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

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

CHAPTER II ............................................................................................................................................6

CHAPTER III..........................................................................................................................................9

CHAPTER IV........................................................................................................................................12

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

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

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

CHAPTER VIII.....................................................................................................................................26

CHAPTER IX........................................................................................................................................30

CHAPTER X.........................................................................................................................................34

CHAPTER XI........................................................................................................................................37

CHAPTER XII .......................................................................................................................................41

CHAPTER XIII.....................................................................................................................................45

CHAPTER XIV.....................................................................................................................................47

CHAPTER XV......................................................................................................................................51

CHAPTER XVI.....................................................................................................................................55

CHAPTER XVII ....................................................................................................................................59

CHAPTER XVIII ...................................................................................................................................61

CHAPTER XIX.....................................................................................................................................64

CHAPTER XX......................................................................................................................................67

What their names were didn't matter, because nobody used his right name in Martinique not if he could

These were the times when the island was dominated by the Vichy government, when a man's life was valued

only in terms of his wits. What these men were was known only to themselves individually.

In those days, almost everything was illegal in Fort de France, the capital of Martinique. Tension smoldered

like the hidden fires of Mount Pelee, the towering volcano which twenty years before had all but blasted the

Men who used their boats to carry supplies to waiting Nazi submarines might, on the return trip, bring in

weapons from Free French freighters, for distribution among the local Underground. Yet no one could

The greater a man's value to one side, the greater his value to the other. That was the law on Martinique,

during this fateful period while the outcome of the war seemed hanging in the balance. It was policy for a

It was against all regulations to allow clandestine meetings on one's premises, so Sargon didn't allow them.

To prove the fact he left his back door unlocked every night, so that the gendarmerie could look in for

themselves and see that all was empty. Only the gendarmes never looked in, because Sargon had forgotten to

tell them that he alone, of all the distressed merchants in Fort de France, lacked the sense to lock and

Sargon couldn't help anyone's wandering into the place. That would be his alibi if he ever needed it. Sargon

always turned in early, and it wasn't until long after his lights were out that these four men stole indoors to

Sworn comrades, these four, but only until they found out too much about each other. It was that uncertainty

of the future that disturbed them now, for the business before them was unquestionably a postwar project.

The business concerned a large and curious silver coin which lay on the wroughtiron table that graced

Sargon's back room. It bore the inscription BOBADILLA IMPERATOR and it showed the face of a stern

Spanish grandee, topped by a plumed helmet. On the other side, the coin bore an unidentified coatofarms,

and it was scored deeply with two crosslines which divided the coin into four sectors. Each of these

quadrants in turn had a furrow that ran horizontally across the coin, making eight divisions in all.

"In the cellar of an old house," another replied. "A house that belonged to a family named LeClerq before the

Both men looked toward a third, who was studying the coin with care. When he spoke, the man's tone carried

"This explains the mystery of Bobadilla," he asserted. "It fits with a theory that has lingered through four

"Bobadilla was the first Spanish governor of Hispaniola," related the speaker. "His misrule was so notorious

that Columbus was sent on one of his later voyages to order Bobadilla back to Spain. Only Bobadilla didn't

wait; he set out with his entire fleet, carrying all the treasure that he had accumulated at the expense of the

"Bobadilla sailed right into a hurricane which he knew was coming," the narrator resumed. "His ships were

sunk, his treasure lost and with it his famous golden table, which he was reputedly taking to the King of

Spain as a peace offering. But there is another theory, the one I have mentioned; namely, that Bobadilla

"It was in 1500 that Bobadilla arrived in Hispaniola and his first act was to arrest Columbus, who was already

there, and send him back to Spain in chains. The year 1502 was when Columbus returned with authority to

order Bobadilla home. Meanwhile, during the year between, another explorer named Americus Vespucius

had discovered new lands to the South, the country now called Brazil. Unquestionably Bobadilla had heard of

this, so what could have suited him better than to sail to that vast continent and set up his own empire there!"

Reaching to the table, the speaker fingered the ancient coin and finally clinked it upon the ironwork.

"This coin proves the theory," he declared. "Having cast his gold into one great piece, he must have used his

silver to strike off his own currency for the empire that was to be, but never was."

A nod of agreement from the fourth man, who suddenly became spokesman for the first two.

"From wherever Bobadilla stowed his treasure," was the prompt reply, "in the hope that he could return for it

"That is the problem which we must solve in order to learn where Bobadilla buried his hoard."

There were words of unanimous assent; then the man who had spoken most picked up the coin and weighed

"Whoever keeps this coin," he declared, "will hold our secret. Its value as a curio is slight in comparison,

particularly as there are probably thousands more like it in Bobadilla's treasure chests. Is it agreed that when

"That would be fair enough," decided the man who held the coin, "and it solves our own problem. Here."

Without waiting consent from the others, he broke the coin in half along one central scoring, then snapped the

two pieces apart in the crosswise direction. He gave a quarter of the coin to each of the other men, retaining

"These represent shares of ownership," he declared, "whenever or however the treasure is found or in the

hunt for it. What may become of us" he shrugged "we do not know in these times. So we may sell or even

"We can have a password to go with it. I would suggest the famous motto: 'One for all' "

Faint glimmers of dawn were tracing through a tiny, highset window. One of the men noticed it and arose,

"We must wait for him," declared another. "From the way my mind feels now, I intend to leave Martinique.

My life means more than the money I can make here, with so much more money to think about."

The others agreed, so one went through an inner door and up a short flight of stairs. They heard him knock at

a door above; then he returned and waited with the rest. Soon a stocky man in pajamas shuffled downstairs

"Ah, mes amis," he queried thickly. "Why do you wake me quite so early? Besides, I like to find my visitors

"We are going away to stay," replied one of the visitors. "Perhaps you will never see us again, Sargon."

Sargon's broad, thickfeatured face showed an expression which left doubt as to whether he was glad, sorry,

"But we intend to hold a reunion," put in another of the visitors. "It might be two, three, five years from now

who knows? And besides" he threw a glance at his companions "it just might be that one or more of us

As the rest nodded, Sargon spread his hands, but before he could say anything, one of the four men

"We have a password, Sargon. If anyone comes here and says 'One for all' you will say nothing until he adds:

The others were chiming their agreement to this formula when Sargon, recognizing the motto of the Three

"Ah, mes mousquetaires," he laughed, "you do well to leave Martinique. But do not expect to find me here

even two months from now. If I can sell this business and ship whatever antiques that remain, I shall do so,

This silenced the four for the moment, since their plan, so simply laid, could not be discussed in front of

"To Port Au Prince, perhaps," replied Sargon. "Better still, to Havana. Maybe if business is fine, I shall even

"Of course. It shall be my business until I die" Sargon was glancing anxiously toward the window where

This struck a complete chord of agreement. One man voiced it promptly for the rest.

"Wherever you are, we'll find you there," the man told Sargon. "Good luck until then, Sargon, and remember

Like men with prices on their heads, which they were, the four holders of Bobadilla's quartered coin sneaked

from Sargon's back door, glancing about as though they expected to see enemies arise to seize them, which

was likely. As they separated, they moved swiftly, as if intending to leave these parts immediately, which

Shrugging, Simon Sargon closed his back door and locked it for the daytime. He went through his antique

shop, unlocked the front door, and let down the big awning. There was no law against opening a shop early in

Fort de France was stirring for another of its frightful days which would result in further pruning of its

fortyodd thousand inhabitants. Beyond the harbor the blue Caribbean twinkled with all its tropical beauty,

but like an ugly sentinel, a symbol of war amid peace, Sargon could see the outline of Diamond Rock which a

century ago the British had fortified and held for a short while against the French.

The Rock didn't scintillate as a diamond should. Its name simply applied to its shape. Maybe it was waiting

for the British to come back and take it again, but Sargon wasn't wondering about that as he stared out to sea.

Like many others who lived in Fort de France, Simon Sargon was wondering how soon he could afford to

leave Martinique, meanwhile making the most of whatever opportunities he could find.

They were the four who used other people's names as their own and another man's premises as their meeting

Patriots, renegades, whichever they might be, they had shown a certain honor among themselves in acting out

the prologue to a story which as they themselves had specified would bide a few years or more until its

THE man in the cell was shaking the steel bars of the door and howling that he wanted to get out.

That was logical enough, since most prisoners had the same sentiments, but this one was mixing his facts and

He was shouting about volcanoes, buried cities, earthquakes and destruction. He localized this finally by

shrieking that unless he was let out, the whole island of Martinique would explode around him.

Oddly, this was the enactment of a scene that occurred in 1902 when most of Martinique did explode. There

was a prisoner then, in the jail at Saint Pierre, who had felt that he was surely left to die, only to wind up as

But this wasn't 1902, it wasn't Saint Pierre, it wasn't even Martinique. If it had been, there wouldn't have been

any danger, because the only thing that had exploded in Martinique within the past few years had been the

Vichy regime. The man in the cell was muttering something about that recent period of misrule. Suddenly,

his eyes narrowing with the sharpness of a rat's, the prisoner took in his real surroundings.

Through the bars he was viewing a group that included the warden of a modern American penitentiary He

recognized the warden and snarled. No longer did his language include the jargon of half a dozen tongues

"You framed me!" the man snarled. "You knew I wouldn't have gone to kill him if he hadn't wanted to kill

me. You're as bad as he was. All of you!" Head bobbing back and forth so that his eyes could dodge the

upright bars and view faces better, the man gave a fierce, venomous laugh. "You'd like to steal what you

The sternfaced warden gave a significant look toward a tall man who stood beside him. That caused the

prisoner to stare the same way too. Sight of a calm, impassive face only ruffled him further.

"Who are you?" he snarled. "Another of those lawyers? No, you can't be" the prisoner's tone became

Steady eyes stayed on the prisoner and briefly they had a quieting effect. Then:

"Trying to guess what I'm talking about, aren't you?" the prisoner sneered. "Well, you never will. There's only

Pausing as sharply as he had begun, the prisoner spat a finish to his sentence. His face becoming a sullen

glower, he viewed the group with the manner of a monkey watching visitors outside his cage. Evidently

knowing that the prisoner intended to retain his silence, the warden turned to the tall man and said:

They left the old cell block where the prisoner was confined in what practically amounted to solitary.

"I wouldn't have put him in there," the warden explained, "except that he insisted on it. He's the first prisoner

The warden thought he saw a faint smile trace itself on Cranston's lips. Maybe it was just the light, for

"It wasn't a case for a psychiatrist," expressed the warden. "The man's request was reasonable in its way. We

don't object to prisoners denying themselves certain privileges and occupancy of a modern cell could be

classed in that category. Our own objection to this obsolete cell block is that it drives prisoners into the very

mood this man is showing now. So we can't blame him for his behavior and if we do the usual thing of

"An interesting dilemma," concurred Cranston. "You would be punishing the man for denying himself a

"Exactly," the warden agreed. "Of course, if other prisoners objected to the fuss that he is making " Here the

warden paused and shook his head: "But there are no other prisoners in the cell block," he added "and our

own regulations prevent us from putting them here without their consent. Still, we have accomplished one

"Not a word of importance and not a word at all, when psychiatrists have questioned him. That is why I

As if to corroborate Cranston's prediction there came a wild, insane laugh, filtering through the thick door of

"You are right, Cranston! The man will soon crack. I never expected it, not from him. Read this."

What the warden handed Cranston was a report on the prisoner. The man's name was Hugh Stolt, but he had a

half a dozen aliases. He had been sentenced to life imprisonment for the murder of Artie Duvan, an unsavory

character, whose death wouldn't have warranted such penalty for the dealer, except that Stolt had rather

According to the report, as Cranston already knew from newspaper accounts, Stolt had literally carved Artie

to ribbons with a quaint weapon known as a machete, a knife the size of a broadsword that West Indian sugar

A jury had logically decided that parties addicted to such heinous practices did not belong at large. Otherwise

Stolt might have been given a manslaughter conviction, instead of first degree, since witnesses agreed that

Artie had participated in an altercation with Stolt prior to the machete carving.

"There's something behind all this," mused the warden. "Stolt keeps referring to himself as Jacques, which

isn't one of his aliases. You heard him mention some other person and hint at something that Stolt himself

Still studying the report sheet, Cranston nodded, apparently oblivious to a new wave of mad mirth that grew

in its crescendo from beyond the door. The warden's face tightened; he seemed to be counting time on Stolt.

The warden nodded in reply to Cranston's request. The tall man stooped to put the sheet in a briefcase that

was leaning beside the door. Meanwhile, the wild laughter continued, passing its proper limit. The warden's

"Wait here, Cranston," said the warden. "Unless this has stopped when I return, you will see some firm and

Hardly had the warden left before Cranston showed some rapid action of his own. Inverting the briefcase, he

whipped open a hidden zipper in the bottom and from a Vshaped compartment removed a black cloak and a

slouch hat. With one sweep, Cranston was caparisoned in both garments and his figure seemed actually to

vanish as he opened the door and stepped into the gloom of the cell block beyond.

So silent was the stride of the cloaked intruder that Stolt was not aware of his approach until blackness

clouded the space outside the cell. In the midst of a madman's howl, that he accompanied with a clanging of

the bars, Stolt froze and let his eyes grow so large that they became glittering white surrounding blackened

"You heard of me in Martinique." The whisper came from lips that Stolt could not see, for they were hidden

"And they called you Jacques," The Shadow continued, "or rather you chose that name for yourself."

Evidently Stolt had forgotten his own mutterings for it astounded him to hear this alias mentioned.

"I choose names too," observed The Shadow. "In one place where you nearly met me, I was known as La

This was a double stroke. Quite sure that Stolt must have traveled widely in the West Indies, The Shadow

was equally convinced that crime had always attracted the man. Stolt would have met up with company in

certain Spanish speaking countries where men of evil feared The Shadow as La Sombra.

Stolt's breath came with a sharp, deepdrawn hiss. Then, defiantly, the prisoner retorted:

"If I killed Artie, who are you to care? He'd have killed a friend of mine if he'd known where to find him.

Alarm registered itself in Stolt's bulging eyes. Those shreds of loyalty that were in his spotty makeup were

"You won't let them, Shadow! You won't let them get Cap Winslow! They'd do it, fellows like Artie would, if

Standing like a weird inquisitor, The Shadow did nothing to break the spell that had grown upon the man who

once called himself Jacques. What broke it was the sound of the opening door, accompanied by heavy

"Get away!" he shrieked. "You've framed me, too, like the rest of them! You and that "

The rest of the prisoner's outburst was drowned by the clatter of the bars as he rattled them, but some of his

profanity was coherent, punctuated frequently by the word "warden." Then Stolt found himself railing at the

Warden in person, instead of The Shadow, who had somehow vanished during all this ranting. A guard was

unlocking the cell door; then two others, huskies both, were planting Stolt in a straitjacket in the fast firm

From the gloom of the wall opposite the cell, blackness skirted the group and reached the door. When the

guards brought Stolt past, Lamont Cranston was standing there, briefcase in hand, calmly viewing the

removal of the howling prisoner. Compared to his former outburst, Stolt's present exhibition was fury

It seemed a long time before those maddened shrieks faded from the departing truck in which the guards were

taking the prisoner to the hospital's psychopathic ward. The warden shook his head, with a trace of sympathy.

"Crazy as a loon," defined the warden. "Howling at somebody he thought he could see, but who wasn't there.

That finishes him, Cranston. When I left I was sure that nobody could get anything out of him."

The clang of the cell block door, given as the warden closed it, suppressed the whispered laugh that issued

from Cranston's lips, a sound that was strangely reminiscent of The Shadow's tone when he had talked to the

Lamont Cranston, otherwise The Shadow, could not agree that nothing could have been gotten out of that

THE name beside the apartment number 3D was brief and to the point. In irregular capital letters it simply

In a way, the name wasn't necessary. Anyone who had seen that style of handprint would have recognized

it. Certainly Claire Winslow did when she saw it. Claire smiled, particularly because she knew the name that

Pressing a gloved finger against the call button, Claire waited for an answering buzz from the door knob, the

By her calculation, 3D would represent the back apartment in this old house that had been converted into an

apartment building. It proved to be just that. Only nobody answered when Claire knocked at the door, so she

The old captain was sitting up in bed and he looked a lot better than Claire had expected from his last letter.

Maybe his smile was withered, but it was genuine enough to make Claire think he wasn't dying, as he had

assured her that he was when he wrote her. About all that seemed wrong with Uncle Belshazzar was his

"Sorry, Claire." The tone came like the low whirr of old clockwork. "I knew it was you when you knocked,

"Don't try to talk," Claire told him. Sitting down in the only chair that looked tenable, Claire laid her bag and

gloves on a fourlegged table that had three legs. "I'll ask questions and you can just answer with nods. First,

"I'm glad you don't mind," assured Claire. "It's kind of nice to belong to a family that picked offtrail names.

"I catch," Claire continued. "Belshazzar was a king who lost his temper and threw a goblet at the wall. Only it

didn't stop the hand from writing there and marking up his doom. So anybody with a name like Belshazzar

She paused, hesitating at the word "doom" which she knew her uncle feared, otherwise he wouldn't have

"My temper," wheezed her uncle. "I've never lost it. I mean, I've never lost having it to lose."

