RACKET TOWN ................................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. THE DEATH CRASH......................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. CRIME'S VERDICT ........................................................................................................4

CHAPTER III. CROOKS SEE THE SHADOW .....................................................................................8

CHAPTER IV. THE VANISHED SHADOW......................................................................................11

CHAPTER V. CROOKS TAKE COVER .............................................................................................14

CHAPTER VI. THE FRAMEUP........................................................................................................17

CHAPTER VII. BATTLE BELOW......................................................................................................21

CHAPTER VIII. EVIDENCE REGAINED ..........................................................................................25

CHAPTER IX. THE FRAME THAT FAILED .....................................................................................28

CHAPTER X. FROM THE PAST........................................................................................................32

CHAPTER XI. CRIME'S PROLOGUE................................................................................................36

CHAPTER XII. THE CLOAKED VICTIM ..........................................................................................39

CHAPTER XIII. DIVIDED CRIMES ...................................................................................................43

CHAPTER XIV. DOUBLE DELIVERY ..............................................................................................47

CHAPTER XV. MART TAKES OVER...............................................................................................50

CHAPTER XVI. FUNDS FROM THE PAST......................................................................................54

CHAPTER XVII. THE TRAP CLICKS ................................................................................................57

CHAPTER XVIII. RUTH BRINGS NEWS ..........................................................................................61

CHAPTER XIX. THE SHADOW'S PROOF........................................................................................64

CHAPTER XX. CRIME'S RALLY .......................................................................................................67

CHAPTER XXI. BRACE MEETS THE SHADOW............................................................................71

CHAPTER XXII. THE BLAZED TRAIL .............................................................................................75

THE Daylight Limited was chugging slowly through the city limits of Parkland. One passenger viewed the

city with an intense gaze, noting numberless grade crossings that explained the limited's slackened speed. He

was a swarthy, stockybuilt man, who was seated in a Pullman car. The porter had already carried his bag out

That passenger's name was Joe Cardona, and his destination was Parkland. Cardona was ace inspector of the

New York police force; he had come to Parkland on a mission that seemed strangely remote, as he eyed the

Fading daylight showed wellkept streets; orderly lines of automobiles waiting at the gates of crossings.

Where street lights glimmered, they outlined the fronts of prosperouslooking stores and theaters. At

intervals, between wellbuilt houses, Joe spied the pleasant parks for which the town was noted.

Then came the city's center; an electric sign marked the modern Park Hotel amid a sky line of office

buildings, the tallest a dozen stories high. Cardona arose from his Pullman chair as the limited clanked to a

stop at the ornate stone station that served this city of sixty thousand inhabitants.

Nothing wrong with Parkland, from the surface view that Cardona had gained. The city looked like a swell

place to live, as well as being something of a resort. But that wasn't the way it had been pictured to Joe, when

delegates from the city's chamber of commerce had pleaded with the New York police commissioner to send

Those chaps had told of hidden crime that could not be spotted. They had sworn that the town was

racketridden; but with no crimeleader visible. The city officials were free from corruption, with the police

force loyal, but the civic machinery seemed inadequate to cope with present conditions.

That was why responsible citizens wanted Cardona's services. They figured he could find out what was

wrong in Parkland. Every other man might be a crook, for all they knew. Perhaps Cardona could pick out

some of the bad ones. Certainly, he could reorganize the police force on a more efficient basis.

A TRIO of friendly greeters welcomed Cardona on the station platform. Joe had met them in New York.

The spokesman of the greeters was a man named Walton. He had his car at the station; he took Cardona in

the front seat and put the other two men in back. Just as the limited was pulling out from the station, the

sedan started along a street in the same direction, following the line of the railroad tracks.

"We're going out to Mayor Carley's," explained Walton. "He's giving a small dinner for you, Cardona. After

"No," returned Walton, "and that's the worst of it. The money's being drained from every business; and where

Walton paused, shaking his head, as he eyed the street ahead. The headlights showed a treelined avenue.

There were houses on one side; on the other, a high hedge that screened the railroad.

"There are strangers in town," declared Walton, "but they have money and look respectable. No, we can't

accuse them of these rackets. In a way, the whole thing seems to have started locally. It began with a huge

"Old Warren Knightson was the cause. He owned many properties; held options on others. He controlled

buildingandloan associations. Every one followed Knightson's lead, until, suddenly, every enterprise of his

Walton's words ended. Without warning, he was confronted by an emergency that threatened sure death to

himself and every one in the sedan. Joe Cardona clutched the sill of the opened window, his own right foot

At twentyfive miles an hour, the sedan had reached a corner that was obscured by trees. It had the right of

A bulky truck was roaring down a slope from the right, about to cross the avenue. To the left, that cross street

went over the railroad tracks, where there were no gates; merely a warning signal that was starting its blink

The truck driver was aiming for the tracks before the train came. The sedan was rolling squarely into his path.

Cardona saw the truck driver yanking at the handle of a huge emergency brake that had no effect whatever,

for the truck was weighted with a load of crushed stone. Walton couldn't swing left, for his speed was too

great to make the turn. The move would have wrecked him on the railway tracks, in the path of the limited.

He saw the warning lights; the steel tracks burnished by the glare of the locomotive's searchlight. His foot on

the brake pedal, Walton realized that he was heading for a deadly stop, for the truck was almost upon him. He

Veering for the left side of the avenue, he smashed his foot to the accelerator and gave his car the gas.

As the sedan whipped forward, Cardona saw the truck driver let go the brake handle and start a huge tug at

the wheel. He, too, was doing the natural thing. He was yanking the truck to the right. As luck had it, that

Though Cardona didn't analyze it in those exciting instants, the moment of the crash had simply been

postponed for a matter of another second. The truck was due to demolish the sedan a short distance beyond

Rescue came, though, with a speed that eclipsed a hurricane. Rescue, fraught with danger for the person who

NO one in the sedan was looking to the left. None saw the trim coupe that had leaped suddenly from the other

side of the railway tracks, straight across the path of the locomotive. It was there, outlined vividly by the

searchlight, hurtling for the safety of the corner that the sedan had just passed.

An ordinary driver would have been worrying about his own plight; he would have had both hands on the

steering wheel, as the pilot of the locomotive almost nosed the rear wheels of his coupe.

Not that driver. He gripped the steering wheel with his right hand alone, as his head and left arm thrust from

the open window beside him. The locomotive didn't worry him. He had calculated that he would beat it over

He wasn't watching the sedan. It was using his own tactics: speed to avert collision. What he sought was to

avert the truck's mad careen to the right. Could that be halted, the sedan would clear.

The driver of the coupe was garbed in black. The light from the locomotive showed a slouch hat above

cloaked shoulders. The extended left hand formed a tight, blackgloved fist that gripped a .45caliber

The thunder of the locomotive, the screech of brakes were drowning sounds that muffled the gun's report. But

the stab from the automatic's muzzle was plain. It tongued straight for the driver of the swinging truck. The

The coupe was off the railroad tracks, the locomotive a blur of blackness behind it. The sedan was slithering

for safety, rescued by the fraction of a foot. For the truck driver, slumped behind his wheel, was no longer

Its wheels had straightened; it hurtled across the avenue at an angle and bashed its big bulk against a box car

The sedan stopped. The lights of the grade crossing were no longer bobbing with red when Cardona and

Walton reached the demolished truck, for the train was past. Crushed in the truck's wreckage was the driver.

"Somebody clipped him," declared Cardona. "That's why he couldn't handle the brakes or straighten the

Joe's guess was wrong. That bullet had averted tragedy, instead of causing it. The truck driver had faked his

play with the hand brake. The shot from the dark had halted his last deeds. Hands that were still yanking to

the right were numbed. A pressing foot had been literally pulled from the truck's accelerator pedal.

The mysterious rescuer was gone. He and his coupe had disappeared, unseen by Cardona and the men whose

lives he had saved. He had accomplished his vanish by swinging his car to the right, extinguishing the lights,

as he parked beneath the darkening coverage of overhanging trees. Dusk was fully settled. The coupe was lost

Keen eyes watched from the coupe while Cardona and Walton hustled back to the sedan. They drove to a

service station around the next corner, in order to report the accident. When the sedan had made the turn,

Housed in darkness, the blackclad driver started his car forward. As he drove beneath the hush of the

treelined avenue, his unseen lips provided a strange, solemn laugh, that whispered mirthlessly through the

THE SHADOW'S deeds did not pass unseen; nor was his laugh unheard. Soon after the coupe had left, a

taxicab pulled from a driveway deep beside an old house and headed for the center of Parkland. The cab

That building represented the first of the realestate enterprises that had made Warren Knightson a rich man.

When Knightson had gone broke, the building had been taken over by receivers. A barber shop occupied the

The passenger alighted from the cab. He was a dapperlooking man, fastidiously dressed. His face was mild;

his manner was fussy. He gave the driver a tendollar bill and pointed him in through the entrance of the

building. To all appearances, the driver was going into the barber shop to get change.

Instead, he went past the door of the barber shop and waited at the foot of a stairway. He was a big, ugly

looking rowdy, that cab driver; but he looked no tougher than the dapper man, when the latter joined him.

Once clear of the street, the cab passenger dropped his fastidious manner. His chin had a hard thrust, as he

Inside the office, they found Kilgay awaiting them. He was a man of medium height, with dark hair and

sallow complexion. His face was a square one, that bore a pleasant smile. But when he saw the dapper man,

Kilgay changed. His eyes flashed, with merciless glint. His smile hardened at the corners of his lips.

"So Wrecker didn't rub out Cardona." Kilgay's tone became a hard purr. "You'd better give me the whole

dope, Ducky. Maybe we'll have to croak Wrecker. Guys that fliv don't go with me."

"Wrecker's already croaked," growled Ducky, in the tone which so poorly fitted his appearance. "What's

"There's not much to tell, Mart," said the husky cabby. "Walton was trying to get clear, and Wrecker had him

bottled. Then, like that" Dingo snapped his fingers "out pops The Shadow from across the tracks! He puts

a slug in Wrecker, so's he can't handle the truck. So he misses Walton's bus and cracks up when he rams a

IF Ducky and Dingo expected Mart Kilgay to show tremors at mention of The Shadow, their guess was a bad

one. The fake insurance man became savage in his manner; but he classed the presence of The Shadow as a

The cab driver shot an anxious glance toward the door. It was Ducky who spoke up, nervously:

"I I don't think he did, Mart. His car was started again, before ours. Only well, he could have laid for us."

"And if he did," snorted Mart, "he tailed you! Which means that The Shadow was walking into something.

Dingo Swark, a tough guy" Mart grunted, as he looked at the jittery cab driver "yeah, tough enough for

"As for you" Mart turned to the dapper man "they told me Ducky Murrick was the guy to handle the front

of a racket. I'll give you credit for that, Ducky. But the lugs that said you were tougher than you looked, must

Mart opened the office door. From the front end of the floor came the muffled crackle of an electrical

instrument. Bluish light was flickering beyond a glasspaneled door. Mart grinned.

"Go to Doc Arland's office," he told Dingo. "Tell him I want to see Brace Lurbin, the guy that's in there

supposed to be getting an electric treatment. After that, scram back to your hack; and post the boys to be

When Dingo had gone, Mart talked to Ducky, clipping his words with a harsh, confident tone.

"When I came to this burg," recounted the bigshot, "it was to settle a grudge with an old geezer named

Warren Knightson. This was my home town; but nobody remembered me when I came back, using the name

"Neither does the reason why I was sore at Knightson. I just never liked the old sourpuss, from the time he

threatened to have me sent to reform school. Anyway, putting the skids under him was a cinch. So easy, that I

DUCKY knew it well enough. The call had come from Parkland, summoning every racketeer who was on the

loose. Pickings were ripe in Parkland, for the "right" guys who would take orders. Like "Doc" Arland, Ducky

Doc posed as a specialist in electrotherapy, giving treatments that required no physician's license. Ducky ran

a wholesale gown shop, on the second floor of this same building. Mart expected to buy the Knightson

Building later; he said he got a laugh out of the name, every time he walked through the door. Until tonight,

Acquainted with every form of racket, he had taken over the town in wholesale fashion. Doc and Ducky were

the "fronts" who put smooth propositions to local business men, acting always as though forced by pressure.

They had shoved the dirty work along to many of the suckers themselves, and there was trouble for those

Trouble that came from Dingo Swark, at Mart's order. For Mart had gained secret control of Parkland's three

taxicab companies, and the drivers had been gradually replaced by Dingo's hoodlums.

If it came to a clash between Mart Kilgay and the law, Parkland's force of fiftyodd police would be

outnumbered two to one. Mart had a hundred shock troops; and four times as many reserves, in case of a

But Mart wasn't hoping for that. Besides Doc and Ducky, there were plenty of other fellows who posed as

new business men in Parkland. All took orders from Mart; and all got theirs, with a cut to the bigshot.

Hotels, theaters, restaurants and night clubs were paying plenty up the line to Mart Kilgay. So were groceries,

filling stations and the like. Parkland was a racket town, and Mart Kilgay was king.

Other crooks were welcome if they were smooth ones. There were pickpockets. Dope peddlers were on the

job, too, which accounted for an influx of socalled tourists who were actually hopheads. You had to have

Dips and dope sellers paid their price to Mart. So did the dope users. Mart had a squad of shakedown artists

on the job, making them cough over cash for the privilege of staying in Parkland.

A sweet setup, as Ducky saw it. But there was plenty of trouble due. Joe Cardona was bad enough; The

Shadow made it worse. But Mart Kilgay still maintained his contemptuous smile. He was wearing it when

Doc was a tall, baldheaded man, whose face had a horsy look. Doc wore a bushy, black mustache.

With Doc was Brace Lurbin, so called because he toted a brace of revolvers. Brace could use that pair of

shooters; but he'd never had the chance since he joined up with Mart. Guns hadn't been needed in Parkland;

Brace was Mart's ace in the hole. His wide, flat, highcheeked features were the face of a killer. His eyes,

steely through their narrowslitted lids, were the sort that would be steady above the barrel of a big revolver.

"YOU'RE getting a chance to use those smokewagons, Brace," rasped Mart. "I got a job for you."

Brace took the news in pokerface fashion. It was Doc who shot the eager, sharppitched question:

"I guess Dingo told you that Wrecker fluked," retorted Mart, "Did he tell you who else was in town?"

Doc Arland gaped. So did Ducky Murrick. That didn't bother Mart; he wanted Brace's reaction. Mart saw the

"The Shadow, huh?" queried Brace. "That's a good one, Mart! I tell you what; you point out The Shadow and

"That's just what I'm going to do," rasped Mart. "That's why I've been keeping you under wraps, Brace. I'm

not going to flood this town with a mob of torpedoes, when one triggerman's enough. You want a guy to

The idea dawned on Brace. Dingo's taxi drivers, con men, dips, smallfry crooks everywhere they were the

eyes that would find The Shadow. The word had gone out through Dingo. Whoever spotted The Shadow

"The Shadow can't keep under cover and stay here. Even our own bunch won't know you're the triggerman,

Brace. That gives you the edge on The Shadow. You croak The Shadow; I'll handle Cardona. I've fixed dumb

The glare of Brace's narrowed eyes told that the assignment suited him. He strolled from the office,

"That guy can reach for a rod when he needs it," approved Mart, speaking to his lieutenants. "It's curtains for

Doc Arland and Ducky Murrick believed the bigshot. When Mart Kilgay pointed the finger, it meant sudden

death. Crime's spies were everywhere in Parkland, the town that Mart already owned.

THE death of a truck driver named Luke Pardee was a story that the newspapers could not ignore. They didn't

know that he was a crook, whose pals called him "Wrecker." But they did have proof that Wrecker had been

That was more than accident. It brought big headlines the next morning, with a picture of Wrecker's

The story was totally twisted. The newspapers had it that some one had winged Wrecker, in the hope that his

truck would bear down on Walton's car. But the muddled facts made it all the worse. The evidence indicated

definitely that some hidden bigshot had tried to erase Joe Cardona, within twenty minutes after the ace

The Shadow, in handling the murderous Wrecker, had turned Mart Kilgay's death thrust into a boomerang,

that was scaling back toward the bigshot. The law wouldn't pin the goods on Mart, just yet, but it had a

Joe Cardona could do more than merely give advice to the local authorities. He was starting with an

All that next day, the city buzzed with talk of the truck crash. It filtered to the smallfry crooks who served

Mart Kilgay. From them, it worked up to the lieutenants. The Shadow had started trouble in Parkland. Rumor

had it that some of the town's bolder business men were getting ready to shake off the shackles of the racket

Glummest of all strangers in Parkland was Brace Lurbin. Brace had been told to pick up news about The

Shadow. But Mart's hordes weren't producing it. They had too much else to think about.

The end chair in the barber shop in the Knightson Building was a swell place to pick up grapevine

information. Half of the barbers were working for Mart Kilgay, and they formed a line leading away from

inner end. Whoever parked in that chair could get an earful, if he belonged to the crowd.

That was why Brace sauntered in there, that evening, and took that particular chair. He stroked the back of his

neck and said he'd have a haircut. As the barber tucked the bib around his neck, Brace growled, in an

The barber shook his head. He knew that Brace was in the racket, but he hadn't been told that this customer

was looking for The Shadow. Nor had Brace advertised that he packed a pair of rods on his person. He had a

vest with special flaps that could cover the guns when he took his coat off, provided he kept his elbows back.

"Not a thing," whispered the barber, as he clicked his scissors. "Something may be piped, though, before the

Brace's interruption made the scissors stop their clicking. From the side of his lips, Brace gave the order:

"Take a gander into that mirror in back of you. Maybe you'll see what I see, through the glass door."

The barber put down the scissors by the mirror. He picked up a pair of clippers; then discarded them to take

the scissors again. He was straining his eyes as he noted the reflection of the door. Returning, he voiced to

"A shadow, on the floor;" returned Brace. "It slid away, while you were looking in the mirror. Didn't you spot

"I wasn't looking at the floor outside the door," admitted the barber. "That was too low to see in the mirror.

"Only Ducky Murrick," began the barber. Then, recognizing that Brace rated well in Mart's organization, he

Brace decided to let the barber finish a quick hair trim, but told him to do it inside five minutes. Brace hadn't

been ordered to protect guys like Ducky and Dingo, while looking for The Shadow. He'd cover up in Mart's

THERE was good reason for The Shadow to be in the vicinity of the Knightson Building. Mart Kilgay's

rackets were undergoing a strain that demanded important conferences among his lieutenants. A visit by

Dingo to the office building meant that the head of the taxi mob had news too private to be piped along the

Dingo Swark felt secure, as he sat in the little office that formed part of Ducky Murrick's wholesale dress

shop. With windows locked and shades tight drawn, Dingo was spilling some inside information.

"The squawk's coming from the theaters," asserted Dingo. "They don't like the strangle hold that Mart's got

"Why should they holler?" demanded Ducky. "They stuck an extra dime on the admission price, didn't they?

They can afford to give out five hundred bucks on bank night. Every one of those six houses is doing big

"Sure! Only they don't like the way we've got it fixed. It's risky business, switching the number that the kid

"The suckers haven't wised to it yet. We always have a different guy there to collect. We use enough molls,

too. Listen, Dingo, you know what this racket means. Three grand a week; and that just about pays the freight

"All I'm doing is telling you," he insisted. "The banknight stuff is going sour, unless you watch it. Mart

"He'll know," assured Ducky, "and he'll find the way to handle it. He'll drop in on George Larmon, the guy

"Larmon knows who Mart is?" queried Dingo, surprised. "I thought you were the front for that racket,

"I was and still am. Only, we had to sell one guy on the idea and sell him right! So we picked Larmon. He

doublecrossed the rest of them. Every time some theater manager begins to beef about the racket, Larmon

tips us off. Mart sees him personally; and they dope out some way to scare the squawker."

