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

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

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

CHAPTER III..........................................................................................................................................8

CHAPTER IV........................................................................................................................................11

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

CHAPTER VI........................................................................................................................................19

CHAPTER VII .......................................................................................................................................22

CHAPTER VIII.....................................................................................................................................25

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

CHAPTER X.........................................................................................................................................33

CHAPTER XI........................................................................................................................................36

CHAPTER XII .......................................................................................................................................39

CHAPTER XIII.....................................................................................................................................43

CHAPTER XIV.....................................................................................................................................46

CHAPTER XV......................................................................................................................................49

CHAPTER XVI.....................................................................................................................................52

CHAPTER XVII ....................................................................................................................................55

CHAPTER XVIII ...................................................................................................................................58

CHAPTER XIX.....................................................................................................................................61

CHAPTER XX......................................................................................................................................64

CHAPTER XXI.....................................................................................................................................67

FROM the lounge car of the Shore Express, Lamont Cranston watched the meadows slither by as the speedy

streamliner ate up the last few miles of its run to Seaview City. Ahead, jagged in the afternoon haze that was

creeping in from the ocean, the skyline of the resort hotel was growing like a school of leviathans rearing

Perhaps the scene fascinated Cranston, but Margo Lane wasn't watching it at all. Rather annoyed by the

proximity of Seaview City, Margo was staring steadily at Lamont to remind him of a promise that he'd

Except that Cranston seldom forgot anything and never a promise. How he was to keep this one rather

puzzled Margo, since she felt sure he had a lot to tell within a very few minutes.

It never helped to rush Lamont Cranston. His face, impassive and calm, was the very symbol of deliberation.

Odd features, Cranston's, the sort that might be classed as those of a rugged mystic. Caught now in the glint

of the setting sun, Cranston's visage was singularly masklike, as impenetrable as the thoughts that Margo was

Whether Cranston was gauging the distance to Seaview City or the limit of Margo's patience, was a debatable

question. Perhaps both factors were the answer, for he timed it to perfection. An annoyed frown was forming

under Margo's wealth of brunette hair as she opened her lips to deliver an exclamation. She was at her

prettiest that way, though oblivious to the fact, as Cranston noted with a calm turn of his eyes.

Then, in an even tone that interrupted Margo before she managed to speak, Cranston announced:

"A dead man!" Margo heard herself saying it. "Then you mean there's been murder in Seaview City?"

To Margo, that detail was more astounding than the statement that produced it, at least until Cranston

"Odd that you should have forgotten so soon," remarked Cranston, casually. "Hugo Trenkler died only this

It wasn't that Margo had forgotten Hugo Trenkler; she just hadn't imagined the connection. She started to say

so, then decided to let Lamont do the talking, since the train was now half way across the Meadows and

"Nothing ominous about Trenkler's death," declared Cranston. "The doctors expected it, but they hadn't

As he spoke, Cranston produced his watch to show that there were a few more minutes than Margo expected.

As if timed to the action, the streamliner slackened speed. Relaxing with a smile, Margo shook her head.

"Go on about Trenkler," suggested Margo. "I know you went over to his house to make sure his curio

collection was safe, but that was after he had died. So Trenkler couldn't have told you anything."

"Sold, to the last item, with the money deposited in the bank. Trenkler did fairly well disposing of it. He took

Margo's new frown was of the recollective type. She was trying to think of Hugo Trenkler minus a curio

collection. It just didn't fit, for Trenkler had been a miser when it came to curios. Margo could picture his

place as she had last seen it, a veritable potpourri of oddities that old Trenkler had gathered from all over the

"As a curio," defined Cranston, "Trenkler was probably the best in his collection. He was the hook that

"Practically," nodded Cranston, "considering the way he swapped bad items for good. I'd been watching

"So he wound up with a legitimate sale," said Margo, sadly. "Too bad, Lamont. If only he'd left a few odd

items that could have revealed his past, especially the sort that you might have returned to their real owners."

"He did leave a trifling collection of that type," declared Cranston. He was watching from the window as the

train snailed across the drawbridge that brought it into Seaview City. "It consisted entirely of hotel keys."

"He didn't exactly steal them. His housekeeper said he intended to return them, but the jackdaw in him made

him forgetful. That is, Trenkler planned to return all his hotel keys except this one."

From his vest pocket Cranston brought a sizeable key that bore the number 608. Staring at it, Margo didn't

notice that the porter was gathering the luggage as a sign that the train was practically at the depot.

"Returning a hotel key is a simple matter," explained Cranston. "You simply drop it in the mailbox. But this

"Certainly," replied Cranston. "Because it was sent to Trenkler. That's odd, too, having a hotel key come to a

Margo was looking closely at the key, noticing that it bore no tag to identify the name of the hotel. Before she

could question Cranston on that point, he was motioning her to her feet, since the train had come to a stop.

"The package was postmarked Seaview City," undertoned Cranston, as they moved toward the line of

passengers waiting at the door. "So it seemed worthwhile coming here, since the long distance call was from

"One that the housekeeper received last night. She said that Mr. Trenkler wasn't feeling well, but she didn't

"Some man who didn't give his name. He said for Trenkler to come tomorrow that meant today or to send

"The man said something else," replied Cranston. "He told the housekeeper to remind Trenkler to take the

Margo was repeating the words as Cranston gestured her from the platform down the steps where the porter

was waiting to take her arm. Somehow the combination didn't make sense, but Cranston took it at face value,

whatever that was worth. Beckoning a redcap to take Margo's bag, Cranston gestured to a row of station

"Take your choice," said Cranston with a smile. "I'll phone you later, Margo. I'm going to look for that odd

"If you find it," came Margo's parting shot, "you'll have something crazier than any of the items Trenkler

After watching Margo pick her hotel by its station wagon, Cranston sauntered along to a lineup of cabs.

From the window of her own vehicle, Margo watched his tall figure, saw Cranston thread his way out from a

cluster of train passengers and take his stance beside a waiting cab. Margo hoped the cab would stay until the

station wagon pulled out, and it did. In fact it was the last cab left, with Cranston still lounging beside it,

Meanwhile, Margo hadn't been oblivious to the other cabs. They were all of regulation pattern, bearing the

names of two different companies; one called the Black and White, the other the Green. Appropriately, all the

Driverless, the cab was standing with Lamont waiting patiently by when Margo saw it closely. In the sunset

the cab showed its color plainly and its hue was a vivid blue. But on its door, Margo saw the painted emblem

The message to a dead man had brought results here in Seaview City. Substituting for Hugo Trenkler,

ATTACHED to the Seaview City depot was a lunch room that Cranston watched with a casual but expectant

gaze. It was a logical place from which a driver would arrive, should the blue Green Cab be in operation.

Other persons, however, came from the lunchroom first. Two looked like workmen, a third was a crisp faced

old gentleman who was mostly wingtipped collar and polkadot necktie. The workmen saw the cab,

decided they could use it, and went back to rap on the window of the lunchroom. While the old gentleman

was looking from the cab to Cranston and back again, a middle aged lady with a shopping bag and umbrella

was attracted to the scene. It was then that the cab driver put in an appearance. He was shirtsleeved with the

sleeves cut off to show a pair of brawny arms, as freckled as the broad face that showed beneath the warped

visor of his cabby's hat. He looked over the prospective passengers and grunted.

"I was supposed to haul this back into the garage," the cabby affirmed. "But since there's a load of you, I

The cabby put that question straight at Cranston as though expecting him to answer it, which Cranston didn't.

The gentleman with the wingtip collar began to clear his throat, but hadn't finished when one of the

"This gent was," the workmen said, with a nudge toward Cranston. "He was waiting when we came along."

"The lady here was last," vouchsafed the other workman, "only what's this you're telling us about an

The cabby decided that he could, since two passengers asked for it. So Cranston found himself in the rear

seat, between the umbrella lady and the polkadot gentleman, riding toward the Main Boulevard, which was

the name of Seaview City's principal street that paralleled the ocean. But before reaching that thoroughfare,

All gave them except Cranston. He wasn't sure where he intended to go. He said drily that he'd expected a

friend to meet him at the station, but without result. Having no hotel reservation he'd expected the missing

"I'll see what I can figure, mister," the cab driver declared. "It's the summer season and the hotels are pretty

full. Maybe we'll hit luck, though, only I ought to drop these other fares first."

Cranston acquiesced and the cab headed to its first stop which was a side street rooming house between the

Boulevard and the Boardwalk. This was the address given by the gentleman with the wingtip collar and the

"I told you the City Market!" the lady reminded the cabby. "You've taken me right past it! I have to do some

"Better late than never, lady," retorted the cabby. "The Market's on the other side of the Boulevard, ain't it?

Well, if I drop this gentleman first, I can hit the Market coming back and you won't have to go walking across

the Boulevard through all the traffic. I figured you as kind of careful and foresighted, seeing how you had an

umbrella with you and now it's raining." It wasn't exactly raining, but the mist was bringing what amounted

to a drizzle. A bit mollified by the cabby's flattery, the lady reduced her grumble.

"Slippery, too," the cabby added. "That makes it even worse, walking across streets. Guess we're both of us

The cabby emphasized this with a jerk of the steering wheel as he veered toward the curb beside the rooming

house and the blue cab responded with a slight skid. The man with the polkadot tie stepped out but

What Cranston was studying happened to be the net result of the cab's slight skid. The sunflap above the

windshield gave a slight flip, revealing what should have been on constant display, the cabby's license card.

Only part of the card showed, enough to disclose the name "Jerry" but no more. Quickly, Jerry pushed the

flap up again and reached out to receive the fare from the passenger who had just alighted.

One of the workmen riding in the front seat said: "S'long, Colonel" to the departing gentleman with the

wingtip collar. Benign until this moment, the "Colonel" turned to throw back an angry glare that was

something more than mere annoyance. A muttered apology from the workman soothed the face above the

fancy collar, but Cranston's eyes, idling in the Colonel's direction, didn't miss the incident.

Apparently Mr. Wingtip really styled himself "Colonel" and for some reason didn't like the reference. At

any rate, Cranston gained a good index to the Colonel's nature. Until now, the Colonel's face had been drab,

almost expressionless, but the purpling of his features, the narrowing dart of his eyes beneath a broad, high

forehead, were the sort of characteristics to be remembered. So too was the tremble of the Colonel's lips,

which rendered them puffy and naturally so, rather than tight and compressed, the way he had hitherto

Continuing, the cab dropped the umbrella lady at the City Market where Jerry suggested that one of the

frontseat passengers get in back, rather than have an argument with any of the local law and order, since the

But the cab didn't do much rolling along the Main Boulevard. Instead, Jerry wangled it in and out of side

streets, up to beach front hotels and around again, pausing at each hostelry to get out and talk with door men.

Always, Jerry returned with a headshake, meaning that the hotel in question was filled.

Just why the two workmen didn't object to a tour of Seaview City was something that might have puzzled a

less astute analyst than Cranston. His face retained the constant calm that to persons who knew him indicated

a lot of keen thought behind it, but these workmen didn't know Cranston. If they had, they wouldn't have been

so careless. The one in front kept talking in an undertone to Jerry, which was rather surprising on so short an

acquaintance. The fellow in back kept his arms folded with one hand under his coat. right where it ought to

This had the makings of a oneway ride if Cranston started to act nervous, which he didn't. Should the

situation be more than imaginary, the time to worry would be when Jerry gave up trying the hotels and

decided to take his passenger elsewhere, but Cranston wouldn't worry even then. The trip wouldn't get that far

with Cranston, even if Jerry so intended it; but Cranston doubted that such would be the plan at all.

The runaround was nothing but a stall, in Cranston's estimate. For some reason it wasn't time to deliver the

very special passenger to the hotel where he was expected. So Cranston maintained the patient manner that

Pulling to a stop in front of a fairly pretentious hotel called the Neptune, Jerry gave a nod to a door man who

wasn't looking. Acting as though he'd received a similar response, Jerry turned in the driver's seat, and

It was dusk now, thanks to the increasing fog, but the lights of the hotel portico gave Cranston a good look at

Jerry's freckly face, just as a last tally. Paying the dollar, Cranston alighted, carrying a briefcase that

constituted his entire luggage. Instead of handing the briefcase to the door man, Cranston walked into the

Hotel Neptune as though he belonged there, which was quite the thing to do. Scarcely through the revolving

So far so good. Cranston had passed muster with Jerry and the cabby's gunbearing associates, which the

hardfaced workmen unquestionably were. That deferred future events until Cranston reached room 608

Entering a waiting elevator Cranston turned to the operator and said: "Seventh."

Welltimed, that order for the wrong floor, Cranston didn't give it until he'd turned around and viewed the

lobby to make sure that no one was close enough to be checking on him. By going one floor above the sixth,

Cranston could approach the latter from a proper vantage and besides, there were some preliminaries before

Those preliminaries took place while Cranston was coming down one flight of deserted stairs. With a twist of

one hand he inverted his briefcase while the other automatically drew a hidden zipper in the bottom. A

Vcompartment opened between the regular divisions of the briefcase and from it, compressed garments

literally disgorged themselves. With a single sweep, Cranston slid a black cloak over his shoulders and

topped his head with a slouch hat that accompanied it. A pair of thin gloves completed his new regalia, while

The fringing gloom of the stairway literally swallowed Lamont Cranston, or in another sense, it became the

unseen route for his other self, The Shadow. The same applied to the sixth floor corridor when The Shadow

reached it. He knew exactly where 608 would be and how to get there without encroaching too much in the

light. He'd simply made a quick survey of the seventh floor hallway, knowing that the sixth would be

In fact the sixth floor corridor was made to The Shadow's order, specifically the door of 608. It was set

between two pillars marking the connection of the original hotel and an additional section; hence anyone

Apparently room 608 had been selected for the benefit of clandestine visitors, to give confidence to strangers

such as Hugo Trenkler. All that anyone had to do was unhook the door quickly and spring into the room.

Silently, as smoothly as though engaged in a piece of fine precision work, which indeed this was, The

Shadow inserted his key and unlocked the door without a click. His gloved hand squeezed the knob, turning it

as noiselessly. The door seemed to open of its own accord as The Shadow released the knob and applied

The interior of the room was dim, the floor being entirely obscured because the only illumination came from

the fogladen dusk above the window level. Without a sound, to all practical purposes an invisible entity,

Probing the wall, gloved fingers found a light switch and pressed it. Lights flashed from wall brackets, but

their mild illumination still did not reveal The Shadow, motionless and wellnigh spectral in the gloom just

It was by voice that The Shadow signified his arrival and his tone was a whispered laugh, grimly significant.

Perhaps that laugh should have been given an hour ago, when Margo Lane, misinterpreting a remark by

Grim in turn was the sight that brought that mirthless laugh. From what The Shadow saw upon the floor, he

THE thing upon the floor was a body, sprawled in the halfwrithed fashion that represented violent death.

The victim was a man of frail appearance, which gave an inkling to the mode of murder. Past middle age, he

wasn't the sort who could have put up much of a struggle; therefore The Shadow judged that the man had

Over toward the corner was an easy chair in which the man had probably been seated. The chair had a broad

back, wide enough to hide a lurker. Looking at the victim's throat, The Shadow saw no traces of finger marks

nor the impression of a rope, so he began a search for some other form of lethal instrument and promptly

From a bureau drawer poked the corner of a silk scarf that had been poked there hurriedly. Down through the

slight opening, The Shadow saw that the scarf was twisted and its strands showed signs of strain. It could

On a writing table lay a ruler along with some pencils. An interesting exhibit the ruler, since it could have

completed a tourniquet if thrust through the knotted ends of the silk. Apparently some murderer knew the

The victim was well dressed, but his face had the droop of dissipation that went with failure. The Shadow

classed him as some boardwalk character who probably traded on old acquaintance or chiseled his way as a

betterclass panhandler. In giving the man this brokendown status, The Shadow allowed for the changes

Carefully searching the man's pockets, The Shadow came across some pawn tickets, an employee's pass to

the Long Pier, a hotel key for this very room, but with a hotel tag attached, and finally several dollars in small

bills. The pass bore the name of Peter Klurg and had a passable picture of the dead man.

These items were not all that The Shadow found. Beside Klurg's chair, half covered with a footstool in which

the man had apparently tangled during his forward sprawl, was a newspaper open at the racing page. This

edition of the Seaview City Evening Breeze, had probably been printed about two hours before.

What intrigued The Shadow, however, was a chance item on the page opposite. It linked with other matters in

It was a death notice, covering a former resident of Seaview City, a wealthy collector named Hugo Trenkler.

Here was something that The Shadow hadn't checked, the fact that Trenkler once had lived in Seaview City.

A resort of this size was the sort where one would make acquaintances merely as a visitor, hence The Shadow

had thought the fact applied in Trenkler's case. The housekeeper hadn't mentioned any connection between

It stated that Trenkler had moved to New York more than thirty years before. The housekeeper, The Shadow

At any rate, the news of Trenkler's death had reached Seaview City ahead of The Shadow's arrival as Lamont

Cranston. The Shadow had left such a possibility out of his calculations, since Trenkler wasn't important

enough to rate an obit except in his home town. It was just bad luck that the home town happened to be

Something was afoot in Seaview City that called for outside contact. Somebody must have remembered

Trenkler for the doubtful character he was, or kept in touch with him during the years between.

