THE HYDRA......................................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. MONSTER OF CRIME....................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. ENTER THE SHADOW.................................................................................................6

CHAPTER III. MASTER OF FLAME...................................................................................................9

CHAPTER IV. CRANSTON AND CRANSTON................................................................................12

CHAPTER V. DOUBLE DEATH .........................................................................................................15

CHAPTER VI. THE LONE TRAIL ......................................................................................................18

CHAPTER VII. CRIME'S STRANGE LAIR.......................................................................................22

CHAPTER VIII. MACHINES GONE MAD........................................................................................25

CHAPTER IX. CRIME WITHOUT CRIME........................................................................................30

CHAPTER X. DOOM'S INVITATION ................................................................................................34

CHAPTER XI. THE SHOW GOES ON...............................................................................................37

CHAPTER XII. INTO THE BASKET ..................................................................................................41

CHAPTER XIII. HEAD NO. 10 ............................................................................................................45

CHAPTER XIV. THE CHANGED TRAIL..........................................................................................49

CHAPTER XV. WHEELS OF CRIME................................................................................................53

CHAPTER XVI. WEALTH REGAINED .............................................................................................57

CHAPTER XVII. CRIME COMES C.O.D. ..........................................................................................61

CHAPTER XVIII. HEADS OFF AND ON..........................................................................................65

CHAPTER XIX. CRIME TRIES TWICE .............................................................................................69

CHAPTER XX. THE STROKE SUPREME .........................................................................................73

CHAPTER XXI. TOO MANY SHADOWS .........................................................................................76

GUESTS were arriving at the home of Edmund Glencoe. They came in clusters from taxicabs and limousines

that rolled along the curved driveway leading up from the great gates. Dozens of guests were absorbed by the

When Edmund Glencoe gave parties, he gave them in a very large way, which was logical enough,

considering the enormous size of his Long Island home. As for the expense of such entertainments, Glencoe

Within the house, staid servants were ushering the guests into reception rooms, where the arrivals met other

friends who attended Glencoe's parties. Those most familiar with the place became an overflow that trickled

into a glassinclosed conservatory at one side of the mansion, the usual place where the regulars gathered.

Conviviality filled the air. Everybody was happy to be at this party except Edmund Glencoe.

Not that Glencoe showed it openly. On the contrary, he was all smiles and handshakes as he received the

guests and sent them on their way. But when he found his chance for a break, he took it.

Timed to a lull among the arriving guests, Glencoe stepped through a curtained doorway to a hall, plucked

the arm of a passing servant, and ordered: "Find Mr. Mance. Tell him I must see him in my study; privately,

Reaching his lavishly furnished study, Edmund Glencoe sat behind a desk and waited. Alone, he was able to

show the worry that he felt, and the effect was very marked. A huddled figure, with drawn face the color of

At sight of his friend, Glencoe brightened somewhat. Mance was the sort of person who inspired confidence.

He was tall, broad of build, a figure of latent strength. His face was tawny, of a chiseled type, the sort that

went with a man of iron. His grizzled hair did not detract from his youthful vigor; rather, it marked him as a

"I could tell that you were worried, Edmund," spoke Mance in a deep tone. "But don't tell me that it's about

"That's what the police commissioner says," returned Glencoe nervously. "But those crimes weren't just

"Probably as a mere precaution." Mance inserted a cigarette in a holder and reached in his pocket for a

lighter. "Very foolish of them to run away from imaginary danger." He paused, about to flick the lighter, and

Glencoe shook his head emphatically. Leaning across the desk, he tapped it rapidly.

"No, Willard, I'm not," declared Glencoe. "I'll tell you why. There's a rumor around that those persons

"That's what the police commissioner thinks," insisted Glencoe. "He's holding a conference with prominent

"An old fogy, if ever there was one!" interrupted Mance. "Come, Edmund, be sensible. There can't be an

epidemic of hitandrun crime staged by reputable people. Granted that a criminal organization exists, it

"There is a brain," declared Glencoe solemnly. "It is called by a very appropriate title: the Hydra."

"The Hydra was a fabulous monster," explained Glencoe. "According to legend, it had several heads, with its

brains divided among them. If anything happened to any of those heads, the others continued to function.

Glencoe was up from the desk, wagging his hand excitedly, when Mance clapped him on the back and

"Exactly!" exclaimed Glencoe. "And that is what we fear this modern Hydra is doing. It is a monster of crime

Mance laughed again, said, "Come along, Edmund. Your guests are waiting to have you show them around

"Keep an eye on the servants." Glencoe gestured before Mance could interrupt. "I know they're all reliable,

"All except Selbert" corrected Glencoe. "After all, he is my confidential secretary. I'd have asked him to

THEY went out to a reception room, where Glencoe summoned the guests to begin a tour of the mansion.

Selbert immediately appeared; he was a dapper little man, who carried a big book under his arm, the volume

The first stop was at the music room, which Glencoe unlocked and invited the guests to enter. They thronged

after Glencoe and Selbert, because all were anxious to view Glencoe's collection of rare violins and original

Looking past the crowd, Glencoe noted that Mance was by the door, near enough to catch any conversation

Quite pleased, Glencoe left Mance to his task and devoted his own efforts to displaying musical rarities.

Nevertheless, when Mance spoke to the two servants, he was careful to do so in an undertone, hiding his

mouth under cover of the hand with which he removed his cigarette holder from his lips.

At that moment, Glencoe was pointing guests to the Borgian harp that Mance mentioned. The gold

decorations of the priceless instrument were alone worth a small fortune, its many jewels another sizable

"Ear 4K," the fellow said. "Formerly 2B. The trucks have arrived behind the tennis courts."

"None," replied 4K. "All were diverted to parking spaces on the other side of the house."

The guests came from the music room, shepherded by Glencoe, with Selbert following patiently behind his

employer, still carrying the bulky catalogue. The next stop was Glencoe's art gallery, which formed a special

While the guests admired a long tow of valuable paintings, Mance strolled about looking over other servants.

Near a door, Mance turned his back and identified himself as Head Four to a servant who proved to be Eye

4D. This Hydra spy informed him that the selected paintings were already cut from their frames, but held

invisibly in place by tape that would give way at a single tug. Quite intrigued, Mance strolled along the

On the way from the art gallery to Glencoe's antique room, Mance paused to contact another of Glencoe's

reliable servants. To Head No. 4, the servant identified himself as Tooth 4B. When Mance asked him if he'd

done the picture job, the Tooth nodded, then beamed with pleasure when the Head complimented him on

So it went throughout the tour, from Glencoe's antique room to the heavily locked wing on the second floor

where the millionaire kept his main curio collection, valued at a hundred thousand dollars.

By then, Mance had finished his survey of the servants, and Glencoe was pleased to see his friend looking

over some of the doubtful guests, even sounding them out through casual conversation.

Each one was an Eye, Ear or Tooth, all answering to letters prefaced by the number four, which symbolized

the Head they secretly served. Not once did Mance nor any of his helpers overdo the countersign by which

they introduced themselves. It consisted merely in spreading a looseclenched fist into an open hand, the

At the finish of the insidious parade, Glencoe bowed his guests into reception rooms, remarking that servants

were busy setting supper tables in the conservatory. Plucking Mance's arm, Glencoe drew his friend aside for

"You did nobly, Willard," complimented Glencoe. "All my qualms are ended. Wait here comes Selbert. We

GLENCOE turned one way, Mance the other, but after a few paces, the latter paused. Mance's loose fist

opened as Selbert approached; the dapper secretary gave a similar gesture with a hand that clutched Glencoe's

"Tooth 4A," whispered Selbert. He opened the catalogue showing where he had torn pages from it. "I marked

the wanted items, and left the sheets in their proper rooms for the Eyes, Ears, and Teeth to find."

"I have the combination to Glencoe's safe," replied Selbert. "Ear 4B reports that the light switch in the study

Mance frowned, whereupon Selbert quickly informed him that the light switch was seldom used, Glencoe

preferring his desk lamp. When Selbert added that he could rifle Glencoe's safe within the next ten minutes,

Head No. 4 nodded his complete approval. Selbert continued to the study, while Mance strolled off to find

The trouble was, Mance didn't find Glencoe. The host wasn't with his guests. Mance's emotionless face began

to show worry of its own, as he detached himself from friends and made a side trip to the study. The door was

ajar, so Mance pushed it open. By the glow of the big desk lamp, Head No. 4 saw all that he expected.

Glencoe's safe was open. In front of it stood Selbert, his hands raised. The desk was strewn with the contents

of the safe cash, stocks, and bonds already stacked in separate piles. In front of all was Glencoe, nervous no

The grayhaired man was covering his treacherous secretary with a revolver. Hearing Mance enter, Glencoe

"I'm glad you're here, Willard!" exclaimed Glencoe. "Look what I found! Selbert, the man I trusted most,

robbing my safe! I'll hold him while you summon the servants or, better still, call the police."

"A little more light would help," spoke Mance coolly. "Where is the light switch?"

"Right by the door," began Glencoe. Impatiently, he added: "No, never mind the switch. It isn't important."

With a darted glance, Glencoe saw what Mance meant by "this." It was a revolver that Mance himself had

drawn and was aiming straight at Glencoe. With a fierce gasp, old Glencoe swung about to meet his false

Mance's trigger finger tugged, while the thumb of his other hand pressed the light switch that he had found.

The gun burst that dispatched a bullet straight to Glencoe's heart was drowned by an exploding roar that

shook the very foundations of the massive mansion. The floor of the study was shuddering when it received

Crime had struck in a titanic way, as planned by Willard Mance, Head No. 4 of evil's manifold monster: the

SELBERT was right. The light switch on the study wall was connected to the tremendous fuel tank supplying

the furnace of the great mansion. A big furnace like Glencoe's took a lot of oil, a liquid that could explode

with wrecking power when pepped up with hightest stuff, as Glencoe's fuel happened to be.

Teeth of the Hydra had seen to that, along with other important details. In fact, the full preparations for this

tremendous crime hadn't more than begun to show themselves. The explosion from the cellar merely primed

Glencoe's mansion was built of stone, its walls as thick as bastions. If it hadn't been of such strong

construction, Mance and his Hydra helpers wouldn't have risked a heavy explosion while they were still in

the place. Thus, though the building shuddered, it did not cave in. However, floors heaved when timbers

buckled; partitions split asunder, while cracking ceilings delivered deluges of plaster.

Every light in the house was extinguished, but darkness did not take over. Up through rifts in the floor,

writhing in from broken partitions, came great licks of livid flame like the tongues of Gargantuan gas jets.

Guests shrieked at sight of the searing fire which should have subsided, but didn't.

It wasn't just oil that fed the flames. Those hungry tongues found much to gobble. In one reception room, a

whole stretch of paneling spurted into blaze. Recently varnished by one of Glencoe's servants, the woodwork

had been treated with pure collodion, which ignited like a mammoth sheet of celluloid.

