THE CONDOR...................................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. THE HIDEOUT..............................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. CRIME TO COME..........................................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. GASPED WORDS.........................................................................................................8

CHAPTER IV. THE SHADOW PREPARES .......................................................................................12

CHAPTER V. THE SHADOW'S HOUR ..............................................................................................17

CHAPTER VI. COMPLETED THEFT .................................................................................................21

CHAPTER VII. THE MAN AHEAD ....................................................................................................24

CHAPTER VIII. TIMED DEATH........................................................................................................28

CHAPTER IX. THE SECOND AGENT ...............................................................................................32

CHAPTER X. ON THE SLOPE ............................................................................................................38

CHAPTER XI. CLIFF REPORTS .........................................................................................................43

CHAPTER XII. THE SHADOW'S JOURNEY....................................................................................48

CHAPTER XIII. THE MAN AT THE MILL.......................................................................................53

CHAPTER XIV. THE TRUE STORY ..................................................................................................56

CHAPTER XV. MARQUETTE LISTENS ...........................................................................................59

CHAPTER XVI. THE STRONG ROOM.............................................................................................64

CHAPTER XVII. THE SHADOW DEPARTS .....................................................................................68

CHAPTER XVIII. MARQUETTE PREPARES...................................................................................72

CHAPTER XIX. THE NEW ALLY ......................................................................................................76

CHAPTER XX. THE ROUT .................................................................................................................79

CHAPTER XXI. DEEP STRATEGY...................................................................................................82

CHAPTER XXII. THE CONDOR DECIDES......................................................................................85

CHAPTER XXIII. THE CONDOR'S THRUST...................................................................................89

CHAPTER XXIV. SPOILS OF THE CONDOR..................................................................................92

NEON lights revealed a hunched figure shambling along the sidewalk beneath the structure of an East Side

elevated. A wizened face looked up at the ruddy glare of the delicatessen sign; then the hunched man scruffed

This was one of those composite districts of Manhattan. Old buildings lined the avenue; the presence of the

elevated had discouraged the erection of more modern structures. Yet there were bright spots along this

decadent block; stores that enterprising merchants had opened in hope of mass business. These were the

He preferred darkness; he gained it as he scudded to the shelter of an elevated pillar. Crouching until a

taxicab rolled by, the hunched man hustled to the far side of the street. Avoiding the lighted window of a

A cautious glance over his shoulder. The prowler spied no followers. He looked upward to spy the purple

speck of light that marked the platform of an elevated station. No watchers there. He shuffled hastily along

He had passed the borders of the bad lands, this shifty, scurrying prowler. He was cutting deeper into the

underworld, to districts where danger lurked along forgotten streets. Yet the menace of the terrain was to his

Ten minutes after his departure from the avenue, the hunched man arrived upon a grimy, deserted street. Foot

scuffles softened, he reached the blackened opening that marked an alleyway. His wizened face showed white

in gloom as he looked craftily about. Then, like a vanishing jackinthebox, he disappeared as he ducked

A whitened wall marked his goal. The hunched man moved stealthily as he approached it. Listening, he could

hear someone moving about in a darkened niche. He caught the glow of a cigarette, as shielding fingers

momentarily uncovered it. The hunched prowler stole forward and delivered a hoarse whisper:

THE cigarette glow reappeared, moving up and down as if in signal. Then, as the hunched man crept closer, a

"Yeah." "Hawkeye" was close beside the man who had awaited him. "Real dope, Cliff. I've spotted Luff

"The old tenement past Burry's Garage," replied Hawkeye. "You know the joint. Just the other side of the

"They haven't started yet. That's why Luff's using the place for a hideout. He's been looking for you, Cliff.

Don't waste time getting up there. Somebody's gunning for him. He won't be sticking around much longer."

"I get you. Listen, Hawkeye: you put in the report call while I'm heading up there. Don't stall about it."

The two men separated in the darkness. Hawkeye headed to the depths of the alley, while Cliff walked out

toward the street. That point gained, his pace became a brisk one. Unlike Hawkeye, who preferred circuitous

It was nearly a dozen blocks to the location that Hawkeye had named. Cliff, when he reached the avenue,

decided to make time by elevated. He hurried up the steps of a station and reached the platform just in time to

Compared with the others aboard the jolting local, this new passenger presented an excellent appearance.

Cliff Marsland had few of the characteristics that indicated a type of the underworld. He displayed the

Yet there was a hardness to his chiseled features that marked him as a man who could be dangerous. Cliff

Marsland held a reputation in the bad lands. His bearing sustained it; at the same time, Cliff could travel

It was different with Hawkeye. The hunched man, when he prowled, was a furtive character the type that

passing patrolmen would watch. The cops, however, seldom saw Hawkeye; his specialty was keeping from

A contrast, Cliff and Hawkeye. Their friendship, had it been known, would have caused too much comment.

Cliff was a sharpshooter who could pack a powerful gat; Hawkeye, a spotter who could trail the most difficult

Particularly because of their real missions in the underworld. These two were engaged in the most dangerous

of all enterprises, one that would have spelled their doom had it been remotely suspected Cliff and

Their meeting tonight had been in behalf of that mysterious chief whose very name brought terror to men of

crime. Hawkeye, always on the trail of crime, had heard that "Luff" Cadley was in town. Luff had known

Cliff Marsland, at the time when the latter had been in prison, serving time for a crime committed by another.

Luff had let slip that he was looking for Cliff. Hawkeye had passed that word along. It had reached The

Shadow; from the chief had come the order to make contact. Tonight had presented the first opportunity,

ALIGHTING from the elevated, Cliff Marsland headed for the old tenement building that Hawkeye had

designated. Cliff felt no need for caution as he made for the destination. It would be easy to find Luff and

learn what the fellow wanted. The best way would be to enter openly, through the main door of the

Cliff knew the building. There was a fire escape at the rear; but it would be a mistake to use it. Luff Cadley

must be hiding out for a reason. He would be apt to mistake a friend for an enemy should the friend come by

Cliff had ordered Hawkeye to report. That meant word to The Shadow through Burbank, a contact man who

relayed telephone messages. The report had been a matter of routine on Cliff's part. His real report would

Such was the burden of Cliff's thoughts as he entered the front door of the tenement that stood by Burry's

Garage. A doorless, blackened entrance, it gripped Cliff in a hollowness as he moved cautiously along a

Cliff had a flashlight, but he did not use it until he found the steps. Then he blinked the light intermittently, to

Grimy floors, bare walls, crumbling ceiling. Those were Cliff's first impressions as he reached the topmost

step. Then, swinging left toward the rear of the building, he discovered a corridor with doors at sides and end.

Cliff paced along the corridor. All the while, his eyes were keen, noting door after door. They centered on the

barrier at the end. For a moment, Cliff was on the point of stopping; then he caught himself before he

Something had glimmered in the light. A shining object wedged from the very edge of that door at the

corridor's end. Cliff had recognized it on the instant. The object was the muzzle of a revolver, pointed by

"Luff!" Cliff gave the name hoarsely, as he slowed his pace instead of stopping. "This is Cliff. Cliff

Pausing, Cliff let the beam of his flashlight swing upward. The gleam bathed his face. As he stood tense in

that barren corridor, a hoarse greeting answered. A door creaked in welcome. Cliff clicked out the light.

Advancing through darkness, he reached the door and entered. A nervous hand gripped his arm. Cliff heard

the door swing shut. Then came the flare of a match. Fingers shook as they applied it to a kerosene lantern. A

CLIFF had known Luff as a hardfaced, heavybuilt fellow who prided himself upon his strength. The man

had changed in the few years since Cliff had seen him last. Luff's shoulders were stooped; his face was drawn

and pale. Only his eyes still showed a sparkle of what had once been a defiant flash.

"Been hoping you'd find me, Cliff," confided Luff, his voice half wheezy. "I looked around for you; hut I had

"Yeah." Luff nodded nervously, and his face looked troubled. "Murk Feeny. Said he was going to bump me

after I got out of stir. I heard about it after I hit town. That's why I took a dive out of sight. Say you ain't

"I don't mean that, Cliff. I just figured maybe you'd seen him hereabouts. Watching this place."

Luff looked pleased. He rubbed his hands and looked at the closed door; then blinked suspiciously.

"How'd you find this place?" he demanded. "If you guessed where it is, maybe Luff would, too."

"Pal of mine was looking for you," explained Cliff. "He's the only fellow who could have spotted this

hideout. I put him on the job when I heard you were looking for me. I'm glad I came in the front door,

"Say" Luff blinked again "I'd have plugged you sure if you'd come in by the fire escape, Cliff. It's just

As he spoke, Luff gestured toward narrow windows. They were covered with old window shades, patched so

that no glimmer of light could filter through their tattered surfaces. Cliff studied Luff's pale face. He noted

Something was irking Luff's brain. The crook was thinking of opportunity that he had awaited during his stay

behind prison walls. He needed aid in crime; that was why he had sought Cliff Marsland.

Here in his hideout, Luff Cadley was ready to spill news to a former pal, unwitting that his listener had

"FIFTYFIFTY, Cliff," spoke Luff Cadley, in a wary tone. "Fiftyfifty on a job that's going to be a cinch.

"I'm listening, Luff." Cliff had taken a seat on a battered couch and was eyeing Luff, who sat forward on an

"I can't take no chances, Cliff" Luff's tone was almost pleading "and that's why I'm offering to divvy. If

"What do you mean by 'no chances'?" Cliff was noncommittal in his interruption. "What's the catch?"

"There ain't none, Cliff. Not if you come in. It's the way I stand, that's all."

Cliff watched Luff steadily. Without making a single promise, The Shadow's agent was cagily leading the

exconvict into further discussion. Luff was anxious to talk; Cliff knew that an indifferent attitude would

"There's Murk Feeny and his crew," explained Luff. "They're gunning for me, Cliff. While I was in stir, Murk

said he'd rub me out if I ever showed up in New York. The tip was passed to me."

"Yeah. It means I'm taken chances with the bulls, too. I wasn't no goodygoody in the Big House. They've

"And then, besides that, there's" Luff hesitated; then leaned forward "there's The Condor. He won't take

Luff nodded. He arose and crept forward, his eyes shining beads that glistened from his pale, hollow features.

"There was a mug in the Big House," stated Luff, "who they called Cuckoo Gruzen. Remember him, Cliff?

"Yeah. Most everybody thought he was bugs. But he wasn't. I found that out when he talked to me. Cuckoo

Gruzen was all set for a sure thing when he got mixed in that fight and wound up in stir. He had a rod on him

"He croaked. Sickly guy; you remember what he looked like. Couldn't stand the gaff in the Big House. But he

knew he was going to kick off. He got a chance to spill me the lay. About The Condor."

Luff paused to lick his pasty lips. Cliff looked unimpressed. His very attitude encouraged Luff to further

"THIS ain't no pipe dream, Cliff," assured Luff. "The Condor is a bigshot; there ain't nobody can match

him. Six years ago he started working. He passed the word to smart guys what they were to do."

"Yeah. And most of them have probably cleaned up already. But that ain't all there is to it. That's just the

"A bunch of smart workers, each starting out. Plenty of time ahead six years it was, when The Condor

passed the tips along. Each guy to bring in his load of swag, making sure, though, that nobody was wise."

"Right. But knowing he was croaking, he passed his lay along to me. All I got to do is make the haul and

"Yeah. That's when the six years is up. That's when The Condor quits waiting. Him and the guys that have

"Don't ask me. All I know is how to reach him. Cuckoo spilled the dope. And it don't matter who shows up

Cliff's lips soured. His expression indicated that he doubted the fanciful tale. Again, Cliff had used the best

way to lead Luff along. Spying doubt on his visitor's countenance, Luff became more anxious to convince his

"Don't you get the gag, Cliff?" quizzed Luff. "The Condor wants smooth workers. He don't care who they are.

He set the jobs. It don't matter who pulls them. As long as a guy shows up with the swag, The Condor will

"I begin to see it," nodded Cliff. "That jam Cuckoo got into put him out of the running. So he passed the tip to

"That's the idea, Cliff. But he only wised me to one job, because that's all Cuckoo knew about."

FOR the first time, Cliff had made a mistake. His direct question put Luff on guard. Mistrustful even of a

man whom he considered a pal, Luff shied away. He backed to the soap box, sat there and eyed Cliff warily.

"Go to it," responded Cliff, with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "Good luck to you, Luff."

As he spoke, Cliff arose from the cot and strolled toward the door. His new display of indifference restored

Luff's confidence. The pastyfaced crook came to his feet and quickly blocked Cliff's path.

"Don't walk out," he pleaded. "I gotta count on you, Cliff. Listen: I can't go to The Condor after I make the

haul. I gotta duck on account of Murk and the bulls. But I'm passing you the stuff, see? So you can join up

"That whatever you get out of working with The Condor, you slip me half It's going to be big dough, Cliff.

Cliff considered. Luff grinned in pleased fashion. He did not know the thoughts that were rushing through

Cliff's brain. The Shadow's agent was balancing future possibilities. He could see that Luff plotted immediate

crime; ordinarily, that should be prevented. But if one crime, allowed to pass, should uncover many, the game

"I'm spilling you the straight dope, Cliff," assured Luff, misunderstanding Cliff's deliberation. "Listen I'll

give you a tip. You won't have no trouble getting in with The Condor, after I pass you the swag."

"Because," whispered Luff eagerly, "there's something in the swag that will let The Condor know you're

ready to work with him. Something that you'll keep out, to show at the right time. But I ain't telling you

Cliff nodded. He wanted to hear further details; but he knew it would be unwise to press the pastyfaced

crook. He had gained an inkling; it would be enough for tonight. The proposition now was to keep Luff

Cliff was still nodding as he heard Luff's question. He was trying to think of the best stall that would hold

"The job's going to be a cinch for me, Cliff," Luff assured. "I can spring it tonight and pass the swag to you in

Still nodding, Cliff understood. Luff's chief ability was safecracking; but only on a limited scale. He was

contemplating a oneman job. That meant the swag could not be heavy. These would be details for The

A MOTION from Luff ended Cliff's hazy speculation. The pastyfaced man had shifted. He was staring at a

window, noting a slight motion of a blind. Cliff saw him fidget, reaching for his revolver.

"The windows are open, aren't they, Luff?" inquired Cliff calmly, as he gripped the crook's arm.

"Then it's just a breeze," assured Cliff. "Both of the shades are moving. Don't get jittery, Luff."

The crook grinned weakly. He turned to Cliff and nodded sheepishly. His expression showed that Cliff's

presence gave him courage. But as Cliff watched the man's face, he saw a new flicker come over it. Luff was

At the same instant, Cliff heard a sound behind him. He wheeled, to stare with Luff. While Luff was shaking,

backing away, Cliff became rigid. While Luff was worrying about the windows, someone had opened the

door. Upon the threshold stood a bigjawed man whose dark face wore a malicious scowl.

A grimy fist was displaying a leveled .38; behind the uglyfaced intruder were two backers, each with a

ready gun. Cliff needed no introduction to these ruffians. The bigjawed man was Murk Feeny; the others his

A killer who held a grudge against Luff Cadley, Murk was here for murder. His leering face showed evil

triumph. His glowering eyes indicated his one purpose. Luff Cadley was slated for the spot.

The exconvict knew it, as he whined from the wall. A few years in the penitentiary had sapped Luff's

It was not so with Cliff Marsland. Stolidly, The Shadow's agent met Murk's gloating gaze. His lips were set,

despite the tone of a sneer that Cliff heard from Murk. Cliff knew what was passing in the murderer's mind;

Murk Feeny had come here to rub out Luff Cadley. Such a job, to Murk, included all who might be present

with a wouldbe victim. Cliff Marsland knew that his own plight was desperate. He, like Luff, was due to

Yet Cliff was steady, despite the threat of looming guns. He waited stolidly, in hope that some break might

come. He was ready to go down fighting when Murk Feeny gave the signal for slaughter.

"Two of you," sneered Murk Feeny, eyeing the contrasted faces before him. "Well, we didn't figure on you,

Marsland, but we ain't kicking because you're here. We knowed you was a pal of Luff's."

Murk beckoned with his gun. He edged into the room, to back Cliff and Luff against the wall. Murk's

henchmen followed. A trio in the center of whiteplastered walls, they covered their victims from close

"We've been looking over some hideouts," snarled Murk, shifting his gaze from Cliff to Luff. "Places you

might have picked but didn't. So we took a Brodie and came here. Kind of a dumb cluck, ain't you, Luff?

"If you'd used your noodle, you'd have fixed that crack under the door. But you didn't and we wised after we

"These bozos ain't the only torpedoes with me. There's two more guys in the hall, and a couple that I just

chased around back. Just so's to cover the fire escape, in case you tried to scram."

"Honest, Murk," whined Luff, "I ain't done nothing to have you gunning for me. I've been in stir. Up there in

the Big House there ain't been no chanct for me to queer any racket you've been "

"Cut it!" snarled Murk. "You know why you're going on the spot. You went away for safecracking, didn't

"Yeah," affirmed Murk, "and there was one box that you busted that the bulls never knew about. The one at

"You got two grand for the job; and it was worth it to Flash. He was in for thirty on that IOU; and I was Tim

"Well, Flash Lodo got his. I gave it to him. And you'd have got yours if you hadn't gone to the Big House

right after that. You were sitting pretty when you were up the river, even if you didn't think so."

"So you're Luff's pal, eh?" snorted Murk. "Only one he's got; and I don't know of any mugs that pal around

Stepping back, Murk nodded to his henchmen. Their revolvers came up as Murk's lowered. Cliff and Luff

CLIFF'S body had become rigid. The others had not noticed his instinctive preparation for this moment.

Before either henchmen could obey Murk's command, Cliff hurtled forward, diving for their leader.

Murk swung back to ward off the attack. Twisting free, he sent Cliff half sprawling to the floor. His revolver

bounded from his hand. Murk sprang to regain it; as he did so, his two henchmen swung to cover Cliff.

At that instant, a ripping sound came from one window. The patched shade was whipped aside. In from

darkness bounded a blackened figure. A flash of crimson came from the lining of a sablehued cloak.

Hidden lips uttered a fierce laugh that stopped assassins short. Wheeling toward the window, Murk's

henchmen faced the enemy who had made such startling entry. From Murk, who was stooping with hand on

Revolvers flashed as Murk's minions aimed. But as the torpedoes acted, they saw mammoth muzzles that

looked before them. Fists had thrust forward from the blackness of the cloak. Thingloved hands were ready

The big weapons boomed automatically. Each .45 spat its tongue of flame. Like ruddy darts, those flashes

pointed to their targets. Crooks wavered, fingers on triggers, then sank to the floor, their revolvers unfired.

Murk Feeny was aiming on the rise. He fired one quick shot as The Shadow wheeled. The bullet singed the

folds of The Shadow's cloak. Murk swung to aim again. Cliff Marsland, rising from hands and knees, made a

A single shot thundered in the closewalled room. Cliff heard it while in motion. Then he hit Murk with a

flying tackle, bowling the big crook to the floor. Rising above his antagonist, Cliff prepared to deliver a

Those ugly lips were coughing incoherently. Evil eyes were bulging from their sockets. Beyond Murk lay his

The Shadow had beaten Murk to the shot. The wouldbe killer had taken a bullet while Cliff was surging

forward. Murk had not fired; the shot that Cliff had heard was a blast from The Shadow's automatic.

STARING upward, Cliff caught sight of a bolting figure. Luff Cadley had dived for the door; he was making

a mad dash to the corridor. Beyond the open portal, Cliff caught the sudden glimmer of flashlights. Revolvers

Cliff heard a whining cry; then into his path came the wheeling shape of The Shadow. Cliff heard the

challenging laugh of his blackclad chief. He saw the flashes of automatics; he heard the double thunder of

The Shadow was pumping hot lead down the corridor. Flashlights made distorted glares as their holders let

them fly through the air. Hopeless shots responded from halfloosened revolvers. With those echoes came

A clatter outside the window. Henchmen were coming up the fire escape. The Shadow swept in that

direction. Again he laughed, a sinister challenge as he leaned out to meet the foe. Oaths spat from the lips of

On watch, they had not seen The Shadow crouched outside Luff's window. They had witnessed the ripping of

the blind; that was all. At last they saw The Shadow's outline; they aimed upward for their target.

Automatics were already delivering. Clanging bullets ricocheted from the open ironwork. One crook gave a

wild cry as he lost his hold and plunged to the concrete just below. The other dropped and fled. He had been

lucky; a step of the fire escape had shielded him from those bullets that The Shadow had dispatched in

Cliff Marsland had gained Murk Feeny's gun. Standing in the center of the room, Cliff stared about. Prone

bodies on the floor. Blackness at the window. The Shadow had swung out to the fire escape.

The kerosene lantern, shining from atop a soap box, had escaped all attention. Its illumination had persisted

through every scene. For a moment, Cliff thought that the strange drama had reached its close.

Then, from the hall came a creeping figure. A hoarse cough issued from whitened lips. Hopeless eyes looked

THE exconvict was in bad plight. Murk's henchmen in the corridor had stopped his flight with a barrage of

bullets. The Shadow's intervention had saved Luff from immediate death, but Cliff saw that the wounds were

Luff's cough was a dying one. Minutes alone would mark the remainder of his life. Yet Luff had somehow

regained the nerve that had once characterized him. His lips managed a grin as his fading eyes saw Cliff.

"The swag," coughed Luff. "You you can get it, Cliff. For for The Condor. All all yours, Cliff. I I'm

Cliff nodded as he crouched close to Luff. He made no effort to prompt the crook. He could see that Luff was

"Walpin," gasped Luff. "Michael Walpin. He he has pearls, Cliff. Worth worth a hundred grand. With

Luff's eyes closed. For a moment, Cliff feared the man was through. Then Luff's lips moved weakly, his

"Take take the swag," groaned Luff, feebly, "to a place a place called Paulington. Paulington, Cliff then

Luff's lips weakened. Apparently the dying man's strength was gone. Cliff whispered a question in Luff's ear,

"I'm to keep the Blue Pearl out?" he quizzed. "To show it when I get to Mountview Lodge?"

A final cough racked Luff's frame. The dying man's eyes opened; then bulged. Cliff saw their glassy stare as

SIRENS were whining from the distance. Cliff caught the faint blasts of police whistles. Shots had been

A whisper from the window. Cliff came to himself. He sprang to the lantern and extinguished it; then groped

Sirens were closer. A whistle, oddly muffled, apparently came from the front of the tenement house. Cliff

heard a whispered order in the darkness. The Shadow was pointing him to an outlet between buildings at the

Cliff stumbled off toward the path to safety. He threaded his way to the next street; crossed and took to the

cover of an alley. Another block brought him to a deserted street. Cliff headed toward the avenue where the

Cliff knew that The Shadow had followed; but his course and that of his chief had parted. The law, arriving,

Luff's life was ended; his story told. Cliff alone had heard those dying words. Perhaps The Shadow, outside

the window, had caught some of the statement; but not all. He would be waiting for Cliff's report.

Two blocks up the avenue, Cliff found a drug store with telephone booths. He entered and put in a call to

Burbank. He heard the quiet, even tones of The Shadow's contact man. Cliff reported.

Slowly, steadily, word for word, Cliff repeated all that Luff Cadley had told him. Recollection of the dying

man's statement had remained clear in Cliff's mind. His task done, Cliff departed.

Tonight, The Shadow would know of the existence of The Condor, strange supercrook who had waited for

years to assemble men of crime. Michael Walpin the Blue Pearl the town of Paulington a place called

The future offered challenge to The Shadow. Challenge from The Condor, whose scheme of crime must be

frustrated. How? To Cliff, the question was the problem. To The Shadow, it would be the making of a new

THREE days had passed since the battle in Luff Cadley's hideout. The death of the exconvict was an

episode already forgotten. Police had known of the feud between Luff and Murk Feeny. Their theory was that

the two enemies had battled to a finish. Some of Murk's dead henchmen were presumed to be pals of Luff's.

This third day found The Shadow in his sanctum. Surrounded by blackened walls, he occupied himself at a

polished table in the corner, where the glare of a bluish light focused its rays upon hands that moved beneath.

The Shadow was opening a large manila envelope that he had received that day. From it, he extracted a batch

of photographs. They were aerial views, taken from high altitude. The Shadow arranged these prints upon the

The photographic map represented the terrain about the town of Paulington. Differing shades indicated that

the ground was hilly. Patches of woodland contrasted with open stretches of farmland.

A winding line indicated the railroad that passed through Paulington. There were twisting roads besides; most

of these hubbed to a cluster of buildings that were the town of Paulington. Tracing from that point, The

A good road led in that direction. A few miles from town, it split; the more traveled portion curved through

wooded area, then cut straight across toward a town a dozen miles away. The point that interested The

Shadow, however, was a clearing on the hillside near the good road. This lay a few miles beyond the fork.

