. That could not suffice as

The Shadow's hands pushed the photographs aside. They remained motionless, as though the brain that

controlled them was perplexed. Then the hands produced a large envelope, opened it, and dropped out a

With keen fingers, The Shadow went through the clippings. There was a certain conviction about The

Shadow's touch, as though he expected his probing fingers to find a slip that he required.

At last, the hands became motionless. A piece of newspaper dropped upon the table. The eyes of The Shadow

Crime had come to the peaceful town of Daltona, Georgia. There, the newspaper report stated, Perry

Davenport, disinherited son of Cuthbert Davenport, had slain his father, his sister, and a servant. The

surviving member of the Davenport family was Tom Rodan, soninlaw of Cuthbert Davenport.

News of the murders had been brought to Rodan at the home of Sheriff George Seaton. He had gone to the

The report added that Perry Davenport had been under the influence of liquor, and that his useless accusation

had been immediately disproven by reliable witnesses who testified that Rodan had been in their company.

The laugh of The Shadow sounded low amid the gloom of the silent sanctum. In this single report, chosen

with keen decision, The Shadow had found a clew that he desired. His hand was active now. It was inscribing

The hand of The Shadow paused. Beneath the list, it added an interrogation point. Its significance was plain.

The symbol indicated that the trail did not end here; that others might well be involved in this strange course

Now the hand was drawing lines, one from each name, and one from the interrogation point beneath the list.

These lines converged to the right of the list. They formed a circle, and in the sphere The Shadow inscribed

WITH keen intuition, The Shadow had traced the probable procedure that had aided the operations of the

men involved in crime. Earl Northrup, Harold Thurber, and Thomas Rodan were fixtures each a man

established in a small community. The question mark beneath their names indicated that there might be more

But with such men as fixtures, how could the crimes be staged? The question mark at the right was the

answer. It indicated the possibility of another criminal a wandering fiend engaged in a round robin of

That was something to be learned. If The Shadow's suspicions were correct, Thomas Rodan, of Daltona,

The writing had disappeared from the sheet of paper. Only blankness challenged The Shadow now. Long

silence followed while the hands were resting. Then came a laugh as the hands withdrew into darkness. Out

The solemn, echoing mirth of The Shadow swept through the sanctum, presaging his departure. The silence

Later that night, a monoplane took off from an airport in New Jersey. Thrumming its way southward, the

huge, manmade bird swept swiftly across the moonlit countryside. Flying low, the plane's wings cast a

That shadow symbolized the identity of the man who piloted the ship. The Shadow was headed for Daltona!

ON the following morning, a gentleman entered the lobby of the Southern Hotel in Daltona, and approached

the desk to register. The clerk noted the name that he inscribed. It was that of Lamont Cranston, from New

After instructing the bell boy to carry the guest's luggage to his room, the clerk happened to glance up. Then,

Lamont Cranston's face was a study in impassiveness. It was a firm, chiseled countenance from which two

eyes shone with burning gaze. As those eyes turned upon the clerk behind the desk, their steadiness seemed

to fade. Nevertheless, the clerk experienced a peculiar magnetic attraction gripping him. It was as if he had

been caught by some mysterious power, whose force had been purposely lessened by the man who controlled

Blinking, the clerk watched Cranston pass across the lobby. He marveled at the bearing of this mysterious

guest. Tall, almost motionless in stride, Cranston formed a strange figure as he walked toward the elevator.

When he had entered the lighted lift, the clerk still stared toward him; then, suddenly, the man behind the

desk found his gaze moving toward the floor. There, projecting from the doorway of the elevator, the clerk

saw a most singular shadow. A long, grotesque blotch of black, its presence seemed uncanny. Glancing

upward, the clerk caught a last glimpse of Cranston's burning, hawklike eyes. Then the door was shut, and the

There was a reason for this amazement on the part of the observant clerk in the Southern Hotel. In viewing

this man who called himself Lamont Cranston, he had encountered the personality of another personage. He

In his hotel room, Lamont Cranston walked to the window and stared forth over the city of Daltona. He had

come here on a definite mission the tracing of Thomas Rodan. So far, there was no conclusive connection

between Rodan and such men as Earl Northrup and Harold Thurber; nevertheless, this man, known as

Lamont Cranston otherwise The Shadow had come to test the truth of his own keen intuition.

Lamont Cranston's first action was to consult the local telephone book. There he discovered the name of

Thomas Rodan, listed as a realtor. Cranston laughed softly as he picked up the telephone, and called the

He was informed by the girl who answered that Mr. Rodan had not yet come to the office; but that he was

expected before noon. Cranston gave his name, and announced that he had important business to discuss with

"Mr. Rodan can find me at the Southern Hotel," was Cranston's final statement. "I shall be in the lobby."

IT was shortly after twelve when Tom Rodan walked hurriedly into the hotel and approached the desk. He

inquired for Mr. Cranston. The clerk pointed out a gentleman seated by the window, whose face was turned

toward the street. Rodan, evidently curious as to the identity of the visitor, approached.

The man arose and turned. Rodan shrank momentarily as he caught the glare of burning eyes. Then his

"I am Mr. Cranston," he said, in a deliberate, even voice. "I presume that you are Mr. Rodan?"

"Suppose we lunch together, Mr. Rodan? I have some important matters to discuss with you involving real

For a moment, Rodan was on the point of claiming that he had another appointment; but there was something

Never, in all his life, had Rodan seen a man who impressed him as did Cranston. The persuasive words, the

firm face, and, moreover, the strange, hypnotic eyes, brooked no refusal of the invitation.

Inwardly, Tom Rodan was ill at ease. With that feeling, he had a definite urge to learn more concerning this

Who was this man who had suddenly appeared from New York, with some important business to discuss?

The two entered the dining room of the hotel. Rodan faced Cranston across a small table. Both men were

impassive and expressionless; but where Rodan's mind was filled with wonder, Cranston's contained the

For in the odd features of Thomas Rodan, Lamont Cranston saw the identical characteristics that had marked

Here, staring toward him, was the third man in a chain of those who looked alike, and whose recent histories

Amazing and fantastic though the situation was, Lamont Cranston betrayed none of the thoughts that were in

his mind. Instead, he calmly turned the talk to the proposed purchasing of land in the vicinity of Daltona.

It developed that Lamont Cranston was a man of great wealth; that he had decided to invest in real estate; that

through some source Cranston could not recall the exact circumstances he had been advised to consult

In all this discussion, Lamont Cranston failed to display any knowledge whatever of the unfortunate events

which had so recently entered Rodan's career. Coming from New York, a total stranger in Daltona, it was

only natural that Cranston should know nothing of the murders which had been committed in the Davenport

THE fact that the deaths of his wife and fatherinlaw were important in Rodan's mind was evidenced by the

man himself. Shrewdly, Rodan suspected some connection between Cranston's presence and the deaths. He

Cranston had reached the point of expressing a readiness to buy subdivision properties on the outskirts of

"I should like to do business with you, Mr. Cranston," he remarked. "However, I have been in a very troubled

state of mind recently. I had the misfortune of losing both my wife and fatherinlaw and through a most

Rodan was looking directly at Cranston as he spoke. His words were carefully phrased and well chosen.

Rodan was watching Cranston's eyes; but he could trace no change in them. Yet, when Cranston responded

"My sympathy," said Cranston, "is always extended to those who have suffered the loss of those who are dear

The tone was sincere, but the impersonal phraseology offset it. The words could be interpreted so they did not

Thus, by action, Cranston had given no indication that could arouse Rodan's suspicion; while by word, he had

As a result, Rodan made another shift of decision. He had planned to postpone any pending business matters

that Cranston might propose. Now, he was desirous of continuing the battle of wits.

"Suppose that I drive you around a bit," suggested Rodan. "We can look over some desirable properties

outside of the town limits. Frankly, Mr. Cranston, I have temporarily laid business aside; but since you have

come here from New York, I feel that it would only be the part of courtesy to accommodate you."

Cranston called for the lunch check. Drawing a wallet from his pocket, he searched the interior until he

discovered a tendollar bill. Rodan, watching, noted that most of the bank notes were of fivehundred and

Outside, Rodan invited Cranston in his car, and the two visited the outskirts of Daltona. Cranston showed a

keen interest in the most desirable sites. Time and again, Rodan artfully turned the conversation toward

matters that concerned himself; but Cranston invariably avoided such subjects. It was late in the afternoon

"I am quite interested in Daltona, Mr. Rodan," said Cranston, as he alighted from the car. "In fact, I have

learned much that I wanted to find out. I intend to return to New York tonight. In fact, I shall leave before

Cranston extended his hand. He looked squarely at Rodan. It was then that Rodan again saw that peculiar

Try as he might, Rodan could not withdraw his gaze until Cranston turned and stepped away. Rodan gripped

As he neared the Davenport house, Rodan laughed nervously. He realized now that he had been undergoing a

nervous tension. He felt a marked sense of relief. But after that feeling had faded, a pronounced worry took

RODAN realized that he had been matching wits with a man of cunning. Not once had Cranston made a false

move; but he had betrayed a subtle antagonism that Rodan had detected. As a result, Rodan's worry began to

The man had stated that he was a millionaire. The money that he had so subtly exhibited was possible proof

A few months ago, Rodan would have been highly pleased to have met a prospective customer like Cranston.

Now, with the settlement of the Davenport estate pending, Rodan had no such feeling. He regarded Cranston

Here in Daltona, not one iota of suspicion remained attached to Rodan's name. Everywhere, he met with

heartfelt sympathy. It had remained for a stranger from New York to arouse Rodan's qualms.

Since the murders at the Davenport home, Rodan had lived there in seclusion. He had hired a housekeeper,

and had made a practice of dining alone. Tonight, in the large, empty dining room, Rodan found himself

Some peculiar influence controlled Rodan's mind. All his thoughts returned to those eyes that had watched

him. At times, a twisted smile began to appear upon Rodan's lips a sign of halfhearted elation because he

had been keen enough to suspect Cranston as a man who had come here with a secret purpose.

Then, the smile faded quickly as Rodan realized that his suspicions brought him nowhere.

The thought seemed ridiculous. Why should some stranger have come here to investigate a case that had been

No. To all appearances, Cranston was what he claimed to be a prospective investor in real estate.

Rodan's mind could not change from the one subject. He began to wonder if Cranston had been a creature of

his own imagination. After dinner, as he walked from the dining room, Rodan felt a strange, unaccountable

As he entered the living room, Rodan paused. He thought he heard a sound from the front door. He turned

Rodan stared into the gloomy hall. For a moment, he was on the point of probing its shadowy recesses. Then

The moment that Rodan's back was turned, something moved in the darkness of the hall. A tall, blackclad

form came into being. It materialized itself into the figure of a man a weird personage, whose sable

Two bright eyes gleamed as this mysterious visitor noiselessly crossed the hall and stationed himself outside

Tom Rodan seated himself in a chair. For a moment, he was nervous; then his evil smile appeared. A man of

iron nerve, he believed himself to be. Why should he be troubled by foolish worries?

He was ready to forget Lamont Cranston on the point of deciding that the man was merely a chance visitor

to Daltona, when something occurred that caused him to clutch the arms of his chair and stare about him in

The word came in a low, mysterious whisper. It was like the voice of conscience.

Rodan was sure that he had heard the accusation; yet he could see no one in the room. Rising, he walked

quickly into the hall and reached the front door. He stopped there; and while he waited, his back was turned

so he could not see the tall form that came batlike from the wall beside the livingroom door.

When Rodan went back to the room that he had left, the unseen figure had entered there before him.

Rodan paced nervously back and forth. At times, he stopped to listen, fancying that he had heard an echo of

Rodan shook his head and shut his eyes. He saw, mentally, the image of Cranston's face. Then, to Rodan's

Rodan leaped madly to his feet. He caught himself and uttered a mumbled growl. Never before had

Why should he fear this voice? He was not a murderer! He smiled maliciously as he gazed at the floor where

Some one else was the murderer. But the secret was Rodan's. That was the cause of his worries, he felt sure.

The secret was the factor that made him weaken. The presence of an unknown man, Lamont Cranston, had

This condition could be counteracted. Rodan began to see the way. He walked to the telephone, and called the

Southern Hotel. He asked to speak to Lamont Cranston. He was informed that the man had checked out.

Had Cranston returned to New York, or was he still here in Daltona? Whichever the case might be, one

course was advisable. The present situation constituted an emergency. There was someone whom Rodan

Walking steadily across the room, Rodan reached a writing table and drew forth pen, ink, and paper. He sat in

momentary speculation, and as he rested there, he was forgetful of the room behind him.

Something was taking place something that Rodan did not see. From the darkness of the wall, a tall figure

Silently, and with gliding tread, The Shadow moved directly toward the seated man. Like a phantom of

vengeance, he approached until he was but a few feet away. He stood there, his burning eyes focused upon

The sound was scarcely audible; but it reached Rodan's ears. The seated man did not move. His eyes were

bulging, staring at the table before him. The Shadow glided into a fringe of darkness formed by a tiny alcove.

Rodan swung around in his chair. He stared toward the hall, believing that the sound had come from there.

Upon a sheet of paper, he inscribed a mysterious symbol. It consisted of a circle, with two crosslines in its

center. Above it, Rodan marked a crescent, with the points turned downward. Below, he made the same

While the paper lay beside him, Rodan addressed an envelope. The name that he wrote was Eastern Specialty

WHILE Rodan was thus engaged, a silent motion took place behind him. The Shadow emerged from his

hiding spot. His tall form glided forward. His brilliant eyes peered over Rodan's shoulder. They saw all that

A splotch of blackness was upon the writing desk; the envelope was covered by a strange shadow. Then the

Rodan picked up the envelope; he folded the paper and thrust it into the wrapper. Holding the envelope half

His eyes passed over a shadowy projection that extended from the alcove close beside him. He did not see the

With a gruff laugh, Rodan stamped the envelope and thrust it in his pocket. He went to the telephone. He

"Hello, George," said Rodan. "Busy tonight?... No? That's good... Think I'll drop over to say hello."

