SILVER SKULL.................................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. DOOM'S TOKEN.............................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. LINKS FROM THE PAST ..............................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. SERVERS OF THE SKULL ..........................................................................................9

CHAPTER IV. WORD TO THE SHADOW........................................................................................13

CHAPTER V. DEATH RIDES ANEW................................................................................................16

CHAPTER VI. CRIME'S NEW TRAIL ................................................................................................20

CHAPTER VII. WORD TO THE SKULL ............................................................................................24

CHAPTER VIII. THE DELAYED CLUE............................................................................................27

CHAPTER IX. THE SKULL SPEAKS................................................................................................30

CHAPTER X. CROOKS FROM THE PAST.......................................................................................33

CHAPTER XI. DEATH IN THE AIR ...................................................................................................36

CHAPTER XII. THE SHADOW'S PLAN............................................................................................39

CHAPTER XIII. THE DESERT LAIR.................................................................................................43

CHAPTER XIV. THE SHADOW'S CALL..........................................................................................46

CHAPTER XV. CRIME'S RALLY .......................................................................................................50

CHAPTER XVI. THE SECRET SEARCH ...........................................................................................54

CHAPTER XVII. THE MAN WHO HEARD......................................................................................57

CHAPTER XVIII. THE NIGHT FLIGHT............................................................................................61

CHAPTER XIX. STRANGE ALLIES ..................................................................................................63

CHAPTER XX. CRIME REVEALED ..................................................................................................66

THERE was something in the night air that Mildred Wilbin did not like. Perhaps it was the fog, a muggy mist

not usual during this mild season. But Mildred had driven through such fogs before, when she went to her

As she swung her trim canaryhued roadster along the road beside Long Island Sound, Mildred brushed back

the stray locks of lightbrown hair that had settled toward her eyebrows. With the same sweep, she seemed to

take the troubled furrows from her forehead. Her attractive lips lost their solemn droop and favored her with a

She was worried about her uncle, that was all; and with very little reason. The fog had suggested a danger,

Tonight, Mildred's uncle, Herbert Wilbin, was taking a transport plane for Los Angeles. Within the past

month, two such ships had crashed among the Rocky Mountains. Therefore, Mildred had logically been

Logic of a different sort had ended the girl's qualms. Herbert Wilbin had argued that the planes were flying

higher, taking more precautions, because of the recent disasters. That had satisfied Mildred, until this fog had

But she was reasoning that menace out of mind. This fog was local, confined to Long Island alone. It couldn't

bother pilots of a westbound plane. As if in answer to that bit of common sense, the fog began to clear before

Mildred had reached the rise of ground outside her uncle's estate. She turned the car in between two stone

There was a light beneath the portico that fronted the great stone house. By the glow, Mildred saw a

limousine parked there. A grayhaired man Herbert Wilbin was standing beside the car, talking to

someone within it. Rather than interrupt her uncle's conversation with a parting guest, Mildred cut through a

The fog was very slight where Mildred parked, but pitchblackness settled in the moment that she turned off

the roadster's lights. The circular drive was flanked by cedar trees that hid the lower windows of the house.

Mildred had to grope past those screening trees, to sight the dim light from the house door that opened onto

She had a key to that door, and while she used it, she felt nervous. She was worried again, not by thought of

the fog, but by something that she couldn't explain. There was no breeze in the fogstilled darkness, yet the

Mildred's lips were tight, when the door finally unlocked. She felt very grateful for the lights in the rear hall.

Fortner was her uncle's secretary, a smug, middleaged man whose hair was prematurely gray.

Perhaps Herbert Wilbin found Fortner indispensable as a secretary; but that, in Mildred's opinion, didn't make

For once, she had noticed Fortner before the secretary spied her. He was on his way to Wilbin's study, and it

was almost laughable, the sudden jump that Fortner gave when he heard Mildred speak. A moment later, he

"Why... why, you startled me, Miss Wilbin!" the secretary wheezed. "I thought... well, you said goodby to

"But I'm back again," interposed Mildred, with a smile. "I happened to forget my suitcase. It's upstairs in my

The secretary hesitated; he looked toward the study door, as though duty called him there.

"It's very heavy," added Mildred, "and besides, I left some books in the library. If you bring the suitcase

Fortner nodded. He glanced toward the front of the house. Noting no signs of Herbert Wilbin's immediate

return, Fortner decided to get the suitcase. But he spoke a reminder before he started upstairs.

"Mr. Wilbin has some important letters to dictate," said Fortner. "He can't afford much time, or he will miss

"I've already said goodby to Uncle Herbert," smiled Mildred. "You won't even have to tell him that I came

Quite relieved, Fortner headed for the stairway, while Mildred went into the library. She was picking out the

books, when she heard the smooth purr of the departing limousine out front. She glimpsed her uncle when he

came in from the portico, but she did not call to him as he went past the library door.

HERBERT WILBIN was smiling as he strolled into the study. He was remembering some quip that he had

exchanged with the visitor who had just left. They had chatted previously in the study, for on Wilbin's desk

was an ash tray containing cigar stumps, and tall glasses empty except for remaining fragments of ice.

Sitting down at his desk, Wilbin stiffened suddenly, with a slight instinctive recoil. His eyes had encountered

a strange object that glimmered dully from the desk: a thing that seemed alive, although it symbolized death.

The object was a silver skull remarkably like an actual death'shead, though it was small enough to have

Ostensibly, the skull was nothing more than a paper weight, for it rested upon some papers that were on the

desk. Nevertheless, Wilbin reached for the skull as though he feared it would burn his fingers. Laying it

A chill gripped Herbert Wilbin; his breath hissed between his gritted teeth. There should have been an

envelope among. that bundle; one containing a paper more important than any in the stack.

Hands clamped upon the desk edge, Wilbin eyed the silver skull. This time, his lips hissed words that he

The title fitted a certain person, for a reason that Herbert Wilbin knew. A man who should be trustworthy, yet

who, by this token on the desk, was otherwise. A flood of thoughts rushed through Wilbin's brain, began to

So intent was Wilbin upon his theories, that he did not hear the sound of a motor in the rear drive. It was

Mildred, departing in her roadster; but Wilbin knew nothing of his niece's brief return.

In the stillness of the study, he was sliding open a desk drawer; his eyes fixed upon the door of the room, he

reached for a revolver. Herbert Wilbin was quite sure that he could solve the riddle of the silver skull. Not

Soon, the door opened. Into the room stepped Fortner. The smug secretary closed the door behind him and

turned toward the desk. The look that he gave was as startled as the one that Mildred had previously

"Tonight, I received a guest," he told Fortner. "A man who presumably knew nothing of my affairs. A man,

therefore, who could be left alone in this room, where a most important document was within his reach.

"He found that paper, Fortner, and took it. In its place" Wilbin gestured with his free hand "he left this

Fortner said nothing. His eyes were gazing at the skull, his lips giving a twitch that tried to express ignorance,

"As I analyze it, Fortner," added Wilbin, "my visitor let us call him Silver Skull could have left this token

for one purpose only: to notify someone that his task was done. Since you and I are alone in the house; you

"NO, no!" Fortner was advancing, shaking his head, raising his hands pitifully. "I know nothing!"

"You know everything," corrected Wilbin. "Halt where you are, Fortner, and tell me what Silver Skull

expects to gain. Tell me what you were supposed to do, after you found his token; what measures you were to

"Unless you speak, Fortner, your plight will be as bad as that of the man who hired you. I shall call the

police" Wilbin's free hand was moving toward the telephone "and denounce you, too, when I tell them

Wilbin failed to add the name. He had something else to occupy him. Fortner was leaping for the desk. The

The click did nothing to halt Fortner. The gun was empty. Fortner, himself, had seen to that earlier; it

explained why he was willing to take a chance. Viciously, he sprang across the desk and locked with Wilbin

In the tussle that followed, Fortner fought with the frantic instinct of a cornered rat. He managed to twist

away from a choking clutch Wilbin got on his neck, and with each spell of freedom, he supplied wild

Half across the desk, Fortner wriggled free from Wilbin and tried to grab for the swivel chair. He landed in it

at an angle and the chair levered backward. Fortner's feet went up into the air, straight toward Wilbin.

Partly through sheer inability to halt his backward plunge, partly through his ability to grasp quick

opportunities, Fortner let his left foot fly high in a sideward kick that took Wilbin underneath the chin.

The stroke had more power than Fortner could possibly have put into a punch. Its chance accuracy gave it a

knockout force. When Fortner crawled from the chair, he saw Herbert Wilbin lying stunned beside him.

Panting, the secretary went to a window, raised the shade, then the sash. Reaching back to the desk, he picked

up the silver skull and showed it at the window. There was a stir from the cedars; hardlooking men came

through the open window, and grinned their understanding when they viewed Wilbin's prostrate form.

They took the unconscious victim out through the window. Locking the sash and drawing the shade, Fortner

picked up the telephone and ordered a taxicab. He was tidying the room, when the telephone bell rang.

"Skull," replied Fortner. Then, in panting tone: "It's done! Everything worked out "

A drop of the distant receiver cut off any further report. Silver Skull was satisfied with the news. Fortner gave

a shrug, then grinned. There was more work for him to do, but it would be easy; very easy.

When the taxi arrived at the Wilbin mansion, Fortner was standing beneath the darkened portico, a heavy

suitcase resting beside him. When he and his luggage were inside the cab, Fortner gave the brisk order:

ON the day following the stroke against Herbert Wilbin, rumors of another air tragedy swept suddenly upon

the public. A crosscountry plane had vanished somewhere in the Rockies, exactly like the two that had been

Among the passengers listed was Herbert Wilbin, millionaire manufacturer from Long Island.

There was little doubt as to the plane's fate. By this time, the public had learned what to expect when such

ships were last reported over the mountains. A few days would bring the discovery of scattered wreckage, in

Until that time, searchers were expressing the usual hopes that they themselves invariably ended.

Midafternoon found two men discussing the missing ship in surroundings quite remote from the Rocky

Mountains. The two were in a sumptuous hotel suite in New York City, and though they presented a marked

One was Kent Allard, an aviator with a singular career. Years ago, he had had a forced landing in Guatemala,

where he had become the white god of a tribe of Xinca Indians. Returned to New York, Allard lived at this

Allard's appearance was as remarkable as his career. His face was hawklike in expression, as solemn and as

firmmolded as the features of an Aztec idol. His speech, calm and eventoned, was as lacking in emotion as

his countenance. The only expression that might have betrayed his thoughts, came from his keen eyes. But

The other man was Norwood Parridge, a wealthy sportsman whose chief hobby was flying. He was tall, like

Allard; but his shoulders had a forward tilt, as though they carried some constant burden. Parridge's face was

handsome but haggard, and the lines that creased his forehead had the look of grooves.

"It can't happen again," Parridge was saying, as he paced the floor. Then, bitterly: "That's what I said before,

Allard's eyes had a sympathetic gaze. Parridge noted it; his shoulders straightened as he stroked a hand

"It's not the money in it," he declared. "I'm not worrying about the cash that I've invested in Federated

"I'm going to join the search again," asserted Parridge, grimly. "Like I did when they hunted for those other

ships. Thanks for your offer to pinchhit for me, but I've got to go through with it myself.

"Yet what will it bring? Nothing, except the finding of twisted metal; human bodies charred beyond all

recognition. There will be talk of further safety measures, but nothing can come of it. Federated Airways

"It's the human element, Allard; the mental hazard that hits every pilot, no matter how experienced he is.

That's why these crackups always come in cycles. All we can hope is that this particular one is ended."

AFTER Parridge had gone, Kent Allard stood at the window of the spacious living room watching the

millionaire's car drive from the hotel. Fixed lips moved; from them came the tone of a whispered laugh.

Mirthless, it was a grim echo to the matters that Allard and Parridge had discussed.

Though Norwood Parridge did not know it, his fellow aviator, Kent Allard, had more than an airman's

interest in those tragedies among the Rockies. For behind the calm personality of Kent Allard lay a strange

Master fighter who battled crime, The Shadow had come face to face with a chain of mystery that carried him

To date, The Shadow had accepted these air tragedies as the accidents that they appeared to be; but the third

Stepping to a writing desk, Allard drew typewritten sheets from a drawer and studied them intently.

The first was a report on a man named Carter Gurry, a wealthy Californian who had died in the first crash.

Gurry had been planning to place most of his fortune in a motionpicture enterprise, when death had

intervened. His wealth had gone to a cousin in California, who had promptly set out for Australia.

Next on the list was Roy Breck, a victim in the second crash. Breck, it seemed, had been traveling West to

marry a girl in Arizona. His death had placed his entire fortune, the Breck lumber millions, in the hands of a

Today, close upon the third plane disaster, agents of The Shadow had supplied prompt data regarding a new

victim Herbert Wilbin. There were two possible heirs to Wilbin's wealth: one, a niece, Mildred; the other a

The two presented an absolute contrast. Mildred's affection for her uncle was marked; and from all reports,

Wilbin had cared for his niece. But Roger had shown no regard whatever for his uncle. In fact, Roger Wilbin

was at present in South America, for a reason known to The Shadow, although it had not been revealed to the

The reason was that Roger had forged his uncle's name to checks totaling some twenty thousand dollars, and

Nevertheless, The Shadow's report sheets showed that Wilbin's lawyers, believing his death a certainty, had

searched among their client's papers and had learned that two thirds of the fortune was to go to the renegade

As yet, The Shadow had not learned the date of the will in question; but he was sure upon one point

namely, that the will must have been made prior to Roger's crooked work. Likewise, The Shadow was

positive that a later will, as yet unfound, must have been extracted from among Wilbin's papers.

Those two points added up to one conclusion: that last night's plane crash had been something other than an

accident. Tracing back, the same could properly apply to the previous disasters that had harried Federated

The Shadow folded the report sheets. His hand was reaching for a telephone, when the bell rang. Answering

it in Allard's tone, The Shadow learned that a visitor had arrived to see him. A moment later, the visitor's

THERE was no smile on Allard s lips as he gravely received the caller. Nothing told Mildred that she, of all

persons, was the one that Kent Allard had been most anxious to meet at this particular moment. She was

In Mildred Wilbin, The Shadow observed a girl of rare charm. Her face had a beauty that strain could not

The girl was not wearing mourning clothes. Until she learned the positive news that the lost plane had

Within a few minutes, Mildred was talking of the very subject that she had come to discuss: her uncle. More

than that, she was telling Kent Allard why she had chosen to confide in him, although she had never before

"You are a famous aviator," said Mildred, her tone as sincere as her gaze. "More than that, you have

undergone hardships. They say that you are wealthy, yet care little for wealth. That is why I believe that you

"My uncle may be dead. If he is dead, his death was designed. Therefore you, in the interest of aviation,

"There is a reason," interposed Mildred. "I have heard from my uncle's lawyers. His will leaves two thirds of

his estate to my brother. I assure you, Mr. Allard, that my uncle must have made a later will.

"He intended to leave everything to me. But my feeling in the matter is not selfish. I would give every cent"

her eyes were flashing "to charity, rather than have the slightest share go to Roger!"

"Was precisely the same as mine. There are reasons, Mr. Allard, that I cannot reveal, because my uncle,

It was plain that Mildred was holding back any statement of Roger's forgeries, which proved the sincerity of

her story. Sensing that Allard was impressed, the girl pressed her cause with facts that she felt she could

"Fortner could be the man responsible," she declared. "He was my uncle's secretary."

Mildred described the smug secretary, and detailed her impression of Fortner's softfooted ways. Though

Allard listened placidly, his eyes almost shut, Mildred thought she detected a flicker of interest on his part

"What you have told me may be quite important," decided Allard. "However" his lips showed the

semblance of a smile "it is a problem for a detective, rather than an aviator. You will pardon my absence

Mildred nodded. Allard strolled from the living room; when he returned, a few minutes later, he again

"The matter is in competent hands," he told Mildred, "and I can promise my own cooperation, so far as the

aviation angle is concerned. Meanwhile, I must ask one question. Has anyone followed you since last night?"

Mildred shook her head. She was emphatic on that point. From the window, she pointed out the yellow

roadster parked near the hotel. From his own scrutiny, Allard seemed assured that the car was unwatched.

"I have some excellent advice for you," he told Mildred. "You are to take a vacation. Forget everything, until

"Do you mean" Mildred's eyes were wide with hope "that Uncle Herbert may still be alive?"

"Anything may be possible," assured Allard. He was watching a taxicab park across the street from Mildred's

ALLARD gave Mildred the name of a lodge on a Connecticut lake, with instructions how to reach it. He

added that she was to use another name while there, so that she could be reached only by persons who were

Such precautions, instead of dismaying Mildred, served to intrigue her. She felt sure that the person contacted

by Kent Allard must be an investigator of high repute. Confidence gripped her, as she walked with Allard to

"Do not worry about followers," remarked Allard, in parting. "Your trail will be protected."

From his window, Kent Allard watched Mildred leave the hotel. The girl's white attire, with its trimming of

brown, made her quite conspicuous as she entered the canaryyellow roadster. The car, too, was easy to

observe, as it rolled away through traffic. Those points, as affairs stood, were in Mildred's favor.

A soft laugh came from the lips of Kent Allard. Again, the sibilant tone was the mirth of The Shadow. This

time, it carried a note of satisfaction. With Mildred Wilbin safe, available if needed for future information,

The Shadow was ready to take up a trail of crime. For he was the investigator whose advice Kent Allard had

There were times, however, when chance could mar even The Shadow's plans. In the case of Mildred Wilbin,

WHEN Mildred Wilbin drove away from Allard's hotel, a taxi took up her trail. It was the same cab that had

parked across the street and it was driven by one of The Shadow's agents, summoned by that telephone call.

After a dozen blocks, Mildred turned into a side street and made a stop at a jewelry store, where she had left

her watch to be repaired. The cab was waiting there when she came out; behind it was a coupe, driven by

The coupe took over the trail. Mildred was being watched by Harry Vincent, most capable of The Shadow's

aids. With his coupe, it was Harry's task to convoy the girl beyond the limits of Manhattan.

Mildred made another stop, at a drugstore. From his coupe, Harry watched the doorway and satisfied

himself that no one had trailed the girl. In fact, at that moment, Mildred Wilbin was entirely safe, forgotten

even by the hidden criminal who had plotted against her uncle. There was no way for Harry Vincent to guess

Making a purchase, Mildred opened her handbag and drew out a change purse. Among the coins, she saw a

folded slip of paper and opened it. She recognized the slip as a shopping list that she had used a few days

It was a telephone number, Hyacinth 49328, and it was written in a meticulous hand that Mildred identified

as Fortner's. She remembered instantly that she had found the slip of paper on the telephone table in the

hallway of her uncle's home, but not until this moment had she noted the writing on the under side.

Prompted by an immediate impulse, Mildred entered a phone booth in the drugstore. For a moment, she

thought of calling Allard first; but she had forgotten the number of his hotel. Dropping a nickel in the pay

A voice answered promptly; a voice that said "Hello!" in a great hurry. Mildred repeated the greeting; the

voice evidently expected a woman's call. Across the wire, Mildred heard a smoothvoiced statement:

"John Lenville will be next. All is arranged; but be ready, in case you are needed."