The news pleased Dingo. He asked if Larmon received a cut for his services. The question brought a

"Larmon doesn't own the Crystal Theater," explained Ducky. "He just manages it. He was raking in some

dough on his own, by faking the ticket numbers. We spotted it; that's why he listened when we talked to him.

He's still working his own gyp on the owners; and they're the ones who put up the five hundred bucks on

Ducky's hard tone ended. His expression reverted to a babyfaced stare. He looked like the Ducky who posed

Ducky was gazing toward the door, which he had left open in case any one entered the dress shop. There

were lights in the main room; they caused the sight that had startled Ducky. Upon the threshold of the office,

Some intercepting form had caused that shadow. The figure, itself, had gone from sight before Ducky noticed

it. Only one eavesdropper could have possibly approached with such silent glide, to listen in on the conferring

As he uttered the name, Dingo whipped a revolver from his pocket. Ducky's nerve returned. His teeth gritted

The blackness was gone from the doorway. Dingo, bolder than he was wise, took a long spring out into the

Ducky expected to see Dingo sprawl; clipped by quick shots from The Shadow's guns. What Ducky was

counting on was a chance to supply a return fire. But The Shadow had chosen stealth instead of battle. Dingo

Ducky joined his toughfaced pal. His expression, too, showed bewilderment. Though the showroom was

twenty feet square; despite the fact that its lights revealed every possible cranny, the place was empty.

The two crooks circled slowly, turning their gun muzzles in every direction. As they finished that circle, they

came face to face, staring at each other blankly. That streak of blackness on the floor had been real; some

living being must have caused it. Nevertheless, that being had vanished in the same ghostly fashion.

Almost under the observing eyes of two quickwitted crooks, The Shadow had performed a spectral fadeout

IT took Ducky a full minute to gain a sensible reaction regarding The Shadow's disappearance. Dingo was

still staring stupidly when the suave smile came to Ducky's sallow features. He saw Ducky move back to the

"Look, Dingo" Ducky's whisper was cautious "over at the hallway door. The Shadow couldn't have come

Ducky pointed to a rear corner of the showroom, indicating a door topped by a transom.

"That leads into the storeroom," he whispered. "It's the only place The Shadow could have come from."

"Through a door at the end of the hall. Maybe he came in earlier to stow his black rig until he needed it. We

"I'll handle this door. You take the one at the end of the hall. We'll both cut loose as soon we barge in there."

Dingo liked the idea. He realized that Ducky must be right. Dingo stepped to the hall door, put his hand on

There was a quick, but cautious, rap from the other side of the door. It came in a rattattat that Dingo

Dingo opened the door. Brace Lurbin peered in from the hall. His keen eyes were quick to note the strained

expression that was mutual with Dingo and Ducky. A wise expression registered on Brace's wide, flat face.

"We seen something on the floor," informed Dingo. "A lot of black, that moved away "

It was Ducky who pointed to the corner door that led into the storeroom. Brace leaned his head back; saw the

door at the end of the hall. Ducky didn't have to tell him that there were two routes into that storeroom.

"He's still there, then," decided Brace. "I'd have met him in the hall if he'd tried to slide out to the stairs. I'll

Dingo started for his post. Brace beckoned to Ducky. He wanted the softlooking crook to stand in a midway

position, to give a signal that would start the others on a properly timed attack.

But Ducky had another idea. His headshake showed that his gathered wits were working well.

Hopping into the office, Ducky came out with a pineappleshaped object. He grinned as he showed it to

"Tear gas," said Ducky. "I'll chuck it through one of those transoms. Get posted, Brace. You'll hear it crack."

AN approving grin came from Brace. Two big revolvers in his fists, the triggerman moved to the end of the

hall. Ducky crossed the showroom. Near Dingo's corner, he planted a light chair and carefully ascended it.

Through a tiny crack, he could see into the storeroom. Two wall lights were glowing there, as Ducky always

left them. One gave a view that made the crook chuckle. Beyond a row of tailor's dummies stood a screen. It

The material of the screen was dark, but very thin. The light showed through it. Beyond the screen, Ducky

could see the outline of crouched, cloaked shoulders; above them, a broadbrimmed slouch hat.

The Shadow was waiting the attack; but he had taken a hiding place that suited an ostrich. Ducky's next move

He swung the transom wide, then chucked the gas bomb through the opening, scaling it on a long, high arc

The bomb smashed. Smoky fumes partly obscured the light; but Ducky could see the result. The cloaked

form was tilting forward. It toppled the screen. The two came crashing to the floor, just as Brace and Dingo

Arms across their faces, the two were aiming, in squinty fashion, to avoid the tear gas. They saw the

sprawling shape of The Shadow, and would have riddled it but for Ducky's sudden warning. The tear gas

Fumes cleared. The attackers saw the sprawled figure more plainly. It looked rigid; bulgy. Ducky knew why.

Coming down from his chair, he entered the storeroom and whipped up the hat and cloak.

The framework of a dressmaker's dummy rolled across the floor. Again, The Shadow had chosen to depart

and leave crooks guessing. This time, however, he had been forced to supply them with proof of his visit.

Proof in the form of a discarded cloak and hat, that they could keep as empty trophies of their living enemy.

Ducky found an unlocked window. He opened it, stared down into a blackened courtyard. That was where

The Shadow must have gone. A sheer descent of twentyfive feet; for the court was depressed to a basement

"You cover," said Brace to Dingo. "I'm going down and around. Three blinks of the flashlight will tell you

While Ducky fumed with the hat and cloak, Dingo watched the courtyard. Soon, three blinks came from a

Brace was boldly searching the courtyard, confident that in case of trouble, Dingo would supply a barrage

The test did not arrive. Brace scoured the courtyard to find The Shadow absent. There had been plenty of

time for the cloaked prowler to make another getaway. From below, Brace gave a growl to inform Dingo

MEANWHILE, Ducky heard footsteps from the hall. At first, he had been jittery; but when the paces

continued to the thirdfloor stairs, Ducky knew that it must be Mart Kilgay. The bigshot had announced

earlier that he would be back in his office before the evening ended. Carrying The Shadow's cloak and hat,

That left Dingo alone when Brace returned. The twogun man noted Ducky's absence, and snapped out a

"Mart came in," replied Dingo, sourly. "Ducky went up to see him. That's where we gotta go, too; and I'm

"What about?" he rapped. "Because we didn't use our noodles! We didn't nail The Shadow. Mart don't like

things to fluke. First it was Joe Cardona, getting clear of Wrecker. Right now, Ducky's telling Mart that the

"And to top it, we're going to tell him that The Shadow made dummies out of us. Maybe you can laugh that

"The Shadow made a dummy out of himself," sneered Brace. To emphasize the jest, he nudged his thumb

toward the dressmaker's dummy that had shaped the cloak and hat. "That's a wisecrack; but it means plenty. It

"Why do you think The Shadow pulled that gag?" demanded Brace. "I'll tell you why. To make monkeys out

"That's so!" exclaimed Dingo, with a dawning nod. "Then the cops would have breezed in here."

"Sure thing," added Brace. "And they'd have wondered what you were doing up here and me shooting up

the joint. Ducky could hand them an alibi for himself, because this is his place. But our talk wouldn't have

Brace shoved his revolvers back into their holsters. Dingo put his own gun away. He was grinning when

Brace motioned to the door. Together, the pair went up the stairs, Brace remarking on the way:

"We've got our story, Dingo, and Mart's going to like it. When he begins to hand out gold medals to guys that

used their brains, we'll be the first in line to get them. The Shadow tried to slip one past us tonight; only we

Dingo remembered that it was Ducky Murrick who had supplied the actual brainwork; but he didn't mention

that to Brace. The triggerman was going to take some credit for himself, and his remarks showed that he

It wouldn't matter to Ducky, either. Results were what counted in this game. The Shadow had vanished; but

his ruse had failed. Crooks had held their strong position, despite The Shadow's strategy. That would count

with Mart Kilgay. The bigshot would be ready for The Shadow, if the blackgarbed prowler tried his stunt

DUCKY was glad when his two pals reached Mart's office. The bigshot had seen the cloak and hat that

Ducky carried. The result was a crossfire of questions that Ducky had to answer. Mart was so savage in his

criticism that Ducky actually flopped in his chair when the others arrived. They could take it for a while.

Mart started on Dingo; and didn't give him a chance to spring an excuse. But when he swung to Brace, the

"What was the matter with you?" demanded Mart. "Were your dukes paralyzed? Couldn't you yank a rod

"Sure I could," returned Brace, bluntly, "if I'd been working for The Shadow. That's what he was listening for

"You're right, Brace," admitted Mart, finally rising behind his desk. "There's times when a guy is smarter to

hold his trigger than he is to snap it. You fellows showed the right stuff in the pinch."

Mart's last display of anger was directed toward The Shadow's hat and cloak. He grabbed those garments with

"Hang those duds in the closet! Lock it and stick the key in the desk drawer. I'd like to see The Shadow come

"You were trying to tell me about the theaters," reminded the bigshot. "You said the racket was going sour.

Ducky repeated details that he had heard from Dingo. Taxi drivers had picked up reports that bank nights

were to be run on a new basis. Theater managers had evidently started the rumors through the ushers; thence

"You'd better talk to Larmon," concluded Ducky. "He's the fellow that can fix it. Only, there's going to be

more trouble, now that people know Cardona's in town. He's somebody that they can squawk to. If you can

"I'll talk to Larmon," interrupted the bigshot. "I'll handle Cardona, too. Go on downstairs, Ducky, where you

belong. And you, Dingo scram. Stick with your cab and keep the other hackies posted. The one guy we've

Mart sat stroking his hard chin, after his lieutenants had left. He had kept Brace in the office, just in case he

needed the triggerman. Mart was trying to dope out some way to trick The Shadow. He couldn't think of any

"I'm going over to see Larmon," he announced suddenly. "I don't need a bodyguard, but I want you to come

IT wasn't far to the Crystal Theater, so Mart walked. Brace sauntered along, some distance in the rear, so that

Mart bought a ticket at the box office. That was always his way when he dropped in on Larmon. No one

Brace, coming separately, stopped to look at a billboard. Mart paused to count his change. Without looking

"Scram for half an hour. That's when I'll be coming out again. I'll time it, so be here."

Mart went into the theater. Brace finished his scrutiny of the billboard and sauntered away.

Neither Mart nor Brace had glanced at the alleyway beside the Crystal Theater. A look would have told them

nothing; for the blackness seemed quite empty. In fact, there was no stir there for some time after Mart

entered the theater. The thirtyminute period was about half gone when motion occurred.

A cloaked shape glided through the darkness, to pause by a blackened building wall. Keen eyes looked up

toward the theater's office window. The Shadow had trailed Mart to his new destination. Garbed in new attire

Clinging like a bat to the brick wall, The Shadow made his way up to the window.

The window was unlocked. Gloved fingers worked it upward, noiselessly, to a space of three inches. As

voices reached his ears, The Shadow raised the shade imperceptibly. Through a oneinch opening, he saw

The theater manager was an undersized man of frail build. He seemed half pleased, half worried by Kilgay's

unexpected visit. From their conversation, Mart had evidently watched the movie for a while, before he came

"The racket's getting shaky, Mart," admitted Larmon, in a wheezy whine. "It won't do me much good to talk

"Why not?" demanded the bigshot. "Somebody's due to spill the beans. So you're elected, before the clucks

get around to doing it. That will help us two ways. It will make you look on the level; and Cardona will

"I get it," nodded Larmon, with a sudden grin. "The other managers will be glad to let me take the dangerous

"I'll have that figured out by tomorrow night. You're seeing Cardona at eight o'clock. Make a note of it, so

Larmon made a notation on a memo pad that formed part of a desk calendar. As he wrote, he questioned:

"Write him a letter," ordered Mart. "Mail it after the theater lets out, so he'll get it tomorrow afternoon. Use

your own stationery, and tell him you'll drop in to see him at his hotel room at eight o'clock sharp. To give

Larmon went to his typewriter. He clicked off the letter and showed it to Mart. The bigshot nodded his

approval; Larmon signed the letter. While the manager was typing an envelope, Mart glanced at his watch.

"I'm leaving," announced Mart. "There'll be a cab here for you, at quarter of eight tomorrow night. Keep out

of sight in the cab, when it stops near the Park Hotel. I'll get in and talk to you. We'll frame a story for

MART went from the office. The Shadow eased the window tight. But before he could begin his descent, he

A motor was throbbing from the street outside the alley. Turning his head, The Shadow saw a cab driver slide

from behind his wheel and scurry across the street to talk to another hackie. Easing down from the window,

The Shadow clung to the sill and watched the first driver point in his direction.

The fellow had spotted The Shadow's silhouette against the lighted window shade. He was sending the

second cabby around the block to watch the other end of the alley. In another few minutes, the word would be

Stealth was still The Shadow's policy. He dropped into the alley; made a quick start into its blackened depths,

When Mart Kilgay reached the street, he saw that something was up. Three cabs were at hand. A couple of

Mart's fists tightened. If they'd cornered The Shadow, he hoped the word had reached Brace.

Another cab wheeled up, with Dingo driving it. Before Mart could contact Dingo, another man appeared. It

was Brace, strolling toward the theater, to cover Mart's departure. The triggerman was on time, to the dot.

"Brace goes into the alley," he instructed. "You stay with me, Dingo, so we can cover this end."

Brace eased into the alley, huddling close to the wall, his flashlight showing guarded blinks, while his other

fist carried a gun. Shifting past the corner, Mart and Dingo waited. They saw the blinks dwindle; then return.

"Nobody along the line," informed Brace. "Only there's a blind alley in back of the theater. He may be in

"The old stage entrance," recalled Mart. "They keep it locked from the inside. The Shadow's in that blind

Brace needed no urge to lead the way. He halted when he reached the culdesac, only to let the others know

"Look, Mart," Brace was breathless "there's a light the other side of the fence, and you can see what's

Mart saw, when he thrust his head around the corner. A crouched shape with slouch hat was close in the

Brace's big revolver spoke, jabbing three quick shots for the huddled target. Loud clangs echoed from the

blind alley; but the cloaked figure did not topple. Brace mouthed an oath as he sprang forward. Three seconds

"The same game again," growled Mart. "Left us these; and used the ash can to hop the fence!"

To the tune of police whistles, Mart and Brace escaped with Dingo in Dingo's cab. Some distance away, the

cab stopped. Brace was to go to his quarters in the Park Hotel; Mart to his apartment. Dingo then drove away,

Mart hoped to meet The Shadow again. Tonight's fiasco had provided Mart with a new and cunning scheme.

One that could settle two problems: It would strengthen the theater racket, and dispose of Joe Cardona.

Crooks were taking for cover tonight; but, tomorrow, they would be on hand again. That was when Mart

LATE the next afternoon, a letter was delivered at the Park Hotel. It was addressed to Joe Cardona; but he

didn't find it when he came in at six o'clock. A slinky clerk had removed that letter from the box.

Mart Kilgay's scheme was moving, so smoothly that even his lieutenants were not informed. Mart knew how

to reach the most lowly of his followers, by telephone calls in which he used special passwords. The bigshot

Cardona left the hotel for a stroll. The streets were lighted; the town looked anything but worried. Every one

seemed to know Joe Cardona. A clerk nodded to him from a cigarstore window. A newsboy spoke his name

The proprietor of a shooting gallery offered Cardona free shots at the targets; the girl in a theater box office

gave him a smile. Soda jerkers waved a greeting when he entered a drug store. Joe felt like buying aspirin

There were fellows on the street who looked like dips; but if they were, they didn't hail from New York, for

Joe had never seen them before. Some taxi drivers were toughlooking mugs; but Cardona couldn't

Arriving back at the hotel, Cardona found an invitation for dinner. It was from an elderly lawyer named Louis

Wenwold. Joe had met him at the mayor's house, and had liked him. The invitation said that Wenwold would

be at the Palace Restaurant, a half block from the hotel. So Joe went there. On the way, he read another

Some one had called the hotel by telephone, but had left no name. The person, whoever it was, was going to

call again, after eight o'clock. Cardona decided that the matter might be important. When he sat down at the

dinner table with Wenwold, he told the lawyer that he would have to leave before eight.

Wenwold was withery and dryfaced, like an ancient mummy; but his tight lips had a friendly smile. He

"I've told them plenty," declared Cardona. "Maybe I've put myself in wrong, but I'm here to make things

move. The trouble is, I can't even find a starting point. All I've learned is that an old duck named Warren

"They have blamed a great deal on Warren Knightson," observed Wenwold, in meditative tone. "That has

"His innocence," smiled Wenwold. "I was Knightson's attorney. I can recognize when a man is helpless."

"I think so," declared Wenwold. "There was a peculiar angle to the Knightson case. He claimed that he had

thousands of dollars, mostly in negotiable securities, with which he could have paid his creditors. He went to

the bank at three o'clock one afternoon and took the funds from his safedeposit box. He thought that no one

"So Knightson testified. The funds were stolen from his home, during dinner, before the creditors arrived.

Knightson claimed that he had been robbed, and went to his office to get the list that would have proven it.

"Some of them, yes. But he did not have the numbers. It sounded like a feeble alibi. So feeble, that I believed

it. Some one" Wenwold emphasized the words with a wag of his forefinger "still has those securities! If

we could find them, with the original list, which was certified by a notary, we might trace the man who

actually started crime in Parkland. The man who, in my opinion, is in back of all these rackets that no one

WENWOLD'S statements impressed Cardona so much that he did not notice a cab that rolled slowly past the

restaurant window. In that taxi was a man who was to play a big part in Cardona's immediate future. The

Mart Kilgay saw the cab from the window of a cigar store. The bigshot stepped into a telephone booth and

made a prompt telephone call. After that, he came out and joined Larmon in the cab. Cardona did not see that

The Shadow was in the darkness of a coupe, parked by a side alley near the Park Hotel. From his position,

The Shadow had a perfect opportunity to follow the cab or its occupants. The alley was shrouded by the

lower floors of the hotel; it furnished the sort of darkness that The Shadow liked.

As the cab rolled past The Shadow's darkened coupe, he saw Dingo at the taxi's wheel.

Foot on the starter, The Shadow waited until the cab had reached the next corner. There it turned slowly right.

It struck The Shadow instantly that Dingo was circling the block. There was a service entrance at the rear of

Dropping from the coupe, The Shadow started through the alley on foot. Though he moved swiftly, he was

only at the halfway mark when Dingo's cab rolled past the rear end of the alley, along the narrow street at the

Twenty seconds later, The Shadow was peering from the corner. The cab was stopped at the curb. It started

away, two seconds after The Shadow spied it. The passengers were out. They had gone in through the service

entrance. The Shadow covered that space rapidly; but when he reached the door, he found it locked.

His ear close to the door, The Shadow heard the rumble of an ascending elevator. He knew that Mart and

Larmon were taking the service elevator up to the sixth floor, where Cardona's room was located. Indications

The Park Hotel was shaped like a squareblocked U, with the points toward the back. Those wings were

connected by a smaller structure that housed the dynamo rooms, with the kitchens above it.

The extension was about one story and a half in height. It blocked The Shadow's view of the floors above.

Cardona's windows opened into the courtyard; hence The Shadow could not see them.