Rodan felt some relief as he left the house and posted the airmail letter in a box at the nearest corner. His car

A low laugh from the darkness of the lawn followed Rodan's departure. A tall, silent shape came into view;

The Shadow had won the game. He had found a way to cope with the plans of an unknown supercrook to

The Shadow knew that three crimes had been timed; that each had required a secret communication to the

chief. With crimes completed, the local malefactors in Tilson, Barmouth, and Daltona had no need for further

But The Shadow had divined that a superplotter would have arranged for contact afterward, provided that any

of his underlings might suspect the presence of danger. As Lamont Cranston, The Shadow had deliberately

aroused the suspicions of Thomas Rodan. Then, a phantom in the darkness, The Shadow had stimulated

The result had been a secret message of warning, posted to the place of contact in New York.

The Shadow was through with Rodan for the present. He had bigger game the tracing of the master mind.

Three crimes already. Would there be a fourth? A fifth? Or more? That was the problem which confronted

The Shadow. He had taken measures to meet it. He was off to find the source of crime.

A fast airplane speeding northward through the night now bore The Shadow on his mission. A letter had been

sent; its destination was known to The Shadow. He would be there to intercept the man who would receive it!

The cryptic symbol, dispatched as a warning to the master mind of crime, was the clew which The Shadow

had forced from Thomas Rodan. Upon that clew, The Shadow was to form the campaign that might doom the

EARLY the next evening, a stoopshouldered man was sidling along a squalid street of Manhattan. There

was something shifty in his gait, and his furtive footsteps seemed aimless in direction. At times, the man

One of these stops was near the entrance of an alleyway. Here, the man's face came into the light of a street

lamp. It was a whitened, wizened face, from which a cigarette drooped listlessly. The man paused to remove

the cigarette from his mouth. He noted that the stump was unlighted. He drew a match from his pocket.

During the act of lighting the remains of his cigarette, the wizenedfaced man glanced shrewdly back along

the street which he had followed. Seeing no one, he threw the match away, turned suddenly, and entered the

alley. So artfully did he duck out of sight that only the most careful observer would have noted the action.

Silence continued in the gloomy street; then, a few seconds after the stoopshouldered man had disappeared,

a new figure arrived in the glow of the lamplight. A tall, sinister form was momentarily revealed. Then, it,

The Shadow was stalking his prey. Here, in New York's bad lands, he was on the trail of a lesser gangster.

Despite the care which the stoopshouldered man had displayed, The Shadow had followed him totally

A door opened at the side of the alley. A faint light showed as the gangster entered. The door closed and the

wizened man stood in a hall that was lighted only by a turneddown gas jet. Ahead of him lay a rickety flight

of steps. The gangster ascended, confident that he was free from observation. He did not see the front door

The little gangster tapped on an upstairs door. He followed this signal with a whispered statement:

"Pasty" entered to find a thickset man seated by the window of a gaslighted room. The shade was drawn and

the occupant was alone. Pasty, whose flourwhite countenance showed the origin of his nickname, grinned as

"Here you are, Boots," he solid. "I picked these up at the office like you told me to."

"BOOTS" examined the post card. On the front, it bore the address of the Eastern Specialty Company, but it

carried no message. The back of the card showed the picture of a New Orleans hotel.

Boots made no comment. He merely tossed the card on the table beside him. He examined the envelope. It

was also addressed to the Eastern Specialty Company, and it was postmarked Daltona, Georgia. Boots

"Thanks, Pasty," he said. "These don't mean nothin'. Just the same, I thought you might as well get 'em for me

"Nobody seen me," he responded, "but I ain't sure nobody wasn't watchin' me somewhere along the line. You

know how I am, Boots. I can spot anythin' that's wrong before it begins. Seems to me like there was someone

hangin' around that office where you sent me. D'ya think there could've been any one layin' there?"

"Up there?" quizzed Boots. "Nah! Forget it. You're the only guy I ever sent up there. That place ain't got

nothin' to do with the racket. I just wanted you to go up so I wouldn't have to slide out of here. That's all. Just

"Well," responded Pasty, "there's a lot of gorillas who've got it in for Boots Marcus. It ain't a bad idea to be

"Well," growled Boots, "I'm hidin' out, ain't I? You don't think I'm scared, do you? The only thing is, I'm

wise. Keepin' in here saves me a lot of trouble. That's why I use you as a gobetween.

"You make a good messenger boy, Pasty. When there's anythin' doin', then's when I step out with the mob.

Believe me, Pasty, there's a lot of bozos who wouldn't be pushin' up posies if they'd been as wise as I am."

"O.K.," responded Boots. "Scram. Stick around with the mob an' come let me know when they're ready to go

"You're a great guy, Boots," commented Pasty. "Here the mob has a hangout half a block from your hideout,

"Can that hokum!" rejoined Boots, with a growl. "Your business is to do what I tell you, an' quit thinkin' too

Pasty grinned and opened the door of the room. He waved a scrawny hand in parting; then closed the door.

IN the underworld, Boots Marcus was known as the tough leader of a flock of trained gorillas. He and his

gang had a racket of their own blocking the plans of wouldbe big shots. As a result, Boots, though fearless

when at the head of his pack, considered it the part of discretion to keep away from the live spots of the bad

Pasty, who cut but little figure in the underworld, was, as Boots had remarked, the gang leader's messenger.

He was the gobetween who kept up contact with the mob. But of late, Boots, guarding himself more closely

than usual, had given Pasty a new duty. This was the job of visiting a small, deserted office on an uptown

Communications to the Eastern Specialty Company were comparatively few. They were chiefly picture post

cards, like the one Boots now held. On other occasions, Boots had received envelopes. These he forwarded

Tonight, in conformity with his method, Boots Marcus produced a larger envelope than the one that had come

by mail. Upon its face he wrote the name of Craig Kimble. He looked at the picture postcard, and used the

name of the New Orleans hotel as the address on the envelope which he was inscribing. Then he inserted the

As he completed the duty, Boots Marcus shrugged his shoulders. Opening a drawer in the table, he tossed the

After affixing a stamp, Boots placed the envelope in his pocket. He arose from his chair and walked away

from the window. He glanced upward in an absentminded fashion, and stood stockstill.

Facing him, from just within the door, Boots Marcus saw a man clad in black. Tall, weird, and imposing, this

personage might have come through the floor, so unnoticed had his entrance been. A long, flowing cloak

hung from the visitor's shoulders. A broadbrimmed hat obscured his features. Only his eyes were visible as

It was not the eyes alone, however, that impressed Boots Marcus. In an outstretched, blackgloved hand, the

stranger held a huge automatic. The muzzle of the weapon yawned like the entrance of a tunnel as Boots

The gang leader never budged when he saw that he was covered. The only change that came over him was a

For Boots Marcus, man of the underworld, knew that he was in the power of The Shadow!

IT was an axiom in the bad lands that a meeting such as this was a sure forerunner of death. Boots Marcus,

engaged only in wolfish battles with others of his ilk, had felt himself somewhat immune from The Shadow's

But it was also known that the ways of The Shadow were mysterious. He seldom gave a reason when he

struck. Hence, Boots Marcus, petrified by sudden terror, felt the sign of approaching doom.

A low, soft laugh came from The Shadow's hidden lips. Whatever doubt Boots had entertained regarding the

identity of this phantom being were now dispelled. That laugh carried an unearthly echo.

Boots had heard talk of The Shadow's laugh. Now he had heard the chilling tones themselves. The gang

"Go back to where you were," came The Shadow's voice, in solemn, whispered tones. "Sit down by the

Boots Marcus obeyed mechanically. For the first moment since he had seen The Shadow, he felt a touch of

relief. The eerie whisper was fearful; but its words at least offered a chance for parley.

"I ain't done nothin' against you," began Boots, in a choking, feartinged tone. "What d'ya got against me? I

A repetition of the laugh curbed the plea that Boots was making. The laugh was sinister now. Its foreboding

"You have recognized me." The Shadow's words came in a weird monotone. "That is excellent. It will enable

The Shadow was approaching the gang leader. The automatic was directly before the eyes of Boots Marcus.

Boots fumbled for the envelope and produced it. The Shadow took it from him. The envelope disappeared

"Now those postal cards," added The Shadow. "The cards with which you placed the one that you received

Boots gasped as he realized that The Shadow must have entered immediately after Pasty had departed. The

Shadow had seen the post card that went in the drawer. He had seen other cards lying there.

Still fumbling, Boots produced the post cards. He handed them, in a small bunch, to The Shadow.

Holding the cards within his gloved left hand, The Shadow, with a smooth, skilled motion, spread them so

they formed a wide fan. He raised his hand so that he could look at the cards, and still watch Boots Marcus.

With one glance, he noted that the addresses of the cards were identical. Turning his hand over, The Shadow

viewed the reverse sides. Every one of the cards bore the picture of a hotel in a different city.

With another short note of mirth, The Shadow slipped the post cards beneath his cloak. His automatic

The gang leader gasped. The Shadow had deliberately put away his weapon! Could this be a gesture of

IN his pocket, Boots had a revolver. He realized that it would be possible for him to draw it now. But deep in

his dulled brain, the gang leader knew that he could never beat The Shadow on the draw. His only relief came

Boots Marcus hesitated. He eyed his questioner for a few moments; then responded:

The Shadow laughed. His black right hand slipped out of view. Boots sensed the menace of the automatic. He

"I know the game, Marcus," declared The Shadow coldly. "I entered that office before this mail came in. It is

plain what those post cards mean. I am giving you your chance to tell all that you know. If you do not "

The sentence ended with a laugh as The Shadow's hand swept into view. The muzzle of an automatic pressed

"I'll I'll squawk!" whined the cowed gang leader. "I ain't goin' to bluff you. But if I squawk, will you call it

"I make but one promise," announced The Shadow, in his chilling whisper. "If you fail to tell me all that you

Marcus cringed away. He nodded as he felt the pressure of the automatic leave his forehead. The gun

disappeared. The Shadow's arms were once more folded. The threat however, still remained. Boots stared

"It don't mean nothin' to me," he began. "I ain't goin' to try to hold out on you. If Charley had told me you

was mixed in this, I'd have laid off. I don't think I'd have touched it anyway if it hadn't been because Charley

Boots paused, as though in final effort to keep from telling what he knew. He fancied that he saw a motion of

The Shadow's right hand. A sudden fear swept over the gang leader. If that automatic should appear again, it

"Gimme a chance!" pleaded Boots. "I don't know much, but I'll tell you the whole works. It's Charley that's to

blame not me. Charley Kistelle. I used to work with Charley before he scrammed. That was nearly a couple

Boots nodded unconsciously. A sudden understanding told him that by betraying Kistelle, he might save his

"I I'll tell you all I know about him," repeated Boots. "I thought that Charley" he paused suddenly, his

eyes staring "I didn't know that Charley was in wrong with The Shadow. I know you're The Shadow.

"If I had my mob with me, I could put up a scrap; but there ain't no chance of nobody comin' here to help me.

That's why I'm goin' to talk. If the mob knew what was goin' on, they'd come here to help me. But there ain't

Boots Marcus stared directly into The Shadow's eyes. He cringed before their gleam; but in his heart, he felt a

secret elation. He knew that he could stall no longer; The Shadow's glance told him that. But Boots, by his

sudden change of tone, had accomplished something that he was sure The Shadow could not suspect.

In his brief moment of hesitation, Boots had seen the door of the room move slightly. He realized that Pasty

had returned. His words of pleading had been a secret warning to the little gangster. Pasty, crafty and

The Shadow's single word spoke volumes. Its tone showed that further stalling would not be countenanced.

With eyes half closed, Boots began his squealer's story. He was betraying the man whom he called a friend

Charles Kistelle; but Boots had a purpose in the action. He was doing more than attempting to save his own

"I THOUGHT Charley Kistelle had taken the bump," explained Boots Marcus to The Shadow. "Then all of a

sudden he calls me up, pretty near a year ago. I knows his voice when I hears it. He wants to see me. I had

"When he comes, he taps on the door an' says hello. I knows his voice again, see? But when he walks in, it

"When I seen Charley before he went away, he was a guy with a goodlookin' mug. But this wasn't the

Charley that I'd used to how. He has a round, moony face, an' he's grinnin' like a monkey.

"When I asks what's happened to him, he just keeps on grinnin'. Says he's fixed himself so's nobody can

figure who he is. Says he's goin' around to square things even with some guys he don't like. He wants me to

help him out. That's when he tells me about the office an' gives me a key to the place. All I had to do was go

Boots Marcus paused to stare directly at The Shadow. The gang leader was using every effort to convince the

"Charley didn't say nothin' about you bein' on his trail," continued Boots. "He just asks me to help him out by

sendin' him any letters that come in. He says to use the name Craig Kimble, which was enough like his own

moniker so's I could remember it easy, without any chance of it givin' him away.

"He never writes nothin' just sends post cards showin' the picture of the hotel where he's stoppin' at the

"Yeah," agreed the gangster quickly. "There was some letters like the one that come in today. I never opened

none of 'em; just put 'em in the new envelopes an' sent 'em on to Charley. I don't know what he wanted 'em

"Just a few of 'em," began Boots. Then, as he saw The Shadow's piercing eyes, he added: "Let's see. There

was one two three this one was number four since Charley went away. You see, he was around here a

lot of the time. It was pretty near three weeks ago he started out the last time. Before that, he'd go away once

in a while, an' just send me post cards. There weren't any letters before these begin to come."

Boots acted as though he wanted to evade The Shadow's question. The gang leader resented the domination

which was being exerted over him. He was on the point of pretending that he could not recall any more

"Seems like one was from some joint out in Illinois," he mused. "Then there was one from a hick town in

Maryland. These last two the one you got and the one I sent to Charley Kistelle was from the same place,

some town in Georgia. I ain't even been up to the office" now that his story was told, Boots was trying to

disclaim connection with Kistelle "because I've been layin' low. I sent another guy up there to get the mail.

The Shadow stared coldly at the gang leader. He knew that Boots Marcus was as yellow a rat as the

underworld could boast. Boots halfgrasped The Shadow's thoughts. He edged backward in his chair.

UNLESS his mob had failed to move through fear of The Shadow's presence, they should be there by now.

Ready for a surprise attack, they would be awaiting a signal from their leader. The time was ripe for it now.

Boots knew that his fate rested, at this moment, with The Shadow. He sensed that from now on he could be of

In fact, as traitor to Charley Kistelle, Boots Marcus would be better dead than alive, so far as The Shadow

was concerned. Living, Boots could doublecross The Shadow by communicating with Charley Kistelle.