A building stood in the center of the clearing. Though tiny in the picture, it bore the appearance of an estate.

A thinlined rectangle surrounding the place showed that the property was fenced off. Its area could be

This secluded place was doubtless Mountview Lodge. On the hillside, it stood back from the traveled road

and could be reached only by a narrow private road of its own. The distance from the traveled road measured

Tracing again from Paulington, The Shadow moved his finger to the fork; then studied the less traveled road,

which branched to the left. This skirted the base of a hill; then split and rejoined.

The split indicated that there had once been a choice of a lower road and an upper. A stream ran along the

lower road; probably, in flood time, horses and wagons had preferred the upper road. The aerial view,

however, showed the upper stretch as no more than a wide path; this indicated that the road had been

At one place on the abandoned road was the beginning of a tiny path that showed among trees. It led to a

cabin, nearly a mile from the road. The view showed wreckage beside the cabin; also tiny splotches in the

Using a microscope, The Shadow studied the building. His enlarged view showed it to be no more than a

tumbledown shack. The junk beside the cabin was the remains of a porch. The splotches were breaks in the

Further up the hillside was a flat whiteness among the trees. This appeared to be a rocky ledge.

HIS examination finished, The Shadow laid the photographs aside; then produced topographical maps of the

These were government surveys, not recently revised. They showed the contours of the broad, wooded hill

and indicated the roads that The Shadow had studied. Buildings were marked in the locality of Mountview

The flat ledge high up on the hill bore the legend "Table Rock." The contour lines showed that the slope was

The map showed isolated buildings away from the hill. These were farmhouses that corresponded with those

on the aerial photographs. Very little new construction had taken place in the vicinity, although it was plain

Another set of maps were produced by The Shadow's hands. These were local charts, older and less accurate

than the government surveys. They were useful, however, because they listed the various properties of the

Where The Shadow had located Mountview Lodge, this map showed a much larger outline of property that

bore the name "R. Silson;" then, in parenthesis, the word "Mountview;" but no mention of the title "Lodge."

The old cabin was not marked; but its location was on the fringe of the extensive Silson property. R. Silson,

Along the road that skirted the left of the broad hill, following the stream, The Shadow found various farm

Mountview at the east of the hill; Table Rock almost center; the cabin a bit to the west these were the

important points. Nevertheless, The Shadow listed the other names also. To the names of farm owners he

added a name that he noted off beyond the north of the hill. This name was H. Zegler; after it, in parenthesis,

Naturally enough, the Zegler property was on a stream that came in from the northern edge of the map,

traveled westward, crossed the road and joined another branch stream. This branch was the one that followed

the road; it cut west past Paulington and was joined by other branches that came in from various sectors of

In fact, the whole district hereabouts was wellcut by tiny rills and brooks. Paulington was in a watershed

Contour maps and aerial photographs were in duplicate. The Shadow took the extra set, put his notations with

the maps and placed them in an envelope which he addressed to Rutledge Mann, Badger Building, New York

IT was late afternoon outside. Traffic was heavy outside the old Albion Hotel when a taxicab wedged in front

of the building. The passenger who stepped out was a tall, calmfaced individual who carried a large

Entering the hotel lobby, the arrival inquired for Mr. Clark Copley. The clerk made a call, then inquired:

The arrival nodded. The clerk passed the information over the telephone, then instructed:

A few minutes later the tall personage stepped into Room 406, to shake hands with a smiling, redfaced man

whose manner was brisk and pleasant. Clark Copley pointed his visitor to a chair beside a large table. Room

"Mighty glad to meet you, Mr. Arnaud," assured Copley, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. "It's not

often I run in from Cincinnati, just on the chance of making a sale. Particularly when I've never seen the

"But that telephone call of yours sounded like business. That's why I came on East. I figured that if you were

going to buy, like you said you were over the phone, I'd be the man to sell you.

"Why? Because I've got the one line that can't be beat. Wait until you see these beauties. Just look at this

layout" Copley was opening boxes as he placed them on the table "and tell me if you've ever spied the

Keen eyes sparkled from the visage of Henry Arnaud as the visitor viewed lines of pearls. These were of all

sizes and shapes; their lustre was apparent despite the poor lighting of the room.

Those eyes of Henry Arnaud were the eyes of The Shadow. In temporary guise, The Shadow had come to

view the wares that Clark Copley offered. The pearl seller, however, did not observe the sparkle that showed

"To use the old vernacular, Mr. Arnaud" Copley leaned back and removed a halfsmoked cigar from the

corner of his mouth "we'd say that these pearls of mine would pass as the real McCoy. Great stuff, aren't

"Some of them are real," went on Copley. "That is, they're freshwater pearls. River pearls, from mussels

instead of oysters. Then there's some Japanese culture pearls. Smart fellows, those Japs. They've been

catching oysters for years, putting sand in them and making them raise pearls. Right in captivity. That means

The Shadow was picking out pearly spheres and placing them aside with a choice that caused Copley to nod

approvingly. After a short while, The Shadow paused, looked quietly at the pearl salesman and questioned:

"Saved them for last," chuckled Copley, producing a box and opening it. "Glass bubbles, filled with liquid

ammonia and coloring matter, mostly from fish scales. But I'm leaving it to you to give an opinion."

IN the box that Copley thrust forward was a most remarkable display of imitation pearls. Even to close

inspection, they surpassed the actual river pearls and culture pearls that the man from Cincinnati had first

Varied shades: touches of crimson glow, bluish hues and even tinges of glimmering blackness these were

the features that gave lustre to the almost perfect imitations. These were more than ordinary specimens of

"Copied from originals," explained Copley. "You'd have to lay them alongside the real ones to know the

difference. The most valuable of real pearls are globular; that gives us a break when it comes to reproducing

"If you're putting on a display for the public, Mr. Arnaud, you can label these and make them the center

exhibit. There's the black pearl owned by the Sultan of Surakarta; this one is the famous Siamese teardrop.

"Name any famous pearl. Chances are I've got its copy right here in this batch. It's a business with me, Mr.

"This one?" questioned The Shadow, quietly. He had already laid aside four or five.

"That's the Nile Pearl," replied Copley. "Copy of an Egyptian specimen. You'll want that one; look at the

"The famous Blue Pearl. Bought anonymously from a French duke about fifteen years ago. They say an

American took it and paid plenty. It was copied before the duke sold it. That's one item there's not much call

"I shall take it. Also this one, which I recognize as an excellent imitation of an original that came from

Copley produced pencil and paper; he figured the amount at six hundred dollars. As he presented the bill, he

"They're actually cheap at that price, Mr. Arnaud. You've picked the beauties; some of those mussels look as

good as oyster pearls. Don't forget that those replicas are sweet ones. If you showed that lot to an expert and

The Shadow had arisen. From his pocket he was drawing a roll of currency that made Copley pause and gape.

Peeling off six bills of one hundred dollar denomination, The Shadow added a fifty and passed the money to

"I am also paying the expenses of your trip," he stated quietly. "Probably you included it in the price; but it

Copley pocketed the money and began to pack the pearls eagerly. He remarked that he would be able to catch

DEPARTING from the hotel, The Shadow returned to the sanctum. There he opened the box beneath the

bluish light. The imitation pearls showed with added lustre. From them, The Shadow removed the replicas

that he had purchased with the Blue Pearl. He had bought those merely to cover the fact that he wanted one in

The pearls that remained in the box numbered a full two dozen, with the false Blue Pearl conspicuous. The

others, however, formed an excellent variety. Oddshaped river pearls and culture pearls contrasted with

sheer imitations. Yet these latter looked resplendent. Clark Copley had been right when he had admired The

Going to another portion of the sanctum, The Shadow sat before a mirror and began a change of

physiognomy. Aided with articles of makeup, he changed the contours of his visage. A masklike,

thinlipped countenance replaced the face of Henry Arnaud. Only a hawkish trace remained as a reminder of

AGAIN, The Shadow left the sanctum. Evening had settled; street lamps were aglow when a tall figure

strolled leisurely into the lobby of the exclusive Cobalt Club. The doorman bowed as he delivered a message.

"Good evening, Mr. Cranston," said the attendant. "Commissioner Barth called to state that he would meet

Passing through the lobby, The Shadow observed a large clock that registered half past seven. He went into a

"Instructions to Marsland," said The Shadow quietly. "Time set. Ninethirty to nineforty. Buffalo Mail."

The Shadow strolled from the telephone booth. Divesting his overcoat, he revealed evening clothes beneath.

The Shadow smiled as he strolled toward the grillroom. Here at the Cobalt Club he was recognized as

Lamont Cranston, a globetrotting millionaire, friend of Acting Police Commissioner Wainwright Barth.

What a revelation it would be should club members learn that the real Lamont Cranston was absent from

New York; that this being who wore the millionaire's languid guise was none other than The Shadow!

AT precisely quarter past eight, The Shadow strolled from the lobby of the Cobalt Club. His gait was more

leisurely than ever; the doorman took it as a sign that Lamont Cranston had dined well.

A limousine curved over from across the street as the figure of Lamont Cranston appeared upon the sidewalk.

This was Stanley, Lamont Cranston's chauffeur. Like others, he thought The Shadow was his real master.

Even Stanley did not know of the league between The Shadow and the actual Lamont Cranston that helped

The Shadow entered the limousine. Stanley took the wheel and drove slowly away, expecting orders through

the speaking tube. They came. The Shadow, in the quiet tone of Cranston, ordered the chauffeur to take him

It was just half past eight when the limousine arrived at its destination. Stanley sat stolid at the wheel, a habit

to which he had been trained. He did not hear the door open; nor did he see the figure that emerged.

During the ride, The Shadow had opened a locked bag that he kept in the limousine. From it he had taken

garments of black. He had doffedsilk hat and overcoat; in their place he was wearing his cloak and slouch

Stealthily, invisible in darkness, The Shadow moved along a secluded stretch of sidewalk. He glided through

a passage behind a low, oldfashioned apartment building. He reached a wall; from there, his course led

A window, a projection, finally a grilled balcony. The Shadow came outside a secondstory window that

marked a darkened room. He wedged a flat length of steel between the portions of the sash. The window

This was the rear room of a corner apartment. It had two windows at the back; one at the side. The Shadow's

blotched shape formed a silhouette as he entered; then he was totally within the darkness of the room.

Only a thin streak of light showed between heavy somber curtains at the front of the room. Blinking a

flashlight, The Shadow kept its rays against the wall. He found a picture frame, set like a panel. He pressed it

At first, the frame refused to budge. Then The Shadow found the combination. Down; up; down again; then

to the left. A hidden hinge delivered a click. The frame swung wide. The flashlight showed the combination

BLINKING ended. In total darkness, with muffled silence, The Shadow handled the knob, listening for every

betraying sound. Minutes lingered slowly while he worked. Then the combination yielded. The safe door,

The flashlight blinked upon the surface of a silver casket. The Shadow raised the lid; pearls shimmered from

velvet setting. With one hand, The Shadow plucked the globules. His final touch was the removal of one that

The genuine Blue Pearl. The Shadow was in Michael Walpin's living room. He had found the collector's safe,

worked its combination; now Walpin's pearls were in his possession. A slight click sounded as The Shadow

Gloved fingers opened a box that The Shadow drew from his cloak. This was the package that he had

mentioned at the Cobalt Club. From it, The Shadow, produced the imitation Blue Pearl; also the others that

Carefully, The Shadow put these replacements in the velvet setting. The false Blue Pearl stood out as finely

as had the original. The others, however, differed somewhat from Walpin's valued prizes. But as The Shadow

Any eye no matter whose would have recognized the Blue Pearl and with it forgotten the remainder of

the lot. The Shadow laughed softly as he put the chamois bag in the box. He closed the safe, then the paneled

The substitution of false for genuine had taken longer perhaps than necessary; for The Shadow had shown no

haste. But it was close to nine o'clock, and as The Shadow stepped across the room, he heard the ring of a

Moving with swift glide, The Shadow gained the window; he moved out to the balcony and closed the sash

Just as The Shadow completed his task, the light came on in the room that he had left.

Staring from the edge of the balcony, The Shadow saw two men enter. One was Michael Walpin, a squatly,

darkhaired individual. The other was a tall, baldheaded man who wore a pair of pincenez spectacles. This

Lost in the outside darkness, The Shadow dropped from the balcony. Once below, he surveyed the rear of

Walpin's apartment. The view was to his liking, as indicated by a softly whispered laugh.

Walpin preferred wellshaded lights. The glow from the room was soft; it did not offer outsiders an

opportunity to notice happenings within. Moreover, the rear of the apartment was isolated; the projecting

The Shadow reached the parked limousine. He entered silently. His cloak swished as he removed it. Packing

it in the bag, he added his slouch hat; then included the box that contained Walpin's pearls. He locked the bag

"Stanley!" Lamont Cranston spoke quietly but emphatically through the tube. "Come, Stanley. Open the

The chauffeur alighted; he looked puzzled as he reached the curb and opened the rear door of the limousine.

"I was dozing, Stanley," remarked The Shadow, quietly, as he stepped to the sidewalk. "I did not realize that

"I shall bring the coupe. By the way, Stanley" The Shadow pointed through the opened door "give this

"And keep it on the seat beside you when you drive. I do not wish to run the risk of having it stolen."

WHILE Stanley was obeying, The Shadow strolled away. He rounded a corner, came to the front of the

apartment building and rang a bell that bore Michael Walpin's name. The doorknob clicked. The Shadow

Michael Walpin was waiting at the door of his apartment when The Shadow arrived. With the host was

Wainwright Barth. Both gave greeting as they saw the face of Lamont Cranston. Walpin led the way to the

"You know, commissioner," he said to Barth, with a genial chuckle, "I was highly pleased when my friend

Cranston called me this afternoon and suggested a gettogether. We have met at rare intervals in the past; his

"Walpin seemed quite anxious for me to come tonight," explained The Shadow, also to Barth. "When I told

him that I expected friends to meet me at the club, he suggested that I bring them along. But I limited the

"You see, commissioner," explained Walpin, "I have long known that Cranston was a connoisseur; his

judgment of rare objects is notable. As chance had it" the collector paused to chuckle "tonight offered me

the opportunity to learn his estimate of some valuable pearls that have long been in my possession."

"Pearls?" quizzed The Shadow, his quiet tone wellfeigned. "I did not know that they were your specialty,

"Few persons do," smiled Walpin. "When I purchased my pearls, some years ago, I kept the matter secret. It

was known abroad that I was the new owner of the collection that had belonged to the Duke of Chambrelle;

"Yesterday, commissioner" Walpin turned to Barth "I received a telephone call from the secretary of

Lord Blossington, who is at present in New York. I learned that Lord Blossington was one of the few who

knew that I owned the famous Blue Pearl that once belong to the Duke of Chambrelle.

"The secretary arranged for Lord Blossington to come here tonight. Since the visit was to be incognito, he

urged, specifically, that I dispense with the presence of servants; though he added quite oddly, I thought

that there would be no objection to my having friends whom his lordship might enjoy meeting."

"True," agreed Walpin, "and on that account I invited no one, until Cranston chanced to call me so

"I mentioned your name, commissioner," interposed The Shadow, "and Walpin was most anxious that you

"Jove!" exclaimed Barth. "This is indeed a pleasure! But tell me, Mr. Walpin, about these pearls of yours.

"Yes, considering the fact that practically no one knows that I own such a valuable collection. That fact, in

itself, means security. Hmmm. It is approaching half past nine. I wonder what is keeping his lordship."

"Shortly after nine. The secretary was quite precise about the hour. Perhaps it would be wise for me to call his

THE SHADOW watched Walpin go to the telephone. A thin smile was present on the lips of Lamont

Cranston; Wainwright Barth, however, did not notice it. The commissioner was still busy polishing his

"Hello... Hello... What is that?" Walpin had gained connection with the hotel that he was calling. "Yes, I am

inquiring for Lord Blossington... Really, there must be some mistake... No, no, I am positive.

"I spoke to his secretary only yesterday... But he assured me that Lord Blossington was there... Positively...

My name is Michael Walpin... Yes, and I would be pleased to have you learn what you can about this hoax..."

"A hoax?" The question came from Wainwright Barth, as Walpin hung up the receiver in dejected fashion.

Barth had put on his spectacles; he was glaring through the lenses, his eyes gleaming with eagerness. Barth's

"Yes," nodded Walpin, seriously. "Lord Blossington is not at the Hotel Marlingstone. Apparently he has not

"Outrageous!" exclaimed Barth. "Particularly since the matter concerns your pearls. We shall trace this

imposition, Mr. Walpin. We shall discover the scoundrel who has hoodwinked you. I promise that "

Barth broke off. A clock was delivering the stroke of half past nine; but it was not that sound that startled the

commissioner. Barth was staring toward the curtained doorway at the front of the room. He had heard

A curtain was brushed aside. On the threshold stood a masked man, stalwart of build, his features fully

covered by the bandanna handkerchief that he had used to hide them. The intruder's eyes showed through

THE SHADOW'S arms went up. The gesture brought prompt duplication. Barth and Walpin both copied the

"Back up there," he ordered. "Keep them dukes high! I'm taking a look for these pearls I've been hearing

The Shadow's eyes were directly on the painting that covered the secret panel. The masked man saw the

direction of the gaze. With a gruff laugh, he advanced and placed his hand against the painting.

Walpin gasped aloud. Barth stared, glowering as he fumed. Only The Shadow, calm in the guise of Cranston,

remained unperturbed. His lips were straight; his eyes steady. To The Shadow, this masked arrival was not an

A welltimed hour had ended. The Shadow had started action at half past eight; he had awaited the climax

due half past nine. For the masked robber had come here at his bidding; secretly, The Shadow planned to aid

Such was the motion of The Shadow's eyes, those steady orbs that peered from the countenance of Lamont

Cranston. Directly focused toward the masked man at the wall safe, The Shadow's signal was spied by the

Barth and Walpin could not observe their companion's eyes, for they stood beside him. Moreover, their

alarmed gaze was centered upon the painting that the masked burglar was manipulating.

With right hand gripping gun, the intruder used his left to operate the panel. His manipulations were accurate;

he did not even look away from the trio whom he held at bay. The panel swung open. Walpin blurted an

Hands moved upward, almost instinctively. The Shadow acted as did Barth and Walpin. But with it, he

The Shadow's left hand showed three fingers. His right opened slowly to five. Then the left spread slowly to

show five; at the same time the right showed two: seven fingers. Finally, one lone finger extended from the

The masked man had caught the surreptitious signals. His left hand operated the knob of the safe door. Three

to the left; five to the right; seven to the left; one to the right. The safe swung open.

A groan from Walpin as the robber removed the casket. A warning growl from the masked man. Walpin

silenced. The robber tilted the casket with his left hand; its cover came open to reveal the array of

Striking in the whole display was the famed Blue Pearl. Michael Walpin's eyes stared fixedly. His whole gaze

To The Shadow, the showing was satisfactory. Walpin had accepted the imitations as being his collection.

Tucking the box under his right arm, he deliberately produced a bandanna from his pocket and wiped the

front of the wall safe as he shut it. He closed the panel and performed a similar action. Backing across the

room, he shifted the casket from beneath his right arm. With a slight toss of his left hand, he caught it under

Bandanna over his left hand, the burglar prepared to press out the light switch. Then he paused and gave a

"In front of a window," he ordered. "Each of you. Let your dukes come down; but not all the way."

Gingerly, each person followed orders. Barth and Walpin backed to windows at the rear. The Shadow stood

five paces away from the window, at the side. The burglar seemed satisfied. He pressed the light switch.

"I'm sticking here," came a growl in the darkness. "Sticking close to watch you. There ain't no hurry. Keep

BARTH and Walpin heard those gruff tones from the front of the room. They would have sworn that the

burglar was speaking. They were wrong. It was The Shadow who now spoke; his words came from the

Dim figures against the slight light of windows. Such were all three who had raised their hands at the masked

man's entry. The Shadow, like Barth and Walpin, still held his arms half raised while he spoke.

The others could not see his lips; even if they had, they would not have believed that the growled orders were

from those motionless lips. A pause; once more The Shadow spoke in roughened tones.

"I'm going to watch you," came his growl. "Any funny business with them dukes means curtains! Get me?"

A figure was creeping cautiously through to the passage that led to the front of the apartment. It was that of

the masked man. He could not be seen in the darkness. The Shadow's faked growl covered the slight noise of

Lights were out in the front. The masked man had attended to them. He had entered through unlatched doors,

It was a perfect getaway, timed to nineforty. The Shadow could see the exact minute by the luminous dial

of his wrist watch, which shone from his upraised arm. He let two minutes glide; then growled again:

"Don't fool yourselves, you mugs! I've told you there ain't no hurry. You won't be guessing it when I move

More slow minutes. Weary arms had sagged, and were resting, almost lowered. Then came a gruff challenge.

The Shadow thrust his arms upward in response to his own pretense. Barth and Walpin acted with immediate

"All right, mugs." The Shadow's growl carried a laugh. "Let 'em rest. Down low. I can spot 'em; and I'm

Arms came down, but figures remained rigid. The growled threat had been a strong one. More minutes ticked

by; The Shadow's watch showed eight minutes of ten. He voiced another harshtoned warning.

One more minute. The Shadow delivered a harsh laugh, another semblance of the masked robber's presence.

The watch showed six minutes to the hour. The Shadow spoke quietly, in the tone of Lamont Cranston.

"He has gone, commissioner," he stated. "I heard the curtains swish. Have you a revolver?"

Striding through the darkness, The Shadow clicked the light switch. Barth pounced forward from the

window, a stubby revolver in his fist. He was bound on a chase. The Shadow stopped him.

"Too late, commissioner," he stated quietly. "The rogue gained too good a start. Why not call headquarters?"

He sprang to the telephone. Thirty seconds later he had his connection; with gleaming eyes, Barth was

ordering the law to action. Walpin sat in a large chair, dejected and unhearing; but The Shadow was close

"Call all cars!" Barth was barking. "Cover every bridge; the Holland Tunnel; every ferry! Watch all outgoing

"Do not forget One Hundred and Twentyfifth Street, commissioner," prompted The Shadow, quietly. "It is

not quite as close as the Grand Central; but the robber could be on his way there."

"One Hundred and Twentyfifth!" bawled Barth. "Patrol cars to that station at once! Then get me Acting

The Shadow's watch showed 9:55. Fifteen minutes had passed since the masked robber had slipped out with

the false pearls that Walpin had believed were his own. But Barth, in his call to headquarters, had announced

that the robber had fled but a few minutes ago. Those intermittent growls had completely deceived the acting

WORD to headquarters was given at 9:55, quickly relayed to radio patrol cars. At 9:57, a siren whined not far

from the One Hundred and Twentyfifth Street station. A taxi driver, about to pull away, drew his car to the

The patrol car rolled up; a policeman leaped to the curb. An officer came dashing over from across the street.

"Robbery just reported," explained the cop from the patrol car. "Guy cleared out with a bunch of pearls

"Don't know," was the laconic reply. "But if he is, we'll be waiting for him. All railroads are being covered.

The guy hasn't had time to get to a station yet. We'll be waiting for him if he comes here."

The taxi pulled away; its driver grinned shrewdly. The name of that driver was Moe Shrevnitz; he was

working as an agent of The Shadow. He had delivered a passenger at One Hundred and Twentyfifth Street,

A train was already pulling out of the station; it was the Buffalo Mail. Moe's passenger was aboard. The taxi

IN a compartment aboard a Pullman, a lone passenger was smiling as he looked from the window and studied

the glow of streets below. That rider was Cliff Marsland; he was the man who had come here with Moe

The Buffalo Mail had left Grand Central at 9:45; its schedule called for departure from One Hundred and

Twentyfifth Street at 9:56. Cliff had been waiting on the platform, thanks to Moe's quick driving.

The train had been delayed for about one minute; Cliff's watch now showed ten o'clock. He was completely

in the clear as fully as if he had left New York hours before. No one would believe it possible that the safe

All following trains would be watched; but not even a message would come to this one. The Shadow's stall,

coupled with the train schedule, had given Cliff absolute security. The Shadow's agent, confident in his

He pushed bandanna handkerchiefs out of sight. Those could be disposed of later. Removing the silver

casket, he opened it and admired the display within. These pearls of The Shadow looked like real swag.

Cliff removed the Blue Pearl; he placed it carefully in his vest pocket. He closed the casket, put it back in the

suitcase and closed the bag. Settling back in his seat, he began to speculate on the future.