Claire smiled and the old man's eyes lighted, with good reason. He was appraising this niece of his, with a

gaze that had covered about every form of maiden in every clime, and somehow Claire brought back the

spice of the Indies to the captain's memories. When he thought of Indies, Belshazzar didn't differentiate

Of course the Indies weren't stocked with blondes, or hadn't been when Captain Belshazzar was last there, but

that didn't injure Claire's case. Her svelte figure accounted for itself, even though encased in civilized attire;

her smile had the naive welcome that Belshazzar remembered as worn by the Polynesian ladies who had

swum a few miles to sea and climbed on ship board; while her eyes had the illuminating blue that the

Winslow family must somehow have borrowed from the tropical seas in which the Captain had sailed and

Claire could read all that in Belshazzar's own blueeyed gaze and she tried to hold back the dew that was

creeping into her own. She knew how hollow her uncle's title of captain was. About the only ship he'd

commanded that had carried anything more than sail was a Gulf of Mexico rum runner that had gone out with

Prohibition. But Claire wasn't a stickler regarding the checkered and unsuccessful career of the last living

"Well, uncle," asserted Claire, "I'm here, and I'm going to look out for you, a long, long while to come."

There was an interruption. Belshazzar supplied it by picking up a newspaper from the table beside his head

and thrusting it into Claire's hand. With a shaky finger, the old man pointed to an item which Claire read.

It stated that a convict named Hugh Stolt had suddenly gone crazy at Sing Sing, but that the prison doctors

declared that it could have no bearing on his case, since he was entirely sane when he had been incarcerated

Claire's frown would have been prettier if a strew of blond hair hadn't hidden so much of her forehead. Still,

those blonde locks were not bad in themselves, for old Belshazzar was speculating on their potentialities in a

Belshazzar's finger indicated the name Stolt. Then, not from just beneath his pillow, but from somewhere

deep inside it, the old captain drew out an object which he dropped in Claire's hand.

More puzzled than ever, the girl stared at the piece of silver. It was a quarter of a coin and about the only

"Take it to Sargon," wheezed Belshazzar. "An antique dealer used to be in Martinique "

The story broke off with the old man's cough. He gestured to a bottle of medicine and a glass that was on the

"Tell Sargon: 'One for all.'" Belshazzar's voice was back. "He won't understand. So then you say 'All for one.'

Claire understood and nodded. She was mixing the medicine with water from a pitcher, one spoonful of it.

Her uncle shook his head and raised three fingers. Looking at the bottle, Claire saw that it said 'One spoonful

every hour, or proportionately up to four hours.' Rather a funny thing with medicine, still with such things as

penicillin and other modern remedies that weren't in the family doctor book back in Lakewood, Claire was in

no position to argue. So she mixed two extra spoonfuls to make up for the hours that her uncle had missed.

Claire couldn't help but smile, even though it was another cough that interrupted her uncle's wheeze.

"Of course it's worth a quarter," returned Claire, as she dropped the piece of silver in her bag. "It's a quarter of

"A quarter of a million dollars," added Belshazzar, reclaiming his funny throat whirr. "Maybe a quarter of a

The girl couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her eyes showed it and her uncle returned a smile.

"It's what Jacques told me," assured Belshazzar. "I can believe it, now that I know he wasn't crazy. I saved his

A cough spasm followed, but it didn't detract from the positive effect of the old captain's tone. In the

language of the seas where this unsuccessful skipper had sailed, the term 'I saved his life' went back to

prehistoric law. Brutally incongruous that Belshazzar had saved Jacques' life that the latter might spend it in a

prison or asylum, but that was the law of the land, not the sea. Then, old Belshazzar added in a series of

"They were after him he knew it he didn't care what happened to himself he owed me a debt I didn't

ask him to pay he wanted to pay wanted to go his way wanted to kill wanted revenge "

It was hard effort to include all those phrases in one speech. With a surprisingly firm hand, Belshazzar

plucked the glass of watered medicine from his niece's hand, raised it and paused as if for a toast.

"So Jacques gave it to me," the old man whirred, "because he knew then they would never find it!"

Triumphantly, the old man drained the glass. Hardly had he finished before he threw his free hand to his

throat. His gargly gasp seemed to stifle itself. From the writhe he gave, Claire realized that her uncle was in

As if from the recoil of his own body, Belshazzar flung his arm forward and hurled the glass toward the wall,

beside a blackened window that showed only the thick darkness of the outside night.

Spontaneously, Claire came to her feet to stop the wild gesture, only to stand rooted, her eyes following the

course of the flying glass. Claire herself was not only visible, but conspicuous in relation to the window, but

Etched on the wall like a thing of fate, was the silhouette of a moving hand, a replica of the moving fingers at

which an ancient Belshazzar had flung a goblet when he realized that his death was signified!

Before Claire Winslow could even scream, the glass crashed and with it the swift moving silhouette

A SUDDEN change from full light to pitchdarkness produces a brief but startling optical illusion, which

Such illusions, however, are always stepped up under stress, sometimes imbuing the mind with a fantastic,

imagery. With Claire, that added effect was double. Her uncle's frantic death throes, the dramatic smashing of

the glass upon a silhouetted hand that never paused its cavort across the wall, were the sort of events that

Oddly the tonic was the blackness. It obliterated reality, threw everything into the realm of the incredible.

Claire saw purple, green and pink, a flood of twisting, kaleidoscopic afterimages, saturated with the

Yet most vivid was the etched recollection of the room itself. One crawl of blackness represented the moving

hand that Claire had seen; another, a block with crisscrossed lines of color, stood for the back window,

though she didn't know it. For that back window had been blackness before, and though all that Claire had

seen beyond it was the thick night itself, she had been completely outlined in that frame, from the viewpoint

That factor was far more important than Claire at this moment supposed. Her thoughts were actually lingering

back upon another moment, the fearful instant when the light had been extinguished.

It seemed an hour, yet it was hardly more than a scant second that Claire behaved like something tottering

Something solid met Claire before she could fall. The skidding thing was an old fashioned chair, with heavy

baggy cushions. Old castors were shrieking as if in agony when the tumbledown relic struck Claire and

Only the intruder who had clicked off the light could have slung the chair, for it came from his direction; but

as the girl sprawled in a dive, carrying the chair with her, another missile asserted itself from a different

The window crashed to the whine of a rifle bullet which was accompanied by the ping of a bullet against the

wall beside Belshazzar's bedstead, punching right through the very space where Claire had been standing

Scrambling on hands and knees toward where she thought the door must be, Claire heard other bullets whistle

behind her with that same impact that brought an echo of falling plaster. They were gunning for her, whoever

It wasn't until she reached the door that Claire remembered the moving hand that had produced the blackness.

Her own hand on the knob, the girl hesitated to open the door for fear the light from the hallway would betray

her. Quick though her other reactions had been, Claire didn't yet realize that she owed her life doubly to that

hand; first for its quickness in bringing darkness, again because of its prompt work with the chair that had

Claire's realization of the truth came only when a big gun blasted from the window itself. A sudden fear that

the menace was actually here, was smothered by the fact that this gun was shooting outward. It was that

stranger of the darkness, fighting on Claire's side, answering those rifle shots that had come from a row of

Thoughtlessly the girl yanked open the door and sprang into the hallway, only to turn and look back, fearful

that she had betrayed her unknown friend. Such hesitancy was even worse, for the light from the hall cut a

clear swath to the window; but fortunately it was only Claire who saw the cloaked figure that crouched there.

The Shadow had taken his stance beside the window and was gunning from its edges. Even as Claire stared,

he jabbed a few with a quick hand that whipped back as the riflemen answered with a useless fusillade which

only brought a weird, mocking laugh from the strange fighter within the window. Then, her wits returned,

Claire slammed the door and fled madly downstairs. Occupants of the apartment house came dashing from

their doors and reached the street along with Claire. They stopped abruptly as they met a pair of policemen

coming from a patrol car. Before she could stop herself, Claire was telling them:

Claire didn't supply the rest. She meant her uncle, but she was afraid the police would think in terms of her

rescuer. It was too late now to make amends, for the patrolmen were storming indoors and up the stairs.

Frantically Claire started after them, a full flight of stairs behind, but no one else followed. The people who

Hardly was Claire on the stairs, before a hand came around the corner and clutched her arm. The cry that the

girl couldn't quite stifle would have caught the attention of other persons, had any been present.

As it was, Claire found herself alone with The Shadow and the sight of burning eyes, peering from beneath a

That gaze had a way of terrorizing only those who deserved it. To others, it gave confidence, as Claire

learned. Almost as though hypnotized, the girl nodded her willingness to obey The Shadow's mandates.

Then the very hand that had so startled Claire earlier was drawing the girl along the hall, out a back door into

darkness. How The Shadow had come downstairs so swiftly was in a sense explained by the speed he showed

now. In the Stygian gloom that Claire mistook for house walls, all barriers seemed to melt as The Shadow

The men who had done the shooting must have fled from the rear houses for all was silence there. Only once,

looking back, did Claire see faces; they belonged to the two policemen, who had turned on the light in her

uncle's apartment and were looking from the rear window that no longer was a target. Next, Claire suddenly

found herself in a cab that was pulling away from another street. Gratefully, the girl turned to speak to the

Just then the cab rolled into an avenue where a glare of lights showed the whole interior of the vehicle.

Claire was alone. Somewhere, somehow, The Shadow had silently gone his way, sending her off on a journey

While the girl was still debating the question, the cab pulled up in front of a hotel and the driver, speaking

Claire couldn't remember having said a word. Nevertheless, she paid the driver and left the cab, deciding that

this hotel would be as good a place as any to stay. Inside she found a clerk whose patient smile indicated that

the hotel was full, which was a way with New York hotels. But, before he could speak, the phone bell rang.

While the clerk was answering the call, Claire signed the register. Laying down the telephone the clerk

looked at the name Claire Winslow and promptly produced a room key. Soon afterward, Claire found herself

staring from another window, but this one was too high up for anybody to shoot at it from across the way.

Her senses really back, Claire realized there was no use in trying to find out about her uncle. The police

would attend to that and for the present it seemed more sensible for Claire to depend upon the mysterious

friend who had aided her in this time of startling need. What troubled Claire most was the unreality of it all.

Actually, she was beginning to class her whole experience as a wild, impossible dream.

Fumbling in the bag which she had clutched all through the turmoil, finding the purse from which she had

taken change to pay the taxicab, Claire came across the object that proved her story wasn't fiction.

Clanking the token on a table, Claire stared at it, the fourth of a strange old coin that bore the letters "ILLA"

Those words were familiar, because Claire had read them often in a Dumas novel; but there was something

else that she recalled, though she had heard it for the first time tonight. That was the name of Sargon, the

THE morning newspapers carried accounts that were accurate only so far as they went accounts of a

singular shooting fray wherein a dead man had been the only witness. Lately, New York had been troubled

by some sporadic quarrels that were reminiscent of the gangster era, except that they were disorganized

Apparently some feuding gentry had trapped somebody they didn't like, only to have him gun back at them

from a window of an obscure apartment where an old sea captain, a victim of heart attacks was lying at the

point of death. Captain Winslow just hadn't been able to stand the strain, that was all, not even with all the

It was just passing news for most people who read it, even to a young man named Kim Radnor, the Kim

being short for Kimball. Yet Kim found it food for reflection as he sat at the window of his own apartment

Then the point of the coin jabbed Kim's fist as he clenched it, and he remembered that this wasn't exactly a

coin, but only a quarter of one. Opening his fist, Kim stared at the thing as he had done often, ever since Rico

The coin was very old, of that Kim was sure, and it was probably Spanish, for the chunk that Kim owned had

the word "A TOR" stamped on it. Kim decided that "a tor" was probably a bull, though in Spanish it would

have been el toro. So maybe the inscription was a misleader, but anyway, this was a quarter of a piece of

A couple of old coin dealers had decided it was Spanish and in the same breath pronounced it worthless. But

Rico hadn't felt that way about it, during his last few minutes of survival on the raft where Kim had hauled

him. He'd panted something, Rico had, about the coin being worth a fortune and he'd mentioned somebody

Only Kim wasn't to tell Sargon anything, because Sargon didn't know anything to begin with. All Kim was to

say was "One for all" and if that didn't satisfy him, to add "And all for one." But that was only the beginning

Since Kim was in New York and not in Martinique; also considering that Rico had shipped from here

originally, it seemed that the best answer to the enigma was to find somebody who had known Rico before he

joined the Merchant Marine. Only it wasn't easy tracing Rico's friends, as Kim had discovered. Indeed, it

Which meant that Kim was about ready to give the whole thing up, except that he hadn't anything to do until

he signed for a new berth. Besides, Kim wasn't used to giving up, not after his various experiences in life

boats and on rafts during his Atlantic crossings in the days when the Uboats had been their toughest.

So to link Rico with an old sea captain who might have been to Martinique was worth trying as a last resort,

even though the sea captain was dead. Maybe somebody would know somebody who'd known Captain

At least it would give Kim something to do tonight and that something might help toward the solution of a

trifling personal problem; namely, the handling of a couple of chaps who had been following Kim around

lately. Who they were, Kim didn't know, but if they were after the few hundred dollars that Kim had gotten as

Elsewhere, that very day, both the question of Captain Winslow and his acquaintances were under discussion,

along with finances. Claire Winslow was having an interview with an investment broker named Rutledge

This was the result of a phone call that Claire had received that morning, inviting her to come to Mann's

office. Since only one person, Claire's cloaked friend of the night before, could know where Claire was

stopping, the interview with Mann promised some solution to any mystery involving the girl's uncle.

At sight, however, Claire had recognized that Rutledge Mann could not be the heroic fighter of the night

Mann was rotund, deliberate the very opposite of The Shadow. He spoke as though voicing someone else's

opinion and was very precise about it. Nevertheless, in his conservative way, Mann supplied some valuable

"Of course you did not arrive in New York until today," announced Mann, as though he really meant it, "and

since you have no desire to be interviewed, it is hardly necessary to announce that you are here."

"I believe it can be avoided," decided Mann. "As a friend of the family, I shall be only too glad to render any

Inwardly, the girl was doing some canny calculation. She was not only sure that her uncle had no affairs to

settle, other than the mysterious matter of the broken coin, but she was equally certain that Mann knew

"I shall report all developments," Mann assured. "Meanwhile, if there is any information that you can give me

Claire was interrupting with a headshake. She had come to New York only because her uncle had written her

after many years during which she had scarcely heard a word regarding him. Now she was beginning to think

that there might be something in this business of the odd coin, something that Mann might be trying to probe

"May I ask," put Claire abruptly, "just why you are so interested in my uncle's problems?"

"My interest is quite impersonal," returned Mann. "A client of mine had an obligation to your uncle which

there was no time to fulfill. He simply feels that any help in this matter would be a completion of unfinished

Mention of a client spurred Claire's mind to recollections of The Shadow. She didn't guess, however, that The

Shadow's obligation was one of his own choosing, based upon what he had learned from a convict once

Yet there was something of intuition that caused Claire to ask with sudden anxiety:

"I know it did," affirmed Claire. "It was meant for anyone who came to see him. They wanted him dead,

whoever fired those rifle shots. They wanted him dead before he could talk to anybody. When they saw me in

Claire stopped. Mann was sitting with clasped hands, patiently waiting for the girl to finish her wandering

statements. But it was plain to Claire now that those shots might have been meant for Mann's client or anyone

"The medicine!" exclaimed Claire suddenly. "Uncle Belshazzar took too much of it at one time! Maybe

whoever brought it to him knew he would. Perhaps it wasn't exactly what the doctor ordered, if there was a

Mann shook his head as though such notions were absurd, but he could see the tight clench of Claire's fists,

"I shall report on everything," Mann assured methodically. "From what you have just said, it is all the more

advisable that you should let the matter rest in my hands. If you declared yourself publicly, as you have just

Mann didn't amend Claire's final statement. He simply arose and bowed the girl out, as though all had been

"It would be best for you to stay at your hotel. You might hear from me at almost any time. Should you

Claire left with a nod, which Mann was willing to interpret as meaning just whatever Claire might want it to

mean. When he returned to his inner office, Mann found Lamont Cranston seated there. Cranston was of

course Mann's socalled client and he had heard all that was said from an adjacent office.

"Congratulations, Mann," complimented Cranston. "It was nicely handled and makes a good official

Soberly, Mann nodded, having come to the same opinion. Then, unable to withhold his alarm, he exclaimed:

"But if she might, you should have let me tell her that her uncle was murdered!"

"And make it a police case?" inquired Cranston. "If she told the police as she would she would have to

admit that she visited her uncle last night. They might even suspect her of having arranged that overdose of

Mann's odd nod showed that he was thinking oddly. Cranston supplied the slightest of smiles.

"Only she didn't," he assured. "She will prove it by going back there to learn what she can."

"So will Artie's friends," reminded Mann. "Maybe they will try to kill her again."

"Not now," returned Cranston. "They overdid their last opportunity. They will follow her, perhaps try to

kidnap her. They may even plan murder, but not until they learn how much she knows."