A trip around the block meant double delay. Not only would The Shadow require time to reach the hotel

lobby; he would have to discard his cloak and hat, to appear in another character. He decided, instead, to

The climb would require three to four minutes, for the wall was smooth. There were grated windows, set at

odd intervals, which forced The Shadow, to ascend at an angle. The time element did not seem essential; but,

THE service elevator had already reached the sixth floor. There, Mart stopped it; motioned for Larmon to

wait. Mart snapped out the lights, whispering that they could sneak from the elevator.

But Mart did not open the elevator doors. Instead, he reached into a bag of waste paper that was just below

Coolly, Mart fired three shots in the darkness. He moved the gun slightly from left to right, to make sure of a

mortal hit. The roars from the gun were terrific, within that tightclosed space, but steel walls and doors

Mart turned on the light. Larmon was sprawled on the elevator floor. Wiping the revolver with a

handkerchief, Mart dropped it back into the wastepaper bag. He opened the door. A limber man awaited him.

Above his peakish face, the fellow wore a derby hat. He was Grivlen, the house dick at the Park Hotel. He

They lost no time with Larmon's body. They carried the frail weight into a room and shoved it through an

open window, to a darkened outside balcony. Mart put a quick question to Grivlen:

"Positive," replied the house dick, "Cardona thought he had to register his gun in this burg. So he showed it

down at headquarters. You used his rod in the elevator. The one I left in his trunk is a dead ringer for it."

Grivlen made a quick departure through the room. He was lucky to get away in time, for events were coming

Out in the hallway, the house dick saw a light that indicated an elevator was coming up. He shot a quick look

toward the service elevator; made sure he had closed its door. With that, Grivlen ducked around the corner.

Joe Cardona was in the ascending elevator. Beside him was a passenger who looked like another guest.

Cardona never suspected that the fellow had been waiting for his return to the hotel. That other passenger was

Just as the elevator slackened for the sixth floor, the dip nudged against Cardona. From his pocket, the

lightfingered man brought an envelope, which he slipped into Cardona's pocket instead. It was the letter that

Larmon had written; and the envelope had been opened. Cleverly, the pickpocket added it to the letters that

The room that Cardona unlocked was the very one through which Mart and the house dick had carried

Larmon's body, Inside, Joe turned on the lights. He noticed a breeze from the window; he swung toward it.

There was a strained voice from the balcony. It seemed forced; half whine, half growl. The sort of voice that

CARDONA complied. He couldn't see the man outside, for the blackened balcony ran past the edge of the

Grimly, Cardona retreated. He was looking for a break. Maybe he could grab a chair and heave it; or duck

"Open that trunk;" whined the voice. "Hand over any papers you got there. No reaching for your pocket. If

His back to the window, Cardona had his chance. His gun was in the trunk. It shone from the tray the moment

that Cardona lifted the lid. There wasn't any trick to it, either. Cardona could see the cartridges in the

With a swift grab, Cardona scooped up his revolver and wheeled about. He was blasting shots at the window

The gun wasn't showing there. Instead, a figure gave a funny, sideward lunge. It shoved toward the path of

Cardona's fire; then away again. There was a whiny shriek; as Cardona halted his trigger tugs, he glimpsed

the figure again. It straightened upward at the window edge; gave a backward pitch over the balcony rail.

Instants seemed eons until the crash came from the courtyard. His gun smoking from his fist, Cardona stood

rigid, staring at the empty window. Vaguely, the ace grasped the fact that his quick work with the trigger had

Cardona's own word would be the only proof that he had acted in selfdefense. That story might be difficult

There would be a lot more for Joe Cardona to explain; with plenty that he couldn't answer. Mart Kilgay and

his criminal followers had framed the ace investigator who had come to clean up Parkland.

THE barks from Cardona's revolver were a spurring force to The Shadow. Those quick shots started when the

cloaked climber was just below the top of the rear extension to the hotel. The last blast still echoed from the

The Shadow saw Larmon's figure hurtling down from the balcony; heard it crash in the confined space of the

His next look was toward Cardona's window. He saw Joe, staring from the lighted background. The Shadow

needed no further proof that Cardona was shaken by his own deed. In his right senses, the ace would never

A figure had swung from the end of Cardona's balcony to land on a similar railed space just beneath. Mart

Kilgay had again outwitted Cardona. Heaving Larmon's body was simply Mart's first move. Dropping out of

It worked, so far as Cardona was concerned; but The Shadow spotted Mart before he could crawl through the

fifthfloor window. At that instant, The Shadow had his chance to settle crime in Parkland. He jabbed a

Mart went diving through the open window of the room beneath Cardona's. Luck, not foresight, insured

Mart's escape. The outer rail of the balcony was of picket design, its posts only a few inches apart. From The

Shadow's angle, they formed an actual barrier that bullets could not penetrate. Every shot glanced from that

So was Cardona. He heard the ping of the bullets just beneath him and thought that some marksman was

The Shadow wanted to view the face of the murdered man who had been tossed down into the courtyard.

A few seconds later, a gloved fist focused the beam of a tiny flashlight upon the features of George Larmon.

THE discovery did not surprise The Shadow. He had been considering this prospect from the moment that he

spotted Mart Kilgay on the balcony. The Shadow had uncovered the main feature of Mart's frameup.

Larmon's letter to Cardona, when produced, would stand as proof that the theater manager had come on a

peaceful errand. There could be any one of several reasons why Larmon had gone out to the balcony. Maybe

he had been followed to the hotel; perhaps he had heard some one knock at Cardona's door any such

A man wouldn't mail a letter incriminating himself before he attempted a murder.

The letter was something that could come afterward, along with other details. Soon, police would flood this

courtyard; for many persons must have heard the crash of Larmon's fall. It wouldn't do for The Shadow to be

There was just one question to be answered at this moment. That was whether or not Larmon had a gun on

If the dead man proved to be armed, Cardona would have a story. But there was no gun on Larmon. The

Coolly, The Shadow produced an extra gun of his own. He wiped the weapon on his cloak; set the handle in

Larmon's dead fist. With a squeeze of his gloved hand, The Shadow pressed Larmon's fingers upon the

Lights were showing from groundfloor windows. The court was on the basement level, the windows around

it were grated. The arrivals would need ladders to come down into the courtyard; but that did not stop them

Taking the revolver by the muzzle, The Shadow drew it from Larmon's fist. Quickly, the cloaked figure

blended with a darkened corner of the courtyard, while a flashlight beam went past.

The glow wasn't sufficient to show The Shadow; but it revealed Larmon's body. The Shadow heard shouts to

The man who held the flashlight was keeping it steady on Larmon's body. At the very fringe of the beam, The

Shadow saw a chunk of blackness. It was close to the wall, a dozen feet from Larmon's body. The blackness

Edging along the wall, The Shadow eased his hand downward to lower the revolver into the drain. His fingers

encountered a grating as he laid the gun at the bottom. Deftly, The Shadow twisted the revolver so that its

barrel dropped pointfirst through the grating. Only the dark butt of the gun kept it dangling in place.

The beam of the flashlight began to move. With a silent whirl, The Shadow reached another corner of the

courtyard and started a rapid climb to the top of the rear extension. By the time the courtyard filled with

police, he was flat on the roof of the rear extension, listening to what occurred below.

There were mumbles of recognition from officers who knew Larmon's face. Somebody spoke about a gun;

there was a search of the body. Then, as flashlights lowered, The Shadow peered from the ledge to see two

policemen carrying Larmon's racked form toward the ladder at the front of the courtyard.

It would not have spoiled The Shadow's plan if the police had found the planted revolver. It was better,

though, that they missed it, No one else was going to search this courtyard after the officers had gone their

way. Crooks would shun the spot. The gun would remain until the time when The Shadow wanted it

In crawling fashion, The Shadow crossed the roof and took a drop into a darkened sector of the rear street.

His form was revealed momentarily as he neared a light; no eyes were there to see it before the shape again

Nor were there ears that heard the rasped whisper of The Shadow's laugh; a sinister tone that told of other

work ahead. Even at this moment, further circumstances could be developing against Joe Cardona. The

IN his room on the sixth floor, Joe Cardona was staring glumly from a chair. His revolver lay on a table

beside him. Grivlen was in the room with him. The derbyhatted house dick was solemnly finishing a

"Don't worry, inspector," urged Grivlen. "You've told me what happened; and it makes sense. The boys down

"Maybe they will," admitted Cardona. "But maybe they won't. Who was it I shot? Did you find out?"

"A fellow named George Larmon." Grivlen's face betrayed a wellfaked look of trouble. "He manages the

Crystal Theater. That's the only bad part about it. Larmon isn't the kind of guy that would be shoving a gat in

"I'll meet the elevator," he said. "I'll tell them you turned your gun over to me. That'll make things look better,

His eyes fixed gloomily toward the window, Cardona forgot Grivlen the moment that the house dick left the

room. But Grivlen hadn't forgotten Cardona. The action that he performed was one that concerned Joe very

Grivlen's quick footsteps were lost in the deep carpet of the hotel corridor, as he hurried for the service

elevator. Arriving there at a half run. Grivlen yanked open the door and dropped the planted gun into the

wastepaper bag that stood there. In its stead, Grivlen brought out Cardona's own gun.

Again, the house dick held the weapon that he had stolen from Cardona's trunk; but, in the interim, Mart

Thought of that made Grivlen grin. A swell frameup; nobody but Mart could have thought of it.

The house dick shut the doors of the service elevator and jogged back along the corridor until he reached the

Grivlen was standing there, solemn as before, when doors opened and a pair of policemen piled from the

"In his room," replied Grivlen. "Don't get excited. Here's his gun. He turned it over to me."

"Sure! He says that Larmon shoved a gun in through the window. Cardona had to work quick, or Larmon

would have plugged him. Say" the house dick looked puzzled "is there something cockeyed about the

The policeman took Joe's gun from Grivlen. He and his companion headed for Cardona's room, with Grivlen

following. Joe heard them enter and arose to meet them. The cop who had the .38 shoved it under Cardona's

Cardona studied the weapon. It was the first time that he had really looked it over. He nodded.

"It's the one you used on Larmon?" demanded the policeman. "And the gun you surrendered to Grivlen?"

Cardona offered no objection. Even the brusqueness of the local police did not surprise him. The jolt came

"I'll be down to headquarters later," said the house dick. "I'd like to see how big a gun that Larmon guy had

"You'll have a long look, Grivlen," volunteered one of the cobs. "There wasn't any gun on Larmon. You

ought to have looked into that before you swallowed the line that this guy Cardona handed you!"

The elevator doors clanged shut. As they closed, Grivlen saw the stare of bewilderment that came upon

Cardona's swarthy face. As the elevator thrummed downward, the house dick tilted back his head and gave a

Grivlen wouldn't have missed that payoff for a hundred bucks. Joe Cardona was through in Parkland;

framed with a manslaughter charge. This was one spot from which no one could pull Joe Cardona.

GRIVLEN did not hurry to make contact with Mart. Instead, the house dick attended to a few essential

details. He went back to the service elevator; pocketed the gun that he had placed there in the wastepaper bag.

A widefaced man strolled in from the street. The house dick recognized him as Brace Lurbin. When Brace

"With the alibi artists, huh? That's where I should have been. I'm going up to see him."

"Mart will know what I mean," he said. "Tell him I'll be up there in about ten minutes."

Room 406 was the "alibi factory" for Mart's outfit. Fake salesmen, drifting in and out of Parkland, used it as

their pinochle headquarters. Their real purpose was to accept any one in the game who gave the right

countersign. Such visitors could always depend upon an alibi from the pinochle crowd.

They didn't know that Mart Kilgay was the bigshot. Mart had matters so much his own way that alibis,

THE door of 406 opened when Brace gave the right rap. Brace strolled in; saw that the two tables were filled.

One of the stooges offered to drop out of a game; but Brace shook his head and said he'd be back later.

That was enough for Mart. As soon as Brace went out into the hall, Mart came to join him. The bigshot took

"Where were you tonight?" demanded Mart. "I thought you'd got a line on The Shadow by this time."

"So did I," growled Brace. "Instead, he gave me the runaround. Somebody shoved a phony rumor along the

grapevine. Said The Shadow had been spotted out at the Club Cagliari. So I chased out there."

"The Shadow must have piped that one himself," snarled Mart. "That's how he ducked you, Brace. I should

"Say, what's the lowdown?" quizzed Brace. "First, Grivlen says to tell you everything's jake. Then you say

"I croaked Larmon," explained Mart, "and I used Cardona's heater. Grivlen switched rods on the guy. I had

the stiff lying on the balcony outside the window. When I poked a rod in at Cardona, I let him get to his

trunk. He cut loose with the phony gun. I shoved Larmon's body down into the courtyard."

A smile curled the corners of Brace's lips. It showed his approval of Mart's crafty stunt.

"I wasn't taking chances, either," added Mart. "The .38 that Grivlen planted had some of those amalgam

Brace nodded. He knew about the special bullets. He didn't have to be told the rest. He voiced it for himself:

"What did Grivlen do? Switch the rods again, afterward? So the slugs in Larmon will match Cardona's rod?"

"Yeah," replied Mart, "and the right rod has gone to headquarters. That's what Grivlen meant when he said it

"He spotted me" Mart's tone was a sour one "and nearly clipped me. Don't ask me how he wised to it. The

The door started to open. It was Grivlen, grinning as he displayed the duplicate gun that he had taken from

"I told you they matched," said the house dick. "You should have been there, Mart. It was a cinch! And when

"I know," rasped Mart. "He looked sick! Like he was meant to. Give that rod to Brace, so's he can sink it

"I'm playing pinochle," said the bigshot. "You'd better get rid of it yourself, Grivlen."

"A cinch," returned the house dick, pocketing the revolver. "Just forget all about it, Mart."

THE trio separated. Mart went back to his pinochle. Brace took an elevator to the ground floor. Grivlen

lighted a cigarette, and strolled along the fourthfloor corridors as if on a tour of inspection. He came to a

Almost at the third floor, the house dick stopped suspiciously. The stairs were dark ahead; and beyond, a blot

extended into the thirdfloor corridor. That streak of blackness was motionless; but it formed a silhouette that

Fumbling, the house dick pulled the revolver that he was supposed to put in some permanent resting place.

That move, itself, was proof of Grivlen's nervousness. As he aimed at the shadowy shape on the floor,

Step by step, Grivlen descended, his eyes bulging straight ahead. Almost at the bottom of the steps, he halted.

He thought he heard a whispered tone beside him. The profile was still motionless on the floor; but that didn't

help. The whisper was real. It came like a shuddering laugh, confined to Grivlen's ears.

Wildly, the house dick wheeled. The silhouette moved; but Grivlen didn't see it. Before he could point the

useless gun, solid blackness engulfed him. Fingers pressed his throat with a paralyzing torture that tingled

clear to Grivlen's finger tips. The gun dropped from a hand that couldn't feel it go.

Grivlen subsided upon the steps. Powerful arms hoisted him to the landing and left him there on the darkened

The cloaked figure of The Shadow emerged from the darkness of the stairs, to pick up the revolver that had

tumbled to the corridor. The Shadow saw instantly that it was the type of gun that Cardona carried; and that

Breaking open the revolver, The Shadow found three empty chambers. He removed another cartridge and

studied it in the light. The bullet looked genuine; but when The Shadow removed a glove and scraped with

The Shadow took out the remaining cartridges. He put the revolver beneath his cloak and faded into the

OUTSIDE the Park Hotel, Dingo Swark was seated at the wheel of his cab when Brace Lurbin strolled up.

"Not yet," returned Dingo, in the same cautious fashion. "The boys are all busy gabbing about Joe Cardona.

Mart sure framed that guy! What's more, he's fixed the theater racket. With Larmon croaked, all the other

managers will think they're next. They'll guess that Cardona didn't do it. But that won't help him."

"Forget the lug," he told Dingo. "Cardona's due for a rap. Good! But that doesn't take out The Shadow. Buzz

these mobbies that run the hacks and see if they've spotted him. I'll be in the barber shop."

Brace stalked away. Dingo grunted. Nobody would be meeting up with The Shadow tonight. What did

Brace expect The Shadow to do climb into a cab and give some thuggish driver the laugh?

While Dingo was snorting over that idea, a passenger entered his cab and ordered briskly:

Dingo didn't look back at his fare; for he figured the passenger was some city official. He reached the city

hall and stopped beside a dark row of cars parked at an angle. A fivedollar bill fluttered through the window

Dingo stopped short. He turned on the dome light. The rear seat was empty. Dingo's eyes blinked their

From darkness beside the cab; close, yet impossible to locate, came the rasped mockery of a sinister laugh.

Ten seconds later, Dingo's cab nearly toppled as it jounced high over a corner curb. Badly scared, Dingo was

MATTERS were looking black for Joe Cardona, within Parkland's city hall. Joe was in the coroner's office,

watched by a pair of detectives. On the coroner's desk lay the revolver Cardona's own gun that had

"Larmon's body is at the morgue," he said. "The death bullets will be brought here. We shall use a laboratory

"Meanwhile" the coroner referred to some report sheets "there are some other angles to be considered.

Detective Tyler has been to Larmon's office. There, he found a notation in Larmon's handwriting, stating that

"First I've heard about it!" he exclaimed. "There was a telephone call, asking me to be back at the hotel at

"We have checked on that," interposed the coroner. "We know that the caller left no name. But one of the

hotel clerks remembers that a letter came for you today; the envelope had the name of the Crystal Theater

Cardona shook his head. He pulled some letters from his pocket and slid them across the desk.

The coroner stopped at the third envelope in the batch. He showed it to Cardona with the question:

Cardona's poker face lost its stolid expression. The letter was the very one that the coroner had mentioned.

Moreover, the envelope was opened. Before Joe's staring eyes, the coroner removed the letter and spread it on

"From Larmon," declared the official, "stating that he would be in your room at eight o'clock. Waiting there,

to give you important information. Didn't you read this letter, Cardona, after you opened it?"

"I don't even remember the letter," protested Joe, weakly. "If I had well, I'd have known who Larmon was,

The coroner shrugged. Before he could answer, the door opened and an attendant announced that Louis

Wenwold had arrived, to act as Cardona's attorney. Placing the letter with the other exhibits, the coroner

conducted Joe to an outer office, where the lawyer was waiting. The detectives went along.

THINGS happened promptly in the secluded inner office. Curtains parted at a window; from between them

came The Shadow. He had scaled the outside wall to make silent entry. This was the opportunity that he had

The Shadow picked up Cardona's .38; he cracked it open and removed the cartridges. He slid the emptied gun

beneath his cloak. In its place, he brought out the revolver that he had taken from Grivlen. Speedily, The

Shadow inserted the cartridges that he had left on the desk. He placed the substitute gun at the precise spot

Voices sounded as the door opened inward. The Shadow was on his way to the curtains. Darkness swallowed

him; the drapes rustled as they closed, but no one saw them. Nor did any one hear the slow shutting of the

window sash that followed. The Shadow closed the window as smoothly as he had opened it.

The lawyer looked toward Cardona; asked if he would like to talk with him privately. Joe shook his head.

"My story stands," gruffed the ace. "I never saw that letter. The first I'd ever seen or heard of Larmon was

"You never saw a revolver in Larmon's hand, and you know it!" whipped out the coroner. "Larmon was

unarmed. No one could have been in the courtyard when he fell there, because the police arrived

"It's a frameup!" he blurted. "Who's responsible, I don't know. Only I don't trust anybody not even your

Wenwold quitted Cardona. The lawyer's headshake refuted the last portion of Joe's statement. Wenwold

recognized the case as a frameup; but he also saw that it was strong enough to stand.