There was something insidious in that smooth tone, that made Mildred's thoughts flash to her uncle's fate. Her

fears of crime were not idle; nor was crime ended. She stood at the telephone, too stunned to speak. The voice

was repeating the name of John Lenville. Finding her own voice, Mildred asked coolly:

The question was not immediately answered. Mildred found time to scrawl the name of John Lenville on the

envelope on which she had written the address of the Connecticut lodge. Then came the voice across the

The word meant nothing to Mildred. She supposed that her question had been misunderstood. Calmly as

before, she asked if there would be others after Lenville. This time, after a moment of hesitation, the voice

THERE was a click of a receiver. Hanging up, Mildred hurriedly consulted a telephone directory. She

couldn't find the name of John Lenville, but she discovered a listing for Dr. George Sleed. His address was in

Going out to her car, Mildred drove north. Remembering her interview with Kent Allard, she decided that

before she called him, it would be best to gather all the information available. That could best be acquired by

calling upon Dr. Sleed, a man who, like the unknown John Lenville, was living under some threat.

Reaching Sleed's address, Mildred found it to be a pretentious brownstone house that had been converted into

a store and apartments. Leaving her car, she ascended the high steps; in the lobby, she found a bell button that

bore the name of Dr. George Sleed, with the listing 2B. She rang the bell; there was a prompt buzz from the

At the top of the stairs, a door had opened; in the waning afternoon light, Mildred saw a uniformed nurse,

who greeted her with a slight bow. She inquired Mildred's name; receiving it, the nurse ushered the visitor

Mildred began wondering what to say to Dr. Sleed, when she met him. Wrapped in thought, she scarcely

noticed that the little waiting room was very stuffy. She was roused suddenly by the opening of an inner door.

Against the light from an office, she saw a bearded man standing on the threshold.

The room was whirling suddenly. Mildred would have fallen, except for Sleed's quickness in catching her

arm. He helped her into the office, calling excitedly for Miss Royce. The nurse arrived to find Mildred sagged

"This patient is very ill, Miss Royce," announced Sleed, reprovingly. "She must be kept quiet. Put her to bed

Mildred tried to protest, but her voice only choked. The nurse helped her to her feet; instantly, Mildred felt a

return of dizziness. She let Miss Royce help her along a hallway, into a whitewalled room furnished with a

hospital bed and a few chairs. From a chair beside the bed, Mildred watched the nurse close the door, then

bring a nightgown from a closet. Placing the garment on the bed, the nurse methodically turned down the

She gasped, hysterically. She realized that she wasn't all right. Then the nurse was beside her, helping her

The soft nightie felt very comfortable when it slid over Mildred's shoulders. The bed was comfortable, too.

Mildred gave a sigh; nestling her cheek against the deep pillow, she watched Miss Royce gather scattered

"You must rest," advised the nurse, soothingly. "Close your eyes. The dizziness will pass."

MILDRED closed her eyes. Comfortable moments passed until she heard a sharp sound, like the closing of a

door; next, a subdued, persistent hiss. Coming upright in bed, Mildred was puzzled by the sight of daylight

through clear panes above a frosted window. Her fingers plucking the nightgown, she wondered why she was

It struck her that she should be in her car driving to Connecticut, instead of in this room. Springing from the

Through the clear panes above the frosted ones, Mildred looked out on the front street and saw her yellow

Going to the room door, Mildred found that the knob would not turn. She pounded for a few moments, then

decided that she could save time by getting dressed, while she waited for the nurse. Mildred was slipping the

nightgown from her shoulders, when she turned toward the chair beside the bed. A surge of complete

Her clothes were gone from the chair. Miss Royce had taken them. Mildred's face went pale with despair; a

chill seemed to sweep her, as she understood how capably her plight had been planned.

She had walked into a trap the moment that she entered that outer office. Her hysteria had come from

laughing gas, piped into the waiting room. She could have been overpowered then and there; but these

crooks, Dr. Sleed and the nurse, Miss Royce, would have had a more difficult charge on their hands. They

hadn't wanted a chance visitor unconscious in the waiting room, where someone else might arrive.

Instead, they had let Mildred add to her own dilemma. She had become a patient, and had willingly let Miss

Royce put her to bed. As she now stood, Mildred hadn't a single possession by which she could identify

Out of a blur of thoughts, Mildred caught the reason why she had thought of laughing gas. The hissing sound,

still persistent in this room, had given her the explanation. More gas; but this dose was not of the same

variety. Before Mildred could start a frantic dash toward the window, a blackness swept over her.

In the hallway outside, the bearded man who called himself Dr. George Sleed was watching a dial attached to

the wall. The indicator had reached the required point; with a smile that parted his beard, Sleed turned off the

Going back into his office, Sleed picked up Mildred's handbag from the desk. He was interested in the large

amount of money that it contained; also in the automobile keys and the licenses that went with them. But he

widened his overlarge grin when he found the slip of paper that stated Mildred's destination and the name she

The door opened. Out stepped the Royce woman, attired as a nurse no longer. From tantrimmed shoes to

brownribboned white hat, her clothes were those that had belonged to Mildred Wilbin.

"How do you like me, doc?" asked Thelma, her voice no longer modulated. "Do I look as classy as the

Wilbin dame did, when she walked in here? I ought to, because everything she was wearing fits me perfect!"

"You're about her build," agreed Sleed. "Only, your hair is darker. Tilt that hat a bit."

Thelma obliged. She walked across the room, in excellent imitation of Mildred's style. Sleed beckoned her to

"More luck," he said. "The Wilbin dame pulled a boner, calling Silver Skull; and another, coming here. This

medico racket proved better than I figured it would. But this is the real break. Do you know what the dame

"I mean what she did have up her sleeve. She was going to slide out of sight. This is where she was going."

Sleed pointed to the address on the slip. "So that's where you start; but shake the trail before you get there."

"That's settled," said Sleed. "So let's hurry and stow the girl away, so she can be shipped out with the

ENTERING the little bedroom, Sleed stripped the blankets from the bed and spread them on the floor.

Thelma helped him wrap Mildred's nightgowned form in the blankets. The girl looked like a mummified

figure, when they placed her in a longish padded box that Sleed had kept here in case a human shipment

Hurrying downstairs, Thelma strolled out into the gathering dusk. From across the street, Harry Vincent

recognized the brownandwhite clothing that she wore and mistook her for Mildred.

Thelma drove away in the roadster. Harry followed. As the ride progressed, he had less and less cause to

suspect that an impostor was in the car ahead. He had clocked Mildred's stay in the brownstone house, but the

interval had been too slight to provide a due to the misadventure that she had met.

Reaching a main highway in Connecticut, Thelma Royce glanced into the roadster's mirror, to notice a coupe

that dropped her trail. Thelma's laugh was harsh. It told that servers of Silver Skull found their chief delight

in adding new victims, like Mildred Wilbin, to those already in the power of an insidious master!

THE same darkness that marked Thelma's final departure in the attire of Mildred Wilbin, was a useful cover

for The Shadow. No longer in his hotel suite, he was garbed in a cloak of black, shrouded by night itself. He

was a strange visitor to a place where callers had been coming all day the Long Island home of Herbert

The callers had been the missing man's attorneys. Like The Shadow, they had been surprised at the terms of

Wilbin's will. So they had come to the mansion, bringing assistants with them, to make a thorough search of

When the blackcloaked figure of The Shadow glided up beside a hedge that flanked the house portico, the

lawyers' hunt was almost over. Scarcely a rustle marked The Shadow's course; he paused just beyond the

A final car was waiting out front, a chauffeur at the wheel. Two men stepped from the house; one a lawyer,

the other a servant. They were waiting for a third man obviously, another servant who was locking up the

Darkness encroached from the gloom of the hedge, as though a tree had leaned to stretch its shadow into the

sphere of light. That shadow was a living one The Shadow! He was catching a conversation that he did not

All tallied with certain facts that Mildred Wilbin had mentioned, plus later details that The Shadow had

Herbert Wilbin had intended to make a long trip, hence had decided to close the house. That was why

Mildred, like the servants, had departed, leaving only Fortner, the secretary. A trusted man, Fortner, in the

One fact that the servant mentioned did not seem odd to the lawyer. It concerned Fortner. The secretary,

ending his term of employment with Wilbin, had received a sizable bonus and was going on a long vacation.

Just where, the servant did not know, but he recalled that Fortner had talked about taking a cruise, or going

To The Shadow, the news signified that Fortner had found very good reasons to disappear completely.

The light above the portico was suddenly extinguished. The last servant came from the house and in the

darkness locked the big front door. The final words that The Shadow heard the lawyer say were indication

All of Wilbin's papers had been found in order inside a locked safe; with them, a duplicate copy of a glowing

recommendation that he had written for Fortner, to assure the secretary of another job. It didn't seem possible

that Herbert Wilbin could have lost or misIaid a new will; not with so competent a man as Fortner in his

The case, as Mildred had suspected, rested squarely upon Fortner; and the very steps that the secretary had

used to establish himself, were opposite evidence to The Shadow. Particularly, that duplicate

recommendation. Perhaps it was actually an original that Fortner had typed with the word "copy," then left in

But Fortner, no matter how clever he might be, could rate no higher than a tool in schemes of supercrime. He

could not have had a hand in arranging the plane crashes that had disposed of Carter Gurry and Roy Breck.

The thrust against Herbert Wilbin was but the third episode in a chain of heinous deeds.

ENTERING the locked house was a simple matter to The Shadow. Using a rough stone corner that offered

toe holds, he ascended to a secondstory roof and soon worked open a window. His flashlight blinked a path

There, lighting the desk lamp, The Shadow began a survey of some records that he had brought with him.

All pertained to men who answered Fortner's description; not the sort much wanted as crooks, but those who

had traveled the border lines of crime. They were comparatively few, for Mildred's description of Fortner had

included a most valuable point: namely, that the man, though comparatively young, had gray hair.

Extinguishing the light, The Shadow began a probe with his tiny flash. He needed enveloping darkness,

because he was raising the shades to begin an examination of the windows. As yet, he had not pictured those

windows as a place of needed entry, for there was no evidence of any trouble at Wilbin's home.

The Shadow's conjecture was that Fortner might have recently opened and closed one of those windows,

merely for ventilation. If so, the pane might show the clue that The Shadow wanted.

It wasn't long before The Shadow's flashlight was glued to the bottom of the window sash, where his free

hand was brushing a black powder upon a telltale spot. A fingerprint grew into sight; a low laugh toned from

The Shadow's lips. Stepping to the desk, he ran the flashlight along a row of papers that looked like leaves

Finding the sheet he wanted, he took it to the window and made a close comparison. The print tallied; The

Shadow had identified Fortner. Drawing the shade, he returned to the desk and studied the record.

Fortner's real name was James F. Eylan; the middle initial probably represented his alias, although none was

listed as habitual with him. He had been the secretary of a fake oil company operating from Texas but had

At that time, as recently, Fortner had merely been a tool. His face, pictured on the sheet, indicated his caliber.

Finding Fortner would have to be a future step, even though the trail might begin from here. There was a

point, though, that The Shadow emphasized, by writing it in blue ink on the margin of the record:

A soft laugh quivered through the room; as it faded, so did the ink that composed The Shadow's written

thought. That gray hair was a link an outlandish link, perhaps between Fortner and his employer, Herbert

If it meant what The Shadow knew that it could mean, strange adventures lay ahead with persons to be sought

other than Fortner, or the master crook who had employed the fellow. The Shadow could picture huge crime

But, should it fail, The Shadow would reap a mighty reward; not only in disposing of crooks, but through

The thought offered other moves. The Shadow's blackgloved hand picked up the telephone, for a call from

here would not be amiss, since persons had just left the house. He dialed a number; a quiet voice answered:

Burbank, the man who contacted all The Shadow's agents for him, was methodical. He reported that the

missing plane had just been found, wrecked in the Rockies. All on board had died; their bodies were

unrecognizable. Herbert Wilbin, therefore, was officially dead, for he had been checked as a passenger on the

That early discovery of the lost plane would be a blow to Norwood Parridge, for The Shadow knew that the

millionaire aviator had hoped to uphold Federated Airways by finding the ship himself. Parridge, however,

had left New York only a few hours ago and could not possibly have aided in the search.

Burbank was beginning another report; one that suddenly snapped The Shadow's reverie.

"Report from Vincent," stated the contact man. "Mildred Wilbin did not go directly to Connecticut. She

The Shadow was writing down the address as Burbank gave it. He knew, despite the evenness of Burbank's

"I have called Connecticut," announced Burbank. "Mildred Wilbin is not at the lodge, either under her own

WITH that announcement, The Shadow became a being of speed as well as stealth. He shaded the speed

From Harry's reported position when the agent had dropped the roadster's trail, Mildred should have reached

the lodge a half hour ago. Whatever her purpose in stopping in the Eighties; whether or not she had actually

left there, as Harry positively believed, the house could hold some answer to her subsequent disappearance.

The brownstone building was dark when The Shadow arrived there. A gliding shape as evanescent as a

blackish smoke, he reached the top of the steps and blinked his flashlight on the name plates in the darkened

With deft jiggles of the loosehinged front door, The Shadow released the automatic latch. Upstairs, he found

the door of 2B unlocked. His probing flashlight showed the arrangement of the rooms to be very much like a

Lack of dust was proof that the moving had been very recent. Entering the tiny bedroom, The Shadow closed

the door behind him and made a flashlight survey that brought an unusual discovery. There was a light

switch, so attached to the wall that it had an open space behind it. The wall was made of thin partition board.

Removing the switch, The Shadow found a twoinch hole, evidently designed to receive a pipe.

Reaching for the doorknob, The Shadow found it would not turn. He was locked in the little room by an

automatic door lock, as Mildred had been. The Shadow was anxious to return to the hallway without the long

waste of time needed with this tricky sort of lock. He wanted a trail, too, that would lead him to Mildred's

Suddenly, a solution was promised to both problems. A muffled click came from the hallway; with it, The

Shadow saw a dim light through the twoinch hole. Someone was coming along the hall unguardedly.

The footsteps halted at the door. Waiting with a drawn automatic, The Shadow was ready for it to open.

Then the footsteps shifted farther toward the hole that had once contained a gas pipe. The person had

decided not to enter the little room. That change of intent could have ended opportunity for anyone but The

With a quick whip of his gun, The Shadow prodded the muzzle through the wall hole just in time to jab the

ribs of the shuffler who was starting past. That jab of steel told the man outside that he had encountered a gun

mouth. The Shadow's fierce command, coming sibilant through the improvised loophole, accomplished the

"Stretch!" ordered The Shadow. "Not for the ceiling, but for the door! Open it! You have three seconds "

One of those seconds produced a gulp from the hapless man outside; the next, a hurried fumble for the

doorknob. With the third second came the awaited click that brought the door inward.

Through a tiny loophole in a solid wall, The Shadow had gotten the prisoner he wanted, with a strategy so

And from that capture, The Shadow was to gain a trail straight to the crooks who served the master whose

IN a stonewalled, windowless room, the man called Dr. Sleed was wiping lather from his cheeks as he

stared into a mirror propped on a large box. Sleed paused to grin at a face that he hadn't seen in a long while

His part as a false medico ended, Sleed had divested himself of the beard that went with it. The move was a

useful one, for his appearance had become so different that none of his recent acquaintances would have

The beard had given Sleed's face a fullness that it lacked in its present state. His cheeks were actually hollow;

their color, too, was conspicuous. Sleed's complexion was almost olive. Most noticeable of all, however, was

Zigzagging from the right of his lips down to the left of his neck, was a faint scar that showed a thin white

line every time Sleed tilted his head into the light that glowed from above the mirror.

Too old to prevent the growing of a beard, the scar was also faint enough to be hidden by a simple process of

makeup. But Sleed, at present, had no equipment for facial improvement except his razor and the soap and

brush that went with it. He rubbed the scar with a fingertip, shrugged, and decided to let it remain that way

A buzzer sounded from beside the wall. Sleed listened, heard a repetition of the sound. He pressed a button;

there was the noise of an opening door above. Highheeled shoes clicked from a passage outside. Sleed

The darkhaired woman was still wearing Mildred's clothes a fact which brought a frown from Sleed.

"Why don't you change that outfit?" he demanded. "Somebody may spot you and link up what's happened!"

"I saw this same ensemble in a Fifth Avenue window," she told Sleed. "The Wilbin dame didn't have any

"I left it at the right place, when I doubled back to town. I told them it was hot; they said they knew how to

Sleed was rubbing his chin; his face looked worried. Thelma opened Mildred's bag, took out a powder

"Dab that scar," she said, "and you'll lose it. I know what's the matter with you. It makes you feel funny, not

"It's those truckers," he growled. "They were supposed to bring all of the stuff here in one trip, but they took

two. Even then, they sent a guy back to make sure they didn't forget anything. I don't like it!"

Sleed shook his head negatively. Thelma, meanwhile, was glancing about the room; she smiled when she

"Anyway, you've shipped baby doll," chortled Thelma. "What did you do label the box 'Handle With Care'

"Where they took it," he declared, "nobody will find it. I didn't tell them what was in it, though. Headquarters

"It can stay here. We're ducking for a new hideout. Things are going to pop fast. John Lenville is already on

"You mean," she asked, "that tonight's plane is going to do a dive, so soon after the other one?"

Sleed nodded. It was his turn to show confidence. The designs of Silver Skull seemed to satisfy him. Soothed

by his recollections of his insidious chief, Sleed turned to the mirror and began to dab his chin with Mildred's

"Better go get the car," he told Thelma. "Have it out back. I'll join you in about ten minutes."

AS the door closed behind Thelma, Sleed smoothed his chin. The scar still showed; angrily, he plastered it

with another blot of powder. He was muttering his annoyance because Mildred's clear complexion did not

require the dark makeup that was needed for his olive skin, when something, reflected in the mirror, caused

It was gloomy by the door, as Sleed saw in the glass; but he had gotten a peculiar illusion of melting

darkness. No waver of the light could have caused it. Actually, it seemed that some human figure had shifted

Sleed spun about, his hand going to his hip. He was greeted with a whispered laugh, weird, chilling, cold as

the sight of the gun muzzle leveled straight in his direction. He saw the shape in black; this time, there was no

The figure was cloaked. Burning eyes gleamed from beneath the brim of a slouch hat, steady as the .45 that

was gripped by the gloved hand below. Sleed's own hands came up, as his lips gasped a name in one long

Slowly; The Shadow moved toward the terrified crook. The silence that followed the whispered taunt chilled

Sleed as effectively as the laugh. He knew that The Shadow had recognized him by the scar, which, though

Known as Jigsaw Randley, George Sleed had dabbled in many rackets along with his fake medical game.

Murder had been a part of them, and The Shadow knew it. Sleed, in his turn, knew the punishment that The

His terror was greater than that of the innocent truck driver who had released The Shadow back at the

brownstone house. That fellow had babbled all he knew, told where he had taken the doctor's packing cases,

thinking that he had met a ghost. But Sleed, a crook by profession, would have faced a hundred ghosts rather

Sleed tried to plead, but couldn't find the words. Momentarily emboldened, he tried to change his cringe into

a sideward sneak among the boxes. The Shadow let him get halfway to the door, then stopped him with a

Turning, with his own back toward a closet door, The Shadow nipped Sleed's shift with such sudden aim that

the crook dropped to his knees, raising his hands to hide sight of the gun muzzle.