Cranston did not specify what Claire might know and Mann recognized that his client, who was actually his

chief, The Shadow, was probably seeking that very same information. In fact, Cranston gave an inkling of it

"The question is," summed Cranston, "who knows the more, Claire Winslow or the enemies she has inherited

Cryptic though such a remark might have been to others, Mann understood. With Cranston's departure, Mann

stood looking at Manhattan's skyline from his office window, watching the buildings darken under the

decreasing sun of the late afternoon. He could picture this night's potential events, Mann could.

If The Shadow wanted to know more than Claire Winslow could tell him, his best way would be to ask those

enemies he mentioned. Since they in their turn would be looking for Claire to find out how much she had

learned, The Shadow's best plan was to let the girl inadvertently lead him to the men he sought.

Simple, direct, effective; such were The Shadow's methods, the sort that could not fail. So thought Rutledge

Mann, whose methodical mind was too geared to the obvious to consider the possible crosspurposes that

CLAIRE WINSLOW had sometimes wondered what a murderer must feet like when returning to the scene of

Stealthily, furtively, the girl was picking her way through the route by which The Shadow had led her from

the apartment house where her uncle had died. She was making a bad botch of this return trip.

Either Claire's memory was bad or everybody in the neighborhood had put up new gates and filled their

alleys with ashcan's. The best Claire could do was stifle each blunder that she made, slowing the gates so

they wouldn't creak or rattle; recoiling every time she met an ashcan before she knocked the lid off and sent

At last lighted windows gave Claire an inkling of her location. Looking up, she estimated where her uncle's

apartment was the only blank one in its building. Blackedout too was the house in back, for it was empty;

If there were police around, and Claire was quite sure there must be, they would be watching that house. The

newspapers seemed to think the trouble had been centered there and merely carried over to the old building

If so, they should be out front by Claire's calculation. So with no further ado, the girl entered the back door

The creaks of the stairs, the thought that behind every closed door might be a listener, were a combination

that had Claire really taut when she reached her goal. But that was nothing to the suspense that a sight of her

uncle's apartment brought, when Claire viewed it under the beam of a flashlight that she carried.

Everything had been removed from the place since the night before. It was as if the whole history of

Belshazzar Winslow had been obliterated. Logical enough, when Claire came to think of it, for her uncle had

rented the apartment at a cheap rate because of its ramshackle furniture; therefore the owner had probably

decided to have it done over and refurnished, now that he would have to attract a new tenant.

But the effect was appalling, with the grotesque splotch upon the wall where a rain of bullets had tumbled the

plaster, ripping a great gap in the faded wallpaper. It was a warning to Claire a warning to keep away from

the line of the window. So Claire used the flashlight to circle along beside the inner wall of the room, so far

What Claire was doing was traversing the space where the oldfashioned bedstead had been, but she didn't

quite realize the fact until she reached the very corner of the room. There her flashlight, purposely trained

toward the floor so it wouldn't reveal too much, disclosed something that Claire hadn't even hoped to find.

A small section of the floor was loose, as indicated by the uptilt of some floor boards. Hidden by the head of

the bed, it was where no one would have noticed it, at least not while the bed itself was there. This was just

the sort of spot that Claire's uncle might have rigged to stow away something of special value!

On hands and knees, the girl was eagerly raising the improvised lid, pouring the glow from her flashlight into

the small cache beneath, only to finish with a disappointed gasp. The hiding place was empty.

Of course it had to be empty. The very fact that Claire had found the lid canted meant that somebody had

gotten here ahead of her. There was nothing to do about it except find the person in question. Her

apprehensions now dulled by her indignation, Claire left the apartment and started boldly down the stairs, not

If her own uncle's ghost had confronted the girl right then, Claire would have hotly accused it of duplicity.

But Claire was faring to a meeting with creatures much more tangible than ghosts.

The ghost notion held briefly, though, as Claire stormed from the front door of the house.

Across the street, the girl thought she saw a shadowy figure grow, then fade fantastically, in the glare of the

headlights from a passing car. Maybe it was just Claire's own imagination, stirred by the way she herself

drew back as the lights came along. But the sight was reminiscent of the creeping hand that had behaved so

weirdly with the wall switch, the night before; except that now its effect was larger and represented the head

Her suspicions misguided, Claire didn't stop to reason that The Shadow's presence might be chiefly for her

own protection; nor did she realize that in watching for persons who might approach the house, he was more

interested in concealment from angles than straight across the street. Claire was simply swept with a deluge

of blind fear that drove her to a foolhardy course. Madly, she darted from the house steps and along the street

Something popped from the darkness to meet her. It came in the shape of a creature as gray and as vicious as

a rat, except that it was a lot larger. Claire's interceptor was a huddly, sweatered man who spelled thug in his

very mien, or lack of it. He was repellent at sight, this creature, which was somewhat to Claire's advantage,

for she recoiled so suddenly that she spun on the high heels of her shoes and started an immediate dash in

There, another menace loomed from the other side of the house steps. Bulky in contrast to the first man, this

human obstacle looked sluggish in comparison, but that could have been merely an illusion created by his

size. Bigger than the first, the second man could cover more ground with less motion, giving the effect of

For Claire, when she reversed her course and ended with a spin, found herself squarely between the two and

equidistant from each. Which meant, if she'd stopped to think it over, that she had gotten away more quickly

And now there was only one avenue of escape. A dash across the street would have brought the pair

converging on Claire's trail. Up the steps and into the house again; such was Claire's outlet, if she could make

Stumbling on the steps, Claire shrieked as a big hand clamped upon her neck. She wrested away, her scream.

choked until the collar ripped half from her dress. Then hands like claws were clutching her from the other

The ratman this time. His clutch was more tenacious, except that Claire's sleeve was even less built for

strain than her collar. Her arm came free, without the sleeve, and she spun to a sprawl upon the steps

themselves, thinking that in the next instant both attackers would suppress her.

What Claire hadn't noticed was the living cyclone that lashed across the street, starting its drive at the very

moment of Claire's own dash into trouble. Claire didn't cover much ground in her back and forward darts, but

the arriving avalanche was really a distance burner. It was always that way when The Shadow timed an attack

and he had been gathering himself for this one. In fact, the cloaked figure didn't seem to lose a stride in

Two thrusting menaces melted as Claire stared. One moment she was viewing a pair of faces that to her

frantic eyes were hideous; an instant later they were gone; caught in a black swirl that threatened to obliterate

them. There were shouts, a flay of arms, gunbursts with the puny effect of cap pistols. Claire couldn't even

see The Shadow, but she knew that he must be there. This was too similar to last night's timely work to be

Through the house was still Claire's proper course. She'd arrived by that route without any interference;

besides, it was the way out that The Shadow had taken and Claire was sure she now could find her way along

the intricate path beyond. So Claire scrambled straight up the steps and through the gloomy hall which was

Out front a patrol car was pulling up in timely style, its occupants a bit amazed by what they saw. Lurching

up the steps of the old apartment house were two men who seemed to be wrestling with each other in some

impossible fashion. One was a big man, brandishing his arms, the other a ratty little character who clawed the

They couldn't be fighting each other and getting such poor results, so the two patrolmen took it for granted

that someone else was in the brawl, even though they couldn't see him. But when the cops came dashing up

the steps, the two thugs twisted and lunged straight for them, though not of their own accord. That was

obvious from the surprised expressions on the thuggish faces when the police began to clout them into

submission. Whatever they'd been fighting, the thugs hadn't taken it for a brace of cops.

But when the patrolmen looked for the third and most important participant in the fray, he wasn't there. The

Claire's headstart was considerable, however, and she was making good time at the expense of clattering

ashcans and banging gates. The girl was sure that somebody was after her and she hoped it was The

Shadow, but she wasn't taking chances. All through those passages, Claire was sure that she heard footbeats

echo after her and that some of the rolling ashcans clattered as if kicked out of the way.

At the end of the run, however, Claire drew her breath in a quick, relieved sob when she saw what she took

for The Shadow's very appropriate token, a waiting cab, its motor running, the driver at the wheel. Claire

grabbed at the door and tried to tug it open, but tonight it stuck until the girl's efforts were aided by a firm

Thanks were on Claire's lips when she noted that the hand wasn't gloved. She swung about to meet a firm

face which certainly wasn't The Shadow's, for he would rightfully be cloaked, his features hidden by the

inevitable hat brim. This face was darkish in the gloom, its halfsmile threatening, as Claire saw it. In a mood

to fight off menace now, Claire tried to swing her bag against the face as she opened her mouth to cry for

The face bobbed and Claire's own went shut under the helpful jog her jaw received from an expert fist that

seemed to shove, rather than punch her right into sleepybye. Catching the girl, the man poured her into the

The cab had wheeled around the corner, when The Shadow arrived to meet the glow of another pair of

approaching headlights. A few moments later, The Shadow was in this cab and speaking with its driver, who

"Sorry, boss," responded Shrevvy to The Shadow's immediate query. "I didn't see the Winslow dame. She

must have cut through while I was coming around from the front street. There was a hack pulling out when I

The Shadow's tone interrupted with orders to take up the trail if possible. In one quick appraisal of the route

through the rear alleys, The Shadow's keen eye had spotted the glimmer of overturned ashcans and knew

So Shrevvy was off, but the quest soon proved itself hopeless. The other cab had gained too good a start.

From the front seat, the driver heard a strange, low laugh that he couldn't quite interpret.

When The Shadow laughed that way, it didn't mean that a cause was lost. Rather, it seemed to symbolize the

beginning of a trail that might lead anywhere. Whatever had happened to Claire Winslow, The Shadow was

At the same time there was something in The Shadow's singular mirth denoting his recognition of a

crosstrail that had somehow produced itself in opposition to his welllaid plans!

WHEN Claire came out of it, she looked at the glass and wondered what she had been drinking.

Certainly it must have been potent to put her mind in its present whirl, but that didn't account for the way her

An apologetic voice interrupted Claire's reverie with one word that it put very nicely:

Looking up, Claire saw the face that she'd regarded as a menace not so long ago, and identified it as if from a

fog. Only that face, in better light, and lacking the smile that Claire had mistaken for a smirk, no longer

In fact, it was a rather handsome face, curiously pale through its coat of tan. It was rugged, like the man who

owned it, and without his hat, this chap showed a shock of somewhat wavy hair that wasn't sleek enough to

These were evidently his diggings, here in the rather comfortable apartment where Claire now sat, for the

man was filling a pipe from a humidor on the table. The man was wearing civilian clothes, but odds and ends

around the room, from twisted rope ornaments to a blue dresscap, indicated that he'd been to sea, which was

The young man weighed the question in steadyfaced style. Having gone that far in identifying herself,

"I've heard of him," the young man replied, "but I didn't know he had a niece." Lighting his pipe, he hid his

expression except for his eyes, which seemed honest, even in the steelblue glint of their searching glance.

"He never" There the girl halted, feeling that to be truthful might prove helpful later, so she modified her

Those steely eyes were very sharp. Maybe Kim knew that Claire had heard of somebody named Sargon and

was expecting her to say so. If he pressed the subject, Claire could argue that she hadn't thought of Sargon as

For that matter, she could pretend that she thought Sargon was a place, not a person. The same however

wouldn't apply to Jacques, another man mentioned by Belshazzar. But Jacques, whose real name was Stolt,

was a criminal, so he certainly shouldn't be included in Belshazzar's social circle.

Judging from things that had happened around where Belshazzar Winslow lived, and the kind of characters

who had evidenced themselves in battling with The Shadow, Claire's uncle might have made a specialty of

"Puerto Rico?" responded Claire, innocently, inspired by her notion that Sargon could be classed as a place

name. "I know that Uncle Belshazzar sailed the Caribbean. He must have been to Puerto Rico."

"I mean a man named Rico," specified Kim, "but speaking of places in general and islands in particular, did

That question settled itself. Belshazzar had mentioned Sargon in connection with Martinique. Only

Belshazzar hadn't said anything about being in Martinique himself. So Claire decided to keep on being

truthful in a dumb way. She just shook her head and Kim looked disappointed. Nevertheless, he wasn't one to

"Now that it's all over," said Kim quite casually, "tell me just what happened at your uncle's apartment last

"Tonight, when I went there," she declaimed, with emphasis on the word 'tonight', "I just wanted to be sure

"I'm talking about last night," interposed Kim. Taking a long draw on his pipe, he added: "What happened?"

It wouldn't do to deny the fact; not now. It would throw doubt on all of Claire's previous statements,

particularly if Kim happened to have seen Claire one night ago, as he might have. It was imperative that those

statements should stand, for right now Claire was beginning to believe that Kim might have some answer to

Having made the slip when Kim artfully mentioned 'last night,' Claire had to cover it in a positive rather than

"I mean I wasn't here officially," Claire corrected. "You understand, of course."

"I think I do," nodded Kim. "you just don't want to be mixed in something that wasn't your fault, and I don't

The question came so frankly that Claire was sure she had scored all the points she needed. Kim would

"You must have read about the shooting," stated Claire. "Well, it was meant for me. Evidently somebody

didn't want me to talk to my uncle before he died. I don't think those shots would have missed me either, if

Watching Kim, Claire could tell that he was deducing things already, which was just what Claire wanted.

It meant that Kim was jumping ahead of the fact that Claire had glossed so lightly, namely her interview with

her uncle. Kim was taking it for granted that old Belshazzar must have missed his last boat, so far as telling

"And then," continued Claire, simply, "I got out. In a hurry, too, because there was somebody who helped

me. Next thing I was riding in a cab to a hotel where I registered. Only last night" she rubbed her chin

"Sorry again," apologized Kim. "Who was last night's Lothario, the gentleman whose technique surpasses

"I don't know," Claire confessed. "But this morning I received a phone call from an investment broker who

"His name is Rutledge Mann," declared Claire, "but he wasn't my shadowy hero. He just didn't fit. Mann is a

chubby, selfeffacing type, the sort that couldn't even play the scared rabbit, because he couldn't run fast

Kim's deductions were continuing; he was thinking it out just as Claire had, taking it for granted that Mann

"This hotel you're staying at," remarked Kim. "I don't think it would be smart to stop there any longer."

"Because you were really there the night your uncle died," stated Kim. "So if you want to stick to what you

call your official story, you'd better change your residence." Pausing, Kim interpreted Claire's cold stare, and

added bluntly: "I don't mean I'll put you up here. I'm just suggesting that you switch to a different hotel and

"You mean Mann and that shadowy chap you can't describe?" queried Kim. He shrugged. "I don't see how

"Before I met you, yes. But that was when you had a reason to go and see your uncle, since he was still alive.

You might have trouble explaining off tonight's expedition. This time was the real test and I was the lad who

Claire had to admit that Kim was right, though she could have told him that The Shadow had again been on

"To look for something," replied Claire. "Something that wasn't there. You see "

New suspicion swept Claire with a mighty surge. It could be that Kim was looking for that very token, the

quartersection of a very mysterious coin that right now was parked in Claire's bag. It wasn't what Claire had

looked for tonight; she had been hoping to find something in fact anything else. But having won Kim's

understanding, it would be smart right now to make him think she hadn't even found the twobit portion of

"You see my uncle said he had a legacy," expressed Claire. "What it was, he didn't specify. I went back to see

"Nothing and double. There was a hole in the floor where the head of the bed had been, and it was empty."

"Maybe your friend, The Shadow, was there first tonight," he commented. "Since he'd delegated Mann to

The indictment was strong, so strong that Kim was quite sure he was convincing Claire. Through the girl's

mind, however, was running a whole gamut of mistrust, which included Kim Radnor along with The Shadow.

Of the two, Claire gave The Shadow precedence as a rescuer, recalling that he'd played a part again tonight,

Assuming, however, that both The Shadow and Kim were seeking that quartercoin, The Shadow in all

It was time for Claire to keep somebody guessing for a change and she'd fared better along that line with

Kim. Certainly Rutledge Mann had kept Claire guessing and then only as The Shadow's proxy. So Claire

nodded, indicating that she was willing to switch friends, or at least to rely on Kim in preference to others.

"Good enough," decided Kim, knocking out his pipe. "Our job now is to find you a new hotel. After that, I'll

As they left Kim's apartment, Claire discovered that it was in a neighborhood quite as secluded as the one

where her uncle had lived. Somehow, the darkness of the street made Claire shudder, and she looked back,

worried by thoughts of followers. That brought a smile from Kim for two reasons.

First, it proved that Claire had really begun to trust him; again, Kim was getting a lesson in how easily people

could imagine things. Funny, until tonight, he too had thought that he was being stalked. Now Kim was

There was such a thing as getting over something too soon. In thinking that he'd outguessed Claire's friend

The Shadow, Kim Radnor was making a mistake in discounting other factors in this case!

THE two men under the glare of the big lights knew from less than nothing and kept insisting so. They'd just

It was never good policy to stop a quiz too short when the police commissioner was witnessing it from the

darkness behind the glare. Commissioner Weston was a stickler for a thorough grill where smallfry like

For one thing, Beef The Butch was very big in brawn if not in brain. The fact that a halfpint like Mongoose

Morry was the big man's running mate, gave the little character an intelligence quotient that couldn't be

underrated, the smartest thing about it being that Mongoose knew how not to show it.