Lighting a long, thin cigar, the lawyer began to pace the floor. The puffs of smoke that curled from his lips

A detective entered the coroner's office, bringing a note that had arrived for Wenwold. The lawyer opened it;

began to read terse statements written in vivid blue ink. Halfway through the note, Wenwold paused in

The first words that he had read were vanishing, one by one, as if wiped away by an invisible hand.

The lawyer rallied from his surprise. He scanned the remaining sentences. Holding the paper in both hands,

he saw the rest of its contents disappear. Wenwold's lips tightened in a dry smile. Crumpling the sheet of

"Detective Tyler," was the prompt reply. "He found the notation in Larmon's office."

WENWOLD went to see Tyler. When he returned, the lawyer began a crisp statement of his own. He was

"I understand," said Wenwold, "that some shots were fired from the rear extension of the hotel, immediately

Cardona started to say something. Wenwold motioned for silence. The coroner was nodding. He stated that

"Then let us consider this theory." Wenwold spoke slowly, between puffs of his cigar. "Larmon was on the

balcony with a gun, exactly as Cardona has stated. When Cardona fired, Larmon sprang away. He was safe,

"They were the bullets that picked off Larmon and hurtled his body down into the courtyard. Some person

The theory didn't make sense to Cardona. He knew that the shots from below had been fired after Larmon's

fall. He wanted to say so, but a warning glance from Wenwold stopped him. It was fair enough, trying to beat

"Must I state again and again that Larmon had no gun?" demanded the coroner. "Must I also add that we

intend to compare the bullets in Larmon's body with the markings of this revolver barrel? The gun that

The coroner was pointing to the revolver. Looking at the gun, Cardona suddenly became uncertain. It flashed

to his mind that Grivlen had carried that gun from the hotel room. Joe shot a quick glance toward Wenwold.

The coroner did not notice the exchange of looks between prisoner and attorney. New arrivals were here

men from the morgue, bringing the bullets that had been dug from Larmon's body. The coroner picked up the

"One moment, coroner," said the lawyer. "I wish to reiterate that Inspector Cardona has declared that revolver

"Then," advised Wenwold, "place a mark upon it, so that there can be no question later."

Obligingly, the coroner supplied the mark. The revolver started its trip to the laboratory. Wenwold leaned

back in his chair and pulled his cigar contentedly. As he watched the lawyer, Cardona felt a sudden return of

A man couldn't take this whole mess as easily as Wenwold did without having something to work on. Joe

eyed that crumpled sheet of paper in the wastebasket. An idea had begun to click. The paper was so wadded

From the past, Cardona remembered messages from The Shadow. Inked lines that vanished when read.

It came. There was a rattle of the office door. In bounded Detective Tyler, another dick at his heels.

"You were right, Mr. Wenwold!" shouted Tyler, "Look at this gun!" he was dangling an automatic. "We

found it in the courtyard! You were right when you said it might have slid out of sight somewhere. It was

THE coroner was on his feet, suspicious as he glared at Wenwold. He was thinking that somebody could

have tossed that automatic into the courtyard. Wenwold ignored the coroner's gaze. He simply asked Tyler:

"We did," replied the detective. "Here's the sheet. The finger prints tally with others that we just took from

"Let him see the evidence," the lawyer told Tyler. "It's his job to certify it."

The coroner's suspicion ended. The new evidence looked indisputable. The coroner made new notations on

"This ends any manslaughter charge. We can accept Cardona's story that he shot Larmon in selfdefense."

"If he shot Larmon at all," reminded Wenwold. "We'll know that very soon. I hear them returning from the

"The slugs weren't from this gun," announced the dick. "They came from another .38, but they don't match

the test bullet that we shot from this one. The photos are coming up as soon as they're developed."

Wenwold arose; motioned Cardona to come along with him. Dryly, the lawyer commented:

"Only for this" the coroner was finishing his report "the verdict that I intend to give. 'George Larmon was

slain by a party unknown, while attempting armed entry into Room 628 at the Park Hotel. The resistance

offered by Joseph Cardona, occupant of that room, was lawful; but had no bearing upon the subsequent death

Joe Cardona was in a daze as he walked with Louis Wenwold from the city hall. There were questions that

Joe would have liked to ask the lawyer; but he refrained. Something in Wenwold's speculative look gave

There were two points that seemed certain to Cardona. He hadn't drilled Larmon, even though he first

believed he had. Nor had The Shadow fired those death shots not even to protect Joe. Larmon had been

murdered by a party unknown. Though the law's facts were entirely twisted, they had produced the correct

As Wenwold and Cardona started away in the lawyer's car, a parting laugh toned from the row of darkened

Lowtoned, that mirth did not reach Cardona's ears; but the strange mockery carried a double significance.

The Shadow's laugh told of the triumph that he had gained tonight, in defeating the frameup of Joe

Cardona. It betokened new thrusts for the future, when The Shadow would strike down men of crime.

A CURIOUS deadlock existed in Parkland during the few days that followed. On the surface, it looked good

for Mart Kilgay's game of greed. The death of George Larmon had kept the banknight racket on a paying

No one could figure just why Larmon had sent Cardona a letter, then come to threaten the ace investigator.

That kept people guessing, particularly the ones who thought they had known Larmon best. They were the

They didn't know which side of the fence Larmon had been on; but he had played with fire, and had paid for

it. They stopped the rumors concerning the banknight policy. Numbers were switched as usual when the

drawings were made. Six theaters the Crystal included paid their weekly tribute of five hundred dollars

Beneath the smooth surface lay trouble. Joe Cardona was the visible reason. Reinstated with the local police,

Cardona was beginning a system of organization that would grow stronger day by day. Mart didn't dare to

If the bigshot tried to murder Cardona, by accident or otherwise, public indignation would sweep the city. If

Mart attempted another frameup, it wouldn't work. The local authorities were too apologetic toward

That mysterious avenger was the real threat; and his power seemed more substantial than ever before. Since

the time when Dingo had made a terrified, belated report that The Shadow had ridden in his cab, no one had

The most useless member of Mart's outfit was Brace Lurbin. All the target practice that the triggerman

LATE one afternoon, Mart sat at his desk, scanning an evening newspaper. It told of a raid conducted by the

local police, that had resulted in the capture of a group of dope peddlers. Joe Cardona had engineered that

It didn't put Mart in a jam, because the dope sellers didn't know he was the bigshot. But it clipped off a

Angrily, Mart crinkled the newspaper and started from his office. He stopped in to see Doc Arland; found the

"We've got to get rid of Cardona," snarled Mart. "He's queered one graft; by tomorrow, he'll be starting on

"Say, Doc" Mart stroked his chin as he stared out through the window "did you ever stop to figure what

"Right!" Mart looked down toward the street. "And when Cardona's finished with it, he'll go back to New

"That's what we're going to let Cardona do," rasped the bigshot. "We'll have him clean up and get out!"

"It won't work," he objected. "You can throw over some of the rackets and lay low with the others. But until

"I'll find somebody to take the rap," promised Mart. "I fixed old man Knightson, when I first came to town.

MART was still pondering on that subject when he began a lone stroll through the business blocks of

Parkland. He was thinking of prominent persons in the city, rejecting them one by one. There wasn't any one

Mart was going to hear of one, just around the next corner. But he was due for a big surprise first. As he

The bigshot stared into a lovely, rounded face. He saw blue eyes that once had danced with their sparkle,

back in the longdistant past. Eyes that looked tired; but regained their gladness when they met his. Sweet

lips showed a quivering smile. Mart could feel the tremble of the small hand that settled on his arm.

There wasn't any gruffness to Mart's voice when he spoke. His tone had a softness that would have amazed

"I didn't know you were back in Parkland, Mart," said the girl, softly. "Why didn't you let me know?"

"I looked you up in the phone book, Ruth," replied Mart. "You wouldn't think I'd forget my sister, would

"I know. But that was because I was in bad here. I cleared out when they had me slated for a stretch in the

"It was your own fault, Mart. You could have stayed here if you had behaved yourself. We all wanted you to

Mart didn't care to argue that point with Ruth. Whether or not he believed that his sister was right, he was at

least feeling a new emotion. It was remorse, not for the crimes that he had done but because he had neglected

Ruth's welfare. She looked as if she needed help, too, with her tired look and the threadbare overcoat she

"Listen, sis," confided Mart. "There's something you've got to promise me. I'm using a new moniker a

different name, than my own. I call myself Mart Kilgay. You're not to let any one know who I am. Promise?"

"You see," continued Mart, "I'm in the insurance business. Thought this would be a good town for it. I

figured I'd do better under my new name; it's one I've been using ever since I left here. Mart Kilgay. That's

"He couldn't," protested Ruth. "He lost his money, Mart. Until then, everything was lovely. And since then"

the girl's lips were brave "he's been as splendid as ever. Tom's the best husband any wife has ever had."

He looked at the frayed hand bag his sister carried. It was pitifully flat. Before Ruth realized it, Mart had the

bag open and had thrust a wad of bills he tugged from his pocket into the empty bag.

There was five hundred dollars in that roll. Tears blurred the luster of Ruth's eyes.

"Forget it, kid! It makes up for a lot I forgot to do. I'll have more for you when you need it. Now, tell me

Ruth gave her story. Tom had left Parkland soon after he and Ruth were married. He had gone into business

for himself, in another city. All had been well until Tom's father lost money. Tom had pawned his own

"The old man must have been a fine guy," snorted Mart. "Who was he, somebody here in town?"

Ruth nodded; then replied: "Tom's father is Warren Knightson, the realestate man."

THE rage that surged through Mart Kilgay wiped out every jot of better emotion. He had forgotten that

Warren Knightson had a son; just as Ruth no longer remembered that it was the old man who had taken Mart

"I know what they think of Warren Knightson," she protested. "But Tom doesn't believe it. Nor do I.

Anyway, Tom wasn't concerned in his father's failure. Tom is back here trying to straighten out matters.

We've been here for weeks; but very few people know it. They are all so prejudiced against Tom's father, that

"I know," interrupted Mart. His fists were unclenched; he was talking in the crisp tone that had long deceived

people. "That's why I saw red, Ruth. There's no reason why Tom Knightson should suffer because they're

"Sure! Don't say anything to Tom about it. All that somebody's got to do is break the ice. Tom can get his real

Gently, Mart patted his sister's shoulder. He staged that soothing act so smoothly that the gladdened girl

never suspected the real thoughts in her brother's mind. Mart was deadliest when he put on a pleasant pose.

"I'll see you later, kid," he told Ruth. "Remember to keep mum on everything I've told you. One word would

THERE was a sequel, though, to Mart's gift, that would have horrified his trusting sister. It took place in

Mart's office, where the bigshot sat in conference with Doc Arland and Ducky Murrick. As Mart related his

meeting with Ruth, the vicious tone of his voice told that his own selfishness and hatred had wiped out all

"Joe Cardona's buildingup to nab a bigshot," jerked Mart. "All right, we'll build one for him! The one guy

in town that people will figure could be behind our rackets, when they find out he's here. That's Tom

"They've got his old man labeled as a crook, haven't they? All right, I'll pass it down the line. I'll take it out on

the whole Knightson family. That includes my sister, since she's Tom Knightson's wife."

Neither of the listeners felt any sympathy for Ruth. They liked Mart's attitude. The crime leader noted it, and

added a few remarks that were uncomplimentary to any one's sister. He wound up with the statement:

"She's found it tough, marrying that Knightson guy. But she'll think she had it easy, after I begin to crack

down! And she'll be helping it, without getting wise. That's the neatest part of it."

The confidence in Mart's evil tone was proof that his plans were made. Rackets were due to flourish anew in

"They'll all be satisfied they've got the right guy, when I've fixed Tom Knightson," summed Mart. "And that

ANOTHER week had passed in Parkland, with the law increasing its strength. With the help of Cardona,

dope peddlers had been cleaned out of town. Pressure was being put on pickpockets, and they were lying low.

It was evident what Joe was after. Once the town was cleared of lesser crooks, he could make a drive against

By the use of a city ordinance, Cardona cut down the number of taxi drivers. The last ones taken on were the

first to go. Thus the ranks of Mart's roving mobbies had thinned, and among the latest to be dropped was

Worry was losing its hold upon the citizens of Parkland, thanks to Cardona's efficiency. There was one man,

however, who was finding business better for a reason he could not quite explain. That man was Tom

Ruth's husband was a likable young fellow, although he didn't come up to all the claims that his wife made

for him. Tom was cleancut and a hard worker; but bad breaks jarred him much more than Ruth supposed.

Until last week, he had been ready to leave Parkland without going through with his original intention of

Then Ruth had produced a reserve supply of money. She had paid the office rent to the end of the month; and

the next day, some customers arrived. They were old residents of Parkland, who seemed ready to give Tom a

They wanted Tom Knightson to rent properties that they owned; but they didn't say that they had been

Tom listed the properties; and within two days, he had them rented to strangers who happened into town.

News of his quick work must have spread; for more and more business was pouring into the tiny office.

Tomorrow, Tom Knightson was moving into larger quarters, to take care of his increasing business. Also,

he and Ruth were going to move from the squalid rooms where they lodged, to a better place.

His day's work ended. Tom walked along the main street of Parkland, nodding affably to people who greeted

him. But Tom would have lost all future hopes, had he been able to listen in on a conference which was under

MART had summoned his lieutenants. Doc Arland and Ducky Murrick were seated opposite him, sharing his

confident look. Dingo Swark, slouching in a corner, had a disgruntled air, for things didn't look so bright to

him. Brace Lurbin, last to arrive, was standing just inside the door. His wide face wore an expression of

"It's all set," announced Mart, in shortclipped tone. "We've built up Tom Knightson to where we want him.

Everybody in this burg knows that the guy's back in town and doing business in a big way."

"They know that about Joe Cardona, too," put in Dingo, sourly. "Give him another week, and there won't be

"Sure, I do." Mart purred his answer. "Mugs without employment are going to be pinched for vagrancy. That

"Then where'll you be?" demanded Dingo. "With only half an outfit left, and me not here to run it?"

"There's been a lot of trailers rolling into town," returned Mart, smoothly. "Take a walk down to the trailer

camp, Dingo, and you'll find your old pals back again. They're lying low until you need them. That's going to

While Dingo gaped his admiration of Mart's method, the leader rammed his fist hard upon the desk.

"We're going to crack things wide!" rasped Mart. "So far, we've laid off the rough stuff. But, tonight, it

begins. When crime hits this burg, Cardona will get busy, thinking we're on our last legs. He'll go after a head

man and he'll find one. The guy in town that's coining the biggest dough Tom Knightson!"

"The first job is yours," said Mart. "I rigged it so it would come into your line. You're going to crack

From a desk drawer, Mart produced a batch of papers that bore the name of the Old Line Insurance Company.

"I insured McCleer's joint," he stated. "That gave me a chance to look over the safe and the alarm system.

Here's the combination to the safe, Dingo. Don't worry about the alarm. A fake gas man went in there this

"There's a watchman inside; all you've got to do is slug him so he won't wake up. The same with old

McCleer, when you find him in his office. I happen to know that he's going to be there tonight."

"Why not?" snapped Mart. "Tom Knightson's going to take the rap, later. He might as well go up on a murder

charge. One more thing, Dingo. There was a box left in McCleer's office today. It's got a pineapple in it. After

you've grabbed the swag, stick the bomb in the safe and start the fuse. Don't forget to lock the safe door."

"So the pineapple will blow it," nodded Dingo. "Afterward, the bulls will think the box was souped."

MART arose. His manner told that he wasn't finished with his instructions to Dingo. The bigshot went to the

closet and opened the door. From the shelf above The Shadow's hanging garments, Mart brought down a

bottle of liquor and some glasses. He poured a drink for himself; put the bottle and glasses on the desk.

While others were helping themselves, Mart gestured his thumb toward the black garb in the closet.

"Brace will be looking for The Shadow," reminded Mart, eying Dingo. "So you won't have to worry about

"You're on your own," added Mart. "So pick your own system. The less guys that know about this job at

"I'm thinking of that open space in back of the jewelry store." Dingo was staring as he spoke. "There's a light

"Nobody's going to spot you, if you stick close to the wall." Mart paused; then gave a hard smile as an

afterthought. "We didn't spot The Shadow, the night he laid low in back of the Crystal Theater."

There was a sudden change in Dingo's stare. His eyes did not change direction; their squinty look merely

"I'll handle it alone, Mart," informed Dingo, wisely. "All alone. Remember that nobody covers. When am I

Holding his grin, Dingo watched Mart pick up the bottle and glasses. The bigshot replaced them in the

Dingo arose; he retained his wise look as he glanced around the group. Mart hadn't caught on to Dingo's

The meeting ended. It was dusk when the plotters reached the street, one by one. Dingo sneaked away along

an alley. He didn't want to be seen around Parkland, since he was no longer a cab driver.

There were eyes, though, that followed Dingo's course. The darkness of rear streets shrouded a moving shape

that the crook neither saw nor heard. From somewhere, The Shadow had come to take up Dingo's trail.

Ever alert, the cloaked investigator had picked out the very crook who had been chosen for a murderous deed

IT was half past eight when Brace Lurbin strolled past the barber shop on the ground floor of the Knightson

Building. As the triggerman stared through the window, the innermost barber gave a wigwag with his razor.

Brace entered the building lobby and waited by the connecting door. The barber found an excuse to come

That meant Mart must be in the office. Brace went up to the third floor. He found Mart at his desk, bottle and

glass beside him. Mart had finished several drinks, for the bottle was almost empty. But Brace remembered

"Around town, same as usual," grumbled the triggerman, "Listen, Mart, this Shadow stuff is hooey. I'm

"I'm not the first bird that's gone gunning for The Shadow. From what I've heard, he doesn't dodge the guys

"The Shadow will be back here soon enough," he told Brace. "When McCleer's safe blows and the cops find

him croaked, along with the watchman, The Shadow's going to figure that Cardona needs a helping hand."

"That suits me," returned Brace, starting for the door. "I'll see you later, Mart. I'm going to head out for the

"Just in case The Shadow is around and looking for me. That ought to keep him away from Dingo."

Mart came up from behind his desk. He had not forgotten the reason why he had left word for Brace to drop

"Suppose The Shadow's still here," suggested Mart, "lying low, but keeping tabs on everything. Don't you

"Dingo's good with the lead pipe," he said. "What's more, it's time he lammed out of town. Dingo's the right

"Bad stuff," was Brace's opinion. "You can't shove a crew into that jewelry store. Some cops might get wise."

MART took a swig from the bottle and parked it on the closet shelf. He made a contemptuous gesture toward

the hat and cloak that hung below. He and Brace left the office. Mart ordered a stop when they reached Doc

Arland's office was dark, when Mart opened it with a duplicate key. He found his way through a maze of

electrical appliances that looked like fatbellied dwarfs in the dimness. Stumbling over a box, Mart stooped

and brought out a heavy suitcase. He carried it to the door, where he told Brace:

"A special rifle, with a silencer," informed Mart. "I can put it together in three minutes. Maybe we'll need it."

Down on the street, both men looked out to see that they were unspied. Mart led the way to a parking lot.

They boarded Mart's coupe, with the suitcase on the floor between them. Mart drove a roundabout course that

The lot was too inconvenient to attract many evening customers, for parking restrictions were lifted from the

main streets after six o'clock. No one was on duty, to collect dimes; and there were only four cars on the lot.