What Trenkler's name may have meant to Klurg was a wideopen question. Perhaps it meant less than the

names of certain race horses, because Klurg had checked a few of those on the sporting page. The newspaper,

however, wasn't all that served Klurg in the way of literature. Lying over beside the chair was a folder that

The folder bore the photograph of a man who wore a turban and a bushy black beard and in large type it

Pictured on the chart was a figure with bow and arrow, entitled "Sagittarius, The Archer" and beneath it was

The reading was largely stock stuff, but Cranston's eye was quickly caught with certain paragraphs marked in

One paragraph referred to "Business and Speculation" and gave a list of lucky days where such were

concerned. One of the dates was the tenth, which happened to be this day, and there was a penciled ring

Further along was a paragraph with a much more vital significance. Since it was also marked, Cranston read

"Due to the unfavorable position of Saturn, Sagittarians are at present subject to serious accidents during this

period. They should therefore guard well their actions as they may meet with untimely and perhaps fatal

A voice spoke suddenly at The Shadow's elbow; it might have startled another person, but he instantly

defined its tone. It was coming from the radio, a small set half hidden among a stack of old newspapers, and

Dee's chart hadn't been wrong in naming the tenth as one of Klurg's lucky days, where speculations were

concerned. As the announcer reeled off the names of winning horses, The Shadow heard the names of two

Among The Shadow's unusual faculties, one was this: his off moments were his best. In short, The Shadow

never allowed anything to distract him. His survey of this room where Klurg lay dead had been intensive,

therefore it had commanded considerable concentration. But while listening to a radio newscast and merely

making mental tally of some minor item in the case, The Shadow wasn't otherwise idle, because he couldn't

The Shadow's eyes were noting the halfopen window, with an oldfashioned castiron balustrade that lay

beyond, about all that even his keen gaze could discern, considering that darkness had settled completely

Even the balcony with its old wrought rail wasn't a new discovery to The Shadow. He'd noted a whole tier of

such balconies when he had entered the main door of the hotel which lay on a plumbline beneath this room.

That something was a reflected flicker from somewhere off in the lower darkness. With swift, sweeping

Those repeated flickers were the lights of a car, parked over on a side street away from the hotel. They came

from about the only patch of darkness where a car could be stationed and still seen from this room.

Instantly The Shadow thought of the blue Green Cab and his mind completed a deductive process.

The car hadn't parked so he could see it. Jerry's purpose had been to put it where Jerry himself could view the

window of 608. Having seen the lights come on in that room. Jerry was becoming nervous because something

hadn't happened; therefore, he was repeating a signal blink for other people to see.

How long this had been going on, The Shadow didn't know, but it was the sort of thing that might nullify his

clever job of entering 608 unseen. The thing now was to maneuver an equally invisible exit. Acting on that

Sounds greeted The Shadow before he could reach his goal. Fists were hammering against the door, and hard,

So that was it: a frame. Somebody had tipped off the police that matters weren't too right in room 608 at the

Hotel Neptune. At least somebody was to have sprung the tipoff, but hadn't, until Jerry's lights began telling

them that they were missing out on an important detail. With a quick turn, The Shadow strode across the

room. Behind him, the door really echoed with the newer and harder pounding of gun butts. Too much of that

hammering and the door would come crashing through. Time was getting short, even for The Shadow.

The balustrades were the answer. In the darkness they would serve as a simple ladder. Dropping from one

ornate contraption to another wasn't even a task for an acrobat, let alone The Shadow. Something of a laugh

Getting out of here was too easy. Those gunners who had posed as workmen could handily be down below.

Not having seen the interior of the blue cab's trunk rack, The Shadow couldn't swear that it hadn't contained a

very modern machine gun. If Jerry's comrades wanted to dispose of a wrong visitor to room 608, they could

certainly do it with such a weapon. Even The Shadow couldn't help but darken the window, target fashion,

unless he turned the room lights off. At that, it would be best to test the outside and for that The Shadow's

With a swift swirl, The Shadow hoisted Klurg's body from the floor, finding the task easy despite the dead

weight of the corpse. With a forward motion that gave the body a fantastically lifelike motion, The Shadow

sent Klurg's remains on a slow topple against the balcony rail so that it would pause there, leaning, like a

That would bring a response from itchy fingers on machine gun triggers, if there were such over by the cab.

Lights out, next; then a quick spurt to the window before the police crashed through the door. Provided of

No machine guns rattled. Instead, the door crashed open before The Shadow could even reach the light

switch. His only chance was a quick swerve to get behind the incoming door before the invading police

Even then, the chance was slim, for the police might readily have guessed that the rebound of the door

indicated a hidden buffer behind it. But the police didn't guess, not one of the three who came surging into the

The police had seen the decoy, Klurg's body, just finishing the slow, almost laborious topple that The Shadow

had skillfully given it. They thought that the man at the window was alive and trying a getaway, so they

charged through to overtake him. The Shadow hadn't counted on that ruse working so well that it would fool

Before the police could reach the decoy all of Klurg's dead weight was on the balustrade, but it didn't halt

there. With a human shriek that hearers attributed to Klurg, the old iron work gave, pitching the dead man's

All three of the police stopped to stare from the void that the window now represented. Before they could

think of turning to gaze back at the shattered doorway, it too represented void.

GETTING in out of the rain seemed to be the chief industry of boardwalk pedestrians on a night like this, and

Margo Lane was no exception. At least Margo's mind was not encumbered with notions about Jerry, the

Even Hugo Trenkler was merely a name to Margo Lane and the evening drizzle had washed out practically

all Margo's recollections of it, considering how many other names had impressed themselves upon her.

Names on windows under helpful canopies where Margo paused along the boardwalk; names even on the

canopies themselves. Other names on the fronts of arcade shops, closed this evening because of the nasty

What Margo wanted was somewhere to dry out, before starting back to her hotel, the Coral House. The only

havens seemed to be movie houses but Margo didn't want to take time to see a picture, because she might

Stopping at a dimly lighted doorway, Margo saw a sign that promised something. Emblazoned in big letters,

It was all very well, except that there wasn't any free lecture. The only sign of Doctor Dee was his heavily

turbanned and bewhiskered image, plastered above a blackboard alongside the door. All but washedout, the

It was too long to wait until nine o'clock, so Margo wangled along her way. Several dull blocks of races

between canopies brought her to a lighted store front where a wide open door invited all within. Here was

Here too was a subsidiary placard that was less necessary than the one at Dee's. It stated:

Since the door was open and several people were seated among rows of chairs within, the fact that a sale was

under way was obvious, particularly as Margo saw the auctioneer waving pairs of nylons in front of his

disinterested audience. At least his blatant voice was proclaiming the hosiery to be nylons and Margo was

What was more, a blandfaced man at the door helped Margo make up her mind. His waving hands beckoned

her into the commodious auction room and gestured her to a chair. Sitting down, Margo began to appraise the

House of Bankhill while the insistent auctioneer kept declaiming on the merits of the nylons.

As purveyors of geegaws, the House of Bankhill outdistanced anything that Margo could have possibly

imagined. Coming into town on the streamliner, she'd talked with Cranston about the famous curio collection

owned by Hugo Trenkler, as though it had been something unique; but the stock carried by Bankhill was a

Trenkler's curios would have excited the haute monde, whoever they were; similarly, Bankhill's goods were

The lamented Hugo Trenkler had gone in for oddities, like music boxes, spinning wheels, penny banks, ships'

wheels, wampum shells and whathaveyou. His collection had consisted of the old and the authentic,

though it trended to the curiosa rather than the more recognized branches of collecting.

But Montague Bankhill, whose name appeared as proprietor on a business card that the attendant handed

Margo, was a law unto himself. Everything his place displayed was designed to catch the eye, but none of it

The socalled Oriental rugs that hung about the walls were glossy with a sheen that would wear off once the

rugs were used on the floor, and the rugs would probably wear out with it. There were tea sets smeared with a

gaudy gold leaf which justified a placard stating "Genuine Twentytwo Karat" as though the chinaware were

made of precious metal. A "solid silver" table service lacked the label "Sterling."

Gaudy lamps with ornate shades, fancy vases with pictures termed "hand painted" but which looked like

stencils, pieces of crockery and china clocks that seemed the products of a nightmare, all went into the

If Bankhill's could properly be called an auction gallery. Margo was beginning to doubt that point as the sale

proceeded. Certainly it wasn't following the pattern of any regulation auction that Margo had ever before

Having disposed of the nylons, the auctioneer was now holding a square cardboard box, while he demanded:

"How many people here would bid on an empty box? Mind you, I say this box is empty, just to learn if you

are in a mood to buy. On everything we sell, we give our guarantee and we have never had a dissatisfied

customer. Everybody leaves here happy, that is our motto. They go away happy, because they have our

confidence. It is to create that confidence that I ask again: Who will bid on the contents of this empty box?"

"One over there another here the lady near the back? No? Very well, there is a gentleman who makes

The gentleman in question gave a dignified bow that befitted him. He was elderly and looked like more of a

period piece than anything in the auction room. Margo noted his face with its high forehead, crisp expression

and tightpursed lips above a wingtip collar and polkadot necktie that the gentleman probably termed a

"Three bidders on an empty box," continued the auctioneer. "But how much will anybody bid? One dollar

With that, the glib auctioneer passed the box to the dignified gentleman and asked him to open it, while

collecting the two dollars. Opened, the box proved empty, much to Margo's surprise, for she had expected

"This was just to prove that every statement is exactly as represented," he declared, "including the fact that

we refund all money if the customer is not satisfied. You wouldn't want an empty box, would you, sir?" This

to the Colonel, who shook his head. "You'd rather have your two dollars, wouldn't you?" That query brought

a nod. "Very well, sir" the auctioneer had completely dropped the title Colonel "and here is a souvenir for

The auctioneer gave the Colonel a small box that might have contained anything from a pack of cigarettes, to

a gold watch, then began to assure the other halfdozen customers that they too could expect gifts.

"This our method of advertising," the glib man stated. "We want you all to remember us, because satisfied

customers are our motto. Now, while I am getting the other souvenirs, I shall turn over the sale to Mr. F, my

Mr. F proved to be the man who had beckoned Margo in the door. Stepping up to the auctioneer's stand, he

nodded and said "Thank you, Mr. L." As though timed to the occasion, another man came from a doorway at

"Here is our buyer, Mr. S," introduced Mr. F, in a style more convincing than that of his predecessor, Mr. L.

"He is bringing some fine watches which he specially recommends, having purchased them personally.

Correct me if I am wrong, Mr. S, but I believe these watches came from Chicago, where "

Two people, a man and a woman, were rising to leave the auction room together. Mr. F interrupted himself

with a quick glance at Mr. L, as though calling upon him to hurry the free souvenirs. Caught flatfooted, Mr. L

could only shrug, and by the time the two people had gone out the door, the whole auction was on the point

The three letter men went into a huddle, from which Margo saw them sending sharp glances directly her way,

which made her feel quite selfconscious. In fact, Margo was almost ready to spring to her feet and dash out

This man appeared from the same doorway that Mr. S had used. He was an imposing man, much more so

than the auctioneers, and he was wiping a pair of pincenez glasses with a handkerchief, as he looked over

the slim batch of customers. His eyes were keen, his face long but squarejawed, and his closecropped gray

"Allow me to introduce myself," announced the newcomer, in a terse, authoritative tone. "I am Montague

Bankhill, proprietor of this auction gallery. I am pleased that so many clients should have braved this harsh

"Nevertheless, it is useless to continue, considering that we can expect no further bidders. I thank you one

and all" oddly, Bankhill too seemed to be singling out Margo, as the others had "but may I suggest that it

would be advisable for you to return to your hotels before the night becomes worse."

Thus dismissing class, Bankhill passed his handkerchief across his forehead and under his square chin; then,

finding it damp as he began to fold it, he simply stuffed the kerchief into his side pocket. Starting for the

door, Margo reached it just as the colonel arrived there and the elderly man opened it for her, with a

courteous bow. It was nice of a mere customer, thought Margo, to be as polite as though he belonged to the

The barren reaches of the deserted, drizzleswept Boardwalk were singularly ominous as Margo hurried the

remainder of the way to her hotel, and the clatter of her own heels was more disheartening than helpful. Her

sigh of relief at reaching the comfortable lobby of the Coral House became a glad one when she saw Cranston

"It's really terrible out, Lamont," Margo began. "I only hope you don't have far to go back to your own hotel

"Except that I'm not going back there," interposed Cranston, quietly. "I think I shall try somewhere else

Cranston's keen ears had caught some distant sound that he indicated by an uplift of his hand. Listening,

Margo heard it too, the passing siren of a police car, speeding down the Main Boulevard.

"Not exactly," returned Cranston, calmly. "It would be better to say on my account."

Blinking the remnants of the drizzle from her eyes, Margo brushed the dampness from her forehead, then

"Read tomorrow's newspaper," suggested Cranston, "and whatever you don't understand, I'll explain.

AT breakfast, Margo read the Seaview City Morning Sun while enjoying the appropriate sunlight that

flooded the Deck Cafe of the pretentious Coral House. The bad weather had passed with the night and here,

in a pleasant dining room that overlooked the Boardwalk, Margo found the day delightful.

She was glad too that she hadn't worried, because the news seemed only slightly alarming.

The police call the night before was in answer to a case of suicide, not murder. A man had plunged from the

sixth floor of the Hotel Neptune, probably in a fit of despondency. At least so his circumstances indicated,

since the dead man was identified as one Peter Klurg, who had recently resigned from the staff of the Long

Reading further along, Margo discovered that Klurg's position hadn't been a very important one, because he

was simply listed as a night attendant, which probably meant watchman. Then, as Margo was laying the

newspaper aside, she heard Cranston's voice from near her elbow, suggesting that she might invite him to

"So that was it," said Margo, referring to the Klurg story. "From the way you acted last night, I'd have

"Why, the newspaper covers it," Margo replied. "Newspapers always prefer a murder story, so they'd have

"Not in Seaview City," returned Cranston. "It wouldn't help business for the Hotel Neptune if the truth came

"But the police!" exclaimed Margo. "Surely, they would insist on the facts. What is their position?"

"More delicate than that of the hotel," explained Cranston. "Officially they were after Klurg when he jumped.

"Because they had a tipoff that someone had been murdered in room 608 at the Hotel Neptune:'

Very suddenly the number 608 flashed home to Margo, for it had stuck in her mind ever since Cranston

"Precisely," replied Cranston. "Now listen carefully while I go on from that point."

Detail for detail, Cranston outlined what had happened in room 608, while Margo listened breathless.

Cranston didn't mention that he had gone there as The Shadow; hence the ruse of planting Klurg's body at the

window was all the more graphic to Margo, since Cranston's dilemma sounded highly serious in terms of his

"Then the police mistook Klurg for a murderer instead of a victim," decided Margo. "Now they probably

think the tipoff was completely false, all because the balcony rail gave way by accident."

Cranston was nodding up to the last two words. At the term "by accident" he shook his head.

"That rail was fixed," Cranston stated. "It broke because the murderer planned it."

"Of course not," said Cranston. "He expected that I'd go over the balcony, taking the rail along, when I tried

"Somebody expected Trenkler here," detailed Cranston. "That was, either Trenkler or an authorized

substitute. News of Trenkler's death proved that he couldn't have sent anyone in his place. Therefore whoever

"I see it now," expressed Margo. "So the thing was turned into a trap for you. But where does Klurg fit?"

"He must have been someone who already knew too much," decided Cranston. "The murderer lured him to

"But how could the murderer have been sure that you would go out by the balcony?"

"He wasn't sure," was Cranston's dry reply, "because as a matter of fact, I didn't. But in that case, the killer

Admiration glowed from Margo's dark eyes as she realized how cleverly Cranston had eluded a twoway trap

"It was gone when I reached the street," explained Cranston. "Probably the murderer was gone too."

"Yes. He must have been in the hotel somewhere to see the signal and give the police the quick tipoff. He'd

Margo's forehead furrowed, but not because she was puzzling over how Cranston had managed to enter the

"If you find the murderer then," said Margo at length, "he will be someone who won't have an alibi covering

"Well put," commended Cranston, "but that proviso might fit a great many people."

"It fits Doctor Dee," recalled Margo. "He wasn't in his place at that time. I happened to stop by there just

"Another good point," agreed Cranston. "I think that Doctor Dee will be due for some questioning by the

police, since Klurg had one of Dee's astrological charts. But there are two other persons in fact four who

"One is a freckled cab driver," specified Cranston, "who answers to the name of Jerry. Another is a quaint old

"A dignified old gentleman?", she queried eagerly. "With a broad forehead and sharp eyes? Does he go in for

"At the House of Bankhill," Margo stated. "It's an auction gallery down the Boardwalk, stocked with the most

impossible lot of worthless goods you've ever seen. I went in there to get out of the rain."

Margo told more, in fact all she knew. Weighing every detail, Cranston gave a verdict that rather surprised

"Regarding Montague Bankhill," said Cranston. "He didn't appear until he terminated the auction. Therefore

we can class him right with Doctor Dee as someone unaccounted for at the time of that tipoff."

"Why, that's so!" realized Margo. "I hadn't thought of that. But what about the Colonel? He was there all the

"His work was done," Cranston analyzed. "Jerry dropped him off first, so he could phone the murderer and

tell him the wrong man was coming to the Hotel Neptune. Then the Colonel went to the auction partly to alibi

"Nothing at all. It was just another job. One of the auctioneers Mr. L, didn't you say made a slip in calling

"He was what is termed a shill," explained Cranston, "or in more recent parlance, a stick. That is what they

"The kind that aren't even auctions, like the one you attended last night. They're sheer hokum, a build up to

swindle individual dupes. After those two customers walked out, you were the only one left."

"All sticks, like the Colonel. That's why Bankhill called the auction off. His workers were already deciding

that it wasn't worth wasting time on a single dupe like you. They always like to have other customers around,

"I'm sure Bankhill had just come in," she decided. "He was wiping off his glasses and his forehead. I had the

Cranston remembered and credited Margo with another point. Then came his summing up.