But whatever the pair knew, the big lights weren't sweating it out of them, though the heat was really on.

Both looked as though they'd lost a lot in weight under the burn of the big kliegs, and they'd shed enough

Cardona had gotten a share of the sunray treatment with them, and felt that he'd better sum things.

"So it was The Shadow," stated Joe. "He gunned for you and you gunned back at him."

"He had you trapped one night in the house in back of Winslow's," continued Cardona. "He started shooting

"And the next night," specified Cardona, "last night I mean, you came back for more."

"We were just mooching by," argued Beef The Butch gruffly. "Thought maybe if we showed ourselves

"We wanted to know why he was gunning for us," added Mongoose Morry. "After all, we weren't doing

"Nothing except carrying these!" With the accusation, Cardona clanked a couple of revolvers on the table.

"Since they're enough to send you up the river, why don't you come clean on the rest of it?"

Beef The Butch looked toward Mongoose Morry with an expression both weary and wary. Mongoose rallied

"It was on account of Artie," he said hoarsely. "You know we was pals with Artie Duvan, because you said

"And with a gun on him," reminded Cardona. "If Artie hadn't time to use one, where do you fellows figure

you would? Besides, it was Stolt who fixed Artie, and Stolt isn't around any more."

"Maybe Stolt has friends," argued Mongoose, "and besides, you're just explaining why me and the Butch here

have been going around together. Just to look out for each other. Only, how did we know The Shadow was

"It's on account of Stolt," broke in Beef. "The guy's gone stirbug. Blaming everybody else for what he done.

Maybe The Shadow took him serious. Only you know we didn't knock off Artie, Joe. Artie was our pal."

Cardona could hear the commissioner muttering to somebody who sat beside him and that, more than the

combined pleas of the two thugs, caused Joe to end the quiz. Lights were turned off, the two prisoners were

removed, and with the room restored to normal, Cardona mopped his swarthy face and turned to obtain the

In brusque style, Weston was already expressing it to a taciturn friend who was seated beside him. The silent

"You told me you talked to Stolt," reminded Weston, "and from your account, Cranston, what these men just

said makes sense. At least something has been gained; the terror that Stolt's crazy threats inspired has caused

That brought a halfsnort from Weston, a compromise between his official duty of not recognizing The

Shadow and his private opinion that that there was such a person. Then, tersely, the commissioner summed

"Let's hope that The Shadow will ferret out some more of Arties worthless friends."

"Only he won't" added Cardona, promptly, glad of a chance to have the last word. "I've checked on Artie and

How far Inspector Cardona hadn't checked on Artie's cronies was to be shortly demonstrated. It was still

daylight when Lamont Cranston parted from his friend the police commissioner, so there was a necessary

time element between the grilling of Beef The Butch and Mongoose Morry until a more important bit of quiz

Dusk was the time, the setting an East Side sector that looked like a hangover from the bad old days, which in

some degree it was. There, the astute Mr. Cranston, alighting from a lavish limousine, prepared his coming

Cloaked in black, The Shadow threaded his way through a maze of choppedup streets that could hardly be

distinguished from the alleys that interlaced them. At length he entered the back door of a place for which the

This was Red Mike's, so named after its proprietor, whose place was overlooked by the police because it had

become too tawdry for even stool pigeons to patronize. In fact it was claimed that Red Mike had picked a

cellar location so that bums would stumble into it, otherwise he wouldn't have any customers. Whoever came

in always bought a drink, because Red Mike began to pour one when he heard the door clatter. That done, it

Only The Shadow didn't come in the usual way. Silent in his approach, he saw Red Mike seated glumly

behind the bar, studying a vacant space that awaited the evening bum crop. This was just the time for The

At The Shadow's first words, Red Mike thought he was having one of the hallucinations that were common

with his customers. Hearing a weird whisper close to his ear. Red Mike turned, alarm upon his broad face.

The alarm froze and stayed. Odd that eyes that burned like The Shadow's should produce a frigid effect, but

"You remember Artie Duvan," reminded The Shadow. Then, his tone becoming sibilant: "Perhaps some

The Shadow's low laugh interrupted. It was wordless, but more expressive than a statement. Red Mike went

"Yeah, Doc Zurber," he admitted. "Only don't ask me where to find him. He lammed two days ago."

"They were covering for Doc," informed Red Mike. "I mean Beef The Butch and Mongoose Morry was.

Only they didn't know it was Doc. They just knew it was some friend of Artie's who saw that they'd get the

"He had a lot of friends, Artie did, only he wasn't close to any of them. Maybe you made a list of them, but

how you picked Doc Zurber off it is more than I can figure. You're a smart guy, Shadow "

It was always the same. When they began complimenting The Shadow, men of Red Mike's ilk did it to cover

something that they had in mind. No exception to the rule, Red Mike was trying to act smart on his own. He'd

noticed by now that The Shadow had no gun in either of his gloved hands and Red Mike felt that he

That was why Red Mike's hand was creeping around in back of him, on the side away from The Shadow.

There it was finding a quart bottle, one that was weighted with nearly its full quota of liquid contents. Red

Mike was gripping it slyly by the neck, confident that it would form a proper bludgeon.

After all, who was The Shadow to rate better than any other undesirable customer?

Red Mike had used the bottle treatment before; a whole bottle in the form of one big slug, bottle included. He

was very adept at it, and very swift, but he was particular about getting the right grip.

Too particular in this case. Red Mike's hand was out of sight but his forearm wasn't, and its tightening

muscles were telegraphing his intention. Imperceptibly The Shadow's gloved fingers were working toward

Around flung Red Mike, swinging the bottle in a wide, hard arc for a head that tilted inward and below his

sweep. Up like a triphammer came an automatic jutting from a clenched fist. It stopped the bottle in midair,

the glass crashing as the metal clashed it. With a mere drop of his wrist, The Shadow aimed the gun muzzle

It wasn't necessary. The bottle had broken near the neck; the bulk of it kept flying ahead and smashed the

mirror behind the bar. Down came a deluge of glass, jouncing bottles from a ramshackle shelf above. A

moment later, Red Mike was dodging half of his own stock as he went to hands and knees, flinging his arms

When Red Mike crawled gingerly from amid the broken glass that marred the surface of a oneinch pool of

assorted beverages, he found himself alone with the wreckage he had caused. Only the parting note of a

The Shadow had learned all he wanted. His next step was to locate a certain crook who answered to the name

of Doc Zurber. Meanwhile, however, The Shadow had not forgotten the strange disappearance of Claire

One trail might lead to the other and perhaps more. For The Shadow by now had analyzed the existence of

several factors in this case, despite the fact that he had not yet seen a single portion of a broken

AS a city of contrasts, New York was most unusual. For instance, the darkness that hid The Shadow's

departure from Red Mike's wasn't apparent in the room where Jerome Claverly was seated at his desk.

The reason was that Claverly didn't live in a basement hovel surrounded by narrow alleyways. His residence

was a penthouse on a tall apartment building and his windows still received the rays of the sun that was being

He was a strange man, Jerome Claverly, quite difficult to analyze. He might have been classed as

middleaged, but even that covered a wide range. His build was a cross between strong and wiry; it might

As for Claverly's face, it was a type, yet the kind that once seen was long remembered. Perhaps it was just the

shape of those features that made them seem hard, for Claverly's smile was pleasant, yet cryptic. Even his

complexion was an enigma; whether it was naturally dark or so produced by a long tropical treatment was a

Two other things were problematical in Claverly's case: his wealth and his business status. Maybe one

Certain it was that Claverly had money, but all his transactions went in cash, never by check. He had a way of

borrowing a few thousand dollars when he needed it, just as he was always ready to lend large sums when he

had them. If he was ever behind on the rent, he knew how to stall the landlord, without anything being said

If the way Claverly paid out money was any index to his ability at earning it, he probably rated in a high

income bracket. But the man who was with him at present could testify only to Claverly's ability as a spender.

That man was named Jim Brodick and he looked like the very sort to be in Claverly's employ. Wisefaced,

tight of lip, sallow from his deepset eyes to the tip of his pointed nose, Brodick looked like a man with a

past who was counting on a big future, otherwise he wouldn't be sticking along with Claverly.

Finishing the scrawled diary that he was reading, Claverly laid it aside, stared from the window and said:

He spoke the words "Poor Jacques" as though he didn't mean them, but that was a way that Claverly had. His

"Poor Jacques," repeated Claverly. "He put himself to a lot of trouble and a lot of danger, going back to

France while the Vichy government was still in control. Nevertheless" Claverly gestured to the diary "he

Turning from the window as he spoke, Claverly eyed Brodick narrowly. If Jim had ever heard of anyone

"Nor bum handwriting, either," he returned. "If you're referring to that diary, I don't know what's in it. You

"We were right in the first place," he decided. "Jacques must have given the token to Cap Winslow. The diary

"Then the girl must have the token," remarked Brodick. Then, his own eyes focused steadily, he added:

Reaching a lazy hand, Claverly turned on the desk lamp, a natural action, since the dusk had begun to gather

in the penthouse. But it could have been that Claverly wanted to study Brodick's eyes more closely, unless he

actually wanted to reveal his own. Maybe the latter was the case, because Claverly's expression became quite

"Why not?" demanded Brodick. "When I lost my license as a private dick, it wasn't because I was a bum

"If I had, I would have told you. I knew Doc was a friend of Artie's and Artie got his from Stolt, the guy you

"Well, I was casing the joints where Artie's friends hung out," stated Brodick, "and that's how I ran into Doc.

You know what Doc Zurber is, because I told you. Along with dope he handles a lot of funny remedies that

go big with guys that have had tropic fever and all such. Native cures and all that; he even says he can get the

"Zurber was kind of doubtful about this Jacques guy," continued Brodick. "Didn't want to be mixed up in the

case. All squared where Artie was concerned, since Jacques had taken the rap. But was kind of doubtful about

"Not at first," admitted Brodick. "I was just playing a hunch, I guess, until I overheard Doc talking on Red

Mike's phone. I caught the name 'Jacques' and that was enough. Then I knew you'd want Zurber tagged."

Claverly reached for a fancy bottle that was worth about half the price of the whole row that Red Mike had

broken. Pouring two imported drinks, he extended one to Brodick and began to sip the other, nodding that he

"The trail led to Cap Winslow," continued Brodick. "Checking on the guy, I figured he'd known Jacques.

Only I didn't figure that Doc Zurber had gotten instructions to knock the old boy off. If he had, he'd have

Frowning hard across his glass, Brodick stopped short. Letting his chin rest in his hand, Claverly gave Jim a

"Unless somebody smarter was telling Zurber what to do," asserted Brodick bluntly. "That was to stage a

slow poison job instead. Zurber must have had to speed it when he heard the dame was due. That's where we

Quite pointed, that last comment, and it brought an indulgent smile from Claverly. Or perhaps the smile was

one of satisfaction. Jim Brodick never could quite tell about those smiles that Jerome Claverly delivered.

"I'm sticking with the job." Pausing, Brodick finished his drink with a long swallow. "Even when I guess

"Sometimes it's better to guess wrong. I told you that a little while ago. Whichever way I guess, I don't

broadcast it. What I learn gets told to the guy who hires me and I only take one customer at a time."

"A good rule," approved Claverly. "Like taking one drink at a time. You've finished one, so have another."

As Claverly poured a refill into Jim's glass. Brodick decided to pour a few more theories in return.

"Zurber hired a couple of gunzels just for sure," resumed Brodick. "Or maybe the guy who hired Zurber hired

them on Doc's recommend. I wouldn't just know" Brodick was looking across his glass again "but you

can figure it your own way if you want. However the case, Beef The Butch and Mongoose Morry got excited

and let off too much fireworks. That heart failure verdict on Cap Winslow was a break for Zurber, but

"There's the evidence;" Brodick pointed to the diary on Claverly's desk. "Doc Zurber wasn't around yesterday

when I mooched into Winslow's apartment with the moving men when they needed an extra helper."

"That was only the beginning. Spotting that sawed floorboard was even better. I let the movers lug out the

Claverly smiled in a manner which Brodick interpreted as appreciation for a service rendered. Then, with a

wave, as though one case had been dismissed, Claverly announced in a halfpathetic tone:

"I've tagged that buddy of his," stated Brodick. "You know, young Radnor. I had to lay off on account of

"Yeah?" The drinks were warming Brodick to inquiries of his own. "Then why don't you tell him?"

Claverly chuckled as though he felt quite secure. That left only Kim Radnor to worry about. From his desk,

"Radnor is either dumb or slow," Claverly analyzed. "Otherwise he would have gained this information

He tossed a letter across the table; rubbing the blur from his eyes, Brodick read it and opened his eyes wider.

"I'm sure you would," returned Claverly, pointedly, "if you happened to get there first. Maybe they'd want

The thing that Claverly clanked carelessly across the desk was the quarter of an ancient coin that bore the

"Lie about it all you want," suggested Claverly. "I don't suppose you'll need my help in concocting

fabrications. But be sure you bring it back. I wouldn't want to ask the police to look for you. I might have to

tell them that I hired you without knowing that you'd lost your license as a private operative."

The coin was already in Brodick's hand when he clenched his fist in anger. The pointed corner of the

quadrant jabbed him sharply, a timely reminder that it wouldn't be wise to rouse Claverly's animosity. This

was just another of Claverly's tests to learn if Brodick had a proper share of selfrestraint.

At least Jim interpreted it that way, though he felt that so far Claverly was keeping him under wraps. In

This was action of a sort; enough to mean using wits if other weapons were barred, though Claverly hadn't

specified that they were not allowable. So Brodick turned and went out to the elevator, wondering what

Whether Jerome Claverly was thinking in terms of Jim Brodick or Doc Zurber, he didn't state. As he stood

alone, there by the penthouse window, Claverly might have been thinking of Kim Radnor, considering the

Or perhaps, as he stared into the thickening darkness, Claverly was considering a certain mysterious

personage called The Shadow, whose famed ability had so far proved rather spotty in this case of the broken

KIM RADNOR slapped the letter on his desk and gave an annoyed growl. If he'd had sense enough, he'd

have inquired about this matter before, the simple business of learning where mail addressed to Enrico

Enrico Envares was the long name for a former friend who was called Rico for short. His forwarding address,

Kim had just learned, was a place called the Cafe Trinidad, down by the waterfront. Kim knew right where it

was because he'd passed by the place so often while hunting up Rico's acquaintances and not finding them.

A squalid place, the Cafe Trinidad, and somehow Kim hadn't connected it with Rico. Maybe because

Trinidad was English and Martinique was French, but they both belonged in the Caribbean and so did Rico.

So it was a trip to the Cafe Trinidad tonight, but first it would be a good idea to phone Claire Winslow. But

before Kim could even turn around, the telephone began to ring, so he answered the call cautiously, intending

It was Claire. Apparently she too had been thinking that a little chat would be helpful.

"I'm calling from my hotel," announced Claire, cheerfully. "The new one. Remember?"

"I ought to," returned Kim, "considering that I dropped by with your bags this afternoon."

"So it was you!" Claire's voice feigned surprise. "I wondered who else knew that I'd moved."

"You know I haven't. He's practically invisible. Did you ever hear of anybody like him?"

"I mean I'm staying right here. What's more, I'm not answering any further phone calls."

There was anxiety in Claire's tone, just the right touch of it, but Kim didn't consider it good policy to let her

"Something serious might," Kim cautioned. "But don't worry about it, Claire. I'll call you later, about ten

Hanging up, Kim decided that he was very smart, keeping Claire immobilized for the evening, by leaving the

time of his next call indefinite. As for Claire, she was deciding that she wasn't smart at all.

Claire's reason was a valid one. She was across the street from Kim's apartment; not at her new hotel, as she

had stated. Coming out of the store where she had made the phone call, Claire looked up, saw the lights in

Maybe the honest course would be to go right over and apologize. The fact that Kim wasn't going to answer

While Claire debated the question, it was answered for her. The lights in Kim's apartment blinked off.

Waiting across the way, the girl saw Kim come out the front door and start in the direction of the nearest

subway station. Irked at learning that Kim was playing her own game, Claire followed.

Trailing someone in the subway was neither as easy nor as difficult as Claire expected. That was to say, she

encountered obstacles as well as opportunities. Hardly had she passed the turnstile before she saw Kim wheel

about from further up the subway platform and finding it too late to reverse her course, Claire thought surely

Only just then a train came roaring into this local station and Kim forgot other matters while he boarded it.