Mart parked his coupe near a brick wall. Dragging the suitcase from the car, he pointed Brace through a tiny

There, Mart stopped at the side door of an empty house, which was soon to be demolished. He wrenched

away the slim fastenings. The two entered and went up a stairway. Mart found the room he wanted; he told

Once the grimy pane no longer obstructed the view, Brace saw where they were. The window opened into the

The scene proved that Dingo's worry had been justified. The light on the rear wall of McCleer's store

illuminated most of the square area. Mart hadn't taken chances with that light. The watchman would certainly

"It's lucky we decided to cover," Mart grunted. "Some harness bull might just happen to come through here at

the wrong time. If Dingo does a neat sneak, though, he won't have much trouble. He can open that door in

Mart's watch showed ten minutes of nine. It wouldn't be long before he and Brace would witness Dingo's

arrival. Whatever Dingo's technique as a prowler, he would certainly be visible when he neared the door. In

It took him longer than the three minutes that he had specified. The drinks that he had taken, plus the

darkness of the lookout post, caused Mart to fumble. A big clock was chiming nine from the distance when

"That clock's ahead of time," growled Mart, looking at the luminous dial of his watch. "This turnip says three

Brace's warning made Mart stare from the window. There was a stir at the edge of the courtyard; motion

"IT's Dingo," muttered Mart. "Doing like I told him sticking to the wall. Say he's handling it neat; only

"Like he ought to be," put in Brace, "so's to be sure of making it by nine o'clock."

There was a tense lapse of ten seconds. Suddenly, Mart gripped Brace's elbow. From his throat, the bigshot

Brace looked. The approaching figure was almost at the light. Crouched, its shape was difficult to observe.

There was something weird in the prowler's approach to the door. An instant later, the form was outlined

Mart and Brace saw the shrouding folds of a black cloak; above it, the familiar shape of a slouch hat. Mart's

"Wait, Mart," returned the triggerman, his voice a trifle shaky. "We got half a minute yet "

As Mart jabbed those questions, he looked toward Brace. He saw his companion straining his gaze. Brace's

gun hand was lowered. For a moment, Mart was infuriated. Then, an answer struck him.

"Shove that gat away," ordered Mart. "I get you, Brace. You're figuring a big smokewagon makes a lot of

With that, Mart pushed the special rifle toward Brace. The latter gave a nervous headshake. Brace's left hand

Mart saw the motion of The Shadow's figure at the door of the jewelry store. The cloaked shape was edging

inward. Brace's delay had given him time to get the door unlocked. That was enough for Mart.

A hiss finished Mart's sentence. It didn't come from his lips. While he spoke, Mart was hoisting the rifle to

his own shoulder. His press of the trigger produced the sizzle beside Brace's ear. Mart's aim was straight for

Cloaked shoulders heaved outward; the light showed The Shadow performing a twisted stagger. Mart's voice

"That clipped him, Brace! How'd you like the way that silencer worked?" Then, angrily: "Say, yellow guy,

what've you got to say for yourself? Looks like one peek at The Shadow took the nerve out of you."

"Keep The Shadow covered," ordered Mart. "Maybe he's only faking. He's smart enough to know that these

Mart broke the rifle apart and packed it in the darkness. He was watching Brace; the triggerman was stolidly

covering the blackclad victim who lay below the window. The packing done, Mart looked out to make sure

"Come along," growled the bigshot. "We've got time to haul away The Shadow before Dingo gets here."

They left the suitcase in the coupe and cut through a short route to the back of the jewelry store. While Brace

watched, Mart pulled the slouch hat from the head that wore it. He tugged at The Shadow's cloak; felt the

"Croaked," pronounced Mart. "The slug took him in the neck. The cloak ripped under Mart's pull. The inert

body did a slow, sideward turn. An ugly face, with glazed eyes and fishlike mouth, came beneath Mart's

scrutiny. For the first time, the bigshot thought he was feeling the effects of the liquor that he had

SHAKILY, Mart still clutched the hat and cloak; but he seemed to feel the courtyard spin as he stared at

"You wouldn't listen, would you?" Brace's hard voice knifed Mart's eardrums. "You wouldn't give me time to

"What made you guess it, Brace?" gulped Mart. "Figuring that The Shadow wasn't in town?"

"That was part of it," replied Brace. "But the rest was something I remembered, all of a sudden. You'd have

remembered it, too, if you hadn't been soaking up the booze, Mart. Dingo was taking a long squint at the

"That's right!" remembered Mart. "He was looking right past me. That's what gave him the idea. If The

Shadow could do a sneak in a black outfit, so could Dingo. He had one, too, down at his place. These "

Mart gestured with the garments that he held. He turned savagely toward the door of the jewelry store.

Brace's warning was timely. They had made too much noise. The watchman must have heard them and put in

a call for police. A whistle shrilled from the front street. Mart legged for the parking lot, carrying the cloak

They could hear the pounding footbeats of police, coming to the spot where Dingo's body lay. But there was

something else that caught Mart's ears while he was on the run. It was a strange, sibilant laugh that came from

"Hear it, Mart?" panted Brace, as he overtook the big shot. "The Shadow! He was around here, after all! He

"Not with those coppers," snapped Mart. "You'll get your chance when our own guys are around to cover.

The stunt's queered tonight; but that don't matter. Forget what I said about you being yellow. You won't

Mart didn't add the details of what was due tomorrow. He was driving from the parking lot, putting on speed

to avoid police cars that wailed from that vicinity. But the snarled oaths that fumed from the bigshot's lips

Tonight, The Shadow had outguessed Dingo Swark, thereby staving off a thrust of crime. He had let Mart

Tomorrow, The Shadow would have more to deal with. More, perhaps, than he could handle.

ALTHOUGH The Shadow had put a twist into Mart Kilgay's plans, the bigshot benefited from his own

mistake. Mart hadn't sent Dingo just to get the few thousand dollars' worth of swag in McCleer's safe. What

Who shot Dingo was a mystery; but Dingo's purpose wasn't. The lead pipe that was on his body proved that

he intended to slug the watchman and the jeweler. The fixed burglar alarm told that the way had been paved

Crime had reared itself in Parkland, even though it had not struck. The town was startled, as Mart wanted it to

be. It fitted his schemes for the next day; plans that Mart figured would be too much for The Shadow.

There were only two men to whom Mart confided, for he needed them both. They were Ducky Murrick and

Doc Arland, always accessible, for their offices were in the building. Even Brace Lurbin wasn't in on what

was brewing; for it would have been bad policy for Brace to visit Mart's office, the way things stood.

It was half past six when Mart left his insurance office. He left a message at the barber shop and went to the

Park Hotel, where he made a few telephone calls from a pay booth. At half past seven, Ducky closed his dress

The only member of the racket ring who remained in the Knightson Building was Doc Arland. He had regular

There was a side window that opened from a little room where Arland kept old equipment. While he waited,

The telephone bell rang. Arland answered it; Mart was on the wire. Arland informed him that Ducky had

gone out to the Club Cagliari, fifteen minutes' drive from the center of town. Aloud, Arland repeated

"Half past eight? Sure, I'll tell Ducky. He's due to call... I get it. Either one of us can hold things off if there's

Arland thought he heard something when he hung up the receiver. He stole to the door of the office, peered

toward the stairs. He watched a streak of blackness that lay along the dimly lighted hall. It worried him for a

while; then Arland went back into the office. That was when the blackness disappeared.

DOWNSTAIRS, Brace Lurbin strolled into the barber shop, where the clock showed quarter of eight. He ran

"Nothing much," replied the barber. "Except that a couple of good pinochle players just came to town."

It was a message from Mart. The bigshot was cooking an alibi, and Brace was privileged to do the same.

"Got a good story, Brace," said the barber. "From one of the customers." Then, close to Brace's ear: "I saw it

Brace headed promptly for Doc Arland's office. He entered with a drawn revolver. Arland gave a jump; then

"I don't know," admitted Arland, chewing his pasty lips. "I hope he wasn't, because he could have heard a lot.

Mart called up and so did Ducky. We've got two jobs set for half past eight, so The Shadow can't clamp down

on both. Ducky's giving the flash at the Club Cagliari; I'm doing the same for the Parkland Trust Company,

Brace motioned for silence. He opened the door and peered out into the hall. Anxiouseyed, Arland craned

"There was a shadow, right there," said Arland, huskily. "That was a while ago. Maybe you ought to stick

Brace stole toward the stairs. He made a careful inspection and came back. He went to the front window;

"I'll be over there, Doc," he said, "in the alley past the Star Theater. My car's on the next street. I'll be

covering the door. If you think The Shadow's around again, wigwag me, once, like this. Only I don't think

Brace spoke that with hardvoiced confidence that eased Doc Arland. Thoughts of The Shadow, however,

"You'll hear from Ducky, if he has," said Brace. "If that's the dope, give me a double wigwag and I'll hop out

Arland watched until he saw Brace sidle into the alley opposite. Mopping his forehead, the phony medico

resolved to be alert. He hoped that Ducky wasn't running into trouble out at the Club Cagliari.

IT happened that Ducky was due for trouble that he didn't know about. Ducky was seated at a table near the

side door to a veranda. While he watched the floor show, he was listening for sounds from outside.

Ducky had presumably come here to look over some costumes that the management thought could be

improved. His actual purpose was to flash the signal for lurking crooks to enter. That was to come at half past

eight, unless the crew was delayed. Mart had ordered a batch of thugs in from the trailer camp.

Only five minutes to go. Ducky smirked as he glanced at his watch. This was going to be a swell job; the

crooks were coming in with tear gas, to bombard the place. In the commotion, they intended to grab all that

The swag, however, was unimportant. This job was intended to bring havoc that would make all Parkland

There was darkness along the wall behind Ducky. It led to the obscure telephone booths. Ducky, watching the

Dim light by the telephones barely showed the cloaked form of The Shadow, as his gloved hand lifted a

receiver. This was The Shadow himself, no imitation of the sort that Mart and Brace had seen the night

The number that The Shadow dialed was Doc Arland's. He heard Arland's voice come husky across the wire;

the tone proved that the crook's nerves were on the edge where The Shadow wanted them. His lips close to

He was using the type of talk that was customary with Ducky Murrick. Though that crook was only thirty feet

"Hello, Doc," spoke The Shadow. "This is Ducky. Part of the outfit is here; but the rest are fixing a flat tire.

"If you see Brace," The Shadow added, "you'd better send him out here. You remember the time The Shadow

kept Wrecker from finishing Joe Cardona? I saw the car The Shadow drove that night, and the same bus just

showed up here. If Brace comes right away, he'll have his chance to get The Shadow."

Arland's reply was one of eager approval. The Shadow hung up the receiver; a few seconds later, he clipped

There were stairs to a balcony that fringed the walls of the club's main floor. The Shadow ascended them and

came to an office that bore the manager's name. The Shadow expected it to be empty; and it proved so.

He cut the wires of the manager's telephone; and with that move, he isolated the Club Cagliari.

On a side highway, four miles outside the city limits, the fancy road house was distant from any other

building. The quickest way by which news could be carried would be by automobile, once the telephones

JUST as The Shadow glided to the stairway, a husky waiter bobbed into view. He was on his way to the

manager's office, bound on some errand that he promptly forgot when he saw The Shadow. That waiter

Head downward, the thug hurled his chunky shoulders toward The Shadow. He bowled the cloaked fighter

clear to the rail of the darkened balcony. As they landed, the thug was on top. His quick hand pulled a

A jabbing hand gripped the descending wrist. It arrived with the speed of a triphammer; the clutch of the

closing fingers had the power of a vise. Not only did the waiter's hand lose the blackjack; it twisted, and his

whole arm went with it. Then his body floundered, under the wrenching leverage that The Shadow supplied.

As the waiter flattened, there was a swish above him. The Shadow was on his feet, with no time to bother

From across the balcony rail, he saw a tiny spurt of ruddy flame in the darkness where Ducky's table was

located. The zero hour was here. Ducky had lighted a trick match, as a signal for outside thugs to attack.

By the glow of automobile headlights beyond the veranda, The Shadow saw figures piling for the open door.

They were enemies who would strike the instant that they entered, out of a darkness that some had already

Vaulting the balcony rail, The Shadow seemed to poise himself in midair as he straightened downward in

the blackness. Arms spread, with the cloak sleeves wide, he landed squarely upon a table surrounded by four

Women shrieked as the black mass spread upon the table, obscuring the glasses and chinaware that crackled

beneath The Shadow's crash. The Shadow had doubled to take the force of the drop.

Before the diners realized that a human being had landed amidst them, he was launching for the center of the

One of the men who formed an adagio trio was sending the girl member of the troupe in a long spin through

the air. As the girl arched into the high pirouette, The Shadow came sweeping into the spotlight, directly

Big guns were in The Shadow's fists. As he halted, he aimed toward the darkness of the veranda door. A

halfsecond later at the instant when the girl dancer landed safely in the arms that awaited her The

Music ended with The Shadow's taunt. He provided his own accompaniment for the aria that he uttered. It

came from the automatics that he wielded. Gloved fingers pressed their triggers. Pumping muzzles tongued

For the first time since crime had come to Parkland, crooks had arrived in massed formation. The Shadow

IT was blind battle for The Shadow; madness that no other fighter would have dared to attempt. But The

Shadow had calculated the conditions that had caused him to use this madcap method.

The Shadow knew that crooks had come to hurl confusion into the Club Cagliari. Chances were their guns

By quick bombardment, The Shadow strove to scatter the entering horde before they could accomplish their

first purpose. He was underneath the spotlight in time to do it. He could hear the clatter that followed his

echoing shots, as the invaders dived back for the outside porch, some sprawling on the way.

Guns barked; but not from the veranda door. The rest of the crooked waiters had pulled revolvers, to fire at

Blackness swallowed the bounding figure of The Shadow. Once in the veranda doorway, he wheeled; picked

out the waiters who had guns. Quick shots clipped those traitors in staccato precision.

The Shadow didn't forget the thug on the balcony. He winged him with one wellaimed shot that brought him

Patrons of the club were settling the wounded waiters. The Shadow swung about and sprang to the veranda.

Ducky, crouched beneath a table, fired shots that might as well have been blanks; for he aimed at a place that

The outside crooks had rallied. They had guns instead of gas bombs, for this new attack. The Shadow met the

Sledging gunstrokes were The Shadow's closerange tactics. Attackers sprawled beneath the flaying power

of those metal cudgels. As the remainder dived, The Shadow sprayed fast fire before they had a chance to

aim. Clipping bullets rolled their human marks to the ground beyond the porch edge.

The Shadow was down the steps, sweeping low through the darkness, with no guns spitting behind him.

Police whistles shrilled; there were a few cops stationed in front of the Club Cagliari. Officers who did

The Shadow's car was some distance away. He could not waste time going after it. Gleaming a flashlight into

one crook sedan, then another, he picked the car that had a square wooden box resting on the floor in front of

A gibing laugh was his departing token. It brought spasmodic, useless shots from the guns of a few wounded

crooks. In firing, they became victims of another ruse. Arriving officers picked out the few who were still

capable of battle. Betrayed by their own futile fire, the last of the raiding band were subdued by the police.

FIVE minutes were all that The Shadow had required to cut his way to freedom with a squad of broken

enemies in his wake. Valuable minutes, of which he had ten more. Enough to reach the center of Parkland, at

Fifteen minutes was the usual time required to reach the isolated Club Cagliari. The Shadow was confident

In doing so, he stirred up trouble. No news had come of the raid at the night club, for the telephones were

useless; and no radio car was stationed there. But The Shadow's ride was sufficient in itself to bring pursuers

As he rocketed along the shortcut to Parkland, sirens whined behind him. Every motorcycle cop that The

The Shadow wanted those chasers on his trail, provided they did not come close enough to pepper him with

bullets. He couldn't win a long race in the straightaway against the motor cycles; but he counteracted that by

A police car joined the chase; another came later. Only once did The Shadow have to cut away from the

zigzag route that he wanted. That temporary shift helped more than it hurt. The police thought it was the

When The Shadow finally cut back toward the city center, he could have shaken his trailers by the move.

Deliberately, he slackened pace for half a block just to be sure he didn't lose those persistent pursuers.

There was one picture that came to The Shadow as clearly as if he had viewed it. That was Doc Arland,

standing at the side window of his offices. The Shadow had learned enough by his trips to the Knightson

The baldish man was actually there; his long, horsy face was drawn, his eyes blurry as he watched the street.

He could see cars rolling past; knew that some contained crooks who awaited his signal.

But Arland was methodical to the last degree. He had fallen for that phony telephone call that he thought

came from Ducky. The word had been to hold it fifteen minutes. Arland was going on that order.

What Doc Arland didn't know was the fact that The Shadow not Ducky Murrick was depending upon the

punctuality for which Doc was noted. The Shadow wanted those fifteen minutes, and thought that he was

getting them. Offsetting The Shadow, however, was another factor: the big clock above the public library,

That was the clock that had chimed too early the night before. It was still ahead of time, by a full three

minutes; and Doc Arland didn't know it. He was waiting nervously for the two hands to point to nine. He saw

Arland sprang to an old electrical machine; wheeled it to the window and clicked the switch. Blue sparks

crackled; filled the window with a purplish glow from which Arland withdrew. Just a usual test of his

electrical equipment, so he could say, if asked; but, tonight, it was the signal for crime.

Doc Arland had clipped three of the vital minutes needed by The Shadow. One was regained, thanks to the

fact that certain automobiles had passed from view before the signal was given. Worriedly, Arland counted

A SEDAN with another State's license hauled up to the open space in front of the Parkland Trust Company,

which kept open at night until nine. A local sedan pulled in back of it; then another outoftowner. The

middle car was squarely in front of the bank door. Three of its five occupants remained inside the car, while

Each of the other cars disgorged a full quota of five men. A dozen strong, the group piled for the entrance of

the bank, pulling masks up over their faces with their left hands, while their right fists produced revolvers.

Eight poured into the bank. Four formed two pairs, on each side of the wide doorway, to take care of any

attack from the street. A policeman spied them; he blew a whistle that brought other blueclad men. The four

Pedestrians scattered for cover, while the four thugs, spreading, were driving the police to shelter. The three

in the sedan were ready to cut loose through opened windows. The raid was on in full; so quickly started that

Holding the middle of the banking floor, the masked crooks were ready for business. Like other institutions

in Parkland, the trust company was not equipped to stave off supercrime. An alert teller might have grabbed a

gun under average holdup conditions; but this band was too formidable. Every man in the place was covered.

Two minutes were occupied in the swift moves that put crime in control. Those marked the end of a time

limit that crooks knew nothing about. The unexpected came, with amazing suddenness, out on the main

A roaring sedan swept through stalled traffic. It swerved to a racking stop alongside the three cars that the

The shriek of brakes told the men in the middle car that the arriving machine meant trouble. Crouching low,

behind protection of the doors, they shoved their revolvers toward the car beside them.

Quick shots could not have clipped those desperadoes. By the very swiftness of his arrival, The Shadow had

given them the bulge. But he had a remedy that he delivered before a single thug could shoot.

The Shadow's hands were off the wheel as he shoved the foot brake. He was stretched back, giving hard

leverage to that stop; and his right hand was in the wooden box that lay on the sedan's floor.

With one move, The Shadow plucked a rounded object and gave it a toss through the window of the sedan

that the crooks were using as a fort. Revolvers barked as the missile landed. Those shots missed The Shadow

The bomb smashed. Tear gas filled the parked sedan. That bomb was but one of many that the band of raiders

had taken to the Club Cagliari. By capturing the bombs, The Shadow had gained the very ammunition he

WHILE three sagged crooks were clawing at their faces, The Shadow bundled a batch of bombs and hurtled

from his captured car. Springing between parked machines, he streaked across the sidewalk. His strident

Eight crooks forgot the tellers; turned to aim at the foe whose mighty challenge had proclaimed his dread

The Shadow's arm was swinging as they turned. A bomb smashed a counter in the very middle of the throng.