"You've done nicely so far," Cranston commended, "so I'm going to let you continue, Margo. First, I want

you to consult Doctor Dee; then attend another of Bankhill's auctions. Learn all you can about Dee and

"Only you won't see him," interposed Cranston. "He knows by now that I'm still alive. He'll keep away from

"He won't." Cranston gave one of his cryptic smiles. "I happen to be leaving Seaview City."

To anyone unacquainted with Cranston's ways, that wouldn't have made sense, but Margo Lane understood.

She had seen evidence of Cranston's versatility at being places where he wasn't.

Not as The Shadow, for the ways of that mysterious being were hidden and untraceable. But Cranston could

shed his personality without benefit of black cloak and slouch hat. A past master of disguise, he could adopt

other faces than his own, so capably that Margo had long since come to the correct conclusion that this friend

Crime at Seaview City was due for a rude awakening from The Shadow, the master investigator who might

EARLY that afternoon a young man arrived at the office of the Green Cab Company to make an inquiry

about a package lost the day before. The man's name was Harry Vincent, he was older than he looked, and he

hadn't been in Seaview City yesterday. However he found it unnecessary to establish any of those facts.

Long in The Shadow's service, Harry had come to town along with certain other agents to set up shop for

what might prove an extended campaign. In dealing with criminals whose very motives were obscure, who

unquestionably had an organization to further those secret purposes, The Shadow had decided to utilize

Harry Vincent was the sort of chap who made complex things easy. He had an honest appearance that made

words unnecessary; when he made statements, they were frank and briefly spoken. It was Harry's way to say

Asking for a lost package was a simple matter; it became complicated when such a package didn't exist, as

It was a package, so Harry affirmed, that he couldn't very well identify, since his aunt remembered only that

she'd been carrying it with her umbrella. It wouldn't help to describe the contents, because the package was an

unopened souvenir that Harry's aunt had been given at an auction. In fact, Harry felt apologetic where his

aunt was concerned, because he was sure she must have ridden in some other company's cab, unless she

happened to be color blind and didn't know it. The Green Cab company certainly wouldn't be one to have

"A blue cab, you say?" he demanded. "You're sure that your aunt rode in it yesterday?"

The man at the desk drew his chin across his hand and then reached for the telephone. Harry checked the

"Hello... Mr. Glook?" Pausing a moment, the company man talked louder. "This is the Green Cab Company,

Mr. Glook... It's about that repaint job. Didn't you get it yesterday morning? Not until today?... Who brought

it in there... Hmm, you don't know... Just left outside, you say... I thought so..."

"That cab was a used car we'd bought," the man explained. "We send all those jobs down to Marvin Glook,

who has a paint shop near the old lighthouse. They have to wait their turn so naturally we use them

"Some wildcat driver must have worked a siderake," explained the company man. "They do it every time.

They pick up the odd cars out at our lot and say they were told to drive them. If they're questioned, they've

"Of course then they just say it's a mistake, so they won't get fired. But if they don't get caught, they keep the

day's dough. I don't know what your line is, mister, but you ought to be glad you aren't in the cab business.

Harry might have pressed the inquiry further, even to claiming that his "aunt" remembered that the cabby's

first name was Jerry. But at that moment, a hobbly old gentleman with a cane and a crackly voice pushed into

"My name is Isaac Twambley," clucked the old man. "I want to hire a car with a chauffeur, while I am here in

Seaview City. Not a car that looks like a cab and I must know all about the driver."

"Certainly, Mr. Twambley." The company man opened a wicket to usher the customer into a private office.

Since Harry was on his way out, the matter of the missing package was dropped. Harry had handled it well,

that fake inquiry, using data gained by Cranston and Margo: first, that an umbrella lady had ridden in the blue

Green Cab; second that people did pick up free souvenir packages from local auction houses.

But when it came to finishing a flock of things with a single stone flip, The Shadow rated tops. In the guise of

old Isaac Twambley, the erstwhile Mr. Cranston was picking right up where Harry had left off. He was not

only on hand to learn if Harry's inquiry had created any suspicion in the cab company office; The Shadow

was also learning what other available cars the company had, along with facts concerning the past merits or

In any event, a trip to Glook's paint shop near the old lighthouse would soon be in order. It afforded a chance

Other clues were already being followed, with Margo Lane doing the active work. Visiting Doctor Dee's

place on the boardwalk, Margo was striking luck of a sort that Dee didn't promise his customers.

Dee's bushy beard came up to expectations and the brush looked genuinely solid as Dee wagged his chin

while he boomed a convincing lecture on the zodiac and its signs. But Dee didn't limit himself to astrology

among the occult sciences. Palmistry, Numerology, a host of other things were among his specialties.

Like other persons, Margo had given her birthday and received an astrological chart for the current price. But

when the crowd thinned, she decided to wait for a palm reading and very politely, Margo let others take their

places ahead of her. This gave her a chance to remain longer at Dee's occult parlor and lecture hall.

It was just getting to be Margo's turn when two stocky men entered the place and walked right past her to the

little room where Dee did Palm readings. Half hopeful, half fearful, Margo thought for the moment that they

might be the two alleged workmen who had taken the cab trip with Cranston, but when they flashed badges

These were members of the local detective force and they wanted to hold their own consultation with Doctor

Dee. The walls of the private room weren't thick enough to cut off their argumentative voices, so Margo,

seated outside, overheard everything as she pretended to read her astrological forecast.

"It's about Klurg," informed one dick. "He had one of your astrological charts up in his hotel room."

"The guy that jumped from the Neptune," put in the other flycop. "You ought to know him, being he was

"Names are not necessary in interpreting one's stars," asserted Dee, pompously. "I know my clients only by

"You ought to know Klurg for another reason," argued the first dick. "He used to be a professional shill."

"A stick to you," said the dick. "A booster, who starts the biz moving. You got 'em out front buying those

There was a brief pause during which Margo could picture Dee drawing himself up to the full dignity of his

"Such practice!" boomed the astrologer. "Far from even considering it, I wouldn't know of its existence."

"You know about it now, Doc," put the detective, curtly, "and you're not making us believe you don't use

"Gyp joints!" stormed Dee. "You class me in that category! What month were you born in?"

"I thought so." Dee's voice came triumphant. "Your sign is Taurus, which proves you are bullheaded. You

can never be taught anything, but you can be shown, because you are in the cusp of Gemini, the Twins, which

From thereon, Doctor Dee went into his regular spiel but he was concentrating upon an audience of one,

instead of a group. He hadn't forgotten the other detective, though, because soon he was inquiring that man's

When the two dicks walked out, each was carrying an astrological chart, while the bowing Doctor Dee was

Having sold such difficult customers, Dee apparently felt he'd done enough work for the time. Seeing Margo,

"Sorry, young lady," said Dee, "but I have another appointment. If you could come back this evening, or

Leaving Dee's, Margo started up the Boardwalk toward Bankhill's, only to change her mind and decide to go

bathing instead. Bankhill's would be too tame, Margo decided, after the way Dee had highpressured the

detectives into buying horoscopes. Maybe later Margo wouldn't mind sitting through another auction, just to

Postponement was an inspiration in this instance. That later auction was to produce results for which even

OLD Isaac Twambley liked the view from the end of the Long Pier. A long hobble out here, but it was worth

it, for it seemed like going to sea. It was a popular place, the outer end of the Long Pier.

The main attraction was the miniature submarine that was hooked to two short extensions of the pier. The sub

was more than a model; it was big enough to accommodate a dozen passengers a trip.

For twentyfive cents people went down steps and entered the moored boat. Then the hatch was clamped, the

ship submerged and for ten minutes the inmates had a lot of fun looking at fishes through the watertight port

Old Twambley didn't take one of those trips; he just sat on a bench and mulled over matters. He didn't look

like a man who was trying to solve a murder, but he was. Finally, he remembered that he had an appointment

ashore, so after a glance at his watch, Twambley got up from the bench and started back along the pier.

Being an old man, Twambley stopped at intervals to rest. It was a long trek past the pavilions and other

structures that dominated the Long Pier. At the half way mark, Twambley paused to study a cutout section

This was where the wave motors were once located. A wonderful invention, the wave motor, but it hadn't

paid. It took a whole day's waves to make the blades produce enough electricity to light a single room, so the

Disappearing into the water where the wave motors had been, the old steps received the swash and pound of

the surf, but the noise of the ocean was drowned by a closer roar that attracted Twambley's attention.

The caged lions of the Pier Menagerie were acting up because they were annoyed with their cramped

quarters. Walking shoreward, Twambley passed the line of cages and felt rather sorry for the lions. Sea lions

Maybe it was that thought that caused Twambley to look toward the water. Roving the beach, his eyes

became keen as they surveyed the day's crop of disporting beauties. Old Twambley provided a chuckle as he

singled out a brunette who was putting on a red bathing cap to match the rest of her rather trivial swimming

Rather humorous, catching Margo Lane playing hooky from an auction sale. Twambley would have to put a

black mark on her report for that. Right now, though, his rolling chair was waiting on the Boardwalk and it

was time to be getting back to the Hotel Neptune where Twambley was expecting a hired car with a reliable

It happened that Jerry Lanthrop too was playing hooky in his own style. Down at the depot a commodious but

oldfashioned car was nosing in among the taxicabs that were waiting for the Shore Express to arrive. A

"Orders," announced Jerry bluntly. "I was sent to meet a gentleman who's coming in on the streamliner. A

Cab drivers weren't the only persons who heard that statement. Lounging nearby was a shambly,

stoopshouldered man who looked like something washed from the ocean, except that his illfitting clothes

and frayed cap were dry. This derelict happened to know that Jerry's statement was a fabrication.

The shambly man was named Hawkeye and like Harry Vincent, he was one of The Shadow's agents.

Hawkeye had been deputed to watch the depot just for something like this. Already Hawkeye was informed

that Jerry had been immobilized, but this didn't look like it. By now, Jerry should be at the Hotel Neptune,

reporting to Mr. Twambley. Apparently he was going to attend to something else before taking up that job.

Now the Shore Express was arriving and soon its flood of passengers was overwhelming the line of cabs.

Nobody invaded Jerry's car, because it wasn't for hire, but Jerry himself was on the anxious lookout for a

passenger who wasn't coming to see Twambley. At last a tall, stoopshouldered man detached himself from

the throng and darted looks along the line while balancing himself between two oversized suit cases.

Jerry happened to be handling this situation very neatly. He was parked where a private car had no right to

be, but he was using his prerogative as a cab driver to stay there. A clever device this, even though the order

had come from someone higher up than Jerry. It fitted too with a message that had gone out to someone,

That man, whoever he was, had been instructed to look for a car parked among the cabs. This car hadn't been

particularly selected; Jerry had just been told to bring any car that he could borrow, provided that it didn't

bear the trade mark of a cab company. So Jerry had sped matters by bringing the car which had been assigned

Likewise, Jerry was on the watch for a man with two suit cases who would be looking for just such a car.

Mutual recognition was rapid and the intended passenger climbed into the oldfashioned hulk, ready for a

In that brief interval, the hunchy little man had summed the stranger's face, noting it to be pasty and droopy,

the way hard faces usually got when the years caught up with them. The face looked somewhat familiar to

The car being commodious, Jerry had put the suit cases right in with the passenger, which left plenty of room

in the trunk for Hawkeye. With a quick dart from the curb, The Shadow's little man reached the rear of the

car, tried the trunk handle, found it unlocked, and deftly whipped himself inside, just as the car was about to

This trip was bumpy but brief. When the big car came to what seemed a final stop, Hawkeye peered out from

the trunk rack and saw a door man lifting the bags to lug them into a very fancy hotel which Hawkeye

Rolling out, Hawkeye made a quick shamble to some shrubbery that flanked the pretentious hotel entrance.

So far inconspicuous, Hawkeye knew he'd become otherwise if he forayed into the glittering lobby, so he

decided to find another way of entry. He lingered though, long enough to learn something.

"Hold my bags here," said he of the droopy face. "I want to check my reservation. The cab can go though. I'll

Next Hawkeye saw something that the door man didn't. In entering the hotel, Mr. Droop Face pulled a key

from his pocket. Apparently, this stranger already had a room at the Hotel Waterloo.

The number of the key was 512 and the stranger used it as soon as he reached the room that bore that number.

The room was quite empty and the newcomer paced it impatiently for a few minutes, then paused at the

Next, the stranger reached into his pocket, produced a wallet, and counted out a large bundle of money. That

bundle was large in two respects, there were fortynine bills in it and each bore the denomination of one

As the droopy man pocketed the cash, the telephone jangled and he pounced for it, pronto. Recognizing the

"Yes, this is Seth Gaudry," he announced. "I thought I'd be hearing from you... The money? Certainly I

Gaudry paused at that moment to plant his hand against his trouser's pocket where another wad of bills

"At the next auction," repeated Gaudry in response to words across the phone. "The third statuette... I'm to

buy it... Electra, yes I can remember the name... Certainly. I'll have the extra cash ready..."

"Naturally, not at your place... You're right, it would be bad to pay over the big dough there... Maybe I ought

to know what I'm buying too... You'll convince me? Good... Back here then, right after the auction... Yes, I'll

The speaker on the wire must have mentioned something about the time, because Gaudry didn't waste any.

Fishing for the room key, he brought it from his pocket and tossed it on the writing desk, knowing he

Two minutes after the elevator went down with Gaudry, Hawkeye poked into sight from a fire tower and

scanned the fifth floor corridor. Seeing no one, Hawkeye was about to be on his way when another elevator

door flung open. Out stepped a bellboy carrying two suitcases that Hawkeye recognized.

The bellboy used a pass key to open the door of 512 which was enough to tell Hawkeye that the man he was

tagging had left the hotel. Dodging out by the fire tower, Hawkeye was on his way again.

Scanty though the facts were that Hawkeye had acquired, they were the sort that must reach The Shadow as

Back in her hotel room, Margo had maneuvered a quick change from bathing garb to Boardwalk attire and

now she was practically racing along the Boardwalk itself. In fact, Margo was traveling so fast that she

Beckoning hands were what halted Margo. They were pulling them in as usual at Bankhill's and again it was

Mr. F who was on the door. He smiled when he saw Margo, Mr. F did, because he recognized her from the

evening before. Then, his bland face becoming very serious, the front man produced a card.

"You'll like this sale, miss," he said in a confidential tone. "If there's any special questions, just ask me.

The card said "Elwood Ferth" and Margo was rather surprised to find that "F" was the man's actual initial,

since she thought that the courtesies between the auctioneers was just a matter of bluff. So Margo gave Ferth

This afternoon's auction was fairly well attended and Montague Bankhill himself was surveying the situation

from the door of the back room. The business was being handled by the convincing Mr. L, with Mr. S

standing by to display the goods, while Mr. F, now known as Ferth, kept watch from the outer door.

Somehow these people didn't seem as sinister to Margo as they had previously. If the term applied to

anybody, the customers deserved it. There were some queer looking ducks, both male and female, and the

But try as hard as she could, Margo couldn't decide which were the shills or sticks, as the local detectives

termed the business boosters. Margo's choice as a sureshot was a droopfaced man who sat by himself

That man happened to be Seth Gaudry, one person who was here definitely as a buyer.

Today's preliminary offering consisted of a series of framed landscape paintings which the auctioneer

extolled as high as the clouded skies depicted on the canvases. They were the works of famous but obscure

Often in chain stores, Margo had seen rapid fire painters doing such jobs in ten minutes and selling them for a

dollar or two apiece. If these marvelous offerings hadn't come from such sources, Margo would never make

Convincingly, Mr. L disposed of the streamlined chromos at prices ranging from twentyfive to fifty dollars

each, all the while bewailing that he was giving them away. Judging from the people who bought them,

Margo decided that about half were sticks and the other half suckers, which she took it was the proper name

So far, Margo hadn't said a word, even when the auctioneer pressed her. In that pinch, she looked toward the

door and caught a headshake from Ferth. Maybe Ferth was really a friend, perhaps he was just priming

Margo for a coming trim. Wondering what Mr. Bankhill would think about it, Margo looked for him, but

That didn't surprise Margo. If any customer recognized the type of paintings that were being peddled and

gave out the word, Bankhill wouldn't want to be around. It would be better for him to show up later and

Just as the last chromo was going on the block, a portly dowager came bulking through the doorway to pause

"You should have told me!" The lady was really angry. "Those marvelous paintings, sold for a song in all

"Sorry, Mrs. Tarleton," apologized Ferth. "I phoned your hotel and they said that you had gone."

"The fools!" snorted Mrs. Tarleton. "It was my sisterinlaw who left, the very person who has objected to

my spending money at auctions! They would tell you about the wrong Mrs. Tarleton!"

Ferth was planting Mrs. Tarleton in a chair beside Margo, who was almost dazzled by the flock of jewelry

that graced the dowager's arms, At first glance, all those diamonds looked like the very sort of junk the House

Mrs. Tarleton's rings were of the same category, as were the oversized earrings that she sported. Now Ferth

was giving her a persuasive purr, which Margo was close enough to hear, as was probably intended.

"You wouldn't have wanted those paintings," insisted Ferth, gesturing toward the brilliant monstrosities that

were being tagged for their buyers. "They aren't colorful enough. We have others coming in shortly that are

"We'll see to it that they are," answered Ferth. Then, turning so that Margo would also hear officially what he

had to say: "Don't pass up the statuettes that are being offered now. They are really unique items."

There were seven of the statuettes, each about twelve inches high. They were made of china, gaudily painted,

and they were standing on a shelf that stood out like a tray. Bringing the statuettes was a job for Mr. S, but

instead of drawing out the shelf, he decided to take down the statuettes singly, since they were breakable.

Deserting Margo and the Tarleton lady, Ferth hurried over to help with the handling of the statues. He

preferred to handle the whole shelf as a tray, stating that the statuettes should be kept in their proper order.