Tomorrow, he would travel, choosing various roads to make a crafty trail. Another night aboard a sleeper;

then his course would bring him to the town of Paulington. This was Monday night; Wednesday evening

For Cliff, by The Shadow's orders, was carrying swag to Mountview Lodge, in hope of contracting The

Condor. In his pocket Cliff held a perfect replica of the Blue Pearl, a passport that would make him welcome

TUESDAY morning's newspapers were blatant in their frontpage yarn of crime. The robbery at Michael

Walpin's had excited large headlines and long stories. Wainwright Barth's presence at the scene had given

For the acting commissioner was none too popular with the gentlemen of the press. One man in particular

Clyde Burke, of the Classic had long awaited an opportunity to hand Barth a jolt.

Clyde, as chance had it, was with Joe Cardona at the time when Barth had summoned the acting inspector.

The reporter had followed along to get a story. The coincidence of Clyde's arrival had made Barth fume; but

The reason was that Clyde Burke was, secretly, an agent of The Shadow. Long a friend of Detective Joe

Cardona, it had been natural for Clyde to be with the sleuth who was at present acting as inspector. It fitted

well with The Shadow's plans. He wanted publicity to follow this robbery at Walpin's.

AMONG the interested readers of the day's news was a young man who had chosen to travel away from New

York on Tuesday. This chap had picked up evening newspapers in addition to the morning journals. He was

reading the accounts as he rode aboard a jostling local that was rolling toward the town of Paulington.

This young man was Harry Vincent agent of The Shadow. In the morning, he had received maps and

instructions from an investment broker named Rutledge Mann. Well provided with information, Harry had

The conductor's bawl ended Harry's reading. He had just reached the end of a statement that Michael Walpin

had made for the press. Walpin had sworn that no one outside himself could have known the combination of

his panel or his wall safe. That had deepened the mystery which concerned the burglar's simple mode of

Harry looked from the window. Afternoon had waned; heavy clouds had increased, gathering dusk. The

premature approach of darkness was to Harry's liking. For The Shadow's agent had no desire to be noticed in

The Shadow had picked cut a logical headquarters. That was the tumbledown cabin on the hillside. From

that spot, Harry would be able to pay trips to the vicinity of Mountview Lodge. Moreover, he could be

Harry's policy would be to lay low; if he did not hear from Cliff, he could make cautious efforts at contact.

He would have full opportunity to work as a free agent. No reports would be necessary until he held

The train was grinding to a stop. From the window Harry saw the end of a station platform. He made his way

Several persons were on the platform; but none paid any attention to Harry as he alighted with his bag. There

was still sufficient daylight to discern faces plainly; on that account, Harry skirted the station.

Looking across a street, he observed a sign that read "Paulington House." The hotel was antiquated; but it

appeared comfortable. Better than a shack on the hillside, thought Harry; but duty commanded that he choose

Gazing in another direction, Harry saw a garage. That was the place he wanted. Picking up his bag, he made

in the direction of the garage, while the local, its bell clanging, was puffing from the station.

ODDLY, Harry Vincent had accomplished the very thing that he had set out not to do. His whole purpose

was to avoid notice in Paulington. His action of gazing at the hotel, then at the garage, had made him more

Among the persons on the station platform was a bulky, darkfaced man who had glanced casually at

arriving passengers. This fellow had passed Harry by; but as he walked from the platform, he had spied The

Shadow's agent for the second time. It was then that he had noticed Harry's hesitancy.

Standing by the little station, the darkfaced man delivered a fanglike smile. He waited until Harry had

almost reached the garage; then, with brisk stride, this watcher took up the trail.

The garage was gloomy inside, except for a corner where one bright light showed the motor of a car. A man

in overalls was doing repair work when Harry Vincent approached. The man looked up as he heard the

"Good evening," he stated, in a pleasant tone. "I've just come into town and I'm looking for some

"Glad to," returned the garage man, returning to his work. "What do you want to know about, friend?"

"There is: Mountview Lodge. But it's no hotel. Owned by a wealthy duck named Griscom Treft. Only his

friends stay there. Used to be sort of a summer resort, years ago. They called it Mountview, then, and it

belonged to old Roger Silson. Treft bought it from the estate and built his lodge there."

"That sounds interesting," remarked The Shadow's agent. "I should think there would be some cottages or

"Nope," said the garage man. "Nary a one. Unless you count that old shack up on the hill. Some artist built it

"No one. The artist didn't even own the property. He'd known old Silson and the old man let him settle there

"Tell you, though. You might have some luck at one of the farmhouses. I can't say just where. You'd have to

HARRY caught a sound as the garage man was speaking. It sounded like a scraping footstep in the gloom. He

looked about, but saw no one. The yawning door of the garage showed daylight beyond it; but all was dark

"You'd need a car," the garage man was saying. "I've got an old flivver here that's not so bad. Just a junky

"Over there in the corner," replied the garage man. "I'd sell it for fifty bucks. The rubber's not so good; but the

Harry walked over and examined the car. With a smile, he tossed his bag in beside the driver's seat. He pulled

cash from his pocket, walked back and thrust fifty dollars before the eyes of the garage man.

"Suppose you let me have it," said Harry. "I have a driver's license; I can use your old tags for a while. We

"I guess that would be a go," decided the garage man, as he counted the money and poked it into a pocket of

"Yes. It's about half past six right now. I'll get something to eat and be back here at seven."

"But this is too late to go looking for farmhouses. Especially if you don't know the territory."

"I have a different idea. I'm going out to the cabin you spoke about. If nobody owns it, I can stay there

"You won't like it, friend. I'll bet you'll wind up at the Paulington House tonight."

The garage man wiped his grimy hands; standing in the light, he talked to Harry in the gloom.

"Go out to the fork," he directed. "Take the road to the left. You come to another road forking off to the right.

An old rocky road that nobody uses any more. Take it until you come to a couple of big birch trees. On the

"That's where the path begins. It's about a mile up to the cabin, I reckon. Maybe more, because the path's

rough and it winds. If you leave here at seven, you ought to get to the path in twenty minutes, and up the hill

"It's not far; but with the way the road cuts away, you're not getting closer after you pass the fork. If it was

daylight, you could walk it, making shortcuts; but not knowing the ground, you'd better use the regular path."

HARRY nodded his understanding. The garage man went back to his work. Harry strolled from the garage,

A few minutes after he had gone, a man arose from beside a sedan in a corner of the garage.

Quietly, this listener stole out through the door without the garage man noticing him. The spy's features

became plain in the last glimmer of daylight. He was the darkfaced fellow with the ugly grin.

There was a little restaurant down the street. The darkfaced man sneaked toward its lighted window; peering

in, he saw Harry Vincent at the counter, ordering dinner. The darkfaced man uttered a nasty grunt.

Sidling from the window, he set off at a brisk pace, his fists clenched, his lips snarling. It was plain that he

held a malice toward this stranger who had shown too much interest in the cabin on the hill.

As the man ahead, Harry Vincent had walked into danger without knowing it. Something was already known

concerning his plans. The darkfaced spy suspected even more from what little he had learned.

Danger would mark Harry Vincent's coming to the cabin on the hill. The presence of that darkfaced man

IT was after seven o'clock when Harry Vincent returned to the garage. The proprietor had gone out; a light

was burning, however, and a note on the seat of the old roadster served as a receipt for Harry's fifty dollars.

The owner's license was attached to the note; it listed the name of the proprietor as Jerry Cassidy. The key

was ready in the ignition switch. Harry seated himself at the wheel and drove from the garage.

Murky darkness had settled during the dinner hour. Street lamps had been lighted; their intervals were too

great, however, to provide more than intermittent illumination. Harry turned on the headlights of the flivver.

They furnished a fairly strong glare as he drove toward the outskirts of the town.

Harry did not overtax the chugging motor. He wanted to note the roads as he went along; and consideration

of that fact caused him to open the bag beside him as he neared the fork outside of town. From the bag Harry

produced a flashlight. He knew that he would need it when he reached the path; it would be wise to have it in

Swinging left at the fork, Harry took the road that skirted the west side of the slope. Heavy silence lay over

the countryside. Except for the chug of the motor, Harry could hear nothing. The road was a dirt one, but in

good condition. Harry kept along at moderate speed until the lights showed a new fork ahead.

Harry stopped as he reached that point. He let the motor idle; above its wheeze he could hear the rush of

water from a stream to the left of the traveled road. His thoughts, however, were centered on that old road

No wonder it had been abandoned. A short cut, perhaps, but it was steep. Rains had washed away clay

surface, leaving cross ledges and jagged rocks. Harry understood why the garage man had estimated twenty

minutes for the trip to the beginning of the path. No speed could be made along this bad stretch of road.

Harry started the car again. He shifted to second; the old roadster jounced and quivered as it fought its way up

the rocky grade. Ahead, Harry could see more level road; but a flash of the lights indicated more rocks to be

avoided. He decided that the old rattletrap would not stand many trips over this punishing relic of a highway.

Shrouding trees swallowed the jolting roadster. Thick hush lay above the entire slope. Not even the whisper

of a breeze was present to offset the stillness. Harry Vincent had driven into a forest of gloom.

Blackened treetops made a somber mass upward from that ghostlike road. In all the darkened slope, there was

but one spot that formed a contrast to the sea of boughs. That was the ledge called Table Rock.

MOONLIGHT would have brought a silver glimmer from the broad surface of Table Rock. There was no

moon tonight, yet the rock was dully visible at close range. Beside this spot that commanded the slope,

crouching men were clustered. Their voices formed harsh whispers beneath the fringe of trees.

"No lights now," cautioned one. "Keep to the path. We can get there ahead of him if we move."

"Sure thing," was a panted response. "We passed the upgrade cutting over to the big rock. It's a cinch from

"Thuler's there anyway," added a third. "He's had plenty of time to be on the job. He can take care of things,

"Yeah?" The first speaker seemed annoyed as he started the course down through the trees. "Well, Thuler

won't stage anything on his own. This is going to be a job that will keep people guessing. That's why we're

"I'm watching myself," was Jengley's retort. "Worry about Delland here. He's more likely to stumble than I

"Both of you be careful," growled the leader. "It's easy walking, maybe, but remember, we've got no light.

Pushing their way through underbrush that covered a darkened path, the trio reached a clearing. The

blackness here was as great as in the woods; yet the openness was recognized by the clearer atmosphere.

Cautiously, the leader of the trio groped to the center of the clearing. With the others close behind him, he

"Yeah," returned the leader. "Jengley and Delland are with me. He hasn't shown up yet, huh?"

"Not yet, Jake," informed Thuler. "I've got the fuses planted. Under the cabin floor. No risk using a light

"Go to it, fellows." Jake's order was to Jengley and Delland. "Blink your lights when you come out. We'll

DELLAND and Jengley crept forward. Flashlights glowed upon the battered door of the ramshackle cabin.

The two men entered; Jake crouched in the darkness with Thuler. The latter was plucking something from the

"Keep following, Jake," suggested Thuler. "It leads us up into the woods. Fifty yards. Say I made good time

"No wonder you did," snorted Jake. "You weren't lugging dynamite. I was jittery coming over from the

lodge. I'd rather have carried the stuff myself. But it was best for me to pick the path and let Jengley and

"The chief worked quick enough," chuckled Thuler, as they passed the edge of the clearing. "As soon as he

got the tip that the wise guy was heading here, he got busy. Say, though do you think the mug knows

"No telling, Thuler. He wouldn't be up here if he wasn't wise to something. That's the chief's business. Our

only worry is if the guy changes his mind and went back to town instead of coming here."

They had stopped at the end of the fuse. Looking about, the two men stared through the darkness toward the

cabin. A flashlight blinked; then another. Thuler signaled with a torch of his own.

Two minutes later, Delland and Jengley stumbled up to join them. Each reported the placement of a dynamite

"They lead off from splices," said Thuler to Jake. "One click, and they'll both go. What time have you got,

Thuler stopped short as Jake gripped his arm. A distant blink had shown through the trees below. It was

coming closer, its bearer picking out the upward path. Watchers remained silent.

Appalling gloom hung over the little cabin at the lower edge of the clearing. Nothing betrayed the presence of

the men who watched that shack that had become Harry Vincent's objective. The intermittent glare of the

"He won't," returned Thuler. "I buried it under the grass. Those old steps help cover it, too."

The flashlight was blinking at the cabin door. It went out for a dozen seconds; then blinked again and moved

inward. Blackness; then paneless windows showed the light come on inside the shack.

A CLICK as Thuler pressed the switch. An instant followed; one that seemed an interminable wait to those

gloating men who crouched in darkness. Then came a mighty shudder of the darkness; a terrific cataclysm

An upheaving roar sent blazing streaks in all directions. Like a display of pyrotechnics, huge flashes splashed

with mighty force. Amid that instantaneous holocaust ripped chunks of logs and timbers, tossed like wisps of

Torn asunder, the bulk of the cabin broke into sections that crashed against the trees below. Tearing a path

down the slope, the scattered ruins echoed to a standstill, while falling boards and bits of woodwork dropped

A spreading shroud of whiteness became visible in the dark that followed. Smoke, rising from the ruins,

formed ghostly shapes that lingered, as if gloating, about the spot where death had been delivered.

Jake growled harshly. His tone expressed satisfaction in the fact that a human being had been blown to atoms.

His harsh voice was a signal to the others. Rising, they advanced across the clearing, blinking their lights to

"The whole works went," chuckled Jake. "Like it was supposed to. That'll wake the dead heads down in

Paulington. They'll be coming up here; but not until we've had chance to look around and then scram."

"Why look around, Jake?" inquired Thuler. "You won't even find pieces of that guy."

"Chief's orders. He might have had something with him that would serve as identification. Come on spread

FLASHLIGHTS glimmered on scarred tree trunks below the clearing. The explosion had crashed some dead

trees; pieces of the cabin had ripped the bark from others. But traces of the murdered man were vanished.

When the four prowlers joined at the path below, their only souvenirs were fragments of cloth, a strip of

leather that might have come from a wallet, and a twisted chunk of thin metal that Jake identified as a portion

"Down the path," ordered Jake. "He may have left a car down on the road. We'll take a look for it."

The murderers made swift progress with their flashlights showing the way. Jake's gleam caught a patch of

birch trees. Past the white trunks, the glimmer showed Harry Vincent's flivver parked at the side of the old

Jake made an inspection of the car. It was empty; the key was gone from the ignition lock. His examination

"All right," he ordered gruffly, "back to the path. We're heading up the hill. Across past Table Rock."

"You're leaving the buggy here?" questioned Thuler, his harsh tone puzzled. "So they'll know the guy was in

"So they won't know anything," snorted Jake. "Listen, Thuler you did your job, getting here in plenty of

"All right, then. Look at it this way. The chief knows how to figure it. There's going to be a lot of speculation

"Will give them more to guess about. It will look like the guy might have come here to blow the shack

himself. Everybody will recognize the flivver as the one Cassidy had at his garage."

"You're right, Jake. Cassidy is not likely to know anything about the fellow's business."

Jake and Thuler had passed the turn in the path; they were blinking their flashlights while Delland and

Jengley followed. They were skirting the remains of the cabin, going around the clearing to gain the obscure

Blinks faded; hushed darkness reigned supreme. Shrouding trees had gained the stillness of a tomb, hiding

the fragments of the blasted shack, bending above the deserted car that Harry Vincent had left on the road

Fiendish killers had come across the slope to deliver spectacular death. Evidence of their victim gone, they

were returning to their habitat. Scornful, sure that their crime would not be traced, this band of murderers had

AT six o'clock the next afternoon, another passenger alighted from the outbound local and looked curiously

Like Harry Vincent on the day before, Cliff was carrying a bag and presented a businesslike appearance. But

his actions were more definite than Harry's had been. Cliff was making no effort to cover his arrival.

One reason was because the day was cloudless and there was no darkening gloom obscuring the station

platform. The other reason was the fact that Cliff had a definite objective. He was going openly to

Across the street, beside the old hotel, Cliff saw the projecting front of an old motor bus. He noticed a driver

As he left the station, Cliff had a feeling that someone was watching him. He shot a glance back over his

shoulder; the only person that he saw was a man who stepped from view beyond the station building.

Glimpsing no more than the man's back, Cliff paused to see if the fellow would reappear. After a few seconds

of vain waiting, Cliff decided that it would be poor policy to stand gawking from the center of the street.

"I'm going to a place called Mountview," informed Cliff, speaking to the driver. "How do I get there?"

"Hop in," was the reply. "We go past there. It's a half mile walk you'll have, unless somebody is going to

Cliff studied the terrain from the window. As they neared the fork, he noted a ledge high up on the darkening

hillside. His view was but momentary; apparently Table Rock could be seen from only a few spots.

Cliff's information about the terrain was confined to a few important mental notes. Mountview Lodge, Table

Rock, the cabin on the western slope these facts were all that he required. His job was to stick close to the

Maps would have been a dangerous thing for him to carry. Cliff was traveling into the enemy's camp. It was

well for him to come openly, with nothing to cover. Cliff thought of that fact as he fingered the false Blue

Two nights ago, Cliff had openly committed crime, abetted by The Shadow. That crime, however, was one

that had been faked in behalf of justice. The Shadow had learned of a crook called The Condor. To reach that

foe, The Shadow had required Michael Walpin's collection of pearls, particularly the Blue Pearl.

Yet The Shadow had not chosen to risk these prizes after gaining them. That was why he had purchased

imitations, with a replica of the Blue Pearl. Cliff was carrying false treasures; even if they should be lost,

The robbery at Walpin's had created a sensation, thanks to The Shadow's crafty plan of bringing in Clyde

Burke. The Classic reporter had done much to place the episode in the public eye. That was a factor that

would smooth Cliff's path. Cliff was chuckling over it as the bus swayed along the paved road that continued

Then came a snatch of conversation that brought Cliff to attention. A local passenger was perched beside the

bus driver. The two were shouting their discussion above the roar and rumble of the obsolete conveyance.

"IT mighta been some grudge," the passenger was asserting. "But I can't understand it nohow. Who'd want to

"Yeah," resumed the passenger, "it was a city chap bought that car off'n Jerry Cassidy. But Jerry hasn't been

Another statement from the driver. Cliff could not catch it; but he heard the passenger's final comment.

"Well, Howie Brock's looking into it," the fellow stated, "and he's a right smart sheriff, Howie is. Best we've

The bus had skirted the hill. The passenger settled back in his seat. But Cliff had heard enough to trouble

Early dusk was present, for the sunset was obscured now that the bus had reached the east side of the hill.

Cliff stared from the window; the gloom of passing trees formed a blackening mass. Then the bus swung to

the right and came to a stop; Cliff saw a winding road that went off to the left. This was the stopping place for

One minute later, Cliff was standing in the road, surveying the path that he had to follow. The bus was gone;

Cliff started up the road to the left. Paving clicked beneath his feet. The road was a good one, as private

Cliff had walked less than a hundred yards when he heard the approach of a car behind him. A coupe drew

up; a uniformed chauffeur peered from the window. Cliff could glimpse the fellow's face in the dusk. He

"Are you going to the lodge?" questioned the chauffeur, smoothly. "To see Mr. Treft?"

"Climb in," he offered. "Bring your bag along; there's room for it. No use opening the rumble seat."

The coupe rolled forward. The road continued through thickening trees. Then came a patch of light ahead.

The car pulled up in front of a massive gate. Through the iron grille, Cliff viewed the lowwalled structure of

From each side of the gateposts ran a high picket fence. This barrier surrounded the grounds of Mountview

The gate was wired also; to open it, the chauffeur was forced to alight and unlock. That done, he returned to

the coupe, drove through, stepped out and went back to lock up. Taking the wheel again, he drove to the front

The freshness of the gray stone walls indicated that the building was not an old one. A broad front veranda,

with white posts, looked pleasant and inviting. One ominous aspect alone governed Mountview Lodge. Every

A liveried servant was standing on the porch. While Cliff remained in the coupe, he saw the servant peering

curiously in his direction. The chauffeur alighted; Cliff heard their conversation.

"That's for you to find out, Trossler," replied the chauffeur. "Someone coming to the lodge; that's all I know."

Cliff stepped from the coupe as Trossler came down from the porch. The servant saw the bag and took it;

Trossler carried the bag into the house. Cliff followed, to find himself in a luxuriously furnished hallway.

Trossler pointed to a heavycushioned chair; Cliff sat down and watched the servant pass through a doorway.

A FEW minutes later, Trossler returned. He picked up the bag again and ushered Cliff into a lavishly

furnished study. Thick rugs occupied the entire floor; the walls were tapestried; the furniture was of rich

A keeneyed man was standing behind a desk. He was of medium height, stoopshouldered but of wiry

build. His grayhaired head was tilted forward; his eyes peered upward from beneath bushy brows. Cliff saw

There was a sharpness in the man's scrutiny that made Cliff feel uneasy. He knew that he was face to face

with a person of powerful mentality. Dignity, poise and friendliness seemed present in the man's expression;

but the fixation of those eyes told Cliff that surface indications were nothing more than presence.

"Good evening." The grayhaired man spoke pleasantly, but his voice, like his expression, was deceptive.

Treft motioned to a chair; as Cliff took it, the grayhaired man sat down and leaned both elbows on the desk.

Until he put the question, Treft's body had obscured the center of the wall behind him. Now, with Cliff

properly seated, with Treft bent forward, that space was in plain view. Cliff stared.

Upon a dull red background, he viewed a silver figure woven in the tapestry. The shape was that of a large

bird, its neck high; its beak the pointed bill of a vulture. Long talons glittered beneath the silver body. The

As Treft's smooth query was repeated, Cliff reached into his vest pocket. He felt a rounded surface between

fingers and thumb. He produced the false Blue Pearl and extended his hand beneath the light that glowed

Treft's query was wellfeigned; but his eyes were shrewd as they peered upward. They offset Treft's tone;

"Yes," replied Cliff, steadily. "A man Gruzen hoped to bring it here. He died, however, in the penitentiary.

"I knew Luffs." Cliff was meeting Treft's eyes as he continued. "We were in the Big House together. Luff

wanted to snatch the Blue Pearl; then I was to bring it here. Before he had a chance, he was rubbed out.

"So I did the job on my own. I've got the others with me, in the suitcase. A nice lot, all of them. Michael

"Stop!" Treft was on his feet; his face severe, his tone indignant. "Are you referring to the New York robbery

of two days ago? Do you mean that you are the rogue who stole that prized collection of rare pearls?"

"And why, sir" Treft paused with outraged expression "why, sir, have you dared to come to me? What

The man's fists were clenched. His eyes were fierce; his whole attitude was one of indignation. Cliff retained

"I came to find The Condor," he replied. "I have seen his symbol on the wall behind you."

TREFT'S fists unclenched. The grayhaired man smiled broadly as he settled back in his chair. A chuckle

"We have been expecting you," acknowledged Treft. "You did a fine job, Marsland. I have read the

"Absolutely," returned Cliff. "I made a quicker getaway than they thought. I caught the Buffalo Mail at One

"That was the sweet part of it," he explained. He arose, picked up his bag and placed it on the desk, while

Treft looked on keenly. "Luff had been up to Walpin's. He had cracked the safe while Walpin was away; but

"Luff was waiting for Walpin to get back, so he could attempt the safe again. Knew the combination ready

for a cinch job. Then he was bumped; but not until after he'd told me all he knew. That's why I did it right in

Cliff knew that this fabrication was convincing. It was the story that he had been instructed to tell, by The

Shadow. But Cliff had wanted to avoid Treft's gaze while giving the false account. He had used a pretext for

Bringing out the casket, Cliff revealed the array within. He saw Treft's eyes gleam. He knew that the man was

Picking up the Blue Pearl, Treft inserted it with the others. He chuckled as he arose. He extended his hand to

The Shadow's agent received the clasp. As his hand pressed Treft's, Cliff gained his second startlement.

Never before had he clasped such a long, thinboned hand. Nor had he experienced the pressure of

Griscom Treft's hand was a veritable claw; one that possessed a tearing force. Staring openeyed, Cliff

viewed the silver bird emblazoned on the wall. He realized that Treft's clasp could rival that of a condor's

The chuckle that Treft gave was not needed. Cliff Marsland understood; he met the eyes that gleamed like the

beady optics of a bird of prey. Another completing touch that was not required. Griscom Treft was not the

intermediary that Cliff had suspected he might be. The grayhaired master of Mountview Lodge was The

TREFT'S fierce clasp loosened, leaving bloodred blotches on Cliff's hand marks that faded slowly. In a

sharp voice, The Condor called for Trossler. The servant appeared, his face solemnly smug.

"Take Marsland's bag to his room," ordered Treft. "He will remain with us, Trossler."