There was no time to lose. Boots must tip off the mob; or, better, take a chance that his men were outside,

ready to help him. Acting shrewdly, the gang leader tried to give a signal without betraying his intention to

"I've given you all the dope," whined Boots. "I ain't tried to keep nothin' from you. You got me without my

The door was slowly opening. Boots Marcus could see it as he stared past The Shadow. The man in black

was looking at the gang leader's eyes. A laugh came from the lips that were hidden by the collar of the black

In his tense eagerness, Boots Marcus had betrayed the game. The Shadow's form turned suddenly. It whirled

toward the door, just as the barrier swung inward. One man, peeping in, had seen The Shadow's back. He had

The rush was a split second too late. The Shadow's hands were moving as he swung. His automatics blazed

one from either hand while his tall shape was still revolving. Staccato shots marked the bursts of flame.

The bodies of two gangsters sprawled headlong through the door. Revolvers clanged upon the floor. The

Reversing his turn, The Shadow swung toward Boots Marcus. Springing from his chair, the gang leader had

The Shadow had timed the action to the instant. His righthand automatic covered Boots as the gang leader's

finger was about to press the trigger of the revolver. The automatic spoke again. Boots Marcus, like his

Quick victory had been The Shadow's; but the fight had just begun. From those lips beneath the hat brim

came a burst of taunting mirth. The laugh of The Shadow rang out its defiance to the forces of the

With one swift motion, The Shadow extinguished the light. A second later he was in the hallway; there, his

automatics broke forth, blazing a trail of lead along the walls. The bright splashes of light revealed the forms

of lurking gangsters. Some fell from the bullets; others dived to the floor to escape the barrage.

Through the dark, The Shadow swept back into the room. He reached the window and swiftly opened it.

There was a darkened courtyard beneath. There, in the dimness, men were waiting, ready to cut off this

avenue of escape. Shouts echoed through the hall; they came from the stairs below. They showed that others

The Shadow never hesitated. His tall form was totally invisible as it stood by the open window. It emerged,

close to the wall of the building. Clinging batlike to the bottom of the window. The Shadow lowered his body

A flashlight gleamed from below. Its glare revealed the outline of the form in black. Wild, eager cries arose.

Then came revolver shots. The tall shape was dropping from its perch beside the window!

ONCE again, The Shadow had dealt in timed split seconds. It was the light, not the shots, that had caused him

to drop to the narrow court below. The bullets came while he was falling. They were flattened against the

The spotlight came swinging downward. Before its gleam had reached the place where The Shadow had

dropped, an automatic roared through the night. The man with the flashlight staggered. Another shot clipped

one of the gunmen beside him. Desperately, other gangsters dived away. The Shadow was still in action!

Now a light gleamed from above. A gangster had dashed into the room vacated by The Shadow. Leaning

from the window, he played the rays of his torch downward, hoping to reveal The Shadow to his pals below.

A shot barked from near the entrance of the court. Moving swiftly, The Shadow had gone directly toward his

enemies. He had answered the challenge of the light. The proof of his marksmanship came when the man

with the torch toppled headlong and thudded in the court. The falling torch was shattered as it struck the

Then came a desperate struggle at the spot where the court started from the alley. Here were the gunmen who

had ducked. Now they sprang forth desperately to prevent the escape of the man whom they could not see.

Had The Shadow fired at any one of them, he would have revealed his position. Instead, he worked in silence.

Unseen in the darkness, two powerful arms swung up and down. Invisible hands wielded heavy automatics

with unrelenting force. Caught in the narrow space, the bewildered gangsters fell before The Shadow's fury.

In the dim light of the alley, a tall form broke loose from futile, yielding clutches.

It was then that The Shadow chose the unexpected objective the front door of the house where the fray had

begun. Stationed there were half a dozen gangsters. At first, they had started up the stairs; now they were

Had The Shadow taken to flight, pursuers would have been on his heels. But such was not The Shadow's

As the reenforcing mobsters came toward the door, The Shadow encountered them face to face. His

automatics broke loose with all the lead that they still contained. Charging men toppled forward. The last

A long burst of weird mockery sounded through the darkness. It came as the knell of doom to the ears of

dying mobsters. Not a single shot answered it. The Shadow, alone, had silenced the guns of the gorillas who

In the alleyway, the tall form appeared once more. The hands of The Shadow thrust the emptied automatics

beneath the black cloak. They emerged with two new weapons. Swinging toward the street at the end of the

The cry came from less than thirty yards away. The man who uttered it was the only member of the Marcus

mob who had escaped. Pasty, the wizened gangster, who had brought the nowconquered horde, had reached

the street during the conflict, and had run to summon new aid. He had encountered half a dozen mobsters.

To them, the news that the Marcus gang was in trouble brought no incentive toward a rescue. But the word

that The Shadow was on hand was sufficient to stir all blackhearted killers to action.

This crowd was coming toward the alley. They were running forward, with Pasty in the lead. As the little

gangster cried his warning, he made a dive for cover. His shrewd eyes had sighted the form beneath the

One hasty revolver shot sounded the hostilities. It was the only burst that preceded The Shadow's reply; and it

The Shadow's automatics roared their answer. Mobsters staggered back. One fell as he fired a futile shot.

Another sprawled, kicking at the paving of the street. The others scattered in wild retreat.

Pasty, crouching by the wall, was holding a revolver in his nervous clutch. He was aiming toward The

Shadow, waiting for a chance to fire accurately. Then, as he saw the others take for cover, the little gangster

lost his nerve. He fired wildly; once, twice, his aim wavering through fear. He pressed the trigger for the third

The Shadow, spotting the revolver flashes, had responded. It was the roar of his automatic that sounded the

final shot in this hectic struggle. A whistling bullet found its mark in the body of Pasty, the cringing gangster

Complete silence followed the throbbing echoes of that last report. The tall black shape glided from the

sphere of lamplight. A long, triumphant peal of laughter echoed along the narrow street. Blackened windows

The Shadow had merged with the night. He had wiped out one of Manhattan's toughest mobs of human

wolves. Justice had gained a triumph. Yet this achievement was but a step toward The Shadow's distant goal.

He was after bigger crime, seeking to thwart the schemes of men who worked by master methods. Tonight,

The Shadow had made new progress. He had learned the identity of the man who had planned for perfect

Boots Marcus, the key to the superplotter, was dead. And so was Pasty, the one underling who might have

held an inkling to the dealings with Kistelle. None remained to block The Shadow's course!

THE SHADOW'S sanctum was alight. A mellow bluish glow spread throughout the entire room. The pale,

mysterious hue ended abruptly as it reached the unreflecting walls, which were jetblack in color.

Even the floor was black. The Shadow, as he stood in the center of this mysterious chamber, had the

appearance of a living silhouette a projection of black that extended from the darkness that surrounded him.

Less than an hour had elapsed since the man of the night had battled with desperate denizens of the

underworld. Phantomlike, he had disappeared into gloom, to pursue a path which was untraceable. Now, in

this spot whose existence was known to him alone, The Shadow was returning to the task that lay ahead.

The weird figure moved across the room. A motion of one arm beside the wall caused a parting of

enshrouding curtains. A row of massive volumes were displayed, niched in a portion of the opened wall.

These were the archives of The Shadow those complete and detailed records that listed every event in The

The blackclad figure shrank almost to nothingness as it stopped to consult one of the heavy bound books.

The blackbrimmed hat was raised. Not only the gleaming eyes, but the face beneath them appeared visible.

His study ended, The Shadow replaced the volume that he had consulted. Another curtain opened and

displayed a cabinet. From a drawer, The Shadow removed a folder. He carried it across the room to the

Hidden switches clicked. The room was in darkness save for that single corner where only a shining tabletop

From a single tome among his archives, The Shadow had gained the records that he wanted. The folder which

now appeared in the light contained the details. Its contents carefully prepared reports slid into view.

Before the eyes of The Shadow lay the facts that concerned the checkered career of Charles Kistelle.

Among the crooks whose schemes had been thwarted by The Shadow, Charles Kistelle was unique. His

Kistelle had come within The Shadow's sphere of action, due to his connection with other criminals. He was a

man who had chosen to remain in the background until opportunities for evildoing came his way.

WHEN The Shadow had met and demolished Kistelle's associates, this lurking criminal had seen the writing

on the wall. Through pure coincidence that had worked in his favor, Kistelle had been saved from destruction

A minor figure in a gigantic scheme that had failed, Kistelle had taken advantage of opportunity. He had fled,

Others had done this before; but invariably they made the mistake of believing that The Shadow would forget

them. Kistelle had been too wise for that. He had not only stayed away from his old associations; he had been

clever enough to avoid New York entirely. In an effort to bury himself completely, he had enlisted in the

Yet the hand of The Shadow, reaching everywhere, had plucked forth data that showed the course Kistelle

had taken. This information had been gained too late. Records showed that Charles Kistelle, alias Charles

Kitchener, had deserted along with others, when stationed near the Mexican border.

A photograph came into view upon The Shadow's table. It was a picture of Charles Kistelle as he had been. It

bore no resemblance to the three men who looked alike: Earl Northrup, Harold Thurber, and Thomas Rodan.

As Boots Marcus had stated, Charles Kistelle had returned to New York a completely different person.

Since Kistelle had changed; since he had adopted the new name of Craig Kimble, there was one important

The Shadow's laugh was evidence that this fact impressed him as intriguing. In all the mad orgies of crime

that The Shadow had encountered in the past, none reached the fantastic heights of this one.

Four men who looked alike! Each an individual with an odd, but distinctive physiognomy that made him

conspicuous to those who knew him. The situation seemed unbelievable; but to The Shadow it brought only

further thoughts. Nights before, here in this very sanctum, The Shadow had foreseen a further possibility.

With two, three, four men whose strange facial characteristics were identical, what could prevent the

possibility of more? Why not five or six? Why not a dozen? Until the answer to the perplexing riddle could

Behind this very thought lay the explanation of The Shadow's extraordinary encounter with Thomas Rodan,

in Daltona, Georgia. Three crimes had been perpetrated. How many more were to follow? The only course

The hand of The Shadow began to write. It was inscribing the thoughts of The Shadow's brain. Short words

shone on paper. As each sentence faded, another replaced it. Step by step, The Shadow was developing the

KISTELLE was the crimemaker. Through some amazing circumstance, he was plotting and perpetrating

mighty schemes with the aid of men who looked exactly like him. In Tilson; in Barmouth; in Daltona each

place a crime protected by a perfect alibi. Such men as Northrup, Thurber, and Rodan were mere instruments

Now, The Shadow knew Kistelle's identity; knew where he could be reached. Kistelle was in New Orleans,

waiting for word from some unknown source, biding his time until a new crime would be ready for its

Boots Marcus had said that three letters had come to Charles Kistelle by way of the blind office. The Shadow

knew the significance of those letters. Each had been a summons a call to the daring master crook, telling

It came from The Shadow's cloak; it lay there, in its original envelope that message which The Shadow had

seen Rodan prepare. This was not a summons. It was a warning. Should it reach Kistelle, it would indicate the

This message would not arrive as Rodan had intended. In Daltona, now, Rodan's qualms had ended. The man

was probably chiding himself because he had fancied Lamont Cranston to be a menace. He would send no

In New Orleans, Kistelle was serenely waiting. He might move to some other city; if he should, word would

come to the empty office of the Eastern Specialty Company. Picture post cards would artfully disclose

There, too, would come the letter presaging the next crime. Boots Marcus was dead. Pasty was dead. All

The Shadow's laugh rippled softly through the sanctum. No Kistelle's letters would not go unreceived. So

far as the crook would know, Boots Marcus would still be on duty. But the real recipient, the one who would

The brilliant ink spoke unwritten meanings. It showed the trend of The Shadow's thoughts.

There was a simple way to deal with Charles Kistelle. Tonight, The Shadow could set forth to meet the

master crook face to face. That would end the criminal career of Charles Kistelle.

This negative announcement also had its important meaning. It was followed by the listing of three names:

These three were held for crimes that they had not committed. Should The Shadow, acting as avenger,

eliminate Kistelle, what would be the outcome? It might prove beneficial, so far as the future was concerned;

but the grave danger existed that it would also obliterate the traces of the past.

Three innocent men were helpless. Unless the action of the Shadow could clear them, they would pay the

penalty for the crimes of the supercrook and his alibi henchmen. The Shadow's laugh was grim. It showed

that he knew Kistelle must be temporarily neglected. The man could be reached when needed.

There was the solution! If Kistelle were awaiting another summons, its arrival would be The Shadow's

opportunity. Then, striking from the dark, he could catch Kistelle and an underling in the act.

But, as the words faded from the paper, The Shadow's hand deliberately inscribed a large interrogation point.

When would the next crime be? What proof was there that more than four men existed who looked alike with

There was but one answer. The Shadow, to deal fully with this crime ring, must first know all. Could he

discover the cause of the amazing coincidence that had brought the same strange facial resemblances to these

Delving into the past was the only course. Through it, The Shadow could learn the total number of these men.

To date, he had worked on theory. Now, he needed facts. Where were they to be found?

The hands held Kistelle's record. Beside it lay the photograph of the man as he once had been. Some time

during that period when Kistelle had disappeared a change had come over the physiognomy of the

THE SHADOW laughed. He knew. Kistelle had fled to Mexico. He had unquestionably been joined by

The hands of The Shadow ripped open the envelope that Rodan had addressed to New York. Out dropped the

A circle, with crossed center. Above it and below it, crescents, with their points turned downward. A

The white hands of The Shadow turned the paper in different directions. Which was the top of the sheet?

The Shadow knew, because he had seen Rodan inscribe the symbol. Now, examining it closely, he saw the

The vertical line that formed the upright of the cross mark did not touch the circle at the bottom. This lack of

The Shadow copied the cryptic sign upon a blank sheet of paper. Then he turned the paper upside down, and

performed the same action. In each instance, he left the vertical line incomplete at the bottom.

Now he had two symbols; one indicating downturned crescents, the other upturned.

The logic was evident. Since Rodan's symbol had been carefully designed to show that the crescents were

down, there must be a different meaning if the crescents were up. The Shadow laughed. Below Rodan's sign,

This was surely a sign of primitive hieroglyphics. A crude, simple form of writing that dealt in opposites. The

two symbols told their silent story as they shone from the paper with The Shadow's translation beneath.