"Seven magnificent statuettes," he reeled off. "They represent the famous sisters, the Pleiades. Mind you,

these statuettes were known in the days of ancient Rome. They graced the homes of the patricians and were

"Why, a single statuette of Roman antiquity would bring a price as high as a king's ransom! Here you see the

genuine replicas of the famous household gods of the ancients. In the ruins of Pompeii, not a single statue of

this sort was found intact. Think of what you are buying when you acquire one of these rare and perfect

Margo could think all right. Somebody would be acquiring a piece of firstclass junk. Not a single statement

that the auctioneer had made could prove that any of these statuettes were worth more than an ordinary china

"We shall auction them in order," the speaker continued. "Alcyone, Celaeno, Electra, Maia, Merope,

"Maybe," humphed Mrs. Tarleton to Margo, "if they were made of gold. I prefer paintings. They endure and

Apparently Mrs. Tarleton wasn't being sold the proper bill of goods, but by now the bids were starting. Ten

dollars, twenty, then twentyfive. It paused there until Margo heard Ferth's whisper close beside her:

Margo said "Thirty," though she didn't quite know why. Somebody jumped the bid to forty and Ferth gave

Just on the chance that Ferth was right, Margo called "Fifty." With it, the bidding stopped, leaving Margo

wondering how she was going to buy the statuette of Alcyone, considering that she had a mere ten dollars

with her. Indeed, Margo felt very much abashed, as though guilty of some more than minor crime. She

looked toward Ferth, saw him smile and gesture to mean that everything was all right. Somehow his suave

At least Margo's spontaneity had helped matters for the bidding became quite spirited, getting away from the

shills that boosted it. Even Mrs. Tarleton was drawn into the thing, and suddenly jumped the offer up to a

While Mr. L was starting his spiel, Mr. S picked up the first two statuettes and told Margo and Mrs. Tarleton

that they could pay for them in the back room, Ferth raised an objecting hand and undertoned:

"Two of these rare prizes gone," the auctioneer was saying. "Don't you realize, ladies and gentlemen, that

with each sale there are less left and therefore they are worth more? And now Electra, most famous of these

"You can see them on every wintry night, just as over your mantel you can look at one of the famous sisters if

you do not allow this opportunity to escape you. Electra, the third of the Pleiades. What's that? Fifty dollars

"Now a hundred who will say a hundred and fifty? A hundred and a quarter now one and a half one

The sticks were really working now, like the pistons of a wellregulated machine. For the first time, Gaudry

was in the bidding, helping push it too. To Margo's sheer amazement, a mood which Mrs. Tarleton shared,

They went to the back room, where Mr. S was carrying the first two statuettes, while Ferth picked up the one

of Electra and brought it along personally. Gaudry followed and Margo was rather astonished at the look of

While Mr. S was wrapping the first two packages and saying that they'd be delivered, Ferth bundled the third

Though she still couldn't understand. Margo realized this was no time to put questions, so she just stood by. A

delivery boy was standing by too, and Ferth, finishing the wrapping of his single package first, placed it in

"The Coral House," he said. "Room 920. Send it over there right away. I'll be going there as soon as the

Ferth dispatched the delivery boy before Margo could think to tell him that she too was staying at the Coral

House. She mentioned that later, while she watched the other buyers pay for their statuettes. Ferth simply

Bankhill was definitely absent from the back room. Margo took note of that as she walked to the auction

gallery, trying to look like somebody who had just paid out fifty dollars for a wonderful bargain.

Maia and Merope had been peddled at five hundred dollars each, but Margo was sure from the auctioneer's

expression that shills had bought them and that he was stalling in hope that the former buyers, particularly

Mrs. Tarleton and the droopy Mr. Gaudry would go heavy for the last remaining pair of Pleiades. But they

didn't, so the auctioneer let the regular boosters take them at six and seven hundred respectively.

Mrs. Tarleton seemed quite satisfied, so Margo looked around to see how Gaudry felt, only to discover that

he had left. Not knowing his name, Margo wondered who the man might be and what his business was, only

to decide that she could find out when she reached the hotel, since he was stopping there too.

So Margo Lane left the auction house, little realizing how much she would hear about Seth Gaudry and how

DUSK was settling over Seaview City as Margo Lane left the House of Bankhill. Glancing down the

Boardwalk, Margo failed to see any light in Dee's place and decided that the Doctor of Astrology must have

Included in the dusk was the Hotel Waterloo and room 512 held its share of gloom as a shadowy hand opened

Here on Hawkeye's tipoff, The Shadow wasn't surprised to find that Gaudry was absent, since he knew that

the man had gone out. What did intrigue The Shadow was the fact that Gaudry had left his own key lying on

the writing desk. Stepping over there, The Shadow picked up the key, carried it to the window, and examined

Letting the key rest in his gloved palm, The Shadow weighed it as if it were some priceless object. Then,

singularly, a lowtoned, comprehending laugh quivered from his hidden lips. In that sudden but smooth style

that characterized him, The Shadow planted the key on the desk where he had found it and moved swiftly

Not for a moment had The Shadow concerned himself with Gaudry's suit cases. Maybe the reason why he

didn't was because Gaudry himself wasn't bothered about them, nor for that matter did Gaudry particularly

Right now, Gaudry was entering another room in a different hotel. He didn't have to unlock it, for while he

was inserting his key, the door opened. For a moment, Gaudry hesitated on the threshold, disturbed by seeing

a lighted desk lamp within. Then, a brisk bellhop turned to meet him. The boy asked:

"From the House of Bankhill. It's something I just purchased there." Stepping deeper into the room, Gaudry

saw the package on a table. "That's it," he added. "Here, this is for your trouble."

From a sizeable roll of bills in his trousers pocket, Gaudry peeled off a five, the smallest that he had. The

bellboy received it with much thanks, but his face changed as he was leaving the room.

"It was too bad about the messenger," he said. "I suppose they were too late to inform him at the auction

"About the accident to his family," said the bellboy. "Their car was in a bad smash. They are all at the

Quickly Gaudry relaxed his facial muscles to wipe off the suspicion that grew upon his features. Then, a bit

The bellhop left with the impression that Gaudry, otherwise Kramer, was visibly shaken, which he was.

The moment that the door closed, Gaudry pounced for the package and ripped its wrapping open. He found

the statuette of Electra inside, gave it a frantic examination, testing its weight as well as measuring its size, as

Much though he seemed to prize this purchase, Gaudry thumped it rather heavily on the table as he turned his

attention to the telephone. Hands trembling, he went through the pages of the phone book, found the listing

"This is the man that bought the statuette of Electra," he said. "It's here at the hotel all right, but I understand

"No, to the boy's family. An automobile crash. Weren't you the people who sent word to the hotel?"

"Why, no!" exclaimed Ferth. "I've been wondering why the boy didn't come back. There are other orders to

Planting the receiver on the hook. Gaudry drew a deep, worried breath. Turning to the window, he stared out

at the ocean and gradually became relieved. After all, the scene was placid. Looking at the ocean made

There was a land breeze blowing and as a result the waves were small, the surf close to the beach. The sunset

still shone upon the scintillating sand and a few remaining bathers seemed reluctant to call it a day.

More than a hundred yards above the beach fronting the Coral House, the long bulk of the Long Pier carved

its way to sea. It wasn't quite time for lights to appear along the pier, but when they did, it would have the

It was the beach though, that really lulled Gaudry. The sunlight seemed to be plucking at the deep green

waves, drawing the small whitecaps from them. White too were the boats that lifeguards were hauling

from the surf, one a short way toward the Long Pier, the other further down the beach.

Three girls were tossing a big rubber ball among them and their figures were gaining the effect of lithe

silhouettes against the background of the ocean. In their snug bathing costumes, they reminded Gaudry of the

unadorned statuette of Electra that stood so prettily upon his table. His thoughts thus diverted, Gaudry turned

"Evening paper, sir," came a voice from outside. "Delivered to all guests when they arrive."

Gaudry went to the door and opened it to pick up the newspaper that the boy had left. He was unfolding it as

he stepped back into the room, but he turned again, more startled than before, as he heard a creak of the door

It wasn't the door of the room. This was the door of a clothes closet. As a figure moved forward, Gaudry

Gaudry knew that tone, forced though it was. Its words were a calculated accusation.

"We have met at the time we planned," the voice said, crisply, "but not at the place where we planned."

"Perhaps our plans differed." The speaker was moving forward as Gaudry retreated. "If so, one of us should

"I I wasn't trying to doublecross you," he stammered. "Nothing absolutely nothing could have been

"To be sure." There was a sneer to the crisp tone that interrupted. "To be sure; you wanted to be sure."

"That's it." Gaudry was over beside the table. "I wanted to be sure about the statuette."

"Then why did you come here?" The challenger had become vicious as Gaudry could tell by the face that he

now saw and recognized. "You had everything ready at the right hotel. We were to meet at the Waterloo,

"I thought we could go there later," argued Gaudry, his own manner becoming glib, though with a slight

touch of the frantic. "I wasn't just sure that everything would be safe. I was afraid that somebody "

"Like anybody. Like whoever was responsible for last night's murder, might be after me."

That brought a chuckle from the man who confronted Gaudry. His figure was plain now, stoopshouldered,

"I know why Klurg died," spoke the man in gray. "He was a doublecrosser. You were safe enough, Gaudry,

until you became the same. Only Klurg's death was not termed murder. Read your newspaper, Gaudry, if you

Numbly, Gaudry's fingers plucked the newspaper from the table. The room was now too dusky for Gaudry to

hope to read anything; he was simply trying to play along with this man who accused him of the

doublecross. As he unfolded the newspaper, Gaudry felt something slip from it, but such a minor matter did

not bother him. He'd started to talk fast, Gaudry had, now he was thinking fast, too. Pretending to read the

"I'll go through with the deal," Gaudry promised. "After all, it's cheap enough. Why should I argue?"

Gaudry's hands were alive now and they were working the newspaper toward the statuette that stood on the

"You shouldn't argue, Gaudry," declared the man in gray. "It wouldn't matter. Whatever you do now is too

Up came Gaudry's face, startled to the point where its droop was ghastly. His features were frozen like a

death mask, his eyes as glassy as ice. Cold too was the sight that chilled him, colder than the gray man who

Gaudry could have cried out the name of that man who confronted him, but it was useless. The gun was all

that mattered; it was the chilling sight. Trained straight upon Gaudry, a revolver muzzle was ready to speak

From years to hours; from hours to seconds, with all the intermediate divisions, time rules life and with it

Yet time itself is indeterminable. Shaded to the finest degree, it becomes splitseconds, and such fractions are

The things that suddenly began to happen in this room at the Coral House came in a series of flashes that

were so closely knit that they seemed instantaneous. Yet they were in a certain order, otherwise they wouldn't

Gaudry's hand grabbed the statuette of Electra. The door from the hallway flung wide. The gray man pulled

the trigger of his steelgray gun. A flash of flame darted from the revolver muzzle.

Blackness, in cloaked form, flung itself upon a figure robed in gray. A newspaper fluttered to the floor,

sparks coming from the hole that the heat of a punching bullet had set aflame. A flying arm, Gaudry's arm,

Another series of packed events took over. The gray robe dodged. The flying statuette reached the figure in

black and a cloaked arm came up toward it. A fierce cry spat from Gaudry's lips. Its echo was the crash of

Wheeling, The Shadow flung himself upon the dodging man in gray, despite the revolver shots that the

wouldbe murderer jabbed at this blackclad foe. The Shadow escaped those shots, not miraculously though

it seemed so, but because he lunged with a swirl that carried him around his antagonist's aim.

If the first shot had been a trifle more accurate, it would have staggered Gaudry sufficiently to put him out of

action. The grayrobed man had expected it to do just that; so had the blackcloaked Shadow. Instead,

Gaudry wasn't slackened by the bullet; if anything, it increased his speed. With all the fervor of a wounded

In reward, Gaudry received the shots meant for The Shadow, by coming right into a path of fire that he would

Jolted by the impact of the bullets, Gaudry veered and blindly clutched The Shadow. Victim and rescuer

reeled across the room in a clinch that The Shadow recognized as a prelude to a death clutch. No mere nerve,

but only sheer abandon, could have given Gaudry the power that he now displayed.

It couldn't last long, this blind fight that Gaudry displayed, but even half a dozen seconds could be too many.

That was why The Shadow did not try to fight off his attacker; instead, The Shadow turned the grapple into a

That dive was straight in the direction of the robed man who had fired the fatal shots. If he could be brought

into this tussle, his part would be finished. Either Gaudry's death grip would be transferred to the man who

deserved it or The Shadow would provide the clincher. But the man with the revolver didn't stay to meet the

Scooping something from the floor, the man in the gray robe huddled it along with his gun and loped out

through the doorway to the hall. There was a double thud as The Shadow and Gaudry hit the floor together

and the jar broke them apart. One figure alone arose; the cloaked form of The Shadow.

Gaudry's struggle was over; he lay motionless in death. The Shadow was after a murderer, a real one, not the

Out here in the corridor there wasn't a trace of the fugitive that The Shadow sought. He couldn't have taken

an elevator; they were so close that The Shadow would have heard the door clang. The stairway was at the

other end of the corridor; too far away for the murderer to have gained it in such short time.

Then, in this dilemma where moments were so vital, luck came The Shadow's way, abetted by Margo Lane. It

was double luck that Margo should also have a room on this floor and that she had arrived there just before

From her door, which she had opened in a panic, Margo saw The Shadow halted in the corridor. She guessed

that he was after someone and in one glance, Margo sized the situation. Remembering something, the girl

Taking the cue, The Shadow took to the trail. Margo's hooky party of the afternoon was bringing dividends,

otherwise she wouldn't have known that this hotel had special elevators that bathers used to go directly to the

basement. At that, The Shadow was still too many paces behind, because when he reached the elevators in

Gaudry's murderer had reached the route that he was sure meant safety. He had parked the elevator here for

Clever business, but the murderer hadn't allowed for all contingencies. There were two of these elevators and

he had simply taken the one that wasn't being operated at this hour. The other elevator was still in use and

As it opened, the elevator disgorged three girls in bathing suits. They screeched as a cloaked figure whirled

between them into the elevator where an astonished operator tried to grab the strange intruder. Then the

operator came flying after the girls as they dived in all directions, letting their beach ball bound across the

From the corridor, Margo saw the sequel. Astonished mermaids were draped here and there, staring

widemouthed at a clanging door, while a halfdazed elevator boy was picking himself up, wondering what

it was all about. Knowing that The Shadow had resumed the pursuit, Margo rushed back to her own room to

The murderer had gained considerable distance, but down in the basement, The Shadow spotted him going

out through a door that led beneath the Boardwalk and directly to the beach. For some reason, the grayrobed

fugitive had let himself lose ground, but he had accomplished something in the process.

The way to the outer door was blocked by all sorts of debris such as beach chairs and umbrella stands that the

fugitive had flung behind him. The last obstacle that The Shadow encountered was a large cylindrical tank

that the gray man had overturned in flight. Halftripping over the tank, The Shadow regained his footing and

reached the door, only to find it clamped from the outside. Hard heaves from The Shadow's shoulder broke

It was Margo Lane who had the best vantage point from which to view the mystery that followed, something

From her high room, Margo saw a grayclad figure spurt across the beach from beneath the Boardwalk. The

hue and cry of murder must have been sent below, because persons were already rushing from the hotel. They

were pointing after the obscure gray figure and shouting to the life guards to stop him.

All Margo could tell was that the fugitive was wearing a gray bathrobe and that his form was a stooped one.

His posture however could be attributed to the fact that he was in a hurry and that he seemed to be carrying

something huddled close to his breast. Details were quite vague from this distance, but despite the deepening

A score of witnesses saw the same and The Shadow was one of them. Halting beneath the Boardwalk, he saw

With the speed of a frightened crab, the man in the gray robe dashed out into the surf and through the short

line of breakers. His robe left his shoulders as he went beyond his depth and only his bobbing head was seen,

By then the life guards were changing tactics. Only one or two were racing after the hunted man; the rest

were getting to their boats and putting out through the surf. Coming in from two sides, they were sure to box

their quarry. The breakers were so mild that launching the boats and putting out in them was a matter of mere

Apparently the killer knew that he was trapped. A few hundred feet out from the shore he stopped his swim

and began treading water. Swimming life guards were about to reach him, the boats were converging upon

The murderer might quite as well have played ostrich and buried his head in the sand along the beach. Two

minutes at most were all that he could hope to stay under the heaving swell. Swimming life guards had

reached the spot where the man had disappeared, while the boats were halted a dozen yards on either side,

marking about the average distance of an under water swim, if the hunted man expected to bob up somewhere

It took five minutes to prove that the incredible could occur. At the end of that time, the man hadn't

reappeared. The life guards were completely baffled as they scanned the darkening water at close range. As

for Margo, she was ready to believe that she couldn't have seen the man dash out there and vanish, except that

Five minutes grew to ten. Twilight settled, blackening all the water, except for the white plumes of the

breakers. Darkness was absolute beneath the Boardwalk, the spot from which The Shadow gazed.

A low, strange laugh whispered from that spot and drifted weirdly toward the foam into which the murderer

had vanished. The grim tone of that mirth signified The Shadow's knowledge that a criminal had somehow

When and how this trail might be regained had become a singular problem, even for The Shadow!