As guests fled to another reception room, the conflagration pursued them. They fled from its hellish midst

There the fugitives found that a mass of flame had cut off all exit except through the front door and a few

adjacent windows. They saw a grand staircase transformed to a huge torch, the reason being that

combustibles had been stored in a closet beneath it. Most of the fugitives didn't worry over that. With door

Some, however, remained to battle the holocaust. What happened to those few was tragic. Two guests

grabbed buckets of sand that they happened to see in a vestibule. Sand buckets had been ordered months ago

by Glencoe as a precaution against air raids, and sand could prove a big help in ease of fire.

As each man chucked a load of sand into the flames by the staircase, there was a brilliant puff, like a bursting

skyrocket. That sand was stuff of which fireworks were composed. It obliterated itself and the hapless men

Similar was the experience of loyal servants who tried to use fire extinguishers on the flames. The

extinguishers were loaded with explosive mixtures that blasted the moment that they sprayed. Other victims

vanished with the fiery torrent that was now engulfing the great mansion with volcanic fury.

Yet amid that sea of blaze were paths that the roaring flames had not reached. Byways through a literal hell,

free for travel by a host of lesser demons who knew their pattern. Demons who in their human form had

FROM the door of Glencoe's study, Willard Mance, Head No. 4, was shouting orders to those workers

between the crackles of the flames, while behind him stood Selbert, top man of the Teeth. Their stretch of

For along those routes Mance's workers were carrying the most valued of Glencoe's treasures. Folios, violins,

the great Borgian harp, were coming through the rear gap of the music room. Two men with packs of rolled

paintings were leaving by one door of Glencoe's art gallery, while the fire swept in from the other direction to

The best of Glencoe's antiques were being removed bodily, the rest remaining as added fuel for the mighty

fire; while from the second floor, servants laden with the finest curios were coming down a rear stairway

All these routes were converging to one goal a side door that opened behind the conservatory and afforded

This explained why Mance, the Hydra Head, had ordered the holocaust so arranged that fugitives would be

cut off from all exits except the front. He didn't want them to go through the conservatory, from which they

could view the looting of Glencoe's treasures. Fire, a mighty mass of it, lifted to staggering proportions, was

As yet, the conservatory was unscathed, but the time had come to add it to the pyre. Like a satanic majesty in

the midst of his favorite element, Mance ordered Selbert to that task, while the Hydra Head personally

stepped into Glencoe's study, where flames were beginning to appear, and gathered up the accumulated

Viewed from the front driveway, Glencoe's burning mansion was a most horrendous sight. It formed a great

pyramid of tapering flame, the fire streaming up from the sides into long tongues that were lashing through

the roof, giving the effect that the whole interior was ablaze, though such was not the case.

At the right of the building was the only untouched portion the glassinclosed conservatory, two stories

high, filled with grass rugs and wall hangings, wicker furniture and potted plants, the exterior adorned with

The lurid glare revealed a garage to the right of the house; near it were parked a few of the guest cars. But the

glow did not show the parking space beyond the tennis courts, for that area, the courts included, was directly

All over the front lawn were scattered guests. Some of them were burned or injured, and these were being

helped off to the left of the house by chauffeurs who had come running from the dozen limousines parked

there. One more car was coming in the driveway, bringing a belated guest to Glencoe's illfated party.

The arriving car was a limousine, its passenger a gentleman named Lamont Cranston.

A world traveler of repute, Cranston was a man who had seen many things and always took them calmly. He

instantly sized Glencoe's mansion as a total loss, but at the same time recognized that it might still have

occupants in need of aid. There was just one way to reach such persons through the conservatory, which, so

far, was undamaged. Since the driveway skirted in by the conservatory, Cranston spoke to his chauffeur:

The voice was calm, and so was Cranston's face. Reflected firelight showed a visage that was serious and

masklike, carrying a hawkish profile that fitted a man who could combine action with reserve.

The door of the limousine opened and Cranston stepped out. His calculating survey of the situation offset the

fact that he wasn't attired in firefighting garb. Lamont Cranston was immaculately clad in evening clothes.

The car had stopped just past a line of very bushy shrubs that skirted the driveway. It was only a few dozen

yards to the conservatory, but the windows there were fairly high above the ground.

WHILE Cranston was taking a quick look for something that resembled a door, only to see none, an odd

A man arrived within those windows and began to hammer frantically against the panes. The fellow was

Selbert, and Cranston recognized the secretary from a previous trip to Glencoe's.

Apparently, Selbert was trapped; but if so, he wasn't using his head about it. All he had to do was yank a

window open and jump out. If he happened to be worrying about someone else inside the house, Selbert

should by rights be opening the window anyway, so that his shouts could be heard.

At least, someone did see Selbert's actions. A stocky chauffeur was hurrying over from a car parked near the

garage. Why that chauffeur should be staying there, while all others were on the front lawn helping the

guests, was only a shortlived mystery. As he reached the corner wall, the chauffeur stooped and grabbed up

the nozzle of a big hose. In heroic style, he smashed the corner window with the nozzle.

Then came a shout from Selbert, words which Cranston could hear beside his car, though he was the only

person close enough to catch the call that Selbert addressed to the stocky chauffeur.

"Turn it on, Kirthle!" ordered Selbert. "Make it quick! I'm going back through!"

With that, Selbert turned about and picked a path through a flamebordered doorway that led from the

conservatory into the mansion. At the same time, Kirthle beckoned and a pair of servants sprang into sight

from the outer corner of the conservatory. Kirthle handed them the nozzle, while he dived to a water spigot

In through the conservatory window went a long stream that reached the outwardlashing flames. Instead of

subduing the blaze, the stream fed it. The spurt from that hose wasn't water; it was gasoline, piped from an

It seemed that half the fire in the mansion came out to engulf the conservatory. New fuel for the holocaust,

delivered by design! The servants knew that it was coming, for they fled around the house, leaving the hose

About to follow, Kirthle saw Cranston. Realizing that this lone witness could testily to the incendiary origin

of the giant conflagration, Kirthle yanked a revolver. He was aiming the gun at Cranston when the latter

turned, saw the menacing weapon, and made a quick dart toward the open door of the limousine as though to

Before Kirthle could follow with his aim, a strange thing happened; something all the more amazing because

the sweep of flame through the conservatory was adding a tremendous burst of light. Amid all that glow,

Blackness that seemed to swoop at Cranston's beck, envelop him and take him off to nowhere! As blackness

whirled, the door of the limousine slammed, but the inky mass remained outside the car. Living blackness of

human size, that issued a weird, challenging laugh which Kirthle knew was meant not alone for him, but for

For that blotting shape had turned itself into a cloaked figure, whose eyes, beneath the brim of a slouch hat,

caught the glow from the fireswept mansion and transformed it into a burning gaze that promised ill to

In a manner so swift that the transformation seemed under way before it happened, Lamont Cranston had

THE SHADOW was surging forward, intent upon taking Kirthle alive, to make the fellow talk about the

Hydra. Kirthle fired one frantic shot, missing The Shadow by three feet. The bullet didn't even wing the

Kirthle wasn't the only smart chauffeur on hand. Stanley, Cranston's man, was trained to pull away when he

heard shooting start. Though Stanley regarded it odd that a complacent gentleman like Cranston should be in

the vicinity of gunfire so often, the chauffeur never questioned his master's orders, nor did he link Cranston

with The Shadow. Among other elements in Stanley's training, he'd learned to mind his own business

As for Kirthle, he was thinking only of The Shadow. Under the muzzle of an automatic that the cloaked

fighter aimed, Kirthle tried another gun stab, that didn't deliver. The first shot from The Shadow's gun

The leaden slug found Kirthle's forearm, just above his gun hand. Jounced by the impact, Kirthle staggered

around, his arm flinging wide, while his loosened hand let his revolver scale against the wall below the

conservatory windows. Wounded and unarmed, Kirthle turned to run; then, seeing The Shadow looming hard

Diving for the wall, Kirthle grabbed up his gun with his left hand and swung triumphantly, hoping to cripple

The Shadow in turn. Within reach, The Shadow made a swoop to grab Kirthle's arm, but the fellow made a

Down came a great chunk of the conservatory wall, a mass of molten metal and whitehot glass. Kirthle

hadn't realized how quickly the conservatory had become a furnace under the feeding spray of gasoline which

he himself had started. Probably Kirthle never realized it, for he was buried out of sight in an avalanche as

Only by a long, swift dive did The Shadow escape the fiery debris. Wheeling from the scorching flames that

now were climbing the vine pillars, The Shadow made a wider circuit toward the rear of the mansion, hoping

They were beyond the tennis courts, those crooks and others. The Shadow couldn't see the trucks because of

an intervening wall, but he did spy the last of the men who were bringing burdens from Glencoe's side door.

The Shadow gave them a weird laugh that made them falter; then, in response to the mirth, came a deluge of

That barrage was meant for The Shadow. Though it didn't reach him, it allowed the burden carriers to escape.

Attacked by the whole Hydra tribe, The Shadow needed shelter of his own in order to fight back. He took the

only spot he saw, which happened to be the best, the very door from which the Hydra's men had brought the

Once within that shelter, The Shadow jabbed a few shots toward the distant marksmen. Dropping deeper to

let them spot themselves with unwary shots, The Shadow suddenly lost interest in such random battle. Here

within the firegorged mansion, The Shadow was viewing the pathways through which The Hydra's workers

It wasn't a question now of rescuing helpless persons who weren't even likely to be around. Here was The

Shadow's chance to trap some of the Hydra's clan in the very pitfall which they had designed as coverage for

ONE candidate was already in sight. Turning a corner toward The Shadow was the very man who had

signaled the destruction of the conservatory Glencoe's false secretary, Selbert!

Mere chance warned Selbert of danger ahead. Dropping back as a stretch of floor gave underfoot, Selbert

looked up and saw The Shadow bearing straight toward him. With a wild look, the dapper man turned and

With a leap, The Shadow was across the cavity. Around the corner he sidestepped as Selbert peppered

frantic shots in return. Scrambling for Glencoe's study, Selbert stumbled on the threshold. He was up again,

clutching his gun and a precious bundle, when The Shadow overtook him. With a wild wrench, Selbert went

The Hydra Head was perfect in his pretext. He didn't waste half a second asking any questions. One look told

him that Selbert had met with something supernormal, and Mance acted just as though he expected someone

like The Shadow. He pinned Selbert against the only stretch of wall that the flames hadn't reached, grabbed

"I've got him!" bellowed Mance. "The traitor who murdered Glencoe and robbed him! Help me... somebody!"