There was a harshness in the tone, now that Treft had no need to disguise his voice. Almost the vicious shriek

"Remain here" The Condor spoke these words to Cliff "so I can speak to you of certain matters. You have

"Come." Cliff felt the dig of claws as The Condor clasped a hand to his shoulder. "Out to the veranda, where

They strolled out through the hall; they reached the broad veranda and there they paced together, The

Condor's clutch still on Cliff's shoulder. That grip, perhaps, was one of friendship; but it also expressed a

Cliff, like the pearls that he had brought, had become a prized possession of The Condor. He was a new

member of the band that this supercrook had been gathering. Men of crime, governed by a single master. This

peaceful lodge, its very splendor aiding it to escape the law's attention, was the headquarters for evil aids who

"You have met Corey, who serves as chauffeur," Cliff heard The Condor say. "He is one of us. So is Trossler,

whose present capacity is that of house man. Those are blinds; every man has his pretended purpose here.

"Some are caretakers; others are guests. Two are hidden; they need no presence, since they are never seen.

You will have a place, Marsland, for the short while that you will be here. Until the thirteenth; after that, our

THE CONDOR paused. Darkness had settled completely; Cliff felt a fierce antagonism toward this

harshvoiced creature who stood beside him. He could still feel the clutch of Treft's claw upon his shoulder.

"By the way." The Condor's tone was lowered. "Did you hear any talk in town or while coming on the

"An explosion," replied The Condor, "that occurred last night. I sent men to destroy a cabin on the other side

of the hill. A suspicious prowler intended to use it as headquarters, perhaps to spy upon us. We eliminated

Harsh sarcasm formed the tone of The Condor's utterance. Cliff restrained himself with difficulty; then

"Logical enough," agreed The Condor. "Well, Corey may have something to tell. Come, let us go in the

A distant purr sounded far off above the trees. The Condor paused to stare at tiny lights that were passing

"Another airplane," he said, harshly. "I don't like them about; but it can't be helped. There was one that

"These hills must make it difficult for them to find the airport at Southbridge, five miles northwest of

Paulington. Well" he chuckled as the twinkling lights veered westward "that pest has gone back to his

They entered the house; The Condor's clasp had lifted. Trossler was there; the master told the servantcrook

Cliff followed Trossler up the steps to the second floor, while Treft strolled back into the study.

RESTRAINED emotions shook Cliff Marsland when he stood alone. The meeting with The Condor had been

grueling; but Cliff had managed it without difficulty, until he had heard those harsh utterances relating to the

The terrible reality throbbed through Cliff Marsland's brain. The discussion on the bus had troubled him; The

Condor's statement had changed his worry into absolute anguish. At that time when they were pacing back

into the house, Cliff was ready to throw off all pretence. He had wanted to seize Griscom Treft and throttle

the fiend to death. He had wanted vengeance upon this murderer who had coldly ordered the destruction of

Then had come the flash that had brought Cliff back to sanity. Those lights upon the horizon. Slowmoving

glimmers of green and red. Treft had spoken of the passing ship as an airplane. Cliff, judging its speed, had

The Shadow's chosen craft! The Shadow had learned of doom. He had come here to take up the work. It

would be The Shadow's privilege not Cliff's to avenge the death of Harry Vincent.

Such was the thought that steadied Cliff as he heard the clang of a summoning bell. Ready to continue his

ONE hour after Cliff Marsland had observed those passing lights on the horizon, an antique taxi rolled up in

front of the Paulington House. A tall passenger alighted, paid the driver and entered the hotel.

A languid clerk was perched behind the desk. Hooking one thumb under a suspender strap, he pushed the

As the lone bell boy carried the new guest's suitcase upstairs, the clerk caught his first glimpse of the

stranger's face. He noticed a firmset countenance, almost hawklike in its profile. Then he perched behind the

Not long afterward, the new guest came down the stairs. The clerk was half asleep and did not see him stroll

across the lobby. The tall figure settled in a chair and remained there, almost obscured from view.

The Shadow had reverted to his guise of Henry Arnaud for this trip to Paulington. There had been no

comeback from Clark Copley after the Walpin robbery. Evidently the Cincinnati pearl salesman had noticed

no connection between Henry Arnaud's purchases and the subsequent theft of the Blue Pearl.

Few persons were passing in the quiet street that constituted Paulington's main thoroughfare. The Shadow,

nevertheless, was watchful. At last his vigilance was rewarded by the arrival of an old touring car in front of

"Hi there, Bill!" he greeted, waving to the clerk. "Burgess Dowden been here looking for me?"

"Yeah," returned the clerk, rising from his chair in sleepy fashion. "He was around 'bout an hour ago, asking

"Over to his office. Take a look out the door and you'll see the light aburning. Waiting for you, I reckon.

The sheriff heeled about and strode to the street. The clerk watched him; then dropped back into his chair and

resumed his doze. The bell hop was nowhere about; so no one saw The Shadow arise and walk out to the

THERE was only one visible light that could have signified the office of Burgess Dowden. That was on the

second story of a threefloor edifice that was Paulington's lone attempt at an office building.

Even in the guise of Arnaud, The Shadow was scarcely discernible as he took up the sheriff's trail. Reaching

the building, he found the door unlocked. He ascended a pair of dingy stairs; then came to a hallway on the

second floor. The lighted office was at the front. The Shadow found the door of the one next to it, opened the

As he had considered probable, The Shadow found a connecting door. He went to this barrier, inserted the

pick and worked with ease and care. There was a key in the lock, planted from the other side; discovering that

He clipped the end of the key between the sharpgripping points. Twisting slowly, he unlocked the door. The

one risk was that someone might observe the key turning in the other room; but The Shadow's actions were

Softly, The Shadow turned the knob and opened the door a scant half inch. Looking in, he saw the

beefyfaced sheriff staring across a desk toward a whitehaired worthy who was evidently Burgess Dowden.

The two were engrossed in conversation; neither suspected the presence of a listener.

"I'll agree it don't concern the town, burgess," Sheriff Brock was saying. "That cabin was located outside the

limits. It's a county case, right enough, but seeing how the car was taken out of Cassidy's garage, it looks like

"The car is a separate matter, sheriff," returned Dowden. "I am ready to lend you cooperation in this problem.

"VERY well. Last night, there was a mysterious explosion upon the hillside. In your territory, sheriff. A

useless cabin was destroyed. Someone must have been responsible for the work. That admitted, what is the

"Trespassing on unposted property? Destroying a building that no one claims to own? Those are not crimes,

"Humph! Well, burgess, you're an attorney. You know the law. Looks like I ought to let the whole thing ride.

"Ah, yes. The car. Purchased from Jerry Cassidy, on what he terms a lease; but paid for in full. About the

only objection that can be raised concerning the automobile would be a protest on the part of the new owner

"No, no. The road was abandoned, not the car. The county has dropped that stretch of road, Brock."

The sheriff snorted as he thumped the desk. His drumming fingers told that he was at loss. The whitehaired

"People can't go setting off dynamite in this county!" he challenged. "Not without me finding out who did it!

Some smart alec was in that flivver, burgess. I want to find him; I want to know what he was up to."

"An excellent plan, Brock," he stated, "and there is one course through which you might accomplish it. Think

"You are on the wrong tack. Go on the assumption that you cannot find him; that no one could find him."

Brock stopped short. His beefy face showed a gape. Burgess Dowden was wearing a solemn smile. His head

"Say" the sheriff's voice was hoarse "you don't you don't mean that the man could have been in that

"Then it's murder!" exclaimed the sheriff. "A cabin goes up in smoke. A man is missing. It's murder!"

"Murder or suicide. Possibly manslaughter." Dowden paused to consider. "At least, sheriff, you have cause

for thorough investigation. Inasmuch as the dead man was here in Paulington that same evening, I am willing

to make it a matter for the local as well as the county authorities. But only on the basis of possible homicide."

"I get it, burgess." Brock leaned back in his chair and laughed. "That story they wired into New York about a

mystery explosion on the hillside didn't mean much, did it? Some of the newspapers even had the name of the

"But they will spell it correctly when I make my statement," assured Dowden. "As burgess of Paulington, I

"It's not notoriety that I want, Brock. Far from it. But I do believe that when something of consequence

"You're right, burgess. I'll play ball with you. Call up Boone right now. He's sort of a local correspondent. Let

"We work together. Out of here. Course I'll have to check in at Southbridge; it's the county seat. But

Paulington will be my headquarters. Any newspaper men coming out will have to check in here."

THE door closed softly as the burgess, with the sheriff looking on, began to prepare a statement. The Shadow

He knew that Harry Vincent had driven to the foot of the path up the slope and had left a purchased car at that

point. These were facts that had not been mentioned in the brief newspaper items that New York journals had

Mere news of a dynamited cabin had been sufficient to bring The Shadow to Paulington. Here, he had heard

two men discuss additional facts. They had struck upon an agreement that a man had died in the blast.

But they had not learned the name of The Shadow's agent. They had simply determined that Harry Vincent

to them an unknown person would have been a victim rather than a perpetrator of the outrage.

Facts indicated it. A dynamiter would not have abandoned his car so near the point of action. The Shadow,

here to learn full details of his agent's fate, had learned enough to form a trail.

As Henry Arnaud, The Shadow returned to the Paulington House. He looked into the lobby; had the clerk

been awake, he would have chosen an outside course to reach his room. But the clerk was dozing behind the

desk; the bell hop was still absent. The Shadow strolled into the hotel and went up to the third floor.

That was the topmost story of the Paulington House. There was a fire escape at the end of The Shadow's

corridor. Donning black coat and slouch hat, The Shadow left his room and used the fire escape for exit. He

JERRY CASSIDY was working late tonight. As he finished cleaning the spark plugs of an automobile, he

chatted with a friend who had dropped in to see him. Cassidy gestured with one thumb, over his shoulder.

"Can't figure about that flivver," he remarked. "The fellow who bought it wanted it right enough. But he left it

"Seems so," replied Cassidy. "I had a duplicate ignition key, so I started the motor and ran the car over there

in the corner. But I haven't checked on anything else. Sheriff said keep it here; that's what I'm doing."

"Couldn't get rid of the old load of iron, even after you'd sold it, eh, Jerry?"

"That car's no junk. It's plenty out of date, but it runs. The rubber is old, but good for a few thousand miles,

maybe. I told the fellow that when he bought it. What I didn't tell him was that he was getting a new battery.

Cassidy finished up and turned out the light. He and his friend started from the garage. In the darkness,

"You know," he said, "that fellow who bought the flivver pulled out of here a little after seven. He'd have just

about had time to drive up to the old road and follow the path to the cabin and get there ahead of the

"The cabin was blasted just before eight," commented the friend. "He'd have had time to do that job, Jerry."

"Between five and ten minutes leeway," agreed the garage man. "He had a bag when he came here. I guess

The two left the garage; Cassidy padlocked the swinging doors. A few minutes passed, then a tiny flashlight

The flashlight shone on the roadster. Inspecting, The Shadow finished with the front and went to the rear. He

placed a gloved hand upon the spare tire as he leaned forward to open the back compartment. The rubber

Opening the compartment, The Shadow probed the interior. His gloved hands clattered tools about, then

emerged. The light, in The Shadow's right, glimmered upon the glove that covered his left hand. Bits of

The light went out. The Shadow moved through darkness. He had no trouble reaching through the space

between the rickety doors. He picked Cassidy's lock, emerged to the street and padlocked the doors behind

LATER, The Shadow's flashlight glimmered in a secluded portion of the countryside. He had left Paulington.

He had chosen the left fork outside of town. He had reached the stretch of abandoned road. He was following

There were muddy spots between jagged stones; these were remnants of the surface that had been washed

away. The Shadow's light showed flattened marks in the mud; indications of smoothed automobile tires.

Some distance along the abandoned road, The Shadow saw where the car had veered to the right. A mud

patch showed irregular marks of tires. There were footprints beside them. The Shadow resumed his course.

Fifteen minutes brought him to the path beside the birch trees. One splotch of mud showed a tire track. The

rest of the ground was rocky, giving no other traces. The Shadow followed the path up the hill.

He reached the wreckage of the cabin. There he discovered nothing of consequence. In the clearing, however,

he noted leaning underbrush. Soil was dry; footprints absent; yet people had come into this open patch and

The Shadow found the faint path toward Table Rock. Flattened underbrush proved that passers had traveled

this course, probably in darkness. At one point, traces veered away and ran parallel, then swung back again.

Starlight revealed a cleared space. The Shadow had reached Table Rock. His torch blinked no longer. The

grayish glitter of the rock alone showed beneath the stars. The ground about the ledge was easily visible.

Old paths led from this point. Each one that The Shadow examined gave slight traces of recent use; but these

Climbing the ledge, The Shadow reached Table Rock itself. His black form became a weird, inky shape as it

moved about. Keen eyes were studying the glistening stone. The upper side of the rock marked the end of

There the rock extended into the hillside. There was no path leading upward; yet there were traces of loose

dirt and dislodged stones that indicated prowlers taking to the higher slope. The Shadow moved back to the

Blackness below. Tree tops showed no reflection of the starlight. Forest all around; no sign of habitation on

this portion of the slope. Mountview Lodge The Shadow knew, was around the curve to the east.

The only lights that he could see were the faint glimmers from Paulington street lamps, far beyond the trees.

Then his figure lowered. Downward from the ledge of Table Rock, The Shadow moved into the massed

blackness of the woods. Table Rock glittered, its surface no longer splotched with moving, spectral darkness.

WHILE The Shadow was engaged in his inspection of the sloping hillside, Cliff Marsland was comfortably

ensconced in the great room of Mountview Lodge. He was one of a group who lounged before an open

Cliff had dined with men of crime. He had met them as a fellow member in a company of evil. He had

learned their names their right ones and they had welcomed him as one who had a right to be here.

The Condor was master of this throng. Griscom Treft sat in the center of the semicircle; Cliff at the edge,

could see his profile. Viewed from this perspective, Treft's nose showed a pronounced hook. It was the ugly,

savagelooking beak of a vulture. Another good reason for The Condor's choice of title.

"The thirteenth has nearly arrived," Treft was announcing to his listeners. "After that date, our plans will

involve action. We shall be ready for great undertakings. Our field will be the world."

Treft chuckled harshly. His birdlike eyes turned toward Cliff; The Shadow's agent caught The Condor's

stare. He knew that these statements were for his benefit. The others had already listened to The Condor's

"Each of you has shown his ability." The Condor made this pronouncement as he arose. "You, Jengley" he

clapped his hand upon the shoulder of a longfaced rogue who sat beside him "came here before all others.

"Fifty grand," acknowledged Jengley, with a reminiscent chuckle. "I ran wild, chief, when I forged those

checks on the account of Isaac Blodgett. It was kind of nice the old boy died soon after. His estate never

"And your token of identity," chuckled The Condor, "was Blodgett's signature, the one you knew so well.

Remember how you came into my study? You saw the silver bird; you produced a sheet of paper and wrote

"I remember you comparing it," laughed Jengley. "Well, chief, when the works gets going, I'll be on hand to

The Condor nodded, satisfied. He stared toward a husky, hardfaced man who was seated opposite Cliff.

"You were second, Jake," recalled The Condor. "Yes, I remember that pleasant evening when Jake Lussig

entered my study and presented the Florentine medallion as proof that he had robbed the Memorial Museum.

"Three trunk loads, chief," laughed Jake, gruffly. "The gold in that bunch of coins and medals ought to be

"It is," agreed The Condor. "But I shall arrange to dispose of those curios without melting them. When we

TREFT was standing while he spoke. His gleaming eyes looked about from man to man. His chuckle

"Corey and Trossler," he recalled. "Servants of different masters whom they robbed. Their trails have been

Strolling over, The Condor clamped his claw upon the shoulder of a palefaced individual who was staring at

"Confidential secretary of Simon Featherstone," proclaimed The Condor. "You departed from Featherstone's

employ with securities worth one hundred and twentythousand dollars. Most of them are negotiable."

"Not the one I brought here as a means of identification," rejoined Delland. "It wasn't worth a nickel, that

Southwestern Copper stock. It was a dud; old Featherstone himself had only faint hope that it would stage a

"But it served as your identification Delland," reminded The Condor. "By the way, Thuler" this was to a

darkfaced, blackhaired man who was near the fireplace "when you arrived six months ago, we had a chat

Thuler nodded. Treft was about to speak again when Delland interrupted. The palefaced man pointed to the

door. Corey was standing there; apparently the chauffeur wanted to speak to his chief.

Treft arose and walked out into the hall. Delland followed; he served as The Condor's secretary. The three

Men began to chat. Cliff Marsland listened. He was considering facts that he had learned. The Condor's brood

numbered seven, not counting himself. Jengley and Thuler played the part of guests at the lodge, along with

Delland was The Condor's secretary; Corey his chauffeur; Trossler acted as house servant, to give the place a

front. There was one other: a Chinaman who served as cook and also waited on the table. The Condor had

Cliff knew that Goon Loy was also crooked. Otherwise, he would not have been admitted to the company.

Jengley's voice ended Cliff's reverie. The longfaced forger was saying something to the new member; Cliff

had been too deep in thought to catch the words. He looked quizzically toward Jengley; but before the man

CLIFF left the great room. He went to The Condor's study. The door was open; Cliff entered to find Treft at

"Yes," replied Treft, "tonight. I shall arrange a time of contact. You will see him then."

"All right, chief. I was just worried on account of Clint Spadling. When I talked with Clint downtown, I told

"I know, Corey. And Spadling is gone. If any one comes to find him, no difficulty will result. Spadling never

"That's true, chief. But Spadling and I were pals once. I go down to town every day "

"Enough, Corey. No one will connect you with Spadling. You and he had not worked together for years.

When you and he talked together in town, your meetings were secret. No one could have observed them.

"You will still act as chauffeur, Corey. To make a change would be a mistake. That is the type of move that

Corey nodded; then went out. Cliff remained. He met Treft's beady gaze. Cliff acted as if disinterested in the

"Marsland," stated The Condor, "tonight I shall add your swag to my other trophies. Walpin's pearls will be

safe within my strong room. Within the next few days, I shall show you my treasure vault.

"You will be pleased with it. I can assure you that it lacks no protection. It lies beneath this building and it is

a natural stronghold. At the same time, I hope you have already realized that the lodge itself is well

"I noticed wires along the picket fence," returned Cliff. "What are they an alarm system?"

"Yes; no one could enter these grounds without discovery. The lock on the gate is a device of my own

invention. Any attempt to pick it would register an alarm as effectively as if someone cut one of the fence

"The windows of this building are all barred. We do not fear surprise attacks here, Marsland. Nevertheless,

"Our real protection lies in the fact that we are clear of suspicion. Six years ago, I retired from business with a

sizable fortune. Much of it had been gained by methods that were shrewd not criminal; but I had always

Treft paused to chuckle harshly. To Cliff, The Condor's gloat had the semblance of a cry from a vulture's

"I HAD one excellent contact," resumed Treft. "That was through Ace Lafitte, a criminal in his own right, but

one who had kept his rackets covered. To Lafitte I confided my scheme. It was he who selected candidates

"Men like Gruzen; others; each with a quest. Each to deliver on his own, or pass the word to someone who

could accomplish the task. Six years, Marsland, was the limit. I expected some to fall by the wayside. Last

week, three were unheard from. The thirteenth of this month marked the finish line."

"Then I showed up," laughed Cliff. "Well, I guess you expected Gruzen, didn't you, chief?"

"No," returned The Condor, "I did not. Oddly, Marsland, only a few of my band are original workers to

whom Lafitte passed the word. Some gave the news to others at the very start. Others, like Gruzen, confided

"Lafitte, himself, is dead. He was to arrive here after I was established. Unfortunately, he had enemies who

were members of a gambling ring. They murdered him in San Francisco, only a few months after he and I

Cliff nodded new understanding. He realized why Treft had counted so heavily upon identifying tokens such

"Gold gems treasures" The Condor was chuckling as he itemized his hidden store "wealth that can

bring us a cool million, Marsland! But that is trifling. The swag that you and others have delivered was called

"I have a million dollars of my own. I shall be finished with Mountview Lodge. Our stolen goods will be

shipped to Europe, to South America, to the Orient. We shall find a new headquarters, our assets transformed

"Then our day begins." The Condor's eyes gleamed wickedly. "We shall launch crime without parallel!

Arson, robbery, blackmail, forgery, murder all the calendar of crime will unroll before us.

"I, The Condor, shall be master. Working with me, you and others, all specialists in crime men of proven

worth. Already, merely as a preliminary test, I have sponsored crimes that an ordinary chieftain would

The Condor's harsh voice continued. Listening, Cliff could feel the insidious spell that this crime master had

woven about the men who acknowledged him as chief. Yet, to Cliff, these promises of coming gain were

Again, he wanted to leap forward and grip Treft's throat to throttle life from this monster who was plotting

When The Condor's gloating monologue had ended, Cliff sat dazed with horror. He barely managed to

restrain a shudder when Treft arose to clamp a talon on his new underling's shoulder.

They walked out into the hallway. The others had retired; only Trossler was about, puffing out lights. The

Condor's grip relaxed. An evil smile upon lips, the chief bade his latest henchman good night.

WHEN he reached his own room, Cliff sat down by the window. His head was whirling; his forehead

feverish as he touched it. Regularly, in The Shadow's service, Cliff dealt with crooks on their own ground. He

But The Condor, calculating, cold, outmatched any fiend whom Cliff had ever encountered. The strength of

Treft's position pointed to the power of his future. True, the law would strike against Mountview Lodge, once

it suspected that criminals had found harbor here. But would the law uncover that fact?

Cliff decided no. Trails had been covered. Swag was protected in some mysterious stronghold. As Griscom

Treft, The Condor passed suspicion. One point, however, was evident. The time to strike was the present

Facts concerning past crime would not help. Incomplete data concerning the lodge would not be useful until

later, when Cliff might have learned more about the place. The names of those within these walls were not an

Thinking of names, Cliff remembered two. Zegler Spadling. Those were not names of persons located here.

They were outside parties, those two whom Corey had mentioned. A grim smile formed on Cliff's lips. It

To use those names, Cliff needed contact. Instructions had been for him to leave the lodge if possible and

meet Harry Vincent at the cabin on the other slope. Should Cliff not put in an appearance, Harry's duty would

Not this first night, but later. All that, however, was ended. Feverishly, Cliff's brain began to drum. Harry

Vincent was dead that definite fact swept all other thoughts from mind. Cliff could picture exactly what had

Harry coming to the cabin. Lurkers fiends whom Cliff had met tonight, men with whom he had feigned

friendship those villains had released their blast. A shattered cabin, its sections tossed about the hillside.

The only comfort was that death must have been swift to the helpless man trapped within the doomed shack.

Rising, Cliff extinguished the light. He came back to the opened window and stared into the blackened night.

One hope had come to his tormented brain. He was sure that The Shadow had come to Paulington. It was

As he stared from the window, Cliff became suddenly alert. Yards away, beyond the fence, something had

blinked from among the trees. It came again: quick, instantaneous flickers of a flashlight.

FINDING his opened bag, Cliff dug deep and produced a flashlight. He blinked an answering symbol.

Blinking his light at the window, he signaled two names in the code used by The Shadow and his agents.

Zegler was the first name; Spadling the second. Then Cliff added a brief sentence stating that those men were

Blinks from beyond the fence. The Shadow's symbol for concluded transmission. Cliff signed off in return. A

profound ease settled through his throbbing brain. One step had been made against The Condor.

From small beginnings, The Shadow could produce great deeds. Hope held Cliff Marsland as he thought of

the future. The Shadow knew the fate of Harry Vincent; of that, Cliff was positive.

Inspired by vengeance, The Shadow would never relent until he had dealt destruction to those who deserved

it. Though The Condor might think himself secure, Cliff knew that the supercrook would be forced to cope

Brief though the time might be, Cliff Marsland felt the positive belief that before crooks left Mountview

IT was four o'clock the next afternoon. Half a dozen men were seated upon Table Rock, chatting while they

"Like as not, the fellow was blowed up in that cabin," remarked a big, unshaven chap whose voice carried a

rustic twang. "Figuring that, I can't see no reason for us tramping all along the slope."

"'Tain't the dead man we're looking for, Hank," observed a comrade. "The sheriff wants to find out who set

As the words were spoken, Sheriff Brock appeared from the cabin path. With him were three strangers. One

"Nothing much, Howie," responded Hank, as spokesman. "Luther, here, found what looked like a campfire

"Didn't look that way. I'd have said them logs have been lying there well nigh on to a month."

The sheriff waved for searchers to come down from the rock. They had been searching the terrain

individually; Table Rock was their meeting place. Obviously, Brock was going back to town, and the

TEN minutes after the searchers had left the ledge, a figure appeared silently from a lower path. It was The

Shadow, in the guise of Henry Arnaud. Up here on the slope, he had found little difficulty in avoiding the

Skirting the ledge, The Shadow cut in to the spot that he had examined on the night before, where loose

stones had marked progress up the slope. Tracing through scrub, he reached a tiny clearing. There, under the

Blackened logs were all that remained above gray ashes. But The Shadow, pressing logs aside, found

something that brought a soft laugh from his lips. It was the stump of a handfashioned cigarette.