OLD ISAAC TWAMBLEY gave a withering glance at his new chauffeur and delivered one querulous word:

"Sorry. Mr. Twambley." In the light from the hotel portico, the freckled face of Jerry Lanthrop looked quite

sincere. "I've been parked here outside the hotel for the last couple of hours or more. Ask the door man ask

Old Twambley gave a peculiar wince that might have been meant for a sneer. He didn't have to ask anybody,

though he didn't say so. He'd already heard from Hawkeye, about the last person in Seaview City that anyone

The chap had fixed himself a good one. The Shadow knew that Jerry had brought Seth Gaudry to the Hotel

Waterloo. After leaving Gaudry, Jerry had gone directly to the Hotel Neptune where Isaac Twambley was a

guest. By that time, Twambley wasn't around the Neptune. As The Shadow, he had set out on Gaudry's trail.

Unfortunately for Gaudry, he'd finished his quick buy at the House of Bankhill and had gone on to the Coral

House to keep a rendezvous with death, before The Shadow was able to overtake him.

Meanwhile, Jerry's alibi had built itself solidly, simply because Twambley's new chauffeur had stayed put,

If that demand puzzled Jerry, he didn't show it. The chauffeur simply took the wheel and drove toward the

destination given. If anything, he showed concern for his new employer, for Jerry spoke back from the front

"I'd better take it slowly. sir. The road isn't very good and I need to get used to this car. If anything proves

Plenty was unsatisfactory, but Twambley didn't say so. During the snail's trip toward the point of land where

the old lighthouse stood, the keen mind of The Shadow was at work, analyzing Jerry's status.

It might not be a question of how much Jerry knew. It might be a case of how little.

So far the fellow had played the perfect stooge. His connection with murder in Seaview City could be an

unconscious one, originating from nothing more than an effort to pick up some easy money driving company

Though Jerry had brought along a brace of thugs when he took Cranston as a passenger in the blue cab, no

threat had resulted during that trip. Maybe Jerry had been in on the frame when those carlights had blinked a

signal outside the Hotel Neptune, but The Shadow wasn't entirely certain that Jerry's vehicle was the one

Today, Jerry had brought Gaudry from the depot, but again his part was minor and could be considered such

In any event, Jerry was a future prospect where The Shadow was concerned and it would be unwise to spoil

him now. However much Jerry knew or how little The Shadow could use him as effectively as someone

else. And someone else was definitely using Jerry, whether the cabbychauffeur understood all the details.

So far, two names stood out in The Shadow's mind. One was that of Doctor Dee, bearded master of the

occult, whose ways were as mysterious as the arts in which he specialized. The other was Montague Bankhill,

head of the House that bore his name. There was a solid reason why The Shadow gave them precedence over

Something huge was at stake, involving vast sums, otherwise unscrupulous but penurious persons like

Trenkler and Gaudry wouldn't have received invites to come to Seaview City and lay fifty thousand dollars

on the line. Having known Trenkler and having heard of Gaudry, The Shadow knew that both were persons

Silence was The Shadow's specialty. When he utilized it, even as Twambley, other minds became restless,

anxious to break the pall of quiet. Jerry was no exception; he felt he had to talk. While the things he said were

Halting the car on the Boulevard, Jerry gestured at a large, streamlined trolley that slicked across on a track

"One of the Interurbans," explained Jerry. "They call that line the Surf Route. Cuts back across the Meadows

Twambley said nothing, which bothered Jerry all the more. As they drove along the Boulevard, Jerry

"You wouldn't have noticed the Surf Route, coming in on the train, because they don't get close until they're

right in town. The trolleys don't stop at the depot, they go up to the Boardwalk."

More silence from Twambley. Jerry wondered what he'd said to offend the old fool.

"Fast babies, those Interurbs," informed Jerry, just to keep up conversation. "You can pretty near hear them

whistle when they whizz across the Meadows. Somebody said they were built to do two miles a minute, but I

Twambley didn't seem interested in Interurbans. Jerry was wondering if the old man had gone to sleep. There

"Say, Mr. Twambley." Jerry's tone became apologetic. "I didn't mean to be butting into your business when I

took it for granted you came into town by train. Most everybody comes in on the streamliner, you know.

"Besides the Upper Causeway was washed out during the Hurricane and they haven't fixed it yet. So the only

Stopping for a big traffic light, Jerry indicated a straight, broad expanse of concrete that arrowed out across

"Goes straight back to the Mainland," described Jerry. "Not a traffic light for five miles. Then you come to

where the Interurban cuts across. Makes its first stop there, the Surf Route does, at a station called Seaview

Heights. Only there's no heights and there's no town. Just a hunk of ground cut up into building lots that

The light changed and the car continued its course. Soon they were past the outlying cottages that represented

the lower outskirts of Seaview City, but they were still on the Boulevard, though it had narrowed somewhat.

Then the Boulevard itself ended to become an even narrower road, paved but rather badly. To the left, beyond

some sand dunes, Jerry indicated some forlorn pilings that reared in the moonlight.

"What's left of the boardwalk," Jerry explained. "It used to end down here; now it ends a lot further up. The

Hurricane did that too. Over there" Jerry gestured to his right "is the Channel. That's what all the

They were closer to the ocean than the channel, though both showed the moonlight's glint. The land here was

scarcely a quarter mile in width and becoming narrower. The channel view was clearer, though more distant,

because it was unobstructed, whereas sand dunes marred the outlook toward the ocean.

Confident that Twambley if still awake had observed how the land narrowed, Jerry ventured more data.

"We're almost to the Point," he explained. "It isn't exactly a point, because there's sort of a creek called the

Narrows that cuts it off. Too shallow, though, for boats, the Narrows. They have to go around the Point to get

For the first time, Twambley spoke, just when Jerry had fully decided he was asleep; hence the twotiming

"All very interesting," remarked Twambley, crisply, "and how, may I ask, do we go across the Narrows that

"Why, there's a bridge there," returned Jerry. "At least there should be a bridge" he hesitated, as though

worried that he was talking too much. "Well, here it is, the bridge, you can see it for yourself."

As the automobile stopped, Twambley saw the bridge or what there was of it. The structure had evidently

suffered from the hurricane of the year before, but that didn't fully account for its present condition.

Apparently the bridge had been repaired; now it was going to pieces again, because a group of workmen were

"Guess we can't get across," apologized Jerry. "Maybe I should have remembered that they were putting in

Why it wasn't done was explained by sight of an old coupe that had apparently started across the planking

that Jerry mentioned. The result was that the woodwork had caved and the car was half sunk in the debris. A

brawny foreman came up to the big car to make sure Jerry didn't make the same mistake.

"It's going to take us half the night to haul that buggy out," the foreman grouched. "But if you don't make the

same mistake, and just sit tight, we'll have a temporary job ready for you. Ought to be ready now" the man

increased his grumble "except for those two clucks who don't know how to set planks in a line!"

By "clucks" the foreman meant two workers in overalls who were toiling in the light of strong lanterns and

from the window of his car, The Shadow recognized them. They were the pair of riders who had

Jerry didn't seem to notice his former pals, nor blow his horn to make them hurry up. But the discovery of

these two men who fitted into The Shadow's pattern of crime analysis, was only a prelude to the next find.

It happened just after a raucous horn began to squawk impatiently from the other side of the Narrows, the

horn incidentally serving as a tonic to the slow men who were probably better in a brawl than at building a

bridge. They solved the riddle of the planks and set them straight so rapidly that the foreman almost forgot

"Hey, wait!" called the foreman. "Here's the gent who bogged his car through the bridge. He's been waiting a

couple of hours to get across and I told him I'd ask the first car to take him. You have room, haven't you?"

Looking back at Twambley to see if the latter thought there was room, Jerry received a nod from his

crispfaced employer. So the big car paused and the extra passenger stepped into it, profuse with thanks.

Polite as well as profuse, this gentleman, for it was in his nature to act genteel. Even his narrowed eyes were

"Allow me to introduce myself, sir," the new passenger said. "I am Colonel Colgan, long a resident of

Whether Colgan rated the title of Colonel was unimportant. The real factor was that The Shadow, switched to

the guise of Twambley instead of Cranston, had met up with an old acquaintance who didn't recognize him.

This was the gentleman with the wingtip collar and the polkadot necktie, who had shared the ride with

AFTER giving his own name in response to Colgan's introduction, Isaac Twambley cackled nervously as the

big car shimmied its way across the bridge. Immediately the colonel reassured him.

"The bridge is safe enough," he declared. "My mishap came about because I inadvertently disobeyed

The Shadow knew there wasn't, even if it had been his habit to feel alarm. While the car was testing the

bridge, he was doing the same with Twambley's guise and both were proving solid enough for future use.

At the far side of the bridge they met the car that had used the horn so noisily. It was a light truck that

evidently hauled supplies to and from the point. Jerry paused to hold a brief argument with the truck driver,

asking him why he had to be so impatient, and the trucker told Jerry that if he'd been waiting a couple of

Of course they just didn't say it in those words, but that was the gist of it. Old Twambley seemed quite

unperturbed by his chauffeur's exchange of profanities with the trucker. He was more interested in why

There were a couple of small rowboats hitched to the shore on this side of the bridge and there were people

about who could have rowed them. A car wasn't necessary to go anywhere on the Point because it wasn't

more than a dozen acres in size and its only buildings were within a stone's throw of the bridge.

One building was an oversized cottage that served as an undersized hotel, which was pretty well deserted,

considering the lack of lights in its windows. Around it were tourist cabins, while off to the flank, Twambley

saw a large, rambling structure that bore a smaller but equally rambling sign, with the legend:

Glook hadn't wasted any of his paint either on the store or the sign, for the building was the grayish hue of

dried boards and the letters on the sign were scarcely legible in the glow of the bare electric light bulbs that

Nevertheless, there were samples of his workmanship in the form of some freshly painted automobiles

standing outside what looked like a garage. Beyond was a ragged boathouse built over an equally frayed pier

that jutted into the Channel. Hauled up beside the pier were some squatty cabin cruisers of the stocky,

The blue Green Cab wasn't among the cars, but it was probably in the garage, getting a preliminary scrape.

Towering above this batch of shoddy buildings was the Point's famed landmark, the old lighthouse. It was a

tall, hollow structure, the kind that had once sent its gleam far to sea, warning navigators against a hazard that

was now sufficiently protected by modern buoys off shore. Beyond that, the Point had its quota of sand

dunes, that gave it an irregular appearance. These hillocks looked like the bunkers of a golf course, except

The contours of the dunes showed that they were shifty and their present leaning, inward from the Point

proper, was obviously a relic of the hurricane which had struck from that direction. The dunes were useful as

well as picturesque; unquestionably they had buffered Glook's ramshackle buildings against the fury of last

Alighting from his car, Isaac Twambley entered the general store and looked around. Over in one corner was

a door marked OFFICE and in response to the dingle of a bell, a man came from that door and leaned

This man was Marvin Glook and he looked as weatherbeaten as his premises, as crablike in action as the

crustaceans that crawled the banks of the Channel, and quite as stoopish as the leaning dunes that were his

Glook's face was gray, like his sleek hair, but his eyes had a quick, bluish flash that belonged to the man who

"Anything you'd like to buy, sir?" wheezed Glook. "We're always glad to please a customer when we get

"I would like to buy a boat," specified Twambley. "A large boat, with all the necessary fittings. Something

more ample than those I saw outside. I would want something closer to the size of a yacht."

Glook's eyes exhibited an increasing gleam as Twambley built up these specifications. Then, with a gesture

of one hand, the other being necessary to support him against the counter, Glook spoke depreciatingly.

"I have nothing suitable here," said Glook. "Nor could I build anything of the sort you want."

"Of course I might find a yacht," he declared. "and convert it to your requirements. I could outfit it

"I doubt that you have the facilities," said Twambley, his crisp tone becoming blunt. "I am sorry that I

"So I understood. I heard that you painted taxicabs; that you repaired and stored antiques. Some of the

Glook was nodding, very eagerly since it seemed the best way to impress this type of customer.

"I buy and sell anything," declared Glook, "providing I can put into better shape the things I buy, before I sell

them. I work on a small profit margin, but why not?" Glook unlimbered himself to deliver an arm gesture that

"That is why I came," acknowledged Twambley, cannily. "Suppose you show me around, so I can judge for

More eager than ever, Glook showed Twambley around. They went through the various sections of his old

buildings, Glook turning on lights as they went along. It didn't take long to prove why Glook had become a

Glook's place was like a glorified junk shop. In one room was a herd of merrygoround animals that Glook

said he had bought from an amusement park. Maybe one of the piers would need a carousel some day. If so,

In a larger and much higher room hung curtains, suitable for theaters, along with sideshow banners that

Glook had bought from some defunct carnival. These too were waiting until some concession might want

What interested Twambley chiefly were the store rooms. One of these held old and junky furniture, another

was filled with a lot that looked much better. Glook termed both brands "antiques" and added that the

Similarly, there was a storage room containing geegaws, bricabrac, and garish tapestries. Glook was very

proud of certain glossy hangings and some stacks of chinaware that had a gold finish.

"We do all that in the shop," explained Glook. "It gives the stuff flash and that's what sells it. The auction

"Good business," complimented Twambley. "At least you must make an excellent profit on such goods."

"Not much," returned Glook, glumly. "They know the cost price too. They're close buyers because they pay

high rentals and their license fee is five thousand dollars a year. I have no overhead, no license."

Glook sounded as though he was sorry for himself. He conducted Twambley through the repair and

manufacturing department where a few men were doing night work. In addition, Glook had a small printing

press, which he used only for job work, turning out posters, price lists, and similar work.

They came to the dock beside the boat house and there, in the dark, Glook pointed out the white shapes of the

"Come around any day," insisted Glook, "and you'll see for yourself what a fine job I've done on those. Yes,

Mr. Twambley, if you want a yacht bought, refinished, and equipped, Glook is your man."

Somebody was calling Glook from the main store. As Glook turned to call back, Twambley spoke into the

darkness between two of the fishing boats. Only his tone was no longer Twambley's; it was the whisper of

The Shadow, that strange, concentrated voice that could confine itself in a given quarter.

"You were the first arrival," came a low reply. The tone belonged to Harry Vincent. "A car went out just

"I don't know. Probably one of Glook's customers. I was over by the sand dunes then. I waited until dusk to

"None. Not even a row boat. The blue cab is in the garage, but if anybody is worrying about it, they haven't

"No. I kept away from the store. I didn't want to even see Glook until the bridge was clear. I'd rather have him

A good enough notion on Harry's part, but it was getting too late for that now. Seeing Glook turning to come

"Meet me at the car," he told Harry. "Act like a stranger asking for a ride back to town."

Ten minutes later, Twambley had said goodnight to Glook and was about to get into his hired car, when a

young man stepped from the darkness and asked for a lift. Much to the surprise of Jerry, Twambley granted

the request. After crossing the bridge, Twambley waved to Colonel Colgan, who was waiting for his coupe to

be hauled up from the broken planking. The colonel called a cheery goodnight in return.

There were two silent passengers during the ride back to Seaview City; old Twambley and the young man he

had befriended. Since they didn't talk, Jerry did a lot of thinking, which was precisely what The Shadow

As Isaac Twambley, The Shadow was progressing nicely in his analysis of crime, but he was planning to

By tomorrow, perhaps The Shadow might have added evidence that would enable him to begin thrusts of his

THE light of a new day, far from clearing the riddle of the Gaudry murder, only served to deepen it.

Very conveniently, The Shadow received an invitation to a special reconstruction of the scene of crime, but

he did not appear there as Isaac Twambley. Instead, he was forced to resume the guise of Lamont Cranston.

The reason was the arrival of Inspector Joe Cardona, from New York. Cardona was an important cog in the

Manhattan force and knew Cranston personally, as a friend of New York's police commissioner. Therefore it

was only natural that Cranston should drop around and welcome Cardona to Seaview City or vice versa.

Why Cardona had been summoned to Seaview City was rapidly made plain and Joe was glad to have

"Seth Gaudry was a smart apple," defined Cardona. "He handled the sale of art treasures and on a big scale,

only he never advertised the fact. Bought here and there, then sold to individual collectors. Did he ever try to

"I take it then," returned Cranston, blandly, "that you credit me with sufficient judgment to recognize

"That isn't it," stated Cardona. "Gaudry didn't peddle phoney stuff. I wasn't complimenting you on being

smart, Mr. Cranston, though I don't deny you are. I was meaning you were honest."

"Now that fellow Trenkler, who died a few days back," added Cardona, "he was the sort who would have

played at Gaudry's game. I wouldn't have been surprised to see him show up somewhere with fifty grand,

Cardona might have been surprised if he'd known that Cranston had come to Seaview City as Trenkler's

They were in room 920 at the Coral House and Margo Lane was among the persons present. Others included

the local police chief and the two detectives who had quizzed Doctor Dee the day before.

All around was evidence of murder which Cardona was about to analyze with due appreciation from the local

representatives of the law, for Joe had made it plain that he'd let credit go to the Seaview City force. Maybe

Cardona had learned such courtesy from The Shadow, that mysterious crime solver who had so often dropped

"When Gaudry arrived in town," related Cardona, "he checked in at the Hotel Waterloo. He stopped off at a

phony auction, bought himself a chunk of junk, and then switched to this room that he'd reserved in another

"You're asking how those facts came out?" queried Joe. "Simple enough. Gaudry forgot himself and brought

Seeing the key, Cranston examined it. The key bore the number 512 and a letter W, which evidently meant

Waterloo, the only Seaview City hotel that had a name beginning with that letter.

"The murderer must have gone to the Waterloo," explained Cardona, "and found this key." Joe showed a key

with the number 920 above a crest with the initials C.H. for Coral House. "That's how he tracked Gaudry

Margo almost said something, but Cranston's keen gaze stopped her. It wasn't the murderer, but The Shadow,

who had gone to the Waterloo and there learned Gaudry's whereabouts from the clue of the wrong key!