Its fumes swept the crooks as they sprang away. They were shooting as they went; but they couldn't aim in

Most of the attackers were down; but a few, with masks clutched tightly to their faces, were staggering past

The Shadow to reach the outside air. The Shadow's cloaked sleeve was raised to his eyes, as he turned about

Bedlam had arisen from the street. Half of the police in Parkland were arriving on the job.

The Shadow himself had brought them. Cops were flinging themselves from motor cycles. Others were

shooting from police cars. Bullets raked the four thugs who were out in the street. More slugs dropped three

A dozen loiterers on the street had started to pull guns, proclaiming themselves as a reserve squad. They

regretted that move as they scattered. Police pistols were spitting from every direction. The last of the

Coolly, The Shadow turned to face the banking floor. The tear gas had settled around the crawling figures of

crying thugs. A swift passage was possible, to a side door that was bolted on the inside. His arm still raised,

Peering tellers gaped. Startled bank patrons, eyes running tears, gawked as though they viewed a ghost. To

them, The Shadow was a superhuman figure, whose daring, unheralded arrival passed all explanation.

They saw him reach the side door and pull the bolt. The door swung open; with one long step, The Shadow

With departure, that amazing being left the most astounding of all tokens a shivering laugh, more eerie than

the challenging mirth that had announced his arrival. The weird tone rang like a note of retribution; solemn as

a knell, it told that men of crime had gained the only results that they deserved.

Echoes faded, to leave a profound hush that swallowed all sounds from beyond that battleground. Strained

They had heard the most uncanny tone that any human lips could utter; the triumph laugh of The Shadow!

IT was after ten o'clock when Mart Kilgay rapped cautiously on the door of Room 406 at the Park Hotel. The

pinochle game had ended abruptly, more than an hour ago; for there had been so much shooting along the

There was some one in the room, however. A harsh question greeted Mart's knock: "Who's there?"

Mart announced himself. He entered to find Brace Lurbin trying to figure out a way to play solitaire with a

pinochle pack. Brace chucked the cards across the table. His bluff face looked worried.

"Grivlen's fixed it," replied the bigshot. "He's been around to see the pinochle crowd. You were here with

them, until the shooting started. Here's a list of the guys that were here, with their winnings. You lost twelve

Brace lost his sickly look as he mopped his forehead with a fancy handkerchief. Mart could always see to it

that his pals had an alibi. Moreover, Mart's didn't conflict with Brace's; for Mart had run into a good break

"I muscled into a serviceclub dinner," explained Mart. "In the banquet room, here at the hotel. I was sitting

alongside of Joe Cardona, all the time. When the fireworks started, he chased outside and I stuck with him, so

"There's one guy that won't be" Mart's gaze hardened "and his name's Tom Knightson! He was at the

dinner, too, but he got a business call at eight o'clock. I fixed that one. Knightson is still out at an empty

The smoothness of Mart's pleased tone ended. He came to the subject that irked him; that of The Shadow.

"I've heard from Doc and Ducky," growled Mart. "It seems Doc got a call he thought was from Ducky; but it

wasn't. It was a gag sprung by The Shadow, to hold off the bank job while he handled the Club Cagliari."

"So that's the gag, huh?" grunted the triggerman. "That's why Doc Arland gave a wigwag along around half

past eight. He had it right, tipping me to head for the Club Cagliari; but when I got there, The Shadow was

"I didn't stick my nose inside the joint. Too many coppers. Instead, I hopped back to town. It was worse here.

Cops grabbing every guy they didn't like the looks of. It took me pretty near an hour to sneak in here and tip

Mart nodded. Grivlen had told him of Brace's difficulties. Mart was glad that the triggerman had slipped the

law. He was going to need Brace's big guns; for the police were rounding up hoodlums right and left, cutting

"The Shadow's handed us a jolt," rasped Mart, "but he hasn't queered the game. It's ripe, just like I wanted it.

"Cardona's a hero. All he needs is to snag the bigshot. He'll have his chance; I'm greasing the skids,

tomorrow. The guy that Cardona's going to get is Tom Knightson! That's my job to fix; I'm taking over."

THE next day brought the hubbub that Mart wanted. Citizens of Parkland praised the law; but added the

shout that crime must be obliterated from their fair domain. Suspicious characters were rounded up, but the

Mobbies at the trailer camp had ditched their revolvers, to show bank rolls instead. That proved they were not

vagrants. The cops found guns everywhere a full kegload of them but no persons admitted ownership of

Mart still had a small force of armed men. They were phony taxi drivers who had passed muster and knew

Mart Kilgay dined that evening at the Palace Restaurant with local business men, that included McCleer, the

"Some one is back of these outrages," said the bigshot. "A hidden criminal who pulls the string, while he

poses as a respectable citizen, like one of us. We must be on watch. He has made a pile of cash from his

Mart saw assenting nods that pleased him. He spied something else that suited. Through the front window of

Mart's brotherinlaw was on his way to visit prospective realestate purchasers. They would keep him busy

After shaking hands with his business acquaintances, Mart went to the parking lot where he kept his car. It

was dark there a likely place where The Shadow might lurk; but Mart wasn't worried.

It was after he had driven away that a hidden shape stirred within a seemingly empty coupe. Another car

Mart arrived at a small house of a bungalow type, some blocks from the city's center. The place was freshly

painted; newly tenanted. When Mart rapped at the door, it was Ruth who admitted him.

The girl greeted her brother with a glad cry. She conducted him into a wellfurnished living room. Ruth's

"Forget it, sis," Mart faked a sheepish air. "The five hundred bucks I gave you wasn't much."

"That wasn't all, Mart. Luck has come Tom's way, because you sent people to see him. Of course, he doesn't

"What do you want Tom to do?" quizzed Mart, abruptly. "Lose the confidence he's got in himself? That's

what he would do, if he figured it was me not him who was responsible for the boost.

"That's why we've got to keep it quiet, sis. Particularly" Mart's tone was sly "because I'm counting on

Ruth's lovely eyes were rounded with surprise. Mart saw Ruth's look, and knew that it was right for the

"Tom's under a cloud," stated Mart, "on account of his old man. He wants to clear his father. Maybe there's a

"I have heard of him," replied Ruth. "He was the attorney who represented Tom's father. I never knew Mr.

"You'll meet him soon." Mart was brisk. "But remember, sis, mum's the word. Just as before."

Ruth nodded. She was only too glad to continue her promise. Ruth was eager to hear the rest. She was sure

"I'VE been putting two and two together;" informed Mart. "You see, Wenwold claims old man Knightson is

innocent. His argument is this: Warren Knightson had a lot of securities with which he could pay his

"Sure! But those securities were registered; if sold, they could be traced. Whoever stole Knightson's securities

didn't have a chance to sell them without incriminating himself. That's what I'm trying to explain. The crook

"About the list, I've got a hunch that maybe it wasn't taken. Old Warren Knightson may have given it to

somebody; and then forgotten it. With a notary public, for instance, like Arthur Lockett."

Mart settled back in his chair. Ruth had never heard of Lockett; but she was naturally curious to know why

"In a way, yes," said Mart, as he lighted a cigarette. "Lockett is a funny old fossil; and he used to be a friend

of Tom's father. He's forgetful, too. I placed a fireinsurance policy on his office equipment, and he made up

"One item was valuable papers. Affidavits and such that he's kept in his files for years. He said they weren't

worth much to him, those documents weren't; but some people might be worried if anything happened to

Ruth's interest increased. She remembered that the missing list had been attested by a notary. Warren

Knightson had used it as proof of his assets, to save opening the safedeposit vault. But he had not been able

Ruth recalled, too, that her fatherinlaw had suffered an actual shock when the securities were stolen from

his home. Tom had been informed of that. Broken by his loss, the old man could easily have forgotten that

"Go and see Wenwold tomorrow," advised Mart. "Make out that the idea is your own to ask Lockett, the

notary, for a look at his files. You see" Mart shook his head as he rose from his chair "I'd look like a

"Besides, you're the right person to make the request. It might be a giveaway if I showed an interest in the

case. I want to stay what I am Mart Kilgay because I've made good since I took my new name."

To Ruth, Mart's statement seemed one of utter modesty. She thought that her brother had a heart bigger than

any other in the land. The girl was beaming when they reached the front door, she scarcely noticed that it was

Ruth was wistful, as she spoke parting words: "If you could only, meet Tom, Mart "

"That will come, later," inserted Mart, briskly. "Wait until he's up where he ought to be, before we tell him

who I am. Only, I may meet him sooner" Mart snapped his fingers suddenly. "Say, Ruth, I'm going to give

"Some real estate. I've done fairly well in Parkland, and I've been looking for a good investment. Land's

going up in this section, and I'd be wise to buy some. It will be another lift for Tom."

RUTH lingered in the doorway, until Mart had reached his car. Her happy wave of farewell was the sort that

would have melted many a hardened heart; but not the chunk of rock that pounded out Mart's lifebeat.

His reaction was a lowsnarled oath, too guarded for Ruth to hear. The higher Tom Knightson went, the

farther he would tumble, when Mart pulled out the props tomorrow. And with Tom's hopes would go those

Mart's car was gone; the door of the house was closed. In the blackness of the little lawn there sounded

another tone of mirth, its whisper as subdued as Mart's evil scoff. A cloaked figure glided swiftly for a side

The Shadow had silently entered the house to overhear the talk between Mart and Ruth. He had moved

outside before they arrived at the front door. The Shadow knew details of Mart's coming scheme. He could

The Shadow was speeding on his way to prepare the antidote for the poison that Mart intended to deliver.

MART KILGAY did not drive directly to his office. It was better to make a stop at the hotel; to look around a

bit before he attended to some private business. That was where Mart made something of a mistake.

The Shadow, too, was bound for Mart's office, and had time to reach there ahead of the leader of crime.

Entering unseen past the barber shop, The Shadow saw a customer reclining in Cholly's chair. He was getting

a shave, and his face was tilted back from sight. He wore heavy shoes like those that Brace Lurbin often

Once he reached Mart's office. The Shadow used a tiny flashlight. He ignored the closet where his old cloak

and hat were hanging. The little time that he had was needed for another purpose. The Shadow twinkled the

A tough strongbox, that one. Nevertheless, The Shadow began operations on Mart's safe.

The process that The Shadow used was unusual. He produced a stick of brownish substance that looked like a

combination of putty and wax. He rubbed it on the dial of the safe. If a safecracker had been on hand to

watch that operation, he would have supposed that The Shadow was trying to "soup" the dial. That had a

However. The Shadow continued that process. Whatever else he might have intended was destined to long

postponement. Keen ears heard ascending footsteps on the stairs. The Shadow whisked toward the door,

extinguishing his light as he went. He was in the hallway, lost past a turn, when Mart arrived.

Mart found nothing to prove that The Shadow had made a visit here. Nevertheless, he was taking nothing for

He drew the blinds of the office windows; turned on a wellshaded desk lamp. Stepping to the door, he

listened. He thought he heard sounds in the hall. Moving out, Mart caught a glimpse of darkness by the stairs;

Matt didn't show lack of nerve. He whipped out a revolver and sprang to the stairway. Peering downward, he

saw gloom below, except for the dim glow furnished by the light in the secondstory hall. Mart watched

Pocketing his revolver, Mart went back into the office. As soon as he was gone, solid blackness materialized

IN the office, Mart was muttering to himself. He wasn't totally satisfied. Every time he went toward the safe,

he fancied he heard something in the hall. He made three trips back and forth, wasting a good six minutes.

Just as he was ready to give up that pacing policy, he did catch a sound from the stairway.

Leveling his revolver through the crack of the door, Mart held a steady bead for the spot where the intruder

Again, Mart put away his gun. He opened the door and beckoned to Brace. The triggerman joined him. Mart

"Cholly saw you come up," explained Brace. "I was in the barber shop, and he mentioned it. I figured maybe

"I was," rejoined Mart. "You're just the guy I want. Cover that door, and get an eyeful of the hallway. Just in

"Got a heater? I'm not packing mine tonight." Brace thwacked his hips. "I don't know the bulls as well as

you do. I couldn't laugh off a couple of big rods if they stopped me on the street."

Mart handed Brace his own gun. The triggerman gave the .38 a heft, as though he considered anything

smaller than a .45 to be a toy. The rod was a nifty, though; Brace's approving nod showed that it suited him.

The triggerman wasn't interested in what Mart intended to do. Cooking up crooked schemes was the

bigshot's business. Stooped at the safe, Mart, glanced over his shoulder; was pleased when he saw that

As Mart's thumb and fingers gripped the dial, they fixed there in normal fashion. It was when he had given

several turns to the combination that Mart gained his first impression of The Shadow's interrupted work.

Puzzled, Mart rubbed thumb and fingers together. They were smooth. Mart forgot all about the waxy

sensation. He opened the safe; brought out a flat metal box and carried it to the light.

GREEN paper showed when Mart opened the box. On the desk, Mart spread securities that showed big

figures. These were the trophies of his first job in Parkland the one piece of crookery that had ruined old

They were the funds filched from Knightson's home. The securities that the ruined man swore he owned, only

There was cash in addition; bills of high denominations. Altogether, the funds totaled close to one hundred

thousand dollars. Big swag, that most criminals would have tried to liquidate, despite the risk. Not Mart

Mart had cleaned up plenty, though, with the collapse of Knightson's business, for he had known that it was

coming. Moreover, he had been profiting heavily since. One hundred grand was less than a month's "take" for

It had irked him, though, to know that these funds of Knightson's lay useless. He had intended to unload them

By sacrificing this one batch of stolen wealth, Mart Kilgay intended to clear the way for an annual profit of

one million dollars. His highpressure rackets would be good for another year, at least, when he had finished

With the funds was the list that Mart had also stolen. It was in the form of an affidavit, bearing a notary's seal.

Not Lockett's, but that of another notary in Parkland, a man who had died a while before Warren Knightson

Thick stock certificates, crisp bank notes crinkled as Mart sorted them. The bigshot's eyes showed a greedy

gleam in the light. One hundred thousand dollars was far too big a sum for what he needed. Twenty grand

Mart put aside one fifth of the total, choosing securities only. His fingers handled the papers deftly.

Keeping twenty thousand in securities, and the list, Mart put the rest back into the safe. When he spun the

dial, he again looked at his fingers; then studied the shiny dial itself. No traces of The Shadow's preparation

The leader of crime inserted the securities in an officiallooking envelope that bore no name. He placed the

envelope in his pocket and did the same with the securities list. As he started to rise from the desk, Mart saw

"Thought I heard something," informed the triggerman. "When you're ready to scram, you'd better let me

"I'm all set," returned Mart. "Go ahead, I'll follow. Wait for me; I'll need you to cover later, Brace."

WHATEVER Brace had heard, he found nothing during his downward trip. Mart joined him at the outside

door; Brace returned the bigshot's gun. Mart ordered him to trail along, until they reached the parking lot.

There, Mart drove for a destination several blocks away, Brace riding with him. Mart's goal was a tiny

arcade, that was lined with small offices. Brace accompanied Mart to the darkened back of the arcade. The

The office to which Mart made easy entry was one that bore the name of Arthur Lockett. With a flashlight,

Mart found an old filing cabinet. Among a batch of disheveled papers, he stowed the certified list that bore

the names and numbers of securities and currency that had once belonged to Warren Knightson.

Mart kept the envelope with the twenty thousand dollars in securities, until after he and Brace had returned to

Shortly afterward, there was a visitor to Mart's room; a slyfaced chap known as "Billy the Dip." He was the

respectablelooking pickpocket who had shoved the Larmon letter into Cardona's pocket.

With Brace doing lookout duty from a room that adjoined Mart's, the bigshot had no qualms when he talked

to the pickpocket. He gave that rogue the envelope containing the telltale securities and voiced lowtoned

When the pickpocket had gone, Mark dismissed Brace. Standing alone at a window of his hotel room, Mart

looked out upon the lighted streets of Parkland, where vigilant police kept up a steady patrol.

So far as the law was concerned, the riddle of crime would be solved tomorrow night. Tom Knightson

would be behind bars, a scapegoat in place of Mart Kilgay. Joe Cardona would be finished with his mission.

Parkland would again be a racketrun town a city where the greed of Mart Kilgay stood dominant.

Mart might not have pictured that vicious future, had he known of The Shadow's visit to his office. Instead,

he would probably have posted guards at the office, to make sure that The Shadow did not resume operations

Such precautions would have been useless. As night continued, Mart's office lay dark, silent and empty.

AT half past four the next afternoon, Mart Kilgay was making a telephone call from his office. His voice was

"Wenwold's in his office, sis," spoke Mart. "You'd better get there right away. And listen: If you do have luck

"Yes, you get home right away. Give me a call so I can know what happened... That's the idea. I can do a lot

A man entered the office as Mart completed the conversation. The arrival was Tom Knightson. That young

man heard Mart's final words, including the term "sis"; but that supplied no clue. In fact, Tom would have

been bowled over had he been told that Mart was talking to Ruth. Because of Mart's alias, Tom could not

Tom introduced himself to Mart, with the statement that one of his customers had advised the visit. Mart

"You're handling a property I'd like to buy," said Mart. "The old Redwood mansion, on the turnpike. What

Mart brought a bundle of securities from his desk. Tom watched him sort them. They were utility bonds, that

Mart had actually purchased; quite a contrast to the stolen stuff that he had entrusted to Billy the Dip.

"These may bring better than twenty thousand," observed Mart. "I'll tell you what we'll do, Knightson. You

take these to Jennings, vice president of the Parkland Trust. Leave them there for him to value, while you hop

"Offer them twenty thousand, cash. If they want more, call Jennings. Ask him the total that he's figured and

Tom agreed. He offered to give Mart a receipt for the utility bonds. Mart suggested that Tom write out the

Tom did it; and affixed his signature. Mart pocketed the detailed receipt. He thrust the securities into an

LEAVING Mart's office. Tom bumped into a man coming up the stairs. The blunder seemed accidental; but it

wasn't. The arrival was Billy the Dip. The pickpocket's hat tumbled to the steps. Politely, Tom picked it up.

The envelope was sticking from Tom's inside pocket. Billy the Dip reached for the hat also; as he did, his free

hand came from his coat, bringing his own envelope between thumb and forefinger. With one move, the

pickpocket stowed that envelope into Tom's pocket and plucked away the other envelope between two

Continuing downstairs, Tom remembered the important envelope that he carried. He brought it from his

pocket to make sure he still had it. The envelope was in his hand when he reached the Parkland Trust

Jennings was busy; so Tom left the envelope with a secretary, along with a note stating what he wanted.

Meanwhile, Billy the Dip dropped in on Mart and handed him the switched envelope. Mart opened it; took

The situation was a sweet one. Unwittingly, Tom Knightson had left an incriminating batch of securities at

AT about that time, Louis Wenwold received Ruth Knightson in his office. When the girl told him the reason

"There is not one chance in a thousand that Lockett has that missing list," he declared. "Still, we can find out.

They found the notary in his office. Wizened and testy, Lockett grumbled his willingness to look through his

files. He admitted that the affidavit might be found there; but he wasn't hopeful. The only possibility lay in

After ten minutes of rummaging, Lockett came up with the longwanted affidavit. Blinking amazement

The lawyer's usual dryness vanished. He cut loose like a schoolboy, as he brandished the certified paper

"This vindicates Warren Knightson!" exclaimed Wenwold. "It proves that he did possess the wealth that he

claimed was stolen! It gives the law something to work upon. If these securities can be uncovered, or traced,

"It is not a case for me to handle, with you as my client, Mrs. Knightson. This find must be made public, at

"That's what I want you to do," asserted Ruth. Then, remembering Mart's admonition: "I shall leave it entirely

Ruth hurried home. As soon as she arrived, she telephoned Mart's office. Her brother seemed delighted at the

"I'm waiting here until Tom comes back," mentioned Mart. "When he starts home, I'll call you."