Then the markings vanished; the one at the left passing out before the one at the right.

Again, The Shadow laughed. He knew what to expect if his conjecture of further crime was correct. A

symbol signifying "Come here" would arrive for Charles Kistelle. It would lead the master plotter to a new

Kistelle would receive that message; but not until after it had passed through the hands of The Shadow. When

This course of delayed action had obvious advantages. But in the interim, what would The Shadow do? It was

not the policy of this master mind to remain dormant. The hands of The Shadow were fingering the paper

which bore Tom Rodan's mysterious message. There was a deep significance to The Shadow's action.

Kistelle and his men of evil had not designed their symbolic code. It was evident that they had learned it from

The Shadow laughed. His hands disappeared. When they returned, they carried a sheaf of loosely bound

The glossy sheets were filled with photographs and symbolic signs that dealt with the Aztecs, those Indians

of Mexico who had developed a degree of civilization before the Spaniards had conquered them.

Here, in The Shadow's possession, lay detailed information on the Aztecs descriptive matter that included

recent findings. The pages turned with precision, indicating that The Shadow had studied Aztec lore. To the

eyes in the dark, these facts were familiar ones. But in all this accumulated data, The Shadow saw no symbols

AT the back of the loosely bound pages, The Shadow's finger paused upon a written paragraph. This had

reference to the lost tribes of Aztec origin. It mentioned how offshoots of the major race had, because of their

Succeeding paragraphs attempted to classify these hidden tribes. Each was reputed to possess a source of

great wealth treasure that had been harbored through centuries. Each paragraph listed a different tribe, with

The word stood out before The Shadow's eyes. It was the name of a place in the mountains of northern

Mexico. There were Indians who lived thereabout, and they had talked of Zeltapec, but none of them had

given its exact location. They only knew that it rested in one of the hidden gorges of a high mountain range.

So far, explorers had been unable to penetrate the fastnesses of the mighty hills.

The Shadow's finger paused upon another paragraph. The words referred to the supposed customs of the tribe

The Shadow laughed as his hands carried away the loosesheaved papers. A short while later, the hands

reappeared and unfolded a map of northern Mexico that spread over the entire table.

For long, slowmoving minutes, the hidden eyes pored over the large chart while The Shadow's fingers

pointed out certain spots within a mountainstudded radius. Gradually, the fingers reduced the area. They

A hand reached forward and drew a set of ear phones from the darkness. A tiny spot of light shone a signal

The quiet voice sounded over the wire. Burbank was an agent of The Shadow. Passive and efficient, he was

always at The Shadow's bidding. He was the contact man whom The Shadow kept unseen. When plans were

The voice of The Shadow whispered its orders. They referred to Harry Vincent. Both Harry and Clyde Burke

had returned to New York, and were available for duty. Now, The Shadow's instructions made it plain that

The conversation ended. The tiny bulb no longer glowed. Beneath the blue light, the hands of The Shadow

folded the map of northern Mexico. A piece of paper came into view. The left hand held it; the iridescent

The writing faded. The light clicked out. A long, weird laugh swept through the darkness. Dying echoes were

repeated with convulsive shudderings, as though a host of ghouls were joining with gruesome mockery.

Then stillness. The Shadow was gone. His plans were made. Charles Kistelle could wait in ignorance until

the next summons reached New York. In the meantime, The Shadow had a new and amazing purpose; a way

The last word that the mysterious hand had written was filled with important significance. It told the one

There was a place that he must find. Swiftly, with no delay, The Shadow had set forth to a new destination.

Later that night, a swift plane winged its way southward, at a speed exceeding two hundred miles an hour.

The Shadow was heading for a Texas airport. There, awaiting him, was a special type of ship that had been

THE crescent moon was rising above a towering mountain summit. The sky was still bright with the glow of

the setting sun. But within the secluded valley of Zeltapec, a premature gloom announced the coming of early

A strange survival of an ancient day, the village of Zeltapec bore untarnished traces of the Aztec civilization.

Adobe buildings rested against the sides of the valley. Robed Indians, with firm, bronzed faces, stood in

The Aztecs had been known as ferocious warriors. These survivors of their race had softened. Their faces still

showed the sternness of the Aztec race; yet in their bearing, the natives of Zeltapec were quiet and

mildmannered. Protected by the high mountain walls about them, they had drifted from the ways of warfare.

The dull, monotonous beat of tomtoms sounded weirdly through the gloom. It was the call that the Indians

were awaiting. Slowly, the little groups turned toward the center of their valley. There, upon a broad, flat

The space provided for the mystic rites was a large, raised square of table rock that measured fifty feet in

each direction. Those who stood upon this spot were gathered at the edges. In the center, like a giant

bull'seye thirty feet in diameter, was a perfect circle, painted white upon the flattened rock.

This circle was marked with cross lines, and outside its sphere were thin, crescentshaped designs, four in

To the Aztecs of Zeltapec, this was a sacred spot. To tread upon it would mean instant punishment.

The chiefs of Zeltapec, men clad in gorgeous robes, were the only ones who dared step upon the tabled rock.

But even they were guarded in their actions. They carefully avoided any contact with the circle or the

As the people assembled and took their places below the rock, the chieftains, who were also the priests of the

tribe, acted with definite procedure. Each took his spot at one side of the sacred rock. Four in number, these

tall, imposing men stood with folded arms, each gazing steadfastly at the crescent that was inscribed before

The most impressive ceremony of Zeltapec had begun. It was the welcome to the crescent moon. Beating

tomtoms, chanting voices both ascended through the increasing gloom, and in the midst shone the

THE people of Zeltapec were moon worshippers with a reason. To them, the changing positions of the sun

were not apparent. But the moon, rising high above the secluded vale, seemed lifelike in its phases. They

regarded it as a sign of the world beyond a chariot in which some god rode forth to gaze benignly down

The appearance of the crescent moon was of vast importance to the natives of Zeltapec. It was a sign that the

With wild, savage fervor, the tomtom men beat forth their welcome. The people joined in a swelling chant.

Some day so the legend said the power that controlled the sky chariot would send forth a messenger to

visit the people of Zeltapec. For centuries, the Indians had persisted in this belief.

Story had it that once such a messenger had come; and then returned. Ever since, the people had been in

readiness. They were determined that should the messenger arrive again, he would not find their welcome

The four tall leaders were chanting now. Their powerful voices arose above the cries of the people. The

tomtoms ceased to beat. The populace was stilled. Four men alone were singing forth the welcome to the

The Indians were watching their leaders. Only the four were staring skyward. Then, suddenly, the people

looked on in wonder. Simultaneously, the four had ended their chant, and were gazing agape above the

Never before had the ceremony broken at this point. Instinctively, the people raised their heads and followed

their leaders' gaze. In the deep hush of the valley, a new sound manifested itself faintly from the sky.

Hovering about the mountain was a birdlike object that had appeared directly beneath the moon itself. It was

singing a throbbing tune. Above it, wondering eyes could detect the whirling of a fanlike wheel.

This object looked like a windmill in horizontal flight; to these Indians, who knew nothing of the world

Almost motionless in the air, the strange ship remained in constant view. Then cries of exultation arose

spontaneously from the crowd below. The creature of the air was descending to the valley of Zeltapec. It was

The valley of Zeltapec offered no safe landing place for even the most skilled pilot of an ordinary plane. But

this ship of the air, which the Indians had first mistaken for a huge bird, was an autogyro. The man who

piloted it had seen the space below. The glistening rock, with its target center, was a perfect spot for a gyro

Awed gasps were uttered as the descending autogyro became more plain. With its huge, revolving wing

whirling with terrific speed, the ship slackened its descent and came straight downward.

Its objective was plain. The autogyro was heading for a landing in the exact center of the sacred table rock.

The motor thrummed, and its unfamiliar tone gripped the waiting Aztecs with terror. They had longed for this

strange visitant; now they were fearful lest its purpose be wrathful. As the autogyro landed squarely in the

THE landing was a perfect one. The wheels of the gyro scarcely turned upon the rock. The noise of the motor

ceased. The people looked toward their four leaders. These imposing men had fallen on their faces. Even they

A figure loomed from the cockpit of the autogyro. Piercing eyes studied the mass of cringing Indians. Those

Then, from that rising form came a long, weird laugh. Its terrible echoes cried back from the silent

mountainsides. The figure stepped from the autogyro. It was the shape of a tall, blackclad being, whose face

The Shadow had found the valley of Zeltapec. Intrepidly, he had flown by autogyro, from Texas into the

mountain fastnesses of northern Mexico. He had discovered the spot he sought. With no fear of what might

His blackgloved hands were beneath the folds of his cloak, gripping a pair of automatics. Now, those hands

emerged weaponless. The Shadow understood the awe that his arrival had created. Peering into the gloom, he

could distinguish the forms of the bowing leaders. He knew that these were the men whom the mob would

Extending his arms, The Shadow motioned toward himself. The nearest of the four men saw the action.

Faltering, he arose and stared. The others followed his example. Then they cautiously watched as The

The leaders moved forward. They paused at the edge of the sphere into which to step was death. Still, The

Shadow called them toward him. One man crept onward. The others duplicated his act.

A low murmur of awe came from the multitude. Their leaders had been allowed to enter the space which

With bowed heads and folded arms, the leaders stood before The Shadow. Their keen eyes were watching

him. The Shadow laughed softly, and the whispered echoes of his mysterious mirth cast a weird spell that

One of the leaders understood. This was the messenger from the moon. Now arrived, he was awaiting the

welcome that was his due. The leader turned and uttered a hoarse cry. There was a confused mumble in the

crowd; then four tall men advanced, carrying a rude palanquin. They stopped fearfully as they neared the

The Shadow understood their purpose, and he walked directly forward. The four leaders followed him. The

men who bore the palanquin trembled as The Shadow solemnly entered the chair provided for him.

With folded arms, he rested upon a crude, grasswoven seat, which was attached to two long poles. The

chairbearers awaited the leaders. These men arrived, and two stepped in advance of the palanquin, while the

A leader uttered a cry; the bearers raised their burden, and the procession began. As it hewed a path through

the assembled Indians, the murmur of the big crowd became subdued. The Shadow turned his piercing eyes

One word alone was uttered by the populace of Zeltapec. The Shadow could hear it oft repeated.

The meaning of the terms was not evident. Yet that word seemed to creep from lips on all sides. Whatever

chicquatil might signify, The Shadow knew that it was definitely connected with his arrival in Zeltapec.

Raising his eyes upward, The Shadow observed the crescent moon. He knew well that his coming had been

timely. Outside Indians had spoken to explorers of the Aztecs in this unlocated valley, whose worship

Straight ahead lay the open door of what appeared to be a temple. As the palanquin neared it, the bearers let

down their burden. The leaders took their place. They bore the moon messenger in triumph through the open

Through the temple stalked the dignified leaders, until they reached a closed doorway at the other end. There

they lowered the palanquin. Two of them stood at the barrier ahead. The others, bowing, urged the moon

Rising, The Shadow stepped from the palanquin. With folded arms he walked directly to the doubledoored

gate where the Aztec leaders stood. The men drew back the gates. The Shadow walked into the room beyond.

A weird green glow pervaded the Aztec shrine. The cause of it lay glittering before The Shadow's eyes.

There, upon a pedestal in the center of a small room, lay a huge emerald a jewel of unmatched beauty.

The word was uttered from the doorway, and The Shadow understood its meaning. That was the name these

The Shadow's eyes detected high slits in the vaulted sides of the room. Through these, the filtering rays of the

crescent moon were caught and reflected by the emerald. This explained the glow that filled the room.

Straight ahead lay a vacant throne. The Shadow never paused. He walked to the high stone seat and took his

place there. The leaders of the Aztecs, uttering low murmurs of approval, came and stationed themselves by

The Shadow's eyes stared steadily at the glowing gem. They raised and looked beyond. There they became

fixed at the object which they saw for the first time. A soft, sinister laugh came from The Shadow's lips.

Squatting on the floor beyond the emerald was a metal statue of lifesize form. It was a hideous idol, molded

It was the face of the idol, however, upon which The Shadow fixed his stolid stare; it was that metal

The Shadow had seen that face before. The features of the idol were a perfect replica of the countenance of

Thomas Rodan the face possessed by every member of the evil band whose crimes The Shadow had set

AN hour had passed since The Shadow had entered the inner shrine of the secret temple at Zeltapec. During

that time, he had witnessed a strange chanting ceremony by the four who had brought him here the

Now, as the four stood silently before the throne, The Shadow knew that they awaited his bidding. With slow,

careful gaze, he studied the faces of the Aztec leaders. Then, signaling one, he gestured to the man to

Until this moment, The Shadow had not uttered a single word since his arrival at Zeltapec. Listening to the

ceremony which had been conducted in his honor, he had distinguished the meaning of certain phrases.

The Shadow's reference to Aztec information, before embarking on a journey to Zeltapec, was evidence that

this mysterious man knew much concerning the language and customs of the ancient peoples who had

By applying his previously gained knowledge, The Shadow phrased a question that resembled the dialect of

the Zeltapec chief. The man understood the words. The messenger from the moon was asking him why the

Fearfully, the Aztec leader began his explanation. His words were apologetic and The Shadow sensed their

The chief referred to the metal image as Colpoc, a god of evil. With fervent gesticulations, he told the moon

He made a gesture as if to lift the beautiful gem; then shrank away in horror. A fiendish look came over his

He signaled to one of his companions. The other man went to the idol and picked up a stack of objects that

These, the second chief brought to The Shadow's throne. Bowing, he began to separate a nested pile of

There, laying upon the floor before him, was a row of metal masks, each a replica of the face of Colpoc! One

chief lifted a single mask; another shrank away, but his fellows were upon him. Despite his feigned protests,

They clasped metal bands behind the fellow's head. With fierce gesticulations, they showed how tightly the

crushing mask would fit. Releasing their prisoner, they removed the false front from his face and brought it to

The Shadow received it in his blackgloved hands and inspected it closely. The mask had holes for eyes,

Here lay an explanation. Applied to a human face and kept there under pressure, this mask would mold the

The interior of the mask contained a very peculiar, sticky substance. This, apparently, added to the

effectiveness of the mold. Holding the mask upon his lap, The Shadow raised one hand and asked a slow

The chief whom The Shadow had selected as spokesman bowed and nodded. He began to relate a story,

adding expression with motions of his hands, while The Shadow listened. The details of the chief's account

No one in Zeltapec, so the chief explained, would have dared to enter this temple to touch the chicquatil. But

It was a rule of the tribe that all men should be welcomed here. Centuries ago, the belief had been established

that the moon messenger might come in some disguise. Hence visitors though they seldom appeared within

Not many moons ago, so the chief related, strange men had wandered into the valley through a narrow defile

The men had traded with the natives, giving them peculiar objects in return for articles of gold for that

These men had brought with them some strange animals the chief gave a graphic description of a horse

and had loaded them with the gold that they had received. But, somehow, the visitors from the outside world

had learned about the hidden shrine wherein rested the emerald called the chicquatil.