It wasn't just anybody who appeared. Staring across Selbert's shoulder, Mance looked amazed when he saw

It looked like Selbert's crime, even though he hadn't done it. To all appearances, Mance had reached the study

too late to aid Glencoe and was now demanding vengeance for his murdered friend.

That fact, plus The Shadow's own wish to check on Glencoe's death, worked in favor of the Hydra's cause.

The Shadow turned toward Glencoe's body and saw the desk beyond it, strewn with papers that the flames

had just begun to devour. Mance had stayed to see that Selbert had missed nothing of value and that sudden

Mance and Selbert were already gone, the Hydra Head shoving the Tooth through the doorway to the hall,

their departure drowned by a sudden crackle of flames that poured through the study walls. If Selbert had

paused long enough to fire, he might have clipped The Shadow; but the secretary was too fearful, too amazed

As for Mance, his gun was out, but he didn't have it aimed when he fired. His shot was wide, and he was

smart enough to duck through the door ahead of The Shadow's reply. Then Selbert was dashing for the corner

with Mance behind him, but all the while, the rugged Hydra Head was shooting back, hoping to nail The

From that shelter, The Shadow fired as Mance turned the corner. Again, flames rallied to a criminal's aid.

These were the flames that roared through the study walls, flaring up from the supporting beams. Literally

that fiery mass swallowed the floor of the entire room, and The Shadow plunged as the whole room caved

CLUTCHING the doorway as he went, The Shadow clung there watching the collapse. Glencoe's body, the

desk beyond it, finally the big safe, went splashing into a sea of red fire that spouted like a mighty geyser,

One heave and The Shadow was clear of the lashing flame, safe in the hallway that formed a last oasis amid

The Shadow reached the corner of the passage, only to find it transformed to another pit of flame that Mance

and Selbert had just managed to bridge. The route to the conservatory was cut off; it was from that direction

that new waves of fire had reached the doomed study. One path alone remained: the back staircase to the

It led up and down; nevertheless, The Shadow took the stairs ahead of a rising wall of fire. On the floor

above, he saw the outline of a window through a raging torrent of smokeclouded red. Floor boards cracked

and fell as The Shadow drove across them, but his lunging arms reached the window and drove through the

Again, The Shadow's hauling hands made up for lack of footing. Over the sill, he struck headlong on a small,

sloping roof of slate that held the temperature of a griddle. That ordeal was short, for the roof gave as The

Shadow struck it and he scaled off to the ground, landing clear of burning porch posts and a shower of

loosened slates that seemed to hiss their heat as they knifed into the turf and stopped there, upright, like Druid

Cars were spurting away through a back driveway, off to the left of the house. Seeing an abandoned sedan,

The Shadow reached it, found the keys that the frightened owner had left, and started the blistered car away

from the tremendous mountain of flame and smoke that now entirely obscured the whole of Glencoe's home.

The chase, however, was shortlived. It ended at the emergency entrance of a hospital two miles from

Glencoe's. The vehicles ahead weren't trucks, nor even the sort of getaway cars that crooks might use. They

were limousines piloted by faithful chauffeurs, who had brought the burned and injured guests from

Mance and his Hydra followers had gone the other direction. With many roads to choose, their fourmile

start would be sufficient. Dealing with them would be a matter of the future. Such was The Shadow's verdict

as he turned the borrowed car about and started back toward the mighty beacon that had once been Glencoe's

Great flames lashing to the sky, billows of smoke that rose to heights of clouds, were symbols of the wrath

that the Hydra, vast organization of evil Heads, could wreak upon whatever men of wealth it chose to devour

as its victims. Never in the history of modern crime had there existed so terrible a menace as the Hydra.

But there was something that all Hydra Heads, Mance included, could remember, along with those workers

who termed themselves Eyes, Ears, and Teeth. With all their individual effort, plus the fury of the holocaust

they had created, these men who formed the Hydra had failed to obliterate a lone foe who tonight had

LAMONT CRANSTON woke up and wondered why his head still whirled. It took him about half a minute

to learn that the motion came from the fact he was riding in his limousine. Which didn't make sense at first,

because the last thing Cranston remembered, he'd been out of his car watching Glencoe's mansion go up in

Slowly, reflectively, Cranston nodded. Someone must have put him back in the limousine and Stanley was

driving him home. He didn't have to guess who had helped him on his way, for at that moment Cranston

heard a lowtoned laugh beside him. He turned to see the blackcloaked figure of The Shadow.

"I'm only carrying a pair tonight," replied The Shadow, "and they were inside my cloak when I tossed you in

"Hardly. A chap was aiming at you with a revolver. I had to send you away fast, which I did. So rapidly, that

"That's quite all right," declared Cranston. "A lot of people think they've seen me become The Shadow."

"And others," added The Shadow, "are quite sure that I have become Lamont Cranston."

The big car was rolling along a country road. Cranston was surprised to note that it was the highway leading

to his New Jersey estate. Calculating the distance from Glencoe's, Cranston realized he'd been out of

"That fellow who was taking a shot at me," inquired Cranston, reminiscently. "Who was he?"

"His name was Kirthle," replied The Shadow. "He worked for the Hydra. I was trailing him from the last

case, the only lead I had. I didn't know that crime was due at Glencoe's; otherwise, I'd have gone there in

"You mean this Hydra business is on the level?" demanded Cranston. "Why, I thought it was just another of

It was The Shadow's turn to laugh, which he did, though his lowthrobbed tone lacked mirth.

"Frankly, Cranston," stated The Shadow, "I classed those recent crimes as individual cases. One night when I

was you, I told Weston that they seemed the work of a group with multiple heads, like a Hydra. I simply

wanted to stir our friend, the commissioner, to furnish more cooperation from the law.

"But I struck the thing right on the head or Heads. There is a Hydra, and tonight its work was managed by a

head named Willard Mance. That fire was of incendiary origin, intended to cover a big robbery. It finished by

masking murder as well. Edmund Glencoe is dead, slain by the man he called his best friend, Willard

For the rest of the ride, Cranston sat in stupefied silence. Knowing both Mance and Glencoe, he wouldn't

have deemed the thing possible but for the fact of his own narrow escape from death at the hands of Kirthle.

Cranston was still pondering deeply when the car pulled up in front of his own sizable residence.

"After you, Cranston," undertoned The Shadow. "Only one of us can go in the house openly. I shall meet you

Going up the front steps of his house, Cranston looked over his shoulder, hoping to catch some token of The

Shadow's exit from the limousine. All that Cranston saw was blackness, thick within the car, and likewise on

the ground where the car had been after Stanley swung the limousine around the corner of the garage.

Meeting servants inside the house, Cranston was detained a few minutes before he went upstairs, as he had to

inquire about phone calls during his absence, particularly because some might be of importance to his friend,

The Shadow. At last, Cranston reached the second floor and opened the door of the trophy room.

Seated in a comfortable armchair, languidly smoking one of Cranston's favorite cigars, was his double.

Feature for feature, pose for pose, the man in the chair was Lamont Cranston. Actually, he was The Shadow,

who through perfect makeup and long practice had become as much Cranston as himself.

This had been going on for years, so it should have been perfect. But when Cranston thought back to the time

when he had first met The Shadow as himself, he remembered that the impersonation had been flawless, even

"I SUPPOSE I owe you an apology, Cranston," declared The Shadow in his friend's own calm tone. "When I

first decided to supplant you, it was purely because you were away from home for such long periods. It was

"No fault of mine that I came back to stay," returned Cranston. "Globetrotting is an obsolete sport

nowadays, with world conditions as they are. However, I still enjoy our little game. I've made a lot of real

"Plenty of enemies," laughed Cranston, "but they haven't been permanent! You seem to have the habit of

The Shadow joined in Cranston's laugh. It was singular, how their tones blended into a single voice. When

"Margo Lane," interrupted Cranston. "I knew we'd get around to her. But how did I know that I was going to

meet her on that Caribbean cruise I took? How could I guess that she would run into you at a night club two

days after we landed? Naturally, she mistook you for me. I even would myself if I could forget who I am.

"Very useful," agreed The Shadow. "Whenever trouble is coming up, I know it from the way Margo gets into

The Shadow had risen from his chair. He was strolling the room in slow, easy fashion. Watching his double,

Cranston caught the mood and began a stroll of his own. He came face to face with The Shadow in a doorway

and waited for his impersonator to speak. When The Shadow did, his voice came from behind Cranston's

"When did you install that door mirror?" asked The Shadow. "You should have told me that you were having

Cranston spun away from his own reflection. His face showed blank surprise as it met The Shadow's, who

copied the expression to show Cranston what he'd missed by not continuing to watch the mirror. Finding his

"I had the place repapered," he explained. "I'd forgotten about the mirror. It was fitted only a few days ago."

"Where have you put your rifles?" asked The Shadow, studying the blank wall. "In the gun room?"

"I think I'll leave them there," he said. "There isn't room for them when the trophies are hung. Of course, I'll

He pointed to a corner where a huge cabinet showed shelves that were laden with dozens of cups, all tributes

to Cranston's skill as a sportsman. The Shadow smiled when he noted that one shelf was devoted to the

trophies that he, The Shadow, had personally won during times when Cranston was away. Nice of Cranston

"Keep me posted on all changes," suggested The Shadow. "I might come home while you are out and find

myself a trifle confused. By the way, you hired a new house man lately. What is his name?"

"Kendrick," replied Cranston. "He always answers the door, so you'll probably meet him if you forget your

The Shadow raised his hand in interruption. He could hear slow footsteps coming up the front stairs. Plucking

his hat and cloak from a chair, The Shadow passed them to Cranston and gestured toward the door with the

"Step in the closet a minute," suggested The Shadow. "That must be Kendrick coming upstairs, because the

footsteps are new to me. I might as well get acquainted with him while I'm here."

What caused it was the fact that The Shadow was totally off guard. He had to be so because he was posing as

Cranston. There wasn't any reason for Cranston to be alert, or even abrupt, when opening the door of the

trophy room to admit an arriving servant. Since The Shadow was playing the part of Cranston, he opened the

Then The Shadow's hands were rising, shoulder high. The back steps that he took were forced upon him by

the pressure of a revolver muzzle planted squarely in his chest. And the stare that The Shadow gave was

The man behind the gun was the murderer who had tricked The Shadow at Glencoe's. Not satisfied with that

exploit, Willard Mance had sprung another clever stroke. Linking The Shadow with Lamont Cranston, the

belated guest who had come to Glencoe's home, the Hydra Head was here for a final showdown!

HIS eyes fixed on The Shadow's, Mance gave an ugly laugh. Not for an instant did the killer relax his gun

hand, even when he reached behind him to close the door. There was murder in Mance's glare. It stood for the

"I'm going to kill you, Cranston," informed Mance in a deep undertone. "You crossed my path at Glencoe's,

"Too bad what happened at Glencoe's," parried The Shadow calmly. "I suppose you escaped with the other

guests. But your attitude puzzles me, Mance. Did the heat of the fire affect you?"