To The Shadow's observation, this fire was of fairly recent building. Chunks from the small logs indicated

that someone had been careful to thoroughly extinguish it. That was why Hank had decided the fire was a

This tiny clearing was well hidden. A fire, burning here, could not have been seen from the ledge below. It

seemed likely that the person who had built the fire had come up from Table Rock. The Shadow's task was to

There was no path from the clearing. Hence there were two indications, among pressed bushes, that showed

the camper's course. One was down to Table Rock. The other, toward the rise of the hill.

Choosing this course, The Shadow began a trail. A dozen yards along, he made a discovery: another cigarette

stump trampled on the ground. Like the first, it was handmade. It had been carefully extinguished.

The trail continued. It bore west, skirting the slope. At one spot, broken branches of trees showed a course

through blocking boughs. Another wisp of cigarette paper furnished an additional clue.

These traces were not obvious. Only The Shadow, looking for them, could have discovered the path that a

prowler had taken. With the skill of a woodsman, he kept to his task, picking new indications that the sheriff's

An hour's journey brought him beyond the hill. There the trail veered; then was lost at an opening among the

trees. The Shadow, however, noted a tiny knoll that might have been an objective. He made in that direction.

A stream curved past the borders of the slope. A farmhouse stood beyond it; but on the stream itself, half a

A poor road showed among trees still further west. It offered means of travel between the mill and the good

dirt road that skirted the west side of the slope. The Shadow chose that road as his next point.

DESCENDING the slope, The Shadow suddenly came upon new traces of the same trail that he had taken

from the clearing above Table Rock. Evidently the stroller on the hillside had cut down to the road in the

A cigarette butt was the clue that proved this fact. Reaching the road, The Shadow discovered footprints in

The Shadow followed the trail no further. Keeping to the side of the road, he headed left. A westward walk of

more than a mile brought him to the good dirt highway. He followed it until he came to the upper end of the

old abandoned road on which Harry Vincent had left the flivver. The Shadow took to the abandoned road.

A coupe was parked beside the birch trees when The Shadow arrived at that spot. A man was standing beside

it, looking up the path. The Shadow approached and scuffed a stone as he advanced. The man spun about to

He was Clyde Burke, reporter from the New York Classic. Wiry built, active of manner, Clyde started tensely

as he awaited the arrival of the walker. He said nothing as he studied the immobile features of Henry Arnaud.

The Shadow raised his left hand. On the third finger, Clyde spied a gem that glittered despite the shade of the

trees above. The stone was a fire opal, a glimmering, living coal of varied hue; The Shadow's girasol.

"They've all gone back to town," stated Clyde, solemnly. "I told the sheriff I wanted to poke around here a

while. The other reporters went into Paulington. I'm to meet them at the office of Burgess Dowden."

A slow nod was The Shadow's response. In the steady manner of Henry Arnaud, he entered the car and took

"Remain at the Paulington House," ordered The Shadow, in Arnaud's steady tone. "Await instructions; and

"All right," agreed Clyde. "The sheriff found nothing up on the slope. It looks like there'd been people around

"Nothing. But he says and it sounds likely, too that whoever blew the place up could have gone around

Clyde had hesitated, choked as he sought to utter the name of Harry Vincent. The Shadow's response, in

Clyde nodded. He appreciated the fact that The Shadow had spoken without mentioning Harry's name. To

The Shadow was driving toward the forkk and Clyde studied his masklike countenance as they jounced from

the bad road. In the features of Henry Arnaud, he saw an inflexible, unyielding expression.

Grim fervor seized Clyde Burke. Like Cliff, he had vowed vengeance upon murderers. In The Shadow's firm

countenance, despite the fact that it was but a temporary guise, Clyde saw a determination that he knew must

Clyde recalled the vengeance that The Shadow had wreaked upon slayers who had killed an agent long ago.

He knew that this just being would always exact toll from men of evil. But the past could not vanish from

Harry Vincent was dead. That tragic thought gripped Clyde as it had held Cliff. With effort, Clyde managed

to regain his calmness. The Shadow's example had told him that he must face the future.

NO comment came from the lips of Henry Arnaud as the car rolled toward Paulington. It was not until they

It was Clyde's signal to leave. The agent clambered from the coupe. The Shadow drove off along a side street

The Shadow did not travel far, however. He skirted the town, came in by a side road and parked the coupe in

back of the Paulington House. It was time for the evening train. The Shadow strolled leisurely toward the

The local chugged into view; three passengers stepped from it. Standing away, The Shadow surveyed them;

suddenly his eyes became fixed upon a passenger of husky build whose keen eyes stared from a swarthy

The Shadow knew that stranger, with his firm jaw and shortclipped mustache. But The Shadow had not

expected to see him in Paulington. The arrival was Vic Marquette, operative for the United States secret

Vic was looking about, anxious to make some query. He saw the station agent and approached the man. The

Shadow, strolling close, heard Marquette inquire the way to Burgess Dowden's office. The station agent

The Shadow watched Marquette walk away. He waited; the operative entered the office building. Ten

minutes passed; then three reporters Burke included came strolling out to the sidewalk. The Shadow

Marquette had evidently introduced himself to sheriff and burgess. The result was a private conference. The

Shadow, however, was in no haste to learn the details. He strolled over to the Paulington House.

The clerk was reading a newspaper that had just arrived. Paulington was in the news. Last night's flash over

the press wires had added grim importance to the mystery explosion on the hillside.

That was why reporters had come here today; it was also why the clerk stared suspiciously at the features of

Henry Arnaud as The Shadow strolled upstairs. Strangers who failed to state their business were being

watched in Paulington. The clerk had already told the burgess that Henry Arnaud had checked in at the

Clouded sky; gloomy dusk. Blackness was thickening outside The Shadow's window. Half an hour had

passed since Marquette had entered the office building. The Shadow was seated at a table, about to seal an

His keen ears had caught the sound of footsteps. People were coming up the stairs to the third floor of the

hotel. Voices, though muffled, were carrying along the corridor of the old hotel; they could be heard through

Instantly, The Shadow extinguished the table lamp. Something swished; he was plucking cloak and hat from

an opened suitcase. The black garments donned, he produced a coil of rope from the bag; then clicked the

Men had arrived outside The Shadow's door. Someone was pounding; the gruff tones of Sheriff Brock were

SILENTLY, The Shadow placed the bag on the window sill. He attached the end of the rope to the bag

Stretching upward, The Shadow gained the edge of the hotel roof. His shape was a mass of swinging

blackness as it ascended. From the roof, The Shadow tugged at the cord. The suitcase swung like a pendulum;

A muffled crash from the room below. The sheriff had jolted the door with his shoulder; the lock had broken.

A light blinked on below. Crouched on the roof's edge, The Shadow listened. He could hear voices engaged

Two figures appeared by the open window. The Shadow could discern them as he leaned from the blackened

"Chase the reporters," suggested Vic in a tone that The Shadow could hear. "Tell them to go downstairs with

Brock barked an order. The Shadow heard departing footsteps; the muffled sound of a closing door. Brock

"This fellow Arnaud beat it, all right. That makes him look suspicious to me. The clerk says for sure that he

"Maybe he is phony," returned Marquette. "But as soon as we got over here to the hotel and heard the clerk's

"On account of the reporters," explained Marquette. "They were at our heels. They figured we were looking

for somebody. Listen, sheriff: we'll let those newshawks think we were after Arnaud. Not a word to them

"I'm with you on it. But are you sure that Arnaud couldn't be Spadling? Might be disguised, you know."

"Not a chance. The clerk says Arnaud is tall; with clear complexion and a solemn face. Spadling is bulky

like; he couldn't hide that. What's more, he's dark; and his mug is a mean one. He couldn't keep those bulging

"Right; and when we locate Spadling, we'll have a line on any phony business that's been going on around

The speaker moved back into the room. A door slam told of their departure. The Shadow crept along the roof;

he dropped his bag to the fire escape; then descended. He reached the coupe in back of the hotel. He started

CLYDE BURKE was eating an egg sandwich at the local lunch counter when a man entered and looked at

"Friend of yours sent this," he stated. "Some gent in a coupe. Asked me to bring it in here."

Clyde opened the message. He held it so he alone could see the writing. Coded words in bluish ink orders

from The Shadow. The writing faded to blankness; a way with all messages between The Shadow and his

agents. Clyde smiled as he thrust the blank sheet in his pocket. He tossed a quarter dollar to the messenger,

Outside of Paulington, a coupe was approaching the fork. It swung left at the junction point; from the

darkness behind the wheel came a whispered laugh. The Shadow, his part of Arnaud ended, was faring forth

THICK darkness lay beneath overhanging trees. Silence of night was disturbed only by the ripple of a little

stream. Then, barely audible in the gloom, came the closing of a door, followed by a momentary swish.

The Shadow had found the side road to the old mill. He had followed it until he discovered an open space

beside the road. There he had parked the coupe, between the road and the stream close by. His car was well

Moving stealthily along the bank of the stream, The Shadow chose a sure course toward the old mill. Despite

the sloshing mud that brinked the water, he progressed so silently that all sound of his advance was covered

At the end of one hundred yards, The Shadow encountered a structure of wood. It was the trough of an old

The Shadow followed this new line. He reached the wooden wall of the mill; moved to the right across a

shaky timber; then skirted the side of the building to find the dim light of a window.

Here The Shadow edged head and shoulder to the lower corner of a grimy pane. The glass was absent from

the upper sash. As The Shadow looked into the building, he could hear the sound of muffled voices.

Two men were seated in an oddly furnished room. It had once been combination office and storeroom; now it

had been fashioned into a crude living room. In one corner, The Shadow saw a battered counter; in another,

shelves that were sturdy in construction. There was a rolltop desk beyond the counter; a stove in the center

Added to these relics of the mill's forgotten glory were stuffed chairs and heavy tables that had come from an

oldfashioned parlor. The illumination was provided by two kerosene lamps; the light was sufficient to show

One was a brawny, longlimbed man whose face was hatchetlike. Hardeyed, smoothshaven, this

individual was dressed in clothes that were new, but poor in fit. It was plain that he must be the proprietor of

The other was a gawky, dullfaced rustic, whose chinless lower jaw was engaged in gum chewing. Seated on

the edge of a chair, his elbows slouched upon a table, this youth was drawling in a highpitched voice.

"You know, Uncle Hiram," he was saying, "folks was atellin' me that this here old mill oughta be opened up

again. Hain't many places hereabouts where they kin get the kinda flour they like."

"No?" queried the hatchetfaced man gruffly. "Well, if the folks you talk about would mind their own

"They say you've got enough money to start it goin' again, uncle," put in the youth. "They allow that you was

right smart buyin' an' sellin' property. They say there ain't no need for a man to be retirin', when he's no older

"You tell them that Hiram Zegler knows what he's doing. Agree with them that your uncle is a right smart

The gawky youth nodded. He arose from his chair and slouched about the room. He watched Hiram Zegler

"We're going to town, Elisha," informed the retired miller. "Get your cap. I'll let you drive the car."

"Hadn't you agoin' to draw up the net?" Elisha nudged toward a door at the far side of the room. "Mebbe

"I'm waiting a few days for a good catch," returned Zegler. "By the way, Elisha, remember that you're to keep

"Hadn't nobody agoin' to make trouble for you. They go polin' hereabouts an' the warden, he don't kick."

"No? Well, he would if he knew about it. And that's not all, Elisha. There's farmers all along here who would

put out nets of their own if they knew I was doing it. So keep quiet like you say you've been doing. Come

Elisha slouched over and took a cap from a peg. Hiram Zegler extinguished the lights. The two went out from

the room. When next they appeared, they had made their exit from a small door at the rear of the mill.

THE building was in a large clearing. Black against the side wall, The Shadow watched Zegler and his

nephew as they stalked to a tumbledown structure that served as their garage. Lights flashed; a sedan swung

out into a rutted drive. Then the car rolled to the road and jounced off in the direction of the Paulington road.

The Shadow pressed the window upward. The sash was unlocked. He made a silent entry in the darkness. His

flashlight blinked, guarded by the folds of his cloak. He approached the desk and raised its roll top.

Papers lay in disarray. None of them were important; they were chiefly bills from Paulington merchants, all

stamped "Paid." The Shadow opened small compartments. In one he found an old .32 revolver, unloaded. In

A bank book promised information; but the stubs bore no reference to the amount of Hiram Zegler's funds. A

In the back of the desk, The Shadow uncovered two metal tubes, each about six inches in length and two in

diameter. These had tightfitting screw covers. The Shadow opened each in turn. One held more fishhooks;

Odd bottles of pills were the only other items on view. Apparently Zegler kept nothing of value in the desk.

That was not surprising, because the ease of entry to the mill would have made theft simple during Zegler's

The Shadow's flashlight glimmered on a stairway that led upward. This indicated sleeping quarters above.

More important to The Shadow was the door that Elisha had indicated. This barrier must lead below the mill.

The tiny light glimmered on the lock, while a gloved hand worked with probing pick. A click sounded. The

Shadow opened the door and flashed his light upon a rickety stairway that curved as it descended.

The Shadow closed the door behind him. He followed the curved stairway; as he did, he heard the surge of

water. He came to the bottom and found a crude cellar. The center of the floor was open; through it poured

There were no openings in these lower walls. The only mode of entrance was from the room above, unless

one had chosen to swim under water and come in by the stream itself. As The Shadow moved toward the rear

of the mill, he shone his light into the water and discovered the net of which Elisha had spoken.

A thick, curved mesh that blocked the entire stream, the net offered an excellent trap for fish. The strength of

the current would tend to bring fish through the channel beneath the mill. Once in the net, they would be apt

Moving further back, The Shadow encountered a solid wall that stopped just above the surface of the water.

He could feel the rumble of surging current underneath the planks on which he stood. This indicated that the

In fact, there was something placid about the flow of the central channel. The water seemed to increase in

power and volume as it reached the net. As The Shadow studied this fact, he caught a sound from above. It

Placing his hand against the low ceiling, The Shadow sensed a creaking. Moving forward, he followed it. for

half a dozen paces. His light was no longer blinking. Someone had entered the mill from the door which

PICKING his way through darkness, The Shadow gained the stairway. He ascended and stopped when he

arrived at the closed door. Carefully, he turned the latch. He opened the door a fraction of an inch.

Light gleamed through the opening. The Shadow saw a man moving away from a table upon which stood a

The newcomer was going toward the desk. He was neither Zegler nor Elisha; The Shadow could tell that,

despite the fact that the man had moved into gloom. The intruder reached the desk; there he blinked a

The fellow's face was away from The Shadow's view. Slowly, The Shadow opened the door and crept from

the stairway. He closed the door noiselessly behind him. Spectral beyond the fringe of light, he looked like a

The Shadow could easily have gained the window by which he had entered. Or, as second choice, he could

have glided along the wall to make sure progress to the outer door. Strangely, he took neither course.

Instead, he moved softly to the center of the room. His gloved hands weaponless in front of his black cloak,

he took a position a dozen feet behind the man who was inspecting Zegler's desk.

At no point did he block the lamplight. So careful was his advance that the intruder caught no indication of it.

Then The Shadow delivered a hissed laugh. Like a ghost mysteriously materialized in the very center of the

room, he spoke his sibilant mirth. Toned to a weird whisper, the laugh shivered its echoes from the walls of

Then man at the desk wheeled about. As he swung, he shot his right hand to his hip and snapped it upward, to

display a gun. Automatically, his quick aim was directed straight toward the figure of The Shadow.

A strained, hunted face showed pale in the gloom. Lips gasped; the right hand dropped weakly.

Mechanically, the intruder stepped forward; then halted. He had reached a spot where his face was within the

The Shadow's laugh had ended. Burning eyes from beneath the slouch hat were fixed upon the countenance

before them. No longer did the startled intruder show anxiety; instead, his expression was one of vast relief.

Small wonder. The Shadow had recognized this intruder. That was why he had revealed himself. The man

THE SHADOW'S right hand was pointing toward a chair beside the table. Harry Vincent nodded. He walked

In following The Shadow's order, Harry had blocked the lamplight. No longer did The Shadow's shape stand

in clear outline. It had become a spectral form, shrouded by the darkness that closed in from the walls. Still,

"You came to Paulington," stated The Shadow, his voice an intonation. "You purchased a car and left the

garage shortly after seven o'clock. You should have reached the cabin before eight."

"You were delayed," resumed The Shadow. "A tire went flat on the abandoned road. You stopped to change

Another nod from Harry. He did not have to tell the story. The Shadow had traced events himself. Listening,

The flat spare tire; mud on the base of a brand new jack. These were indications of importance. Then Harry

thought of the old road and remembered the muddy spot where he had shifted tires. The Shadow must have

"You heard the explosion," declared The Shadow, his tone solemn and level. "You saw men there afterward.

Your duty was to remain on the slope. You kept out of sight in the darkness. Later, you chose Table Rock as

"The ledge was too conspicuous a location. You went further up the hill and camped. You thought it best to

The Shadow paused. Harry was about to speak, when his chief raised a silencing hand. The Shadow delivered

"A man went into that cabin," intoned The Shadow. "State if you were close enough to know that he had

"YES," he said. "I heard someone coming into the path. Up ahead of me. It sounded like he was going to the

cabin. I wasn't sure about it, though, until I saw a flashlight blink. I hadn't been using my own light on the

"He was moving quick, though, and I had a hunch it might be somebody who had spotted me in town and

footed it out from Paulington. Either to be ahead of me or walk in on me. So I waited down the path; then the

"I stayed where I was until I heard prowlers coming my direction. Then I cut off through the woods and

watched their lights blink. Finally they went up toward Table Rock. I followed; I found a path and lost it;

Harry paused. He managed a smile as he rubbed his face. His cheeks and chin were scrubby. He had not

"I cached my bag," resumed Harry. "Up on the hill, away from the rock. Where I made camp. I was short on

cigarettes; but I had papers and pipe tobacco, and I rolled my own. I guess the stumps left something of a

Harry stopped, realizing that he had more important word to give. Facts concerning Cliff Marsland.

"I made a trip to Mountview Lodge," he stated. "On the second night, because of Cliff. I knew he wouldn't be

"I found contact. Flashlight signals. Cliff sent me two names; both important. Persons outside of the lodge,

who apparently have something to do with it. One name was Spadling. I'd never heard it; but I know the

"The old map showed the name of Zegler with this mill property. This morning I lugged my bag along with

me to the knoll on the north slope. I sighted the mill and saw the road that led to it. I came down the hill and

"Zegler and another fellow drove out tonight. I was watching from down the road. When their car had gone

by, I came in here to see what I could find. There's nothing of importance in the desk."

Harry sat silent, his story completed. It was he, not The Shadow, who had gained the news from Cliff. Now

that The Shadow had finally received the information, the name of Spadling had significance as well as that

"ALL the indications," informed The Shadow, his eyes fixed upon Harry, "show that the murderers came

from Mountview Lodge. They visited the cabin to slay a man whom they suspected to be an enemy.

"That man was Spadling. Sought by the law, he was a menace to those in Mountview Lodge. His name is

"More must be learned of Spadling. Your task will be to gain that information. You shall go to Paulington, to

Harry stared blankly. He could not understand The Shadow's plan. To Harry, a return to the town meant that

Understanding dawned on Harry's face. The Shadow's agent knew the secret service operative. They had

worked together in the past. Vic Marquette was one who recognized the power of The Shadow.

Moreover, Vic knew that Harry took orders from the cloaked chief. On that account, Marquette would accept

whatever Harry told him. The Shadow was taking good advantage of the operative's presence in Paulington.

The Shadow's voice had lowered to a sinister hiss. His words came steadily to Harry's ears. Rising, the agent

extinguished the light; he followed the blinks of The Shadow's flashlight toward the rear door of the mill.

All the while, The Shadow's words continued; brief, whispered phrases. Each intonation drilled itself into

Harry's brain. After each pause came an added statement. The light blinked toward the road; close by The

Shadow, Harry kept on walking until he neared the spot where he had hidden his bag in the woods.

There Harry stopped. He heard The Shadow's final whisper. In a low tone, Harry answered:

The flashlight no longer blinked. Harry heard a swish in darkness. He caught a whispered laugh that faded in

the night. The Shadow had struck off through the trees; his course was toward the slope.

Groping in the darkness, Harry found his bag and lifted it. He carried it along the road, using his own

flashlight at intervals until he found a clear space on the right. Following The Shadow's instructions, Harry

He started the motor and drove out into the road. Heading for Paulington, he speculated on events to come.

He knew that his arrival in the town would produce a sensational surprise. His course, however, would not be

Harry Vincent was coming back from the dead. With Clyde Burke, he would be ready when The Shadow

needed him. Harry was taking The Shadow's place in Paulington. The Shadow had become the watcher on

VIC MARQUETTE was glowering across the desk in Burgess Dowden's office. Dowden, himself, looked

"I'll grant you one point," declared Marquette. "If it hadn't been for those newspaper accounts, I wouldn't

have come here. I would be looking over around Southbridge, where Spadling mailed his letter.

"But now that I am here, I'm in a jam. These reporters know I'm somebody. I can't move without them being

on my neck. If I let them know I'm looking for Clint Spadling; if the word gets out that I'm a Federal man, the

Marquette paused. Someone was pounding at the office door. Vic nodded to the sheriff; Brock bellowed to

Hank, one of the countrymen who had helped the sheriff after the cabin blast, entered. He was wearing a

deputy's badge. Puffed with selfimportance, he made an announcement to the sheriff.

"Jest picked up a suspicious character," informed Hank. "Leastwise, some of the boys did. Looks like the

fellow we've been ahunting for. Hain't shaved; clothes all covered with burrs. Ketched him awalking down

"Hadn't found out," returned Hank. "Says he hadn't atalking to nobody except you. They're bringing him up

There were footsteps on the stairs. Brock went to the door. He saw two deputies marching an unshaven man

Brock waved reporters back; then told the deputies to follow. He closed the door to survey the prisoner.

Before Brock could say a word, Marquette was on his feet. The operative had been waiting for the door to

HARRY grinned as he heard Vic's welcome. He shook hands with Marquette while Dowden and Brock

"An old friend of mine," he explained. "Harry Vincent, from New York. He's been a valuable aid in certain

government cases. If he knows anything about this cabin business, you'll hear it. Go ahead, Vincent."

"Mighty odd, meeting you here, Vic," laughed Harry. "It's a break for me, I suppose. It seems as though

"Let me tell my story," returned Harry. "After all, there's not much to it; but it's been something of an ordeal.

Brock was blurting another interruption. Marquette stopped him and motioned for Harry to continue. Harry

"I arrived in Paulington two nights ago," declared The Shadow's agent. "I saw the hotel and thought of

stopping there. But I happened to make inquiry at the garage and I learned that there was an unoccupied cabin

"I thought that I should see the place; then find out who owned it and rent it for a few weeks, if it proved

suitable. I leased a flivver from the garage man and followed his directions. A tire went flat when I reached

"After fixing the tire, I went on to find the cabin. Halfway up the path, I stopped. I saw a light blinking

somewhere near the spot where I thought the cabin must be. Then came an explosion. It seemed as though the

"I was half stunned. By the time I was recovered from the shock, I saw lights coming my direction. I took to

the woods, my bag with me. My return to the road was cut off. I didn't know what would happen next."

"Logical enough," observed Marquette, as Harry paused. "That would have seemed like a tough spot to any

"My bag was pretty heavy," resumed Harry, "but I didn't notice it. Not until I was a mile up the slope. I

wanted to get away and stay under cover. When I stopped to think things over, I felt sure that the dynamiters

"I couldn't go back to the car. I wandered around to get my bearings and finally I struck a broad, stony ledge

"I CAMPED up above the ledge," stated Harry. "The weather had turned nice and I liked the woods. So I

"But this morning, I heard new prowlers along the slope. I hid my bag and cut over to the north of the hill,

waiting for darkness. Then I came back, picked up my bag and headed for town. I didn't look for the flivver.

"I'd like to know what that bunch is doing on the hill. I don't know how many were there two nights ago; but

"They were my men, today," interposed the sheriff. "We thought you'd been blowed up in that shack, young

fellow. But that pack two nights ago well, it beats me figuring who they were. There's no outlaws in these

"Let's hold it off, sheriff," suggested Marquette, seriously. "The best thing we can do right now is get rid of

"How will you manage that?" queried the burgess. "I refer to the matter of sending the reporters back to New

"Easily," returned Marquette. "Here we have Vincent, the man that was supposed to be dead. An explosion

"That's right," agreed the sheriff. "And after they've gone, we can start looking "

"Vincent is all right," declared Vic. "In fact, it would be a good idea to have him stay here. He might as well

"You see, Vincent" Vic swung to Harry "I'm looking for a scoundrel named Geoffrey Spadling. Known

as Clint Spadling, to his pals. A smart crook, Spadling. Something of a promoter in his way.