That in turn gave Claire a chance to do the same and it wasn't until the train was under way that the girl

Claire and Kim were in different cars, she had seen to that, and maybe somebody else might be stalking them

At least the next play was Kim's. At every stop, Claire started to get out, then ducked in again, hoping that

Kim wouldn't be smart enough to stay in his car until the last moment. Kim did prove smart, only again he

Just as Claire's door was closing for about the dozenth time, she saw Kim emerge from the next car. Claire's

shoulder was just quick enough to hold her own door as she twisted through and took refuge behind a friendly

pillar on the platform. All Kim gave was a quick back and forth glance along the platform; then, confident

In her turn, Claire played smart and became the follower that Kim didn't expect. The only man who witnessed

the way she dodged after Kim toward the subway steps, was a stoopshouldered man with a drawn, droopy

Claire ignored the man, as Kim must have, since he was there ahead of both of them, but the flare of the

match gave her a passing look at the droopy man's tiny, nervous eyes. Claire didn't like those eyes, but as far

A shrewd smile became a suitable accompaniment to the droopy man's glinty stare. Quitting his fidgets with

the cigarette, he took up the double trail of Kim and Claire. Much smarter at this business than either of them,

Pausing near the top of the steps, the man finished lighting the cigarette, darting looks from the street exit,

down to the bottom of the steps. He was tabbing where Kim and Claire had gone while he checked his own

Even the darkness at the turn of the steps worried this shrewd observer. He watched as though expecting it to

come to life and his manner indicated that if it had, he would have whisked away in quick flight along the

Only the gloom didn't stir. The droopy man gave a laugh and started away briskly. Down below, there was a

shift of darkness, so slight that it could have been no more than the droopy man's own shadow, cast by his

He didn't notice it, this droopy man, but he was worrying about shadows. Perhaps he was thinking of one

known as The Shadow, from the way he kept eyeing every darkened doorway along the street. Odd that this

That was debatable. From the man's very manner, he was the sort who might figure in a deeplaid plan of

crime. Even in the darkness of these side streets, his pasty face showed its quota of cruel cunning. He had the

quick, nervous way and the hollow stare that was the mark of the dope addict; but with it a peculiar

selfcontrol that proved he had not yet reached the status of an outright hophead.

Clever indeed was his stalking process, showing the same chameleon qualities of the man's countenance. In

the open, he shuffled carelessly but rapidly; once under the gloom of those same doorways that he shunned

until he studied them, his pace became a swift, springy gait. Even yet, he was not convinced that he remained

unfollowed, for he threw back quick shoulder glances while picking up Claire's trail.

Half a block ahead, Claire hadn't a notion that she was being followed. Maybe, that was because she was

There were moments when Kim became suspicious, but somehow, Claire was able to time them. When Kim

stopped abruptly to look back, the girl found no trouble stepping out of sight, along this dreary street that led

to the waterfront. In fact, Claire was quite amused by the way that Kim stared past her, as if at some

Here, only a short block from the waterfront, the blare of big fog whistles sounded mournfully from a mist

that was creeping in from the river. A raw, unseasonable shudder brought chills to Claire as she sidled to a

welcome doorway, which not only cut off the damp air, but kept her from Kim's sight.

About to cross the last street, Kim had paused. He was drawing back to watch a figure on the opposite corner,

one that loomed spectrally in the fog. For the moment, Kim's imagination was stirred by recollections of

Kim forced a laugh when he saw the man across the way dwindle to human proportions. The only thing he

didn't like was the fellow's slow gait. It reminded Kim too much of the popular conception of a headquarters

With a quick turn, Kim started down the other street, the one that ran parallel to the waterfront. It would be

considerably longer, going around to the Cafe Trinidad and approaching it from another direction, but it

So that was the route Kim took and Claire tagged after him, with the droopy man following in the wake of

both. All because of the stolid figure across the way, a man who might have no bearing on the case at all.

Except that his connection was most important. Hardly had Kim changed course before that watcher from

across the street stepped idly into the fog, quickening his pace as soon as he knew that the mist had

swallowed him. He intended to reach the Cafe Trinidad first and with time to spare.

That man who had touched the triple trail like the cog of a passing wheel was none other than Jim Brodick,

FROM the moment that he entered the Cafe Trinidad, Jim Brodick wisely decided to make his business quiet

and confidential. That meant going to the back of the barroom that constituted the visible portion of this

waterfront dive, because the place was well stocked with a noisy throng of typical characters found in these

The back of the place was even noisier because of a strident, garish jukebox standing by a door that led to a

rear room. But there was a longjawed, highshouldered man behind the bar who looked ready for an

interview, particularly when Jim heard one of the customers call him by his name, which happened to be

The longjawed man gave a narroweyed squint as though trying to recognize this stranger. Then:

"Rico told me to stop by," said Brodick. "Provided I didn't hear from him, which I haven't."

"The one from Martinique," supplied Jim. "Down there they knew him as Enrico Envares."

Big Charley stepped from behind the bar, opened the door to the back room and bawled above the racket of

What stepped to the doorway was so big it made Charley look little. It was so big, in fact, that Brodick

wondered how it had gotten through the doorway in the first place. Such was Juju, a huge West Indian, whose

complexion had the tawn of a lion's mane. With features as massive as his build, Juju specialized on ears.

Evidently he was proud of them, because he had adorned their lobes not merely with coins, but with a pair of

Little Big Charley said something in a gibberish tongue that Juju understood. It referred to Jim Brodick

because Charley helped the visitor into the back room by clamping a hamsized hand upon his back and

hoisting him across the threshold. Brodick would have sprawled if it hadn't been for Juju. With a raucous

laugh the giant spread one great paw, caught Jim with it, propelled him to a chair and eased his landing by

Juju didn't sit down. There wasn't a chair in the place that would have supported him. He just touched the

door with his elbow and it slammed; then, spreading himself against the door, Juju queried:

It took plenty of nerve for Brodick to grin; more for him to do it in wise fashion, nevertheless Jim managed it.

When Jim Brodick played smart, he played smart. His statement satisfied Juju for the giant gave a short nod

"To get some mail that came for Rico," explained Brodick. "He wanted me to pick it up if anything happened

With that, Juju went out through another door and Brodick saw that it led to a stairway. There was also a

passage which Jim figured might lead to a side door, but he didn't deem it expedient to look, not even when

Juju went upstairs. Brodick wasn't particularly worried now, because he couldn't picture Juju talking it over

with friends. Juju wouldn't need any help if he decided to get tough and what with the chairs and tables in the

Besides, from the creaks that threatened to cave in the ceiling, Brodick decided quite correctly that Juju had

It didn't take Juju long. He returned with a large, thick envelope plastered with a lot of funny looking stamps.

"This." Brodick produced Claverly's quartertoken. "Rico gave it to me. He told me what it means."

"Can't do it, Juju." Brodick shook his head. "Not telling was part of my deal with Rico."

Brodick was playing it more than smart now; he was acting on Claverly's advice. Jim's refusal to talk pleased

Juju, who responded with a great gleaming smile. He handed Brodick the envelope and with finger and

thumb gently closed Jim's fist over the precious quartercoin, meaning for Jim to put it away. Brodick did,

stretching his hand to see if it still worked. Juju's idea of being gentle was about the equivalent of a pair of

Now Juju was gesturing to the door, but Jim shook his head and waved the other way.

"I need a better way out," informed Brodick. "The guys who were after Rico. They're after me."

That satisfied Juju. He was about to show Jim the other way out, when the door flung open, revealing Big

Charley with his hand clamped on another visitor's back. A moment later, Kim Radnor was coming headlong

Catching Kim with one hand, Juju brought back Brodick with the other. Juju's grin was very happy; here was

his chance to do a favor for Brodick, an established friend of Rico. But there was something in Juju's leer that

Brodick didn't like. Charley's suggestion about "sorting them out" appeared to have registered with Juju.

As for Kim, he took a look at Brodick and preferred Juju, particularly when the giant asked:

What Kim supplied was his quarter of a certain silver coin that was much rarer than he supposed. To Juju's

eyes it was a duplicate of the token that Brodick not only carried, but was bringing out again to prove his

"So Rico have two friend!" voiced Juju. "Both get same thing from him. Very funny when Rico only have

Eyes glistening in a dangerous way, Juju lowered his head and let his features turn savage. Big hands

extended, one to each man's neck, he shifted his gaze from one claimant to the other, as he told them:

"Rico only give to one. He say other people may show same thing, but he only have one to give. Anybody get

the same somewhere else" Juju jangled his medals with a headshake "they now say Rico give it."

Kim flashed a sharp look to Brodick. This was no time to dispute minor issues. The man mountain that

answered to the name of Juju was apt to try the egg trick of Columbus, using two heads as eggs and balancing

Brodick seemed to understand Kim's flash, to interpret it as a suggestion that they both get out if possible and

settle their own dispute later. Ganging up on Juju looked like the only course, but it was preferable to humor

him first. Because ganging up on Juju called for a gang in the full sense of the word.

"Sure, Rico had two friends," began Kim. "I know this fellow" he gestured to Brodick "not by name "

"Because I don't go around giving my name," interrupted Brodick. "That's the way it was with most of Rico's

Suspicion still was flashing from Juju's eyes, until Brodick allayed it with further reference to Kim.

"Yeah, he was a friend of Rico's," added Brodick, "except that Rico didn't give him that chunk of coin. Rico

Not only was Brodick fixing matters his own way; he was establishing claim to the envelope that Kim didn't

even know about, the envelope that was already stuck in Brodick's own pocket. But even without knowing

that added detail, Kim was ready to brand Brodick a doublecrosser, whoever or whatever else the fellow

was. Kim worked a hand toward a pocket where he had a gun; maybe that was why Brodick softened his

"Let me handle the guy, Juju. You don't want any killing around here" Brodick's hand was also moving to a

Juju was laughing beyond control, inspired perhaps by Brodick's suggestion that killing wouldn't be in order

at the Cafe Trinidad. Shifting his big hands like a seamstress taking in a tuck, Juju gathered both men into the

Each man let his fist go open, so that the tokens dropped into the respective pockets where the guns were. But

neither Kim nor Brodick could budge a hand an inch further to reach their individual guns. Turning toward

the door that led upstairs, Juju was about to lug his cramped prisoners along, when something stopped him

That something was a gun, held in a thin hand, with a pair of beady eyes narrowed above the revolver

muzzle, eyes that stared from a pasty, droopy face. This man was the one who had trailed Kim and Claire

Vaguely, Kim Radnor remembered the face as one that he had seen somewhere and didn't like. But Jim

In a tone as startled as the breathcrushing clamp of Juju's arm would allow, Brodick exclaimed:

TRAILS were crossing and with a vengeance, or something that rather closely resembled it.

Just who was out to avenge whom was the question. If Doc Zurber wanted to square anything, it could only

apply to his stooges Beef the Butch and Mongoose Morry. Only Doc apparently had other things in mind

Covering Juju with his gun, Zurber did other things with his quick eyes. He took in the status of Kim Radnor

and Jim Brodick, their hands hanging loosely at their sides. He saw the envelope poking from Brodick's

What Zurber didn't like was the door leading out to the front room of the Cafe Trinidad. So he gestured for

Juju to move back in that direction, which the giant did, hauling Kim and Brodick along like a pair of

With a quick, sidling move, Zurber reached a deeper corner of the room, from which he could watch the side

door that he himself had entered. In the process he gave a quick, darty shoulder glance and saw a narrow

That window was open, but it was useless as an exit. It wasn't large enough to admit anything much bigger

than a cat and only a cat could have reached it from outdoors, because the window was above a deepset

Across the court was the edge of a roof, with black sky above it. Even the lights of the city didn't penetrate

The scene was becoming more than a bit fantastic, with Juju, who looked like something out of this world,

still clutching his two captives as he glared at Zurber, who was a human oddity in his own right. In every

action, Zurber showed that lazy speed which characterizes a certain breed of dope addict. Maybe the fantasy

of the thing fitted with some of his occasional pipe dreams, for Zurber's smile was more than cunning.

But there wasn't a doubt that Doc Zurber was in his right wit. Jim Brodick appreciated the fact and only too

"Sure I remember you," returned Zurber. "Kind of seems we always had different ideas, didn't we?"

"Until now," stated Brodick. "What we've been after lately is one and the same thing. I might say things."

With that, Jim Brodick laughed and Doc Zurber relaxed into a wise smile that properly suited the quick darts

of his nervous eyes. As for Kim Radnor, he was quite astonished. Above him, like something from the clouds

It was Juju, relishing this comedy, having his laugh at the expense of these little people. A primitive type,

Juju, and therefore quite to the point in thinking things out. If Zurber and Brodick turned out to be friends, so

much the better from Juju's standpoint. Holding Brodick as a hostage, Juju could afford to laugh off the threat

"Naturally it doesn't matter," decided Zurber, in a sneering tone. "Jacques and Rico knew what their tokens

"They know the pass words," reminded Brodick. "Maybe Jacques and Rico told them more."

Brodick understood. That proof could be summed very simply. In the case of Jacques, it was the diary he had

given to Cap Winslow, now in the possession of Jerome Claverly. With Rico, the item in question was the

precious packet with the Spanish postage stamps, that now reposed in Brodick's own pocket.

A wise pair, Jim Brodick and Doc Zurber, but Brodick fancied himself the wiser. To prove it, he queried:

"It might bring him into the open. Then he would tell what he knows if anything."

"No." Zurber shook his head. "But I expect one. When he reads what I wrote, he will do what I want. I know

Brodick started to move forward but Juju's heavy clamp restrained him, even twisting him into a position

where he served as a better shield against Zurber's aim. Relaxing, Brodick stated for Zurber's benefit:

"I wouldn't be surprised," conceded Zurber. "Anyway, I'll take a chance on it." Steadying his aim above

Juju's response was to play dumb. He looked from one prisoner to the other as though wondering which man

Zurber meant. Then, rather blankly, Juju decided in favor of Kim Radnor. He thrust that young man forward

so vehemently that Kim stumbled, which gave Juju a chance to pluck him back again.

Zurber's reaction was an ugly snarl. He accentuated his shoulder stoop by thrusting forward with his gun, to

That was when Claire Winslow became a witness to the proceedings. The girl appeared quite abruptly at the

door where Zurber had entered, stopping short on the threshold, when she viewed the gripping scene within.

It was truly fantastic, viewing Kim in the clutch of the titanic Juju, with Brodick, a man Claire didn't

recognize, held in a similar vise. As for Zurber, the man who in some degree controlled the situation, Claire

remembered him immediately as the droopyfaced character who had been lounging at the subway exit.

Maybe Claire's wits were quick, but she had the answer instantly. Zurber must have tagged along from Kim's

apartment. Riding the subway, he'd adopted the expedient of getting off first at every stop, then hopping on

again when he failed to see Kim emerge from another car. Maybe Zurber had figured on the station where

Kim really intended to get off; at any rate, Zurber was out through the exit by the time Kim really left the

No wonder Kim and Claire had both passed him by as a mere lounger! Now, Zurber was reaping the benefit.

Even the massive Juju showed respect for Zurber's present mood. Crouched almost to the level of the men he

gripped, Juju was cringing forward as though drawn by a magnetic beckon from the gun muzzle that covered

him. Of all the men in that tense scene, not one noticed Claire's arrival. Their own problems held their full

Drawing deep into her own doorway, Claire looked toward the other exit, the one that led out through the

front of the cafe. She could have sworn that the door was opening, as if to admit a gliding figure. Then she

realized that what she was seeing was the illusion caused by Juju's mammoth shadow, sidling grotesquely

across the room, growing as the giant moved away from it, because Juju was looming closer to the light.

That however was impossible or practically so because Claire herself had cut off contact with her former

rescuer. She'd let Kim Radnor assume such responsibilities and that Kim had botched the job was evident.

Claire wasn't quite sure about this setup. Who was making a deal with whom seemed something of a

mystery. The only sound that could be heard was a swell of the jukebox music from beyond the front room

"Let him go!" This was again for Juju. "If you don't, I'll croak you like I croaked Cap Winslow! He and I are

working for the same guy, I tell you! Maybe you'd like to know who the big shot is. All right, I'll tell you.

He's got dough, the big shot has, and plenty; and he's where you can't reach him. His name is "

The penetrating music of the jukebox muffled itself, giving the singular effect of silence producing an

interruption. But there was more than a hush in the scene that followed. There was action, with results as

Claire saw the blackness from the closed door come to life, thrusting forward as though to launch itself past

Juju, in hope of reaching Zurber before he went busy with his gun. Juju's own action, however, was enough

For Juju had reared high and given his great form a forward fling as he hurled two missiles at Zurber. Those

missiles were two men named Radnor and Brodick; Juju was heaving them crosswise at Zurber to screen his

Doc Zurber needed a splitsecond decision, whether he should dodge or try to shoot between those pellmell

figures. In that instant, Claire saw a glint that she momentarily mistook for a silent gun flash, except that it

The thing zinged from the window behind Zurber, arrowing straight for Doc's crouched back. He hit the floor

face forward, so hard, so suddenly that he was out of the path that Kim and Brodick followed in their

headlong sprawl. They were rolling under the shelter of the window, those two, with Zurber lying behind

That Doc Zurber had taken his death stroke, Claire knew upon that instant. He'd played big on his own; too

loudly had he shown his willingness to name the master of murder who was behind this whole strange game.