"Now, I know you're bluffing, Shadow," sneered Mance. "But you don't do it well without your cloak and

In a bland fashion that suited his impersonation of Cranston, The Shadow stepped back so that Mance could

Like Cranston, The Shadow was attired in evening clothes. Protected by the cloak, the fulldress suit hadn't

suffered during the episode at Glencoe's. If Mance sought evidence to prove his claim that Cranston and The

"Naturally, you've hung your hat and cloak somewhere," Mance told The Shadow. "What is more important,

you had them with you when you came to Glencoe's. Selbert told me that he saw your limousine arrive out

"First Cranston, then The Shadow. Quite a coincidence. Kirthle must have seen you switch from one into the

other. It meant nothing to the rest, except possibly Selbert, but it meant enough to me. So much, that I

"You need a drink, Mance," suggested The Shadow indulgently. "Unless you've already had too many "

By interruption, Mance pushed his gun forward, thrusting The Shadow hard against a chair. Whipping his

free hand beneath The Shadow's evening coat, Mance hauled out an automatic from its holster and sent it

thudding to the floor. In the same quick sweep, he reached across The Shadow's body and pulled out the other

As he drew back, Mance gave a triumphant sniff. He'd caught the trifling odor of smoke from The Shadow's

evening coat. It was helpful, though, that discovery, for it caused Mance to pause and gloat.

"That covers your case, Shadow," was Mance's verdict. "I'm going to kill you, like I did Glencoe! Not that

you matter, because you never could defeat the Hydra. You've heard of the original Hydra, with its many

The Shadow acted as though he hadn't, so Mance explained what he meant by "more."

"Every time you lop off a Hydra head," gloated Mance, "two others grow in its place. That was the legend of

the original creature called the Hydra, and our system is the same. If you'd killed me tonight, Shadow, the

"It happens that I'm going to kill you. When the police commissioner finds his friend Cranston murdered, he

will never blame me for it. I happen to be a man who has a perfect alibi. That is, I'm sure to have one when

"But you can die with the satisfaction that, sooner or later, the Hydra would have finished you. It was just a

THE word "now" was The Shadow's cue. Expecting it, he knew the gesture that would follow it a forward

thrust of Mance's gun, even though the muzzle was less than a foot from The Shadow's chest. Likewise, The

Shadow foresaw that Mance would withhold his trigger tug just long enough to see if his victim yielded to

Had the Shadow lowered his hands or made any more other than a slight waver, Mance would have fired

instantly. So all The Shadow did was waver, and it proved quite enough. He faltered sideward, then forward

with a trifling twist. Mance's gun was closer to his tightdrawn arm than to his chest, when The Shadow

Right in the groove about his elbow, The Shadow caught the barrel of Mance's revolver. Not once did his

hand signal what was coming, nor did that hand stir after The Shadow gave the arm clutch. It couldn't, for

What The Shadow did was spin full about, packing all the weight of his body into the leverage that whipped

the revolver from Mance's clutch and scaled it into the corner by the trophy case!

Finishing his twirl, The Shadow lunged for Mance. Though tricked, the killer was already on the move.

Stooped to the floor, Mance was snatching up one of The Shadow's automatics. As Mance swung the gun

toward its rightful owner, The Shadow sped a hand for the killer's wrist. Life or death were hinging on a

splitsecond, the question being whether The Shadow could stop Mance's gun hand before it completed its

A splitsecond with inches at stake! Inches that might spell the end of The Shadow's duel with the Hydra!

The Shadow's fate depending on the first spurt of his own gun, now in the grip of an enemy's hand!

The automatic tongued flame, but its burst was unheard. Just as with Mance's earlier shot at Glencoe, so was

this report drowned out by a much greater roar. The whole room shuddered, its very walls seemed to split.

The Shadow reeled from the concussion almost at his elbow. He didn't feel the bullet that seared his shoulder

Staggered by something really tremendous, The Shadow grabbed for Mance, only to find that his foeman

wasn't there. The murderer was gone with the blast, and the discordant clatter of metal that followed was

Then, across the room, The Shadow saw Cranston rising from the floor beside the open door of the closet.

Cranston looked dazed, too, for he'd taken a kick as hard as the toss that The Shadow had given him earlier.

From the floor, Cranston picked up a mammoth weapon, more sizable than a oneman burden. The thing was

"I found it in the closet," explained Cranston. "It was the only gun left here. The cartridges were on the shelf.

"Over there" was beside the trophy cabinet. The charge from the elephant gun had given Mance a permanent

wallop, along with the temporary kick it handed Cranston. Folded right in half, Mance had hit the cabinet and

overturned it. His crumpled body was covered with a blanket of cups, which accounted for the clatter that

RELIEVING Cranston of the elephant gun, The Shadow steered his friend into the closet. Hauling the big

weapon with him, The Shadow opened the door to meet arriving servants who had dashed upstairs when they

In Cranston's calm style, The Shadow inquired who had left the elephant gun loaded. The servants looked at

one another as they shook their heads, so The Shadow coolly dismissed them, saying that he would take up

"Whenever I see this gun," began Cranston, coming from the closet, "I'll remember what I did with it "

"Quite right," interposed The Shadow approvingly. "What you did to Mance will make amends for any

elephants you may have killed. Too bad Mance didn't bring along a few more Hydra Heads. At that close

Slowly, understanding dawned on Cranston. He'd never compared his biggame hunts with The Shadow's

quests for men of crime. He felt that The Shadow's cause was justified, but it had seemed outside the field of

sport. It still was, but Cranston, now that he had dealt with a murderer who deserved to die, was realizing that

Bringing his cloak and hat from the closet, The Shadow put them on. Gazing at Mance's body, he spoke in

"Mance mentioned an alibi. He said he could kill me and never be called to account "

There was a radio in another corner. The Shadow tuned in for a news report and waited silently until it came.

The first flash was a summary of the fire at Glencoe's, listing the victims who had perished there. Heading the

list, next to the name of Edmund Glencoe, was that of Willard Mance. More names followed, among them

No wonder Mance had come to Cranston's bent on murder! Already marked as dead, Mance would never

have become a murder suspect. Clear of blame in Glencoe's death, he could have killed at leisure, beginning

Though Mance hadn't known it, he would have needed to do a double murder to dispose of both The Shadow

and Lamont Cranston, the two that he believed were one. Justly enough, the matter of double death had

boomeranged on Mance. Already counted dead, the Hydra Head had met with actual doom.

"This solves our present problem," The Shadow told Cranston. "Since Mance is already dead, there is no need

to report what happened here. It is better to let the other Hydra Heads believe that Mance is still at large,

rather than have them elect two more to replace him. Be ready later to admit my agents. They will remove the

While The Shadow was descending by the window route, Cranston went downstairs inside the house and

informed his servants that he would need them no more this evening. Outside, Cranston walked along the

driveway toward the gates, listening for other crunches on the gravel. None came; instead, Cranston heard a

whispered voice beside him. The Shadow had arrived silently, an invisible companion in the darkness.

"I've been thinking over what you told me," Cranston confided. "It's given me a new definition of sport,

though I always did argue that it wasn't the kill that counted. Hunting big game seems small compared to

The Shadow's responding laugh told that he had found it that way for a very long while.

"I seem to have moved in on this hunt," added Cranston, "so I feel entitled to see it through. Whenever you

"Meanwhile, you can still be yourself," inserted The Shadow. "As such you may be the first to meet another

They were at the gate. Turning, Cranston started to ask another question, only to learn that The Shadow was

no longer beside him. The proof was a whispered laugh that floated back from the night.

Encouraging, that laugh. More than a token of departure, it carried The Shadow's full approval of Cranston's

offer to continue in the quest against the multiple monster of crime that called itself the Hydra!

TWO evenings later, Lamont Cranston learned what it could mean to be himself. In response to a phone call

from The Shadow, Cranston went to the Cobalt Club to meet his friend, Police Commissioner Ralph Weston.

It was a long while since Cranston had seen the commissioner, because The Shadow had monopolized those

From the moment he reached the club, Cranston realized that Weston hadn't asked him to a social session.

Crime was on the board, and the commissioner was actually asking Cranston's advice. Moreover, there were

One, of course, was Inspector Joe Cardona, a swarthy man of pokerfaced expression. Though Joe said little,

he was always interested when Cranston spoke. Cranston knew that The Shadow had often sided with

The other man was Dustin Bardell, chairman of a citizen's committee that had convened with Commissioner

Weston on the evening of the Glencoe tragedy. He was a serious man, Bardell, past middle age but very

active, and at times dynamic. He seemed as determined to ferret out the Hydra business as was Weston.

Square of face, sharp of eye, Bardell did more than come bluntly to the issue. In slambang style, he

"Come! You were at Glencoe's. You can tell us if incendiaries started that fire!"

"I wasn't there when it began," pleaded Cranston. "They say there was an explosion that caused it."

"If so, the explosion was arranged," argued Bardell. "Glencoe isn't the first wealthy man who has been

subjected to attack. There was something wrong about that whole business. You must find more evidence,

commissioner." Bardell paused, about to bang the table again, then held his hand poised. "Ah! Here is the

The man in question was a tall, sharpfaced individual who entered the scene with a long, brisk stride,

opening a brief case as he arrived. He spread a batch of papers on the table between Weston and Bardell, then

Cranston recognized the newcomer as Charles Medor, head of the United Insurance Bureau, which made a

business of investigating claims against large insurance companies. Impartial in its decisions, the United

Bureau was never questioned in its verdicts. Noted for his thorough work, paid highly for his services, Medor

Medor's report was a bombshell that turned out to be a dud when he delivered it.

"The explosion was an accident at Glencoe's," asserted Medor, referring to the report sheets that he brought.

"A faulty valve in the oil pipe to the furnace, slow seepage from the storage tank were the contributory

"The quick spread of the fire was not surprising, considering that hundreds of gallons of oil were in the tank.

All testimony proves that the flames spread too rapidly for any of Glencoe's furnishings to be saved.