"I'll talk!" gulped Sleed. "We took the dame, but she's not hurt! She's safe enough... like "

His voice ending, Sleed made a violent fling to one side. Before The Shadow's hand could swing, his cloaked

form was jarred by a swinging object that carried him half across a packing box. The thing that had thwacked

Pouncing across the threshold of the closet was Thelma Royce, aiming a glittering revolver. The top of the

closet had an opening in the shape of a trapdoor. Returning because Sleed had not joined her, Thelma had

She had opened the trap and let herself through, with a skillful silence that had deceived even The Shadow. In

her swing of the door, she had again shown nerve. As a marksman, she began to demonstrate that she was the

ONLY The Shadow's amazing side twist saved him from the bullets that peppered the packing box, coming

in a hot stream from Thelma's gun. His jerky writhe carried him over the box and beyond it, down among

Thelma shifted to get a new aim before The Shadow could change position. By her quickness, she retained

the odds or would have, if it hadn't been for Sleed. He thought that Thelma had clipped The Shadow.

Bounding forward, swinging a drawn gun, Sleed hoped to supply the finishing touches.

His charge carried him across Thelma's path. His guess was bad as to The Shadow's location. Halting

suddenly, Sleed found himself directly between a rising shape in black and his only ally, Thelma.

A gun was swinging straight toward Sleed. Shifting, The Shadow intended to shoot him from the path, then

settle scores with Thelma. Sleed flung himself across an oblong box standing on one end, to take a futile gun

In the splitseconds while Sleed was falling with the box, The Shadow changed his tactics. He dropped to

pick an opening that would offer shots at Thelma, intending to handle Sleed later. The choice was a smart

The box cracked open; a big gas tank struck the floor. The cap of the cylinder bashed loose; with a furious

hiss, a deluge of the vapor swept over The Shadow. Sleed, rolling in the opposite direction; Thelma, diving

They were at the front door, aiming toward The Shadow, who had somehow come to his feet amid a

yellowish cloud. They could hear his laugh, strangely maddened. They saw him aim his gun and fire. The

shots were wide, as the black figure wavered. Sleed shoved Thelma through the door and slammed it.

Gas trickled beneath the barrier; they could smell it when they reached the stair top. It seemed to carry echoes

of The Shadow's insane laugh, that faded while they listened. Sleed drew Thelma out through the front door

"We'll double around to the back," he told Thelma. "We can lock the rear door when we get there."

"But what about The Shadow?" Thelma demanded. "We can't give him a chance to stay alive."

"He hasn't a chance!" chuckled Sleed. "I shut the door, didn't I? That settles him. There's twice enough gas in

that tank to saturate the room. Which means there's twice enough to kill anybody, even The Shadow!"

The scene in the lighted room below the ground would have added weight to Sleed's argument. There, flat on

the floor, his laugh ended, The Shadow lay among billows of the yellow gas still pouring from the broken

Crime still ruled. Death was to ride the air again. Tonight, and in the future so it seemed Silver Skull

DAWN was streaking Manhattan's skyline, bringing an end to a night that had been disastrous for The

Shadow's cause. Day's approach promised nothing but ill news; for with darkness gone and no word from The

Such was the firm opinion of a man who sat stolidly in front of a switchboard, his back toward the dim light

that illuminated a small room. Burbank, The Shadow's untiring contact man, was still on duty, patiently

Burbank's figure galvanized suddenly at sight of a light that was now twinkling from the switchboard. His

The tone across the wire would have been incoherent to any listener other than Burbank. Yet Burbank

recognized it as The Shadow's, and from the blurry statements gained facts that he repeated.

"John Lenville" Burbank spoke the name methodically "in danger... Passenger... aboard a westbound

"Your own number," said Burbank, breaking in. "Needed for return call. Your number... Return call. Your

That drill of words ended The Shadow's repetition. A pause, then a voice, keyed to a last effort, coughed the

The call was ended, and from the forced tone that issued from The Shadow's throat, Burbank could only

As quickly as he could, Burbank contacted Newark Airport, calmly announced that danger threatened a

westbound plane that had left Newark the evening before. The news electrified those who heard it, for

The Shadow's message had gone through. Excited voices were promising to warn the planes by radio. Then,

as Burbank opened a directory that listed New York phones by their numbers, he contacted Harry Vincent.

Checking from the telephone number, Burbank gave Harry the address from which The Shadow had called.

He stated that other agents would cover Harry's search for The Shadow. The moment that Harry's receiver

DESPITE the dawn, the streets were still gloomy when Harry Vincent reached his destination, twenty

minutes later. He saw an old squatly building once used for offices, but which had evidently been turned into

There couldn't be much of value in the place, for the locked doors looked unprotected by any alarm system.

Harry, aided by other Shadow agents who were gathering, broke in the rear alley door.

They waited to make sure that the sound had not been heard, and while they tarried, they scented the

nauseating odor of a sickly gas. Then, with nostrils muffled in handkerchiefs, the rescue squad invaded the

In a tiny office on the ground floor, they found The Shadow. He was motionless, but his breathing was

steady. While the others carried the cloaked victim out to the cab, Harry made a rapid investigation.

He found that The Shadow had crawled up from a cellar room, where the gas was stronger than anywhere

else. It was there that he had been overcome; and Harry wondered, at first, how The Shadow could possibly

Then Harry saw the closet door, wide open, with the gaping hole above it. In his hurry, Sleed had forgotten

about that outlet. Through it, much of the gas had gone to the floor above, and dissipated. The Shadow's

He had made that trip to the floor above much sooner than any ordinary person could have managed it; which

accounted for his collapse, after he had called Burbank. Harry was sure, however, that The Shadow would

SEVERAL hours later, Harry's belief was realized. The Shadow awoke to find himself in a little hospital

Unlike the premises maintained by the faker, Sleed, this was part of a bona fide physician's office. It

Sayre knew The Shadow as Lamont Cranston, a wealthy New York clubman and world traveler, for The

Shadow usually donned the Cranston makeup whenever he ventured forth in black. Resting in bed, with

eyes half closed, The Shadow heard the door open softly. He looked up to see Sayre.

Noting that his patient had recovered, Sayre solemnly produced a newspaper, with the comment:

The headlines told another harrowing story. Again, a westbound transport plane had crashed in the Western

A mysterious warning had been received regarding that very plane. Who had sent it, and why, no one knew.

The airports had radioed the plane to turn back, but it had already reached the fatal zone. Radio replies had

Searchers expected to locate the wreckage within the next few hours, for they had reports of the plane's last

location. Among those already in the vicinity was Norwood Parridge, who had started West the previous

afternoon. Mention of Parridge interested The Shadow; but there was another name that seemed more

That was the name of John Lenville. Listed as a passenger on the crashed plane, Lenville was reputed to be

the wealthiest of all the victims. He was not a New Yorker; he came from Chicago, but he had been in

Lenville, it seemed, was a man of many enterprises, who often visited New York on business. His best friend

in town was a man named Louis Harreck, who had seen him just before plane time, yesterday evening.

As Cranston, The Shadow could definitely place Harreck. Like Cranston, the chap was a member of the

Doctor Sayre saw Cranston roll shakily from bed, heard him call for his clothes. Though he tried to

recommend more rest, Sayre knew it was no use. Lamont Cranston, otherwise The Shadow, was one patient

Within the next hour, Lamont Cranston strolled into the elaborate foyer of the Cobalt Club, with only a slight

pallor visible upon his masklike face. It was the luncheon hour; as he expected, he found Louis Harreck in the

Then he was hearing words of calmtoned sympathy. To his surprise, Harreck learned that Cranston had also

known Lenville. He didn't realize that all the details that Cranston supplied came from the newspaper report.

"Poor Lenville," groaned Harreck, for the tenth time. "If he had only missed that plane, as he nearly did!"

"Lenville was stopping at the Hotel Gladmere," explained Harreck. "Just why, I don't know, for he had never

stayed there before. I suppose he liked to try new places. Anyway, I knew he was in town, and I'd called two

"They said he was leaving when I finally tried the Gladmere, so I hurried over there. The clerk told me he

was in the lobby, but I didn't see him, until the clerk said he'd just spotted him going out the door.

"I headed after him, but Lenville was in his cab pulling away, before I could overtake him. His back was

turned, so he didn't have a chance to see me. and I suppose he didn't hear me call. The doorman said he was

WITHOUT knowing it, Harreck was revealing a remarkable fact. It was possible that the man he had run

after was not John Lenville at all. That hadn't occurred to Harreck; but it did to Cranston.

It fitted with a theory that The Shadow had already considered; and this case might strengthen that very

"Have you been to the Gladmere today?" asked Cranston, quietly. "Possibly Lenville left some belongings

The suggestion appealed to Harreck. He decided to visit the hotel, and invited Cranston to come along.

Everyone proved most obliging at the Gladmere. The manager produced everything that pertained to

Lenville, including the card on which the Chicago man had registered. That card particularly interested The

It resembled other cards that lay on the manager's desk, bearing the imprint of the Hotel Gladmere. But when

The Shadow casually handled the card, he noted a slight thickness that differed from the others.

Harreck identified the signature as that of John Lenville; and Cranston offered no dispute. The signature

could be Lenville's, but it was possible that he had been induced to put it on that card in some place other

It would have been easy, also, for someone to have posed as Lenville, by simply sliding that card on the hotel

desk already signed. Subtly, The Shadow used Cranston's casual methods to sound out the clerk who had last

His description tallied with Harreck's, but only roughly. He remembered Lenville as tall, rather nervous of

manner, and very choppy in everything he said. A man whose face was rather roundish, but conspicuous

By the time they went up to Lenville's room, The Shadow was more than ever convinced that the guest had

not been John Lenville. In these crimes, crooks had a clever way of taking persons out of circulation and

letting others carry a false trail as in the case of Mildred Wilbin and Thelma Royce.

The evidence in Lenville's room convinced Harreck that his friend had been there. On a table were some

folded memo sheets, printed with the name of one of Lenville's companies. In the wastebasket were two

When the group left the hotel room those objects, again consigned to the wastebasket, were in Cranston's

pocket. Also the memo sheets. Oddly, he was the only person who had handled them, and he was wearing

gloves. It was after he had left Harreck that The Shadow made use of those finds.

Riding by cab, Lamont Cranston reached a rather dingy neighborhood, where he disappeared in broad

daylight. He reappeared in a blackwalled room, where only a single light glowed blue upon a corner table.

The room was The Shadow's sanctum, somewhere in the heart of New York City and known only to himself.

From the envelopes and memo sheets, The Shadow obtained an excellent collection of fingerprints, which

appeared to belong to one man. From their general classifications, The Shadow reduced the search to a few

Automatically, cards were rejected, until only one dropped into a special compartment. That card bore the

name and photograph of a crook named Nick Delt, who bore a fair resemblance to John Lenville.

Delt wore no glasses in the photo. By appearing with conspicuous spectacles in a hotel where Lenville had

never previously been, the crook had passed as the Chicago man; but only by dodging Lenville's friend

Harreck. The missing John Lenville, supposedly a victim in a plane crash, had not gone to the Hotel

Like Wilbin's secretary Fortner, Nick Delt had performed a fadeout. His part as a tool was ended. What The

Shadow wanted to know was where Lenville had actually disappeared to, before Delt had taken his place.

Somewhere in New York Lenville must have met a false friend, just as Mildred Wilbin had encountered the

The clock on the sanctum table showed three p.m. A soft laugh issued from The Shadow's lips. There was

still time in which he, as Cranston, could solve the riddle of Lenville's disappearance, by visits to offices

where the Chicago man had been. The bluish light clicked off. Complete stillness came with the ensuing

DURING the next few hours, The Shadow was covering a route that had taken John Lenville an entire day.

During that course, he met bankers, brokers, business men, who were pleased to meet a friend of Lenville's.

By dusk, it seemed that The Shadow's trail was due to be a barren one. He stopped at an insurance office,

which everyone believed was the last place that Lenville had gone. There, talking with the man who had

"Lenville was going somewhere else," recalled the insurance men. "Come to think of it, I remember where.

"Neither did I," said the insurance man, "but Lenville asked me about him. He said that the fellow had some

The name was listed in the telephone book, with the address an old office building far from the beaten track.

Riding to that objective, The Shadow felt no doubt that Alfred Zurman could supply facts concerning

Lenville. Zurman's place of business had an obscurity similar to the offices of the pretended Dr. Sleed.

Zurman's office was on the third floor, with a light showing through the transom, and it opened into a

courtyard. With Cranston's usual calm, The Shadow entered, to find a man rising startled from behind an old

Sallow, sharp of feature, Alfred Zurman looked like a criminal and a very worried one. He wasn't happy to

receive a visitor, and began to mutter something about "closing up the office." The Shadow, meanwhile,

placidly placed a briefcase on a chair and sat down on the other side of the desk.

Introducing himself as Lamont Cranston, The Shadow brought up the name of John Lenville. Apparently not

noticing the twitch that came to Zurman's face, he told the man that he was interested in acquiring any stocks

"I never met Lenville," objected Zurman, sourly, "so I don't know what stuff he wanted. Come around

To Zurman's relief, his visitor bowed agreeably and went from the office. Listening at the door, Zurman

heard footsteps descend the stairway. Finally, he latched the door and started pacing back and forth, eyeing

When, at the end of ten minutes, the telephone bell began to ring, it brought a grateful gasp from Zurman's

There wasn't any need for Zurman to identify himself; his hoarse voice told who he was. In fact, Zurman was

"You should have called me earlier," he said. "I've got the jitters, waiting here!... No, nothing bad has

Zurman's voice broke suddenly. During his hoarse conversation, he hadn't noticed that the door had opened.

A skillful hand had settled the latch silently, almost while Zurman had watched. The personage who had

entered had advanced to the desk entirely without Zurman's knowledge. But he was manifesting his arrival at

The round muzzle of an automatic was freezing the back of Zurman's neck, while a tone, lowwhispered in

A fullfledged crook, Zurman knew the intruder's identity, but he didn't voice it. The whisper was warning

ZURMAN might have been a ventriloquist's figure, the way his mouth began to open and shut. When he

finally spoke, his words were the ones The Shadow ordered words that reached Zurman's ear in a sibilant

"Nobody has been asking after Lenville," repeated Zurman. "I was just trying to say that it worries me,

The receiver was leaving Zurman's hand, plucked away by The Shadow. Zurman caught the words that came

Whatever the voice had said, Zurman would know. The Shadow's gun left the crook's neck, to bob suddenly

between his eyes. Zurman knew what The Shadow wanted and gulped the information.

"He said I could lam," declared the crook. "That's all he said. Then he must have hung up."

The Shadow did not inquire who had spoken. That could be wangled from Zurman later; for the present, it

was sound policy to let the crook think that The Shadow knew all about his master. Reaching his free hand to

the desk lamp, The Shadow extinguished it. The room was dark, save for a dull glow from the courtyard.

In that dimness, The Shadow became an invisible shape; but Zurman's face, pale despite its normal

sallowness, showed white and terrified. In a sense, The Shadow had increased the criminal's disadvantage;

"I didn't snatch Lenville," the fellow protested. "It was the others the ones who came here!"

Totally unwitting, Zurman would have spoken the name that The Shadow wanted, except for a most startling

So suddenly that it left Zurman breathless, a blinding light glared from across the courtyard, flooding all but

Instantaneous though the occurrence was, it failed in its immediate purpose. Before any eye could have

benefited by that probing light, The Shadow swept Zurman to a corner and dropped beside him, away from

To all appearances, the office was empty. There wasn't a living target in sight for any gunners to mow down.

ZURMAN'S quivery voice was grateful. He was suddenly accepting The Shadow was his protector. He

thought that Silver Skull had doublecrossed him; for Zurman hadn't known that his chief had a headquarters

Unfortunately, Zurman didn't say the name of his master; nor did The Shadow question him further. Zurman

was so cowed that The Shadow could forget him while other business needed attention.

Close to the floor, The Shadow reached the window. Below the level of the sill, he poked his automatic

straight for the glowing spot of light. Unseen, The Shadow was prepared to shatter the brilliant floodlight

not only as a challenge to its owner, but to produce an added effect upon Zurman.

Before The Shadow could press the gun trigger, the light flickered. It was a small light, not much larger than

a motionpicture projection, and the thing that had caused it to flicker was a slide.

His attention centered upon gaining a perfect aim, The Shadow still gazed across the courtyard. It was

Zurman who took a look toward the inner wall of the office. There, pictured upon the whitish surface, the

To Zurman, that was a promise from his former master: a pledge that Silver Skull would still stand by him. It

was a call for Zurman to rally, with future reward his claim if he did. Granting Silver Skull an insight that

Perhaps Silver Skull did. At least, his stratagem brought results. Cowed no longer, Zurman leaped from his

corner, flung himself toward The Shadow. The crook was yanking a revolver as he came. His wild, defiant

The slide dropped from the light. Again, the spotting glare ruled. It showed Zurman driving toward the

The Shadow, warned by Zurman's cry, to protect himself jabbed a shot that clipped Zurman.

Faltering sideward, the crook collapsed half across the window sill, as The Shadow twisted away.

Even in that move, The Shadow showed keen calculation. The corner that he took was toward the door. He

was aiming when the door crashed inward bringing two marksmen into sight. The Shadow met them with gun

There were shouts, as other crooks hauled away their overbold comrades. With a stairway near, they were

stumbling toward safety when The Shadow arrived. The Shadow ignored them, to seek a corridor to that

There was none. The Shadow encountered an intervening wall. From a window, he saw that the light was

gone. His superfoe, whoever he was, had finished the thrust and made a hurried departure. The only possible

Returning to the office, The Shadow saw the criminal make a dying gesture. Zurman had dropped his gun,

but he was pulling his fist from his pocket as if trying to draw a weapon. Before The Shadow could reach

him, Zurman sagged. His fingers loosened, as his hand stretched across the window sill.

He was dead. The Shadow departed by the stairway route that gunman had used, to find it totally deserted.

Back in the office, the body of Alfred Zurman lay with downwardtilted face. The crook's sightless eyes

were bulging toward the courtyard. There beneath a grating, where it would be unnoticed amid accumulated

rubbish, lay an object that The Shadow had failed to see when it fell from Zurman's hand.

That object was a tiny silver skull, a token that Zurman had carried to identify himself as the server of an

BY the next afternoon, The Shadow had good cause to regret the tooearly death of Alfred Zurman. The facts

that the cornered criminal could have supplied were becoming more important that ever, in The Shadow's

To begin with, there were such men as Wilbin, Lenville, and the other victims who had gone before them.

The law had given them up as dead; and their past affairs were practically a blank.

Crooks like Fortner and Delt had vanished as completely as the victims a fact that helped The Shadow's

theory, that some of the supposed dead men might still be alive. But the theory did nothing to create a trail.

There were other tools, lesser ones; but only Zurman had come into the limelight, and he was gone. As for

"Dr." Sleed and his slimfigured companion, Thelma Royce, though The Shadow knew that they had

captured Mildred Wilbin, he had not learned how she had been lured into the predicament that had resulted in

According to Sleed's interrupted testimony, Mildred was alive and unharmed; but how long she would remain

so, was another question; which meant that a trail was imperative, even though it might prove costly to The

Late in the afternoon, The Shadow, as Cranston made a stop at the Cobalt Club, intending to look up Harreck,

on the flimsy chance that the fellow might recall some odd clue regarding Lenville. Harreck wasn't at the

The visitor was Norwood Parridge, returned from the West. The fact that he was here to see Cranston was in

itself unusual, for the two had seldom met. It was only as Kent Allard that The Shadow had met Parridge

frequently, and there was no way where the man could have linked the two personalities.