Outside, watching from the roof across the court, that master had heard and acted. He couldn't have trusted so

swift and timely a stroke to a mere apprentice. In fact, his disposal of Doc Zurber proved that this unknown

Murder from the air and it was still in the air, for all Claire knew. Who was there here who could challenge

As if in answer, there came another proof that the impossible could happen. The cramped room of death was

Now he was taking over and in fast style. Claire had really seen The Shadow's shrouded form, coming from

that other door; the swell of the music had accompanied his entrance. But The Shadow had been timing his

Unfortunately, The Shadow hadn't arrived quite soon enough to prevent that murder from the dark; or rather,

Doc Zurber had spoken out of turn too soon. Now The Shadow in his turn was seeking to amend Zurber's

In one sense, Zurber's death didn't matter because the crook was a selfadmitted murderer in his own right.

What did matter was the fact that Zurber hadn't lived long enough to spill the name of the man higher up. The

Shadow had been giving Zurber time to do just that, but now the chance was gone.

The Shadow's present chance was to deal with the killer in person, to halt his flight from the opposite roof

edge. That was why The Shadow whirled past Juju, beyond the dazed figures of Kim and Brodick.

Even The Shadow's laugh had special purpose. It wasn't a giveaway; it was a tantalizing taunt, the sort that

would hold the murderer where he was. Killers who thought themselves secure were invariably gripped by

the magnetic force of that mirth; they usually deemed it expedient to stay and learn what happened to

This murderer was no exception. From the window, The Shadow saw his crouched form vague across the

roof edge, an arm extended as if in completion of the death throw that had finished Zurber.

Finger on trigger, gun aimed at the lurking killer, The Shadow twisted as Juju loomed upon him. That was the

reason for Claire's scream, and The Shadow recognized the fact. His gun spurted in a quick effort to wing the

unknown killer, but it was too late. Juju's giant grip was already upon The Shadow.

A gun from the roof edge repeated answers to The Shadow's single shot. Bullets were hailing down through

the narrow window, following the general course that the whizzing knife had traced. They were spattering the

stone floor, those bullets, ricocheting all around Zurber's body, but they weren't finding living targets.

The Shadow and Juju had wheeled clear across the room, while Kim Radnor and Jim Brodick had dived for

handy corners. Still somewhat dazed, they were poor witnesses to the amazing struggle that Claire Winslow

It was something like a cobra and a mongoose, with Juju the cobra, The Shadow the mongoose. Except that

Juju handled himself as no snake ever could. One of his stunts was picking up tables and chairs, flinging

Conversely, The Shadow had a weapon better than a mongoose's teeth. He was using his heavy automatic as

a bludgeon to bash at Juju's skull. But reaching Juju's head was a problem in itself; to dent it, was something

However, The Shadow gained one quick advantage and made the most of it. Juju wasn't using the furniture in

expert fashion; therefore it was plain that he regarded chairs and such as obstacles more than as weapons. In

brief, Juju was cramped. He wanted scope. This room wasn't big enough for a fighter of his bullish

So The Shadow worried Juju, twisting every time the giant charged, letting the huge man bash himself

against the wall. Kim and Brodick were staring steadily now, awed by the terrific fray. Shots had ceased from

the roof edge across the court. Zurber's murderer had decided to be on his way. That thought made Claire

frantic, but she felt herself glued to this spot until she saw the finish to the battle.

The door from the front room flung open, admitting the man called Big Charley. He hurled himself upon The

Shadow, hoping to aid Juju. The struggle became a triple tangle and Juju saw a way to end it. He started for

the open door, carrying the others along. In that front room, Juju would have all the scope he wanted.

Briefly the human cluster jammed the door, then punched through and reached the main room of the cafe.

Kim Radnor bounded after the brawlers and Jim Brodick started along, only to turn and change his mind.

Claire guessed what Jim intended; he was coming her direction. So the girl took the only course; she fled out

In the front room, The Shadow showed what he could do with the space that Juju wanted. Clouting Charley,

The Shadow sagged the fellow, then used him as a springboard to reach Juju with a telling gunswing.

That stroke reeled Juju. Halfstaggering he blundered up against the jukebox. All was black in front of

Juju's gaze, but he knew what he'd bumped, because the music machine was giving in its usual uninhibited

style. Picking up the huge contrivance, Juju whirled, shouting defiance at The Shadow.

Men dropped away and stood there frozen, Kim among them. The path was open, out through the front of the

cafe, but Kim didn't take it. This Gargantuan action of Juju's was something to watch. Not only did the giant

The music snapped off as Juju wheeled. With full force, Juju hurled the jukebox at the blackness which

confronted him. But the same halfblindness that added to Juju's superstrength made it impossible for him

That wall was a darkstained partition to a hallway of the house next door. The Shadow wasn't at the

particular spot where Juju aimed the jukebox; he was at least six feet away. He was reversing his course,

however, to trick Juju in case the huge man tried to change his fling, which Juju didn't.

With a mighty smash, the jukebox split the partition and crashed a solid wall across the hall beyond.

Amazed men were staring at a great, gaping hole in the side of the Cafe Trinidad. Then, with a twist, a mass

Back came The Shadow's laugh, triumphant, mocking in its departing strains. The Shadow had more

important tasks than battling with Juju. He was practically thanking the stupid Goliath of the Cafe Trinidad

for having provided him with a quick and satisfactory exit, a path that would enable The Shadow to take up a

Kim Radnor decided that he too should he going. The front door being handy, Kim used it, while the patrons

of the cafe were still staring dumbly at the jagged space that had absorbed The Shadow.

As for The Shadow trailing a murderer, he might have, if he'd been able to find Shrevvy's cab. But Shrevvy

had already given priority to another person from the Cafe Trinidad. Dashing around through the courtyard

behind the cafe, Claire Winslow had reached the street and found the cab waiting there.

Hardly was the girl in the cab and away, before Jim Brodick came along. Staying back from sight, Brodick

watched to see if anything else happened and it did. A rakish car pushed from an alleyway and took up the

cab's trail. With a short laugh, Brodick clutched the envelope in his pocket to make sure it was still there;

then, hustling across the street, he took off through the alley that he knew must now be empty.

It didn't take Shrevvy many blocks to guess that his cab was being tagged. His process therefore was to shake

off any trailing cars, which he attempted in his most adept style. Only tonight, it didn't work.

At one corner or another, the same car or its twin would pop into sight from an unexpected direction. It

dawned on Shrevvy that there might be as many as a dozen such cars and Claire was beginning to get the

It was a game of cat and mouse with a flock of cats all after the same mouse. To clash with any of these

mystery cars would be suicidal, for then their occupants would really become tough. About Shrevvy's only

During an hour of this, Shrevvy discovered one neighborhood that was helpful. Among the twisty streets of

Greenwich Village, he shook off the pursuers, only to run into them again. At least the brief respite gave

Shortly, Shrevvy hauled up in front of a red light, alongside another cab that had a keeneyed driver. This

was some thirtyodd blocks from the Village and Shrevvy knew that at least one car was close at hand,

keeping close watch on him. Nevertheless, Shrevvy maneuvered a knowing glance to the driver of the other

cab, conveying the fact that as one hackie to another, Shrevvy was in a bad spot.

The other cabby nodded to show he understood. Just as the traffic light went green, Shrevvy flipped a wadded

The paths of the two cabs parted, but that made it all the better. In the back seat, Claire noted that Shrevvy's

cab was cutting loose with new maneuvers, beginning a valiant effort to shake off the opposition.

Just where this would lead and to what, Claire couldn't guess. To another meeting with The Shadow, Claire

hoped. In fact, that was just what Shrevvy was aiming after, but there was no predicting what might happen.

Actually, Claire Winslow was entering the most singular episode of all that she had so far encountered!

SHREVVY'S cab screeched into a threequarters turn and jolted to a sharp stop. Through the window,

"Don't argue," broke in Shrevvy. "Keep within these few blocks and I'll be back. Only you've got to let me

When the cab had disappeared around a complicated corner, Claire tried to figure where she really was.

Somewhere in Greenwich Village; at least she knew that much. The best plan now was to shift around and

On foot, Claire began a sneak through silent, ominous streets. Odd how few cars there were around here, or at

least how few there were until Claire reached a thoroughfare where traffic was heavier. Across the street, a

Instead, the girl darted back into the crooked crisscross streets where she felt safer. Only that illusion wasn't

Within a block, Claire sensed that she was being followed. She saw men cross the street, keeping parallel to

her own course. When she tried another street, a man appeared at a far corner, as though waiting her arrival.

It was the same as with the cars. Just as they'd boxed Shrevvy's cab all around Manhattan, so were these

Fortunately there was another street that cut in at an angle, so Claire took it. Again she changed direction at

sight of a suspicious stranger. Claire was half running now, her breath coming in short, despairing gulps. At

last she had to pause and did, pressing close against a brick wall, darting unhappy glances along the street.

She'd wandered from where Shrevvy had left her and would never find her way back to that exact spot now.

Only Claire seemed safe here, until she saw a man blundering around, back near the last corner. So Claire

hurried along another block and a half, if you could measure blocks in this crazy district. There they were

Here, there, back and forth, Claire was on the halfrun all the time. At last she found herself sagging on a

doorstep in a very quiet street. Everywhere she'd run, people had blocked her, but they'd apparently expected

There was a doorway across the street and a deep one, right in the middle of the block. It would be the perfect

place to stay until Shrevvy's cab came roving back if ever. Claire's pursuers if they were really something

other than her imagination could lurk and wait for her, wherever they were. So Claire hurried across the

Looking at the door, Claire saw that it was some sort of a shop. There was a bell beside it; maybe she could

rouse someone and try to pretend she was a customer, wanting to buy whatever the shop sold. So Claire rang

In about half a minute a light turned on. As it did, Claire saw the name that was painted on the glass front of

While Claire was trying to swallow this impossibility, the door opened and she was faced by a stocky man

His expression was both tired and patient; that of a man who looked neither glad nor sorry at finding a late

Claire's voice came low, as if far away, which wasn't surprising, because she felt that this ought to be in

Sargon's eyes blinked and then waited, not a trace of his expression changing. He seemed really something

The introduction clicked. With a bow, Sargon ushered Claire inside, closed the door which Claire was glad to

see had an iron grill work, and threw the bolt. Ushering the girl through an elaboratelystocked antique shop,

Claire could tell that Sargon was a specialist in his business and also that he hailed from the West Indies. His

stock represented a potpourri of early Colonial furniture and ornaments, with a Cosmopolitan trend that only

English furniture in aged mahogany instead of old oak; heavy Dutch tables, even quaint ovens; graceful

French suites that had survived the Revolution all these vied for supremacy, just as their early owners had

But the Spanish predominated. Claire had never seen so many wonderful furnishings and the greatest surprise

was to come. Opening a heavily barred door, Sargon bowed the girl into a replica of an early Spanish patio

with a magnificent tiled floor and a lovely tinkling fountain playing against the background of a beautiful

There was furniture in the patio, fronting the fountain and it was made for outdoor use. Chairs of

wroughtiron, delicately modeled, surrounded a large, ornate table of the same motif. Whether polished,

stained or painted, the ironwork showed a beautiful black gloss finish, which made a pleasing contrast to the

Drawing up two chairs, Sargon invited Claire to sit down; then waited patiently for her to speak.

"If that happened to be your uncle's right name," said Sargon blandly. "I would not know it. There were four

"One was Jacques," said the girl. "He was the one who knew my uncle. He gave something to my uncle "

Here, Claire paused in her turn, thinking to test out Sargon. Quite wisely, the stocky man nodded.

"I know," stated Sargon. "The passwords. That was the arrangement. The four were to meet; they or friends

"All except the names they used." Sargon smiled as he counted them on the stubby fingers of his left hand.

"That was understood." Sargon's eyes narrowed as though giving Claire a silent quiz. "I intended to move

from Fort de France to Havana and I did, at the first opportunity. That was where I assembled so many fine

Colonial antiques that I came here to New York which I had also planned. I have been here only a month"

"Quien sabe?" Sargon shrugged. "Who knows except the men themselves? After all, their business is their

Rising, Sargon politely handed Claire a card that had the telephone number of the antique shop along with the

address. Then, bowing Claire past the fountain, Sargon unlocked a little door in the stone wall.

"Wherever you are going," said Sargon, gesturing to a short street that ended at his wall, "this is probably a

shorter way. Goodnight, Miss Winslow. I shall be glad to tell you when your friends arrive."

There was nothing much to do but leave and Claire hoped that by now the way was clear. But she hadn't gone

three blocks before she sensed that stalking men were again on her trail. Turning another corner, Claire was

terrified at sight of a rakish car, swinging her way, apparently at someone's call.

Then, as if from nowhere, Shrevvy's cab showed up. Its door popped open and Claire was helped in by a

cloaked figure that came twisting out. Then the cab was off and in the distance, Claire heard sounds that

reminded her only too much of those shots that had poured in through the tiny window at the Cafe Trinidad.

Except that now, such shooting helped. It meant that Claire's trailers were being scattered and sent their way

"Good work," said Claverly to Brodick. "This map that Rico sent from Spain covers the Bobadilla question

quite well. It at least shows his intention. I am pleased, too, that Rico mailed it instead of bringing it on his

Jim Brodick showed a sudden indifference that was rather puzzling to Claverly. Coolly, Claverly asked:

"Zurber was a selfadmitted murderer," stated Claverly. "He got what he deserved, according to your own

"Apparently not." Claverly toyed with the quartercoin that bore the letters "BOBA," which Brodick had

returned to him. "You stated yourself that Zurber was about to name the man who hired him."

"Then that was why he died. He was a traitor. I can hardly blame Van Der Van for killing him."

"Van Der Van," repeated Claverly. "In private life a man named Thomas Ingleby. Who else could have had

"Who else?" repeated Claverly. Then, coolly: "Except myself? With Jacques and Rico dead, that leaves only

"That's right," returned Brodick suddenly. "It wasn't long after I'd left the Cafe Trinidad, either."

"A distressing coincidence," expressed Claverly. "If I had vaguely foreseen that murder was in the wind, I

would have stayed home, just to allay your suspicions. But I can assure you, Brodick, I never went in for

"But you must have known after Doc Zurber knocked off Cap Winslow. That is, if you were so sure Van Der

"It might have been Zurber's own idea," speculated Claverly. "Besides, there was the police report "

"Of heart failure," snorted Brodick. "The cops might have thought different if they'd known Doc Zurber was

"And you might have told them," remarked Claverly. "It was you, not I, who suspected Zurber. Remember?"

"I told you once that I don't broadcast," reminded Brodick. "When I take a job, I stick. Maybe I just got the

wrong notion, thinking Zurber and I were both working for you. I guess you wouldn't need two of us, would

Claverly put a dry note to the word that made Brodick stare. Maybe Claverly had begun to realize that he

didn't need two men on the same job. Dispensing with Zurber would therefore have been a due procedure.

"According to your report, Jim," weighed Claverly slowly, "Zurber said he had contacted Van Der Van. That

supports my theory that Ingleby, otherwise Van Der Van, is behind the plan to acquire all the facts

concerning Bobadilla's treasure. It is Ingleby, of course, who has the fourth fraction of the coin.

"Now as a former comrade, Ingleby must have my trust until he declares himself a traitor. He might be such;

he was the only one of the four of us who actually concealed his nationality under the name of Van Der Van.

He did business in Martinique that involved some coded communications which may have come from the

"He didn't, exactly," stated Claverly. "He just happened to receive them while he was in our company. I

remember that twice the police seized him in the little restaurant where those messages came. They searched

"In Martinique?" Claverly gave a short laugh. "If Van Der Van had dared strike a match, the police would

"They couldn't," smiled Claverly, "because Van Der Van always ate the sandwich while they were

Brodick managed a smile of his own and the atmosphere seemed to clear. Rising from his desk, Claverly

"Tell me, Jim," said Claverly quietly, "how would you like to meet Van Der Van?"

"I have to know how he stands," continued Claverly. "Until I learn, it wouldn't be wise to call on Sargon, now

"Because Sargon knows nothing." Watching the reflection of Claverly's face in the window, Brodick could

see it's worried frown. "We were careful not to mention the Bobadilla business to him."

Claverly turned around to give Brodick a straight stare. "Sargon could have hired a boatload of adventurers

and gone into the treasurehunting business on his own, while we four were searching elsewhere for facts to

"Jacque's went to France and gained facts about LeClerq." Claverly gestured to the diary lying on the desk.

"Rico found the Bobadilla map in Spain. Van Der Van was following some clue in England. I was here,

Brodick studied Claverly's face against the pitchblack background of the window. It was odd that the

reflection of Claverly's back did not show in the pane the way his face had. But Brodick was too interested in

"Money for our coming treasure hunt," resumed Claverly. "I've made it in a lot of unusual ways."

"Such as buying up old cars and their drivers with them," remarked Brodick. "That was a great way to get

into the driveyourself business when gas rationing was heavy. Particularly when the guys that owned the

"It was legitimate," smiled Claverly. "It wasn't my business to ask too many questions. I suppose there were

"Maybe," nodded Brodick, "but that wouldn't prevent hiring the boys back, say at a cut rate."

"Anybody else might hire them too," reminded Claverly. "Somebody like Van Der Van for instance."

"And that," put in Brodick promptly, "is just another good reason why I don't want to call on Van Der Van,

That suggestion nearly froze Brodick. He was thinking in terms of Doc Zurber. Maybe if Claverly got rid of

one accessory in favor of another, he would do the same with Brodick, once he found a suitable substitute.