"There was somewhere else Gaudry stopped off," resumed Cardona, emphatically. "Maybe he was looking

for luck; anyway, he picked up an astrological chart from a certain Doctor Dee. It was lying on the floor

Cardona passed Cranston the chart in question. It covered persons born under the sign of "Libra, the Scales,"

and the eleventh was listed as an unlucky day. There was a ring around that number, penciled there as a

"Persons born under Libra," announced the chart, "should trust their own judgment, because they have a

faculty for weighing decisions properly. Bad luck comes to them chiefly when the forget this rule. The scales

are a symbol of justice, which though sometimes blind is more often right than wrong."

Cardona noted that Cranston, whatever his own birth sign, was carefully weighing this last sentence.

"You got it," nodded Cardona, "even though Gaudry didn't. He weighed his own decision and figured that

would knock out any bad luck. He probably laughed at that stuff about justice. So he got it and the wrong

"I've practically said so all along," argued Cardona. "Somebody must have tipped him to a big art buy, here in

Seaview City. Gaudry left a lot of equipment including an xray machine down at the Waterloo as a blind.

"Then he switched here, probably intending to swing the deal on his own, only his partner caught up with him

and knocked him off, just like Klurg, who was probably a guy who knew too much about something.

"But getting back to Gaudry. His going to the House of Bankhill was mostly bluff, since that place wouldn't

sell the type of goods Gaudry really wanted. Look at that broken statuette" Cardona gestured to the

shattered pieces that were on the floor "and figure for yourself if Gaudry thought it worth anything.

"Since the murderer didn't take Gaudry's cash, we know he killed him as a doublecrosser, not for money.

That brings us to the question of the murderer. How he disappeared is still a mystery, or will be until his body

Striding to the window, Cardona pointed out the scene of the mystery that had featured yesterday's dusk.

"The murderer dived under right out there," asserted Joe. "The life guards are sure they'd have spotted him if

he'd come up. He couldn't have swum under water to the pier because his breath would have given out before

he'd gone half way. Some of the life guards proved it by trying it this morning."

Turning from the window, Cardona suggested that they follow the murderer's route down the elevator that led

to the bather's basement. During the ride, Cardona mused aloud upon a minor point.

"The murderer must have faked that phony call to the delivery boy," decided Cardona. "Wanted to make sure

the kid didn't stick around. That's why he spread the word about an accident that didn't happen."

If Cranston had a different opinion, he didn't state it, but judging from his very calm expression, Margo had a

notion that something special was in Lamont's mind. Then they were going through the basement to the

doorway that bathers used beneath the Boardwalk. Cardona paused to point out another detail.

"The murderer must have thought somebody was after him," declared Cardona, "because he dumped

everything in sight. That big towel container, for one thing, a couple of those double lockers, the pulmotor in

the corner, and even the big oxygen tank that they've got here for emergencies."

Having been obstructed by this very debris, which was now back in place, Cranston could have detailed a few

more items, but didn't. They reached the beach, where Cardona ruefully commented on the inability of sand

"The stuff is too shifty for good prints," declared Cardona, "and besides, so many people tramp the beach that

there's no telling one set from another. Whoever invented the saying 'Footprints on the sands of time' didn't

With that, Cardona turned to the two detectives, the strong silent men of the Seaview City force.

"You ought to look at the fancy covers on those star readings you bought," rebuked Cardona. "That's where I

read it, and in big type too. It's a quotation from somewhere, but maybe Doctor Dee took it seriously."

Joe Cardona was a stocky, swarthy man, who could nod emphatically when he came to a decision. He had

DOCTOR DEE had just concluded a convincing lecture when the visiting delegates arrived at his occult

studio and he had sold so many of his astrological charts that he was too tired to put the pressure on Joe

The office being too small for all the visitors, Dee closed the front door and gestured to a circle of chairs in

the main room. Then, stroking his heavy beard, the master of the occult smiled pleasantly and inquired:

"We're looking into the past," Cardona informed him. "Let the present and the future ride a while. Another

"Many people mark my charts," declared Dee. "If they would only take the advice to heart!"

"Somebody else did if they didn't," put in Cardona. "That applies to the person who murdered Klurg and

"You have an analytical mind," complimented Dee. "Ordinarily that would indicate Virgo as your sign, but

since you are a professional investigator, it might be a developed faculty. Now if you were born under Aries

Dee's eyes glinted when Cardona mentioned Bankhill's auctions. Cannily, the bearded doctor asked:

Pondering a moment, Cardona looked to Margo for the answer. The girl shook her head.

"Bankhill deals in gyp stuff," said Joe. "What we're looking into is a game involving genuine art treasures

Thoughtfully, Dee stroked his bushy beard, then arose and turned to the rack where he kept his astrological

"I can help you," Dee purred to Cardona, "if you will only tell me your birth sign. But first it will cost you

"Which you won't get," interrupted Joe. "Why should I be gypped, even for a buck, by buying something that

"Gyp stuff," repeated Dee. "An outright fake. You're putting my business in the same class as Bankhill's. By

Before Cardona could answer that argument, Dee clinched it with his persuasive purr.

"But the fact still stands," reminded Dee, "that Bankhill deals in goods that go to the highest bidder, whereas I

Rising, Cardona turned to his companions and suggested that they come along. They left, and in glancing

back at Doctor Dee, Margo Lane felt quite sure that the occult master was laughing through his beard.

An auction was going on there, but the visitors didn't disturb it. They went in the back way and interrupted

Montague Bankhill in the process of talking to a man who had bought a fifty dollar watch for twentyfive.

Bankhill was generously trying to persuade the customer to trade in his purchase as part payment for a

Sight of the local law and order caused Bankhill to drop that plan and bow the customer out. Then:

"If you want to see the guarantee on that watch," declared Bankhill, "I'll prove that the customer actually

"Speaking of reliable watches," broke in Cardona, shoving himself forward, "do you carry one?"

"Then where were you last night," demanded Cardona, "and the night before, at the time those murders were

"I swear that Klurg wasn't working for me," he insisted, "and I never expected a customer like Gaudry. I've

read the newspapers and I know only what they told me. The man you should question is Doctor Dee."

"We've done that," returned Cardona, cryptically. "We find he has an alibi. What's yours?"

"That's all we wanted to know." Cardona turned to the group. "Suppose we go along."

Their last glance at Bankhill proved him to be a very troubled man and the fact suited Cardona. To the local

"You saw how Bankhill took it when he thought Dee was in the clear," stated Cardona. "We'll go back and

give Dee the same dose. I'll bet his beard curls when we tell him that we found Bankhill had an alibi."

Good psychology on Cardona's part, but Cranston and Margo didn't go along to witness it. Being part way to

"Probably not," replied Cranston. "Bankhill was on the spot because they caught him working the watch

"In jam auction parlance," he explained. "a fob is the name applied to the switchman. That is, he's the chap

"Yes. Sometimes they do give a customer a bargain. The man we saw today really bought a fifty dollar watch

"But he was offering a hundred dollar watch for the first one, at a total of only fifty dollars."

"Right. But with the hundred dollar watch, the customer wouldn't have received a guarantee."

"But the hundred dollar watch had the maker's name on it. Wouldn't that suffice?"

"You'd be a chump yourself, Margo," stated Cranston. "That second watch was a rebuilt job, worth only

about twenty dollars. Such a watch is known as a "lumpie" and a fob just loves to peddle one. Instead of

making eighty dollars, Bankhill just lost twentyfive. No wonder he was out of sangfroid."

Margo was silent as they walked across the huge lobby of the Coral House. As they neared the elevator,

"I know," agreed Margo. "I'd have been gypped on that statuette if Mr. Ferth hadn't let me have it for nothing.

"Because you were a future prospect. You'll find out why, when you go back there. Just follow Ferth's advice

"Because that statuette of Alcyone may be just what the doctor ordered and I don't mean Doctor Dee."

That was all, but Margo was quite sure that the next move in this investigation would involve the first of the

When they reached the ninth floor, Lamont Cranston produced what looked like a pass key and was. He went

to 920, Gaudry's room, and undertoned for Margo to go and get her statuette and join him there.

By the time Margo brought Alcyone to 920, Cranston had done marvels with Electra. He had assembled the

fragments of the statuette purchased by Gaudry, and in the process had left a lot of pennies lying on the floor

Setting two large ashtrays on the ends of a ruler which automatically enabled him to measure the positions

equally, Cranston included the broken pieces of Electra in one tray and stood Alcyone upon the other.

Bringing a wire coathanger from the closet, he rested it upright on the table and told Margo to hold the hook

Carefully, Cranston pushed the ruler through the open space of the hanger, sending Electra's ashtray ahead,

since the broken pieces were in a heap low enough to pass under the bridge. The ruler was eighteen inches

long, so Cranston set the nine inch mark directly upon the crosswire of the hanger.

When Cranston gestured for Margo to lift, she did. The ruler came up lopsided, bringing the fragments of

Electra, while the statuette of Alcyone toppled over the table edge, to be caught by Cranston before it could

"You misjudged that one," remarked Margo. "I thought that was Alcyone's finish!"

"Not yet," declared Cranston. "What's more, I didn't misgauge it. That setup formed an excellent pair of

"A great deal heavier." Taking the chunks of Electra, Cranston pieced several of them together. "Look at this,

"So hollow that it's not much more than a shell. Take Alcyone back to your room and break her, rather

Margo left while Cranston was replacing the Electra fragments and gathering up his pennies from the floor.

When he reached Margo's room, Cranston heard the dull crash of Alcyone meeting the tiled bathroom floor.

"Practically solid," stated Margo. "You can see for yourself. No wonder Alcyone was heavier than Electra!"

"And so were the rest of the Pleiades," assured Cranston. "That explains why the delivery boy was hoaxed."

"That's the reason. He'd have noticed the difference in weight. The statuette that went in Gaudry's package

"What's left of the statuette was. I'm including the original contents. Gaudry bought something more than just

a chinaware ornament. I'd say he bought a smaller statuette of gold, studded with jewels, hidden in a crockery

"Because," replied Cranston, "what Gaudry bought must have been a terrific bargain at fifty thousand

"At Bankhill's, yes, but the rest was to be handed over later. Gaudry brought along his xray to indicate that

he intended to keep the statuette unbroken in its china form. In fact, that might have been part of the deal; if

The truth broke on Margo, with a mental rush like the pound of the breakers outside the window.

"Then somebody really has a million dollar racket!" Margo exclaimed. "Whoever the brain is, he's selling off

"Through the best front in the world," acknowledged Cranston. "The first place any investigator would

normally pass up is the House of Bankhill. Nobody ever heard of a jam auction giving its customers anything

The full significance of this discovery left Margo positively breathless. She could only wait for Cranston to

"The source is obvious," declared Cranston. "Many European art treasures stolen by the Nazis still remain

untraced. It was to be expected that some would be shipped to America to be unloaded through unscrupulous

"And a great many more," affirmed Cranston. "This game is probably scheduled to continue throughout the

summer season. Customers like Trenkler and Gaudry will bring in large sums to buy evenlarger bargains in

"It will be easier afterward. What's more, it won't tip off the brain behind the game. If we locate him, we can

"Probably from a Nazi submarine, before the coastal blackout ended. Seaview City was the perfect spot."

"Which is what made it perfect," interposed Cranston. "It was harder to watch than a barren beach. But the

Staring from the window, Cranston studied the breakerruffled beach and finally turned to Margo.

"If I know Cardona," declared Cranston, "he'll keep the seesaw going between Dee and Bankhill until one

"Except that our game is over," reminded Cranston. "We'll keep that secret to ourselves. Meanwhile you have

another auction appointment at the House of Bankhill, to watch what goes out at those sales."

"If another customer arrives today," continued Cranston, "we may be able to identify him on arrival. That

would prove important in case the game has changed. But if the game is still young, as I believe it is, I see no

Cranston was at the door, turning just as he was about to step into the hallway.

"So don't forget the auction," said Cranston, in parting. "Take plenty of money, Margo; buy whatever you

want; and most of all, keep tally of the highest bidder. But don't worry, you may have a few friends close by."

As the door closed, Margo Lane found herself hoping that one of those few friends would be The Shadow!

THIS day proved itself tempestuous. By late afternoon, great storm clouds were racing over Seaview City

and the ocean was pounding high upon the beach, with a menacing might that drove away all but the most

Even back in town, shopkeepers were battening down their windows against the "blow" as they termed it.

Fainthearted summer visitors were swarming to the depot, hoping to get away ahead of what they thought

Such people just wouldn't be convinced that this wasn't the hurricane season and that when such tropical

At least this would prove a break for more daring visitors who might arrive in Seaview City. They'd find

accommodations vacated by the others and probably would enjoy it here. For according to the weather reports

that the fainthearted wouldn't read, this scurrying storm would probably blow over before the next morning.

Among the daring visitors expected in Seaview City was one that Harry Vincent hoped to spot when the

streamliner arrived. Harry was at the depot on the lookout for another buyer of camouflaged Nazi goods.

So far a big car containing a gentleman named Isaac Twambley hadn't put in an appearance and Harry could

understand why. Twambley's chauffeur, the shifty chap called Jerry, was still the best lead to strangers.

Twambley was using the car this afternoon, but in keeping with The Shadow's style, he was giving Jerry

leeway for excuses. If Jerry found a way of taking time off and getting to the station, Harry would get word

Meanwhile, other agents of The Shadow were assembling in Seaview City. Clyde Burke, a reporter, had

arrived from New York this morning, to cover the Gaudry murder. Clyde was trooping along with Joe

Cardona, keeping tabs on developments that concerned Doctor Dee and Montague Bankhill.

Whichever way the balance went, The Shadow would know promptly through Clyde Burke. So for all Harry

Vincent could guess, crime's whole case might be cracking up this very instant. Dee and Bankhill might be

smart at peddling their respective wares, but in Harry's estimate, each was the type who would be prone to

Therefore, whichever proved to be the master mind, would be likely to give himself away, possibly through

the other's ability to efface himself from the picture. Clever gentlemen like Dee and Bankhill could deal in

negatives as well as positives; hence the innocent side of the balance might declare itself, leaving only the

Slithering suddenly from the cloudinduced dusk, the streamliner arrived to conclude Harry's speculations.

From that moment on, Harry was watching the train gate, along with the cars and cabs parked near it.

Harry couldn't help but recognize Brewster Broy, when the big man strode muffled from the train gate. For

Broy, though he didn't realize it, was identifying himself in the most conspicuous of manners, provided

Brewster Broy was a big money man who held the modern record as a dodger of indictments. Within the past

few months he'd been hauled to court so often that judges had begun to feel neglected when they didn't see

So many charges had been made against Broy that he'd just about used up the book. Fraud, extortion,

conspiracy, evasion the list went on and on, but ended nowhere. Broy's finger was in everything, but no

Since Broy hated the public eye, he had a habit of muffling his face or covering it with his hat, every time a

camera turned his way. Snapping Broy's picture was a routine pastime with newspaper photographers and

they'd begun to individualize those shots. Harry had seen Broy's picture so often, depicted when Broy was

So right now, Harry recognized Broy more promptly than he otherwise would have; indeed, if he'd seen

Broy's face, he might not have recognized him at all. Broy just didn't realize that he was playing ostrich,

laying himself open for identification, by assuming what was now his bestknown pose.

However successfully Broy had counteracted criminal charges, his shady enterprises must have suffered huge

losses. Broy was the sort who would want to recuperate financially through even shadier and more rapid

tactics. As much as Trenkler or Gaudry perhaps even more Broy was a customer on the preferred list

Another thought occurred to Harry as he moved after the muffled man. There wouldn't be any murder where

Broy was concerned, for he was the sort who would go through with his end of the deal. Therefore, it

wouldn't do just to watch some hotel room, expecting it to turn into a death trap. So Harry clung closely to

Apparently following set instructions, Broy turned away from the throng that was heading toward parked cars

and cabs. Harry did the same, but not so quickly that he wasn't spotted. In this case it was all right, for

Hawkeye was the spotter; then, with a wise smile, Hawkeye studied the crowd from the train again.

There were faces that Hawkeye recognized, for they belonged to The Shadow's strongarm crew: Cliff

Marsland, Miles Crofton and Chance LeBrue, a stout and formidable trio. Having recognized the extent of

crime's stakes, The Shadow was quite sure that a hidden mob would evidence itself, once crime's master

needed such assistance. Therefore The Shadow had brought in his own combat crew.

That first ride of Cranston's from the depot had been the indicator. Now the journey of the blue Green Cab

was proving itself a mere forerunner of something more subtle. Only it was Harry Vincent who was

Over across the sidetracks, Harry was witnessing a meeting between Brewster Broy and another man who

proved to be none other than Colonel Colgan. The stuffedshirt colonel was inviting Broy into the coupe that

Tabbing Colgan was simple. The selfstyled colonel was a front man for the treasure peddling ring, but he'd

been forced to play safe after the death trap had failed to bag Lamont Cranston. Now Colgan was being

delegated to a job that Jerry couldn't handle, since Jerry was playing safe too or thought he was by

These underlings like Colgan and Jerry were getting a real runaround from The Shadow, though they didn't

know it any more than did their chief. To Harry it was just a question of time before either the bearded

Doctor Dee or pompous Montague Bankhill found that he'd been getting the runaround too.

Which would be the funnier, Harry wasn't sure, but he was confident that there would be a showdown with

the murderous big shot very soon. Being confident, Harry decided that trailing Colgan and Broy would prove

quite easy. Noting the way the couple would have to travel to leave its present parking spot, Harry hurried

First, he was noticed by some men who came around the side of the extensive station; next, after he started

his car to pick up Colgan's trail, another car eased out from an obscure parking place. If he'd seen both

incidents, Harry might have connected them; seeing neither, he didn't even consider them.