Hence, The Shadow treated Parridge almost as a stranger, scarcely recognizing the wealthy aviator until a

club attendant pointed him out. Once they were together, Parridge saw no identifying resemblance between

Parridge talked as one wealthy man to another, treating aviation from the commercial standpoint. He stated

that he had hardly reached the West to investigate one plane crash, when he had learned of another. The news

had brought him back to New York immediately, to confer with the directors of Federated Airways.

"Last night," explained Parridge, seriously, "I ran into a most unusual coincidence. I learned that one of the

victims in the latest crash had intended to invest heavily in Federated Airways. I refer to John Lenville. Did

Remembering his chat with Harreck, The Shadow nodded; then stated quietly that he and Lenville had been

"Did he ever speak to you about investments?" persisted Parridge. "Would you have known that he intended

There was a shake of Cranston's head. Parridge looked disappointed, but his eyes had a hopeful gleam,

"We called Chicago," declared Parridge, "and talked half the night. We learned that Lenville had actually

spoken of a half million that he intended to invest in Federated Airways, but his associates cannot find a trace

"Federated needs money badly. We'll have to fight down the stigma of those horrible tragedies, or go

bankrupt. Like the other big stockholders, I'm already in up to the neck. On top of it, one of our own

THOUGH Cranston's features remained immobile, the brain behind them was rapidly at work. Here, at last,

was reason why crooks had dealt with John Lenville. Unlike the cases of former victims Gurry, Breck and

Wilbin there had been no question regarding Lenville's will. His estate, it seemed, had been in thorough

The catch lay in Lenville's finances. Why should some master crook connive to get cash after Lenville was

dead, when it could be acquired before? It seemed obvious to The Shadow that Lenville must have somehow

As with all the dealings of Silver Skull, the matter seemed outlandish. Even Parridge had not picked up such

a theory, while with the directors of Federated Airways. They were distracted, those men, but not crazed

Parridge, in fact, had a much different and very plausible theory, which he advanced in a tone of confidence.

"We know that Lenville wanted to invest," he asserted, "but for some reason, he had postponed meeting us.

We attributed it to the air crashes; but that could not have been the reason, for Lenville, himself, booked

"We can only assume that Lenville did not have the money that he claimed. He may have found it good

policy to let his associates think that he kept a special fund of half a million dollars. But most of Lenville's

"This morning, when I stopped at my office, I found a letter that had evidently been delayed, or delivered

there while the place was closed. It was from Lenville, written before he left Chicago. It mentions you, Mr.

Parridge produced both the letter and its envelope. The Shadow saw that the postmark was several days old,

The letter itself was quite formal, addressed to Norwood Parridge as a director of Federated Airways.

It stated that Lenville was interested in the purchase of Federated securities, but that he would first have to

conclude another business deal with Lamont Cranston, a wealthy New Yorker. That failing, he might have to

make a trip to the Pacific Coast; but in any event, he would see Parridge within a week.

The situation was curious. Here was a letter from Lenville, claiming the very sort of acquaintance with

Cranston that The Shadow, as Cranston, had pretended with Lenville. The letter was signed with Lenville's

There was a chance, however, that Lenville had not written it a few days ago, as the date proclaimed.

Remembering the registration card at the Hotel Gladmere, The Shadow could picture Lenville signing this

typewritten letter under threat, just as he might have been forced to sign that card.

The letter could be a coverup, to encourage the theory that Lenville was seeking funds. His half million

dollars could logically be regarded as a myth, on doctored evidence such as this. The one brightening fact

was that Lenville, though being used, was probably still alive, as The Shadow had hoped.

Parridge didn't seem puzzled that Lenville had mentioned Cranston in the letter, in view of their supposed

acquaintance. The Shadow, however, was looking for the reason, knowing that it must have been the idea of a

The answer was plain. Through Harreck and others, it had become rumored that Lenville and Cranston were

friends. Because of Cranston's reputed wealth, his name was the sort that would seem plausible when

From across the table, Parridge was tapping a paragraph in the letter, while he commented:

"This is the one part that puzzles me. The address where Lenville said he could he reached while in New

Parridge was right. It wasn't the Gladmere address. It was a number on a side street, in a forgotten area of

Manhattan. It reminded The Shadow very much of the hideouts used by such crooks as Sleed and Zurman.

Perhaps the game was to bring Parridge there, but The Shadow could see that the haggard, darkish man had

no intention of visiting the place; for the simple reason that Parridge agreed with the supposition that Lenville

It might not prove useless to The Shadow. He was more than eager to find a trap like the one that had

discommoded Mildred Wilbin. In the indifferent manner of Cranston, he returned the letter to Parridge, with

LEAVING the club, The Shadow calculated that he had half an hour before dark settled. Time enough to

make crooks think that their snare had bait. Though they might be trying to lure Parridge, because he might

know too much about Lenville, they wouldn't be totally disappointed if they saw Cranston as the nibbling

All that The Shadow intended to do was nibble. He was carrying no guns at present, and he simply took the

first cab that came along. Stopping at the corner nearest to the address in Lenville's letter, The Shadow

He ascended the house steps and entered an open vestibule, very much like the one at Sleed's. Though the

place seemed deserted, there was a button at the side of the vestibule. Whether it connected with some

apartment or with a caretaker's room, did not matter. The Shadow intended to tingle the bell, wait a few

moments and stroll away in the dusk, allowing himself to be noticed as a visitor.

But when The Shadow pressed the single button, the result was quite unexpected. He received perhaps the

most jolting surprise of his singular career. That contact changed the innocentlooking vestibule into a

The floor slithered inward beneath a locked door, sweeping right out from under The Shadow's feet. Almost

from midair, The Shadow performed an amazing dive toward the outer steps; but that desperate recovery was

Outwardly, the barrier looked like a house door, but its inner surface was of steel that The Shadow's hands

could not clutch. An instant later, he was spinning down into the basement below, and only a series of quick

Though jarred when he landed, The Shadow was half to his feet when he heard the trap slide in place above

his head. The dull clang told him that the floor of the vestibule was metalsheeted on the under side. Once

No laugh came from The Shadow's lips as a dull glow suddenly appeared, rising painfully from dimness to

illuminate the scene about him. Whatever this plight, he intended to retain his pose of Cranston for the

His face was calm, his manner a trifle dazed. But despite their listless look, The Shadow's eyes were keenly

interested in the increase of the light. For as that glow rose to a ghoulish, greenish gleam, the trap became an

THE room itself was barewalled, unfurnished; scarcely ominous, except for the fact that the walls were

stone, and windowless. True, the place was sealed, and its grimy interior had taken on a deadly green from

the indirect illumination high in the corners. But The Shadow had been in worse spots than this.

What made the room insidious was the fact that it was occupied not by a human master but by a thing

Set in a niche at the far wall of the room was a lifesize living skull which glared at The Shadow, even with

its eyeless sockets. A skull that gritted its teeth to emphasize its unchanging grin.

Green light shimmered from the death'shead, giving it an olive tone that looked like withered flesh. The

thing could do more than glare. It spoke, with words that grated from its tightclosed teeth.

"You are welcome here, Shadow!" rasped the skull. "Welcome, even though you have come earlier than I

Another listener would have felt full horror at hearing the skull speak. Not so The Shadow. Those words,

despite their sepulchral note, merely dispelled the illusion that first had seized him.

No lipless mouth could have supplied the perfect pronunciation that the skull had used. With all its lifelike

The distant speaker who was using it had no way of seeing what The Shadow did, nor could he hear what the

prisoner said. The Shadow demonstrated that to his satisfaction, by strolling close to the skull and addressing

The thing merely spoke again, as if by prearrangement. Its manipulator, in his ignorance, displayed a false

"You cringe, Shadow!" jeered the skull. "You wonder how I know your identity; how I learned that you call

By the time that last sentence came, The Shadow, far from cringing or trembling, was standing close beside

the skull, examining its construction. The object glittered when viewed at close range. It was made of silver,

"I am Silver Skull!" The tone was boastful. "I am the one that you have sought and failed to find, until I

chose. You are but the last of my many victims. Others have lived, but you shall die!"

From those bragging words, The Shadow divined that the master crook had proclaimed the actual title by

which he was known to his followers: Silver Skull. Moreover, a quick link with a fact that The Shadow

In an instant, the whole game was swept into sight. It fitted with everything that The Shadow had surmised;

and this revelation added all the needed details. But with it came the stark realization that Silver Skull would

not have so disclosed his game, unless positive that The Shadow could never escape this trap.

Through it, The Shadow could not only preserve his own life; he could hunt down Silver Skull. Once away

from here, The Shadow could produce that master crook at almost any moment that he chose!

SILVER SKULL was gritting the details that he had promised; how he had learned that Cranston had sought

facts concerning Lenville, and had therefore been the man who visited Zurman the night before. That,

"One thing alone remains," concluded the metallic voice, while The Shadow was rapidly tapping walls to see

if any one offered an outlet. "That is the manner of your death. Your doom is already on its way. Listen!"

The Shadow listened. From vague spots high on the walls, came the rapid hiss of gas. Those pipes were too

many to reach and plug. Within a very few minutes, this room would be completely filled with the

"Do not console yourself," came the harsh voice of Silver Skull, "with the thought that you may escape, as

you did once before. This room is tightly sealed, and will remain so until the time comes to dispose of your

As proof of that future event, there were sharp crackles from live wires at intervals along the ceiling. The

Shadow knew exactly what they signified. Once the room filled with gas, the sparks would ignite it. The

Shadow would be blasted into nothingness, along with the masonry of this subterranean snare!

"You have entered by the only way," reminded Silver Skull. "That entrance is closed. You will go out by the

The Shadow's fists tightened suddenly. His eyes burned from the fixed features of Cranston as vividly as the

Because, besides those ways that he had mentioned, there was another; one that would serve both as entrance

Followers of Silver Skull had planted this trap. Their work must have depended upon easy access to the

place. Staring at the skull, The Shadow noticed the niche beyond it. It looked like an archway, but it had been

camouflaged. It had been originally a doorway, leading to the back of the cellar.

The base of the niche was masonry, but the back of the recess might be wood. Stretching above the metal

skull, The Shadow began to pound the plaster. It was woodwork, yes; but stout, and heavily bolted from the

Gunless, The Shadow had no way to blast that barred half door. Nor did he have a single tool that would be

useful in the work. He had found the way to escape, but through his own folly in coming unequipped, he was

Dropping back from the alcove, The Shadow could smell the strong odor of the gas. He wavered, as he

inhaled it. Soon, what strength he had would fail. All the while, those taunts from Silver Skull were

Of a sudden, The Shadow clamped his hands upon the shelf that bore that skull of metal; the projected mask,

as it were, of the person who called himself Silver Skull. Gritted teeth were still issuing that laugh Silver

By forcing his taunts upon The Shadow, the master crook had suddenly awakened his visitor to a solution of

CLAMPING both hands to the metal skull, The Shadow ripped it from the shelf. The wires that were used for

the remote control, were broken by the yank. Shortcircuited, they added sparks to those that crackled from

It had become nothing but a chunk of metal, and a very heavy one, for its size. A battering ram in miniature,

that skull; the very type of tool that The Shadow required. With both hands, The Shadow bashed the skull

More blows followed. Powerful ones, that splintered the stout half door. Unmindful of the increasing gas,

The Shadow had literally pounded a path to freedom. Hurling the skull to the floor, he doubled himself into

The barrier split, sending The Shadow headlong into the rear cellar. Rolling over, he came to hands and knees

The gas, however, was issuing from its many pipes much more rapidly than The Shadow supposed. He had

not gone more than a dozen feet before the vapor ignited. There was a terrific tremor through the whole

A sheet of green flame roared through the space that had been The Shadow's outlet, overtook the fugitive as

he was sprawled by the blast. For an instant, The Shadow seemed lost in that licking streak; then the flame

Blinded by the sweep of flame, The Shadow could not see the route ahead. Deafened by the blast, he could

not hear the crashing masonry about him. Half paralyzed by the long hurtle that he had taken, he was unable

to raise his hands and ward off chunks of stone or falling beams that came in steady rain.

He seemed to be staggering into endless space, black space, soundless space, where things struck against him

with jolts that he could not feel. For moments, he seemed to stumble upward; then he took a short downward

His eyes saw glimmers of light, his ears caught a jargon of sounds. Objects weren't hitting him any longer;

but it might be that he simply didn't notice them. For The Shadow's strength was slipping, along with oozes

Gradually, all effort failed him. His crawl ended as his limbs stretched forward to flatten, helpless. His

recuperating senses left him. Nearer to death than life, The Shadow could no longer seek to escape the toils of

THE neighborhood about the old blasted house was filled with stirring clangor. Firstcomers converged upon

the street in front of the ruined house. Fire sirens were wailing, bells clanging, above the crackle of flames

In the rear street, their faces reddened by the glare, two persons were seated in an old twodoor sedan. Their

expressions had a demoniac touch, for they were pleased by the event that they had witnessed. Those

"Come on, doc." Thelma's voice now showed anxiety. "Let's scram! There's no percentage in sticking around.

Sleed shook his head. He was straining from the window, trying to make out something on the ground just

beyond the range of the ruddy glow. Suddenly, his heavy lips emitted a harsh exclamation:

Thelma looked. Sleed was pointing to an alleyway that led to this rear street. A flicker from the burning

house showed a human shape, prone and limp, upon the paving. Sleed was out of the car an instant later,

Together, they rolled a man's form into the car, and while Thelma was still pulling the door shut, Sleed

In the course of fifteen minutes, Sleed parked in a space behind an antiquated apartment house. He and

Thelma carried their inert prisoner up an inside fire tower and laid him on a couch in a poorly furnished

"It's Cranston, all right," declared Sleed, after poking through the scorched pockets of the unconscious victim.

"He's The Shadow, all right," declared the fake physician. "Only The Shadow could have gotten out of that

warehouse cellar where we left him, and only The Shadow could have squeezed from the tighter jam he was

"All right," agreed Thelma. "So what? The guy's croaked, and that's the end of The Shadow. All we've got to

do is sink the body somewhere; then you can carry on the phony trail, like Silver Skull told you."

"He isn't croaked," he decided. "He's pretty bad off from loss of blood, but he's not dead yet and won't be!"

In professional style, Sleed brought a physician's kit from a corner. Thelma guffawed, when she saw him

"Sure! But you had to turn her over to me. I get the credit for prying her out of those fancy duds that we

Sleed scarcely heard what Thelma said. He was busy probing The Shadow's wounds, stanching the flow of

blood in expert style. He was humming to himself when he began to apply bandages, in a fashion so rapid

"I was one," returned Sleed, "until reasons came along that made me quit the profession, just when I'd gotten

"I've changed my mind. Get into that nurse's dress, while I call up Silver Skull."

WHILE Thelma was making the change, she could hear Sleed on the telephone. He was giving Silver Skull a

"If the guy wasn't blown into chunks," Sleed told Silver Skull, "he's nothing but a mash, anyway. Because the

roofs, walls, everything, was falling down into that cellar. There's not a chance that he's still alive!"

The Shadow was stirring very feebly as Sleed hung up. Thelma stepped into sight, giving a final pat to her

nurse's costume. Sleed gave an approving nod as he noticed her trim, spotless appearance.

"I've figured it out, doc," said Thelma. "You're a smart guy, and I'm sticking with you! You've got a right to

"Silver Skull told you to head for the West coast," she said, "pretending that you're Lamont Cranston. When

you get there, you'll pick up ten grand that's waiting for you; then you lose the trail. Good enough.

"Only, Silver Skull don't always bump off these boobs that disappear. He keeps 'em alive, whenever he can

"You've got The Shadow, haven't you? There's plenty of bigshots counting Silver Skull who would hate

She stopped suddenly, staring at the pale face of Cranston. The Shadow's eyes were open; in them, Thelma

saw a faint trace of the glitter that she had observed on another occasion. She felt an instinctive fear. Even in

Sleed saw the reason for Thelma's qualms; but he noted, also, that The Shadow still lacked strength to strike.

Coolly, Sleed brought a hypodermic syringe from his medical kit. While he was preparing it, he remarked:

"This will hold The Shadow for a while. It will keep him out of the picture a lot longer than you'll need,

He punctured the flesh below The Shadow's shoulder, injected the contents of the hypodermic. The Shadow's

"You've got a good bean, Thelma," approved Sleed, "but you don't want to get too far ahead in your ideas.

Shaking down a lot of bigshots could become a pretty tough proposition. My own idea is somewhat

He stood back, to study The Shadow carefully. He decided that the patient needed another coat, and Sleed

had one that would do. Thelma brought it from the closet; The Shadow was limp in their grasp, as they put

Sleed glanced at his watch. He had plenty of time before his plane started for the West. He picked up the

"I'll wait out front," he told Thelma, "with the doctor's kit. I'll bring the taxi driver up with me, and when he

sees a swelllooking nurse like you, he'll figure I'm a real medico, sure enough."

"And he can help us lug The Shadow," nodded Thelma. Then, her eyes suddenly puzzled: "But where are we

Perhaps it was Sleed's recollection of The Shadow's recent recuperation that caused the crook to become

suddenly secretive. At any rate, Sleed did not reply in his usual tone. Instead, he leaned close to Thelma's ear

and whispered words that caused her to look puzzled, until he supplied an explanation.

As that came, Thelma's face showed sharpness. She was hearing Sleed's tale of a double cross that left her

breathless; and she listened, with a tightening smile, to the final details that concerned it.

When Sleed had hurried downstairs to await the cab, Thelma took a look around the hideout that they were

"You're smart, Shadow," sneered Thelma, "but not as smart as Silver Skull. Maybe Silver Skull can be

By which Thelma Royce implied that The Shadow, wherever he might be imprisoned, would find no future

A HUGE airliner was wending westward, away from the pursuing dawn. Below lay a sleeping world, but the

myriad lights of cities had been left far behind. Ahead lay mountains, their summits dim against the starry

The plane was the Traveler, speediest skysleeper in the service of Federated Airways, bound on a trip

wherein flying conditions had proven ideal. With dawn about to break, the altimeter registering a height

much greater than that of the loftiest mountains, this skyliner was showing that some of the Federated ships

This was the plane upon which Silver Skull had booked passage for Lamont Cranston, only to turn the ticket

At the front of the aisle that led between the rows of sleeper berths, a blond stewardess was glumly studying

the many unmade beds. Until a month ago, those berths had always been filled with passengers. Then

business had dropped off in proportion to the number of accidents that had befallen Federated Airways.

Thought of those accidents was very bitter to Geraldine Murton, the stewardess. The newspapers had sobbed

black ink over the deaths of passengers. She wondered what those same newspapers would have to say, if this

trip ended in a crackup, This was one voyage where passengers were distinctly in the minority.

In fact, there was only one passenger on board, as drawn curtains outside a single berth gave proof. It was

something of a mystery to Geraldine why even one passenger would ride the Traveler. It was common

knowledge that Federated simply ran the skyliner to keep up what little company prestige was left.