Mart gave a gloating chuckle when he had hung up the receiver. He had an idea that it would be a long while

SUMMONED by Wenwold, Joe Cardona had come to the arcade. The ace agreed with the lawyer that old

Warren Knightson stood vindicated. Joe didn't want to lose any time tracing the funds that were listed in the

"Maybe the crook had nerve enough to try to peddle them here in town," suggested Cardona.

"Don't forget, though," reminded Wenwold, "that the certified list was not stolen, as we thought. Therefore,

Cardona agreed with that. Like Wenwold, he had taken Mart's bait. Both thought that the list had been in

"Suppose we check with the local banks," said Cardona. "That's the first step. Most of them are closed, for it's

"Call the Parkland Trust," advised Wenwold. "They stay open late. Jennings there might help us."

Cardona made the call. Wenwold heard him tell the story to Jennings. The vice president must have asked for

a description of the stolen securities, for Joe reached for the list. He called off the names of the securities and

their numbers, intending to finish with the serial numbers of the currency. Cardona never reached that point.

Wenwold saw the ace hang up the receiver, with a grim stare on his face. The lawyer couldn't understand

"That makes it tough," declared Cardona. "I'm mighty sorry for that girl. If there's any job I hate to go

through with, it's this one. Jennings just received a bunch of that stolen paper, to turn into cash. It came from

Wenwold stood amazed. Despite his dislike for the situation, the lawyer saw how perfectly the facts pieced.

The one man who could easily have pilfered old Warren Knightson's wealth was Tom; for the son had access

Tom, presumably, had not been in Parkland at the time of his father's failure; but that meant nothing. A secret

"I've noticed Tom Knightson," said Joe. "He was crying poormouth, they said, until about ten days ago.

Then things began to ride high. He's been cleaning up dough like nobody's business. It's a cinch that he hasn't

"Local people have been buying from him; and so have a lot of strangers. That's the way rackets are usually

handled. The fellows who collect pass it up to the bigshot through fake business transactions."

JOE reached for the telephone. He called police headquarters and made brisk work of his painful duty.

Cardona had learned from Jennings that Tom was out at the old Redwood mansion, for Jennings had received

a call from there. By the time Cardona stepped from the arcade, a pair of police cars were there. Joe stepped

Louis Wenwold watched the lights of those police cars as they disappeared. They were heading for the main

street; from there, they would take the turnpike and intercept Tom Knightson on his way back from the

Sadly, the old lawyer walked toward the city hall. He knew that Tom would want him as an attorney; but this

was one case that Wenwold would have to refuse. Tom's father was still Wenwold's client. That meant

another lawyer would be needed. Wenwold would have to take up cudgels against Tom.

That wasn't the part that hurt. When the law brought in its prisoner, Wenwold would have a duty as tough as

Cardona's. He would have to call Ruth and tell her of her husband's arrest, with the developments that had

ANOTHER man saw the rolling police cars, and his ugly glee was quite the opposite of Wenwold's sorrow.

Mart Kilgay was standing at Doc Arland's front window when the motor squad went by. Arland was there; so

"There goes bad news for Tom Knightson," gloated Mart, as he peered toward the darkening street. "They'll

bring the guy in soon. It's time for you fellows to get started. Before the news gets somewhere else."

"Cold feet?" he snarled. "Say if the moll don't count with me, why should you guys worry about the job?"

"The moll don't worry us," retorted Ducky, in the hard tone that he used among his pals. "But the job does! It

"The crew will handle it," rasped Mart. "You've got to be there to see the job's done right. I can't use Brace;

he's lying low, till he's needed. If" Mart's grin was a confident one "he's needed at all."

With a wave of dismissal, Mart started his lieutenants on their way. He followed to the stairs; before he

"Don't worry about The Shadow. By this time, he's learned that Cardona's after Tom Knightson. That will

When Doc Arland and Ducky Murrick reached the street, their own confidence had returned. They passed the

alleyway beside the Parkland Trust Building without bothering to glance toward its depths. That was one

reason why they failed to see the shrouded figure that was lurking in the darkness.

The whispered laugh that came from the deep gloom was proof that The Shadow knew much more

RUTH was busy preparing dinner in the bungalow kitchen when the telephone bell rang.

The call was from Louis Wenwold. Ruth stood horrorstruck when she heard the lawyer's mournful news.

"Tom Tom had the stolen securities?" she gasped. "But how did he get them?... He says they were given

Ruth hesitated. It was belief in Mart that stopped her. She didn't see a threat that promised to cut short any

statement concerning Mart. The front door had wedged open. A revolver muzzle was gleaming in the hallway

"I'll call you later, Mr. Wenwold," promised Ruth, brave despite the quiver in her voice. "Yes. At city hall..."

She hung up, and hurriedly dialed Mart's number. Her brother was not surprised by the news of Tom's arrest.

He told her that he had received a call from city hall on the same subject. But his final words they sounded

"I gave Tom some bonds," she heard Mart say, "but they were not the ones he claimed. It's a bad mess, sis. I'll

Another revolver was looming from the dining room as Ruth hung up the receiver. A third appeared, in the

gloom of a little entry that led to the kitchen. Ruth saw none of the threatening weapons. She was staring at

At that moment, Ruth had come to a decision. It was a choice between Tom and Mart; and her newer loyalty

was stronger than her old belief. Whatever Tom's faults, he wasn't a crook. The decency that Mart had shown

was nothing but a coverup for his criminal nature. Ruth had been duped by her brother and she knew it; but

Ruth saw the gun at the front door. She turned toward the dining room, then in the direction of the kitchen.

Other bristling weapons blocked those outlets. Into the light moved the men who threatened her; masked

The extent of Mart's vicious treachery left the girl dumfounded. She knew instantly what these enemies

She was to be abducted, so that the world would think that she had fled after hearing Wenwold's news.

From the approach of the masked crew, Ruth realized that they preferred to avoid gunfire while here. It was

Turning, Ruth sprang for the stairs. With snarls to halt, the three men loped after her. Others bobbed into

Ruth tried to scream. She was too late. A huge paw swooped up from the bottom step to clutch her dress at

the back of the neck. The tug of the garment choked her. With both hands, Ruth ripped the cloth. The dress

Free, Ruth tried to scramble farther up the stairs. She stumbled; felt herself sprawling downward.

AN arm gripped Ruth as she fell. It was a longreaching arm of blackness that came swishing downward

from the darkness of the stairs. The arm twisted the girl about; blackness blotted her figure from the view of

Ruth was flung higher up the steps, where she landed, clutching the banister posts.

Against the light from the lower hall, she saw the rescuer who had intervened. He was a being cloaked in

black, a slouch hat fitted to his head. He was still spinning from the whirl that he had taken to lift Ruth

upward. Never halting, the blackclad fighter launched himself upon the men below.

There was chaos in the hallway. Flinging back the nearest opposition, The Shadow used those thugs as

Revolvers spoke; their savage stabs made Ruth shudder. Crooks had taken the first shots; but The Shadow's

laugh still mocked them. Ruth saw a foeman slip from The Shadow's grasp. That thug had stopped the bullets

In with the staccato barks of the revolvers came the roar of an automatic. Its bursts were thunder in that low

hall. The Shadow was turning, as he warded off the slugs of two attackers. He was poking his shots past the

elbows of the men who tried to sledge him, dropping the marksmen who attempted revolver shots.

One of the sluggers shoved a gun muzzle beneath The Shadow's hat brim. Ruth screeched a warning that The

There was a muffled gun blast with the beginning of Ruth's scream. The aiming thug sagged. The Shadow

The last surge rolled The Shadow back to the steps. Three foemen were upon him. Ruth didn't see that two

were crippled; the third without a gun. She thought that The Shadow needed aid; more than she could give.

There was an open window above a low roof the path by which The Shadow had entered through the

cordon of crooks. Ruth scrambled through; clambered down a trellis where rambler rose thorns plucked her

She saw two cars stopping on the street. Clutching the remnants of her dress, Ruth shouted for help. Four

men sprang from a sedan and came dashing toward her. They were almost across the lawn, when Ruth saw

Ruth tried to regain the trellis. She was boxed in a corner of the wall. Because of the gunfire that they had

heard, the reserve crew was ready to deliver murder as the quickest way to end Ruth's outcries.

A window splintered from the ground floor of the bungalow. Through the shivering glass came a long,

cloaked shape in black. The Shadow had settled matters indoors. He was his own reserve squad, when it came

THE SHADOW landed squarely beside the startled thugs. As they swung to aim for his lowered form, he

came up with a long, driving bound. He slugged with his empty gun, while he fired with a fresh automatic

Two thugs took bullets. The other pair sagged groggily, from the strokes The Shadow had delivered. They

were clinging to their cloaked opponent; but the fight that they gave was feeble. The Shadow reached out to

Deception was the wise course at that moment. The other car, a coupe, was standing by, its occupants ready

to open fire. The Shadow knew the men who were in it: Doc Arland and Ducky Murrick. The lieutenants

His own guns almost emptied, The Shadow would have to pick up other weapons. Such delay might bring

shots, disastrous to Ruth. The plan that The Shadow chose was better. He whispered words to the girl. Ruth

A cluster moved from the corner of the bungalow. Ruth, her arms behind her, was staggering along, half

surrounded by a semicircle, consisting of The Shadow and the two groggy crooks he dragged.

With The Shadow in the center of the trio, the appearance of the group totally deceived the watching

They thought that Ruth was in the grasp of the thugs; for neither Arland nor Ducky could see The Shadow.

They supposed that the girl's weak resistance caused the zigzag course. They watched; saw the cluster reach

Under cover of the car, The Shadow thrust the thugs into the rear seat and told Ruth to crouch there. Taking

the wheel, he slammed the doors and drove away, blinking his lights as he made quick departure.

Taking the signal to mean that all was well, Mart's two lieutenants drove away. They would have liked to stay

and pick up The Shadow; they were worried, also, about leaving the shattered crew behind. But they figured

that their one bet was to clear the vicinity and get back to their offices. They couldn't afford to be linked with

The lieutenants had need for haste. Shots had been heard; a police car was coming to the scene. The coupe

dodged it; but The Shadow deliberately changed direction to cross the police car's course. He heard a shrill

Shots came from the police car. The Shadow answered them with two last stabs from his second gun; shots

Ruth couldn't understand it for the moment; then, the sedan swung a corner, where The Shadow deliberately

ran it up on the curb. Ruth heard the last whispered order that he gave. She spoke her understanding, as her

The Shadow was absent when the police car arrived, some twenty seconds later. Piling out, the officers stared

into the car; saw the front seat empty. They spotted the two groggy thugs in the rear; they saw Ruth tug away

"It's a girl!" gulped a cop. "They've handled her rough, too! Keep those rats covered, while I help her out."

FIVE minutes later, the police car was whining toward the center of Parkland, with Ruth Knightson huddled

between the two officers. Her lips were smiling; her eyes sparkled as she brushed away the wisps of hair that

Ruth was bringing news of thwarted crime. The cops had liked her story; so would Joe Cardona, when she

arrived at city hall. These facts were the sort that would damage the game that Mart had perpetrated. Ruth

With her gladness, Ruth Knightson felt a surge of overwhelming gratitude toward her mysterious rescuer,

EVIDENCE was building heavily against Tom Knightson. That young man's astonishment had begun with

his arrest. It had increased when he arrived at the city hall in custody of the police.

There, Tom was shown the securities that he had left at the Parkland Trust, together with the incriminating

Tom's denial that he had left those securities at the bank was refuted by Jennings. Tom, himself, had marked

the envelope for Jennings. The vice president had opened it in the presence of his secretary and the cashier.

Mart Kilgay was Tom's only hope. That was why Tom asked that the law summon the pretended insurance

broker. It was the worst move that the accused man could have made. He was playing straight into the hands

On arrival, Mart was prompt to testify that he had given Tom a different batch of stocks. As proof, he

produced the detailed receipt that bore Tom's own signature. It hadn't occurred to Tom that such a paper

"So what?" quizzed Joe Cardona. "Mr. Kilgay gave you some utility bonds; you were supposed to turn them

in at the bank. Instead, you shoved across some stolen stuff. Come on, Knightson. You might as well confess

"Knightson checked my bonds himself," asserted the crime leader. "He took them in the envelope. As I

remember it" Mart added a lie that he knew would go across "the envelope was one of my usual ones,

"Which means," put in Cardona, "that you accuse Knightson of a new theft, in addition to the present charge

Mart flashed a look of wellfaked surprise. He became suddenly anxious regarding his own property.

"That's right!" he exclaimed. "My securities are gone! You've got to get them back, inspector!"

"We'll get them!" Cardona was grim. He turned to Tom. "The setup is a plain one, Knightson. You saw a

chance to unload some of the swag you've been holding. You kept Kilgay's good securities and passed the

stolen stuff on Jennings. You figured you'd swing the realestate sale that Kilgay wanted, and he'd never get

Tom began to protest. It reached ignoring ears. Cardona looked to Wenwold, as though seeking the lawyer's

CARDONA had Tom Knightson handcuffed, started an order for the dicks to take Tom to a cell. He figured

Joe held the order when he heard commotion outside the office. Others were staring with him when the door

There was Ruth Knightson, with the escorting policemen. One glance at her disheveled attire told that she had

been through battle. Ruth had twisted the remnants of her house dress to form a skirt. She was wearing a

"A mob tried to snatch her," informed the cop, with a gesture toward Ruth. "She says somebody stepped in to

stop it; and whoever it was, did a good job. He left a flock of cripples lying out there."

Ruth saw the handcuffs on Tom's wrists. She hurried to her husband's side, to tell him that all was well.

While Cardona was getting more details of the fray at the bungalow, Ruth looked up to see Mart. She pointed

"He is the man that is responsible!" accused the girl. "Mart sent those men to seize me!"

Ruth was too dumfounded to retort. Mart was informed that Ruth was Tom's wife. The bigshot had a sudden

"That explains it," Mart told Cardona. "I guess she's all right. Probably her husband has her buffaloed.

"It's just a guess," replied Mart, with a laugh. "Figuring out what crooks are up to, is part of your line; not

"If he's the bigshot that you say he is, that gang must have been his. Having them grab his own wife would

keep her from talking out of turn. It would make him look like an injured party, besides."

Mart's logic was a clincher. It went across with Wenwold, as well as with Cardona. Both remembered that

Ruth had uncovered the missing list. If she had mentioned her proposed search to Tom, that would account

Coolly, Mart Kilgay had turned Ruth's arrival to his own advantage. Mart was thinking fast; a jump or two

Ruth's challenge produced an interruption. Again, her accusing finger was straight toward Mart. She seized

"Why speak of husbands?" demanded Ruth. "When a brother renounces his own sister his only sister and

tries to murder her, that shows him for a villain! This man" she turned to Wenwold while her finger still

PERFECT amazement showed on Mart's face. He played a game of complete denial and did it with

confidence. No one could ever prove that Mart was Ruth's brother. Forgotten in Parkland, the crook could

"So that's the bluff," interrupted Mart. He appealed to Cardona. "It's a stall for time, inspector; but let them

have their fun. When I'm proven to be Mart Kilgay and no one else, it will be just one more count against

Knowing Mart of old, Ruth realized her helplessness. He had always been able to argue black into white.

Ruth thought he had outgrown that old habit; she was coming to realize that, instead, Mart had increased his

Wenwold's sympathetic look, his headshake, were a sign to Ruth that the less she said, the better. If Wenwold

Joe seemed disposed to listen; but the girl had a sickening feeling that Cardona considered her involved in

crime with Tom. It still was possible that the kidnap attempt had begun as a fake, even if some one had

Actually, Cardona was thinking along that line; but he was considering The Shadow's angle. Joe knew that

only The Shadow could have staged that battle at the bungalow. The question was whether he had let Ruth

come here to clear Tom; or to prove the girl's complicity in crime. There was one person who could give the

Timed almost to Cardona's thoughts, the telephone bell rang. Joe reached for the telephone; a hunch gripped

him at the same instant. Cardona knew that he would hear a whispered voice across the wire, the moment that

Low, eventoned, The Shadow's words reached Cardona's ear alone; and Joe listened. His expression was

pokerfaced as thought he were receiving a mere routine report. Actually, Cardona was learning his own next

The Shadow was disclosing his own proof to Joe Cardona, that the law itself might trap the mastercrook

STOLIDLY, Joe Cardona hung up the receiver, to make a monotoned announcement implying that he had

"Some of that gang came from the trailer camp," said the ace. "We'll take a look there, later. Meanwhile, let's

"I'm for you, Kilgay," said the ace, bluntly. "They tried to frame me in this town; and it looks like you've

"We'll settle it once and for all," continued Cardona. "Look, Kilgay. Here are the stolen securities that

Cardona produced the list that had come from Lockett's files. He held it in front of Mart's eyes. The bigshot

Cardona laid the evidence aside. He rummaged in a desk drawer and brought out some sheets of paper. He

Chopping his sentence short, Cardona acted with a speed on which The Shadow had depended. He whisked

away a piece of typewriter paper, to reveal a smoother sheet beneath. With the same move, Cardona let the

As Mart watched the sudden motion of Joe's right hand, Cardona's left clamped hard on the crook's right wrist

and yanked it forward. Before Mart could tug away, Joe's right hand swooped upon the bigshot's spread

fingers. Hard, firmly, like the precise application of a rubber stamp. Cardona flattened Mart's thumb and

With a strong shove, Cardona sent Mart reeling away from the desk, snapping an accompanying order to two

Glaring from between the men who gripped him, Mart watched Cardona apply brush and black powder to the

smooth paper. Mart's finger prints etched into view. Cardona inspected them; next, he beckoned to Wenwold

Still holding the brush, Cardona dabbed along the green borders of stolen securities. Finger prints came into

view. Strong light showed the perfect match. They were Mart's impressions, revealed on stolen swag that he

WHILE the others were absorbing that discovery, Cardona held the old affidavit to the light. Setting the paper

on the desk, he made another stroke with the brush. The allimportant document showed another replica of

"You've convicted yourself, Kilgay," declared Cardona, sternly. "These witnesses have heard your

statements. You never saw the stolen securities nor the affidavit; yet your finger prints are shouting from

Mart had no explanation. The detectives tightened their grip as he tried to struggle. The crook subsided; but

his lips showed sullen motion. The words that he muttered were as dirty as his look. Since Mart didn't care to

"You stole Warren Knightson's funds," accused Joe, "and the affidavit, also. How you switched the securities

on Tom Knightson doesn't matter. You managed it, just like you planted the affidavit in Lockett's files. We

There was more; and Mart remembered it. That sticky safe dial, last night. He could guess who had waxed it.

The Shadow had been there. Foreseeing Mart's game, The Shadow had used that special substance to implant

Mart's finger impressions upon the necessary documents, without the bigshot's knowledge.

"We're going over to your office, Kilgay," announced Cardona. "You'll open that safe of yours for us. In it,

we'll find the rest of the stuff belonging to Warren Knightson. There'll be something else, too; your own

"You're holding his receipt for them; but you're the person who has them. Looks like he'll have the new theft

charge against you. All right, men" Joe nodded to the detectives "put on the bracelets and start him

THERE was dynamite in Mart Kilgay. Cardona knew it, but thought the crime leader to be helpless in the

presence of nearly a dozen captors. But Mart Kilgay never followed rules; even those of criminals. Crossing

In a space of time that seemed instantaneous, the bigshot ended his plight, to again become the public

With a furious twist, Mart spun from the grip of the detectives. His long bounds carried him past blockers

near the door. His hand yanked a revolver; he turned to fire as he reached the hall. Mart found Cardona ready.