"Since the insurance companies have a full inventory of Glencoe's treasures and their value, I have

recommended that all claims be paid, particularly as the guests at Glencoe's home have stated that every item

"You can't do this!" he stormed. "Why, suppose that fire was meant to ruin Glencoe! Enemies might even

have wanted him to perish, along with poor Mance! Suppose, for example, that Glencoe had been

"I do not deal in suppositions," inserted Medor icily. His eyes were very cold under his bristly brows. "I go

by facts, and in this case they are plain. Any delay in settlement of Glencoe's just claims would injure the

"Certain new corporations in which Glencoe had an interest," returned Medor. "Glencoe had agreed to

finance several budding industries. He had even given his notes, pending the issue of stock in those

"I know about those companies," he admitted. "I'd hoped to buy into some of them myself. Still, Medor, if

"It can't," emphasized Medor. "The law has provided no evidence of crime directed at either Glencoe or

Commissioner Weston sat as though handcuffed. Medor was right; too right. Even the bodies of Glencoe and

Mance had not been recovered from the heaped ashes and cinders that represented all that was left of

Glencoe's mansion and its treasures. Even to suggest that the pair had been murdered, would be preposterous,

As for Lamont Cranston, he sat back wishing that he really were The Shadow. He was sure that his

uncloaked double could have found some way to change Medor's set opinion in a case where The Shadow

PERHAPS if Cranston had reasoned a bit further, he'd have realized why The Shadow hadn't chosen to come

here in his place. Actually, The Shadow was taking the best of steps to unveil the true facts of crime at

Glencoe's. He was using the same system as before that of trailing a worker of the Hydra, as in the case of

This time, however, The Shadow was doing more than haunt the footsteps of a mere tool.

Only a few nights ago, Willard Mance, a supposed dead man, had tried to trick The Shadow. The result had

proven disastrous for Mance, establishing him as really dead; still, Mance had won a point. He'd shown, for

instance, that a man supposed to be dead would not have to worry over alibis for murder.

The same applied to Selbert. Like Mance, he could feel secure, except for one proviso.

If publicly recognized by anyone, Selbert would be in serious plight. The fact made him an outcast with the

rest of the Hydra's tribe. He couldn't go around with them in the mobile fashion that they preferred, because if

Unquestionably the Hydra, through its various Heads, owned hideaways of the deepest sort. Pooled wealth

could give the lesser workers benefit of many advantages that ordinary criminals did not possess.

But it would be folly for the Hydra to waste any such assets on Selbert. The dead man wasn't hunted, not to

the Hydra's knowledge. All Selbert had to do was stay some place where he wouldn't be recognized. In brief,

For two days, The Shadow had been working on that theory. From his sanctum, a blackwalled room deep in

the heart of Manhattan, the cloaked investigator was keeping contact with many secret agents skilled in

It wasn't like looking for a needle in a haystack, not the way The Shadow handled it. On the table beneath the

bluish light that formed the only illumination in his sanctum, The Shadow had spread a large map of

Manhattan, divided into many squares, most of which were shaded. The rest were the ones that counted.

This was a map that covered cases like Selbert's. A man in his situation would stay in Manhattan rather than

go to one of the other boroughs. He would avoid Chinatown and the other numerous foreign quarters where

Naturally, business areas were out. So were hotel sections, amusement centers, even big apartment sectors,

Conversely, Selbert wouldn't be around oldfashioned neighborhoods or in the realm of cheap rooming

houses where strangers attracted attention. He'd probably picked an apartment larger than a converted house,

yet one that didn't have an attendant on duty. Preferably a furnished place on a monthtomonth basis, which

Such were shown in the comparatively few squares that remained unshaded on The Shadow's man. There, his

agents were scouting for someone who looked like Selbert. And now, even while The Shadow was tapping

Selbert was found. Clyde Burke, an agent who worked as a newspaper reporter, had spotted the former

secretary leaving a delicatessen with a three days supply of food. He'd watched the small apartment house

where Selbert went, and had seen lights come on. Selbert was living in Apartment 3D of a sidestreet

The bluish light clicked off. There was a crinkle as the map was folded in the darkness. A whispered laugh

stirred the sanctum, its tone so shivery that echoes answered in repeated sibilance, only to fade into a silence

as solid as the blackness, a double proof that The Shadow, master of night, had left his hidden domain.

AT the same time, Lamont Cranston was dropping Charles Medor at the office of the United Insurance

Bureau. Alighting from the limousine, Medor smiled as he thanked Cranston for the lift.

It happened that Cranston had left the Cobalt Club at the same time as Medor. The reason was that Cranston

had received a telephone call from a very insistent young lady named Margo Lane.

Commissioner Weston had griped about the way Cranston's girlfriend so often talked him out of

conferences, but it had done no good. For a week, Cranston had been promising to take Margo to a night

club, and always something had postponed it. He'd said that if he didn't keep the date tonight, Margo would

That had brought a grunt of "Good riddance" from Weston, but Cranston hadn't seen it that way. Medor's

office being on the way to the place where Cranston was to meet the Lane girl, the insurance man had gotten

Though Cranston had said little during the trip, Medor watched the car until it was out of sight. Then, striding

Reaching his private office, Medor locked the door behind him and sat down in front of a squareshaped

instrument that looked like the microphone of an interoffice communication system.

First, Medor pressed a button. A curious whir came from the device. Medor spoke aloud, and waited. A

garbled voice responded, its words chopped to nonsense by the whir. Medor turned a dial until the voice was

This instrument was a shortwave radio set, fitted with a mixer; only the two persons who held a

conversation could shift the whirring sound so that they would hear their statements ungarbled.

Interrupting the other voice, Medor spoke again, his sharp face pressing close to the microphone, until its flat

top was on direct level with his bushy eyebrows. The words that Medor uttered were:

FROM the vestibule of the Monolith Arms, Selbert poked his pale face and gave a wary look both ways

along the street. Two nights ago, Selbert's manner had been dapper; this evening, he looked scared. Maybe

his fright at his first meeting with The Shadow was the reason, for Selbert's glances were the utmost in

Any of those blottedout segments might be The Shadow. So thought Selbert, until he counted so many

splotches that he suddenly changed his mind. Quite sure that The Shadow couldn't be around, Selbert stole

from the doorway and off along the street. His anxious eyes were set straight ahead, as if his fear had become

It would have made no difference if Selbert had looked back. The particular clump of darkness that moved

did so in a style that no one would have noticed. The solid gloom of a basement doorway seemed simply to

surge forward, then spread; not for an instant did it reveal itself as a figure cloaked in black. Rather, it drifted

Selbert's hurry, his anxiety, both made it easier for The Shadow to stalk him. Turning a corner, Selbert threw

a furtive glance at a subway entrance in the next block, then decided that he couldn't afford the benefit of a

nickel fare. His picture had appeared in the newspapers as one of the victims at Glencoe's house. Though

A cab was the only vehicle that Selbert could safely use, so he took one. Which suited The Shadow, because

The cab belonged to The Shadow and its driver was Moe Shrevnitz, one of The Shadow's capable secret

agents. Accepting Selbert as a passenger, Shrevvy stalled a bit while starting his motor, which gave The

The driver of the other cab was quite astonished by the whispered voice that told him to follow the cab ahead,

But the tone wasn't the sort to brook an argument, so The Shadow won his point, while Moe, up ahead, saw

Maybe Selbert suspected something, for after a dozen blocks he paid Moe off and transferred to another cab.

That old trick didn't help him. The Shadow paid off his cabby and shifted to Moe's waiting cab. From then

on, Selbert couldn't know that he was trailed, for The Shadow had trained Moe to such business.

Moe ducked around through other streets and picked up the trail on another avenue. Sometimes he would get

ahead of Selbert and let The Shadow check on the other cab. On avenues, Moe would lose his cab from sight

Thus when Selbert reached his goal, The Shadow still was right behind him. On foot, the cloaked trailer

merged with a building wall until Selbert entered the side door of a large building. After a brief pause, The

SINGULAR was Selbert's choice of destination. He had picked the promenade of a huge office building that

was much like an arcade, with rows of shops on each side. Few of the shops were open in the evening, but

The museum was due to close within an hour, hence it was almost deserted. Selbert paid fiftyfive cents, for

admittance and tax, to a uniformed gatekeeper, who watched him go through a railed entrance fitted with a

photoelectric beam. A recording device gave a sharp click, then another, which caused the gateman to turn in

For the first time in its history the beam had worked twice when only one person went through, and the

keeper couldn't understand it. He looked toward the beam, then shot a long glance after Selbert. Finally, he

As he had boldly stepped from darkness, so had The Shadow returned to it. Openly visible only when the

gateman's attention was diverted, The Shadow had promptly veered to a space behind a huge exhibit case that

showed an enlarged mechanism of an automatic lock. Selbert having gone the other way, the puzzled man at

the gate took his first look in the wrong direction, and that was enough for The Shadow to complete a glide to

Shifting to a deeper corner next to a big case that inclosed a large model of an ocean liner, The Shadow

watched Selbert move around the wall and stop at exhibits whenever other customers came by.

At one case, Selbert dropped a nickel in a slot to watch a model locomotive run on treadmill tracks. While

that was going on, The Shadow saw an attendant pause and take a steady look at the drab secretary.

Similarly, another attendant checked Selbert when he was going into an adjacent room, where The Shadow

followed as soon as the way was clear. Whisking into a farther room, The Shadow looked back from the

doorway to see Selbert finishing a quick round of exhibits under the scrutinizing eye of a third attendant.

The far room was empty of people, but it lacked suitable cover for The Shadow. At one side were a few steps

Reaching the door, The Shadow was opening it and shifting though when Selbert came in sight. Fortunately,

the fellow stopped to play with a handcrank movie machine, otherwise he might have caught his first

In fact, The Shadow was just working the door shut to the slightest crack, when Selbert left the movie

Completely closing the door, The Shadow turned about. The first thing he saw was a robot standing on a

platform against the far wall. It was a large, cumbersome thing, its limbs, body and head nothing but

cylinders of considerably more than human proportions. Hung from its neckless head was a placard, reading:

Gripping the robot, The Shadow found that it came apart. Evidently its machinery had been sent away for

repair, for the interior was quite empty. So the Shadow stepped into the robot's legs and eased the lightweight

From within the thinshelled contraption, he peered out through tiny holes that were drilled to make an

When Selbert entered, The Shadow was able to take stock of the room as well as the man, for Selbert began a

tour of the chamber. It didn't take him long, for the square room was quite small, but its exhibits were highly

ONE corner formed a railed square, wherein a huge metal rim was slowly spinning in a mysterious fashion,

covering a circle about equal to its own fivefoot diameter. It was obviously controlled by an electromagnet

that revolved beneath the floor, but the effect was surprising, nevertheless. Selbert stared, quite fascinated, at

Next was an exhibit case containing a model stratosphere balloon. Selbert pressed a button and the balloon

inflated with gas, to rise to the top of the high case. There a valve was released and the balloon came down

Another corner contained a combination dredger and sifter. It was much like a fullsized scoop seen on a

steam shovel, but its edges were like teeth. The thing was used for dredging coal from river beds, since the

This device was in operation. Each minute it would open its great steel jaws like Jonah's whale, and clamp

Leaving that corner, Selbert passed the robot, giving it a mere glance as he went by. He came to another case,

containing poison gases and their various reagents. Here were half a dozen slots, each calling for a nickel for

the privilege of seeing gases travel through spiral tubes and produce bubbles or color changes in glass jars

Selbert didn't waste any nickels. He was turning to the final corner to look at an automatic metal crusher,

when the door of the marvel chamber opened and three attendants filed into the room. They were the same

trio who had eyed Selbert during his earlier tour. Each man had a fist slightly clenched, and all let their hands

"Tooth 4A," spoke Selbert, as soon as the door was closed. "Awaiting new assignment."