Forgetting the sleeping passenger Lamont Cranston was the name he was booked under Geraldine let her

thoughts drift to the past. The smooth flight of the Traveler always made her ponder over a problem that was

Why, with the flight officers that Federated ships carried; with twoway radio that gave them contact with

the ground; with a course marked by hundreds of beacons, and a steady signaling radio beam why could

The crackup hoodoo didn't hound the planes of other lines. They had courses as difficult as Federated, and

their ships were no better equipped. The tendency had been to blame the smashes on the pilots; but on that

She knew these pilots, understood how confident they felt. Far from being nerveshaken because of the

recent crashes, they took the viewpoint that the jinx was ended. Tonight Geraldine, knowing the competency

of the men at the controls, had felt safer on the Traveler than she could have on any other plane.

Faint dawn was streaking through a window near the rear of the plane. Passing the lone berth that had the

drawn curtains, the stewardess reached the rearmost window and glanced downward. Below were peaks of

mountains, gray in the darkness of the ground; black patches, that meant clusters of trees nestled in lower

Then, against a patch of black, Geraldine saw a streak of silver a winged arrow, driving upward.

It was smaller than the airliner, and speedier. As it zoomed up beneath the tail of the larger ship, Geraldine

recognized it as a pursuit plane. She saw a machine gun mounted above its cockpit, and wondered why an

Then a tiny figure hooded with a silver helmet, was busy with the gun. In the confines of the airliner's

airconditioned cabin, Geraldine could not hear the sound that followed, but she saw the spurts of flame that

As she recognized the horror of what was to come, Geraldine Murton had solved the riddle of past disasters.

That pursuit plane with its demonish silverhooded pilot, intended to shoot down the giant Traveler. It was to

be murder in midair, the thrust of a pirate plane against a defenseless skyliner!

Here was to be another tragedy; and from the closeness of the pirate plane, Geraldine realized that she had no

TURNING to dash along the passage, Geraldine saw a stir of the curtains at the one closed berth. Out from

his nest swung the lone passenger, apparently just awake, although he was fully clad except for his coat. He

stared at Geraldine as she shouted; she noted the blink of his eyes, the hollowness of his checks.

The stewardess didn't have to tell what she had seen. The passenger knew it. Like Geraldine, he could hear a

crackle from the pilot's room ahead, see the chunks of metal popping from the passage near the connecting

The closeness of his own doom seemed to drive the lone passenger berserk. Flinging his arms wide, he threw

himself in Geraldine's path. Though she knew that a warning could no longer aid the pilots, the stewardess

was stubborn in her effort to reach the door ahead. In the struggle, the man started to push her toward the

Across the man's shoulders, Geraldine saw the door of the pilot room fling open. One of the flight officers

rolled through, a bloody sight. Machinegun bullets had finished him; and the other, at present handling the

No longer resisting the trapped passenger's drive, Geraldine flung her arm across her eyes.

The skyliner had begun a nose dive toward a mountain ridge. Flame spurting from its sides, the big ship was

beyond the sight of the killer plane that had crippled it. A mass of plunging metal, the Traveler sheared off

the tops of trees that snapped like slender saplings. It struck into rock and soil with a force that broke wings

Flames enveloped the thing that was no longer recognizable as an airplane, except for its uptilted tail. The

nose had taken the brunt; the wings, as they shattered, had protected the ship's long stern.

As the flames licked high, a tiny door cracked open. Out pitched the uniformed figure of the stewardess, to

Then came the passenger, in a grotesque sprawl that carried him beyond the girl. Eyes opening, Geraldine

could see the rising figure of the man against the sweep of flame. The thought struck her that he must have

A killer, like the silverhelmeted murderer in the plane! Probably the man whose life the vengeful attacker

In that frantic analysis of the lone passenger, Geraldine Murton had summed the very intentions that normally

belonged to the crook who styled himself Dr. George Sleed. But in this emergency, the passenger from the

Beneath the glare of the flames that were consuming the plane, he stared blankly at the halfstunned

stewardess as though wondering who she was. In dazed fashion, he leaned forward, plucked her uniform and

dragged her away. Once clear of the furnacelike heat, he hauled the helpless girl half to her feet and steered

The metal of the shattered skyliner was whitehot. The withering fuselage curled like a burning match. The

tail from which the stewardess and her rescuer had escaped, was twisting downward into the halfmelted

mass. Soon, it was a coiled lump of ruined metal, that no observer would consider to have been a place of

Flames faded; but daylight was plain in the sky. From a distance came an increasing hum; a tiny airplane

appeared above the ridge. It was the pursuit plane that Geraldine had seen, come to make sure that none

Standing close to a tree, Geraldine's rescuer watched the plane head toward the irregular horizon. His

expression was dull no longer. Instead, his eyes were keen; in their sharpness, they had observed the insignia

Those eyes had seen a black triangle centered with a most appropriate symbol a skull, painted in silver. A

token that denoted the identity of the murderer who had added one more airliner to his toll: Silver Skull!

From his hiding spot upon the ground, the lone observer phrased a laugh so sinister that it faded as reluctantly

This rescuer who had saved Geraldine despite her own opposing struggles, was not George Sleed, the crook

UNTIL nightfall, The Shadow and the rescued stewardess trekked their way among the mountain slopes,

seeking a route back to civilization. They stopped at times, to rest at shady spots where they found mountain

During that intermittent hike, Geraldine gained a more accurate impression of Lamont Cranston. At one of

"I thought you were a crook," she said. "The way you looked at me last night, when you were placed on the

"This morning, when I encountered you, I saw traces of that same expression. Knowing that murder was in

A slight smile came to Cranston's thin lips. This was the time to question Geraldine regarding certain matters.

"You say that I was placed aboard the plane," he remarked. "I suppose that the man who brought me there

"He did," recalled Geraldine. "He said he was a doctor, but I mightn't have believed him, except for the nurse

"Yes Dr. Sleed. And the nurse was a Miss Royce. But I noticed something odd about Sleed."

Geraldine nodded. She remarked that the scar had made her suspicious, because of Sleed's efforts to keep his

chin from view. Anyone might have a scar, but only a crook would seek to hide one.

It was then that The Shadow, with Cranston's inimitable calmness, explained how he had fallen into the hands

of crooks. An adventuresome individual, so he said, he had delved too deeply into the affairs of a master

Last night, he had been doped, which accounted for his condition when he was started on the trip. But his

experience represented but a part of the whole story. It was simply an index to the cunning of Silver Skull.

"Certain men of wealth were supposed to die," explained The Shadow, "because, in every case except

Lenville's, Silver Skull had seen to it that their money would go to persons for whom it was not intended.

"For that very reason, the victims Gurry, Breck and Wilbin did not die. The reason" he was staring at

Geraldine's astonished look "is quite obvious. Silver Skull intends to bleed the heirs who received those

"He can do it, quite easily, if he has not already done so. Very easily, because he can prove to them that the

real owners of the fortunes are still alive. Remember, he is dealing with renegades, who are not much better

than crooks themselves. They will play the game he wants, rather than lose their share."

The dry chuckle with which Cranston ended that comment, gave Geraldine another thought. Cranston

evidently foresaw that by the time Silver Skull had finished bleeding the weaklings, they would have none of

their wrongly inherited wealth. Silver Skull, it seemed, was a master of the double cross.

"To fake the deaths of victims," he resumed, "Silver Skull had them booked as passengers aboard Federated

planes. Persons had to go in their places; and in arranging that, Silver Skull was more than ingenious.

"He sent his own crooks as substitutes; the very ones who had helped dupe the victims. For Wilbin, he sent

the man's own secretary Fortner. In place of Lenville, he sent a crook named Delt, who had posed as Lenville

"They thought that their own trips would be safe; that they would lose the trail and receive a reward, when

GERALDINE began to understand Cranston's own case. She listened with added interest, as he detailed it.

"My death was planned as a real one," he stated. "Sleed was to carry the trail. But Sleed was a better

calculator than those who had gone before him. He guessed what had happened to others, like Fortner and

"When I fell into his hands, he saw his opportunity. He simply placed me aboard the plane, where I was

supposed to be, and let Silver Skull do the rest. A very grim jest on Sleed's part; one that to all appearances

As they hiked farther through the mountains, Geraldine began to hear The Shadow's future plans. Since both

Silver Skull and Sleed believed that Lamont Cranston was dead, it would be best for him to continue the

Sleed, of course, would be keeping out of sight, letting Silver Skull believe that it was he not Cranston

It would be necessary, too, for Geraldine to disappear. The world could think, along with Silver Skull, that no

survivors had left the wrecked Traveler. That suggestion so appealed to Geraldine that it brought a firmness

She would be able to do her part in hunting down the mysterious Silver Skull; in gaining vengeance for her

friends the pilots and others of the personnel who had died in the series of disasters. She was willing to

With dusk at hand, it seemed that their campaign against Silver Skull would have to be delayed at least

another day. But Cranston had hopes of an earlier beginning. He hadn't tramped these mountains without

Often, he told Geraldine, he had been lost in such mountains as the Himalayas, where habitations were far

less frequent than in this section of the Rockies. All through the day, he had been gauging their course to gain

From the knoll where they stood at present, he picked out a feeble curl of smoke rising from among some

It was dark when they stumbled upon a cabin in the forest. The door was open; they found smoking embers in

the fireplace that occupied a wall of the single room. There were crackers and canned goods on the shelves;

While they were eating, Geraldine asked: "Where are the people who own the place?"

"Out searching for us," replied Cranston, promptly. "Or to put it more accurately, for our plane. There is a

town near here" he pointed to an outspread map that he had laid on the table; the map had been in a hip

Thought of the town pleased Geraldine, until she realized that she and Cranston could not come into sight

without revealing the very facts that they planned to keep secret. If radio reports had reached the nearby

village and searchers were scouring the mountainsides, the future might prove very difficult.

She watched Cranston's finger move along the map, saw his eyes show a gleam. He looked at the pencil

"Let's rearrange things here," he suggested, "so that there will be no traces of our visit. Then we'll start along.

They used the flashlight to pick their way through the darkness, with Cranston guiding their direction by the

north star. At the end of two hours that to Geraldine seemed almost aimless, they came to a steep slope so

covered with chunks of stone that it might have been the remnants of an avalanche.

Cranston drew a satisfied breath. He helped Geraldine up the slope; but before they reached the top, he was

From somewhere came a vague rumbling that faded, rose again, each time with greater fervor. The sound

took on a gaspy tone; from an angle, half a mile away, a giant searchlight split the night. The roar became the

They were on the side of a railroad embankment that The Shadow had noted from the map. The train was a

OUT of sight below the backside, The Shadow and Geraldine almost felt the big Mogul champ by, the glare

from the open firebox lighting the roadbed. There was a maddening clatter of passing cars, that dwindled only

A clattery finish signified the caboose when the selfmade fugitives poked their heads over the embankment,

The Shadow hurried Geraldine along the track in the direction taken by the freight. It seemed a fruitless

chase, although the going was easy along the comparatively level roadbed. At the end of two miles, however,

The freight had taken to a siding, and would probably remain there quite a while, since there was no sound of

an approaching train along the onetrack line. The present task was to avoid any members of the train crew,

and The Shadow managed that by picking a course above the track. That could be done, for at this spot the

He and his companion were above the level of the caboose roof when they passed it. A hundred feet ahead,

they slid down beside the train and moved farther forward in its shelter. It was when they could hear the

panting of the big tenwheeler up ahead, that The Shadow used the flashlight in guarded fashion, until he

"This is better than the Himalayas," remarked Geraldine, as they rested in the box car's gloomy depths. "At

"Exactly!" came Cranston's agreement. "As soon as the other train passes us, we'll start rattling for Denver. It

"Yes. It is obvious that he must have a base somewhere near the spot where he shot down the Traveler.

Geraldine agreed. She knew the Federated route. All the lost planes had come to grief within a range of a few

hundred miles. Previously, however, no one had recognized the significance of that fact.

"Wherever the base is," continued Cranston, "a good airman could locate it without attracting too much

Again, Geraldine agreed. She was wondering, though, how the right pilot could be found, when Cranston

"Quite well! I believe that when he hears from me, he will come to Denver immediately. You can join him

Geraldine was surprised that Cranston did not expect to aid in the search for Silver Skull. Then came his

reminder that Sleed was still at large in New York; that, if heated, the fake doctor could probably disgorge

Those arrangements had all been made when a passenger train came clattering by on the main track. Its

lighted windows had scarcely flashed from view, before there was a jolt along the freight train's length. There

Then the freight was on its way, battering, swaying down the grade, clanking and clattering. But that tumult

was music to the tired ears of Geraldine Murton. It meant the end of a long, hard trail, with a promise for the

The girl was asleep, her blond head resting comfortably on Cranston's shoulder, while his arm, encircling her

Then the lips of The Shadow phrased their strange, sinister laugh; a tone that was lost amid the roar and

That laugh was another promise; the culmination of all that The Shadow had made.

FROM the tiny cabin of a trim biplane, Geraldine Murton was watching the landscape a mile below, viewing

This was the second day of the search for some trace of Silver Skull, and with that tedious hunt, Geraldine

She remembered her arrival at Denver; how she had disguised her uniform well enough to register at an

obscure hotel. There, Lamont Cranston had left her; but he had handled everything in an amazing style.

How he had managed to keep his identity undisclosed, Geraldine couldn't guess; but she knew that,

somehow, he had wired New York and had promptly received funds by telegraph. Clothes had been delivered

at Geraldine's room, to replace the stewardess uniform that she wore. Money, too, had arrived there, to defray

Then Kent Allard had called. The famous aviator had heard her story; together, they had mapped out their

search. Here they were, together in this plane, engaged in that painstaking quest. Quite a contrast to that long

It was interesting to contrast the two, Allard and Cranston. Each man seemed the other's opposite. Looking at

Allard as he handled the controls, Geraldine saw a firm thinfeatured face, with gaunt lines that might have

been hewn from solid stone. He seemed possessed with an energy which he was careful to reserve for tests

Contrarily, Cranston had shown no such indications. His manner had been a leisurely one, but behind that

pose had lain tremendous endurance. His face, fuller than Allard's, had masked his expressions as capably as

Of the two, Geraldine could not decide which she liked the better. She wished that she could see them

together, and thereby make her choice. It never occurred to her that she was asking the impossible.

Of all the skillful tactics adopted by The Shadow, none was more subtle than his method of keeping his two

personalities entirely distinct. No one could ever have mistaken Kent Allard for Lamont Cranston, or vice

Geraldine heard Allard speak. His tone was steady, rather than calm; blunt, in contrast to Cranston's

halfdrawl. He was asking Geraldine to check the airport guide, to identify a town that he saw below.

The girl thumbed through the thick book, found the page that Allard wanted. While the plane was changing

course, she glanced idly at other pages, noting the insignia of private aircraft that were interspersed through

She had noted various emblems on other private ships that they had seen searching for the lost Traveler. She

remembered the symbol on this plane of Allard's a black hawk against a golden circle.

There were colored plates in the front of the book, that illustrated all such insignia. Geraldine was turning to

"It looks like desert," declared Geraldine. "Very rough, with no more chance for landing than in the

"It's the last stretch," he declared. "We have flown everywhere else within the estimated range. Simple

STARING below, Geraldine felt that Allard was mistaken. The light of the setting sun showed hopeless tracts

of cactusstudded soil, where bare rocks poked above the alkali surface. They were miles from the last town,

In fact, the ground was becoming worse as it billowed toward the chunky foothills. Rocks were everywhere,

and one cluster in particular seemed a warning landmark, that to any aviator would symbolize the futility of

A gleam had come to Allard's eyes. Geraldine noticed it because she was looking at him, wondering why he

was heading straight for that mass of boulders, the last place where a search might logically prove worth

Curiously, those boulders weren't banked as closely as Geraldine had thought. They seemed in tiers, because

some were larger than the others, and between lay steps of level ground. Noting one space in particular,

The stretch formed a rough oval, its smoothed surface free of the cactus clusters that were so frequent

elsewhere. This isolated spot, shunned by passing airmen, had all the makings of a landing field off in the lost

The very rocks that most aviators would pass by with a glance, were a perfect beacon for anyone who knew

this secret airport. Moreover, those boulders could serve as ideal lookout spots for anyone scanning the sky in

Cannily, Allard was skirting the hidden base, making his visit appear an accidental one. He didn't shy off

suddenly, for that would have been a giveaway to observers. Instead, he merely took a natural swing in the

To all intents, he was a searcher for the missing Traveler, picking another hunting ground among the

mountains. Not having flown across the space amid the rocks, he would not be credited with having noticed

During the next quarter hour, Allard kept constant watch upon the dials. Then, as dusk was closing about the

Geraldine knew they couldn't land there openly, and she was totally at loss regarding any alternative. Allard,

however, had a plan; as he undertook it, Geraldine was gripped by awe and admiration. A few miles short of

There were rocks here, many of them; but there were spaces, too, if Allard could find them. Yet Geraldine

almost preferred the rocks. She could foresee devastating results when the wheels hit the rough duststrewn

ground. Vaguely, she remembered that Allard had once landed safely in a jungle, and she could only hope

The landing came. To Geraldine, it seemed a cross between a perfect threepoint and a pancake, if such

could be possible. The plane shivered as it plowed the heavy soil, mowing through sagebrush and cactus.

Then Allard was helping Geraldine to the ground, reflected silver against the darkening sky. The amazed

breath that Geraldine took caused her to choke from the dust that she inhaled. Allard steered her from the

murky cloud around the plane, and they began their march toward the rocks, a few miles away.

They were a stout pair: Allard, in his aviator's costume; Geraldine, her slacks tucked into high boots, helmet

and goggles above her jacketed shoulders. Both were armed with automatics that Allard had brought along.

The next hour offered them real opportunity, for the full moon had not yet risen in the desert sky.

Allard did not slow their pace until they reached the fringe of rocks. Then, with a low whisper for Geraldine

to copy him, he used tactics that he must have learned in the Central American jungles. He became a gliding

shape among the rocks; slow, cautious, but so elusive that Geraldine could scarcely follow him.

Fortunately, the tall, slim blonde was built for this sort of work; a fact upon which The Shadow depended.

She was almost his own shadow, as they stole among the forbidding boulders, seeking some trace of a human

lair. When the test came, however, it was only Allard who was quick enough to meet it.

He stopped with silent suddenness, flung out an arm to hold back Geraldine. The girl stumbled; she failed to

repress a startled exclamation. A sharp snarl answered; from between two rocks, a longlimbed human figure

THE guard didn't betray himself by a light. Instead, he swung hard in the darkness, using a rifle as a club.

Simultaneously, The Shadow's hand made a cross slash; there was a hard clang as the full weight of his

Then came a quick struggle in the darkness, where Geraldine heard thrashing figures that she couldn't see. A

flashlight blinked; in its glow, Geraldine saw a rangy man stumbling toward her, his rifle gone, his hands

Geraldine thrust an automatic's muzzle against the guard's ribs. He gave a groan and sank against a rock.

Holding him at gun point, Geraldine saw beyond the fellow's shoulder and thereby witnessed the next event.