"He has contacts with smugglers, counterfeiters and what not. When he gets a good proposition, he brings in

others to help him. Well, a few days ago, we raided a print shop out in Cleveland. It was a blind for a

"We picked up some plates and a batch of queer money. Along with the fake mazuma was a note to one of

the gang. It was signed by Clint Spadling, telling the fellow to meet him in Southbridge.

"I figured the appointment wouldn't be kept. I intended to come to Southbridge myself. Then I read about the

explosion near here. It just hit me that Spadling might be hooked up with it. I've got an idea right now as to

"SUPPOSE Spadling was here with an outfit," suggested Marquette, "with a money machine working. He's

pretty foxy. He'd have read about that raid in Cleveland. It got into the newspapers. He'd know that we might

"You mean he could have been using the shack?" questioned the burgess. "As headquarters for his band?"

"That's the idea, burgess," broke in the sheriff. "Marquette means that the gang may have blown up the place

"Not quite," asserted Marquette. "Spadling is too smart a bird for that, sheriff. He would have a more

elaborate headquarters than an abandoned cabin. The purpose of the explosion would be to make us think that

"The cabin could have been a blind," nodded the burgess. "The real headquarters located somewhere else."

"That's it," acknowledged Marquette. "That's why I'm staying in town. And Vincent, too, in case he may be

useful. We're going to look for places where the crew might be located. I'm just beginning to get the drift of

"Say, burgess," blurted the sheriff, pounding the desk as he spoke, "you know that swell lodge around the

"Mountview Lodge?" Dowden smiled as he shook his head. "Hardly, Brock. Griscom Treft, the man who

"You're right, burgess. Just the same, nobody knows much about Treft. I wouldn't have suspicioned anything,

mind you in fact, I don't say that I'm suspicioning yet. But the slope can't swallow people. They've got to be

"Mountview Lodge," mused Marquette. "Is it the only place nearby that has a good front?"

"The only one," admitted the burgess. "The farms hereabout are of little account. It might be worth your

"Let him try it," clucked the sheriff. "Say did you ever see anybody who'd been inside that fence of Treft's?

I've been over there myself; and it's my opinion those wires on the fence are hooked up with an alarm.

"The lock on that gate is something nobody could bust. And who ever comes out of the place? Nobody except

the chauffeur; that sneakylooking fellow with a face like a rat. Drives down town in his coupe to buy grub.

"There are guests at the lodge," recalled the burgess. "Sometimes one of them is seen with the chauffeur. Do

"Apparently," said Marquette, sourly, "it would be impossible for me to enter Mountview Lodge, no matter

"What's that?" The sheriff thrust forth his beefy jaw. "You say no matter who's in there? Listen, Marquette

"We don't stand for too much ceremony in this county. When we want search warrants, we get them. Quick,

too. If we make mistakes, we apologize and nobody feels sore. If a man's got nothing to hide, he won't care if

"You say the word and we'll walk into Mountview Lodge. And we'll do it some way that will work the way

IT was plain that Brock meant what he said. Marquette looked pleased. He glanced at a calendar, then

"I'll catch Judge Foxcroft tomorrow," returned Brock. "I'll have the warrant dated for the twelfth. Does that

"It does," agreed Marquette. "Maybe we will use it; maybe we won't. I'll think it over, sheriff. Right now"

"You're coming with me, Vincent. You can stay at the hotel. After you've shaved, we'll go out and get a real

"I was lucky enough to have a pound bar of chocolate in my bag," stated Harry. "I grabbed some ham and

"It won't hurt to eat again," decided Marquette. "Come along. I'll send the reporters in, burgess, after I've

Dowden and Brock nodded. Vic and Harry went out of the office. Downstairs they encountered the reporters.

Vic introduced Harry, who duplicated the statement that he had made in Dowden's office.

Vic Marquette started for the hotel, while two reporters went into the office building. Clyde Burke lingered

long enough to grip Harry Vincent's hand. The warmth of the clasp told the joy that Clyde had experienced

"I'll slip you a report," confided Harry in a low tone. "At the lunch wagon. Your car's just outside of town.

Harry followed Marquette. He registered at the hotel. Alone in his room, he took time before shaving to

inscribe a report to The Shadow. This told of Vic Marquette's decision to investigate Mountview Lodge.

Vic had listened to Harry's story. It had registered. But the brief tale had produced a crossdevelopment. The

Shadow had ordered Harry to make no statement regarding the death of Clint Spadling, the actual victim of

The Shadow's purpose had been to minimize the importance of the blast. For once, The Shadow's plans had

met with a reverse twist. Chance discourse in the office of Burgess Dowden had brought suspicion upon

Vic Marquette believed that crooks might be there. Dangerous men, headed by Clint Spadling. Crooks were

there indeed; but of a stripe more menacing than any Marquette had ever encountered.

A battle was impending between the law and The Condor. The odds would lie against the law. Yet Harry had

a hunch that The Shadow would not prevent it. For The Shadow, himself, would be close at hand to weigh

TWENTYFOUR hours had elapsed since Harry Vincent's return to Paulington. Reporters, satisfied that

there was no further story, had made their departure. One, however, had not gone to New York.

Clyde Burke was the exception. He had contacted with The Shadow, near the path on the abandoned road.

After that, Clyde had driven to the little city of Southbridge, some five miles distant. He had called Harry

There had been no need for contact, however. Nothing had happened in Paulington on this first day of Harry's

return. Sheriff Brock had gone to the county seat and had not returned. Vic Marquette, strolling about with

Harry, had made no comment whatever upon his coming plans. He had not even mentioned the search

Clouded evening had brought a somberness to the entire countryside. The pall of quiet that lay over

Paulington was existent also at Mountview Lodge. Cliff Marsland, strolling on the veranda, felt a sense of

He was still brooding because he believed Harry Vincent dead. He was troubled, also, because he had learned

nothing new from Griscom Treft. The Condor had promised to show Cliff the strong room beneath the lodge;

Corey had gone out in the coupe this evening. Cliff had seen the chauffeur leave, half an hour ago. Jengley

had been present at the time; he had gone in shortly afterward. At present, Thuler was on the piazza, at the

The opening of the front door awoke Cliff from reverie. Delland came out; the secretary beckoned. Cliff

approached him; Delland stated that the chief wanted to see him in the study. Cliff entered the house.

Scarcely had Cliff gone in before lights showed at the lower end of the drive. Corey was back, unlocking the

massive gates. Delland and Jengley watched the car pull forward and stop while Corey locked up again. Then

Corey alighted in darkness. He saw the light in The Condor's study, a gleam that showed hazily through

frosted window and grilled framework. Corey's footsteps crunched the gravel as the chauffeur walked hastily

Immediately, the top of the rumble seat moved up at the back of the coupe. Keen eyes peered from the

interior. Corey had brought along a rider whose presence he did not suspect. A figure emerged in darkness.

The Shadow had found a way of entering the Mountview Lodge grounds without giving an alarm. But he had

no intention of invading the lodge itself. Instead, he took to the grass beside the drive and merged with

CLIFF was seated in The Condor's study, listening to Treft as the master crook developed a forgotten theme.

The Condor had recalled his promise to show Cliff the strong room. He was chuckling over the surprise that

"I spoke of a natural stronghold," Treft was saying. "It is all that, Marsland. All that and more. But words can

Treft broke off as the door of the study opened. Corey stalked in, his face sour. He approached the desk and

"From Zegler," stated the chauffeur. "He started to talk to me, when I met him at the fork. I asked him if

"Never mind, Corey," interposed Treft, harshly. "We shall discuss the matter after I read the note. Sit down;

The Condor perused the message. Cliff watched his expression; Treft registered no concern. Finished with his

"A trifling complication," was The Condor's verdict. "Zegler was in town last night and this evening. He has

"He seemed worried, chief," protested Corey. "Of course, I know what Zegler's like. Just a countryman that

"Zegler is useful," declared The Condor, wisely. "He belongs to me completely. He is bought and paid for;

and he excites no suspicion about Paulington. No one would dream that he had connection here.

"He is troubled chiefly because some stranger is in town. The man's name is Marquette; Zegler thinks that he

is a secret service operative, attempting to trace Clint Spadling. I believe that Zegler is right."

"I knew of a Fed named Marquette," stated Corey. "I never saw him, though. But what about this other fellow

"His name is Harry Vincent." Cliff started as he heard The Condor speak; fortunately, Treft was eyeing Corey

and did not note Cliff's face. "It was he, not Spadling, who hired the car in Paulington."

"Yes," replied The Condor. "Zegler states that Vincent heard the explosion and took to the woods. Last night

be came out of hiding and appeared in town. His story ended the mystery. It is now conceded that no one

"Say" Corey managed a grin "that fixes it all right, chief. Why was Zegler worried?"

"Marquette is still in town," explained Treft. "He is keeping Vincent with him. Probably he expects to find

Spadling. Well" The Condor chuckled evilly "let him wait. He will give it up eventually."

Rising, The Condor waved his hand in dismissal. Corey went from the room. The Condor laughed

"Spadling was a pal of Corey's once," explained Treft. "Somehow, he traced Corey here. They saw each other

in town. Corey informed me; I told him to meet Spadling and be friendly. To advise him that it would be best

"Spadling failed to accept the hint. Instead of leaving, he roamed the hillside. Zegler, our outside man,

"Our explosion was for Spadling's benefit. He was in the shack when we blew it from its moorings. A wise

deed on our part, now that we know Spadling was being sought by Federal agents."

THE CONDOR led the way through a side door of the study. Cliff followed, his elation high. He recognized

the truth. Spadling, spying on Mountview Lodge, must have seen Harry come to town, and learned that Harry

The coincidence had been fortunate. The Condor's crew had planted dynamite during Spadling's temporary

absence. Had Harry arrived first, he would have been the victim. Spadling had beaten Harry there; a crook

The Condor was leading the way down an inner stairway. A lighted cellar was reached; there he stalked to the

rear and stopped before an iron door set in the rock. The Condor lifted a bar of metal and clanged against the

An interval followed. Scraping came from beyond the door. Released, the barrier swung outward. Cliff saw a

steep passage hewn through rock. Standing within the door was a brawny, darkskinned giant who had the

The Condor spoke in a babbling tongue. The huge man bowed and stood aside. Treft and Cliff entered. The

"The man is Salyuk," he stated. "Up ahead is Toklar, awaiting us" Cliff saw another huge man at the end of

The Condor paused while Salyuk passed to join Toklar. Like mammoth slaves, the two unbarred another door

"Both Salyuk and Toklar," explained Treft, "are Singhalese. They spent their lives in the ruby mines of

Ceylon. I brought them to America as servants. I wanted two faithful serfs who could dwell underground."

The second door was swinging outward. Lights glimmered from within. Treft motioned Cliff forward. The

Singhalese servants stood aside. Cliff stopped short, his eyes wide with astonishment at sight of The Condor's

BEYOND the corridor was a spreading limestone cavern. Long stalactites hung from its vaulted ceiling, like

shapely icicles. Beneath them were stumpy stalagmites, upon which drops of water fell.

Hidden lights illuminated the walls. Flowstone formations produced a marvelous display. The cave was an

Ali Baba's cavern, rendered majestic by the lights. Cliff felt The Condor's claw upon his shoulder as his

"This cave was known," stated Treft, his harsh voice echoing from the tinted walls. "But it was scarcely

noticed; never explored, until I had built the lodge. Our store of dynamite in the cellar was used, in part, to

They were turning a corner in the cavern. The Condor paused to point out a formation in the limestone of the

ceiling. A light glowed full upon the shape a beaked bird, black upon white background.

"Curious," chortled The Condor, "that I should have a profile here so much like my own. However, as I was

saying, we had dynamite left over; and some of it proved useful when we disposed of Spadling, a few nights

The cavern opened into a niche at the left. The Condor pointed. Cliff saw a pyramid of stacked boxes. All

were cubical in shape; each two feet square. They formed a pile six feet in height.

"Teakwood boxes," informed The Condor. "Filled with our treasure. Your pearls, Marsland, have been added

"Before we depart, day after tomorrow, we shall hold a meeting in this grotto. We shall survey our wealth;

To the right of the niche, Cliff observed a stack of curious objects. They reminded him of torpedoes, save for

the fact that the ends were somewhat blunt. A large array of metal cylinders, they tapered in size.

The lowermost was more than six feet in length and three feet in diameter. The others were smaller: some

three feet long and one foot through; others half that size. Atop the stack were tiny cylinders, fully two dozen.

"Special containers," explained The Condor. "To be used instead of the boxes, in case we find difficulty in

removing the treasure. These could be packed and carried separately by individuals.

"The first ones were made too large. They will be useless to us. I had the smaller containers constructed

afterward. One of those small ones, Marsland, would carry Walpin's pearls quite nicely."

The Condor's tone carried a strange warning note that Cliff had heard before. It was harsh; it brooded no

"Come here." The Condor clamped his clawlike hand on Cliff's shoulder. "View this remarkable sight at the

TREFT led Cliff to a spot where the roof sloped to the ground. A light reflected the surface of a limpid pool.

"Ten feet in depth," stated Treft. "Yet the eye would estimate inches only. The lake is fed by hidden springs.

"Listen." The Condor drew Cliff toward the low end of the passage. A sighing roar sounded from the floor of

Treft pressed a button against the limestone wall. A floodlight showed a low passage curving from the end of

the pool. Cliff saw a stream of water pouring down into the ground. Its echoes roared back, muffled by the

"A natural dam of smooth limestone," stated The Condor. "Over it, like a waterfall, pours the surplus water

Cliff nodded. The beauty of the natural waterflow impressed him. Momentarily, his mind was freed from the

strain of his past surroundings. Then came The Condor's fierce clamp. Cliff was jarred into reality.

Treft switched off the single light. They moved back past the pool, away from the treasure niche, down

Salyuk and Toklar closed the inner barrier after they had passed. They continued to the outer door, Salyuk

Then they reached the cellar. The massive portal was closed and barred behind them. Cliff had seen the

strong room; a spot of matchless beauty, hidden beneath a lair of evil. The surroundings of the lodge seemed

It was late. The others had retired with the exception of Corey and Trossler, who were putting the place in

order for the night. The Condor bade his harsh good night. Cliff went upstairs to his room.

He stood by the window, speculating on the facts that he had learned. The good news concerning Harry

Vincent had restored Cliff's courage. His visit to the strong room had given him valuable material for a

Cliff realized that it would take formidable force to smash through to The Condor's underground grotto. He

wondered, though, just how Treft would handle matters if the place were besieged. Despite the massive doors

Prompt removal of the swag, for instance, would be difficult if invaders managed to enter the lodge. Cliff

speculated on that fact as he extinguished the light. As on a previous night, he stared out into darkness.

Again, Cliff Marsland became suddenly alert. Something was blinking from the night. Not from beyond the

It was The Shadow's signal. Cliff's real chief had passed the wired fence. Cliff realized now that on the other

night, Harry Vincent could have been the man to whom he had flashed the names of Zegler and Spadling.

This time it was The Shadow. He alone could have contrived secret entrance past the barring gate.

Quickly, Cliff found his flashlight, to blink his response to The Shadow's call.

New flashes from the night. Cliff spelled brief, coded words. He understood their meaning. The Shadow was

Cliff turned on the light and sat down at a little table. Producing a fountain pen, he began to write in code;

swiftly, but in comprehensive fashion. Brief as he told of the report from Zegler through Corey, he became

Cliff penned every detail of the grotto. The iron doors the Singhalese servants the teakwood boxes the

metal carrying tubes the underground lake the dam that formed the outlet to the pool on all points Cliff

These were facts that The Shadow might require later. Cliff spared no details. His description finished, he

folded the message and placed it in an envelope. Turning out the light, he blinked that he was ready.

A short reply ordered him to let the envelope drop from the window. Hard upon that message, The Shadow

blinked the signoff signal. Cliff thrust the envelope between two bars and let it flutter to the ground below.

He blinked that the message was on its way. In response came the same signal as before. To sign off.

Thinking that The Shadow had failed to get his final statement, Cliff repeated it. There was no answer.

Puzzled, Cliff blinked a query. Still no response. The Shadow had ended contact. Cliff was about to send

another call, when he realized his stupidity. He knew that he should have stopped at once, when he saw that

Cliff was to learn the fruits of his mistake. A bright light suddenly glared from beyond the opened window. It

was from the front of the garage. Cliff saw Corey at the door of the building, the coupe on the foreground.

Coming to his senses, Cliff sprang over and turned on the room light. His act was a wise one. A moment

afterward, someone began to rap upon his door. Cliff turned the knob and opened the unlocked door. Trossler

"COME, Marsland," rasped the grayhaired man. "Come to the study. Trossler, join Corey. The others will

Fiercely, Treft pointed to the stairs. Cliff said nothing. He took the course that Treft ordered. There was

commotion in the hallway as they passed. Members of The Condor's band had been aroused. They were

Delland was in the study. The palefaced secretary was wearing a dressing gown. The handle of a revolver

projected from his pocket. Treft motioned toward the door. He ordered Delland to summon Corey while the

Cliff sat in the chair opposite Treft. He met The Condor's gaze squarely. Unflinchingly, he said nothing; he

did not intend to speak until Treft so commanded. The Condor, in turn, maintained a vicious silence. He was

Three minutes later, the chauffeur entered. The Condor motioned him to a chair, then ordered Corey to speak.

"I was going out to the garage," he stated, "when I thought I saw something blink from Marsland's room.

Right after that I saw a flash on the ground near the house, as if somebody was signaling with a torch.

"Then there were blinks from Marsland's window. I knew he was using a flashlight. I waited until he was

finished. Then I started back to the house. Trossler was on the porch. He came in to give the alarm. I went to

"Nobody," returned the chauffeur. "But I'd say for sure the lights were inside the fence."

"The fellow wasn't close to the house to begin with," asserted Cliff. "I saw his flashlight off across the lawn.

He was signaling, all right. My room was dark; I had just opened the window for the night.

"The idea hit me that some prowler was trying to stir up trouble. As luck had it, my flashlight was on the

bureau. I picked it up and blinked back. The fellow answered. What was more, he came closer."

"Nothing," returned Cliff, promptly. "Just intermittent flashes. When I saw he was approaching, I drew him

on. Then the other light quit. I was coming from my room to spread the news, when you arrived with

THE CONDOR'S eyes were cold; yet Cliff did not flinch. After a few moments, Treft turned to Corey.

"You know Morse code," he said to the chauffeur. "Tell me could you read Marsland's flashes?"

"No, I couldn't," admitted Corey. "What's more, chief, they didn't blink like code. I couldn't even make Morse

Cliff curbed an expression of satisfaction. The Shadow's code was an intricate one; Cliff had always

wondered why it required letters with an abundance of dots and dashes, with double dashes in some letters.

The Shadow's purpose in complicating the code was now apparent. Eyeing The Condor, Cliff saw the master

"Very well, Marsland," decided Treft. "Our suspicion was natural, since you were the last person to arrive

here. However, we shall learn all we require when we have captured that fool who is inside the grounds."

"It might be some pal of Spadling's," suggested Corey, in a troubled tone. "Clint was a wise bird, chief. If

"Enough, Corey," inserted Treft. "I have already considered that possibility. Marsland, you are a valuable

man. You brought your swag and showed the proper token. I shall give you the benefit of the doubt.

"But until that stupid prowler is captured, I shall keep you under surveillance. There is a room on the ground

"That will be your new quarters. The door will be locked while you are inside. In a sense, you will be a

prisoner; actually, your status will be that of probation. You will be allowed to associate with your

The Condor paused to watch Cliff's reaction. The Shadow's agent remained stolid.

"This is not punishment," declared Treft. "It will be accepted as a voluntary submission on your part for the

"None at all," responded Cliff. "I realize now that I would have done better to inform you at the beginning.

"Good!" The Condor seemed pleased as he stood up and clamped Cliff's shoulder. "You have given a proper

HALF an hour after Cliff's interview with The Condor, the last of the searchers entered the lodge. They had

Soon after all were inside, Corey came out with Thuler. The two entered the coupe and drove to the gate.

Thuler stood on guard by the headlights while Corey unlocked the barrier. Thuler waited while the chauffeur

rolled the coupe through; then stood by with a glowing flashlight while Corey locked the gate.

The coupe started along the road to town. Thuler handled a spotlight by the windshield while Corey drove at

The top of the rumble seat came up. A shadowy, unseen figure emerged. Keen eyes peered through the

halfopened window at the rear of the coupe's seat. The Shadow was again traveling as supercargo.

"It beats me," insisted Thuler. "You know, I'm beginning to think that the fellow was further away than you

"Marsland said he was inside," returned Corey. "I was sure of it anyway. He must have gotten over the fence

"Chances are he is," replied the chauffeur. "The chief's going to keep him in that firstfloor storeroom,

"Until we pull out, so the chief told me. That is, if we don't snag the boob who was around the place tonight."

"The fellow outside the house was no boob. I'd say he was smart, the way he ducked us."

The men became silent. The coupe's speed increased. It skirted the hill until it reached the converging forks

"No use in going further," he decided. "We'll look things over on the way back."

"Yeah," replied Corey. "After I'd been in town. Had to wait ten minutes for the guy."

THE SHADOW was emerging from the rumble seat. As Corey forged forward to the ditch, a shape of

blackness dropped to the road. The Shadow sidled away before Corey backed. His figure, revealed vaguely

The coupe started back to the lodge. The Shadow whispered a laugh as the taillight twinkled in the distance.

He had learned enough to know that Cliff Marsland was not in serious danger. Had he heard otherwise, he

The Shadow had spied the coupe earlier tonight. Here at the fork, during Corey's wait. He had entered the

rumble seat while the chauffeur was out of the car talking to Zegler. That explained his arrival at Mountview

A flashlight blinked. Here on the darkened road, The Shadow read Cliff's message. Again his laugh

whispered in sinister tone. From fading writing, The Shadow had learned facts that he had sought.

Strangely, he had gained more from Cliff's report that even Cliff would have suspected. There were loose

threads in that message; facts that fitted with others that The Shadow had already noted. The Shadow had

The flashlight darkened. The Shadow moved toward the solid blackness of the hill. His would be another

IN his new room at Mountview Lodge, Cliff Marsland lay awake upon a narrow bunk. Cliff was satisfied that

he had bluffed The Condor. In so doing, he had counted on The Shadow's ability at the art of sheer

Cliff's statement that someone was close to the house had coincided with Corey's. It was the stroke that had

curbed The Condor's suspicions. In protecting himself, Cliff had not jeopardized The Shadow.

He had guessed that the grounds would be thoroughly searched; and he knew, from past experiences, that The

The fact that he had not been summoned from this temporary prison was proof to Cliff that The Shadow had

accomplished a safe departure. To Cliff, the future promised danger, but not disaster.

The Shadow had managed one visit to Mountview Lodge. He would arrive again, should Cliff require aid.

FIVE o'clock the next afternoon. Harry Vincent was lounging in the lobby of the Paulington House, staring

out toward the dull asphalt of the town's main street. He watched men stroll idly by on the opposite sidewalk.

Something was brewing. Harry had known that since noon, when Sheriff Brock had arrived to talk with Vic

Marquette. Today was the twelfth, the date on which Brock had promised a search warrant. Harry believed

Moreover, those men opposite were not idlers. They were deputies, on tap, should they be needed.

Apparently, Brock had summoned them after a conference with Marquette. Yet Harry, so far, had gleaned no

The clerk was drawling from behind the desk. Harry swung in that direction, expecting that Clyde Burke

"No need to answer it," the fellow informed. "It's from Burgess Dowden's office. They want you to come

Harry felt keen elation as he strode from the old hotel. He made quick time to Dowden's office, knowing that

at last facts were to be told. Arriving, he found the burgess and the sheriff in conference with Vic Marquette.

"Apologies, Vincent," said Vic, with a smile. "Guess you've been wondering where you rated, with all this

secrecy afoot. Well, I've just been waiting until our plans were set, before I let you in on the deal."

"We're raiding Mountview Lodge tonight," explained the operative. "Sheriff Brock is taking a posse of thirty

men. You and I will be with them, as deputies. It's going to be a county proposition."

"Not the way I've planned it," chuckled Marquette. Brock and Dowden grinned with him. "Vincent, we're

going to go past that gate as smooth as plush. We'd be able to move in an army, if we wanted."

"Griscom Treft has a chauffeur," explained the operative, "who drives down to town nearly every evening.

"Well," stated Marquette, "when Mr. Corey shows up tonight, he will be arrested. We'll take his keys and

unlock that gate for ourselves. A car will go through; but it won't be Corey's. It'll be us, with the search

"With half the posse inside to help us," added Brock. "To back us up in case some cuss tries to make trouble."