Sensing the source of Brodick's worry, Claverly fairly purred his next statement.

"Say, that's something!" exclaimed Brodick. "It ought to work out easier than it did with Juju. Except "

"Except that The Shadow tagged Radnor to the Trinidad Cafe. How he picked up the trail, I can't guess."

"I thought you were a detective, Jim. It's quite obvious that The Shadow gained the trail through the girl."

"It answers only one question, Jim. There is another, even more important. Did The Shadow trail you here?"

"Not a chance," claimed Jim. "He's probably still down at the Cafe Trinidad, battling Juju."

"Very well then. Get any lead you can to Ingleby and steer young Radnor to him."

Claverly finished with a wave of dismissal. Quite sure that he rated solid with his boss, Brodick took his

leave. Looking back, he saw Claverly still standing at the window, but now the light was such that it cast a

Maybe the light had been right all along. For there was something about that window blackness that Brodick

hadn't calculated. Outside, the window was clearing as though a quota of black smoke had cleared itself from

It wasn't smoke, that substance that filtered rapidly along a narrow cornice that was scarcely more than a

catwalk. The blackness was solid, forming a cloaked figure that reached a corner and swung down to a

Jim Brodick was wrong in thinking The Shadow hadn't trailed him. Finished with matters in the Cafe

Trinidad sooner than Jim supposed, The Shadow had spotted the exdick going through the alley where the

Soon after, The Shadow had watched Brodick dial Claverly's number, but with no response. Then had come

the interval when The Shadow had rescued Claire Winslow after receiving Shrevvy's relayed message. Still,

He could only be one place at a time, The Shadow, but he often created the impression that he could be

anywhere or everywhere. Such was to be his specialty in seeking the remaining answers to the riddle of the

TWO days after the fray in the Cafe Trinidad, the case had simmered down to the status of a mere brawl,

except for the death of Doc Zurber, for which no one in the waterfront joint had been held responsible.

The police had taken Juju's word that somebody had flung the knife from the roof across the court, because

the circumstances indicated such. Furthermore, Zurber, as a known crook, was just the sort to be trying to

stick up the place, a crime of which both Juju and Big Charley accused him. Some of Zurber's enemies had

These theories were solidifying in the mind of Inspector Joe Cardona as he walked stolidly among the narrow

streets of Greenwich Village, pausing at intervals to study doorways that were beginning to show the

deepening touches of dusk. Turning suddenly, Cardona caught a glimpse of a tall figure turning a corner and

Maybe the man heard Cardona coming; at any rate, he turned and calmly confronted the inspector, who

"I might ask you the question," returned Cranston. "You don't buy antiques, do you?"

"Then you're in the wrong neighborhood. About the only attraction here is an antique shop that opened

Cardona suggested that he walk along and Cranston acquiesced, so they strolled together, Cranston's leisurely

gait being just the pace Cardona preferred. It gave Joe a chance to look in doorways, a thing that Cranston

"Just about," returned Cardona. "Remember that shooting down at the Cafe Trinidad?"

"Somebody plugged away with a gun afterward. What's more there were some shots fired back."

"I don't know," he admitted, "but they were slugs from a .45 automatic. Later there was some shooting around

this neighborhood and the same type of bullets were picked up. They tallied with those out back of the Cafe

Mild interest showed in Cranston's eyes. He realized he'd been quite helpful as The Shadow, enabling the

police to link up trails of crime by identifying the bullets that The Shadow had first dispatched after a

murderer with those that he had later used to scatter some of the killer's henchmen.

"Doc Zurber was pretty much of a doublecrosser," opined Cardona, as he started to walk along. "I think

some big shot knocked him off for just that. Whoever the big shot is, he's got some new workers. I wish I

For two days, The Shadow's agents had been checking on former drivers of a hireyourown company which

Claverly had financed, only to learn that at least a dozen had disappeared, cars and all, after Claverly had sold

out the business. These men had been working under assumed names and therefore decided to dodge the

Who they really were, where they had gone, was still a question. The police weren't interested because there

were no criminal charges against any of the men named, since the names were assumed ones in the first

"The business of feeling that I'm being watched," explained Cardona. "It seems as if there were eyes looking

"That's right. This couple of blocks where we are now, well it seems all empty. I mean like nobody was

It was as if a strain had fallen from Cardona's nerves. His gait quickened, his glances toward the houses that

he passed were only casual. Cranston noticed this and if his companion had been anyone but Cardona, he

But Cardona didn't imagine things. His specialty was to have hunches, which was quite another story.

Imagination was something that could grow; a hunch persisted even when you tried to shake it off. Cranston

They were still within the few blocks' area that Cardona had defined when Cranston paused and gestured to a

"You mean the antique shop," said Joe with a nod. "I'll wait here while you go inside."

"The window is interesting," remarked Cranston. "Some of the antiques have been preserved with an

excellent lacquer finish. Such subjects as lacquer are worth studying. Knowledge of even the most trivial

Cardona was too busy looking along the street to appreciate this little lesson. So Cranston strolled into the

antique shop and was met by its proprietor, Simon Sargon. Though this was their first meeting, Sargon had

seen Cranston look in the window before. To Sargon, Cranston had the air of a customer perhaps more.

It wouldn't have surprised Sargon too greatly if Cranston had delivered the curious password of "One for all."

Cranston looked like someone who had been around a large percentage of the world and might have become

acquainted with any of the four adventurers who had held their meetings in the back room in the shop at Fort

In fact, Cranston mentioned Martinique, remembering Sargon from there, but he seemed somewhat surprised

"I seem to recall seeing you in a restaurant," said Cranston. "You looked like a regular patron."

"There was a lot of excitement in the place the last time I was there. I remember that the police arrested

"One of my friends," acknowledged Sargon. "There was one that the police arrested so often it became a

Sargon's eyes regained their expectant stare, but Cranston didn't even ask the friend's name, let alone give the

Sargon explained that the special finish went far to preserve rare items, particularly in tropical lands. As an

"It belonged to Cortez," assured Sargon. "He probably used it as a repository for gems that he took from

"Ah, non, m'sieu," returned Sargon, reverting to his habit of using brief foreign phrases. "It was in Havana

"Si, senor." Discussion of Havana switched Sargon from French to Spanish. "Precisely as you see it there."

"Very many. They were kept by the old families. Most of them have not been touched for years, sometimes

centuries. But it is only those with fine lacquer finish that remain so well preserved."

Sargon was gesturing to other antiques that came in the same classification as the Cortez cabinet. Then he

began extolling the merits of other West Indian curios until finally he and Cranston arrived in the patio with

There, Sargon laid some of his finest merchandise on the table and stood by while Cranston examined it. An

interruption came when the telephone rang back in the shop. Excusing himself, Sargon left.

Immediately, Cranston pushed against the table so that his chair slid back lightly across the smooth tiling.

Then, with unheard footfalls, he moved to the doorway and caught Sargon's telephone conversation.

"I am sorry, Miss Winslow," the antique, dealer was saying, "but, I have heard nothing... Certainment, you

"Only now, a gentleman came into the shop who spoke of Martinique... No, he was not one of them, but soon

they will learn that I am here... Yes, then, we may hope for a meeting of all... Of course they will consider

Cranston was moving away when he heard Sargon end the call with an "Adios, senorita." Back in the patio,

he was examining the objets d'art when Sargon returned. It was closing time, so Sargon offered to show

Cranston out the shortroute to the back street, but the customer decided to go the usual way.

Out front, Cranston rejoined Cardona and they strolled through the thickening darkness. After a few blocks,

"The lacquer business," agreed Cranston, with a nod. "I knew you'd agree, inspector."

"Who said anything about lacquer? I'm talking about my hunch. They're at it again."

Hand to his gun, Cardona shifted warily, looking for figures that he couldn't see. Cranston's eyes, keener than

Cardona's, detected motion at the nearest corner, a head, bobbing from sight. For a few blocks, Cardona kept

"We're out of it now," he grunted. "But it's kind of uncanny." Then, with a regretful laugh, Cardona added:

"Guess I'm getting old, the way the jitters crawl up on me sometimes. I'd better go spend a quiet evening, like

"You'll have to start your research with four hundred years ago," said Cranston, with a departing smile.

Once he parted from Cardona, Cranston walked swiftly, silently through the dark. His stride was in its way

JOE CARDONA hadn't any copyright on the feeling that eyes were peering at him from unexpected places.

Jim Brodick was worrying over the same trouble, except that in Jim's case, it wasn't confined to a restricted

area of Manhattan. Anywhere that Brodick went and almost at any time, he might feel himself being watched.

The trouble was, Jim couldn't call the shots. He was always late in trying to spot the persons watching him.

Sometimes he suspected passing cab drivers; at other times some fellow subway rider. Or it might be a girl,

window shopping on the avenue; maybe just a door man, bowing a guest into a hotel. Occasionally some

idler on the street would shamble away when Brodick glanced in the man's direction.

This wasn't all imagination. Jim Brodick was actually being watched and by a crew of experts, The Shadow's

agents. For upon Brodick hinged the next step in the case of the broken pieceofeight, the finding of Van

Four men: adventurers at best; rascals at worst. Men who once had answered to the names of Jacques, Rico,

Van Der Van and Cheerio. Of these, Jacques and Rico were dead, with substitutes appointed in their places;

but those alternates, Claire Winslow and Kim Radnor, knew nothing of the stake involved.

Two men knew that stake: Van Der Van and Cheerio. One's real name was Thomas Ingleby; the other's,

What added to Brodick's worry was the business of finding himself watched by people he couldn't spot.

Thinking of The Shadow as a lone wolf, Brodick was positive that either Ingleby or Claverly was the person

It added up, this theory, because Brodick knew that some criminal brain was using helpers and that excluded

Beef the Butch and Mongoose Morry had served as tools for murder, but had proved inadequate. They'd been

handled by Doc Zurber, who had told them nothing, but had proved himself a blabber in his own right. So

Zurber had been wiped from the slate and now the master mind was using a reserve crew that he'd had on tap.

Like Cardona, Brodick classed this bunch as snoopers and snipers, working hand in glove and for a price. If

tracked down, they'd know nothing; the big brain would have planned for that. He wouldn't be trusting

One or the other and Brodick didn't want to meet the other. Knowing one, Claverly, was bad enough, but

chances were fiftyfifty that Claverly wasn't the man behind murder. For Brodick to add Ingleby to his list of

acquaintances would be like tossing a coin and calling both heads and tails as losers.

Nevertheless, Brodick was hunting Ingleby rather than run the risk of Claverly's displeasure. Whether spies

were watching Jim in Ingleby's behalf, to see he didn't find the man he wanted; or whether they were

appointed by Claverly to see that Jim went through with the hunt, was still a mystery.

So big a mystery that it didn't actually exist. But even if Brodick had learned that the persons checking on

him were agents of The Shadow, it wouldn't have changed Jim's analysis of the Ingleby Claverly enigma.

At least Brodick had done a good job with his individual manhunt. So far, he'd traced half a dozen places

where a Mr. Ingleby had lived. He'd even found a picture of the fellow, among some old photographs of a

Ingleby was of blocky build with a square, chunky face that could have passed for English or Dutch,

according to whichever name he used. Ingleby looked both tough and dangerous, his square face quite as hard

as Claverly's tapering yet rugged features. One man that Jim Brodick didn't want to catch up with was

Jim wouldn't if he could help it. That part of the assignment was something that Claverly was willing to leave

to Kim Radnor, provided that Jim Brodick supervised. Of course Kim wasn't to know that he had been

So now, with darkness, Brodick was making what he hoped would be his last stop, a boarding house which

he had picked as Ingleby's probable residence. He was a keen hand, Brodick, at picking up shreds of

evidence. He'd found at one place that Mr. Ingleby doted on apples, so in other neighborhoods, Brodick had

At present, Brodick had shaken off the feeling that he was being followed. Reaching the door of the house he

wanted, Jim looked along the street and saw nothing but patchy blackness that didn't move. So Jim rang the

door bell and the moment a tubby landlady opened it, the exdick bowed himself inside, closed the door

behind him with one hand while he removed his hat with the other. Then the hat hand moved backward and

smothered sight of the door knob while Jim's fingers shot the bolt beneath that knob.

Very cute, Jim's way of making sure that nobody walked in on one of his interviews. Neat, too, his system of

asking for Ingleby. He didn't refer to him either by that name or the other, Van Der Van.

"I'm selling apples, lady," introduced Jim. "Not one at a time, nor even by the dozen, but by the barrel." Then,

Before the landlady could say she didn't want any apples, Brodick explained further.

"There's one of your boarders likes apples," Jim confided. "He'll save money, buying choice Baldwins by the

"That's right," bowed Jim. "But I know what Mr. Carruthers will say when I offer him a barrel. He'll say he

can't keep them in his room, because you'd object, which would be reasonable. But if you had space in your

"You sell the apples," she agreed, "and I'll find a place for Mr. Carruthers to keep them. Only you can't see

Jim Brodick was very disappointed; at least he looked it. Jim was good at looking that way when he didn't

"He was phoning somebody," recalled the landlady. "I think the number was Martindale 83642. I remember

Brodick's hand was drawing the bolt and numbly. He knew that Martindale number and only too well. It

belonged to Jerome Claverly, who happened to be out as the landlady intimated. Jim knew, because he'd tried

At least it wasn't Brodick's business to be around when it happened. Furthermore, to find the trail leading

back to Claverly's was something of a jolt. At any rate, it solved one problem which had given Brodick some

qualms; that of precipitating Kim Radnor into anything resembling the Juju situation at the Cafe Trinidad.

If two of the Bobadilla coin owners were getting together, it wouldn't be out of line for Brodick to tell a third

where to find them. So Jim bowed himself out of the boarding house, down the steps, and off in the direction

It was living blackness that had trailed Brodick to the boarding house, for with night The Shadow had

personally taken over this task. The Shadow, fully cloaked, had been one of those motionless patches that

Brodick had eyed across the street. Later, The Shadow had moved up to the door, but there hadn't been time

for him to take special measures with the inside bolt that Brodick had so wisely thrown.

Likewise Brodick's conversation had been too brief for The Shadow to bring into play a special sound

detector that he carried, but it was hardly necessary, since The Shadow was still on Brodick's trail. He

became lurking blackness outside the window phone booth where Jim started to call Kim Radnor.

Brodick didn't get the number and The Shadow knew why. Kim was out; The Shadow's agents had so

reported. Brodick sat back in the booth and waited; evidently he was going to try Kim's apartment again. So

Away from the outer darkness of the drug store window, The Shadow signaled a cab that whipped up

instantly. With Shrevvy at the wheel, The Shadow was off on a speedy trip that would get him to Kim's

Unless Kim Radnor happened to get back within those minutes, Jim. Brodick would find himself giving

Claire Winslow was counting minutes as she stood outside of Kim Radnor's apartment door, wondering why

he didn't get back. It was three minutes now, since Claire had heard the telephone jangling on the other side

Nervously, Claire tightened her hands on the bag she carried, the bag that contained that mystery token in the

form of a quarter coin of Spanish origin. Then, when she was about ready to give up, Claire heard Kim

The trouble was the telephone gave up before Kim could unlock the door while saying hello to Claire. Once

Kim's answer was a rather sulky stare. He and Claire had been batting it out at every meeting since that night

at the Cafe Trinidad. Claire felt she'd told Kim pretty much all of her business and that it was time he

So far, Claire was still in the dark as to Kim's status except that she knew he'd been checking on a friend

named Rico, who might have known Claire's Uncle Belshazzar. Unquestionably Kim wanted to help Claire

by keeping her out of trouble, but for all she knew, he might have some special design behind that process.

Still, Claire was following Kim's advice about not going back to see Rutledge Mann, just on the chance that

Kim was right and Mann was wrong. Finding out about one at a time seemed the best process. Claire was still

concentrating on Kim because she'd almost learned a lot at the Cafe Trinidad; in fact would have, if she'd

Now, just as Claire was laying her hat and bag aside, the telephone began another ring. Kim met Claire's

expectant stare and gestured toward the door. Claire refused to budge until she realized the call wouldn't be

answered if she didn't, so she stepped outside and slammed the door after her, hoping she'd hear some of the

Kim's talk was quite brief. He opened the door and bowed Claire to a chair. Then, stepping to an inner room,

"I'm getting ready to go out. Sorry I can't ask you to come along, Claire, but I'll call you later."

"I might be out," retorted Claire. Artfully, she was drawing pencil and pad from her handbag. "Where could

If Claire expected Kim to give an address or a phone number, she was quickly disappointed. Blandly he

Claire scarcely heard. She was digging in her bag and frantically looking for that quarter coin which she

Only Kim could have taken it. He must have gone through the bag while he was talking on the telephone. If

A drawer was slightly open in the telephone table. Claire pounced for it; then restrained herself as she drew

the drawer softly open. Glimmering in the light were two shiny objects: one a revolver, the other the quarter

Coming out of the inner room, Kim stopped abruptly to find Claire facing him with both fists clenched. From

one hand poked Kim's own revolver; he could guess what was in the other. Idly, Kim laughed:

"You mean you found it," returned Claire, firmly. "That chunk of coin was in my bag."