They had entered here by stealth. They had been surprised. They had been caught in the act of attempting to

These men acted like Colpoc, the god of evil. So like Colpoc they must remain. Upon them had been pressed

the face of the Aztec image. Then, since punishment had been received, they were allowed to depart from the

None of the gold that they had received had been taken from them. These Indians would not recall a gift that

had once been conferred. They were merely driven forth upon their horses. Wherever they might meet men,

The simplicity of the Aztecs was apparent. These people of Zeltapec believed that their god of evil, Colpoc,

was known everywhere. They did not realize that Colpoc was recognized only within this secluded valley,

Listening, The Shadow had learned the truth about the men of evil. He had received the explanation of how

four men could look alike and thus indulge in supercrime. Now, he had a question which was of the utmost

Solemnly, the chieftain raised the fingers and thumb of his left hand. Then he raised the thumb of the right.

The Shadow's question was answered. Charles Kistelle and his fellow plotters were six in number!

THE SHADOW placed his hand in front of the Aztec's face and made a motion of applying a metal mask.

The chief held up five fingers of his left hand and three on his right. It had required approximately eight

The chief was gesticulating; he was explaining the treatment that had been accorded the prisoners. He was

showing how they had been fed through the mouthholes of the masks; he was pointing out the spots where

Each night, it developed, they had been forced to stare for two hours at the glittering green gem that they had

The other Aztec leaders were joining in with gusto. They were portraying the fear that the prisoners had

shown; how the sight of the green jewel had become an abomination to them; how the chicquatil would never

again be sought by those men who had been driven from the peaceful valley of Zeltapec.

The Shadow arose from his throne. His eyes sparkled fiercely in the green light. The chieftains cowered.

This shrine had been defiled. The image of Colpoc did not belong within it. The watchers should never have

allowed strange thieves to enter. Raising his hand, The Shadow pointed upward, to show that he intended to

Humbly, the tribal chiefs withdrew. Standing beyond the huge green emerald, one of them pointed to the

stone and begged the moon messenger to accept the chicquatil as a gift from the people of Zeltapec. The

For centuries that stone had been kept in this resting place a tribute to be sent to the moon god by his

messenger. Should the leaders fail to have the gift accepted, they would no longer hold the confidence of the

people. They would be carried to the top of the towering mountain; then hurled into the depths below.

The Shadow raised his hand; this time his motion indicated acceptance. Moving forward with gliding tread,

he raised the emerald from its resting place and held it in his right hand. Without a word, he turned and

The chieftains hurried to unclose the exit, The Shadow entered his palanquin. He was carried from the

temple. There, the waiting bearers took the palanquin while the Aztec leaders formed their pairs.

The glad cry was echoed by the throngs of Aztecs who stood about the temple. The moon messenger was

returning to the sky. With him, he was taking the gift of those who dwelt in Zeltapec.

The Shadow left the litter at the table rock. He walked alone into the sacred circle, holding his right hand high

above his head. The huge emerald glistened like a mammoth green eye in the moonlight, its splendor dazzling

The Shadow stepped up into the cockpit of the autogyro. The green light vanished as he placed the emerald

beneath his coat. The motor began its roar. There was a rush of air as the huge fan above the ship began its

The autogyro moved. Forward it rolled; then upward in an almost vertical ascent. It rose higher and higher

until it was but a black shape in the moonlit sky. Up toward the crescent moon out of sight beyond the

The Shadow had found the lost city of Zeltapec. There, he had learned the secret held by six men of evil. He

was on his way to deal with them now; and in his possession was the green chicquatil.

Six men of evil had come to Zeltapec to steal that matchless gem. They had been thwarted; and they had been

marked with the face of Colpoc, the image of evil. The Shadow, here alone, had gained the magnificent jewel

The Shadow was returning now, to put an end to crime. There were six men so the string of outrages was

not ended. Other crimes were even now in the making as The Shadow's plane rushed him back.

THE lobby of the Salina Hotel was virtually deserted. This was not unusual. The Salina Hotel was one of the

oldest and leastfrequented in Fargo, North Dakota. Business at this inn was so light that there was not even

a clerk in constant attendance. Guests rang a loud bell on the desk and waited for someone to come in

On this particular evening, the man who entered the hotel lobby seemed pleased to note that no one was there

to observe him. He walked past the desk, ascended a flight of stairs and walked along a dim corridor until he

came to a room which bore the number 206. There he stopped and tapped softly. Leaning close to the door,

The door opened. The man entered a darkened room. The door closed behind him. A light clicked on, to

reveal the fact that the window shade was drawn. The light also snowed the features of the visitor and the

Both of these men were alike in countenance. Their expressionless features sloped away from their flat,

pudgy noses. Wordless, the two men smiled. The sinister, twisted curves of their lips formed identical

More than that, their grotesque leers produced another effect. Each of these men became the exact image of

Colpoc, the god of evil whose hideous statue was in the Aztec temple at Zeltapec!

The grinning host waved his visitor to a chair. The two sat down and began a low, important conversation.

"Nobody saw me come in, Charley," declared the visitor. "You picked a great spot here. I got your postal card

three days ago, but I didn't want to come over from Sharport until I was all set."

"That's the stuff, Horace," responded Charley. "It was best to wait a few days before we got together. I did

that with the others. No one suspects anything about a little trip out of town a few days before the fireworks

The men were no longer smiling. Their expressions were solemn and impassive. It was curious that there

should be two men so exactly like. Horace, the visitor, seemed to realize the fact as he gazed reminiscently at

But Charley, the host, was quite indifferent. For to him, this was but another meeting. Within the past several

weeks, he had held three such consultations with other men who were his doubles. The fact suddenly

"It does seem funny," he declared, "to have you speak to me as Charley Kistelle. I don't look any more like

"This is a great game being someone else. Back in Tilson, Illinois, I was Earl Northrup. In Barmouth,

Maryland, I was Harold Thurber. In Daltona, Georgia, I was Tom Rodan. Here, I'm going to be Horace

"You know, Horace, I thought I was going to hear from Eddie before I did from you. He's down in a town

called Riviere, near New Orleans. Your letter was sent there from New York, so I hopped up here to Fargo.

"Twentytwo," responded the man called Horace Fenwick. "So I edged in ahead of Eddie, eh?"

"Yeah," responded Charley Kistelle. "He's got a good lay down there in Louisiana. Calls himself Edward P.

Montague. Nice moniker he's picked. I don't think Eddie will be ready for me for another week yet."

Kistelle paused reflectively. He was staring at Fenwick. His eyes were away from the window. Hence

The window shade was moving very slightly, as though the soft raising of the sash beyond had caused it to

flutter. Then the window shade was still, its bottom a few inches from the sill. Yet through that small space, a

shaft of blackness was projecting. The stunted outline of a phantom shape was moving inward upon the floor.

ALTHOUGH neither Charley Kistelle nor Horace Fenwick realized it, someone was beyond that shade.

That someone must have been a veritable creature of the night, for not a sound betrayed his hidden presence.

Only the unmoving blotch upon the floor could have served as evidence to declare the presence of The

"You see," declared Charley, "everything has been pulled without a slip. I've got a man posted in New York.

He attends to the forwarding of the mail. Your case has worked just like the others, but it took a little longer,

"When I was in New Orleans, I sent a hotel card to New York. So when your letter blew in, it was forwarded

to me. I hopped here in a hurry and sent a card air mail from here in Fargo. As soon as this job is finished, I'm

moving south. Probably St. Louis or Kansas City. There I'll send in another card to New York."

"What of it?" responded Kistelle. "I'll notify this hotel where I'm gone. They'll forward it. Suppose any one

should see the letter? That Aztec signal won't mean a thing. The only point is that I have to get notification

from you fellows far enough in advance. I've counted on all of you to have a perfect job ready for me."

"I've got a corker," he responded. "Ready any time if I keep watching. Listen, while I spill the works."

He looked anxiously about him. Noticing that all seemed well, Fenwick lowered his voice to a buzz and

began a soft, careful story, to which Charles Kistelle listened with understanding nods.

"I get you, Horace," he said. "Old Dagwood will go down to the jeweler's shop any night you suggest it. Is

Kistelle arose and paced the room. He glanced at his watch. It showed half past eight.

"Listen, Horace," he said suddenly. "It's a long jump from here to New Orleans. I've got the lay here

"I think we can do it," returned Fenwick. "This is Saturday. The jeweler stays open until ten. Dagwood is at

home. But I'll have to head for Sharport pretty quick. I wouldn't want to call Dagwood from Fargo."

"Get going then," ordered Kistelle. "I've got a car. Bought it yesterday over the phone. It's waiting for me at a

garage. Leave the rest to me. When you come out of that jewelry store, with Raymond Dagwood, give the

crescent sign. I'll be watching. You say it takes ten minutes to go from the jeweler's to Dagwood's?"

"You can get to the store at half past nine," declared Kistelle, thoughtfully. "Then, after you're gone with

Fenwick nodded, and Kistelle pointed toward the door. Fenwick arose; then hesitated. He curved his right

Kistelle waited several minutes, then picked up his suitcase and strolled down to the lobby.

Kistelle was chuckling to himself as he walked along a street toward the garage where a car was waiting for

AT the garage, Kistelle found the proprietor. Keeping his face turned away as though looking for the car that

he had bought, Kistelle introduced himself as Henry Adams and asked about the car.

The owner led him to the rear of the garage. There Kistelle saw a small coupe. He put his bag in the back,

peeled off two hundred dollars in twentydollar bills and paid the money to the garage man.

Then the new purchaser drove his car out to the street. He stopped to let the garage owner fill the tank. After

As the coupe rolled along the dim side street from the garage, a figure emerged suddenly from a darkened

front of a deserted building. Like a living phantom, it swept through the slowly moving coupe. With a swift

leap, it landed silently upon the rear of the coupe and nestled down within the tire rack.

To all appearances, this living being immediately became nothing more than a large, dark bundle jammed

upon the back of the automobile. Charles Kistelle had no suspicion of what had happened behind him. He did

not realize, as he headed along the road to Sharport, that he had gained a mysterious passenger.

In fact, Charles Kistelle was so engaged in a chuckling soliloquy that he had very little thought of anything

"Another swell job tonight," were his elated words. "There's nobody can spoil this game. Nobody not even

The mention of that name brought a contemptuous sneer to the lips of Charles Kistelle.

"The Shadow!" he repeated. "That's the guy that was after Charley Kistelle. Fine chance he has of ever

Kistelle's chuckle sounded above the roar of the speeding motor. Little did the evil plotter suspect that he was

not alone that the very man whose name he had ridiculed was riding five feet behind him.

Charles Kistelle was starting out to commit a perfect crime. The Shadow was accompanying him! The fourth

SARGON'S JEWELRY SHOP was the most pretentious store in the prosperous town of Sharport, North

Dakota. On Saturday night, when the main street of Sharport was crowded, the store stayed open until ten

This night, James Sargon, the proprietor, was seated in the little office back of the store when Maurice Cotter,

his trusted junior partner, came in to inform him that Raymond Dagwood and Horace Fenwick had come to

The two men entered and Sargon, rising to greet them, rubbed his hands with enthusiasm. He proffered a box

of expensive cigars and sat down at his desk after the visitors were seated. Cotter, the junior jeweler,

remained at the open door so that he could see the visitors and the outside shop as well.

James Sargon, the jeweler, was a prosperouslooking man who had done well in his long term of business.

He was elderly and of obsequious manner. His understudy, Maurice Cotter, was a young man who aped his

superior. Both were servile in the presence of Raymond Dagwood, who was reputed to be the most wealthy

Dagwood was a stout, imposing individual who was filled with selfimportance. Most of the natives of

Horace Fenwick, who had come to Sharport less than a year ago, was one of the few who managed to work

up a real acquaintance with Raymond Dagwood. Hence, Dagwood, like so many puffedup persons of his

type, had made Fenwick one of his real confidants and the two were on the most friendly terms. Dagwood felt

"Good evening, Sargon," said Dagwood, in a condescending tone. "Mr. Fenwick was at my home this

evening. Dropped in to see me and we began talking about those diamonds that I have considered buying

"Certainly, Mr. Dagwood," said the jeweler with a bow. "I shall be glad to show them to you. A wonderful

He arose and opened a door at the rear of the office. It led to a strong room. The visitors entered; Sargon

James Sargon opened a large safe and brought forth flat boxes which he placed upon a table. He opened them

As he had said, the gems were of high value. Dagwood pointed out certain pieces to Fenwick.

Fenwick nodded. He glanced at the list of items and gave it back to Sargon. Finishing a brief inspection of the

"What do you think of them, Mr. Fenwick?" questioned Sargon, as he began to replace the boxes.

"Quite good," responded Fenwick. "I fancy that they are worth the amount that you have asked."

Sargon laid the list in the safe with the boxes and closed the door of the strong box. He turned to Fenwick and

"They are worth every bit of three hundred thousand dollars!" he declared. "Indeed they are, Mr. Fenwick,

indeed they are! You know their history they came from the Davis estates and I obtained them in hopes that

Mr. Dagwood would buy at least a portion of them. I shall hold them for a while longer, because I am sure

"I haven't made up my mind yet," returned Dagwood, brusquely. "Nevertheless, you can count upon at least a

"Thank you, Mr. Dagwood," bowed the jeweler, "thank you. I am keeping these while I await your decision.