"You stay with me from now on, Vincent," stated Marquette. "You're going to be in on some excitement.

Incidentally, I have given you these details partly to gain your opinion. What do you think of the plan?"

"EXCELLENT," replied Harry. "That is, it will be, after you start out. But there's a chance that you will ruin

"You have too many deputies in the open," stated Harry to the sheriff. "I've been watching them half the

afternoon. Suppose this chauffeur spots them when he comes into town. If things really are bad out at

"An excellent point," agreed the burgess, with a sage nod. "Well taken, Vincent."

"It's getting along toward dusk," observed Marquette, glancing through the window to note the thickly

clouded sky. "Those fellows will be more conspicuous when it becomes darker. Vincent is right a flash

from Corey's headlights on the lounging deputies, would tell him something. Those deputies won't pass as

"Some of them will," insisted Brock. "We'll need half a dozen anyway, to grab Corey. I want to keep the rest

of them close together. I'll tell you where I'll send them" he nodded emphatically "right down to the

"It's going to be kind of dark when it comes in," assured Brock, "and anyway, we ought to be watching the

depot. If there's any strangers around there tonight, we'll have them brought over here.

"We oughta been looking for strangers anyhow. There's no use taking chances. And after the local pulls up

the line, there won't be nobody around the depot. Leastwise, nobody that's got a right to be there.

"I'll go out and pass the word to Hank. He'll take enough of the men down there. You won't see them

Brock arose; Marquette followed suit. He suggested that Harry accompany him to the hotel. They left the

At the hotel, Harry fumbled in his pockets and recalled that he had left his pipe in his room. He left Marquette

No call yet from Clyde. Harry knew that this might mean a personal arrival of the reporter. He wrote out a

report concerning Marquette's plans. Sealing it in an envelope, he went down to the lobby. He was lighting

"Just take a look out that window, Vincent," suggested Brock. "You won't be seeing deputies any longer.

Hank's taken most of them down to the depot. The ones that are still around are " Brock broke off and

stared; then exclaimed: "Say, lookit! There's the reporter fellow, Burke! What's he doing here?"

A COUPE had stopped in front of the hotel. Clyde Burke was alighting; he saw Brock and waved a greeting.

"Hello, sheriff," said Clyde, cheerily. "Well, well, here's Marquette and Vincent. Still in town, eh? What's

"Technicalities," returned Marquette, promptly. "We scared up so much hubbub that the sheriff has to make a

report to the county authorities. He wanted us to stay there for a few days. We're going over to Southbridge

"Come over there then," suggested Brock, taking Vic's cue. "I'll have a story for you, mebbe. Only I guess

Harry had strolled over to lean against the coupe. His left side was away from view. As he puffed his pipe

and removed it from his mouth with his right hand, he used his left to bring out the envelope. He let that

"Sorry," Clyde Burke was stating. "I won't be around tomorrow. Not tonight, even. I'm going up country to

Harry had strolled back to join Marquette. Clyde knew that a message had been delivered. With a friendly

wave, the reporter returned to his car. He drove away from the hotel. Brock clapped Harry on the shoulder.

"Good boy, Vincent," commended the sheriff. "Getting those deputies off the street was a mighty cute idea.

Darn these reporters! You can't tell when any of them will come snooping around."

Brock started toward Dowden's office. Marquette decided to go along and beckoned to Harry, who followed.

He knew that The Shadow must have already made plans regarding Mountview Lodge. All that the chief had

needed was information regarding the law's exact moves. Harry had passed such word along. Clyde would

form contact on the slope. The Shadow would be able to arrange his own moves as he chose.

Burgess Dowden had gone home to dinner, but the office was open. Sheriff Brock took the chair behind the

desk. Darkness was thickening outside as Brock stroked his chin and made comment.

"One funny thing about that Mountview Lodge," observed the sheriff. "There's never been a telephone put in

the place. It would ha' cost a piece of money to run a line in there, I'll grant.

"But Griscom Treft has got money. No sparing of expense on other things. It looks mighty consarn funny, by

heck. Like he was scared that there might be trouble if he had a line. There's no private telephones

"Hmmm," grunted Marquette. "It does sound odd, sheriff; but maybe it's because Griscom doesn't trust the

"A right good one," responded the sheriff. "Yes, sir, that's another way to look at it. Yes, sir" he broke off

to listen; the evening train was chugging into the depot "yes, sir! Suspicions kinda grow on you, when you

THE clangor of the departing locomotive sounded through the window. The local chugged from the station;

its noise faded; then a whistle blared in the distance as the train approached a crossing beyond the town.

Brock was about to speak when voices sounded from below. Footsteps followed on the stairs.

Brock sprang to his feet and opened the door. Hank and another deputy appeared; with them was a tall,

welldressed man, who carried a fairsized suitcase. The stranger's face was sharpfeatured. His lips showed

"Fellow come in on the local," explained Hank. "We up and asked him his business. Kind of lippy like, he

"You are the sheriff?" questioned the sharpfaced man, addressing Brock in a smooth tone.

The sheriff nodded. The arrival dropped his bag upon a chair. He surveyed Vic and Harry approvingly; then

"My name is Lieth," declared the man. "Carl Lieth, in from Chicago. I'd like to talk with you privately" he

paused; then gestured his approval of Brock's original companions "or let us say semiprivately."

"Without the deputies, eh?" questioned Brock. "All right, Hank. You two can go back to the depot."

The deputies stalked out. It was Lieth, still smiling wisely, who closed the door behind them. Then the

Vic and Harry eyed him. Both knew instinctively that the unexpected arrival of Carl Lieth was a matter of

some import. Eagerly, they awaited word that might have to do with Mountview Lodge.

"MY credentials," stated Carl Lieth suavely, presenting a cardcase to Sheriff Brock. "And these gentlemen?"

"Mr. Marquette and Mr. Vincent," introduced the sheriff. He studied the credentials while Lieth was shaking

hands with Vic and Harry. "Say! You're a private detective, eh? Take a look at these, Marquette."

"Marquette" Lieth was stroking his chin as Vic examined the cards "I know the name. Say are you Vic

Marquette had completed his examination of the cards. They attested Lieth to be the representative of a

private detective bureau in the Middle West. Satisfied by the credentials, Vic nodded in response to Lieth's

"Good," decided Lieth. "Maybe you're after the same man I am. Burton Covell is his name. Did you ever hear

"A secondrate crook," stated Lieth, "but he pulled a good one when he swiped some uncut diamonds from a

big Chicago firm. There's some talk that maybe Covell was bumped; but I met a jane he used to know and she

"I've started on the rounds. One of the towns was Paulington, and I'd read about a mysterious explosion here.

That's why I came here as soon as I could. Well, what's up? It looks like you're after somebody, even if it isn't

"We're looking for a man named Spadling," explained Marquette. "He's handled queer money; worked the

greengoods racket; tried blackmail in his time. Any connection between Burton Covell and Clint Spadling?"

"None that I ever heard of," returned Lieth. "But they sound like they'd he a team. Have you located

"We don't know. Tonight, we're raiding a place called Mountview Lodge. I wouldn't say 'raid' was the word

we're going in quietly, with a search warrant; but we may have to be tough, if any one makes trouble."

"Over on the other side of the slope. It's a swanky place, owned by a man named Griscom Treft. That name

"What grounds have you for the raid?" he questioned. "You'll be out of luck, won't you, if Spadling isn't

"No," put in Sheriff Brock. "We're searching for the dynamiters who blew up that cabin. But if we find

"He's not likely to be," chuckled the sheriff. "We're making a surprise entry. We'll line everybody up. If

"Yes," replied Brock. "He'll be one of those close to the house. Maybe he'll just get a glimpse of Spadling. If

LIETH tugged a cigarette from his pocket, thrust it between his lips, snapped a lighter and puffed in rapid

"It's good, sheriff. The right way to work. And if it would do with Spadling, it would do with Covell, too."

"You mean you know Covell when you see him?" queried Marquette, while Brock sat puzzled.

"I could spot his ugly mug a mile away," returned Lieth. "Big chin, with a long scar across it. Funny, squinty

eyes. Sheriff, I'm mighty glad I arrived here tonight. My coming is going to double your chances. If Spadling

"We're taking thirty men," he explained. "We're going to make camp on the private road just below

"We'll keep the place surrounded," returned Brock. "Thirty of us will be plenty strong enough. We're waiting

Brock broke off. Again, footsteps were coming up the stairs. A man was making protest; angry voices were

discounting it. Hank and two deputies appeared. They were dragging Corey with them.

"Picked him off purty, sheriff," informed the big deputy. "Snatched him right outa that coupe of his. He's

Corey was looking about with the expression of a trapped rat. The man's face showed guilt; he was plainly

Brock received a ring of keys from Hank. The sheriff dangled them in front of Corey's eyes.

"The big key," whined Corey. "But I tell you, sheriff, this isn't right! I haven't pulled anything. It's all straight

up at the lodge. I was just coming down here to buy supplies. I've got the list here in my pocket."

"Never mind that," snorted the sheriff. "Hank, you rassle this prisoner over to the town jail. Leave his car

there. I'll keep these keys. Have our cars outside; all the deputies ready. We're starting."

Corey eyed all present defiantly. Then Hank and the two deputies dragged the chauffeur from the office. The

sheriff put in a telephone call to Burgess Dowden's home. He explained that the capture had been made.

"The burgess will take a look in at the jail," clucked Brock, as he hung up the receiver. "Just to make sure that

Corey is nice and comfortable. We're not going to lose any time in starting. They'll be expecting Corey back.

CARS were pulled up beside the office building when the sheriff and the others arrived. Brock chose a light

sedan. He took the wheel and motioned Lieth in beside him. Harry and Vic climbed in back.

Hank arrived beside the car; the deputy had left Corey at the jail, only a half block from Dowden's office.

"Take six men with you in the big car, Hank," ordered Brock. "You know the fellows we picked. Stop on the

"When we come along, Marquette's dropping out; and so is this new man, Lieth. You get in this car along

with me and Vincent. While I'm stalling with the gate" Brock turned his head so that Marquette and Lieth

would understand their parts "two squads sneak through. Three each: one under Marquette, the other with

"They've got to be close by the house. Get the idea? One bunch at each side of that big veranda. Then we

come rolling up in the car. While the folks in the lodge are opening up for Corey, the squads will be sitting

"I'll flash the search warrant when we get out. That's the signal for Marquette and Lieth to pile in. Right up on

"This is a sedan," reminded The Shadow's agent. "Perhaps the people in the lodge will notice immediately

"That's what I'm hoping they will do," laughed Brock. "I want them to come out, kinda suspiciouslike. Sort

of wondering who's blowed in on them. Then, by jiminy, the boys come bowling up from the ends of the

"What about the rest of the posse?" queried Hank. "There's two dozen of them, sheriff."

"They follow this car," stated Brock. "They stop on the private road, midway to the lodge. I'll leave the gate

He signaled for Hank to start. The big deputy went to a large sedan, called the men he wanted and piled them

in the car. Hank's automobile pulled away. Brock gave it a few minute's leeway; then started his own car.

Harry Vincent looked back as they rolled from Paulington. Behind the sheriff's sedan came a small cavalcade

of motor cars. The posse was following in full strength. Harry made comment to Marquette. The operative

"It's going to be a setup," assured Vic. "All we've got to do is lay quiet and be ready. How about it, Lieth?"

"A cinch!" was his comment. "And it brings us in right at the start. Where we belong, Marquette."

Harry Vincent leaned back against the cushions. He had not gained opportunity to inform Clyde Burke

That, however, did not matter. The private detective was merely a strengthening factor, in Harry's estimation.

Considering the sheriff's welllaid plan, Harry decided that, in all probability, The Shadow would this time

Harry's guess was a poor one. The coming attack was planned as a surprise. It was to prove such; and in its

SHERIFF BROCK'S sedan drew to a standstill. Its headlights shone upon the bars of the formidable gate that

blocked the driveway to Mountview Lodge. The glare showed blackened streaks upon the ground beyond

From the darkness of the slope above were squared blocks of illumination. These were the window lights of

Mountview Lodge. The evening was young; none of those within the lodge had retired at this early hour.

Brock spoke to his companions. When the sheriff alighted, Marquette and Lieth did the same. One to each

side of the sedan, they joined trios of waiting men. Hank stepped up and entered the front seat.

The sheriff was unlocking the gate. The large key worked. Brock swung the gate open and came back to the

"I'm stalling to give them time," he whispered to Harry and Hank. "Sit tight until I come back."

The sheriff returned to the gate. Through the open windows of the rear seat, Harry could hear the creep of

advancing men. Lieth, he knew, was leading a band far out to the right. Marquette and his trio were skirting

Creeping sounds faded. Still Harry listened. He had decided that The Shadow informed of plans would

choose this opportunity also. He could picture his blackcloaked chief coming through the opened gate, hard

Harry heard no sound. That, however, was not proof of The Shadow's absence. Harry recalled numerous

times when The Shadow had crept close by him without giving the slightest clue to his mysterious presence.

Hank was consulting a watch by the dashlight. Brock arrived, after considerable delay. Hank stated the time

that the sheriff had taken to go back to the gate and fake the action of locking it.

"Three and a half minutes," was his verdict. "They ought to be close to the house, sheriff."

"We'll give them half a minute more," decided Brock, stalling the motor. "I'll fool with the starter, like the

The sheriff took a half minute to get started. By this time, the car's delay had obviously attracted attention in

the lodge. The front door had opened; a figure appeared and stepped out to the veranda. Two others joined the

"Good," commented Brock. "They still think it's Corey. Have your revolvers ready, both of you. Back me up

when I get out and flash the search warrant. You won't be having trouble, though, because those fellows will

The sheriff broke off suddenly as a revolver barked from one edge of the veranda. He jammed the brake as a

bullet whistled by his rolling car. Another flash spat from the same side of the porch the right and at the

"Stop them!" came a man's shout from the blackness of the porch. "Stop. them! They are enemies! Foes of

THE sedan was no more than a hundred feet from the lodge. Searchlights gleamed of a sudden a battery of

revealing glares, all along the front of the veranda. Someone had pressed the switch inside the lodge. The

Brock spat an oath as he pointed to the porch. There, halfway in from the edge, was Carl Lieth. It was the

new ally who had delivered those first shots. It was he who had cried out the alarm.

He was turning, pointing back where his trio of men should be. The glaring lights showed three deputies a

full fifty yards from the porch. Lieth had told them to remain behind while he sneaked forward alone. The

The Condor's henchmen saw Lieth point; then saw him swing and indicate the other end of the veranda.

There Marquette and his trio were rising in the light. The Condor's crew swung to aim at these closer

enemies, while Lieth, backing over to join the crew at the door, blazed shots against the trio that he had

Hank was firing wildly. Harry joined in. Marquette and his men dropped below their end of the porch; the

A harsh order came from within the front door. The Condor's men Lieth with them went diving from

view. The big door slammed behind them. Sheriff Brock fired useless shots against the barrier.

Brock had clambered from the car, Hank with him. Harry followed; they stood a dozen paces from the sedan,

viewing the silent lodge. Upstairs lights blinked suddenly; the window frames blackened.

Only the glare of the searchlights remained. In it stood those three men from the car. Not one of them had

sensed the meaning of the darkened windows; but there was a being present who knew the significance of

Rising over the top of the sheriff's sedan came a looming, shaded figure. The Shadow had been further down

the lawn; he had entered as Harry had hoped; but he had stayed back while the law attacked.

Lieth's treachery had been unforeseen by The Shadow; for he had not learned of the man's arrival in

Paulington. During the brief exchange of shots about the veranda, The Shadow had swept forward from his

distant post, obscured by Brock's sedan. Mounted on the far side of the vehicle, head and shoulders barely

The burst of his automatic was accompanied by a sharp ping high on the front of the lodge. One of the

searchlights blackened. Its clattering glass dropped to the veranda. An instant later, The Shadow fired a

Brock wheeled to look for the sharpshooter. He did not see The Shadow. Those two lights were the central

ones of the row along the lodge; with their glares ended, the sedan was bathed in partial obscurity.

THEN came the answer which The Shadow had expected; it told why he had dealt his strokes against the

lights. Flashes came from darkened windows along the second floor. The Condor's henchmen were firing

These were no revolver shots. Highpowered rifles were speaking from The Condor's fortress. First shots

sizzled high, as sharpshooters tried to pick their targets. Brock shouted an order; he dived for the sedan, with

The Shadow dropped away. Prone in the darkness, he aimed another shot as the car took to the center of the

lawn, under Brock's mad guidance. Rifles were crackling after the fleeing sedan. The Shadow blotted out

another searchlight; then a fourth. A weird laugh rose from his lips as the sedan sped to safety.

All center lights, those four. There had been a dozen at the start; hence each side of the lodge front still

boasted a blazing quartet. The glares from the side showed three deputies rising from the ground to scatter.

Rifles boomed pursuing shots; but The Shadow's automatics spoke as well. Steadily, like a marksman

engaged in target practice, he was pinging the remaining searchlights, bringing blank darkness as a cover for

One of Vic's deputies staggered; another managed to help him to his feet. Then the last light blinked out at

that side of the house. The Shadow aimed for one lone orb of light; the last one at the other side. A whistling

Already, riflemen had begun a loophole fire for the terrain from which The Shadow's automatics flashed.

Steel bullets were digging up the turf; some shots but inches wide of the hidden target whose exact location

But with the last light gone, The Shadow ceased his fire. Fleeing men were lost in blackness. So was he.

Rising, he quickly withdrew from the danger spot that sharpshooters still sought blindly.

The sedan had passed the distant gate. Rifle shots told that the crooks in the lodge were starting a barrage to

cover the spot where others would emerge. Then the firing ceased. The Condor had recognized its

The whole lawn afforded shelter for deputies, who could lie there and let the crooks waste ammunition. There

Firing ended, scattered men crept toward that path to safety. Covered by darkness, their way was clear. They

were free to join their comrades. Six men, led by Vic Marquette, were saved from doom.

The Condor had been warned. A surprise attack had boomeranged; its authors had been routed. But The

Shadow, covering the wild retreat, had prevented simple defeat from becoming absolute disaster.

BEYOND the turn below the gate to Mountview Lodge, Sheriff Brock stood in the glare of automobile

headlights. About him were grouped the thirty members of his posse. Harry and Hank were with the sheriff;

Two men had been clipped by bullets. They were being carried to a car while Brock, his voice a heavy boom,

"There's thirty of us," Brock declared. "I reckon we're four to one against those inside that place. We'll have

another thirty men inside the next hour. Hank will get them after he takes those wounded fellows to the

"I'm leaving the big gate open. We're spreading off the road. We'll watch along that fence. The moment

"Move up there, men. Keep watch. We'll have the word pass along if there's any trouble. Right here below the

Wounded men were aboard their car. Big Hank took the wheel and drove away. Deputies advanced; then

spread in obedience to their leader's order. Marquette talked with the sheriff. Harry stood a few paces away,

A soft whisper brought The Shadow's agent to the alert. The sound came from the car. It was a command in

The Shadow's strange, sinister tone. Harry heard the words, then whispered his understanding. He walked

"How about it, sheriff?" he questioned. "Wouldn't it be a good idea if I went down to Paulington and told the

"That is an idea," broke in the sheriff. "You're right; the burgess ought to know what's happened. Take one of

Harry chose the touring car. He turned it about in the narrow road and swung off down the slope. He had

followed The Shadow's first order. Now came the whispered word from the rear of the open car:

Briefly, Harry recited the facts that concerned Carl Lieth and the detective's surprising treachery. He told of

Corey's capture; how the man had been brought to Dowden's office. The Shadow's laugh came as a token of

A hissed voice gave instructions. Listening, Harry stared wideeyed along the road that he was following. He

was amazed by the orders that The Shadow delivered. Yet he could do nothing but nod his assent.

The touring car was nearing Paulington. Harry drove slowly through the streets of the town and parked

behind the old hotel. He heard a slight swish as The Shadow alighted; then he glimpsed the momentary

outline of a cloaked figure. The Shadow was crossing the street; his figure blended with a blackened area.

Harry went into the hotel. He nodded nonchalantly to the clerk; then entered the solitary telephone booth and

put in a call to a hotel in Southbridge. He gained connection with Clyde Burke and gave the reporter brief

That done, Harry called Burgess Dowden. He told what had happened at Mountview Lodge. He said that the

sheriff could use a few picked men. The burgess promised four. Harry arranged to meet them in the hotel in

MEANWHILE, events were happening in the Paulington jail. A small, decrepit structure, the jail stood

opposite the railroad tracks. The lone jailer kept vigil in a little office at the side of the building. He was there

The jailer could see the railroad lights from his window. Suddenly a strange blackness obscured them. For a

moment, the jailer's fat face showed perplexity; then he realized that the darkness was a reflection from the

The jailer turned. He saw burning eyes unreal eyes from beneath the brim of a slouch hat. Then gloved

hands gripped his throat. The jailer subsided under pressure. Limply, he rolled to the floor. The Shadow's

Finding handcuffs in the jailer's pocket, The Shadow used them to clamp the man's wrists. He gagged the

fellow with his own handkerchief; then used the jailer's belt to bind the limp ankles. Hoisting the fatfaced

The jailer, recovered, blinked at sight of a flashlight's glow upon a desk. He fancied that he saw a white hand,

writing something on a sheet of paper. Then glovelike blackness obscured the hand; the flashlight was

The Shadow appeared in the lighted hall outside the little office. He watched the front door open cautiously.

Harry Vincent stepped into view. Harry saw The Shadow and approached. The Shadow gave him the jailer's

keys; also, a sealed envelope. A gloved finger pointed toward the rear of the jail. Harry nodded and marched

A door barred progress. Harry found the right key and unlocked it. He stepped into a lighted cell room. There

were only two cells there; of these, but one was occupied. Corey's face was that of a trapped rat as it showed

The Shadow had remained outside. Yet he was watching, listening, ready to note the result of this interview

"HELLO, Corey," greeted Harry, quietly. "Listen: "I've got a proposition for you."

"My name is Vincent," stated Harry. "I'm working with Marquette of the secret service; also with Sheriff

"Lieth. He's a detective. We managed to get him into Mountview Lodge. He's putting up a bluff there."

"He is fooling him already, Corey. But we've had to change our plans. We've got to get word to Lieth. You're

Corey's defiance changed to an expression of shrewd interest. Harry noted an evil, scheming glint in the

"Your coupe is out back," explained Harry. "The key is in it. I'm going up toward the lodge in a touring car;

"The gate is unlocked. Barge right through it and don't stop until you reach the lodge. After they let you in,

tell them you escaped from here. Don't let your chief know that you were set loose. Do you understand?"

"When you get a chance" Harry drew The Shadow's envelope from his pocket "sneak this to Lieth.

Remember: it's important; and nobody else is to see it. After this business is all over, we'll see that you're let

Corey nodded as he took the envelope. Harry produced the cell key and unlocked the door. He led the

"Remember," said Harry, as they reached the outside air, "follow my touring car. I'll swing past here after I

"Some of the deputies may fire wild shots; but you just keep going through the gate. That will be to make it

look like you were really running for it. There's your coupe" they were at the corner of the jail "so hop

The rumble seat of the coupe was lowering as Harry spoke; neither Corey nor The Shadow's agent spied its

HARRY strolled on to the hotel. In the lobby he found four men awaiting him. They were the huskies whom

the burgess had called. Harry took them to the touring car. Starting out, he rolled along the street past the jail,

They had passed the fork when one of the new squad delivered a remark. The man was looking out the rear

"Looks like somebody's coming along with us," said the townsman. "Guess maybe the burgess called up a

Harry grinned to himself. He was driving at an easy rate. He wanted to get back before Hank and the new

posse from Southbridge, but not too long before they arrived. There was still a little more time to kill.

Harry skirted the hill and neared the Mountview road. The coupe was keeping close behind; Harry could spy

its headlights in his mirror. Reaching the private road, he stepped on the gas, sped up a bit and reached the

Harry pulled over and leaped to the ground. He spied Brock and Marquette; they recognized him as he

"Hello, Vincent," greeted the sheriff. "Back already, eh? Say whose car is that coming up here?"

"Somebody else from town," he stated. "The burgess probably sent some more men along."

Brock stepped aside as the coupe approached. The car gave a sudden forward lurch; it shot by at increasing

The order was too late. As Harry joined Brock in a dash to the turn in the road, they saw the speeding coupe

crash the huge gate. The unlocked barrier clattered inward. The coupe roared ahead.