Colgan's trail was as shifty as the windy dusk which seemed to rise and fall in ratio to the scudding of the

clouds. Maybe Colgan and Broy were having trouble figuring where they intended to go, but eventually the

Realizing suddenly that he'd been outwitted, Harry hauled his car to the side of the street and clicked off the

lights. Swinging around the circle, Colgan was due to meet Harry coming back, or in other terms was using a

Figuring that he might bluff it out, Harry slid low behind the wheel and as his head slipped down from sight,

two others rose beside his car. Hands tugged the doors open on each side and a moment later Harry was

The same pair who had accompanied Cranston on his welcoming ride in Seaview City, but in Harry's case,

Within a few brief minutes, Harry Vincent was seated bound and gagged between this pair of captors, as they

drove his car along behind Colgan's coupe. How long the ride would prove and where it would lead, Harry

Harry Vincent was scheduled to meet crime's supermind before The Shadow had that privilege. If Harry

The Shadow's first move, with Harry as the pawn, had become a play into the opposition's hands!

OF all people and of all places, only Margo Lane would have picked the end of Long Pier for a sojourn on a

Not that Margo cared for stormy weather. It was just that she'd heard so much about a calm coming before a

storm, that she hoped the role would work the other way about. Plenty of storm on Long Pier might result in

Waves were hoisting high at the pier end, where Margo stood under the shelter of the projecting roof of the

outermost pavilion. The model submarine, a captive in its basin, was rising and falling with the sea's lift, but

A sign was flapping, advertising trips down in the model sub, during daylight only, since there was nothing

subaqueous observable after dark. Only the sub trips weren't being made at all today. Nobody except Margo

At least the storm was abating. It had become all waves and no wind. Overhead the clouds had become solid;

maybe an all night drizzle would follow. To test it, Margo went to the outer rail, only to find that the sea

spray made it difficult to tell. So Margo turned away from what breeze remained and looked straight up.

Odd, that light. Margo had never noticed its blinks from shore, although she had looked toward the Long Pier

often. Remembering that it was time now to be getting ashore, Margo started around the pavilion, paused

No longer was it visible, yet Margo could catch a slight reflection from the roof. Staring hard, she made out

what appeared to be a semicircular shield that cut off all view of those flickers from the shore side. Margo

Continuing shoreward, Margo stopped again. In the haze below the pier, she saw answering glints. Another

light was talking to this one, though where the message came from, Margo couldn't guess. In that cloudy

Perhaps somebody was flashing signals from one of the hotels, but certainly not the Coral House because it

was too close at hand, about a hundred yards below the Long Pier and therefore more toward shore.

The Neptune and the Waterloo were possibilities and when Margo recalled that they too had figured in crime,

Hurrying on toward shore, Margo stopped at the half way mark and looked for the far light again. Now it

Methodically. Margo was trying to reason this out, when she nearly stumbled into a firstclass pitfall.

It was the cutout sector that had once housed the wave motors. The sea was really smashing up through that

big gap, soaking the boards on which Margo had almost slipped through a stretch of broken rail. Hurrying

around this hazard, Margo passed the lion cages, where hungry howls now sounded tame in contrast to the

Through the great gates of the Long Pier, Margo reached the boardwalk and rapidly paced the hundred yards

that brought her to the Coral House. Instead of stopping there, she continued along the spraydrenched

If the usual auction began early, as it might, Margo wouldn't have many minutes to spare before its start.

Arriving in time, Margo found the attentive Mr. Ferth at the doorway. About to usher her to a chair, Ferth

"I'm putting you beside Mrs. Tarleton. She likes you, but don't let that influence your bidding. Mrs. Tarleton

enjoys competition and she will appreciate value more if she has to pay somewhere near it."

Margo nodded, trying to accomplish it in a dumb way. This was a new angle, getting one customer to stooge

against another's bids. Ferth's way, perhaps, of getting some of the fifty dollars that Margo hadn't paid for the

"Of course if you overbid," added Ferth, "don't let it worry you. Watch for my signal to stop. We wouldn't

Actually, Ferth meant that he didn't want the bidding to top Mrs. Tarleton's maximum offer. Reaching the

place where Mrs. Tarleton was, Ferth bowed Margo to a seat beside the portly lady. Then, urged by the

arrival of some extra customers who blew in like the last vestiges of the storm, the auction was off to a start,

Paintings were the leaders at this sale and Mr. S liked to sell them. He proved it by pushing bids as high as

the two hundred dollar mark with sticks boosting heavily and sometimes becoming the buyers.

"I'm waiting to see the nightscapes. They really should be elegant and highly valuable."

By "nightscapes" Mrs. Tarleton referred to pictures of night scenes, which were coming later; in fact they

were the particular type of chromo reserved for her. But just as Mr. S was about to begin with them, he

spotted a larger painting that he had overlooked and called on Mr. L to help display it.

"One of the Old Masters," declared Mr. S, "a genuine copy of an authentic Rembrandt. The priceless originals

of many of these paintings have disappeared, which will give you some idea of the value of these guaranteed

To Margo, the painting looked like a remnant rather than a Rembrandt, but its scene at least was Dutch. What

marred it were the gaudy colors, the crudity of the detail. To Margo it looked like a child's attempt to imitate

But the colors, plus the buildup, impressed Mrs. Tarleton. She thought the Dutch windmill just lovely, the

old stonehouse quaint, the canal in the background thrilling, while the figures in the painting were in her

estimate historic. Amid all that gush, Mrs. Tarleton started the bidding at two hundred and fifty.

Somebody shilled the bid to three hundred before Ferth could hurry up front to hold a consultation with Mr. S

"It's out of our hands now," conceded Ferth, casting a worried look toward the door, "but the bidding should

have started at a thousand dollars. This bona fide replica is unique, of that let me assure you."

He gave a motion of his hands which Margo took for a high sign and raised the bid to three fifty. Mrs.

Tarleton went to four hundred and the jumps became spirited, thanks to the "go" signals that Ferth kept

When the bid hit an even thousand, Margo thought that Ferth would call quits, but he didn't. It was foolish,

thought Margo, because Mrs. Tarleton was probably at the limit of her budget. Then it dawned on Margo that

The reason showed itself, just when Margo forced Mrs. Tarleton to twentytwo hundred and received a

daggery look from the dowager. Looking hopelessly toward Ferth, Margo caught one last "up" just as a man

Margo made it twentyfive hundred and Ferth gave the signal to lay off. Mrs. Tarleton settled back annoyed.

The muffled man removed his hat and held it against his shoulder so it half concealed his face; then as the

This stranger was Brewster Broy and though Margo did not know who he was, she realized definitely that he

must be a bidder of Gaudry's class. On that basis, Broy was after something more than a mere chromo and

Margo hadn't guessed the effect that real competition could have on Mrs. Tarleton. If she really wanted a

genuine imitation of something, she'd go after it to the limit. Mrs. Tarleton did just that when she shouted:

Ten fifteen twentyfive all in thousands went the bids with Mrs. Tarleton and Brewster Broy flinging

their figures, like a conductor ringing up trolley fares. Mr. S and Mr. V stood gaping at each other across the

broad expanse of the garish canvas that anybody but a Dutchman could have painted. At the door, Ferth stood

worried, like somebody who had touched off a keg of dynamite and was viewing the result. Ferth's moment

Old Mrs. Tarleton didn't bat an eyelash. She just snapped "Fiftyfive thousand" and Broy rose with a bellow,

shoved his chair aside, to storm out through the door to the boardwalk, brushing off Ferth like a sandfly.

Imperiously, Mrs. Tarleton arose and took over the proceedings. Waving her arm at Messrs. L and S, she

"Bring it to my hotel, you two. I shall pay you there, in cash. But I want prompt delivery, right now!"

The two auctioneers weren't in any mood to dispute such an offer. Nodding to Mrs. Tarleton, they waved

their arms to indicate that the auction was ended. The shills were prompt to take the hint and served as a

At the doorway, Margo paused, rather surprised to find that Ferth had disappeared. Probably he had rushed

after Broy, though neither was in sight. Then came Mrs. Tarleton followed by the auctioneers who were

"I shall see you at my hotel, my dear," Mrs. Tarleton told Margo. "I'm stopping at the Crescent, you know. Of

Maybe Mrs. Tarleton meant it cattily, maybe not. However, Margo had to go outside, so that the auctioneers

could bring the painting through the doorway. They closed and locked the door behind them, but after they

started up the Boardwalk with Mrs. Tarleton, Margo felt herself compelled to linger.

It was while she hesitated in the darkened doorway that Margo viewed the startling sequel to the surprising

auction scene. A door opened near the back of the darkened auction house and out of it stepped a man who

walked rapidly in the other direction, yet he was not too swift for Margo to fail to recognize him as Montague

Immediately, a figure stirred from another doorway across the ramp leading away from the boardwalk. Margo

couldn't see his face, but it wasn't only the darkness that prevented her. The man's big beard helped obscure

Which was on the other's trail, Margo wasn't certain, for both were in motion when she saw them. But, that

Mrs. Tarleton wasn't the person who was supposed to buy the chromo that passed as a Rembrandt copy. It

should have gone to the legitimate bidder, the muffled man who had arrived in time only because Ferth had

stalled the auction. The muffled man had lost out, and now Ferth was gone, which could only mean one

All of which summed itself in one word, which applied to Mrs. Tarleton, a word which Margo gasped as she

THE lobby of the Hotel Crescent seemed a happy haven when Margo Lane reached it. In her last look back

along the Boardwalk, she wondered how she'd come safely along such a sinister thoroughfare.

Torn awnings, flapping in gusts of wind; hanging shutters that creaked and swung, made the boardwalk seem

populated with fantastic creatures which lived only as streaks of blackness, but were sufficient to fire the

Even here in the lighted hotel lobby, Margo shuddered as she heard a clang close by and turned to see

something moving at her elbow. But it was only an elevator operator, closing that particular car, since others

Which reminded Margo that she'd have to learn the number of Mrs. Tarleton's room. So Margo waited

patiently at the information desk, hoping that someone would soon come. Meanwhile her eyes roved to a

It was a great mural, representing Seaview City as viewed from several miles out to sea. For the first time,

Margo realized that the extensive beach formed the inside of a crescent, stretching like a great curve down to

Like the various hotels. Long Pier was included in the mammoth mural and Margo was just studying the

Asking for Mrs. Tarleton's room, Margo learned that it was 608 so she started up. As an elevator door

opened, out stepped the two auctioneers on their way back to the House of Bankhill. Margo stepped aside so

Number 608 proved to be a suite and in the living room, Margo found Mrs. Tarleton admiring her fiftyfive

thousand dollar purchase which looked even more atrocious when hung here by itself. But Mrs. Tarleton

"Isn't it just wonderful?" the dowager gushed. "And what do you suppose they told me! This isn't just an

ordinary copy of a Rembrandt. It's a facsimile of a copy, just think of that! An actual facsimile of an authentic

"But you paid fiftyfive thousand dollars for it!" Margo blurted. "That might make it valuable enough for

Mrs. Tarleton's face froze in horror and so completely that Margo felt shocked by her own words, until she

saw that they were not the reason. Mrs. Tarleton was staring across the room toward a door which had just

opened. There on the threshold stood Montague Bankhill, his face long and solemn above a leveled revolver.

"You are right," confirmed Bankhill in a crisp tone. "Somebody might be contemplating murder. Look

Margo turned along with Mrs. Tarleton to face an opposite door through which protruded the bearded visage

"Cleverly put, Bankhill," announced Dee. "A good speech for a murderer who finds himself trapped, your

speech I mean. Don't try to retire from this scene. I intend to hold you here until the law arrives."

"A very good bluff," sneered Bankhill, "except that it won't work. The police will believe me, Dee."

"Perhaps. Especially when you tell them that you just swindled Mrs. Tarleton with a worthless chromo. Did

Mrs. Tarleton began to say that they had, but Margo hushed her and shoved her back away from the line of

the guns. Of Bankhill and Dee one or the other was certainly not a murderer and Margo didn't want that

"So they did collect," chuckled Dee. "How will you talk yourself out of that, Bankhill?"

"I run an auction house," retorted Bankhill. "It is the customer's privilege to decide the worth of all

"Quite right," approved Mrs. Tarleton, haughtily. "My sister gave me a fine birthday present last week and I

decided that I would spare no expense to give her something equally worthwhile. But how" she turned

"I heard your broadcast clear out on the boardwalk," returned Dee. "I was outside of Bankhill's, trying to

Tactfully, Margo was drawing Mrs. Tarleton toward the door, only to draw up suddenly as a knock sounded

It was Margo who opened the door and the newspaper fell from under the knob where the bellboy had

roosted it. As Margo lifted the newspaper, it spread open and something else dropped from within. Mrs.

"Why, it's one of your astrological charts, Doctor Dee! It says 'Capricorn, the Goat' but why should it be

"Dee always sends those to his victims," put in Bankhill, tartly. "See if some special paragraphs are marked."

"If they are, you marked them," retorted Dee. "Your shills must have been buying up my readings, Bankhill,

just so you could mark appropriate forecasts and send them yourself. Anyone with any sense would know I

"You mean it's the other way about," interrupted Bankhill, before Dee could list his claims of innocence. "I'm

Bankhill didn't finish. Things happened so suddenly and in such quantity that Margo couldn't keep them in

In one instant it seemed, the lights of the room were suddenly extinguished while the balcony window

overlooking the ocean crashed to the tune of two gunshots. Both Dee and Bankhill could have fired at once,

One shot came from somewhere near the door, though the other was around the window. At the same time,

the hallway lights seemed to blink halfout, then resume their level. Hard upon that came a challenging laugh

That was the reason for the dimming of the hall lights; The Shadow had swept in from that direction, his

cloaked form temporarily blocking the glow. But in entering, The Shadow must have pressed the switch that

The reason was The Shadow had seen murder in the making and had balked it with a sudden shot at the

wouldbe killer, who in turn had fired wide at whatever target he wanted. That target must have been Mrs.

Tarleton, for Margo, spilled suddenly by The Shadow's sweeping figure, found herself under the dowager's

Gunstabs were illuminating the room with momentary flashes, for everybody was in it now and Margo

decided The Shadow must be using two guns, because she counted four blasts in quick succession. The fact

that all four jabs were well apart in distance could have meant that The Shadow was changing position with

Useless shots all these, because the marksmen were merely aiming blindly at each other as they dodged about

the room. The man who had started it hadn't bargained for The Shadow's instantaneous arrival; therefore the

Waiting neither to find Mrs. Tarleton as a victim nor to snatch the doubtful picture that the spendthrift lady

had acquired, the murderer took off through one of the side doors and Margo could hear the pound of other

It seemed a balance still between Dee and Bankhill, for both were gone with The Shadow and Margo

reasoned therefore that whichever was innocent intended to take a hand in trapping his guilty rival. From the

door to the hallway, Margo heard the chase go clattering down the fire tower, accompanied by spasmodic

Turning on the room lights, Margo helped Mrs. Tarleton to her feet, found that the dowager was as unhurt as

her precious chromo that was still hanging on the wall. Telling Mrs. Tarleton to stay where she was, Margo

If Margo Lane thought that The Shadow had reached the end of his campaign, she was far wrong. This was

just the start of what was to prove a campaign in itself, rapid though its sequences might prove.

The alarm began with a running gun fight that poured from an obscure side door of the Hotel Crescent,

zigzagged down the boardwalk and across to the Long Pier, which was only a short romp down from the

Some roller chairs were on the boardwalk, carrying passengers who had come out to enjoy a sudden treat of

scraggly but unexpected moonlight. The chairs went hither and thither, deserted by their dodging pushers,

Into this patchy picture came Inspector Cardona, with the two local detectives who were working on the case.

Accompanying them was Clyde Burke; he'd received a mysterious phone call saying to bring Cardona to the

Only now Long Pier had become the focal spot. Cardona and his companions saw a path clear among the

roller chairs that had taken refuge at the pier entrance. Figures went flying through and some attendants tried

Last to drive through the scattering attendants was The Shadow. Seeing the cloaked battler, Cardona followed

at full speed, urging his companions along. The chase led out along the pier where the figures ahead were

only briefly visible. Cardona thought he could count three and mentally added The Shadow, on the basis that

Half way out, a deluge broke in human form. Up from unexpected places around a bulging pavilion rose

snipers whose purpose was to cover the flight of one lone man, a hunted murderer, by cutting off all pursuers.

It was The Shadow who stopped the damage that these snipers might have done to the sizeable crowd that

was now on a killer's trail. Headlong, he flung himself into the hole where the wave motors once belonged,

landed on the slimy steps and began raking the pier ahead with the skill of a revolving turret.

Snipers dodged back to shelter, dragging those that The Shadow sprawled. The Shadow's guns kept them at

bay while Cardona was ordering back the excited but unarmed crowd that had joined in the chase. One thing

at least was accomplished; the mad crowd, in outrunning itself, had grabbed both Montague Bankhill and

Each in turn was shouting his innocence and gesticulating beyond the pavilion, claiming that the other had

escaped beyond him and should be pursued and captured. Since neither Bankhill nor Dee knew that the other

had been captured, each could have been playing a cute game to cover himself. But the crowd knew that both

His bullets spent, The Shadow came suddenly from his watery foxhole and headed back in the direction of

the boardwalk. That was a signal for the snipers to start a drive, those that were left of them, which happened

From amid the milling throng that was hauling Dee and Bankhill, Cardona looked outward along the pier to

see the massed enemy coming in their wild, dangerous charge. Urging the crowd shoreward, Cardona

couldn't hope to get people out through the big gates before the vicious squad arrived and began an

All Joe could hope was that The Shadow, even with empty guns, could find a way to halt the drive.