The diamonds are safe here" he looked about the room approvingly "because I have fitted this room with

every device for security. Only Cotter and myself can enter here. We have spared no pains in assuring the

"I was looking at Mr. Dagwood's present collection of gems," remarked Fenwick, in a matteroffact tone.

"I fancy that my gems would bring about thirty thousand dollars," interposed Dagwood. "I should scarcely

"You have some nice items," replied Fenwick, "and it was my suggestion" he turned to Sargon "that Mr.

Dagwood should have his own jewels appraised carefully before going ahead with this contemplated

"Gladly! Gladly!" responded the jeweler. "Any time, Mr. Dagwood. I should indeed be pleased to appraise

"We are going back to your house," suggested Fenwick, turning to Dagwood. "Of course, Mr. Sargon can not

"Indeed I can," interposed Sargon, quickly. "It is nearly closing time and Cotter is in charge here."

"A good idea," declared Dagwood. "Come along, Sargon. My car is outside. You can ride up to the house

with us. I'll have you look over my jewelry right away. I might dispose of some items in connection with the

The three men left the strong room, Sargon carefully closing the door behind them. The jeweler spoke to

Maurice Cotter and explained where he was going. The three men left by a side door which locked

As they passed under a dim street lamp, Horace Fenwick raised one hand. He made a slight motion as he

formed his thumb and fingers into a crescent sign. The thumb and fingers were turned upward.

A car was parked in the darkness across the sweet. A man, seated at the wheel, made no response. But he had

seen that sign. Charles Kistelle for he was the watching man smiled grotesquely in the darkness.

At the same moment, a figure detached itself from the side of Kistelle's coupe. Moving silently, it reached the

sidewalk and followed the three men who were walking along the street to Raymond Dagwood's limousine.

When Dagwood's limousine arrived at the wealthy man's mansion, ten minutes later, it stopped directly

behind Horace Fenwick's small sedan. Raymond Dagwood alighted, accompanied by James Sargon and

Dagwood, Sargon and Fenwick entered the mansion. Not one of them turned to look back. None saw the

phantom shape that followed noiselessly. The three entered the house. Dagwood was speaking as he led the

"We shall go right upstairs," he said. "I have the jewels in a safe in my bedroom. You can look at them right

Fenwick was the last to enter the door and he paused suddenly. He fancied that he had heard his name

whispered in the darkness. He seemed to recognize the voice of Charles Kistelle. He paused on the door sill.

The whispered word startled Fenwick. It was the countersign that he had given Kistelle tonight in Fargo. In

an instant, he decided that something must have gone wrong; that Kistelle had hurried here to intercept him.

"I'll be with you in a moment," he called to Dagwood, who, with Sargon, was halfway across the

groundfloor hall. "I just want to see that my car is all right. I may have left the key in it."

Fenwick stepped outside and closed the front door. He moved into the darkness toward the spot where he had

heard the whispered word. He stopped a cry of surprise caught upon his twisted lips.

Two burning eyes were staring from the darkness. The muzzle of an automatic was rammed against

The command was uttered in a sepulchral whisper that made Fenwick's limbs quiver. He did not know the

identity of this person in the dark; but, instinctively, his mind leaped back to a night, long ago, when he had

Charles Kistelle had uttered that name on the last night and the strange title had stuck in Fenwick's mind.

The Shadow the only man whom Charley Kistelle had feared. Could this be the weird personage who had

THE man who called himself Horace Fenwick did not know. He realized only that he had met his master; that

he was walking mechanically toward the driveway at the bidding of an invisible being, who had materialized

They were going toward the car. The whispered voice was stern and sinister. It was ordering Fenwick to take

the wheel. The crook obeyed. The threatening automatic still pressed against Fenwick's body. The eyes were

glaring; but Fenwick did not see them. He was staring straight ahead, obeying The Shadow's command.

The whisper gave the destination. Fenwick nodded shakily and started the car. He could do nothing but obey,

for he realized that a moment's hesitation would mean his doom. He was going back to the jewelry store, at

Fenwick uttered a scarcely audible groan as he followed the route toward the place from which he had so

recently come. A distant chime was striking ten. They were going back into the night Horace Fenwick and

TEN o'clock. Maurice Cotter extinguished the lights in the jewelry store. He walked back into the office for a

few moments; then went out to leave by the side door. Everything was in perfect order.

The young man stopped suddenly. He could hear a light tapping against the small window of the side door.

He stopped and peered through. He saw a white face pressed against the glass. Drawing a flashlight from his

pocket, Cotter turned it to see who was there. He breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized the odd features of

Freed from worry, Cotter opened the door and admitted the man who was waiting. The explanation of

"I got here just in time, Cotter," the visitor declared. "I thought I could make it before you left. Sargon wants

He closed the door and conducted the visitor through the darkness. Cotter turned on the office light and

operated the mechanism that opened the door of the wellprotected strong room. Another light came on and

"We appreciate your interest, Mr. Fenwick," he declared, as he turned the combination of the safe. "The list is

right here with the diamonds. I'll give it to you right away. Mr. Dagwood has a real opportunity in buying

these diamonds, but he has been very slow about making up his mind. I am indeed glad that he is considering

Cotter's words ended. His jaw dropped. Turning, he had found himself staring into the gleaming muzzle of a

revolver, held in the hand of Horace Fenwick. A hideous, twisted grin was on the face before him.

"Hand over those diamonds!" ordered Fenwick, in a sneering tone. "Wait move over that way. I'll get them

Cotter, surprised, obeyed stupidly. Covering him with one hand, the robber used the other to draw forth the

boxes containing the valuable gems. With this task completed, he swung sharply upon Cotter.

The young jeweler could not understand this situation. He knew Horace Fenwick to be a trusted friend of

Raymond Dagwood. He had never imagined such an event as this could occur. Gasping, he raised his voice in

"You you'll pay for this, Fenwick!" he exclaimed. "You you can't get away with it! I should never have

The evil smile was playing over the face of Fenwick. The bold robber stared coldly at the young jeweler.

Then, in a slow, cold tone, he spoke the words that added to Cotter's bewilderment.

"You are the one who will pay for this, Cotter," came the evil voice. "You opened the safe. Sargon will

"I'll tell the truth!" protested Cotter. "I'll name you, Horace Fenwick. You'll pay "

A sudden enlightenment dawned upon Maurice Cotter. This man before him this daring robber who looked

like Horace Fenwick was not Fenwick at all! There was a slight difference in the tone that Cotter would not

CHARLES KISTELLE continued to smile. He had played the role of Horace Fenwick in order to get in here

and obtain the diamonds. It would be easy to wound Maurice Cotter and make a quick getaway, leaving the

But there was a reason why Kistelle planned this crime differently than the ones he had performed before. He

had decided that with Maurice Cotter, the truth would be the most efficient method. For Fenwick, in his

"I am not Horace Fenwick," declared Kistelle, boldly. "Horace Fenwick is at present with Raymond

Dagwood and James Sargon. Therefore, when you tell the world that Horace Fenwick came here, you will

make a hopeless accusation. Dagwood most important man in this town; and Sargon your own employer,

"Before you came here, Cotter, you lived in Chicago. There, several years ago, you had plenty of trouble with

"I did nothing wrong," objected Cotter. "I was arrested yes because of thefts in the store where I worked;

"And discharged from your position," added Kistelle with a leer. "You came here and managed to get another

start. You worked in with Sargon. He never looked up your past. But" Kistelle's smile twisted "Fenwick

Whitening, Cotter realized the game now. He had talked occasionally with Horace Fenwick, who had been a

friendly customer at the jewelry shop. He had given Fenwick threads to the past. Fenwick had followed them

Cotter knew that the situation was hopeless. The man before him was Fenwick's double. Who would believe

"The blame will be on you, Cotter," declared Kistelle, in a tone of finality. "Tell your story. It will not hold.

The past will be learned. You will go to prison, unless" the speaker paused "you get away from here

Cotter saw the answer. He had but one chance; that was to flee from Sharport. If he chose to remain, he

would be as certainly condemned as if he had fled. He realized that he could not shatter Horace Fenwick's

alibi. He could only say that a man who looked like Fenwick had duped him. Who would believe such a

"That is your one chance," declared Kistelle, calmly. "Will you take it, or must "

Kistelle laughed. The holdup was easy, now. He reached forth to gather the boxes that contained the

diamonds. He would make a getaway, leaving Cotter to shift for himself. If Cotter should flee, as Kistelle

believed he would, he would be blamed; if he stayed, Fenwick could use the perfect alibi.

With eyes still steady upon Cotter, Kistelle noted a sudden shift in the direction of the young man's gaze.

Instinctively, Kistelle turned to look. To his amazement he saw Horace Fenwick standing just within the

WHAT was Fenwick doing here? Kistelle's evil smile faded. The master crook was as bewildered as Maurice

Cotter. Kistelle had been playing upon the effectiveness of a perfect alibi. For an instant he thought that

Then came the answer to the mystery an answer that caused Kistelle to tremble in unrestrained fear.

A low, sinister laugh rippled through the room. From the obscurity just beyond Fenwick appeared the outline

of a weird, blackgarbed form. Two automatics showed in blackgloved hands. One was trained on Fenwick;

That laugh brooked no resistance. The revolver dropped from Kistelle's trembling fingers. Tonight's game

was ended by the master trapper. It was The Shadow who stood before Charles Kistelle!

The tall form moved to the center of the room. Three men stood agape. The bewilderment of Maurice Cotter

was equal to that of the two men who had sought to ruin him by their alibi plot. The automatics moved and in

answer to their silent order, both Kistelle and Fenwick backed away to a corner, with arms upraised.

The Shadow's eyes shone upon Maurice Cotter. A whispered voice came from hidden lips.

"Go into the office, Cotter," was The Shadow's order, "and call Dagwood's home. Say that you have trapped

Cotter obeyed like a man in a dream. He walked into the office and phoned Dagwood's home. He heard

himself asking for James Sargon; heard himself telling the jeweler that he had trapped two crooks. Then

mechanically, Cotter hung up the receiver. He lifted the receiver again and called the local police.

The Shadow's voice brought Cotter from his daze. In obedience to a new command, he came into the strong

room. The spectral tones of The Shadow were telling him what he should do. Cotter picked up Kistelle's gun

The Shadow's automatics dropped from view. The man in black moved silently toward the doorway. His

sharp eyes showed him that Cotter, awakened to new determination, held full control of the two men of evil

those two who peered with solemn, terrified faces both replicas of the hideous idol Colpoc.

"Upon the desk" The Shadow's voice whispered weirdly in Cotter's listening ear "is the information that

will convict these men. Give it to the police for there are others like these." Cotter nodded. His mind was

clouded with fantasy. He could only keep his eyes glued upon the two faces before him; those faces that were

The Shadow stepped into the office. He placed a sheet of paper upon the desk. It was a closely typewritten

report that named the others of this evil crew and exposed their crimes in terse words. At the bosom of the

statement, The Shadow inscribed the name of Edward Montague the last of the six, whom Kistelle had

THE SHADOW paused; then swept suddenly to the door of the strong room. He saw Kistelle and Fenwick

slowly shifting forward as though to leap upon Cotter. The Shadow laughed and with his mockery, he

brought his automatics into view. The rogues cowered back against the wall of the room.

The gibing tones of The Shadow's laugh reechoed through the closewalled room. That laugh sounded as a

knell of doom. Its recurrent mirth reverberated in taunting cries that might have been uttered by the walls

With this triumphant taunt, The Shadow made an end to any thought of struggle against his might.

The sound of a siren came faintly to the room. The police were nearly here. The Shadow's form faded away

Men were at the side door. They found it open for so The Shadow had left it when he had picked the lock to

Seeing the light from the inner room, the police dashed in that direction. A few moments later, Raymond

Dagwood and James Sargon arrived, to follow the path the others had taken. It was then that The Shadow

Charles Kistelle, master plotter, was in the hands of the law. The Shadow had captured him and one of his

The schemes of six men of evil had been frustrated. The path was open to deprive them of their illgotten

The Shadow had left vengeance to others, solely because in the elimination of the evil men, it was necessary

to clear the names of those who were now wrongly held as criminals. The Shadow had invoked the law but

even now he waited. Strong though the law might be, The Shadow had often seen it fail!

CHARLES KISTELLE and Horace Fenwick were prisoners. Glaring maliciously at the two police who held

them covered by their guns, they waited helplessly while Maurice Cotter tried to tell his story.

The junior member of the jewelry firm was half dazed by all that had happened. He poured out his accusation

against the men whose very looks incriminated them. He could only explain that some mysterious stranger

Suddenly Cotter remembered The Shadow's words. The paper on the desk! When Cotter spoke of that

document James Sargon rushed out to get it. Back in the strong room, in the presence of Raymond Dagwood

and three policemen, the elderly jeweler read forth the statements that The Shadow had left.

As Sargon named the other members of the evil band: Northrup, Thurber, Rodan and Montague, a fierce

glare came upon the face of Charles Kistelle. He was hearing his own crimes exposed. That paper was an

Sheer desperation drove Kistelle into action. With a fiendish cry, he leaped from the wall and struck down the

The other officer aimed directly at Kistelle; but as he pressed the trigger, his fire was diverted. Horace

Fenwick, acting with quick precision, leaped forward just as he saw the policeman turn to shoot. He struck

Confusion reigned. A pair of unarmed men had opened the attack; but they were wild with desperation.

Kistelle seized the revolver from the man with whom he was grappling and shot the officer through the heart.

Then Kistelle and Fenwick were the center of a milling mob. Revolver shots flashed wildly. Men staggered

away. Out of the brief, hectic battle came the master plotter unscathed. With a fierce grab he seized the boxes

of diamonds and fled toward the outer door, Fenwick at his heels. Two revolver shots followed; but the

Out into the street dashed Kistelle, squarely into Dagwood's chauffeur, who was standing by the limousine.

Hurling the diamonds into the rear of the car, Kistelle leaped to the wheel. The motor had been left running.

Fenwick, too, was present. He leaped into the back of the car as it pulled away. Climbing over the seat, he

THE mad escape did not forestall pursuit. A police car was resting near the corner. Its driver came quickly to

life. Then two pursuing policemen dashed from the store and leaped into the car beside the driver.

Simultaneously, another car came into action. This was the coupe in which Kistelle had come to Sharport.