Allard had swung the flashlight about, to disclose a rough flight of steep stone steps beneath a looming

boulder. Below, a man was stepping through an iron door, aiming a rifle upward. He had heard the cry from

The Shadow's bold use of the flashlight proved the best move possible. Blinking into the gleam, the man with

the rifle couldn't see the figure behind it. He thought, for a second, that the person with the light must be the

That second was enough. In it, Geraldine saw Allard take a reckless plunge that matched his daring landing in

the desert. It looked like a breakneck dive, down those stone steps, but The Shadow counted on something

Landing full upon the guard, he flattened the fellow, rifle and all. Finger jarred from the trigger, the foeman

dropped the rifle and tried to grapple as The Shadow snapped off the flashlight. Again, Geraldine was hearing

a thrashing struggle; amid it, gargly efforts toward a shout that was never given.

Getting a throat hold on the guard, The Shadow was using his elbows to ward off the man's gripping hands.

Tenaciously, The Shadow's clutching fingers were doing more than hold back the alarm that his foeman tried

to shout. They were choking the fellow into final submission, which came with the very suddenness that The

The figure sank limp beside the rifle. Up the steps came Allard's low voice, telling Geraldine to march her

prisoner down. She did so, by the greeting glow of the flashlight. Still groggy, her charge didn't try to make

trouble. He could feel the nudge of the automatic that Geraldine kept pressed against his ribs.

While Geraldine covered with gun and flashlight, The Shadow put her prisoner to work helping bind and gag

the man who lay senseless. After that, Geraldine found herself assisting Allard in the binding of the first

prisoner. She saw Allard open the metal door; beyond, the flashlight showed a vaulted passage that led

There was a small room to one side, filled with boxes of canned goods. That was where The Shadow stowed

the prisoners, with Geraldine's aid. Then, in the steady manner of Kent Allard, he beckoned for the girl to

Guiding their course with cautious blinks of the flashlight, The Shadow was setting out to explore the depths

THE route that the invaders had used was not the only entrance to this lair. The Shadow learned that from

two things that he observed as they went deeper; first, the absence of any guards; second, the fact that there

were other passages leading upward, obviously to outlets where watchers were on duty.

Though the situation presented opportunities to deal with scattered guards in little groups, it was better to

learn more about the lair before beginning that campaign. Therefore, The Shadow and his blond companion

They reached a dimly lighted hollowed room that had been hewn from crevices among deepburied rocks.

The chamber was a large one, totally deserted, and for the first time, The Shadow was interested in a passage

that led upward from it. It was a broad, lowceilinged slope, with track marks among the rocks.

Exploring it, The Shadow and Geraldine came into another chamber, where a mammoth shape was spread

like a silent, moody creature from some prehistoric age. The flashlight's puny glitter reflected from the thing's

The room was an underground hangar. In front of the plane was a huge stretch of canvas supported by metal

struts. Unquestionably, the outer surface of that canvas was painted to resemble a rocky layer of the desert.

Leading straight to the landing field, the opening would allow the plane's crew to get the ship rapidly into the

air. It happened, however, that none of the crew was about. The hangar, like the hollowedout underground

The big transport was not the ship that Silver Skull had used to sink the Traveler; but there was space here for

Geraldine saw Allard produce a flat box that he had brought from his own plane. Telling her to keep watch,

he stepped into the transport. When he returned, Geraldine asked, hopefully, if he had put the big ship out of

"It may prove best," he said, "to let that plane leave. The box that I hid aboard gives out automatic radio

impulses. It will be better in the plane, as it will enable us to trace the ship's course with a direction finder, if

They returned to the hollow center room. There, Allard found new interest in a single passage that led deeper

into the ground. He decided that it deserved inspection before they took other steps. Descending, they left the

Past a turn, The Shadow viewed a narrow corridor, with doors in it that looked like cell openings. A guard

was strolling in the opposite direction; finishing his round, he went to a room beyond. The Shadow could

"There's a reserve crew here," he told Geraldine, grimly. "But maybe I'll have a chance to look into some of

Reaching the first cell, The Shadow looked through the bars, to see a girl stretched on a cot staring at the

ceiling. She was wearing slacks, like Geraldine's; a flannel shirt that was open at the neck. Above a smooth,

white throat, The Shadow could see a determined chin that he remembered; particularly when he noted the

THE cell door had a bolt, out of reach from inside, but easily manipulated in the corridor. The Shadow slid it

silently, but instead of opening the door, he took a quick glance down the corridor, then rejoined Geraldine.

He told the blonde who the prisoner was; then made a steadytoned suggestion that left the choice absolutely

"Suppose you change places with her," he said. "She may be able to tell me a great deal about Silver Skull.

You have a gun and if a pinch comes, you can help. Especially, since they won't expect an attack from your

Geraldine promptly agreed to the plan. She sidled into the corridor, opened the door of the unlockedcell.

The Shadow heard low whispers, as the girls talked; then Mildred came out and bolted the door behind her.

She had scarcely joined The Shadow before the guard returned. In his patrol, he glanced into the cell; but The

Having recognized Kent Allard, Mildred was eager to tell of her adventures; but she kept silent, at her

rescuer's warning, until they had reached the central cavern. There, she waited again, to let Allard look

He saw a door, opened it cautiously and found a tiny wireless room, quite deserted. They entered the room

She told how she had found the telephone number on Fortner's slip and had called it; but she had difficulty in

describing the vague voice that had mentioned John Lenville, then Dr. Sleed, as coming victims.

Then she explained that she had visited Sleed to warn him, only to find herself feeling very ill. She told how

Sleed had turned her over to the nurse, Miss Royce, who had seemed very sympathetic and had promptly

Very suddenly, as Mildred remembered it, she had been entirely unclothed, waiting for Miss Royce to unfold

a nightgown for her. But she hadn't come to her senses until she had been tucked into bed. Then she had

"The room was locked," recounted Mildred, "and I could hear gas entering it. Miss Royce was gone, and she

had taken my clothes along. I wonder" Mildred's frown was a perplexed one "why she bothered to take

The Shadow explained how Thelma had changed her own attire, so she could pose as Mildred and drive away

in the yellow roadster. Mildred's eyes flashed indignation; along with it, The Shadow could see

determination. Like Geraldine, Mildred was a girl upon whom he could depend in any clash with crooks.

Meanwhile, other matters needed prompt discussion. First, that illchosen telephone call that had been the

"After the voice had named Lenville," quizzed The Shadow, "did it say anything that you didn't quite

"You should have replied 'skull,' to complete the countersign. Since you failed to do so, the voice recognized

"It is a name. Of the crook we must seek. So tell me what happened to you after you were gassed."

"It must have been hours later," she related, "when I found myself lying on a cot, wrapped like a mummy in a

lot of blankets. Men were in the room, removing a big square box that was padded on the inside. They carried

"I squirmed out of the blankets and rested a short while. All I had on was the nightie that Miss Royce had

given me. But these clothes" she gestured to the flannel shirt and slacks "were on a chair, so I dressed

"I am sure that the place was in the East, because, later, I was put aboard a plane and brought here. It was a

News that Silver Skull had an Eastern base was important to The Shadow. He asked for its description and

Mildred told him what little she could. The place had reminded her of a cabin, a very large one. She was sure

"Perhaps my uncle is still alive," declared the girl. "He and others like John Lenville."

THE girl saw Allard ponder. The Shadow agreed with Mildred's theory, but he was trying to deduce why she

had been brought to the desert base. The only plausible reason was that Silver Skull was on his way here, and

That offered complications. Under present circumstances, it would be best to forestall Silver Skull. The thugs

who guarded this hidden air base were numerous, but of comparatively poor caliber. They could be handled

Some of those crooks would talk. From them, The Shadow could learn the location of the Eastern base and

fly there. He would be on his way while Silver Skull was arriving at a scene of chaos, here in the desert.

He calculated the potential results that would come if he sent out an SOS from here a call to the law,

News of a secret base illegally maintained, would bring results without mention of Silver Skull. Soon after

sending the call, The Shadow could be on his way, flying the big transport plane upon which the crooks here

They couldn't hear the wireless call go out. The transport would be taking off before they could stop it. As

guides and crew members, The Shallow could bring along the two guards who lay helpless; and in addition,

Silver Skull, even if he intercepted the message, would not guess that the sender was heading East with

informants telling him how to reach the other base. Only one person, in Silver Skull's estimate, would be

Mildred, watching Allard, saw his fingers come to life. As if imbued with an impulse of their own, they

began to send the message. Three times, The Shadow repeated the message giving the location of the desert

Next, he was dismantling the set. Crooks, when they found it, wouldn't be able to flash news to Silver Skull.

Their ship gone, they would be stranded here. Surrounded by the desert, they would find it useless to flee.

With Mildred, The Shadow hurried through the passage by which he and Geraldine had reached the central

cavern. The prisoners were lying as The Shadow had left them, in the storeroom near the metal door.

Unbinding them, he was explaining exactly what they were to do, when he became conscious of a faint,

The Shadow told Mildred to go up the steps and report what sounds she heard. Once she had opened the

metal door, the thrumming noise became very loud. It was Mildred who saw the rest.

Against the risen moon, a swift plane sped overhead. It dropped an object that burst in midair, emitting a

lurid, crimson flare. In that spurt of vivid light, the plane was outlined like a hellish bird.

Upon the plane, Mildred saw the leering symbol of a silver skull, stained scarlet by the glow. She knew the

flare to be a warning, meant for the guards that Allard had intended to leave at their various posts.

Silver Skull had been the first to catch The Shadow's call. Close to his own domain, the master crook had

No longer did the odds lie with The Shadow. The balance favored the fighters who served Silver Skull!

BY the time Mildred was down the steps, blurting the news of Silver Skull's passage overhead, she saw that

Allard was already on the move. He had turned the prisoners around, to start them down the passage at the

He motioned toward the little storeroom, telling Mildred to pick up the rifles and bring them along. Then

The rifles made a heavy, cumbersome load, but Mildred lugged them gamely as she stumbled toward the

moving gleam of The Shadow's flashlight. She was hoping that they could still release Geraldine, and get

Suddenly, the flashlight stopped its forward movement. Catching a blink that seemed like a beckon, Mildred

hurried ahead. In the dim glow at the entrance to the central cavern, she found Allard waiting, with the

The Shadow put away his flash. Then, with one sweep of his left arm, he gathered the rifles from her. With

his right hand, he planked an automatic in Mildred's hand. In clipped words, he told the girl to keep the

prisoners covered; to stay here. Strapping one rifle across his back, he started forward with the other.

Mildred suddenly saw the reason for The Shadow's move. Men had ready come from the guardroom below,

and from the noise they were making, were in the hangar, preparing for a quick flight. They weren't wasting

time in raising the reinforced canvas. They were slashing it with axes, when The Shadow, running up the

It was evident that Allard meant business. The startled crooks stopped abruptly, proving that The Shadow

needed neither black cloak nor sinister tone to make such foemen yield. There was a mutinous air, however,

among those thugs, as they stood with uplifted arms. Instead of cowering, they muttered. The situation

The break came before The Shadow had time to properly subdue his new prisoners. There was a slashing

clatter from a door that flung suddenly open. Two crooks sprang, fuming, from the wireless room, where they

had found the wrecked equipment. They ran partially up the hangar passage, saw the figure of Allard clad in

Guns out, the pair were firing quick shots as The Shadow swung to meet them. They expected him to dive

away, to become a helpless target when they found their aim. Instead, he gave them bullets with a precision

With each crack of The Shadow's rifle, a thug floundered in the air, came down a writhing chunk of sprawled

humanity, thinking no longer of battle. Neither of those doubled fighters tried to pick up the revolver that he

The men in the hangar heard the rifle shots but could not see what happened. They were yanking revolvers of

their own, raising a wild shout as they headed for The Shadow. He was up the passage again, firing the rifle

as they came; but this time, his shots clipped only one adversary. The rest were scattering quickly, to find

As he completed his hurried fire, The Shadow made a fast retreat. His rifle was empty; he needed cover of his

own. One gunman, scenting the dilemma, came loping through the passage. The Shadow sidestepped before

the fellow's revolver spurted, then met the crook with a clubbed stroke of the rifle just as the man began to

Staggered, that foeman reeled away. Flinging the rifle aside, The Shadow reached the central room. Picking a

strategic corner, he unlimbered the reserve rifle, ready for the next attack. He was baiting the crooks from the

Yet, all the while, The Shadow had his eye on the passage that led below. He would have to reach it later, to

release Geraldine. He was depending upon the stewardess to take care of matters herself, by way of start, for

she had a gun of her own. One shot, however, from that gun would have brought The Shadow straight to her

THEY were here, the mob from the hangar, howling as they sought their prey, swinging their guns in every

direction. The Shadow met them with a sudden fire that sent the whole crew to scattered cover, so rapidly that

Amid the puny bursts of answering revolvers, The Shadow tossed away the second rifle. From now on, it

would be a closequarters fight, quick sallies with his automatic a reserve weapon he pulled from his

aviator's jumper as the prevailing weapon. He wouldn't have to worry about reloading. There would be

With one quick sideward dive, The Shadow met a rising foeman pointblank, beat the crook to the shot.

Hurtling the sagging foeman, he used the fellow as a bulwark, while he aimed for another. Coolly, he was

scooping up the dropped revolver with his free hand, when, amid the scattered fire of bewildered enemies, he

Men were coming from everywhere except the lone passage where Mildred stood guard over two sullen

prisoners. They were the distant outpost guard, heading in from the various corridors. At the same moment, a

cluster of men piled up from the lower passage. With them was Geraldine, her arms pinned behind her. The

Crooks didn't know that she had a weapon; they simply thought that she was trying to break away. Geraldine

had waited until they dragged her from the cell, and then had found it was too late. The hands that pinned her,

At least, Geraldine was keeping her captors fully occupied. The Shadow let that group rush across toward the

hangar. He saw Geraldine stumble, come up half stunned. No longer struggling, she was dragged along

limply. Her captors weren't stopping to fight. The only way to overtake them and rescue her, would be to

The Shadow proceeded to that herculean task. In appearance, he still was Allard; but in action, he was The

Shadow. A combination that worked surprisingly to his advantage, in this dimlit battleground. Gunmen

When the lone fighter stopped, he looked like a fixed statue, the sort of target that any marksman could pick

off with a slow aim. Then, with a whirl, he would be gone, while surprised crooks were firing too late. Out of

each twist, he would abruptly halt again. Invariably, his shots would drop the one marksman who had the best

Sometimes he swooped, to come up with a fresh revolver. It was startling, the way he plucked those weapons

in haphazard fashion; juggled them squarely to his trigger finger, and fired straight to a living target while his

Wounded crooks weren't heeding the howls of their pals to stick around and help. They were crawling,

staggering in the direction of the hangar, anxious to join the men who were hacking away the remnants of the

AGAINST overwhelming odds, The Shadow had paved the way to conquest. Victory seemed in his grasp,

despite the fact that he had been forced to meet criminals in united combat. It had been skill, not luck, that

had served him in the struggle. When the first fluke came, it worked against The Shadow, not for him.

He had snatched a fresh revolver from the floor beside a wall; probably the last of those captured weapons

that he should have required. His hand had made its flip; the muzzle was swung toward a wildeyed foeman

who was taking hasty aim. Then, almost with his trigger tug, The Shadow went into a sudden dive.

The revolver was empty; he seemed to feel it as the hammer hit. Instead of a shot from The Shadow's gun,

one came from the foeman's weapon. Something stung The Shadow's gun arm, jolted it high up. The revolver

There were gleeful howls from crooks, but they were very few. All but a mere three or four had been

silenced, or had fled. The remaining thugs fired ardently, but their shots were as few in number as

In fact, the man who had clipped The Shadow had done it with a final bullet, and he was the only one close

enough to add more damage. Rolling across the floor, regardless of his burning shoulder, The Shadow was

followed not overtaken by the pinging slugs that ricocheted from the rocky ground.

With a long lunge, he clamped his good hand on a revolver that lay in his path; came suddenly up on his

elbow and began to pull the gun trigger. Luck balanced; the revolver was a loaded one. Attackers, their own

Half groggy, The Shadow didn't clip them as they ran; but his shots were close enough to spur the fight. The

battlefield was his; he was still determined to overtake the fugitives and prevent their getaway in the plane.

During The Shadow's flounder, Mildred's prisoners had decided to jump her gun. The girl had been startled

by their sudden rush, but had proven equal to it. With a backward step, Mildred fired; then stopped in blank

One of the huskies sank without a gulp. From a snarling, threatening human beast, he had been transformed

into an inert mass. The other crook dropped back against the wall; he, too, was changed. His hands were no

longer reaching claws; they were flabby. His raucous voice had softened to a pitiful plea; he was begging

Her eyes upon the crumpled form in front of her, Mildred scarcely heard the other man's whine. Her hand

sank, carried downward by the weight of the automatic. Though the silent man before her would willingly

Her head whirled; the world seemed blank, except for that sprawled shape upon the passage floor. She didn't

realize her own bewilderment; but there was someone who suddenly recognized it the other crook.

His whine chopped short. With a howl of ugly joy, he sprang upon Mildred and flung her across the passage.

The gun bounced from her hand, landed in darkness. The noise it made was the clue to its location. Diving for

the gun, the crook grabbed it, swung about to shove the weapon directly between Mildred's dazed eyes.

HE must have relished the thought of murder, that crook, for he was deliberate, in a tantalizing way, when he

fingered the gun trigger. Perhaps he wanted Mildred to realize what was due; to have the girl beg for mercy

Whatever his thoughts, they were so intent that he had forgotten the battle in the cavern; had taken it for

granted that the rolling figure of Kent Allard had stilled after a final writhe.

The Shadow had heard Mildred's shot. One arm dangling, he was approaching the passage, sacrificing speed

for stealth. He was banking wholly upon the killer's deliberation, until he came within reaching distance of

Then, his good hand thrust before him, The Shadow drove. His fingers clamped a gun wrist, his weight sent

the crook across the passage. The gun spoke, but not in Mildred's direction. The bullet was lost against the

Roused by the shot, Mildred saw two flaying figures. She realized that though the advantage was Allard's, he

was wounded; striving with one hand to outwrench his foeman's two. The gun disappeared suddenly

between the grapplers; Mildred heard it speak a muffled blast and added a scream that was a horrified echo.

She saw the two figures coil to the floor, like the man that she had dropped. Then, after a moment that

seemed interminable, Allard's shoulders moved. Coming weakly to his knees, he shook aside dead arms that

clutched him. The crook's form flopped heavily, to settle as still as the stones that formed its resting place.