While others scrambled aside at Cardona's shout, the ace had his own gun drawn. Joe and Mart exchanged a

pair of shots each, in a shortlived duel that brought no results. Both were hasty, dodging as they pulled their

The stairs were handy; the criminal took them. Cardona led the pursuit, followed by a foursome of detectives.

They could hear Mart shooting as he reached the door below, warning all comers that bullets would reward

Arrived at the door of the city hall, Cardona and the squad expected to wing the crook in the midst of flight.

But Mart had spied a passing taxi, with one of his own gunners at the wheel. He was aboard it, firing his last

As the cab zipped along the main street, Mart was leaning from the window, brandishing his empty revolver

as he shouted the cry for riot. He was proclaiming himself the bigshot; calling on all henchmen to thwart the

Crooked cab drivers heard the summons. They shoved their taxis into the paths of police cars that came in

Mart had reached the Knightson Building. Followed by a quickly assembled squad, he dashed indoors.

Crooks barricaded doors and windows. In brief minutes, the building became a fortress.

It was to be Mart's headquarters, while battle raged outside. When needed, he and a group of shock troops

The bigshot was confident that his roving hosts could scatter the forces of the law. In quitting Parkland,

THAT probability had occurred to Joe Cardona. It explained why the ace did not follow Mart. Instead, Joe

commandeered a car; with a small group of detectives, he sped for the trailer camp. As he neared that spot,

There were enough guns in that crowd to stave off Cardona's flank attack. But Mart's full mass of reserves

As soon as the first rush had begun, agents of The Shadow bobbed from trailers, to take care of the rest. Half

of Mart's fifty reserves were on the way. The rest never started. Men who actually belonged in the trailer

camp rallied to aid The Shadow's agents. Thugs were sprawling everywhere, under the unexpected sortie.

Cardona caught the situation at a glance. He ordered pursuit of those twentyodd who were heading for the

heart of Parkland. With police guns harrying them from the rear, the mob outraced the pursuit. As Cardona's

car swung a corner, he and his few companions came suddenly into the thick of things.

Mart's reserves had stopped on a side street. There, they had joined another horde of crooks who had sprung

from spots in town. The mob must have totaled fifty; and both ends of the block were covered by a handful of

protecting gunners. Before Cardona could cleave his way through, he saw why the mob was here.

Crooks were converging at the shooting gallery. The place was a blind. It belonged to Mart Kilgay; the

Gaining the shelter of a doorway, Cardona gripped a useless, emptied revolver. He saw crooks clear the

Those guns weren't the usual .22s that were used in target shooting. They were rifles of larger caliber; and

there were enough to supply the fifty killers who wanted them. A dozen already had their guns; in three more

Joe knew what that would mean. Mart Kilgay would come from his stronghold to take command. The city

would be looted; buildings put to the torch. What would happen to helpless persons who had taken refuge in

Cardona stopped short as he heard the sudden boom of gunfire. He saw spurts of flame that stabbed from an

unexpected spot the blackness that formed a background for the targets in the shooting gallery.

With that blast came another sound that Cardona recognized. It was the burst of a mocking, allcompelling

The Shadow, again within the midst of enemies, was giving the fierce challenge that he backed with sizzling

CARDONA saw crooks heel about. They saw The Shadow's cloaked figure, like a camouflaged pattern

against the white targets and the black background of the shooting gallery. Those who had rifles aimed them.

The Shadow never halted his withering fire. He had the edge against the dozen who opposed them. He was

burning bullets into those riflemen and the milling throng behind them. Gunmen couldn't get the aim they

Rifles, twisting in loosened hands, furnished only a scattering of wild shots that picked tin ducks and clay

pipes from racks behind The Shadow's shifting shoulders. Sprawling on their weapons, crooks were out of the

fray. Some of those behind them tried to snatch up the fallen rifles. Those stoopers tasted fresh bullets from

The mob broke. Springing forward, The Shadow slugged down foemen who were trying to grab guns from a

rack. He hurled one emptied automatic into the ugly face of a crouching rifleman who alone remained

With a quick sweep, The Shadow gathered up a rifle and cleared the counter with a long vault.

The Shadow's laugh pealed anew, as he trained the rifle and swung it in a semicircle toward the scattering

mob. Attackers dived for cover, where they crouched with hands raised in surrender.

Turning, The Shadow began a quick barrage for the end of the block where Cardona's detectives had been

halted. Guarding crooks knew that their revolvers could not match that longrange fire. They scattered.

The Shadow raised a beckoning hand to Joe Cardona. The detective ace understood the gesture. It was The

Shadow's call for the law to take over the captured shooting gallery; to use the weapons that crooks had

THE capture of the arsenal did not mean that the cause was won. Crooks had been faring well beyond the

corner that led to the main street. Taxidriving thugs had outmaneuvered the police cars. Loose crooks had

Joe Cardona and his small group had their hands full, rounding up the reserve crooks. In addition, they had to

guard the shooting gallery. The problem was to get word to fighting police, that loaded weapons could be had

There were crackles from a fresh rifle, handled by The Shadow. Cardona saw the cloaked fighter's plan. The

Shadow was firing for the corner of the main street, to drive off the few crooks clustered there.

They scattered, like the others had. Flinging his rifle across the counter, The Shadow picked up another

Before Cardona could reach him, The Shadow was making long strides toward the main street. He was off to

clear the way for hardpressed police to gain this outlet. Once they reached the side street, the cops would

To Cardona, The Shadow's new drive looked like suicide. Once he reached the main street, he would be an

open target. Crooks would snipe him from ambush. The chance was too desperate, even for The Shadow.

Grabbing a rifle, Cardona shouted for his men to hold the shooting gallery. On the run, Joe followed The

The instant that The Shadow turned the corner, Cardona could hear the fresh burst of opposing guns. When

Joe arrived, he saw that his fears were realized. There was The Shadow, zigzagging in the middle of the

They hadn't done it yet. Those crooks were wary; and the range was long. The Shadow paused suddenly; a

shot from his rifle nipped a thug who was aiming from a doorway. A twist; another rifle shot; a second crook

Cardona liked that system. From the corner, he began longrange fire with his own rifle. Every sniper that

Joe handled meant further progress for The Shadow. If The Shadow could reach the next cross street, victory

Vainly, the cops were firing at the Knightson Building. They couldn't get close enough to storm that

stronghold; for every surge was answered by a toss of gas bombs from the window. Ducky had provided

Smart headwork on Mart's part. He was baiting the police; keeping them here until his riflemen showed up.

The Shadow's rifle was empty. He reached a sprawled sniper; picked up the fellow's revolver. He seemed to

twist himself away, before another hail of bullets came. Cardona saw him down a crouched gunman with a

Joe chucked his own rifle; took time out to reload his revolver. Cardona was far enough behind The Shadow

CARDONA saw The Shadow wheel, to fire the one shot remaining in his revolver. Joe was hoping that The

Shadow had reserve weapons; but doubted that he would have time to draw them. Cardona's own bullets were

gone; his gun hammer clicked an empty chamber. In this pinch, there was no time to reload.

The Shadow was wheeling away, losing the precious ground that he had gained; but retreating tactics could

not save him. In from the corner wheeled a pair of taxicabs. From behind The Shadow, three more cars were

Killers in those cars could have dropped Cardona where he stood; but they were after bigger game. They

wanted The Shadow. Cars veered as the cloaked fighter leaped to the sidewalk. The coupe was the first to

The cloaked fighter made one last effort, that seemed as futile as it was heroic. The Shadow sprang for the

coupe, to handle the lone man who was in it. With a side twist, The Shadow yanked open the door; clamped

More than a dozen thugs spread around the coupe, to be ready if The Shadow won the fray with his lone

adversary. Cardona was out of it, for a couple of extra men had spotted him and were pumping shots that sent

The struggle in the coupe finished with the sound of a muffled gunshot. Bristling guns were leveled when the

door swung open; but it was not The Shadow who stepped forth. Instead, crooks saw Brace Lurbin. The

"It took me to get him," boasted Brace. "I told Mart what would happen when I ran into The Shadow! Only I

Brace paused; he was holding one big revolver in his right hand. He pulled the mate from his other hip.

"Get rid of The Shadow, you guys! Stow him somewhere, if he hasn't croaked. I'm going through to talk to

Listeners were amazed. They started to tell Brace that he would have to shoot his way through a cordon of

"The Shadow was carving through you guys, wasn't he?" demanded the triggerman. "And I got The

Shadow, didn't I? See these smokewagons?" Brace raised his revolvers with a shake. "They say I'm going

BRACE started off. Welcoming crooks hailed The Shadow's conqueror. Back at the coupe, others were

gleefully hauling Brace's victim to the sidewalk. The Shadow's cloak was twisted around the slumped form

like a shroud. Rowdies pulled it away and picked up the slouch hat from the floor.

A thug who talked from the corner of his mouth was prompt to identify the pasty features that the crooks saw.

"Chee!" he voiced. "It's Cuckoo Berkell! De guy we t'ought was a sappo, down at de trailer camp. An' he was

"Sure," voiced another. "He was foxin' us! Some boob told me he was one of the hopheads that Cardona run

Some one growled to pack The Shadow into a taxicab. There was life in the limp shape of "Cuckoo" Berkell.

How long it would last was a question; particularly in the hands of these sworn enemies to The Shadow. But

Cardona had survived a quick dash back to the corner. Reaching the shooting gallery, he had spied a couple

of automobiles swinging in from the trailer camp. The Shadow's agents were bringing along visiting tourists,

Cardona had the rifle squad he wanted. He came around the corner of the main street at the head of a dozen

willing fighters. They saw the limp, cloakedwrapped figure that was going into the sedan. Rifles blasted a

Mobsters fled under fire. Cardona detailed men to carry The Shadow to safety. Still leading the drive,

Cardona neared the Knightson Building in time to witness what was going on outside it.

Cops and crooks were exchanging a fusillade of bullets that kept both forces under cover. Suddenly, a

longlimbed battler sprang across the street. It was Brace Lurbin, his guns spouting like volcanoes. The

Brace's shots were meant to keep the police too low to fire; and they succeeded. Heads were ducked while

bullets whistled over them. The police poked into sight the moment that Brace had reached the opposite

sidewalk; for half a second, Cardona thought that they would manage to wing the fellow.

Then came a flock of bombarding gas bombs from the windows of the building. Aimed for the cops, those

missiles stopped the fire. Ducking, police lost their chance to drop Brace. Cardona tried to remedy it with a

One bullet was all Cardona fired. It whined above Brace's head, to ricochet from the building wall. Steel

shutters opened from a groundfloor window, and Brace scrambled through. Cardona arrived to take up a

INSIDE the beleaguered fortress, Brace went upstairs. Crooks were at every window, peering through partly

opened shutters, ready to chuck their few remaining bombs. They had revolvers, also; but Mart had told them

"Thanks, Mart," voiced the trigger man. "I knew you'd get the idea when you saw me running for it. That tear

"What're you here for, Brace?" snapped Mart. "I figured you'd bring the rifle crew. That's what we're stalling

"With The Shadow through," declared Mart, "it's a cinch! We won't wait for the bunch with the rifles. We can

"Except for one thing," corrected Brace. "They've got the rifles, Mart. With a bunch of fighting bozos from

Doc Arland was shoving Ducky Murrick from the window, as Brace spoke. Doc clamped the shutters just in

time. The sharp ping that cracked the metal barrier was followed by a hail of bullets. The sound told Mart that

"So The Shadow mooched into the shooting gallery, did he?" Mart's question showed contempt. "And that

makes Cardona think he's got us, huh? We'll show him what he's got. Trouble, from something worse than

Turning about, Mart indicated Doc Arland's electrical equipment with a sweep of his arm. To Arland and

The crooks pulled the equipment apart. The upright standards of electrical appliances were the muzzles of

machine guns, that had long awaited this occasion. As other parts fitted into place, the room lights showed

"We'll shove these downstairs," said Mart. "Another shot of tear gas and we'll make a break for it. They'll

The curl at the corner of Brace's lips showed his relish of the future. But Brace thought of something else.

"We gotta pack it," returned the bigshot. "Hop in there and get started, Brace. I'll come in and open the

Brace left. Mart waited to see the machine guns set up. He noted Doc Arland staring puzzled at one muzzle;

"Spiked!" exclaimed the lieutenant. "Every one of them! There's not a good gun in the lot!"

Like his lieutenants, Mart stood silent. He heard a rifle bullet smack the closed shutters. That reminder of the

present menace stirred Mart's memory of a past one. He realized that The Shadow had penetrated to this very

office days ago, maybe weeks to identify the electrical apparatuses as what they actually were.

Powerful, needed weapons were turned to worthless metal. Spiked machine guns were The Shadow's legacy

SAVAGELY, Mart regained his desire for action. He yanked a revolver from his hip; told Arland and Ducky

"We're shooting it out!" rasped Mart. "The tear gas; then these rods. We've got gorillas downstairs, all ready

"They'll quit when they know what's happened. Mart," objected Arland. "You told them you'd have machine

"Nobody's got a show against those rifles," added Ducky. "We're through, Mart. That's all."

Mart didn't lose his confidence. He thumbed along the hall. His lieutenants looked toward the door of the rear

"You've forgotten Brace?" quizzed Mart. "You saw him shoot his way in here, didn't you? Alone?"

"All right," added the leader. "What about going out? He'll do the same. Those cops will scatter like monkeys

when they see Brace coming through. But this time" Mart's eyes were vicious "he'll be shooting to kill!

Mart could never have played a better bet. His confidence in Brace was shared by the others. The lieutenants

needed no further order to follow. Mart started for his office, with Arland and Ducky behind him.

Mart spoke the words as he opened the office door. He stopped to gawk about. The room was lighted, but

Mart was badly puzzled. He hadn't heard Brace go downstairs. The window was shuttered tightly. Brace

Nevertheless, Brace was gone, with no hiding place to hold him. The door of the closet was half open. Inside,

Mart could see the cloak and hat of The Shadow, hanging there. Mart blinked. There was something funny

As Mart stared, that black garb moved. The cloak bulged from the shape of a figure beneath it. Burning eyes

shone from beneath the hat brim. Like a materializing ghost, the form of The Shadow issued into light. From

Gloved hands held mammoth guns; but they were not The Shadow's automatics. They were the .45 revolvers

belonging to Brace Lurbin; the smokewagons that Mart had hired to produce The Shadow's death!

Rooted, Mart couldn't fathom it; nor could the gawking men behind him. Not until The Shadow deliberately

tilted back his head so that they could glimpse his face. The flattish features that they saw were not the

IT looked masklike, that visage, when crooks realized the truth. Almost instantly, riddles were explained.

Mart Kilgay understood why Brace had failed to uncover The Shadow. As Brace Lurbin, The Shadow had

Quick vanishes were explained. That night in Ducky's storeroom, The Shadow had arranged his hat and

cloak; then become Brace. On another occasion, he had staged a similar change in back of the Crystal

Brace hadn't been on a false trail the night of Larmon's murder. He had been busy at the Park Hotel,

performing more kaleidoscopic changes. As Brace, The Shadow had divined Dingo's plan for entering the

jewelry store. Still in the guise of Brace, The Shadow had added his creepy laugh while following Mart.

On the night of double crime, The Shadow had an alibi for Brace; the claim that he had seen Doc Arland's

Tonight The Shadow, surrounded by crooks, had pounced on the thuggish driver of a chance coupe.

Leaving his cloak and hat with the victim, he had revealed himself as Brace. Crooks had aided him to

Earlier, The Shadow had watched the plot develop against Tom Knightson; he had heard the plans for Ruth's

abduction. He had spiked both of those moves, just like the machine guns in Arland's office.

THE SHADOW was here to clear crooks from their fortress; to save the lives of dozens of police. As a

beginning, The Shadow had Mart covered; but the bigshot saw a chance to preserve himself at the expense

Heaving backward, Mart went between Arland and Ducky, shoving them into the doorway. They didn't

realize the betrayal. Their guns were up; each lieutenant was eager to get the first shot at The Shadow.

Gloved fingers tugged revolver triggers. With his pair of guns, The Shadow beat both crooks to the shot.

Mart's living shields sagged away, guns dropping from their hands. Mart fired, but his slugs found no better

A .45 blasted a bullet through the crack of the open door, to skim Mart's coat sleeve. The crime leader did a

wild dive and made the stairs. He turned to fire; ducked downward when he saw The Shadow's gun muzzle

During that mad race, the bigshot shouted, calling thugs from their stations to meet The Shadow's drive.

They came, to find The Shadow aiming for their doorways. Guns roared a constant fray that Mart still heard

when he reached the ground floor. He rallied the gunmen at the lower windows; chased them to the stairs.

From the front door, Mart saw the result. Along the entire route, The Shadow had been dropping foemen,

always a jump ahead with his aim and fire. His revolvers were pumping downward when the last reserves

aimed up from the bottom of the stairs. Mart couldn't see The Shadow; all he could watch was what happened

There were four of them, withering as they fired. Two sprawled before they could tug their triggers. A third

was sagging as he fired. His drifting gun slammed useless bullets into the stairs below The Shadow.

The last man fired savagely; his aim looked good to Mart. That was because the bigshot couldn't see The

Like an echo to the thug's shot came the answer from The Shadow's gun. The last of Mart's downstairs crew

From above came the chilling cry that reached Mart's marrow. It was the strident laugh of The Shadow.

With a wild yank, Mart pulled back the bar that held the big front door. He shoved the barrier outward; as it

swung, he scooped up a pair of gas bombs. He hurled them ahead of him as he dashed out toward the

sidewalk. Mart saw figures scud as the tear gas exploded in the middle of the street.

On the curb, Mart halted, aiming his gun to open fire. From the doorway behind him peered The Shadow. A

gloved hand gripped a revolver that The Shadow had picked from beside a fallen crook. The Shadow was

Guns spoke from all about, with Mart Kilgay as the common target. With that medley of revolver barks and

rifle shots, the crook spun crazily, buffeted by bullets. The Shadow saw him topple to the gutter. A dozen

JOE CARDONA was the first to reach Mart's body. Looking toward the door of the building, Joe saw The

Agents of The Shadow saw the move and knew what it meant. A coupe started from beyond the corner; The

Brief words were exchanged. The Shadow explained the manner of his amazing reappearance. He pointed to

the doorway; Cardona knew that the way was clear to Mart's office. There would be found the evidence that

the law required: stolen funds, proving Mart's guilt along with Tom's innocence. Cardona would find the

The Shadow stepped past the bulletriddled form of Mart Kilgay. The coupe started with its cloaked

passenger. Herded crooks watched its departure. Those thugs were helpless under the guns of police and loyal

Joe Cardona gave his arms a long, wide sweep. Hats came from the sweatstreaked foreheads of loyal men.

Hands waved those hats while rousing cheers came from husky throats. Rescued citizens of Parkland,

As the coupe swung the corner, they received The Shadow's answer. A gloved hand swung a slouch hat from

the window, in recognition of the hoarsevoiced cheers. A shivering laugh trailed weirdly; its fading tone

To Joe Cardona had come the realization of a long desire. Often, in the past, The Shadow had conquered

crime, to turn the credit over to Cardona. By banishing evil from this city of greed, The Shadow had

At last, Joe was able to return the compliment. He had provided the sequel that he wanted. The Shadow's

departure had been no unseen move, leaving nothing but a blackened void. The cloaked conqueror of crime