Almost on the instant when Kistelle had felled the chauffeur, the motor of that car burst forth. It was

sweeping onward now, passing by the police car. The officers shouted as they saw it, not knowing whether it

A low, sinister laugh swept from the man at the wheel. The Shadow was driving Kistelle's car!

The big limousine was a block ahead. Sweeping past a traffic light, it was heading from the open road that led

from Sharport. Behind it came the car driven by The Shadow. The police car was in the rear.

Three minutes after the chase had begun, the cars had gained the countryside. Whirling along a curving paved

highway, Charles Kistelle and Horace Fenwick were hurtling toward freedom with three hundred thousand

The limousine was a powerful car. By all odds it should have left the pursuers far behind. The coupe in which

The Shadow rode was an old car; the Sharport police car was by no means a swift one. Nevertheless, as miles

sped by, Kistelle could still see the lights of the coupe not more than two hundred yards behind him.

The windings of the open road were maddening to Kistelle. They were holding back the limousine every time

The coupe, on the contrary, was driven by a man who knew no caution. Clipping turns, pushing the light car

to its utmost, The Shadow was clinging to the margin that separated him from the car ahead.

As the limousine swept along a straight stretch, Fenwick suddenly gripped Kistelle's arm. Directly ahead was

A grim oath came from Kistelle. He heeded neither lights nor clanging bell. He shot the limousine squarely

over the crossing while Fenwick stared aghast at the brilliant headlight of a lumbering freight locomotive

"Look back," growled Kistelle. "Look back and see what happens. Watch that guy behind us take it!"

Fenwick stared back, expecting to see the lights of the coupe come to a swerving halt. Instead, he saw that the

Then the glare of the locomotive threw a midday light upon the crossing. Into that brilliance swept the

coupe. It jounced upward on the crossing just as the pilot of the locomotive came black from the night.

Then, with a quick swerve, the coupe shot on, the locomotive bulking behind it. The cars of the long freight

rattled in succession, no longer a barrier between the fleeing crooks and their pursuers. Fenwick gasped; then

Kistelle's response was an oath. He narrowly averted disaster as the limousine rounded a curve.

The pace was telling on the crook at the wheel. Sharper curves were coming and as the man instinctively

ground the brakes, Fenwick's tense voice warned him that the coupe was gaining rapidly.

A HALF mile more of winding road brought new evidence of The Shadow's gain. A pistol shot burst forth

from the rear. The bullet shattered the back window of the limousine. Kistelle's nerve was sagging. Well did

The Shadow! Only such a superman could have pushed a light car forward in such a chase. Only The Shadow

Ahead lay a twisting down grade; a turn across a bridge lay halfway to the bottom of the hill. Kistelle gave

his car the gas. The lights of the coupe dazzled him as they were reflected in the mirror above the wheel.

Brakes saved Kistelle from disaster as he took the turn on the bridge. The limousine sped along the straight

stretch and reached the end of the bridge as Fenwick saw the coupe make the dangerous curve at top speed.

That shot was a masterpiece. Aimed by The Shadow's unfaltering hand, it pierced a rear tire of the big car.

The limousine jounced at an angle. It cut across the road. It crashed into a stout fence and shattered the wood

as though it had been paper. The headlights pointed straight downward into a deep gorge, the bottom a

Kistelle, the wheel wrenched from his hand, yanked at the handle of the door as the big car twisted onto its

left side. The door broke open just as the limousine hung suspended on the sloping edge of the ravine.

Fenwick's cry was a piercing shriek. The limousine plunged nose downward. It turned in its drop and struck

bottom up when it reached the depths. The expensive automobile was shattered into a mass of wreckage.

A few seconds later, the coupe came to a stop beside the jagged section of the fence. Sharp eyes peered

toward the edge of the gorge. A low, solemn laugh came from unseen lips. There was no elation in The

Shadow's tone. His laugh was one of retribution, formed by the knowledge that evil had been rewarded by

The door of the coupe opened softly. The Shadow's blackclad form moved through the night until it reached

the fence which was dimly outlined by the light from the coupe. The scrubby, curving bank of the ravine was

The rapid chugging of a motor could be heard. Two tiny lights appeared at the top of the hill where the mad

Swiftly, The Shadow regained his coupe. The little car shot away and sped down the road, its tail light

The driver of the police car saw the broken fence rail. He came to a stop. He and the others scrambled out and

flashed their lights over the edge of the ravine. They saw the wrecked limousine. They knew that no one

A long, curving road led down into the ravine and the officers headed for it, so that they might make their

inspection of the wreckage. They drove down the highway and turned off at the required point. Silence

Amid that silence, a huddled figure came to life. Out of the scrubby brush that edged the top of the ravine, a

It was Charles Kistelle. Miraculously, the superplotter had escaped the doom that should have been his.

The opening door had dropped him while the limousine had made its momentary hesitation on the brink of

death. Gripping the scrubby bushes, he had lain on the edge of the gorge. He had escaped the inspection made

by The Shadow because the arrival of the police car had caused the blackclad avenger to depart.

Only Horace Fenwick had died. The master schemer still remained, and his one thought now was to offset the

Charles Kistelle had escaped, but his perfect plan had been spoiled. He would have to seek elsewhere, now,

IN the chill of an early evening fog, a man was wending his way along a narrow San Francisco street. Ahead

of him, towering through the mist, was a strange galaxy of Oriental signs. The man had reached the fringe of

This visitor to the Oriental district seemed to know his way perfectly. Yet there was something furtive in his

As he reached the bizarre section where East and West were mingled, the man turned from the brilliant street

and sought the seclusion of one of those mysterious alleys which are so common in that part of San

The man walked more easily now. His gait became a long, lusty stride. Using the dim street lamps as a guide,

he stopped before a darkened door that appeared to be the entrance to a closed shop. He opened this door and

A blandfaced Celestial appeared. He gazed solemnly at the visitor as though to inquire his purpose. There

was a brief pause; then, as the man from the street did not speak, the Chinaman questioned him in English.

"You savvy English, eh?" responded the visitor in a growling tone. "All right. I want to see Tam Sook. Tell

"Charley Kistelle," repeated the Chinaman. "All right. I tell him. You wait here."

The Chinaman disappeared and returned about three minutes later. He pointed to the door and the visitor

followed him. They went up a flight of steps and the Chinaman ushered the man into a lighted room.

There, seated at a table, was a man dressed in American garb whose face showed his Oriental ancestry. This

man was Tam Sook, one of the most important figures in Chinatown. He turned his gaze upward and his

The visitor laughed. His face, pudgynosed and sloping, remained impassive until the lips began to form a

Tam Sook stared incredulously at the evil leer which spread upon the countenance before him. He was more

sure than before that this was not Charley Kistelle. Then came words that astounded Tam Sook.

"Don't look at my face, Tammy," said the visitor, in a friendly tone. "Listen to my voice. That's all. You'll

Tam Sook began to nod. There was something about the voice that he recognized. Yet he could not connect

"I KNEW you in New York, Tammy," said the visitor, seating himself in a chair. "We worked together there.

When you moved to Frisco, we made an agreement. If I needed you again, I would know where to find you.

"A lot has happened since I saw you last, Tammy. See this face of mine? Well, I picked it up in the

Tam Sook nodded. "You are Charley Kistelle," he said, solemnly. "I know it now. Tell me how you got your

"I picked up the face in Mexico," responded Kistelle, with an evil chuckle. "That's a long story. I'll come to

"There are six of us, Tammy " Kistelle paused for a correction "that is, there used to be six of us. Now

there's five. We all look alike. Sounds funny, eh? Well, it's true. Five of us all alike.

"So we worked together and we went after some nice hauls. We made three cleanups, Tammy, and we were

on our way to a fourth. Then we hit trouble" Kistelle's lips formed a reminiscent leer "and we had to

Tam Sook's echo was a knowing one. It was evident that the name of The Shadow held a powerful effect

upon the Chinaman. Kistelle saw Tam Sook's expression and responded with a growl.

"Yes, The Shadow," he said. "Another fellow and I were making a getaway and he queered it. Shot a tire off

our car out on a Dakota road. We went over the edge of a cliff. The car did with my pal in it but I

"Get this, Tammy. Here were four of my pals sitting pretty. One in Illinois, one in Maryland, one in Georgia,

one in Louisiana. Each has a mug like mine. I pulled alibi jobs with three of them and the other guy was

"Then The Shadow pops up and queers the whole lay. The police have all the dope and I'm out in the

"Way back, Tammy, a year ago, when I framed all these alibi jobs, I figured that there might be some need

for a general scram. So I had each of my pals tipped. An emergency signal by telegram would mean to

scram. Where to? Ah, that was where I was wise. Get for cover was my order and call on Tam Sook in San

"I never thought I'd have to pull the rip cord, but I was mighty glad I had it all set. Out there in Dakota, I

hoofed back to a railroad line and walked a mile until I came to a station. There was a man on duty and a train

"It was a break," admitted Kistelle, "but you must remember that everybody thought I had been killed,

including The Shadow. The real break came when I sent the wires. The cops had got the names of all my

pals. But they didn't send out the word until the morning. So my wires landed in ahead and the boys had a

"We want to get together. There'll be some swag to divvy, and you'll get a cut."

"Great," said Kistelle. "We'll meet there. When each man shows up, send him down. We can make our plans

"Very good," he declared. "What are the names of these men? How shall I know them?"

"Take a good look at that," he laughed. "You won't forget this face very quick. That's all you need to know,

"Just one thing," said Kistelle, becoming serious. "I'm worried, Tammy worried about The Shadow."

"He knows too much about me. Must have me listed in his big book, I guess. He was on my trail when I

scrammed from New York before I went to Mexico. If he knows as much as I think he knows, he'll link me

up with you. What's more, he'll know where you are. Maybe maybe not but The Shadow's mighty wise."

Tam Sook nodded. He was staring straight at Kistelle. He did not notice the door beyond. There, on the floor,

was a splotch of black. That splotch had Tam Sook known it was the sign of The Shadow!

"So," resumed Kistelle, "I'm taking something of a chance. Once I get the gang together and split what we've

managed to haul, we can all scram for Mexico. The boys made a getaway, all right I've checked up on

that. But the game is up and we're marked men. The cops won't be looking for us here in Frisco, just yet. It'll

"You know your stuff, Tammy," he declared. "You aren't in the Tong racket for nothing. I guess you have

"Do not worry," he said, "All Chinatown will do my bidding. Let The Shadow come. That is all I ask. He will

Charles Kistelle turned to the door. He paused as he heard Tam Sook ask another question.

"You are sure that none will be here before Friday night?" the Chinaman interrogated.

"Not until then," said Kistelle, emphatically. "They know the orders. Ten o'clock on the tenth night after the

signal. They'll go by the rule. Remember, Tammy, they all look like me. Six of us I mean five of us

Tam Sook nodded. Charles Kistelle laughed. The man with the evil leer left the room. Tam Sook leaned back

in his chair and began to inscribe Chinese characters upon a sheet of paper before him.

A few minutes later, the splotch of blackness that showed from the darkness of the outer hall disappeared.

Kistelle had gone by without seeing that sign of The Shadow. Tam Sook had not noticed it.

IT was eight o'clock on the appointed evening. Tam Sook, the blandfaced Oriental who affected American

garb, was seated at his accustomed desk. As before, he was inscribing Chinese writing. For Tam Sook,

despite his youth, was one of the most important figures in the Chinese quarter of San Francisco.

Here, in this district where Tong warfare often raged, Tam Sook's sanctum was an oasis amid strife. An

intermediary between rival factions, Tam Sook could call upon any to do his bidding.

This room upon the second floor was innocent in appearance; yet, in reality, it was a spot of utmost danger.

Tam Sook was a man who cared but little for life. Even his own was of no consequence to him. It was that

fact that had enabled Tam Sook to gain his important position among the Chinese.

Tonight, Tam Sook had made arrangements for the gathering of Charles Kistelle and his crew of evildoers.

Tam Sook owed but little to Charles Kistelle; and it was merely the opportunity for substantial profit that had

Here, in his San Francisco hideout, Tam Sook lived his selfimportant life and held all strangers in contempt.

Thinking of Charles Kistelle now, Tam Sook smiled. Kistelle had come here as a friend. Had he been an

Thinking of Kistelle brought Tam Sook's mind to The Shadow. He had heard often of The Shadow. Recalling

past events, Tam Sook remembered that The Shadow had carried some of his exploits to the Chinatowns of

Charles Kistelle feared The Shadow. Therefore, The Shadow might come here. Tam Sook remembered his

Tam Sook smiled blandly as he recalled the statement. There were two men on duty below, placed there

especially for this Friday night. Let The Shadow try to pass them! What if he should pass them? Then he

would meet Tam Sook in person Tam Sook who did not fear death and who was prepared to deliver it!

THERE must have been something telepathic in Tam Sook's thoughts. At the very moment when Tam Sook

was considering the question of The Shadow, a blackgarbed figure was entering the anteroom at the foot of

The Shadow was here, in advance of Kistelle and his crew. Sweeping silently across the entry, The Shadow

paused and tapped the inner door. With a gliding motion, he stepped back into a fringe of darkness just as the

Seeing no one, the Chinaman advanced into the entry. An instant later, powerful hands were upon him. He

collapsed in a heap beneath The Shadow's attack. Blackgarbed arms worked swiftly. The Chinese guard was

While The Shadow still bent over his victim, the door again opened. The slight sound of the hinge was

The result was the same as before. The new investigator plunged forward as The Shadow seized his body,

landing the Chinaman half stunned upon the floor. A low laugh sounded as The Shadow bound the second of

Upstairs, Tam Sook was writing. He finished his inscriptions and stared at the sheet before him. He noted,

curiously, that the paper had darkened slightly. He wondered what had caused the blotting smudge that

covered the surface of the table. He looked up and his bland expression became fixed.