"Ear 7C," replied one of the attendants. "We have heard from Head No. 7, telling us to expect you, but not so

"I guess you know all about me," he said. "I'm supposed to be dead, so I have to stay out of sight. But my

former Head, No, 4, told me if I didn't hear from him, I'd be transferred to Seven. I was to make contact

The Ear knew that such were Selbert's orders. He said that he had heard from Head No. 7 only a short while

ago and that Tooth 7A had been mentioned. Proper arrangements had been made on Selbert's account.

"We're pulling out of here tonight," explained the Ear. "Our Head has rigged a job for us. We're going to

"No," replied the Ear. "The museum won't be staying open evenings, so we're no longer needed. The Head

was just waiting until we could quit. Working here was soft for us, and saved expenses. Besides, we were

"We took the guts out of old Roger," continued the Ear, "so we could use him to hold a stowaway. That

"outoforder" sign is so people won't bother him. If you'd come racing in here, we'd have piled you in

Roger, clamped the catches tight and chucked away the sign. A guy inside can do the robot act as good as any

machinery. You tell Roger to raise his right hand, he does it. Simple stuff like that."

The Shadow resisted the impulse to prove that Roger was an obedient robot. Selbert gave the metal man a

stare, as though glad he hadn't been called upon for robot duty. Then the Ear was plucking Selbert's arm,

gesturing to a device that stood on a table between the gas case and the crusher.

"You'd better talk with Head Seven direct," the Ear told Selbert. "Make it short, though. We're closing the

Selbert began to thumb the dials of the mixer. One of the attendants showed him a hidden switch that started

the whir. Another turned to the Ear and asked him if he wanted to turn off the perpetual lamp, which was an

object like a gas jet, burning in a glass cylinder on a shelf above the radio mixer.

The Ear shook his head. He said the perpetual lamp could burn out for all he cared, since this was their last

night on duty. With that, the Ear gestured his companions out through the door behind them, leaving Selbert

An interview that would be overheard by Roger the Robot, in the person of The Shadow!

IT took Selbert several minutes to get the hang of the radio mixer. He kept talking to it while he played with

the dials, but everything sounded garbled. At last, a voice spoke in response to Selbert's efforts. It said:

As occupant of the robot, The Shadow could hear as well as see, but he wasn't able to identify the voice of

Head Seven. The whir from the mixer disguised the tone, making it quite crackly. That didn't matter to

Selbert. Knowing that he'd opened conversation with a new chief, Selbert began to talk.

First, he expressed loyalty to the Hydra and all its heads. That seemed to impress Head Seven, who

announced that he could use the services of a capable Tooth. Then the voice that really belonged to Charles

"Why have you not heard from Head No. 4?" was the query. "We who form the Hydra expected more from

"That might be it," replied Selbert. Then, a bit puzzled, he added: "How did you know about The Shadow?"

Head No. 7 gave a cryptic chuckle. It didn't perplex The Shadow, because he knew that others of Mance's

followers had seen him around Glencoe's, something that Selbert probably had not learned before Mance sent

"The Hydra is everywhere," spoke Head No. 7. "His Heads are many, his Eyes numberless, like his Ears and

"I know," said Selbert gratefully. "I could have hidden here, had I been in danger. No one would have found

"No one could have found you," stressed the whirring voice of Medor. "Turn to the robot that was to be your

"Beside the robot is a lever," continued Head Seven. "Take hold of it and draw it toward you, hard."

As Selbert gripped the lever that projected from the robot's platform, The Shadow not only voiced a warning

The Shadow's intuitive brain had grasped a thing that hadn't struck Selbert. A menace was at hand, and

though The Shadow held no regrets for Selbert, he didn't want to share the consequences. The crackly laugh

Unfortunately, The Shadow's hiss and the sudden movement of the robot's arms failed utterly to halt Selbert.

The dupe simply thought that the robot's machinery was in action, for Selbert's own problems had caused him

to pay little attention to the things that the Ear mentioned. This lapse on Selbert's part was fatal.

Selbert pulled the lever. It came loose in his hand the moment it released a mechanism beneath the floor.

All the machinery cut loose at once. The huge revolving hoop began to spin at steppedup speed. The

stratosphere balloon puffed, shot upward, deflated, and filled again, within its tall glass case. The toothed

scoop clapped open, clanged shut, and began to jab forward on a long rod, like a crane in action.

Poison gases were seething in their ease. A heavy crusher in the last corner banged down, popped up, banged

down again in tremendous fashion. Fully five feet square, that crusher was horrendous when it began to act

The perpetual lamp did nothing; it simply continued to flicker in the glass case on the shelf above the radio

mixer. The fact that the robot hurled itself apart and clattered in sections on the platform, was simply part of

The dazed man didn't see The Shadow come from the robot's interior, for Selbert had swung back to the

To which came Medor's response, the triumphant crackle of Head No. 7, delivering words that were wrong in

"You tricked us, Selbert!" accused Head Seven. "We know you for who you were, The Shadow in disguise!

Clever of you to play the part of a simple secretary. Things went further than you thought they would, but

you did manage to finish Mance afterward, otherwise we would have heard from Head No. 4.

"Now you are back again, trying to trick the Hydra. We were waiting for you, to make this effort the last. It is

death for you, Selbert! Things have gone too far again. This time, they are designed for doom to The

The whole mistaken motion of the Hydra was bearing fruit, for The Shadow himself was in the very trap

designed for Selbert, the man the Hydra Heads had marked as the blackcloaked warrior in disguise!

Terrible, indeed, was that trap! Famous waxwork museums of the past had held their socalled Chamber of

Horrors. This modern museum of mechanical science had a Chamber of Marvels that inventive genius had

transformed to one of real horrors. It didn't take the statement of a Hydra Head to prove it.

Spearhead of the mechanical attack was the great rim that normally kept spinning in its corner. The huge

hoop weighed at least a quarter of a ton, and the hidden electromagnet that controlled it was on a greater

eccentric than the corner confines. It was geared to cover the whole room when the power was on in full.

Smashing through the wooden rail that hemmed it in, the mighty hoop cut a swath across the room. Its spin

was still moderate, but its force was terrific. It simply chopped down anything it struck. The Shadow dodged

it, as did Selbert, and the hoop struck the table that held the radio mixer. Medor's whirry voice chopped off as

Grabbing Selbert, The Shadow flung him sidewards. The massive hoop, slashing past the platform, crunched

the shell of the robot into a flattened mess of metal. But in flinging Selbert, The Shadow saved him from a

The toothed scoop was shoving forward with its hungry jaws, hoping to gobble a human victim. All that it

gained was The Shadow's cloak, as he dived along with Selbert. The massive teeth chewed the cloak into

Up again, The Shadow hauled Selbert away from the hoop's path. The smashing rim took the stratosphere

cabinet instead and broke it all apart. A fierce hiss told that hydrogen was coming in quantity from the

crushed tank. Still, there wasn't a chance for The Shadow and Selbert to reach the door. The hoop was after

As the two figures rolled in the center of the room, the hoop went past and smashed the cabinet of poison

gases, releasing them as another surety of doom. The Shadow tried to haul Selbert toward the door, only to be

This time, The Shadow barely saved Selbert from the crusher in the other corner. All that the crusher caught

was the brim of The Shadow's hat. Flipping beneath the crusher, the slouch headpiece became the replica of a

Grabbing the lever that Selbert had wrenched and dropped, The Shadow took a slash at the revolving rim.

Playing hoop with that thing didn't work. The lever flew away like a feather and landed on the platform

Away again went The Shadow, dragging Selbert with him. It was lucky they didn't head toward the platform,

All the while, the toothed scoop was clamping, the crusher bashing, ready for their deadly work if the mighty

How long those menaces could be dodged was something that hardly mattered, for the gases would bring

death within a few more minutes. The Shadow reached the door and tried to open it, only to find it bolted on

the other side. He dodged back to avoid the metal rim's gyration and came into Selbert's clutch in the middle

Having realized that his companion was The Shadow, Selbert had gone as mad as the machines. The crazed

man still had faith in the Hydra, and seemed to think that by fighting the uncloaked Shadow he could win

Not to be bothered with Selbert, The Shadow hurled him over by the demolished platform. Grabbing the

With mere minutes to live, it was a question of one life or the other. Selbert, accomplice in murder, deserved

to die. Still, The Shadow was ready to go the limit to keep the dupe alive. He grabbed at the lever when

Selbert swung it, locked with the madman and reeled him away from the approaching hoop.

Selbert wouldn't have it that way. He fought back, and thereby finished himself. The hoop glanced him, sent

him against the scoop, which chopped him hard. Mangled, Selbert went shrieking forward, to meet the hoop

What was left of Selbert rolled, or rather slid, away dead. The hoop came slashing around again to make

worse pulp of the victim's body. The Shadow had scarcely any time to glance at Selbert during those

devastating stages. Still carrying the lever, The Shadow was dodging the hoop and its allies: the longnecked

PRECIOUS minutes were gone. The Shadow couldn't survive another in the gasfilled room. His own brain

was whirling madly, but one thing stuck. That lamp on the shelf, the only thing undamaged! The Hydra's men

It could be important to The Shadow. Among the deadly gases that were filling the room was an oversupply

Finding himself near the remnants of the platform, The Shadow turned and flung the lever at the glass

cylinder on the shell. Even before the iron rod reached its mark, The Shadow saw the great hoop on a new

eccentric, coming straight at him across the room, to block the one place that he must reach, the door.

The rim was endwise. Instinctively, The Shadow took a dive straight at it. He was arrowing one way, while

the hoop revolved, coming the opposite direction. Straight through the great rim went The Shadow. His feet

were grazed by the edge as it finished the turn, but they came clear. In the midst of that long slide toward the

door, The Shadow heard the iron lever crash the glass cylinder that housed the perpetual lamp.

When the glass shattered, the flame was bare. The flame spoke with a mighty puff as it ignited the gas that

filled the room. The gas produced a terrific blast that packed more wallop than all the mechanical

The room didn't blow apart. Instead, its weak spot gave, and that weak spot was the door. It burst like a safety

So swift was the explosion, so complete its result, that The Shadow wasn't scorched by the vanishing flame.