Two deputies fired from the fence. Their shots were far too late. Fuming, Brock dashed up to the gate, then

shouted for the firing to cease. The coupe's taillight had arrived near the side of the lodge. Harry saw the

"So he slipped us, eh?" growled Brock to Harry. "Well, I reckon it won't do him much good, if we ever

manage to get in there. Listen I hear cars down below. Hank and his new men are here. Come on, while I

Harry followed the sheriff down the road. The Shadow's agent felt a keen sense of coming triumph. Corey's

run had succeeded. Brock might think it a lucky jailbreak; Harry knew differently.

For the release of Corey had been a master stroke of strategy; one that The Shadow had devised to nullify the

schemes of crooks. Already, unrealized by Sheriff Brock, potential victory was in the making.

"So Corey is here!" Griscom Treft chuckled. "Excellent, Delland, excellent! Show him in at once."

The Condor was seated behind his study desk. Opposite him was Carl Lieth; the traitor's face displayed a

pleased grin. Upon the table lay a mass of chunky crystals. Uncut diamonds, the latest of The Condor's spoils.

One stone twinkled as Treft removed it from a tiny weighing machine. Lieth had brought this diamond

separately. It had been his token; its exact weight the factor that had made Treft recognize Lieth as another of

The door opened; Corey entered with Delland. Treft chuckled as he indicated Lieth.

"You two have met before," stated The Condor. "Lieth is our latest member, Corey. Until recently, he was a

"And when I found Burton Covell," laughed Lieth, "I offered to make a deal with him. Told him I'd let him

go if he'd slip me a split on those rocks. Say, chief, you should have seen Covell's face when he found out I

Corey stood listening. He wanted to hear more. Treft laughed as he watched the chauffeur.

"Covell was the man that I expected, Corey," explained The Condor. "His position being precarious, he left

the country and Lieth came in his stead. Tonight, Lieth performed a signal service for us. You tell Corey

"When I came into town," explained the traitor, facing Corey, "some mugs stopped me at the station. It

looked bad these diamonds were on me, you know but I had credentials with me. That fixed everything

with Sheriff Brock. Soon as he knew I was a dick, he wanted me to help him, especially when I put up a yarn

"The bunch came in here for a surprise attack. I gave the gag away. We beat them back and I came inside.

Sorry I couldn't help you out, Corey, when they dragged you into that office. This was the only way I could

"You know, chief" Lieth's face furrowed as he turned to The Condor and spoke in serious tone "I'm afraid

we're in for it. I told you there were thirty men outside. Like as not, they're bringing more in by this time.

"Maybe they can't tear down this place, but we'll have to surrender sooner or later. They've got us

surrounded; there's not a chance for us to make a break for it. Once they get in here, they'll find the swag.

"I'd like to see where you're keeping all the stuff. I'd like to know, too, if there's any way for me to do a

slideout. After all, you may be able to put up a bluff. They were invading your property. But they've labeled

THE CONDOR waved for silence. He scooped up the uncut diamonds, placed them in a wooden box and

"Come, Lieth," he chuckled. "I shall show you our strong room. On the way down, we shall hear the details

"Wait!" Corey blurted the word harshly. "Don't show Lieth anywhere, chief! It's you that he's

The Condor stopped short. He glared fiercely at the chauffeur. Delland stared in alarm. Lieth had risen from

"I didn't escape," spoke Corey, his fists half clenched. "A guy named Vincent let me out. One that was up in

the office with this palooka" he indicated Lieth "and a Fed, Marquette, operating with the bunch.

"I was told to come here, faking it like an escape. That's why those guys fired at me down by the gate. I'm

supposed to be let off easy after the jig is up. That's my price for helping Lieth pull a fast one.

"I'll prove it to you, chief. You know what I was to do here? Hand you a phony story; then wait until I had a

chance to slip a note to Lieth. Well, it's you I'm giving the note to, chief" Corey produced Harry's envelope

"Call in the others," rasped The Condor, harshly. "Sit down, Lieth. Frisk him, Corey. Take his gun."

Lieth started a wild protest; Corey pounced on him and gained his revolver. Delland had been ready to aid.

Seeing Corey's success, the secretary went out to summon the other members of the band.

"Code," sneered The Condor, as he drew a sheet of paper from the envelope. "A crude one. Merely filled with

dummy letters, to confuse the reader. I suppose, Lieth, that you and Marquette did not have time to arrange a

"Take these diamonds, Delland" the secretary had returned; others were filing in with him "and put them

in the strong room. Tell Toklar to place them in the special containers. He will understand your gestures.

"A clever bit of business" The Condor's tone was scornful; he was translating the crude message as he

spoke "sending in real diamonds in hope of bluffing me! Well, Lieth, you came close to succeeding."

"It's no double cross, chief," blurted Lieth, half up from his chair. "Honest, I'm not in with Marquette "

Lieth subsided. The Condor had finished his work with the message. His face was not pleasant. Its evil,

vulturelike expression had accentuated in the light. Looking up, Treft viewed his henchmen.

"This message," he announced, harshly, "is addressed to Lieth. It is signed by Marquette. Corey was bribed to

" 'Dear Lieth: Four of the seven deputies were wounded. Two men have taken them to Southbridge, leaving

" 'Vincent is going into Paulington; he may bring back three or four to join us. But our best men are gone. We

are hopelessly weak. We are releasing Corey; he will deliver you this message secretly.

" 'We rely upon you to continue the bluff that we tried to create: namely, that our numbers are strong enough

to resist an attack. By morning, there will be more men from Southbridge. We will let them be seen along the

" 'Learn all you can, as I will send for operatives tomorrow. Our next attack will begin at ten thirty tomorrow

night. We are counting upon you and Corey for evidence after we raid. Marquette."

RIPPING the paper into shreds, The Condor glared at Lieth. Treft's fury was terrible. Lieth cowered as the

"No, no!" pleaded the traitor. "I swear I have told you the truth! There were thirty men; I'm positive they can

"Holding us here trapped," snarled Treft. "When we have the swag ready for our getaway. On this, the night

"Covell talked to you; yes. But you passed the word on to Marquette. You framed it with him, to get in here

on the last night before the thirteenth. Bringing swag; playing your part in a fake attack. Getting in with us, to

Treft shot out a claw and gripped the revolver that Corey held. He plucked it from the chauffeur's grasp and

leveled the weapon straight toward Lieth. The crooked detective gasped pitiful pleas. The Condor's lips froze

As Lieth cowered away, Treft pressed his long, thin finger against the revolver trigger. With unerring aim,

The Condor pumped shot after shot into the unprotected body of the quailing traitor.

Lieth sagged with the first bullet. His body was a motionless corpse upon the floor when Treft desisted. With

a gloating scoff, The Condor tossed the emptied revolver upon the bulletriddled form.

"Prepare!" rasped The Condor to his henchmen. "To the gate! There we shall massacre those fools as I have

He pointed a scornful claw toward Lieth's body; then chuckled with a venom that brought gloating laughs

"Trossler will remain here," decided The Condor, as his henchmen brought revolvers into view. "He can

guard the door until our return. We must first clear the way; then come back and remove the swag.

"We shall drive away in our own cars, from the garage. We shall dynamite the lodge. Until then, our swag is

safe in the custody of the Singhalese. Should we find ourselves pressed for time, I can remove the swag in my

"Have no worry. Our task is now one simple matter. We must clear that handful of meddlers from our path.

"What about Marsland?" queried the servant, as he turned toward the hall. "Do you want him with you?"

"No," decided The Condor. "His status is still doubtful. We can discuss his case later. Keep him in his room."

Trossler moved out ahead into the hall, which was darkened. Guns clattered in the hands of The Condor's

henchmen. Murderers all, they were carrying a brace of weapons each. Faring forth behind their chief toward

The law had been crossed tonight, crossed by Carl Lieth, a man whose real role was that of crook. He had

ruined a surprise attack; he had brought true facts to The Condor's ears. Men of crime had heard his warning.

But The Shadow, using Corey as an instrument, had changed the status of Carl Lieth. The traitor lay dead

upon the floor of The Condor's study; his warnings were forgotten by those with whom he had sought to side.

The Shadow's crafty strategy was bringing a handful of desperadoes into the waiting toils of three score men

STEALTHY figures again were creeping through the night. This time, the attackers were coming from the

confines of Mountview Lodge. Spread across the darkness of the broad lawn, The Condor and his tribe were

Eyes perceived those dim figures as they left the whiteness of the veranda. The Shadow, peering from the

Softly, his figure emerged from its hiding place. The Shadow, too, took to the lawn at the rear of creeping

men. Another surprise attack was due to be heralded, too, soon; this time by The Shadow.

Figures had neared the gate. The Shadow was thirty yards behind them. His tall form rose in darkness. His

leveled automatics picked out the approximate spot where villains crouched. The Shadow pressed triggers.

Snarls came from rising crooks as bullets whistled past them. The Shadow's blind shots had not found targets;

Flashlights glared from all along the fence. Glaring rays burrowed paths through darkness. A score of

deputies were ready. They had The Condor and his compact crew within their focus. Revolvers crackled.

Crooks fired back; then wavered. Husky deputies came hurtling the fence to cut in from the flanks, no longer

caring if the alarms were sent off. Motors roared from down the road. At the sound of gunfire, a score of

The hillside roared with gunfire. Crooks were scattering, shooting wildly. Shouting deputies were dropping

them like scurrying rabbits. The Shadow's alarm had placed murderers in a hopeless trap.

The Shadow had wheeled in the darkness. Beyond the range of flashlights, he was driving toward the house.

As he neared there, bells began to ring within. The tampered fence wires were causing the alarm.

As The Shadow reached the porch, a light glared suddenly above the door. The Shadow dived for the door

itself and hurled the portal open. He came face to face with Trossler. The servant fired as the door swung

But The Shadow had entered with a sidestep, dropping for the wall with the same movement that he had used

to fling the door upon its hinges. Trossler's bullets sizzled past a cloaked shoulder.

Trossler wavered; then slumped. Within the darkened hall, The Shadow delivered a laugh of challenge. It

rose with unearthly shudders; it shivered into mocking echoes. Strange silence followed it; then came an

CLIFF MARSLAND had heard The Shadow's taunt. He knew that the fortress had fallen.

The Shadow located the sound; then reached the door of his agent's prison. In hissed tones, he gave brief

The Shadow saw the lighted study. He entered to find Lieth's body on the floor. He recognized who the man

must be. His weird, lowered laugh was a knell above the dead form of a traitor whose fate had been deserved.

The Shadow knew that all but Trossler had fared forth. By now, The Condor and his band should have been

eliminated. Cliff, as a prisoner, would be released; Harry would vouch for him to Vic Marquette.

The Shadow had a duty elsewhere; one that he alone had recognized. Well had he divined The Condor's craft.

He knew that already some measure might have been taken to balk the triumph of the law. Reaching the

veranda, The Shadow dived from the light. Reaching the edge, he skirted the lodge, heading for a deserted

Already, flashlightbearing deputies were converging toward the house. The Shadow saw lights reach the

porch. He knew that men were entering. Off through the trees beyond the fence, The Shadow took the path

A car had reached the lodge. From it sprang Brock, Marquette and Harry. They were among the first to enter

the opened door. Pounding from within a door attracted their attention. The sheriff crashed the panel with the

butt of his revolver. He drove his shoulder against the broken barrier. With Vic and Harry aiding, he

A prisoner within this den was entitled to respect. That was a fact that The Shadow had foreseen. But before

Cliff had time to begin an explanation, shots from the front door caused all four to swing in that direction.

A deputy sprawled. Another lost his grip upon a fiercely twisting man who dived across the hall. Cliff cried a

The Condor alone had survived the withering fire of the sheriff's deputies. Unscathed by bullets, he had fled

for the lodge. Plunging out of darkness, he had beaten his way into his own lost fortress.

Luck served The Condor still. As Brock and Marquette fired at his dashing form, Treft kept on and reached

"The strong room!" cried Cliff. "That's where he's heading! That's Treft The Condor the chief crook of

BROCK and Marquette took up the chase; Cliff followed with Harry. Behind them surged a deluge of

deputies. They reached the cellar stairs and dashed madly to the bottom. There Cliff pointed the way to the

The pursuers were too late. The massive iron door was swinging shut as Vic and the sheriff opened new fire.

It was Cliff who supplied inspiration for a further chase. As Brock and Marquette stood with smoking guns,

Cliff gave them new proof that he was a real ally, here within The Condor's domain. Cliff had recalled a fact

"There's dynamite here in the cellar!" he exclaimed. "Treft used it to excavate his strongroom. He blasted

Deputies scurried to make search. They found the remainder of the store. One deputy, a quarryman, came

forward as technical expert. He studied the iron door; then picked a quantity of dynamite. He ordered the

A few minutes after the raiders had reached the veranda, the blastsetter came hurrying out to join them. He

had found fuses; the charge was properly placed and timed. He explained that a crevice in the rock beneath

A shivering blast shook the lodge. Rumbled echoes ended; the quarryman nodded to the sheriff. Brock led a

new advance. The invaders reached the fumefilled cellar. Coughing their way through smoke, they found

The lights in the rockwalled corridor were banished. Flashlights showed the door ahead. The sheriff

growled his disappointment; Cliff explained that the inner barrier was no obstacle. Its outside bar was loose;

THE invaders stared as they saw the grotto. The lights of the tinted cavern had not been extinguished by the

blast. An iron bar, inside the door, showed that effort had been made to barricade this bulwark which The

As Cliff exclaimed the warning, the two Singhalese sprang from hiding places by the walls. Like mighty

jinns guarding a treasure trove, they hurled themselves upon Brock and Marquette. Cliff and Harry leaped to

Guns boomed. Bullets clipped hanging stalactites and ricocheted from the cavern walls. Salyuk collapsed,

wounded by a shot that Marquette had managed to discharge with accuracy. Six deputies dragged Toklar

from the sheriff; the Singhalese went down beneath the combined force of the husky rescuers.

Cliff was dashing up ahead. Forgetful that he had no gun, he sought to show the way to The Condor's treasure

niche. Cliff stopped short when he reached the spot. He stared at scattered teakwood boxes. All had been

Cliff dashed on toward the underground lake the deepest spot to which The Condor could have fled. As he

reached the sloping roof, he saw Treft. The master crook was hurling metal cylinders into the outlet of the

He had reached the end of his task; he chucked the last of the smaller cylinders as Cliff arrived. Beside Treft

was the sixfoot cylinder that Cliff had described as a bluntnosed torpedo. It was leaning against the wall.

The Condor swung suddenly, to spy Cliff. With a venomous snarl, he yanked a revolver from his pocket.

Cliff dived beyond a projecting ledge of flowstone. The Condor's single shot was too late; it clipped the edge

Cliff shouted for Harry and the others. He heard the clatter of arriving footsteps. The Condor snarled hoarse

defiance; then raised himself upon the rock and dropped his wiry body into the big cylinder.

His hands shot out to seize the cap, which stood on a ledge beside the tube. Harry saw the master crook's

head and arms; he fired rapid shots that sizzled within inches of Treft's hands. Then the top of the cylinder

Marquette and Brock were here. Cliff was springing forward with Harry. Four men were out to capture The

Condor in his tubelike nest. Before they retached the cylinder, it lurched; Treft had toppled it by jolting with

Falling, the cylinder bounded from the rocky floor. It careened into the outlet at the end of the pool. For

seconds, it wavered there; clutching hands of the invaders made snatches at its slippery surface.

Then the big cylinder swung end upward. Caught by the surge of the water, it jounced over the edge of the

natural dam, through a central channel of the outlet. An instant later, The Condor's submarine device was

Frustrated men stood gaping, their prey swallowed into the stream that roared to the depths within the sloping

No one had remained outside the captured lodge. Hence there was none to see the strange manifestation that

A flare had gone up from Table Rock. In answer to the signal, two lights were hovering from the darkness of

the sky. Green and red, those glimmers settled to the ledge that had become The Shadow's goal.

The Condor had escaped a host of pursuers. There was one, however, who had not given up the chase. The

Shadow, taking to the air by an arriving autogyro, was following The Condor, even though the fiend had

No noise of battle had reached the north side of the hill. The brow of the wooded mound had cut off sound

from this further slope. Beside the old mill, only the ripple of the creek disturbed the hush of night.

A light was burning in the main room. There, Hiram Zegler was ordering his nephew Elisha in the

accomplishment of a curious task. The two were stacking metal tubes of threefoot length. The cylinders

The door to the cellar was open. Zegler and Elisha had brought their burdens up from the stream below.

Elisha was expressing highpitched liking for the task. Zegler's halfwitted nephew regarded the whole thing

"Say, this beats fishin', Uncle Hiram!" the dolt was saying. "What do you reckon is inside these here metal

bottles? They're like the little ones you used to find in the net, hadn't they? The little ones that had notes in

"Shut up, you fool!" snarled Zegler. "We've got to load this swag in the car and make a getaway. These are

the last of the lot, I guess, but there ought to be a small one coming. With a message, telling us where to head.

The pair descended the winding stairs. They reached the net; Zegler flashed a light into the meshwork. It

"Mebbe the note's in one of them big ones, uncle," suggested Elisha. "How 'bout us agoin' up to look?"

"Sometimes you aren't dumb," commented Zegler. "That might be it. Well, we'll wait here though. Just for

sure. Something ought to ride along to tell us that we've got the whole shebang."

Elisha uttered an inarticulate cry as he gripped his uncle's shoulder. Pointing up the stream, the nephew

indicated an object that was swinging out from beneath the floor boards at the right; through from that hidden

"Hadn't that one a monster!" exclaimed the dullard, finding words. "More'n six feet long, that fellow. The

Twisting free of lowhung timbers, a mammoth cylinder revolved into the net. As one end swung around,

Zegler thrust bared arms into the water. He snarled to Elisha to help him. They brought the cylinder against

Zegler snatched up a hooked bar and tugged the big tube upward. Elisha caught hold; they rolled the cylinder

from the stream. Madly, Zegler twisted at the cap; it gave. Elisha gaped as he saw a head and shoulders thrust

ZEGLER aided the grayhaired arrival from his torpedolike craft. Griscom Treft crawled to his feet. Seen in

the light from a lantern that glowed on the cellar wall, Treft's face was the evil countenance of The Condor.

"I made it," he rasped to Zegler. "With all the swag ahead of me, except some of the gold. It was too heavy; it

"Some of the tubes were mighty heavy weighted," observed Zegler. "But that channel comes down mighty

steep through the slope. Remember the time we tested it? Even them logs with iron hitched to them came

Elisha was standing in a gawky attitude, listening. The Condor shot a look of alarm. He nudged Zegler.

"Thought I heerd an automobile," returned Elisha. "Hadn't sure, though. She seemed mighty high up; like she

"There's no road over the hill," snorted Zegler. "And there's no cars go along this road. Don't stand there

"Come on!" rasped The Condor. "There is a road around the hill. It will take pursuers half an hour to reach

here, assuming that the fools have sense enough to guess that the outlet of the subterranean stream is at this

"Twelve miles around, if it's a foot," asserted Zegler, starting for the stairs. "But it's not more than two,

"My passage required less than ten minutes," announced The Condor, following while Elisha brought up the

rear. "It was a swift trip, Zegler, but rough in spots. There are waterfalls within the hill."

They had reached the top of the stairs. The Condor's eyes gleamed as he surveyed his precious cylinders. All

had come through ahead of him. Save for a few thousands in gold, The Condor's swag was intact.

"Fetch up the net, Elisha," began Zegler. "We're clearing out of here right now "

"No time!" rasped The Condor. "We're taking that north road, Zegler, the one we picked in case of flight. No

"Completely. The sheriff is there with sixty men! I alone was clever enough to escape. Come! Let us carry

these cylinders to your car. We have a million here; your share will be greater, Zegler."

The miller motioned to his nephew. They hoisted a threefoot cylinder. The Condor began to raise another,

choosing a lighter one. Suddenly, he dropped the burden. His lips delivered a sharp, warning cry. Zegler

A figure had arrived there. Tall, sinister, it had developed out of nothingness. The Shadow, cloaked in black,

THE SHADOW'S autogyro had come from Southbridge, handled by Miles Crofton, The Shadow's skillful

pilot. It had hovered above Table Rock; it had descended at The Shadow's signal. Taking to the air again, the

Elisha had heard its motor. The ending of the sound had been the beginning of the autogyro's straight descent

to the clearing by the dimly lighted mill. The Shadow had picked this place as one that must be reached, no

Contact with Zegler by those in the lodge; oddshaped metal cylinders in Zegler's desk; the net beneath the

mill, where a huge, hidden stream surged in to join the main body of the creek; Cliff Marsland's story of the

outlet from the lake in The Condor's limestone strong room; Cliff's description of the cylinders that he had

seen there these were the conclusive clues that had told The Shadow all. He knew that The Condor, when

The Shadow's one surprise was to find The Condor here. By all odds, the master crook should have fallen in

A thud sounded as Zegler and Elisha let their cylinder drop. Weighted at one end, it wabbled upright as

Zegler shot his hand to pocket for his gun. The Condor, crouching, dropped behind the cylinder, snatching

Automatics barked. One spat a bullet that sent Zegler sprawling while he sought to aim. The other sent hot

lead toward the top of the cylinder. Slugs sizzled their way just above The Condor's head.

Treft had gained good shelter, thanks to Elisha. Half behind the tube, half behind the miller's nephew, The

Condor was immune to those first shots. But he wanted greater surety when he fired.

Springing up, he clutched Elisha. Like an old man of the sea, he kept behind the stupid fellow, dragging him

Bullets from automatics; bullets from revolver all zoomed wide. The Shadow, weaving across the floor,

was trying to clip The Condor without striking Elisha. He knew that the nephew was an innocent party to

The Condor, in turn, could not follow with his shots because he had Elisha as too heavy a shield. Between the

lamplights this strange duel thundered, The Condor fighting to retain the living barrier between himself and

Suddenly, The Shadow dived forward to the center of the room. His automatics clattered to the floor. The

Condor cried out in wild elation. He thought that he had wounded his blackclad foe. He stared, peering from

Treft fired one wild shot as The Shadow twisted the heavy burden. He was swinging it horizontally; with a

terrific lunge, he sent it bowling forward along the floor as Treft fired again.

This bullet clipped The Shadow's arm. Off balance, he had slipped as he sought to dive along the floor. A

slight wound only; but it made The Shadow slump slightly as his side struck heavily.

Treft had no chance to follow up his lucky stroke. The Shadow's full force had been behind that cylinder.

Spinning across the floor, it clipped Elisha's ankles and whisked the miller's nephew from his feet.

As Elisha sprawled, hands foremost, Treft floundered also. Elisha flattened, then came puffing to his hands

The Condor was flung clear. He landed on his knees and swayed dizzily while The Shadow, twisting forward

Savagely, The Condor aimed. He fired hastily as The Shadow performed a quick roll. The Condor's shot

zoomed wide. Hard upon the revolver blast, The Shadow's automatic roared its firetongued reply.

While the echoes of that shot still quivered through the mill, The Condor sprawled, face forward, to the grimy

floor. His clutching claw lost its gun. His snarling lips spat incoherently. His frame quivered, then lay still.

ELISHA, quivering in a corner, saw The Shadow rise. He watched the cloaked avenger open a cylinder. Gold

coins poured out upon the floor. This tube was one that The Condor had used to pack some of the precious

Another tube disgorged stacks of bundled currency. A silver casket clattered on the floor. The Shadow

pounced upon the object and opened it. He saw the false pearls that Cliff Marsland had carried to Mountview

Elisha whimpered fearfully as a fierce laugh came from The Shadow's hidden lips. Sinister, eerie, it rose to an

echoing burst of sardonic mirth. The Shadow swept past the bodies of Treft and Zegler, the room still ringing

The Shadow had taken back his own possession. The false pearls gone, Cliff Marsland would need no alibi

for the part that he had played in The Shadow's service. Within the next few days, Michael Walpin would be

the astonished recipient of his own genuine pearls. They would reach him from some unknown sender.

Elisha, still whining, heard the last shudders of The Shadow's laugh. Blinking, the dullard no longer saw the

blackcloaked form. The Shadow, his last strokes delivered, had departed to the outer darkness. But Elisha

The Shadow had reached the autogyro. He gave an order; the motor throbbed. Huge blades whirled; the

strange craft rose precipitously from the open space beside the mill. Ground dwindled away as it hovered

Peering down from the darkened sky, The Shadow spied tiny lights speeding along the west road. They were

turning into the byway that led to the old mill. Harry had learned where the outlet from the cave could he

Spoils of The Condor lay waiting on the floor of the old mill. The law would soon hold that wealth, to deliver

it to the owners whom The Condor's brood had robbed. The law would find Griscom Treft also. The Condor

From high in the darkened sky sounded a quivering laugh. A dirge to men of crime; another token of The

Shadow's victory. Swishing winds submerged the eerie cry. The Shadow, triumphant, was riding into his