Before Tam Sook's table stood a figure garbed entirely in black. Tall, weird and unexpected, it appeared as a

Tam Sook could not see the face of the mysterious visitor. He noted only two sharp eyes that glistened as

A soft, whispered laugh came from the phantom shape. Even to Tam Sook, the man who had disclaimed all

fear of The Shadow, that laugh was chilling. But, as the weird tones died away, the Chinaman regained his

He noted that The Shadow bore no weapon. That was surprising. Having passed the door below, The Shadow

In a sense, Tam Sook deemed The Shadow wise. Had he come with threatening automatics, Tam Sook might

"Tonight" it was The Shadow's voice that spoke "men are coming to this place. They are men whom I

The eyes of The Shadow stared steadily at Tam Sook's face. The Chinaman shifted uneasily. He sensed a

"I have no quarrel with you," declared Tam Sook. "Therefore you had no right to come here. What have you

"That is good," remarked Tam Sook. "If they were dead, death would be your lot. Since they are still alive, I

The Shadow laughed softly. His whispered mirth brought an instinctive shudder to Tam Sook's shoulders.

The Chinaman felt uneasy. With a quick motion, he pressed his hand against the side of the table. Then, with

"There is no escape now," he said. "Should you attempt to leave this room, death would be yours. A single

false step toward the door or the window will set forth a charge that will blow this place to pieces.

"Furthermore" Tam Sook spoke slowly, as though proud of his perfect English "all this will happen

within five minutes, unless I am alive to prevent it. So kill me, if you wish. I am not afraid to die."

Tam Sook spoke with assurance. On other occasions, he had used this measure against enemies. In every

instance, they had pleaded for mercy. Tam Sook was interested to see what The Shadow would do. He heard

"Your life for mine" The Shadow's words were sardonic "would be an excellent exchange. There is,

THERE was a note of regret in The Shadow's voice. It seemed to indicate that he would have liked to end the

life of Tam Sook and then meet the Chinaman's boast. Instead, it was obvious that The Shadow intended to

With his right hand, The Shadow peeled the glove from his left. He held the bared hand close to Tam Sook's

The Chinaman stared at the glittering gem that shone upon the third finger of the slender hand. The gleaming

girasol, with its everchanging hues, was, indeed, a marvelous sight. Tam Sook suddenly realized that he had

set five minutes as the time for death. Yet time was moving slowly by and neither he nor The Shadow seemed

As The Shadow spoke, he made a motion with his hand. The iridescent girasol popped upward, on a hinge. A

Tam Sook's eyes bulged as he saw the figure. A gasp came from the Chinaman's lips.

"Yes," came the weirdlywhispered reply, "the gift of those of Chow Lee those who are even more

powerful than you! Only one man, other than your own, has this sacred symbol. I am that man!"

Tam Sook was still staring at the symbol. To him, as to all important Chinese in America, the sign of The

Great One was a symbol of faith and loyalty. Whatever hates or friendships were made, all were leveled

before this mystic symbol. All the leaders of Chinatown respected those who carried it.

"Four minutes have passed," declared The Shadow. "It would be wise for you to press the other side of the

Tam Sook obeyed with wonderment. He realized, as he did, that The Shadow had divined the modus

operandi of his trap; how one side of the table held the button which set the explosives that prevented escape;

All this time, The Shadow, with his keen intuition had held Tam Sook at his mercy. He could have killed the

Chinaman and still have escaped with ease. That thought was in Tam Sook's mind and The Shadow knew it.

With calm precision, The Shadow spoke the answer to Tam Sook's unasked question.

"I have need of you," declared The Shadow. "Need of you and of your guards below. I have a purpose tonight

and I do not propose to prevent the meeting which Charles Kistelle has arranged."

Tam Sook was totally bewildered. How did The Shadow know that the meeting had been arranged? The

The Shadow knew all, he believed. Why not? The Shadow possessed the symbol of The Great One!

Tam Sook looked once again at the symbol just as the girasol closed over it. The flashing gleam of The

The Chinaman arose and bowed again. He motioned to a chair beside the table. The Shadow took the seat.

"I am here," declared the Chinaman, "to do your bidding. Speak what you wish. I shall obey."

IT was after ten o'clock when Charles Kistelle appeared in the entry at the foot of the stairs leading to Tam

Sook's abode. The Chinaman who met him did not even inquire his name. He pointed to the stairs, his face

Kistelle smiled a twisted grin. This was proof that the others some of them at least were already here.

Evidently the guard had been told to admit all who bore the same features as the first arrival.

Reaching Tam Sook's sanctum, Kistelle found the bland Chinaman seated at his table. When Kistelle spoke,

"It is you, Charley," he said, in a suave tone. "The others all are here. Four, as you said. You were right you

Rising, Tam Sook conducted Kistelle through a panel that opened in a side wall. The two walked along a dim

corridor; then down a flight of stairs, that wound into the depths below the building. Kistelle felt a chill as

Tam Sook stopped before a door that blocked farther passage. He pointed, bowed and retired. Kistelle opened

The master schemer found himself in a lowceilinged, paneled room. A dim light illuminated the place.

Kistelle recognized the faces that were there to greet him. He should have recognized them for they were

The others rose to greet their chief. Kistelle shook hands and took his place in a chair beside the table where

the others were seated. The furniture was of a Chinese pattern and here, in this Oriental setting, Charley

As he addressed the group, Kistelle noted the solemnity which held them. They were anxious to hear the

details of his story. Kistelle told everything how The Shadow had foiled his welllaid scheme and how

Then came the matter of business. A gleam of triumph spread over Kistelle's face as he drew a large package

from beneath his coat. Here, at least, were spoils of war. From the package, Kistelle dropped forth a stack of

"There we are," he declared. "I collected on two jobs. I converted the bonds from Tilson into cash. Here is the

One of the men responded. Although he could not be distinguished from the others, his words indicated that

"I TOOK a chance, Charley," he declared. "I waited until morning, after I received your telegram, and

grabbed all that I could raise from the Davenport estate. I was lucky to get away. A hundred thousand was all

He pulled a thick folder from his inner pocket and spread the gold certificates upon the table. Kistelle

gathered them in and began a division of the spoils. When he had finished, he shoved a stack of money to

"It's more than a hundred grand each," he declared. "I figured we were going to make a million apiece. I lost

the diamonds that I grabbed in Sharport. I never had a chance to work with Eddie, down in Louisiana. It's

"Just the same, I'm satisfied. If The Shadow had given me the bump along with Horace, it would have

queered everything. We're marked men now, but we've got a hundred grand apiece. We can head for Mexico.

The statement brought an affirmative response from the group. The very word Zeltapec seemed to bring a

"Zeltapec!" exclaimed one. "Say, Charley, when you told me to use chicquatil as the countersign, it gave me

the creeps. I can't forget that place those Aztecs stuck us with that green light glowing "

"Lay off," ordered Kistelle. "You fellows have lost your nerve, that's all! Do you know what I'm going to do

when I get to Mexico? I'm going to head for Zeltapec, if I can find the right birds to go with me. This time,

I'm going to get the green chicquatil. That's something The Shadow don't know about "

The words died on Kistelle's lips. He saw his fellows staring beyond him. Kistelle turned in the direction of

There, standing by an opened panel in the wall, was a tall, somber being in black. One glance told Kistelle the

BY some mysterious plan, the blackgarbed phantom had managed to enter the midst of this group. He,

alone, had divined their meeting place. He was here alone to square accounts with them!

No one made a move. The gleaming eyes of The Shadow were focused upon the faces of the five men, all of

Slowly, impressively, The Shadow advanced. His hands were ungloved. The right was advanced toward the

Kistelle, alone, regained his scattered wits. Leaping to his feet, the chief of the crooked crew made a motion

The Shadow snapped the fingers of his right hand. A sudden explosion burst forth from the finger tips. The

flash of light was directly before Kistelle's startled eyes. The chief of the plotters staggered back and slumped

The others were aghast. They did not know how to respond to this unexpected action. They were half stunned

by the mysterious explosion which The Shadow had caused. Those chemicals one upon The Shadow's

While the five men hesitated, The Shadow performed a new deed. Reaching beneath the folds of his cloak, he

drew forth an object which he held hidden. He walked the few paces that he needed to reach the table and

Instantly, a strange green glow filled the room. All Kistelle included cried out in startled amazement.

In the midst of that emerald light, these bold fiends of crime weakened. They buried their faces in their hands.

In one brief instant, The Shadow had worked a total transformation. He had carried their minds from the

room in which they were back to the temple in Zeltapec. They were prisoners again, men with metal masks

pressed on their faces; poor, pitiful creatures who could see nothing ahead of them but certain death!

One Kistelle had boasted that he would again go in quest of the mammoth emerald. Here it lay, upon the

table, within reach. But Kistelle, like the others, was helpless. He, too, hid his face in his hands.

"You sought the chicquatil," declared The Shadow. "It lies before you. Take it!"

"You bear the mark of Colpoc" The Shadow's tone was a scornful irony "and Colpoc lives within the

shrine of Zeltapec. His eyes are not blinded by the green light of the chicquatil. Why should your eyes fail?"

Five plotters were faced by one avenger. They were helpless. The Shadow's words were jeering. They stood

"Perfect crimes!" The Shadow's sarcasm continued. "You see how they have availed against The Shadow!

See how they shall avail you now! All those upon whom you sought to place crime have been vindicated. All

FROM beneath his cloak, The Shadow drew forth sheets of paper. He laid these one by one before the five

cowered men. He bade them look and they did. Each statement bore the man's own confession of past crime,

and of the one crime that so far had only been planned. With keen intuition, The Shadow had singled out each

"Sign" The Shadow was addressing the man nearest to him "sign this paper with the name that you

"Sign here," said The Shadow to the next. "Your name, too, is needed, Edward Montague."

As the signature was completed, The Shadow moved to the next man. In response to his command, the name

of Harold Thurber was affixed to the paper. Next came the signature of Earl Northrup. The Shadow moved to

"Charles Kistelle," he ordered. "Sign your paper. Your full confession lies before you."

Weakly, Charles Kistelle gripped the pen. He wrote his name; then dropped his hand. His boasts were ended.

In the presence of The Shadow, he collapsed before the glow of the green emerald the chicquatil which he

The Shadow laughed. His rippling mirth sounded as the forerunner of doom. One by one, he gathered up the

The white hand of The Shadow reached forth and plucked the green emerald from the table. Moving

backward toward the panel through which he had come, the blackclad master held the priceless gem in full

"Living images of Colpoc," he said, in a sepulchral tone, "your reign of crime is ended. You are marked for

life. Perhaps that will not be for long. The chicquatil is before you. I brought it here, by arrangement with the

man who gave you this meeting place Tam Sook. When you choose your friends, Charles Kistelle, you

In a trice, the green light faded. The chicquatil, gift of the Aztecs to the messenger from the moon god, had

gone beneath the black cloak. The Shadow stood in the dim light of the room, the spectral glow no longer

CHARLES KISTELLE raised his head from his hands. The chief plotter of the men of evil stared toward the

The scheming villain looked about him. He saw his four comrades raising their heads. They were trembling;

but in this dim light they seemed to have lost their paralytic fear. The glow of the chicquatil was gone!

A sudden frenzy swept through the brain of Charles Kistelle. He looked along the table. The piles of money

were no longer there. Kistelle realized what had happened. The Shadow had taken those spoils all that the

Under that cloak was a fortune of half a million. There also were the confessions that the cowed crooks had

A terrible frenzy seized Kistelle. He remembered how he and Fenwick had arisen to strike down a superior

crowd of enemies. Here was the end of the trail, unless his nerve would be with him now!

The solemn faces of his companions faces that were all alike were looking toward him for leadership.

Kistelle had heard that cry in the underworld. He shouted it now, and with his exclamation, he leaped to his

feet. Not one of the five hesitated. Each had a gun in readiness. They were drawing as they rose.

The Shadow saw the action. His hands came suddenly from beneath his cloak. They carried neither money,

Five against one! The odds would have been hopeless, had that one not been The Shadow!

For as the long white hands came into view, the automatics spoke a split second before the first shot that

came from an enemy's gun. The cannon roar of the powerful .45's resounded through the subterranean den.

Vainly, the revolvers splashed their answering bursts of flame. The only hands that fired were the ones that

shot too soon to gain effective aim. Bullets cracked against the paneled walls. Others those fired by The

THE roaring echoes died. The smokefilled room showed blinded, staggering figures that were rolling

helpless on the floor. The Shadow's firing ceased. His living targets lay before him. He stood unscathed.

Once again, The Shadow had conquered odds by his perfect formula. He had fired before the others.

Slowly, the blackclad victor approached the motionless bodies. He stooped above them, singling each from

the other. A clamor arose outside the room. Men were beating at the door. The terrific fire had been heard

The closed barrier burst. As it toppled, The Shadow glided swiftly away. Unseen by the entering bluecoats,

Five dead bodies were on the floor. The officers stared about; seeing no one else, they examined those who

had been killed. A surprised exclamation came from one policeman. It was echoed by others.

Thrust in a hand of each dead man was a sheet of paper a signed confession of the crime which he had

planned or committed. Flashlights showed the closely typed words true statements of each individual

A wise officer wrote names upon slips of paper and attached them to the correct bodies before he plucked the

confessions from unyielding gasps. The dead forms were carried forth. The one policeman remained. Upon

the table he saw a sheet of paper. He read the words inscribed upon it. This was the unsigned confession of

As the officer stared, he noted that a name was written at the bottom of the sheet. In lieu of Fenwick's

signature, the paper bore the signed approval of the one who had forced the final issue. There, in bold letters,

The writing faded. The confession of Horace Fenwick was blank at the bottom. That one of the six had

escaped the final outcome, only because he had gone to his deserved death ten days before the rest had paid

SIX men of evil were dead six men who had started forth in common crime. Exiled with the mark of

Colpoc upon their evil faces, they had not learned their lesson in the shrine at Zeltapec. Instead, they had used

their misfortune to pave the way to the strangest careers of crime that had ever confronted the law.

Six men of evil whose faces, molded with the image of wickedness, matched their hearts had done their

utmost to further supercrime. Armed with perfect alibis, they had sought to gain millions and had followed

With their very identities unsuspected, these men would have succeeded under the guidance of the

archplotter, Charles Kistelle, but for the presence of The Shadow. He, alone, had marked the end of crime and

Five bodies in a sunken room another shattered in the wreckage of a ruined limousine. That was the fate

that the six had gained. The green chicquatil had lured them on their quest. Its glare had marked the end of

The room below the street in San Francisco's Chinatown was empty now. The panel in the wall reopened and

sharp eyes surveyed the deserted scene. From the hidden lips came a low, uncanny burst of mirthless laughter