Weakly, The Shadow pointed with the gun he had wrested, and Mildred understood. He was still intent upon

pursuit through the passage to the hangar. But he could scarcely rise when Mildred tried to help him. When

he finally stood, wavering from her supporting grasp, they both heard sounds that told them chase was

From the hangar came an echoing roar, that faded as the transport plane taxied out to the landing field. Then

came the more distant rumble of the takeoff; finally, the purr that trailed to nothingness, signifying that the

Manned by a skeleton crew, carrying a quota of crippled crooks, with Geraldine along as a lone prisoner, the

Though he had outbattled the horde that served Silver Skull, The Shadow had found his efforts nullified. He

had rescued Mildred, but Geraldine had been captured. Among the crooks who strewed the underground lair,

Still, the campaign was not ruined. There would be future ways to meet and frustrate Silver Skull and the

THOUGH The Shadow's battle had not brought him the desired result, he had certainly banished all

opposition from the desert air base. That fact was a fortunate one, for during the next few hours, the intrepid

His wound, though not a serious one, had brought considerable loss of blood before Mildred stanched it. The

It was Mildred who kept vigil while they waited for new arrivals, hoping that the newcomers would be

The little wireless room served as the temporary refuge. There, Allard lay stretched upon a rickety army cot,

while Mildred kept guard at the door. Most of the wait was spent in silence, but at intervals, the girl heard

Mildred was to say nothing of their previous acquaintance; nor was she to remember that Geraldine had

accompanied Allard here. Her own story, too, was to be a hazy one. She could mention Sleed and Thelma;

But she was to know nothing whatever concerning Silver Skull and the plane which had flown over to give

the warning. As for the supposition that such men as her uncle and John Lenville were still alive, no one was

The safety of those supposed victims might depend upon such pretended ignorance. Mildred understood that

from Allard's tone, and reasoned the rest for herself. Who Silver Skull might be, she couldn't guess; but it was

obvious that he would try to reconstruct his schemes, if he saw the opportunity.

Vital to those schemes was the fact that dead men lived. If chance for further plotting should be ended, Silver

Skull would no longer have need for those prisoners. He would snuff out their lives, and turn to other fields

Aloud, Mildred repeated the story that she intended to tell, until she had it perfect. She was still repeating it to

herself when she saw the bobbing of lights entering the central cavern, heard the shouts of approaching

voices. Fearful for the moment, Mildred looked to Allard for encouragement and saw him give a tired nod.

The Shadow had recognized that these must be rescuers; and he was right. With an answering cry of her own,

Mildred went out to meet them. Soon, she was telling her wellrehearsed story to a group of eager listeners.

AMONG the rescuers was Norwood Parridge. Searching for the lost Traveler, he had picked up Allard's SOS

and had headed here from the mountains. That call had carried no signature; when Parridge learned that

Allard had sent it, he hurried to the side of his wounded friend. Propped on the cot, The Shadow weakly gave

Flying alone, so he said, he had chanced to observe the desert landing field. He had finished his solo flight on

the sands a few miles away, and had come here to investigate. Finding Mildred unwatched, he had released

her; had sent the wireless call. Then came the battle for which The Shadow, as Allard, took but modest

Some of the crooks, he claimed, had mistakenly supposed that he led a band of invaders. Hoping to square

themselves with the law, they had turned against the rest. Outnumbered, the mutineers had been eliminated;

but the victors, their own ranks considerably thinned had taken to flight in a plane.

As always, The Shadow was covering his real identity of Kent Allard; and he knew that his tale would have

weight, even with Silver Skull. The crooks who had fled would themselves believe the version of the fight

that Allard was making public. In the gloom of the hazy cavern, they had taken bullets from so many

directions that they must have found the onefoe theory incredible, when they discussed it.

Allard's lips were holding back a weary smile, as they spoke that blunt story. Deep in The Shadow's brain

was the important realization that Silver Skull believed him to be dead, which put the 'certifying mark' upon

the yarn. For only The Shadow could have put up the singlehanded battle that Allard so carefully

It was Parridge who insisted upon taking his friend Allard back to civilization. Mildred was anxious to go

along in the same plane, but Allard's eyes told her no. They had a few moments when they spoke alone, when

Allard gave her brief instructions. The substance was that Mildred should find her chance and disappear

again, this time to join certain persons who would keep her safe from Silver Skull.

DURING the long night, Parridge's plane winged eastward. Upon reaching New York City, Kent Allard was

taken to a hospital. Later, at his own insistence, he was removed to the quiet hotel suite where the Xinca

servants waited like a pair of faithful watchdogs. Once in that seclusion, Kent Allard defied all orders that the

Not that he garbed himself in cloak of black, to set out upon immediate foray. He was still too weak, and such

a venture was unnecessary, for the present. Also, his arm must heal. But he busied himself with many tasks;

calls to Burbank; experiments with radio apparatus; long study of newspaper accounts; the tracing of lines

A wide search was under way for the missing plane that had carried the gunmen from the desert. Though

nearly nothing was known of Silver Skull, with even his real name undisclosed, it was taken for granted that

some mastermind had created the desert air base, to prey upon passing skyliners.

Who was the master crook? Why had he dealt in murder? Where was his Eastern base, which a thousand

These were questions to which only The Shadow knew the answer and the lastnamed had become the most

At the desk where The Shadow sat with one arm bundled in a sling, was a compact apparatus with a tiny light

that changed as he adjusted it. Through this direction finder, he had picked up, here in New York, automatic

radio impulses from the apparatus he had put in the crooks' transport plane a piece of luck upon which he

Luck, however, which was unnecessary. For by this time, The Shadow's agents were posted at several spots

outside of New York City, seeking that same beam. Only two findings were needed, and The Shadow already

had three others reported through Burbank. He was using his own, however, to make the final check.

His elbow steadying a long metal ruler, The Shadow drew lines upon a map. Converging from the various

points where the beam had been picked up, the lines arrived at a focalspot. Shifting to a largescale map,

Somewhere in that area, limited to a few miles in radius, lay the Eastern base used by Silver Skull. It was

well north of New York City, not far off the main air route to Montreal, a fact significant in itself; for it

meant that Silver Skull could intercept planes bound to Canada, as well as those that flew to the Pacific coast.

From reports that lay upon Allard's desk, it appeared that many planes had scoured that very terrain, while

going from one area to another. They had eliminated the very district where the base must lie, because it

showed no possible landing fields. In that circle, and miles around it, were stretches of unbroken woodland,

Reaching for the telephone, The Shadow made a call to Burbank. His instructions were for certain agents to

cover that area again, by air. Since planes had frequently flown over it, they would excite no suspicion,

WORK ended for that day, The Shadow rested. It was very late the next afternoon when a package was

delivered at his hotel. The flat bundle contained a sheaf of aerial photographs, all recently developed. Their

backs were marked with cryptic numbers that enabled The Shadow to place them in a definite order.

His injured arm no longer numb, The Shadow used both hands to arrange the pictures, until they completely

covered the table. His keen eye promptly detected differences remarkably conspicuous. From the straight lips

of Kent Allard came a tone of satisfied mirth: the whispered laugh of The Shadow.

Again, The Shadow made a telephone call; but it was not to Burbank. Instead, he called the apartment where

Norwood Parridge lived when in New York. Using Allard's tone, The Shadow asked for the millionaire

aviator and learned that Parridge had just arrived. Soon, the millionaire was on the wire, but his voice lacked

"Hello, Allard," said Parridge. "It's good to hear from you. I've just come back from another hunt, and it's the

"Perhaps you've been looking in the wrong place," remarked The Shadow. "Or you may not have noticed the

"Do you mean" Parridge had caught new interest from Allard's tone "that somebody has found

"Precisely that," replied The Shadow. "I'll be around in half an hour, to show you the evidence."

The call concluded, The Shadow placed photographs and maps in a large envelope. From a desk drawer, he

produced an automatic and tucked it beneath his coat. Then, in the imperturbable style of Allard, he strolled

Darkness was settling as Allard appeared upon the street, bound upon this visit that was known only to

himself and Parridge. Yet, with all the secrecy that he had preserved, The Shadow was prepared to meet the

unexpected. For his mission, in itself, had an importance that made it dangerous.

During his coming conference with Parridge, The Shadow intended to decide the fate of Silver Skull!

PARRIDGE'S apartment was a small one, but lavishly furnished. Though already familiar with the place, The

Shadow gave it a careful scrutiny as soon as he was admitted by Parridge's stocky, wellgroomed

Informed by his master that Allard was to arrive, Jeffrey promptly led the visitor through a short hallway,

past the bedrooms, to a little living room at the rear of the apartment. Though originally planned as a

bedroom, Parridge used the rear room for a living room because it afforded an outlook toward Central Park.

Attired in a dressing gown, Parridge received Allard with a handshake that seemed to lack its usual strength.

He looked tired, his face more haggard than ever, and his shoulders showed a marked forward sag. He had

been at the controls all day, he explained, and for once, his interest in aviation had waned.

"Whoever this master mind is," declared Parridge, "he's no hare. He's a fox; and we've been hopping plenty of

hurdles trying to find him! But he's got a hole in the ground, better even than the place you uncovered out on

Instead of a reply, Parridge saw Allard's lips smile confidence. Noting the envelope that his visitor carried,

"Everything is all right," assured Parridge. "Jeffrey can be trusted. He has been with me for years."

The Shadow opened the envelope. First, he brought out maps. He indicated one that bore a penciled cross.

"Whoever the fox is," began The Shadow, in Allard's shortclipped style, "is something that does not matter.

While Parridge was staring at the map, The Shadow called his attention to another one, of larger scale. It

"This place," Parridge heard Allard say, "appears to be a hunting lodge surrounded by large grounds.

"The ground is level," was Allard's reminder. "And from this older map" he pointed to another sheet "the

As proof, The Shadow produced a photograph. Parridge saw exactly what he meant. The ground did have a

level look; but that did not cover Parridge's objection. Young trees were frequent all through the clearing that

"You're wrong, Allard," declared Parridge. "No one could possibly make a landing there. Not even you could

"Agreed," came the interruption. "No landing could have been made at the time this photograph was taken,

which" The Shadow turned the picture over "was at three thirty yesterday afternoon. But things were a

He showed a picture taken after six o'clock. Parridge saw his finger point from one photo to the other. The

"Some of the trees have moved!" he exclaimed. "They are back toward the fringes of the larger woods!"

"And after dark," added The Shadow, "they must have moved back entirely. Look at these other photographs,

THE first of the present day's photographs had been taken just after dawn. The space was half cleared; the

trees, as The Shadow said, could have been coming outward. Other photos, taken at later hours, showed them

"Those trees are obviously mounted on tractor treads, or broad rollers. At night, they can be drawn back to

make a landing field. Probably the task was such a long one that the workers started early, yesterday.

Similarly, they waited until too near dawn to push the trees back in place, this morning.

"Of course, they stopped when planes flew over. They had enough trees in place to make a landing look

impossible. But they did not reckon with the aerial camera. Since I couldn't make a hunt myself, I had

"That was smart work, Allard," declared Parridge. Then, staring at the photographs: "But how did you happen

"I had cameramen everywhere," returned The Shadow, quietly. "These were but a few of the many thousand

Parridge accepted the explanation, which was well, as The Shadow did not care to mention the matter of the

direction finders that he had used. That would have indicated too much previous planning on the part of Kent

It befitted Allard to be stolid, of single purpose, rather than versatile in method. His boldness, too, should be a

stubborn sort. He should base his plans upon the proposition that what had once been accomplished could be

done again. Therefore, the next suggestion was the very sort that Parridge expected.

"The landing field will be clear again tonight," decided The Shadow, bluntly. "If I take off at midnight, I can

"Like I did before. With excellent results! If I can depend upon you to follow, bringing reinforcements "

The Shadow pondered, then set half past three as the proper time. Parridge inquired why he was delaying the

"Because of the moon," explained The Shadow. "It doesn't set until nearly three o'clock. I don't want to be

seen from the ground. Besides, you will need time to collect the right people to accompany you. I'm leaving

The compliment pleased Parridge. He expressed concern, however, regarding Allard's landing. With the

ground dark, Allard would not be able to tell if the trees had been drawn back. It was a big risk, Parridge

"I'll know how the ground lies when I get near to it," he predicted, confidently. "I'll fly across the clearing

first, and come back into the wind. I've shaken my landing gear right out of treetops before. Don't worry

NO more assurance was needed. Parridge straightened his shoulders, his weariness gone. His face had

brightened with a look of anticipation toward the part that he was to play in the coming venture. Then came a

sudden twitch of his features, ending in a painful tightness of his lips, a narrowing of his eyelids.

Parridge, on one side of the table, was looking straight across it over Allard's shoulder, to a mirror on the far

wall. The glass reflected a doorway that led to the front bedroom. That door was a trifle open; from it

The Shadow's eyes took a side glance. They also saw the revolver muzzle. The hand that held it was out of

sight; but it was steady. For, although the gun moved, it did not waver. An invisible marksman was merely

Through The Shadow's brain flashed instant thoughts, as he tried to fit this new crisis into the wellpatterned

schemes of Silver Skull. He had the answer, a singular one, almost before he had finished his mental

To meet the dilemma, he would have to drop the stolid way of Allard, to show the quickness of The Shadow.

This would be different from the gloomy cavern in the desert. In full light, Allard's transformation would be

recognized. Silver Skull would learn that The Shadow had not died while posing as Lamont Cranston.

All that momentarily restrained The Shadow was the motion of the gun. He wanted the hidden killer to

concentrate upon one person. That act would mark the instant for The Shadow's counterthrust. It was well

that The Shadow waited as he did, for during that tense time space, matters took a curious twist. One that

The gun swung finally toward Parridge. Noting the motion in the mirror, Parridge mistook the reversed

reflection and thought that it had moved the other way. Thinking that he was not covered, Parridge acted on

Lunging his shoulders forward, Parridge grabbed a desk lamp. With a wide fling of his arm, he hurled it

toward the connecting door. His heave was so earnest that he followed with it, sprawling half across the floor.

The gun was talking as the lamp crashed; but with the lamp's impact against the doorway, its lights were

extinguished, plunging the room into blackness, except against the windows. No figures could be seen against

that background; for, with darkness, The Shadow had copied Parridge's dive to the floor.

Parridge was unhurt. The glare of the flying lamp had made the marksman shift. From the floor, Parridge was

opening fire with a gun of his own, while The Shadow still as Kent Allard chimed in with his automatic.

As Parridge sprang in pursuit, The Shadow doubled out through the hallway, where he could intercept the

fleeing man. As he reached the lighted hall, he was met by a driving figure coming toward him. Seeing

Allard, the other fired; but his shots were wide. With one quick side step back into the living room, The

The man came stumbling into a grapple; for a moment, he and The Shadow were locked. Then The Shadow

had flung the man aside and was back into the living room, as shots burst from the front hall. It was the

wounded man who received those bullets. A few moments later, Parridge arrived, a smoking gun in his hand.

Panting, he stooped to look at the man that he had finished with those final shots. Gazing up toward Allard,

"It's Jeffrey'" he exclaimed. "It was he who overheard us! Faithful old Jeffrey "

From somewhere, The Shadow caught a sound that Parridge did not hear the soft scrape of a lowering

window. Someone was making a stealthy exit from the apartment. It wasn't Jeffrey who had made the murder

"We both fired in selfdefense," he was saying. "We can explain that, Allard. But we can't drop our plans for

THE SHADOW was stooping beside Jeffrey's body. He had noted a bulge in the man's vest pocket. The

Shadow's fingers dipped in quick probe; his hand gave a slight juggle, and formed a loose fist. Joining

Parridge, he considered what the millionaire had said, and finally gave agreement.

Together, they left the apartment and took their separate ways. With a few hours remaining until midnight,

The Shadow first rode back to his hotel. In the cab he opened his fist, saw the object that had come from

That satisfied The Shadow regarding Jeffrey's actions. Parridge's servants, like many other persons who

posed as honest people, was a crook in the service of Silver Skull. Perhaps if Parridge hadn't been so hasty

with his gun, shooting recklessly along the hall, Jeffrey would still be alive, and therefore of some use.

As it stood, Jeffrey had taken what was due him. He didn't matter any longer. What did concern The Shadow

was the identity of the man who had managed to duck out while Parridge was getting his trails mixed.

The Shadow settled that with a lowtoned laugh. He had already formed an opinion regarding the fellow's

What mattered most was The Shadow's coming expedition. It was a venture that could still work as he had

planned it. For The Shadow, thanks to Parridge's intervention, had managed to keep his own identity hidden.

He was still Kent Allard; and that was vitally important. Because The Shadow was certain that by this time,

Silver Skull had learned what Kent Allard intended to do tonight. Oddly, The Shadow's plans called for

For Silver Skull, in planning a reception for Kent Allard, would not reckon with the measures that The

IT was three o'clock. Darkness lay thick and hushed about the hidden landing field that The Shadow had

traced, despite the wiles of Silver Skull. Sham trees had been rolled back into the woods, where vaulted

Men were crouched in the blackened clearing, beside a plane that waited like a grounded bird of prey. Those

hours allowed by The Shadow had proven useful to Silver Skull. This was his plane, ready for another deed

The moon was gone, but the sky showed twinkling starlight. Barely visible, the tops of the higher trees were

bending in a wind, pointing northward like a wavering compass needle. Those treetops served as a wind

For Silver Skull had learned the plan in its entirety how Allard first intended to cross the landing field, then

head back into the wind. All that the master crook and his crew awaited was the drone of an approaching

It came, a slow hum that rode ahead of the wavering wind. Eyes strained skyward, hoping to spot the

approaching ship. It was difficult against the blackness, until the twinkle of lights appeared like little colored

There were surprised mutters among the ground crew; then grunts of understanding mingled with satisfied

The lights, of course, were Allard's most sensible measure. He was taking it for granted that there might be

watchers in the clearing. Such watchers would be suspicious of any ship that soared without lights. He was

hoping that he would be mistaken for an ordinary pilot, passing across this forest region.

Once beyond the field, he would extinguish those lights and glide back to a landing. The slowness of his

plane was proof that it was suited to such a feat. But there was a danger, other than that of landing, to anyone

Kent Allard would have no worries regarding a proper landing, once Silver Skull was in the air. The air pirate

The lights were almost overhead. No chance of Allard hearing other sounds, with the drone of his own motor

in his ears. Silver Skull gave the order for contact; before those lights had passed the landing field, his trim

The scattering ground crew glimpsed the craft as it met the breeze above the treetops. Then it was gone into

the blackness of the higher air, twisting like a skillful bird, to take up the trail of Allard's lights.

WITHOUT a glimmer of its own, the speedy plane knifed upward. Silver Skull was anxious to down Allard's

plane as far as possible from the landing field, for it wouldn't do to have wreckage found too close to the

hidden headquarters. That was why he didn't push his speedy ship until he saw the lights begin to turn.

Five miles had been covered. Enough to satisfy the murderous pilot who wore the silver headgear. He veered

to bring himself in Allard's path; then, as he saw the lights climbing upward and toward him, he gave his

That wasn't all. Silver Skull focused a searchlight alongside his machine gun, pressed the switch, to send a

brilliant path ahead. That flood of light outlined the climbing plane, gave Silver Skull a slanted glimpse of

The machine gun began its drill. In the vivid path that Silver Skull was following, the other plane bulked like

a big unwieldy box kite. It seemed that a crash was coming, when those two planes met; but Silver Skull

Lights vanished from the crippled ship. There was a puff of flame from the fuselage. A wing drooped; the

plane did a topple in midair. It was wallowing downward, spinning like a lopsided top, trailing smoke behind

Banking sharply, Silver Skull kept his searchlight glued on the fluttering wreckage, as it strewed itself among

the trees. He played the searchlight wider, as he circled the spot where the crash had come. He was looking to

see if Allard had bailed out. If so, Silver Skull would have another target, and an easy one: a helpless man

No sign of Allard near the treetops. Silver Skull circled the searchlight higher, slower, finally adjusting it to

the exact speed of the banking plane. Swinging ahead of him, the cleaving path cut high above the horizon.