He landed clear across the outer exhibit room, and came groggily to his feet while men were dashing in from

the other door. They didn't even see the rising shape that looked like Cranston. They were on their way to

When the current was turned off, the arrivals found Selbert's body, or what was left of it. Certain men,

workers for the Hydra, also discovered tiny shreds of black cloth and a flattened piece of felt. That settled

A certain cab driver named Moe Shrevnitz would have disagreed. At that very moment, he was carrying a

very groggy passenger to the hospital. Having had both Selbert and The Shadow as passengers earlier in the

This person who had stumbled out of the building and collapsed in the waiting cab was certainly The

Shadow. Moe's chief had taken a terrific beating, but he would come through. Moe knew it from experience.

Whenever The Shadow muttered, he was all right. He had a way of pushing every ounce of strength into

Moe caught those words. It was his business to catch them at a crucial time like this.

That was all, and it was enough. Loyal agents would pick up where The Shadow had left off. Wheeling the

cab in through the hospital gates, Moe was grimly sure that crime would be stopped cold when the time came.

Tonight's events should have told Moe that he was being overhopeful. One thing had been proven very

definitely by The Shadow's masterful escape from the lair of murderous machines.

IT was noon when Dr. Rupert Sayre told the nurse to remove the oxygen tent. That done, Sayre had a look at

his patient, Lamont Cranston. The oxygen had proved efficacious, the best of treatments, considering that

Of course, the hospital reports did not indicate it. Only Dr. Sayre knew what The Shadow had gone through.

Sayre had heard the true facts from Burbank, as relayed by Moe, who had learned something of what was

happening inside the scientific museum, while waiting for The Shadow to rejoin him.

Burbank had stressed one point. If possible, Sayre was to suppress the fact that Cranston was hospitalized.

Sayre managed to do this because he was Cranston's private physician. Moreover, Sayre knew that his present

patient was The Shadow, to whom he owed a great debt. Not only had The Shadow once rescued Sayre from

Thus Sayre would go to any limits for The Shadow, and in this instance the doctor was keeping to himself a

thing that he had long suspected: namely, that there were two Cranstons a real one, and another who used

Cranston's personality when occasion required. Sayre also was convinced that none of The Shadow's other

agents, with the possible exception of Burbank, knew that there were two Cranstons.

To preserve The Shadow's allessential secret, Dr. Sayre announced that the patient could be discharged from

the hospital. He said he'd call for Cranston personally, but that until he returned, the oxygen treatment could

Sayre gave the impression that he would be back very shortly, but when he left, it was with the actual

intention not to return until late in the afternoon. Knowing the whole story of this case, Sayre felt that the

Thanks to Sayre's system, it was quite all right for the real Lamont Cranston to keep a oneo'clock luncheon

appointment with Commissioner Weston. Should the matter ever be uncovered in the future, Weston might

be surprised to learn that Cranston had come straight from a hospital cot to lunch with him. But there would

be no question of an overlap. The hospital records would show that Cranston had been discharged in time to

During lunch, Weston spoke briefly of a strange accident that had occurred the night before. He told how the

mechanical marvels at the scientific museum had gone berserk and killed an unidentified visitor who had

Mangled beyond recognition, the victim had paid a ghastly penalty for toying with a power lever that

shouldn't have been touched. The attendants had done their best to save the fellow, but without avail.

Next, Weston shifted to a far more important subject, a tipoff that the police had received.

"It may have been a crank call," declared the commissioner, "but we didn't ignore it. Our informant claims

that criminals intend to stage a robbery at the Paragon Trust Co. sometime today."

"Very probably," returned Weston, "unless the whole thing is a hoax. But I can assure you that robbery will

be impossible. Inspector Cardona is watching the bank building with a dozen plainclothes men. He has two

armored cars bristling with machine guns. They look like bank cars, nothing more. Crooks will be due for a

Weston was adding that they'd start down to the Paragon Trust after they finished lunch, when Cranston was

informed that he had a phone call. Answering it in a booth, he was a bit startled to hear his own voice over

"Hello, Cranston," said The Shadow. "Where do you suppose I just woke up? In an oxygen tent, of all

"I envy you," replied Cranston. "You must be far more comfortable than I am in this phone booth."

"I won't keep you long," The Shadow promised. "All I want you to do is give our friend, the commissioner,

"Exactly! I'll show up outside the club after he begins to get tired waiting for you."

"One more thing," stated The Shadow. "Insist upon an extra cup of coffee, and make sure it disagrees with

"A bit of spoof, old man," The Shadow interrupted. "I'm likely to have a dizzy spell in the commissioner's

car. I'd rather he attributed it to an overdose of caffeine, instead of too much oxygen. I'll see you later,

DOWN at the Paragon Trust Co., the tellers were returning from lunch, one by one. They worked in relays

early in the day, but all were in their respective cages during the final hour from two o'clock to three. They

had to be, for the Paragon Trust was always flooded with customers near closing time.

Stolid fellows, these tellers. They didn't even nod to one another as they took their places. Each simply

opened his window, hung his nameplate on the bars, and went to work taking in deposits and paying out

The tellers hadn't been informed of the robbery rumor. It wasn't necessary to bother them. Each had a

revolver within reach of his hand, an alarm treadle where his foot could press it. Two watchmen were on

duty, ready with guns and tear gas at instant call. The bank was set to stave off any average robbery.

As for the sort of crime that the Hydra might order, the police could take care of that. As Weston had told

Cranston, they were all about the place. Certain plainclothes men took their places in the long lines of

customers leading to the tellers' windows, then stepped out again and reported to Inspector Cardona across

It was business as usual at the Paragon Trust Co. Others besides Cardona's men could so testify. The others

were The Shadow's agents. Three were on the job. One was Rutledge Mann, an investment broker; another, a

friend of his named Harry Vincent. They had business in the bank, arranging a loan through the cashier.

The third was Clyde Burke, present as a reporter at Cardona's invitation, since Clyde had somehow learned

Going in and out, Clyde not only caught nods from the other agents; he checked on Cardona's men and

There were some oddlooking characters in the lines outside the windows, but that was to be expected, since

this was a wholesale district representing a cross section of Manhattan life. None of those customers ventured

Some of the deposits were very large; so were the withdrawals. Many of the customers had bags into which

they dumped big bundles of bank notes and rolledup stacks of change. Clyde didn't bother to count those

sums. The mere fact that a customer's check was accepted by a teller marked the man as honest.

Such was Clyde's estimate of the customers. As for the tellers, he didn't give them a second look, nor did the

headquarters men bother to watch them. The tellers were just so many human machines, going through the

same old routine. They all looked alike, except for the nameplates on their windows. Skilled men who could

Even when they went out to lunch and came back, they followed an identical routine. True, one wore

tortoiseshell glasses, another was rather baldish, while a third had hunched shoulders with a broad chin

squatting between. You could tell them apart when you studied their features closely, but no one ever did.

Through the barred windows, their faces weren't easy to discern, while the sides of their cages were so

heavily grilled that each teller had but little chance of recognizing the man next door to him, except by voice.

Occasionally, one needed more money and asked his neighbor for it, whereupon a wicket opened and bundles

From the customers, the tellers received only glances, along with an occasional nod. During this rush hour

there wasn't time to chat with the men in gray teller's jackets. They were too busy, and other customers

became annoyed if persons ahead of them held up the line. Yes, the men in gray were very busy.

THE three tellers in the middle were the Teeth. All servers of the Head who styled himself No. 7. They

weren't the men whose names were on the windows, though they were made up to resemble them. Nor were

certain customers who thronged those windows regular depositors in the Paragon Trust.

Checks were coming through those center windows made out for sums like fifty thousand dollars, bearing

such signatures as John Doe and Mary Lamb. Some checks were even inscribed in jestful fashion, saying

"Diller Dollars and Nonsense," or anything else that pleased the Eyes or Ears who presented them.

To every one of these fake customers, the false tellers shoved big bundles of currency wherein large bills

were hidden by small ones that were on the top and bottom of the packets. Rolls of coin went along, just to

An apt term, for the Paragon Trust Co. was being robbed wholesale under the eyes of its guards, the

Robbed in a fashion as simple as it was unique, through the process of pushing all the available cash right

through the tellers' windows into the hands of ready takers who had come here by design. The Paragon Trust

Occasionally, the middle teller left his window and went to the vault, to come back with more bundles of

money for the bags, brief cases, and wallets of the pretended customers. Usually that central man supplied the

tellers on each side of him, though they were also drawing heavily on the bona fide tellers who flanked them.

So heavily, that the men on the flanks had to go to the vaults themselves; but by then it was closing time and

the lines of customers were thinning. First, the central teller slapped the front of his window, gesturing

customers to the others. Before the lines could shift, two more windows were shut.

That sent the customers to the extreme flanks, to stand in front of the vacant windows, for both genuine

tellers had gone to the vault. They hadn't returned because they couldn't find any funds, which was why the

They didn't even stop at lockers to change from their gray linen cloaks. Coming out through a door near the

cashier's office, the three fake tellers filed right past the watchmen and Cardona's detectives, and went out to

Simultaneously, several customers with empty bags decided that they didn't need any money after all and

headed for that same side door. They had a right to leave if they wanted, so no one tried to stop them until

Clyde Burke, who had a reporter's eagle eye, realized that what looked usual was producing the unusual.

Clyde gave a signal. Up from beside the cashier's desk swung Harry Vincent, leaving Rutledge Mann to talk

of loans. The Shadow's two agents could have stopped the sudden exit of tellers and customers, if they'd only

been able to draw guns. But that mere action would have brought the guards their way, instead of sending

Reaching the door together, Harry and Clyde sprang to the sidewalk, their hands going for their pockets.

Flanked by the bagcarrying customers, three crooks in gray were displaying revolvers borrowed from the

bank itself. Sensing trailers from the bank, the fake tellers had their guns close to their hips. Their faces were

no longer placid in expression. The need for disguise was over; these men could show the savage looks that

Murder it would have been, but for a rapid intervention a startling episode in full daylight. A door flipped

open from a big, official car that was stopping near the corner. From it lunged a man who looked like Lamont

The arrival was The Shadow. He wasn't clad in black, nor did he grip an automatic. The gun in his fist was a

stubby Police Positive that he had snatched from the handy pocket of the police commissioner in the car

beside him. Nor did the quickflinging attacker deliver The Shadow's famous laugh.

All that this rescuer did was open fire, and it was enough. As the gun barked their direction, murderous

crooks forgot the helpless men beside the bank door and swung to do battle with The Shadow!

THE moment that strife began, Commissioner Weston was quite sure that his friend Cranston had gone mad.

Even the fact that The Shadow's fire was returned was not enough to convince Weston that crime was on the

How could there be crime where there was no crime? Such was the commissioner's logic, based on the fact

that all was serene around the Paragon Trust Co. until his mad friend flung himself into a selfmade fray.