He was flinging wide the lion cages. The cramped beasts didn't lose the opportunity to leave their unsavory

quarters. They came out roaring and took the right direction, thanks to The Shadow. From a concession booth

that was lighted with two fancy kerosene torches, he plucked the firebrands in question and waved them at

That sent the lions in the right direction, which was outward. They met the charging gunners, who turned

about and went rushing for the far end of the pier, some leaping the rails into the raging ocean in order to

Last through the big gate, The Shadow helped to clang it, so as to keep the lions on the pier until the police

Looking around for the cloaked master of this show. Cardona saw him one moment; the next, The Shadow

A roller chair pusher was simply responding to the impatient cackle of a passenger who occupied his vehicle.

Old Isaac Twambley, a cloak draped around his knees like a laprobe, was ordering the pusher to wheel him

Among the distant witnesses of the confusion that reigned around the pier was Margo Lane. She was near the

Not Mrs. Tarleton's chromo, but the downstairs mural in the lobby that showed the whole beach as a crescent.

Now Margo realized why the light on the outermost pavilion was halfshielded and why the same applied to

Due to the concave formation of the beach, there were just two spots from which such lights could flicker

each to each, without being seen from any other spot. One was the end of Long Pier, the other the old

Dashing up to her own room, Margo helped herself to her bathing suit and rushed down again, carrying the

slim outfit in what looked like a regulation handbag. She found a taxicab and told the driver to take her to

"Sorry," the driver said, "but I understand the bridge over the Narrows is closed."

"I'm not going clear to the Point," Margo explained. "There's a beach cottage just a short way this side. I have

Impatience ruled Margo during that ride. The driver wouldn't take the bad road hurriedly and she couldn't

insist that he did. Finally though the lights of the bridge workers came into sight and Margo called for a quick

"It's right here," said Margo. Sliding two dollar bills from a pocket of her dress, she pretended to take them

It was windy among the sand dunes; they had shifted greatly from storms and were something like white

caps, the way their tops came fluffing down like foam. Losing herself among a group of dunes that came head

high, Margo began a quick change from clothes to bathing outfit, except it wasn't as quick as she had hoped.

The wind started to pluck her clothes away as fast as Margo removed them, and her shoes were hardly

adequate as anchors so she added the weight of the bathing bag, until it came time to bring the bathing suit

out of it. Then the bag lost weight and one of Margo's stockings took off across a sand dune. Making a mad

effort to recover it, Margo came head and shoulders above a dune, then remembered that the bathing suit was

What was more, there was no time to lose. The dunes were too close to the road and a car had been going

slowly past when Margo unwisely started to come into sight over the dune. So Margo slid into the bathing

suit and skirted the dunes to reach the lower end of the Narrows, hoping the rest of her clothes would stay

At the bridge across the Narrows, Jerry Lanthrop was inquiring how long it would be before he could

chauffeur his car across. He was told that the bridge traffic would be opened very soon, since a steadier

Going back to the car, the frecklefaced chauffeur saw something fluttering against the rear fender of his car.

Detaching the object, Jerry discovered that it was a nylon stocking. Speculatively, Jerry wondered where that

had blown from; then, keeneyed, he began to look around, wondering if he could find the other of the pair.

Oddly, Margo's unintended gift proved helpful. With stockings on his mind, he didn't bother to look into the

car to see how Isaac Twambley was sleeping. Therefore Jerry didn't learn that the car was empty.

Old Twambley had silent ways of going where he wanted and when he wanted; ways that could prove

Down below the bridge an old rowboat was navigating the Narrows, its occupant a cloaked figure too

huddled to be seen. The boat, if spotted, would be taken for one that had simply gone adrift, the way

In her turn, Margo Lane was further down the Narrows, in fact around a bend, where that thoroughfare

widened and became choppy as it received the incoming surf. The swim, though, was too short to really be a

The Point had its share of friendly dunes and beyond them the lighthouse spired into the feeble moonlight as

a marker. Margo's goal was that cluster of buildings belonging to Marvin Glook and specifically the wharf

For Margo had gained a solid idea that she could learn something there that would give The Shadow the final

answer to all his problems; but she intended to approach the wharf with all caution.

That resolution became imperative sooner than Margo expected. Zigzagging among the dunes, she became

suddenly conscious that other persons were about. Once she was sure a hunchy figure went across a gap;

again, she was positive that a man had just turned a dune when she approached it.

If anyone had found those clothes on the other shore, they'd know that Margo had swum the Narrows. That

was something she hadn't thought about until now and it made her wish she was back in Seaview City,

wearing those same clothes, instead of sneaking in among the sand dunes of the Point in a soaked bathing suit

that was too scanty to protect her from the chilly wind that insisted on lashing her back with biting sand from

Crawling on hands and knees, Margo picked a passage where the dunes were close together. There she sat

down and rested, because the wind had lessened. Odd, the way these dunes loomed toward each other; and

the one on the right seemed less sandy than the other, so Margo nestled close against its shelter.

That was a bad mistake. Before Margo could even gasp, the dune showed her how it should he done. Opening

like the mouth of Jonah's whale, the sand dune swallowed Margo Lane and closed its jaws again, like some

FINISHING a somersaulting sprawl, Margo found herself in the grip of strong hands that bound her arms

behind her and lashed a rope about her ankles. A few moments later, she was propped in a corner to find that

Similarly bound, Harry Vincent was in the same corner. Despite himself Harry was forced to grin. He'd

figured himself the world's worst sap to be bagged as he had, but he hadn't gone to the trouble of changing to

Defiantly Margo looked around to see who her captors were. She recognized two familiar faces and one that

was close to that category. The most familiar belonged to Ferth, the third auctioneer at Bankhill's, which

Next was the gentleman of the polkadot and wingtip, who called himself Colonel Colgan. Finally, the man

whose heavyjawed face was new to Margo, Brewster Broy made the third member of the contingent. His

features were no longer muffled but Margo was certain he was the bidder who had lost out to Mrs. Tarleton.

Most amazing was this underground lair, which formed a veritable cavern, walled with concrete and set deep

in the sand, with its false dune shaped like the dome of an Eskimo igloo. For the place was stocked with all

the European loot that The Shadow had been seeking to uncover. Paintings, statuary of all sizes, ancient

books of massive size, magnificent vases of inlaid pattern formed the chief items among such booty.

"I suppose you cracked that crockery statuette I sold you. But Alcyone didn't matter. Electra was the valuable

From an inlaid table with spidery golden legs. Ferth plucked a small statuette of solid gold, beautifully

"You wouldn't want a bargain for fifty thousand dollars, would you?" mocked Ferth. "Gaudry took it and

tried to stage the doublecross, but I tipped off the boss that Gaudry was having it sent to the wrong hotel."

"Broy here thought he was being doublecrossed," continued Ferth with a gesture. "That was because old

lady Tarleton went haywire. I wanted her to push the bid up to a few thousand, to give the House of Bankhill

a break. Only if Broy had taken the painting for fifty grand, he'd have swallowed all our profits too."

"I'm glad I didn't take it," boomed Broy. "Anyway, I did the right thing, coming down to the Point."

"You'll get your painting," promised Ferth. "The boss is on his way back with it."

Margo tightened her lips so as not to show a smile. She anticipated a surprise when the boss arrived here.

Up a short runway, a portion of the false dune lifted, marking the door through which Margo had taken her

tumble. In came a crablike figure, so swiftly that the lifting door closed almost instantly behind it. Crablike

not only in gait, but in manner and features, the man's identity was immediately plain.

He was Marvin Glook, master of the Point, the Jackofalltrades who cried poor mouth. He was the brain

behind this game of stolen treasures, whose profits from years of business had been invested in the world's

"You'll pay for this!" he spat. "You'll pay like Klurg did when he threatened to tell about the crew I had

"The pier crew cracked," he told his henchmen. "The Shadow broke it up. But they held him off until I

Harry was staring now, but Margo was restraining a wise expression. She'd guessed the answer; the sub was

Glook's way of getting to and from the Point, right to the center of Seaview City, when the road was closed

"Not even The Shadow," scoffed Glook. "He switched off the lights when I cracked the window of Mrs.

Tarleton's room. Dee and Bankhill were there, accusing each other of what they hadn't done, but I didn't

Bitter enough ordinarily, Glook's expression was something when he tried to make it more that way. Then,

"I intended to bring back your Rembrandt. Don't worry; we'll pick it up in due time. It's one job that will

Now Glook reared upright. Arms akimbo, he gave the prisoners what he considered a parting stare. At the

"Your friends, The Shadow's friends," declared Glook, "are blundering all over the Point. They've been

through my store houses but haven't found a thing, since all that counts is here."

A hopeful glimmer came to Harry's eyes. He realized that The Shadow's troubleshooters must have arrived

"We'll wait them out," Glook scoffed. "Nobody could guess the nature of this hideaway, not even The

There was something fierce in the sibilance with which Glook pronounced the name. It brought echoing

hisses from all around the cavern. For a moment, the hisses faded, then rose again, uncannily.

It was Harry who blinked. He'd seen what Margo hadn't, the trifling opening of the curved wall above the

runway, its immediate closing, with no change in the blackness. Except that there had been a change!

It was a whisper now and it rose into a mirthful shudder that suddenly became a quivering crescendo, the

beginning of a mighty, taunting challenge, hurled in the very midst of this secret place that Glook claimed to

Men of crime wheeled with their leader, to see the figure that came lunging from the runway, two guns

The Shadow had cracked crime's riddle. He was here to apply the same treatment to the skulls that housed the

TWO guns to four, but The Shadow had the jump and used it in his whirlwind style. It was great to see the

way he clunked down Colgan and Ferth before they could even draw their own weapons. The Shadow used a

Broy's turn came next. The clout he received sent him spilling with his drawn gun, his one shot nicking

But Glook, the living crab, dodged the stroke that came his way. With a twist that seemed to turn him inside

out, crime's master did a complete reverse and thrust a gun straight toward The Shadow.

A perfect aim, but too close. The backswing of The Shadow's gun hand brought metal against metal.

A big automatic slashed Glook's revolver aside and downward, just as the chief crook fired. It was the floor

Another amazing turnabout and Glook transformed himself from a human crab into an eel. Sneaking up the

runway, he tripped the door catch and was out through the crack of the lifting entrance, which dropped to cup

After Glook went The Shadow and this time the door stayed open. Hawkeye came darting in to take charge

and seeing nothing but stunned foemen lying about, he took time to cut Margo and Harry loose.

Harry was needed here, but Margo wasn't. At least she so decided. Dashing out among the dunes, Margo

forgot the lashing wind and scouring sand as she looked for The Shadow's followers. Clambering up a dune,

They were hard on Glook's trail but he was smart at shortcuts. His crabby mode of navigation enabled him

to go over dunes as well as around them. Ahead of the long range shots that tried to stop him, Glook reached

It was the truck with the raucous horn, the one that became impatient only when Glook arrived back home,

because its business was to let certain workers know that bridge could then be cleared, since Glook's alibi

Only tonight, Glook no longer had an alibi. His game was lost, like his stolen treasures.

As the truck received Glook, it started over the bridge. A couple of men planted planks to receive it, then

drew guns to fire a few shots at The Shadow's agents as they reached the bridge.

Bad business to give themselves away like this. Those men who came so swiftly to life were Glook's pet

thugs, who ordinarily were the workmen who gave the foreman the most trouble. They were showing

The honest bridge crew piled on the two renegades. Wildly, the thugs broke loose, grabbed onto the passing

truck and took to flight with their master. Another man had the same idea; he was Jerry, the crooked

The trouble was, he thought of putting Twambley out of commission too. Yanking open the rear door and

finding no one, Jerry lost valuable time through sheer astoundment. By the time he got back to the car hood

With bullets singing like mosquitoes at the height of their season, Jerry ducked around in back of the car and

The bridge repair men saw The Shadow's agents, Marsland, Crofton and LeBrue, come dashing across to

reach the big car. What they didn't see was The Shadow, close behind his crew. He was actually visible,

What intrigued them was the final member of the party, a girl in a streamlined bathing suit who came

popping right out of the sand dunes to dash after the group that had crossed the bridge. If Margo had been an

actual mermaid, the men at the bridge couldn't have been much more surprised, and at that, she was a pretty

Margo was in time to catch what she thought was the last and only car, to find out that it wasn't. Chance

LeBrue was at the wheel instead of The Shadow. Miles Crofton was beside Chance, which put Margo in back

Looking out through the rear window. Margo saw another car wheel from among the sand dunes along the

road. It was Harry's coupe and why The Shadow had chosen to use it, Margo couldn't understand, just yet.

Answers came after the chase reached the turn off to the Lower Causeway that led across the Meadows. The

truck veered in that direction and Chance swung after it. The Shadow's car kept straight on, up the Main

The truck was gaining as it approached the drawbridge across the Channel and in its turn, the draw was

starting to swing open. Giving the car full speed, Chance took a chance. He caught the bridge in time, sliced

over to the other half of the roadway, climbed the foot path and sheered off the wooden rail as he jumped the

One car at least would follow the fugitive truck, even though some stooge of Glook's had opened the draw

and would probably fix it that way. The police wouldn't be able to follow, but The Shadow's agents should

That truck of Glook's was a speedy job. It was hitting close to eighty as it shot across the Meadows and the

old car that the cab company had furnished Twambley could not begin to show that speed. Chance got it up to

sixtyfive, even though it strained the chassis and brought queer noises from the motor, but that wasn't

With five miles to go, the truck was due to pile up better than a halfmile lead before it reached the

mainland beyond the Meadows. With that margin it could lose itself among a maze of old back roads.

Settling back in the rear seat, Margo stared hopelessly from the window, only to pluck Cliff's arm and

Overtaking the old car was about the fastest thing that they had ever seen on wheels. It was a long, racy

Interurban trolley, unlighted, but visible in the moonlight. Slicking along with an ease as amazing as its

speed, that Surf Route special was demonstrating that it could do close to the two miles a minute that no one

The chase had gained a considerable start before The Shadow had taken over his unusual vehicle, for it was

obvious that The Shadow was the person in charge. But the lost ground was being gained, and fast.

From the helm of the racing Interurban, the Shadow studied the Causeway and intoned a laugh. His forecast

gave him all the margin he required and more. Chance's car dropped behind like something out of a bag and

The Shadow could have made Glook's truck look as silly, if he'd wanted. Instead, he let speed slacken as he

Causeway and tracks were converging. From the truck it looked possible to beat the trolley to the crossing.

The Shadow though was doing things with the brakes, things that Glook didn't guess. He was releasing them,

Close to the crossing, the trolley nosed into sight from the tall grass with its brakes hitting tight. A blockade

was what The Shadow intended; he was drawing an automatic to keep the truck occupied until Chance and

the rest arrived to make the capture. Only Glook, for some mad reason, thought he could still make the

Hitting a big Interurban car amidships was a bad idea, even though the blow was slanted. To do the speed it

could, the streamlined trolley needed a low center of gravity and had it. But Glook tried to bowl it right off

the tracks, with his truck. He'd have been just about as smart if he'd attempted to knock down his favorite

The truck buckled, ricocheted, and careened into a crumpling mass of junk as its smashing body was

deflected off into the Meadows where it finished with a triple somersault. When The Shadow's crew arrived,

they found they could do nothing more than pick up pieces, which applied to Marvin Glook and his

Later, back at the Hotel Crescent, the late Marvin Glook was the subject of much discussion.

Lamont Cranston was present, as was Joe Cardona, and they were talking in terms of The Shadow.

This was taking place in Mrs. Tarleton's living room, where Margo Lane soon arrived, after stopping at her

"You say those astrological charts eliminated Doctor Dee," declared Cardona. "How do you figure The

"Because they were the wrong birth signs," replied Cranston. "I checked them myself from the police reports.

Ask Mrs. Tarleton. She received a chart for Capricorn, a winter month, and her birthday was only last week.

Cardona guessed that Dee wouldn't have, considering that astrology was his business. Then:

"I suppose The Shadow eliminated him from the start," decided Cranston. "If he'd been behind the game, he

could have collected the full cash right in his own auction house, instead of meeting the buyers and

"Right after Glook disappeared in the surf," calculated Cranston. "Immediately following the Gaudry murder.

"Not if you remember what was in the hotel cellar," interposed Cranston. "Do you recall the oxygen tank?"

"A long whiff of pure oxygen," stated Cranston. "will double the time a man can stay under water, or more.

Glook used that system and the method, as well as the result, were both leads to the model submarine at the

Right then, Margo Lane decided she was rather useless. Her clue of the blinking lights hadn't been necessary

at all. By the time she'd gotten it, The Shadow had already picked Marvin Glook as the master mind.

One more thing and an important one, puzzled Joe Cardona. He gestured to Mrs. Tarleton's prize chromo.

"We've used Gaudry's xray on it," declared Cardona, "and it doesn't show a thing. Where's the Rembrandt?"

Cranston decided to find that for himself. He took down the picture, studied both sides, and began to remove

The chromo, the front layer, was a tracing, as it appeared to be. It was simply a garish, slapdash outline of a

"The xray wouldn't show the identical lines," explained Cranston, "but if you'll examine the canvases you'll

have the clue that Glook left without knowing it. The grain of the front canvas is crosswise; that of the back

Leaving Cardona to ponder over the fact that things could be simpler than they looked, Cranston strolled out

with Margo. Impatiently, Margo waited until they reached the lobby before propounding her great question.

"Since you know so much," said Margo, "tell me this, Lamont. How did The Shadow pick out that cleverly

"Because Glook faked that dune to conform to the way last year's hurricane had piled the others. The big

wind from the other direction twisted them around, or let us say, brought them back toward normal. That one

Margo hadn't thought about it until now. She felt very glad that The Shadow had thought of it before.

Thus did Lamont Cranston, as spokesman for The Shadow, clear the last vestige of mystery surrounding his