It wasn't a parachute. It was something that seemed unbelievable: an object that might have dropped from one

of the distant stars. The thing was a giant propeller, as Silver Skull first viewed it; nothing else.

It seemed to be coming straight toward him, as though it had a mammoth plane behind it. As Silver Skull

grabbed for the machine gun, the whirling thing tilted, to take a horizontal position. Then, beneath it, the

The ship was a wingless autogiro! Its only support were those mammoth revolving blades that Silver Skull

With that discovery, Silver Skull guessed everything. He knew why Allard's crate had flown so slowly over

the landing field. It hadn't been a plane at all, that hulk with the telltale lights. It had been nothing but a

flimsy oversized glider, painted with Allard's insignia. A glider towed by the invisible giro up ahead!

The motor of the autogiro had provided the sound effects for the decoy. Silver Skull had taken the bait. He

had gone after the glider and had riddled it; a small tank of gasoline stowed in the glider had provided the

Meanwhile, high above, unseen by Silver Skull, the autogiro had completed a long, lazy loop. In its turn, it

had become the thing of prey, using Silver Skull's searchlight as its objective. Its own course timed by a

skilled pilot, the autogiro had intercepted the pursuit plane, to give real battle.

THAT fact drilled home to Silver Skull, as he tried to straighten his plane. The thought gripped him that he

should have disposed of Kent Allard, not Lamont Cranston. But that regret did not help his present situation.

From below the giro's spinning blades, straight through its actual propeller, Silver Skull could see the

There was no time for new maneuvers. Viciously, Silver Skull answered the attack. Chattering guns

outroared the motors, as the air duel reached its height. Bullets smashed the searchlight close by Silver Skull.

Whatever the advantage of the pursuit plane over large craft, it had none in this battle. Its speed, could Silver

The thing that he was trying to bring to earth had no vulnerable wings. Its whirling blades never quivered as

bullets tore through them. The tiny body of the autogiro was a target that he might eventually have found;

One machine gun ended its rattle with a cough. That gun belonged to Silver Skull. His plane took a steeper

bank, slid sideward, downward, toward those same trees where a fake plane had landed a dozen minutes

From the autogiro, The Shadow saw a quiver of the trees as a dullgray mass encountered them. Then came a

spurt of shortlived flame, that faded beneath the blanketing blackness. The flash was caused by the small

The crash had marked the end of Silver Skull a deed that The Shadow had postponed until this timely hour.

For the death of Silver Skull meant more than the deserved vengeance due a murderer.

That death was to be The Shadow's passport to the dead crook's own headquarters!

Well did The Shadow know that the men at the landing field were ready for surprise attacks, either by air or

land. They had been, at least, until Silver Skull had taken off, intent upon finishing Kent Allard, the

Right now, however, the ground crew would be expecting Silver Skull. If they heard a plane, they would

suppose it to be his. But The Shadow doubted that they would even hear the next ship that arrived!

He lifted the autogiro into a steep climb, and guided it back toward the landing field. A mile up in the air, The

Shadow cut off the motor. The ship went into a steeppitched drop, rapid at first, then slower, steadier. Big

spinning blades were working with the silence of a parachute, while The Shadow studied the darkness below.

Sharp eyes detected a thinness in that inky ground: a rounded space free from thickboughed trees. That

vacancy became The Shadow's goal. Unseen against the silent sky, the autogiro continued its sure descent.

Servers of Silver Skull were waiting there to greet their master's return. But they would receive the greeting,

THE autogiro settled with a silent plop, close to the center of the landing field. A full minute passed while

The Shadow waited, in case any sounds came from the ground crew. That minute produced nothing but

As The Shadow had expected, the crew was waiting in the woods, on the path that led to the treeshrouded

headquarters. They were watching for Silver Skull to flash a signal that would denote his return.

Carefully, The Shadow descended from his ship. He was cloaked in black, the attire that suited his return to

life. Tonight, the followers of Silver Skull would know that they faced The Shadow. But that discovery,

according to The Shadow's plans, would not come until he had reached the heart of their headquarters.

There, The Shadow was sure that he would find the prisoners whose lives Silver Skull had so carefully

preserved. If opportunity afforded, The Shadow would first release the captives, then spring his surprise upon

That much depended upon The Shadow alone. But he was counting upon others, once battle began. He had

sent instructions to his agents, giving them three o'clock as the zero hour. At this minute, they were closing in

upon the fence that surrounded the game preserve. Given a signal, they would rally to The Shadow's aid.

Once on the ground, The Shadow used his flashlight; but its blinks were the sort that distant observers could

not see. He held the torch cupped in his hand, close against his cloak; its rays were directed squarely upon the

ground. The light flickered, while The Shadow advanced a dozen paces; then it suddenly went off.

In the darkness, The Shadow had caught a stir: the approach of stealthy figures. While his left hand pocketed

the light, his right was whipping out an automatic. The move was quick but The Shadow cut it short. It was

From out of the darkness, two guns had poked into The Shadow's ribs, one from each side.

The sensation was not new to The Shadow. He had felt gun muzzles before, and knew what they meant.

Persons who were quick on the trigger didn't bother to announce themselves by gun thrusts. Whoever these

challengers were, they would not fire without provocation. They had something to say, and The Shadow was

"Hello, Silver Skull!" came a whisper, close to The Shadow's ear. "So you had a happy landing, didn't you?

"It sure was!" The voice was a woman's, speaking in The Shadow's other ear. "But maybe you wouldn't have

There wasn't any question about those voices. One belonged to Dr. George Sleed, the other to Thelma Royce.

"You ducked me once tonight," growled Sleed, "but I'm just as glad you did. I was out to get you for a

doublecrosser, and I missed. But I heard enough to figure what came next; and when I spilled the dope to

"That's right," voiced Thelma. "I talked sense into doc, I told him maybe you thought he was dead, but the

rest of the mob didn't. That silver skull he carries for a watch fob was just as good as gold! It got him past the

THE SHADOW kept his silence. His only response, if it could be called one, was a nervous squirm that

pleased his captors. They pressed their guns tighter; and Sleed growled a threat that they would shoot.

That stopped The Shadow's squirming. But it didn't give away what he had done. In his uneasy shift, he had

nudged his elbows backward, working them in between his ribs and the gun muzzles.

"What we want is dough," announced Sleed, "and plenty of it! All you've got to do is climb into that crate of

yours and take us along with you. Yell for your ground crew and tell them you're going back to town. Brag

about what you did to Allard, if you want; only, remember that we'll be nudging you with these rods "

Sleed was interrupted by a fling of The Shadow's elbow. The guns weren't nudging any longer. They were

wide, and The Shadow was bounding forward in the darkness, invisible to the pair who had held him trapped

One long leap, then a drop to one hand. Spinning about, The Shadow made a quick dive in the reverse

direction. His balked captors almost brushed him as they dashed past, shooting as they took up the imaginary

Flashlights blinked from the woods. Their glow caught Sleed and Thelma. Forgetting Silver Skull, the pair

opened fire on the ground crew with remarkable results. Flashlights began to drop like ducks on the rack of

Another gun had joined in the fire: the .45 in The Shadow's steady fist. He was clipping off those lights;

clearing the path for the pair who had held him covered only a few second before. Since stealth was no longer

possible, The Shadow was opening the way for the two crooks who had mistaken him for Silver Skull!

He could have chosen no better allies in that situation. Neither Sleed nor Thelma knew that Silver Skull was

dead; and they had a score to settle with the master crook. Thinking that Silver Skull had headed for the

A block of light showed suddenly at the end of the wooded pathway. It was the door of the hunting lodge,

flung open by startled guards inside. Sleed and Thelma thought that Silver Skull had gained that refuge, and

Guns answered. For the first time, the invading pair lost courage. Then they were spurred ahead by shots that

came from behind them; shots that they thought were supplied by rallied members of the ground crew.

Actually, those shots were The Shadow's. He was aiming for the door, to clear it. Seeing men sprawl, Sleed

and Thelma thought that their own puny fire had accomplished it. They drove into the hunting lodge, to find

Most of them were taking to smaller rooms that served as living quarters for the mob; but one man, coming

down a stairway that overhung from a wall, decided to return above. He had a gun; he aimed as he retreated.

Sight of a figure rolling down the stairway made the other crooks dive deeper into cover, while Sleed and

Thelma began to poke their heads through doorways looking for Silver Skull. How long they would survive

such heedless tactics was a question that did not concern The Shadow when he arrived. Once inside the

Above the side stairway was a passage that led to bunk rooms. The Shadow could see the glint of steel in the

gloomy lights. Those bunkroom doors were barred, they were the cells where Silver Skull had placed his

The man that Sleed had shot was a guard who watched the upper corridor. This was The Shadow's chance to

reach the captives and protect them until reserves arrived. Aid would come soon, for The Shadow had

planned a gunshot as a signal; and by this time, his agents had heard that token oft repeated.

HALFWAY up the stairs, The Shadow heard a cry behind him. It came from the guard that Sleed had

dropped. The crippled crook had come to life; forgetful of other feuds, he was raising a hoarse shout as he

Sleed scarcely heard the cry; but Thelma did. She turned, sprang back into a little room; voicing the startling

Criminals needed no other battle cry. They were united on that instant. They sprang from the rooms, to see

Sleed shooting for the balcony above the stairs, where a cloaked shape was weaving toward the corridor.

Along with Sleed's wild shots came fierce tongues of flame stabbing down from that balcony. Those

Sleed crumpled; the suddenness of his fall showed the power of The Shadow's gunfire. Crooks opened a

barrage against the fading shape in black, to be answered by shots that wilted them. Seeing some sprawl, the

rest would have given up the battle, if Thelma had not rallied them. She had noted the sudden finish of The

"Rush him!" bawled Thelma. "He's out of slugs! Get him, before he loads those gats again!"

A hall dozen mobbies reached the stairs, shooting as they drove upward. Wheeling back into the passage, The

Shadow made ready for a surge. His only chance was to club his way through the arriving thugs, using his big

A chance that he had taken in other battles, but one that might prove suicide on this occasion. The only outlet

was that stairway; and if he reached it, The Shadow would be a pointblank target for Thelma, waiting

below. She was as skillful with the trigger as any member of the driving mob; something that The Shadow

Then, almost on the verge of the thrust that seemed sure death, The Shadow was gripped by a staying hand

that seemed to come from blackness beside him. He turned, and with that motion, flung his empty guns aside.

Beside that plucking hand was its mate a welcome hand that held a fresh automatic, offering the loaded gun

With one swoop, The Shadow took the weapon and wheeled toward the head of the stairway. His laugh rang

THOSE hands from the dark were Geraldine's; the gun was the one that she had received from Allard at the

beginning of their expedition on the desert. After her capture, the blond stewardess had realized the futility of

Her hope had been to find a future use for it; and she could not have picked a better moment. Realizing that

The Shadow was battling off crooks, she had supplied him with the needed weapon.

Continuing the sweep with which he took the gun, The Shadow drove straight for the stairway. Through the

bars of the cell door, Geraldine saw him meet the arriving crooks, who halted perceptibly when they heard

His gun hand thrust ahead of him, The Shadow slanted into the throng, providing the opening fire as he

struck. Those shots put his foemen into utter rout. Revolvers popped, but they were gripped by staggering

Reeling backward, two gunmen trapped a pair of pals against the balcony rail. The weight of four bodies

splintered the wooden posts. As the rail went, two crooks pitched from sight to the floor below, leaving their

There were two others still to be considered. They were on the steps, only a few below the top. They fired as

they saw the cluster break; but they shot at blankness, not at The Shadow. He had dropped low, along with

the slumping crooks. His gun jabbed twice again, almost from the level of the topmost step.

Independently, the gunmen on the stairway wavered; each took a backward topple. They were bounding

crazily to the foot of the stairs, where Thelma was waiting with her gun. Sight of the pitching bodies made

Thelma was too late. Her eyes saw the balcony before her gun could point. She met The Shadow's burning

gaze, a looming muzzle just below. The smoke that curled from the automatic's mouth denoted its hunger for

Her lips twitched in a ruddy writhe, but the snarl that came from them was almost soundless. Numbly

The Shadow greeted that submission with a mocking laugh; one that made Thelma realize her folly, The

Shadow could not have kept her covered, for there were others that he had to meet. The two men who had

fallen from the balcony were on their hands and knees, trying to regain their dropped guns.

WITH Thelma no longer armed, The Shadow stopped their efforts with a warning hiss. They squatted, with

their arms lifted, to gaze sourly toward the balcony. From the top step, The Shadow kept his .45 wangling

back and forth between the crooks and Thelma, so that none had a chance to make a move.

Each moment, though, was reviving the squatting thugs. Their sidelong glances told that they were itching for

a chance to grab their guns and dive beneath the balcony. Their opportunity seemed at hand, when The

Crooks dived. In a flash, The Shadow was half across the balcony edge, to cover them before they had their

guns. Thelma, no longer covered, made a scramble for her own revolver. A hand clamped her arm, flung her

half about, to the bottom of the stairs. Shouts stopped the crooks below the balcony before The Shadow had

A trio of picked fighters, agents of The Shadow, had arrived through the open door. It was Harry Vincent

who had whipped Thelma away from the gun she wanted. The other two agents were upon the crooks below

Then Harry was gone, to aid in the easy roundup; and Thelma was looking into a gun muzzle held by another

hand. She saw brown eyes beneath a flurry of brown hair. She heard the icy tone that came from lips above a

"You look very pale, Miss Royce," gibed Mildred Wilbin. "Just relax, and follow my advice. If you don't, I

Thelma wasn't anxious to test the effects of Mildred's bullets. Quivering, she arose to her feet and let Mildred

march her past the stairway, to be huddled with the other prisoners. Once there, Thelma gave a fearful gaze

up toward the balcony. The Shadow was out of sight; but the fact didn't solace Thelma, for Mildred and The

There was a muffled gunshot from the corridor above. With that one bullet, The Shadow smashed the lock of

Geraldine's cell. He brought the blonde to the stairs, pointed her to the outer door. The Shadow gave a signal

They reached the autogiro, and listened there to distant sounds. Men were blundering through the woods, and

The Shadow recognized who they must be. The time had come for his own departure. Helping Geraldine into

With a sudden roar, the big blades whirled; the ship jerked forward, taking off with a sharpness that left

Geraldine breathless. Climbing straight for the darkness high above the trees, the autogiro had begun another

BACK in the lodge, Harry and Mildred were smashing locks of cell doors. Among the prisoners that they

released was Herbert Wilbin, hugely joyful to find his niece awaiting him. The others, grateful for their

release, were introducing themselves as Carter Curry, Roy Breck and John Lenville.

Filing down the stairway, the rescued prisoners were met by arrivals from outside. A man with a sheriff's

badge stared goggleeyed at the sprawled thugs who strewed the place. Sternness showed on his beefy face,

Facts came, leaving the sheriff and his deputies bewildered. They'd heard all about the recent air disasters,

and the murderer's airport in the Western desert. They knew that a hunt had been going on, its purpose to

Mildred Wilbin told them who she was, then introduced The Shadow's agents as friends who had helped her

seek her uncle. No further details were necessary; for the fact that Herbert Wilbin and other supposed victims

At last, the sheriff found voice to quiz the prisoners. They received his questions in sullen silence, which did

"We'll find out who the bigshot was," he predicted. "There was a crackup about five miles from here, and

people reported it. Some fellow with a searchlight, who couldn't land his plane. We were looking for the

"I'll bet it was the fellow behind the racket, trying to find his way here. Come along" he gestured to Wilbin

and the other rescued men "and we'll see if they've found that plane. And bring her, too" he pointed to

Soon, cars were rolling along wheel ruts through the woods, to a spot where searchers had located the crashed

plane. On foot, the group reached the wreckage. In the glare of flashlights lay a shattered human form; beside

Herbert Wilbin nodded solemnly, as he scanned the haggard, deeplined face of Norwood Parridge.

"He was the man who visited me," said Wilbin, "the night when Fortner turned traitor. Only Parridge could

Gurry and Breck knew Parridge, too. So did John Lenville. He provided another comment.

"Parridge sold me his shares in Federated Airways," declared Lenville. "I had them with me when I was

trapped at Zurman's office. So Parridge got them back again, along with my half million, leaving no one the

"Yeah, Parridge was the bigshot," said Thelma. "The guy that called himself Silver Skull. Take a look"

she pointed to the ruined plane "and you'll see the skull right there. It was the picture that Parridge put on

"Nervy, wasn't it? But he got away with it easy enough. Because the only people who called him Silver Skull

were those that worked with him. We never talked about Silver Skull to anybody that wasn't in the know."

ELSEWHERE, far from that lighted circle, another voice was reviewing the deeds of Silver Skull. It was the

calm tone of Lamont Cranston, a guise to which The Shadow had returned. The Shadow was talking to

"Then Parridge trapped me," he explained, "thanks to a letter that he forced Lenville to sign. I suspected the

trap; still, I fell into it. Once there, I knew definitely that Norwood Parridge was the brain behind the crimes.

"He openly revealed the fact, by talking from a lifesized silver skull. I was familiar with the insignia of

many private pilots, Parridge's among them. I knew, too, that Parridge felt certain that I would never leave

"Also, Parridge's plane was so fast that he could follow a transport West, shoot it down, and get back East the

Geraldine nodded. She was understanding facts that The Shadow had revealed only in part, during their

former journey together. She understood, at last, why he had preferred to play a waiting game. Knowing the

true identity of Silver Skull, The Shadow had spun a web of his own, to trap the master murderer.

"I had Allard visit Parridge tonight," continued The Shadow, "to spring the final move. While Allard was

there, someone tried to kill Parridge. Curiously, Parridge thought it was his own servant, Jeffrey, a crook like

"Actually, Jeffrey was trying to help Parridge; for Jeffrey, too, was mistaken. Hearing shots, he thought that

Allard had fired them. So he attacked Allard, only to be shot down by Parridge. That is the way with crooks:

"But, who" Geraldine halted, puzzled "who was it that did try to murder Parridge?"

"My old friend Sleed," was Cranston's reply. "He missed fire, and managed to escape. That's why he showed

"Not at all! Because Parridge thought that Sleed was dead. Don't forget that Sleed had been told to take my

It was all clear to Geraldine, at last. There were other questions, though, that intrigued her as much as the fate

"Kent Allard" Cranston's tone carried a chuckle "is an aviator, and a very daring one. A man, too, who

will undertake any difficult task. But if you told Allard that I was The Shadow, I am certain that he would

That settled the Allard question once and for all, so far as Geraldine was concerned. She didn't catch the

subtle touch behind the statement that Kent Allard was The Shadow, and Lamont Cranston as well!

Moreover, Geraldine had shifted to another question one that she regarded as more important than any that

"Will you tell me, Mr. Cranston," she asked, "just where this present flight of ours is going to end?"

"Somewhere near the Rockies," replied The Shadow, "where we can take another freight train."

"Or near there. So we can stumble, weary and ragged, into some mountain cabin, to tell how we survived the

Geraldine smiled. She'd forgotten that she and Cranston would have to explain their return to life. But she

hadn't forgotten that day when they had trekked across the mountain slopes; a day, that to her present

She didn't have to tell The Shadow that she was glad they were returning to the Rockies.