"Look at it," he insisted. "You'll see that the inscription differs. There are four of those tokens, Claire."

The girl opened her hand, but her eyes still doubted. Then, rather than waste time, Kim was profiting by

Claire's turn of attention. Leaping across the room, he grabbed for the girl's hands and caught them.

Claire let him get the coin, but she clung to the gun. Springing for the door she opened it and wheeled on the

threshold, aiming straight at Kim. Framed against blackness, Claire's face was pale and defiant as she

At that, Kim lunged. Crazy of him to rush the gun for Claire meant what she said. Still thinking it was all

subterfuge, that Kim had actually stolen her token, Claire would have pressed the trigger automatically if

It was living blackness from the hallway with one arm that encircled Claire so that its hand could twist the

gun from her grasp, while the other hand was snapping off the light switch. Then Kim was in the swirl, never

Out of that twist the revolver thudded in the hallway. Kim scooped it up and slammed the door behind him.

On a dash down the gloomy hall, he could hear Claire fuming from beyond the door and thought she was

Actually, Claire was still struggling with The Shadow. The struggle ended abruptly with Claire finding

herself welltangled in a cloaked grasp. The Shadow had pressed the light switch again and Claire was

staring into burning eyes that seemed to commend her fighting spirit, despite the problems it had produced.

"He took the coin," the girl exclaimed, referring to Kim. "The token my uncle gave me."

There beside the bag lay the missing token. Claire had dropped it when taking out the paper and pencil. She

"Then Kim did have one of his own!" Claire exclaimed. "And now I don't know where he's gone. How can

In answer, The Shadow started Claire out through the hallway and down the stairs. Outside, Shrevvy's cab

wheeled up and a hunchshouldered little man bobbed into sight from the doorway of an adjoining house.

The little man who answered to the name of Hawkeye, was one of The Shadow's most reliable agents. He'd

heard Kim give an address to a cab driver who had happened along before Shrevvy could pick up Kim as a

It wasn't far to Claverly's, but Kim Radnor with his head start was the first to arrive there. Finding Claverly's

apartment wasn't difficult; you went right up to the penthouse. At least that was the method that Kim had

heard across the telephone from a mysterious informant whose voice sounded a lot like that of Jim Brodick.

Whether this trip meant new complications or would simplify matters, Kim didn't entirely care. The voice had

Finding the penthouse door unlocked, Kim opened it and walked right in. Crossing a thicktufted rug he

came into a palatial living room which had a corner alcove. There, stooped in front of a very modern looking

safe was a blocky man who was trying the combination while he referred to some numbers on an unfolded

If this happened to be Van Der Van, his other name wasn't Claverly. This could hardly be his safe because he

hesitated too much and even then didn't get the combination right. With a low snarl, the man arose and darted

Seeing Kim, the blocky man went savage. Kim saw a square face, furious and purple, coming at him behind a

pair of clutching hands. Kim hadn't time to draw his gun, even though he wheeled back to the door, to gain

Just as the attacker was upon Kim, another man hurled himself into the fray, coming from the doorway. He

landed a big fist to the blocky attacker's jaw and sent the savage man back to his haunches.

By the time Kim's gun was covering the floundered foe, the man from the doorway had drawn a revolver too.

Nodding thanks for the assistance, Kim saw that his timely teammate was Jim Brodick.

In blunt style, Brodick waved his gun toward their mutual antagonist and announced:

"He's Van Der Van. His right name's Ingleby. We'll hold him until Claverly gets here."

A BIT stupefied, Thomas Ingleby came to hands and knees, then up to his feet. He paused long enough to

pluck up the green slip that he had dropped and thrust it into his vest pocket. By then, Jim Brodick was

There was something else Jim found; a packet of old letters. When he started to take that trophy, Ingleby

"This is all on the up and up," announced Brodick. "So sit down and take it easy until Claverly gets here and

Moving around like a dog deciding where to lie down, Ingleby finally picked a chair by a sideboard in the

corner. With a shrug, he sat down and let his broad face relax. Brodick watched Ingleby's eyes fix on a dish

"Why not?" he queried suddenly. "If you'd been in the tropics all your life, you'd like any kind of fruit that

"You might," confirmed Brodick, coolly, "but I doubt it. Those knives on the sideboard haven't any points, so

Laying the packet of letters on the sideboard, Ingleby picked up a knife instead and pared the apple in

smooth, accomplished style. Slicing it in quarters, he picked out some of the seeds with the knife blade, then

clanked the knife on the sideboard. Holding the halves of the apple, he gestured toward Kim Radnor.

"A girl named Claire Winslow has his token," returned Brodick. "She got it from her uncle, old Cap

Instead of asking another question, Ingleby took both halves of the apple in one hand, reached into his vest

pocket with his other fingers and brought out his quarter of the Bobadilla coin. He laid it on the table beside

"Yes, I'm Van Der Van," conceded Ingleby. "When Cheerio gets here, we can all add up to one, like this.

He was putting the four sectors of the apple together, fitting them like a puzzle pattern, which was easy

enough, allowing for the slight amount of core that he had cut out. Holding the apple reconstructed, except

"I'm talking to Rico's friend, not you," retorted Ingleby. Taking three or four more bites, he concentrated on

Kim, then declared: "I only came here to find out if Cheerio had gotten hold of the things that belonged to

It wasn't Ingleby who answered. He was finishing his apple. The man who spoke was stepping in from the

little ante room where the elevator was. The man was Jerome Claverly, arrived home just five minutes after

"Like these," declared Claverly. "A diary from Jacques and a map from Rico. You wanted them, didn't you,

Ingleby!" He produced the objects that he mentioned, bringing them from his pocket. "That's why you came

Angrily, Claverly was advancing across the room. He reached Ingleby, grabbed him by the vest and hauled

him to his feet. Brodick was standing firm with his gun, saying nothing, but Kim, siding with Claverly,

"Ingleby has the combination to your safe," Kim told Claverly. "It's in his vest pocket."

Pulling his vest pockets out, Ingleby showed them empty; then with a continuation of the gesture, he shot his

Wrenching away, Claverly shoved Ingleby clear with no more than a sweep of his arms. Swinging about,

Ingleby looked ready to drive in to a new attack, when suddenly he stiffened. A pained expression came to

From purple, Ingleby's face wept red; then ashen. Reared to full height, he seemed to rise up further; then, as

if someone had pulled a string that controlled him; Ingleby collapsed and sprawled face forward on the floor.

For Thomas Ingleby, alias Van Der Van, was dead. It didn't take an expert's eye to know it. That collapse was

A strange shudder filled the room. It was a laugh, but mirthless. A knell from the hidden lips of a new arrival,

The Shadow. The five minutes start that he'd given Kim had proven five minutes too many.

With The Shadow was Claire Winslow, very white and horrified. She looked to Kim for an explanation and

"The apple! The one that Ingleby ate!" Kim wheeled toward Claverly. "You poisoned it and planted it where

Claverly was shoving the diary and the map into his pocket. Thinking he was going after a gun, Kim hauled

out his own. The Shadow drove in to stop his aim and Kim, too excited to reason, turned and tried to clout the

cloaked interloper. Snatching up the packet of letters, Claverly started for the door, only to be blocked by

He was a hard puncher, Brodick, but a slow one. He'd caught Ingleby off guard, but not Claverly. Doubling

Brodick with a jab to the ribs, Claverly straightened him from the chin up and reeled him against Claire,

before she could throw in any aid. Again came blackness; this time it was Claverly who pressed the light

Amid the following confusion, Claire heard a clang from the elevator door, before she could find the light

switch and turn it on. When finally Claire managed it, Claverly was gone and so was The Shadow.

Near Ingleby's body Kim Radnor was seated on the floor, rubbing his head. Jim Brodick was completely out.

Ignoring Brodick, Claire helped Kim to his feet. Looking toward the sideboard, Kim exclaimed:

"I don't mean the letters," snapped Kim. "I mean Ingleby's token. It was lying there too. Tell me, Claire, do

"I guess I told you everything," admitted Claire. "Yes, I can find Sargon's shop. Why?"

"Because that's where Claverly has gone," decided Kim. "I mean it's where he'll go if he can shake The

Leaving Brodick as a semiconscious guardian of this scene of death, Kim Radnor rushed Claire Winslow to

the elevator to begin the final chapter in their strange quest for a treasure of which they had never seen nor

QUITE unruffled, Jerome Claverly sat at the ornamental table in Sargon's patio talking with the antique

dealer who a few years back had known him as Cheerio. Claverly was tapping the table with a curious bit of

"We each had one of these," explained Claverly. "Jacques, Rico, Van Der Van, and myself as Cheerio."

"Treasure," announced Claverly. "One for all and all for one" his tone became bitter "or so we thought.

"The diary belonged to Jacques," explained Claverly, subduing his voice to the tinkle of the fountain. "He

went to France Jacques did to check on a family named LeClerq, who had relatives in Martinique."

"Rico found this in Spain," Claverly stated. "It shows the course that Bobadilla's galleons followed before

"These are letters that Van Der Van obtained in England," explained Claverly, referring to the packet. "They

represent a correspondence with RearAdmiral James Maurice of the British navy. Did you ever hear the

"He was Lieutenant Maurice," explained Claverly, "at the time he fortified Diamond Rock, off Fort de

"The British were forced to capitulate," continued Claverly. "The French destroyed the fortifications, flung

the cannons into the sea, and even blasted some of the natural caverns on that rocky isle, so they could not

Sargon was nodding, because Claverly was relating history commonly known in Martinique.

"The British prisoners were released," added Claverly, "but among them were some French renegades who

had aided them. Those men were held by the French authorities. One of them was named LeClerq. He went

"To the galleys," repeated Claverly, "carrying this bit of evidence that he must have found in one of the caves

on Martinique. A coin from Bobadilla's treasure hoard, Sargon, buried on Diamond Rock!"

"We divided the coin, four of us," announced Claverly. "Now the problem is to find the treasure "

So far, the tinkle of the fountain had drowned approaching footsteps. Claverly heard them at last and turned

to find himself covered by a gun, gripped by Kim Radnor. With Kim was Claire Winslow, her face quite as

As Claverly rose, lifting his arms, Kim felt his pockets and found that he had no gun. Kim nodded to Claire,

Fearing nothing from Claverly, Kim pocketed his gun and laid his quarter coin down, as he said:

"And mine," added Claverly, coolly, "is from Cheerio, who happens to be myself. I was just explaining things

"I was more surprised than you were," asserted Claverly. "My only explanation is that Ingleby knew his game

Kim laughed and coldly. He felt Claire grip his arm and saw the girl turn. Claire was hearing new footsteps

coming into the patio. Reaching for his gun, Kim wheeled, only to relax. The arrival was Brodick, now a

"Nice work," gruffed Brodick. "Leaving me to explain things, without the evidence."

"I don't mean either of those," argued Brodick. "I mean the paper with the combination."

"It didn't?" The eager query came from Claverly. "I get it now! Remember what you told me, Brodick, about

"Zurber must have sent a phony combination!" exclaimed Claverly. "One that he knew wouldn't work."

"But why?" demanded Claverly. "I'd hired you to find Ingleby. I only began to worry when murder started."

"Yeah, I admit that," nodded Brodick. "But what has that got to do with the fake combination"

"Because of something I told you about Ingleby. The last thing I would have ever said, if I'd planned to

"That habit of his!" Brodick exclaimed. "The way he got rid of code messages, by eating them in

"That business with the apple!" asserted Brodick. "Ingleby knew he was playing crooked. He parked the

paper with the combination inside the apple, where he'd cut out the core. It was the paper, not the apple that

"Easy enough to prove," put in Claverly. "You can have the police test the other apples up on my sideboard.

"We figured Zurber poisoned your uncle with some highpressure pills. He fixed Ingleby all right, too."

"And under circumstances," added Claverly, "that would place the blame on me. There is only one place

where Ingleby would have eaten that combination; in my apartment, if trapped there."

"You're right," conceded Kim, suddenly. "Somebody must have been playing you and Ingleby against each

other, Claverly. But who could have tipped off Doc Zurber to the right way of polishing off Ingleby?"

Claverly's eyes were turning as Kim spoke, but he was too late to give a warning cry. Simon Sargon was

"You've narrowed it down to the only man," sneered Sargon. "You were a fool, Cheerio" his glare was

straight on Claverly "to think that I'd let you meet with your wanted friends, without knowing what went on

"I had the place wired. I listened in on everything you said. From the day you left to search the world for

information on Bobadilla's treasure, I started working right in Martinique. I traced the LeClerq clue on its

home ground and it was all I needed. But I couldn't afford to have the four of you complete your search and

"There are four of you now." With sweeping gaze, Sargon included Brodick. "Only one of the original four,

but these new three know too much. So we shall have to do without the fourth token "

A strange laugh interrupted, at Sargon's very ear. A gloved hand closed on one of Sargon's gun fists, twisting

him so his other weapon pointed away from the group. Sargon in turn was staring into the muzzle of an

This master of vengeance had entered by the rear gate, early in the conference between Claverly and Sargon.

The Shadow had waited to let the truth declare itself. Now, Sargon's guns were clanking the tiling, from

On the table, The Shadow placed a fourth token, for it was he who had picked it up at Claverly's. It bore the

Two letters were broken, the "D" of Bobadilla, the "R" of Imperator, for they crossed the central groove

"You made your own guilt plain, Sargon," accused The Shadow. "Certain of your antiques are fake and of the

worst sort. Again, your trick of hiring men to cover this neighborhood has a serious flaw. You insisted that

"Perhaps you thought that such patrol would bring suspicion on you or cause trouble if any murder occurred

too close to this shop. Your reasoning was wrong. A safety zone in the center of a danger area marks itself as

Those words gave Sargon all the inspiration he wanted. With a shrill scream, the man from Martinique sprang

beyond the table. This was the one night when Sargon could risk crime on his premises, since it was to be the

payoff. Footsteps came pounding through the shop and in from the gate, bringing the murder crew that

Sargon had hired because they had once been Claverly's employees, though only as drivers for a fleet of

The Shadow, too was past the table, between it and the fountain, beckoning the rest along. They boxed

Sargon before he could get away and he tried to slide under the table. It was then The Shadow gave the word

Amazingly the iron table seemed anchored to the tiled courtyard. But the combined heave of The Shadow and

three other men, with Claire adding her weight, brought it up and over. Sargon went scudding before it could

Then bullets were hitting the table top and stopping cold. The thing had incredible weight and shielding

quality for a mere creation of ornamental iron. The Shadow from one wing, Jim Brodick from the other, were

punching back shots at a dozen attackers, some of whom were sprawling, others diving madly for cover.

Then, from atop the wall surrounding the patio, came new shots, directed at Sargon and his scattered

followers. With that deluge came the sizable voice of Inspector Joe Cardona, giving orders. Trapped in the

middle of the patio, Sargon snatched up two guns his crew had dropped and began aiming madly along the

Kim Radnor and Jerome Claverly each had picked him as a target as they poked up above the shielding table

top. Staggering, Sargon could do no better than shoot awry; then, the response of police guns flayed him,

Claire Winslow felt shaky as she came out from behind the table. Then, Claire, like the rest, was staring in

The table was lying on its side, its top was dented with the marks of the bullets it had buffered.

This was Bobadilla's table, the famed golden prize that treasure hunters had sought for years. Sargon had

found it on Diamond Rock, painted it to look like iron, and added a lacquer finish. He'd brought it to New

Hearing a low, strange laugh, Claire looked across the patio to see the gate closing behind vanishing

blackness. The Shadow's work was finished, but he'd be remembered if he claimed a quartershare of the

For The Shadow had brought the fourth and final token, which no longer had a claimant, once Van Der Van

was dead. Upon that final segment of Bobadilla's pieceofeight had rested the fate of all.

There was just one last question and it was answered when Claire and the others met Lamont Cranston, who

came up to Claverly's later with the police commissioner. It was Inspector Cardona who showered praise

"You know, Mr. Cranston," said Cardona, "I learned a lot by reading up on lacquer. The stuff was never used

in Europe until about the year 1700 and some of Sargon's lacquered antiques were supposed to be a lot older

"And there's another name for lacquered stuff," continued Cardona. "It's gone out of date, but in the old days

"Quite logically," agreed Cranston, "since the original lacquer work came from Japan."

"And so did that junk of Sargon's," stated Cardona. "The Japs made a racket of it, some years back, faking

West Indian antiques and shipping them there for sale here in America. Now we know who Sargon was

They knew that and more, those who heard. They realized now the kind of workers that Sargon had acquired

for his secret excavation work on Diamond Rock; namely, Japanese who had had been in the West Indies at

Along with the golden table, they'd entrusted great quantities of piecesofeight to Sargon, for Cardona was

now reporting such a find. The Bobadilla coins had been discovered in the marble base of Sargon's fountain,

It would become government property, most of it, though probably the finders would be allowed a share. But

to Claire Winslow, the real find was Kim Radnor, and he felt the same way about Claire.

A rather happy ending, in the opinion of Lamont Cranston. It would be recorded in the annals of The