First, he thought that the shots directed toward The Shadow were being fired by some of Cardona's men, it

being natural enough that they should mistake the berserk fighter for a troublemaker. Second, Weston

thought that his friend Cranston had been clipped by the gunfire that he drew, for The Shadow took a long

sprawl when he reached the curb. Frantically, the commissioner hopped from the official car and bellowed

Not only were The Shadow's agents shooting at the fake tellers and their companions; Cardona and his squad

were really in it, piling from across the street, loosing longrange fire at the men in gray. Amid the mixed

barrage, the excited commissioner thought that he heard a peal of challenging laughter, incongruous in

daylight. That weird sound belonged to darkness, for it was the mirth of The Shadow!

Whence it came, Weston couldn't guess. He wrote it off as something inspired by imagination, for his nerves

had been on edge over the Hydra business. Weston felt that something superhuman was needed to counteract

Shaking off such thoughts, Weston looked for Cranston, never suspecting that the man he saw was The

Shadow. The commissioner's friend was still in the thick of things, using Weston's gun from a proppedup

hand and elbow. It struck Weston then that the sprawl had been caused by a stumble across the curb, which

The Shadow was really dizzy in the open air. He'd jumped from a moving car and he had felt his legs going

from under him. So he'd purposely hooked the curb when he reached it, knowing that a fall would make

It had, with double results. Not only did The Shadow's enemies miss their mark; his quick subterfuge gave

With it, The Shadow turned police guns in the right direction. He knew the rule that cops invariably applied.

In a gun duel between unidentified parties, police always went after those who felled their rivals. By playing

Crooks took the hint immediately. Turning, they ducked through an alley just below the bank. They were

away before anyone could clip them. Even The Shadow's shots were belated. After all, he'd stumbled, and in

recovering he had to remember that he was Cranston. Using a strange gun, particularly a type that wasn't

There were plenty of other persons handy to round up the fugitives, and besides, The Shadow had visions of

Among the men with the fake tellers, The Shadow recognized one of the exattendants from the scientific

museum, who had been posing as a bank customer. Knowing the brutal way of those fellows, The Shadow

None was around. The rest who served Hydra Head Seven were gone with the loot that they had rifled from

the trust company a thing that The Shadow had not yet learned. But when he saw the size of Cardona's

squad, with the armored trucks serving as mechanized units, The Shadow no longer worried over a

counterattack. The thing to do was scour for the fugitives, three men in gray who looked like bank tellers

ON his feet, The Shadow found himself gripped by Commissioner Weston, who wanted his gun back.

Rutledge Mann came dashing from the bank, accompanied by the cashier, and together they began to pour

The cashier, though quite bewildered, was stating that everything had been all right when the tellers returned

from lunch, though they might have hatched up something at the little cafe around the corner of the next

When Weston turned to ask Cranston's opinion, his friend was gone, gun and all. Such was The Shadow's

way, even when he posed as Cranston, though in such guise he didn't fade from sight, but merely moved

Having heard what the cashier said, Cranston had started for the corner. Around it, he saw the cafe in

question, a neat though unpretentious eating place. The personnel, consisting of proprietor and waiter, were

outside, wondering about the shooting. They didn't notice the calmfaced customer who went past them,

Noting that the cafe had an upstairs room, The Shadow ascended the steps that led to it. Arrived there, he saw

a door, opened it and entered a storeroom. A low laugh issued from the lips that resembled Cranston's when

Three men wearing gray linen coats were lying bound and gagged upon the floor. They were the real tellers,

waylaid in their favorite eating place, that crooked substitutes might take their place after lunch. But The

Footsteps were coming up from below. The Shadow slipped behind a door as two men entered. The Shadow

recognized them as a pair who had been finishing lunch down in the cafe. One was for unbinding the

prisoners, on the chance that it would hurt their story. The other was more concerned about a stranger who

"He was a tall guy," the fellow said. "Kind of importantlooking; at least, as if he thought he was. Suppose he

The Shadow wasn't waiting for one man to answer the other. Out from behind the door, he was poising

Weston's gun to land it on one crook's skull as a starter. It would take a deft swing to score a sure knockout

A window shot open from the rear of the storeroom, revealing two men, a grayclad crook and an ordinary

companion, both fugitives from the police chase. They had guns, and they were entering this room from a low

Immediately, The Shadow was mingling in new battle. He swung for one man, gave him a glancing blow as

he turned, then dodged as the other made a grab. Quickly, The Shadow blasted the last few of Weston's

cartridges, aiming at the window, but his shots were spoiled when his adversary jogged his arm.

Odd, that jog! The Shadow didn't realize that his own waver had allowed it. Sayre was right; his patient had

needed a further dose of oxygen. Then men were piling through the window and The Shadow was a lone

fighter in the midst of four. It was only fair to count the fellow that The Shadow had partly slugged, for

groggy though he was, the crook didn't stagger much more than the uncloaked fighter.

If cloaked, The Shadow could have given them a laugh. With a brace of automatics, his glancing strokes

might have counted when they landed, thanks to the weight. Crooks would have mistaken his reeling strides

for clever tactics. But in Cranston's guise, The Shadow was just a meddler who needed attention of a

One to another, The Shadow's adversaries were snarling to "give it." They weren't limiting the idea to their

lone foe. They meant to give it to the tellers, too. Men of the Hydra were in a mood for murder, now that their

With a wild lurch, The Shadow carried grapplers with him. He took them in the one direction that counted,

toward the bound men on the floor. Those chaps could help, though they didn't know it. In fact, they were

Headlong, The Shadow and his foemen went tripping across the prisoners. It was enough of a surprise for the

crooks. Though his knees buckled in keeping with his swimming head, The Shadow still had strength enough

and wits to roll from the pileup that he caused. Then, with his head half buried in his arm, The Shadow did

Low, sibilant, it rose with sinister quiver, its effect increased by the surrounding gloom. The muffling arm

gave it a peculiar effect, that of a voice rising from a tomb. There being no tomb in this vicinity, the mirth

could only have come from beyond the halfopened door, which was where crooks faced as they scrambled

Just as Weston had rejected Cranston as a giver of that laugh, so did the Hydra's men. To them, The Shadow

They shifted to take aim through the doorway. As they did, The Shadow's hand pushed beyond the feet of a

bound teller. Fingers stretching to their limit reached the door and pressed hard against its lower corner. The

door creaked shut, exactly as if someone on the other side had chosen to draw it as a shield.

Again the laugh, muffled more deeply in a coat sleeve. It was enough for men of crime. They dived for the

window, shooting back at the closing door, jabbing bullets through the woodwork to prevent The Shadow's

entry. Headlong across the roof, down to a courtyard in back, went those enemies who had actually trapped

Footsteps were pounding on the stairs. The door flung wide to admit Inspector Cardona, followed by

members of his squad. They sprang to the window and took a few shots at the disappearing fugitives.

Cardona growled when he realized that his men had overrun the chase, giving mobsters a chance to cut back

Then Joe took a look at the men on the floor. He was surprised to find Cranston among the bound tellers. But

the very plight of the commissioner's friend, the fact that he'd blundered into trouble, was quite enough to

divert any thoughts that he could be The Shadow. To add to that muchdesired impression, The Shadow

When Cardona's men helped The Shadow downstairs, along with the released tellers, Weston met them and

began to chide his friend. In Weston's opinion, Cranston's whole behavior had been an invitation to doom.

The commissioner suggested that his friend return to the car and wait there until he felt better and more

Actually, The Shadow did need a rest, and it was policy to follow Weston's orders. Cranston would have

done it under circumstances like this. So The Shadow was piloted to the car, and once there, he settled

gratefully in the rear seat, letting his eyes go half shut. He watched until the door closed, and he saw that he

Then came an undertoned laugh, a mere echo of The Shadow's former mirth. He was thinking of Weston's

term, an invitation to doom. Sometimes the commissioner could produce very apt expressions. This was one

An invitation to doom was exactly what The Shadow wanted, and he intended to get one from the Hydra!

AFTER ten minutes' rest, The Shadow felt rested enough to emerge from Weston's car, under the watchful

eye of detectives posted to see that Cranston didn't get himself into more trouble. All he wanted to do was

make a telephone call, so the detectives steered him to a booth in a corner drugstore.

Returning, The Shadow stated that he'd called for his own car. It would be here soon, so the detectives

wouldn't have to wait. Cranston was going to sit down in the drugstore to drink a bromide that the druggist

was mixing for him. So the detectives went over by the bank, but they kept a watchful eye on the drugstore.

When Cranston's car arrived, it stopped just around the corner. Soon The Shadow came from the drugstore

and entered it, first noting that Stanley, the chauffeur, was looking over toward the bank.

The Shadow didn't want to give Stanley too much of a shock, which the chauffeur, a very sober man, might

Briefly, The Shadow told his replica what had happened at the bank. Next, he asked Cranston what had come

of last night's conference. Thereupon Cranston unburdened completely, telling how his hopes had risen only

"Dustin Bardell was really getting somewhere," declared Cranston. "He was urging Commissioner Weston to

open Glencoe's case. He classed the fire as the work of the Hydra, even though he couldn't offer any proof.

"Then Charles Medor arrived with his report. You know how exacting Medor is when working for insurance

companies. His bureau never misses a chance to dispute a claim. Of course, it would happen that Medor was

"Medor said the fire was an accident, and that settled it. After all, he can't be blamed, for the facts were quite

positive unless you want to call them negative. Either way, it's just the same. Poor Medor! He couldn't have

For once, Cranston saw himself in a most singular mood. As he turned toward The Shadow, Cranston was

met by a burning gaze that he never could have duplicated. He saw his own face as a mask rather than an

"So you dropped Medor at his office," remarked The Shadow. "I hope he appreciated the ride."

"He did," assured Cranston. "He invited me to a theater party this evening. Margo Lane was delighted when I

"Yes. He's interested in the Stage Group. You know, those amateur players who have come up so rapidly."

The Shadow remembered the Stage Group. He asked what play they were producing this evening.

"I don't know," replied Cranston, "but it's probably a costume piece. They go in for that sort of stuff. It's apt

"I can't very well," said Cranston ruefully, "because Margo wants to go. Personally, I'd rather go over to New

Jersey and finish arrangements in the trophy room. By the way, I want to thank you for the prompt disposal

"I take it you mean Mance," remarked The Shadow, with one of Cranston's smiles. "The thanks still are mine,

on that score. Suppose I sub for you at the theater party. That will help even things."

"I'll relieve you of that burden, too. Still, Cranston" The Shadow's tone was whimsical "that would put

you under obligation to me. Suppose you make it really even by spending the rest of the afternoon with

Commissioner Weston, while he checks over the list of depositors at the Paragon Trust, in case they start to

raise a fuss. I'll have to spend a few more hours sulking in my oxygen tent, or I won't be able to survive this

DUSK was clouding the hospital windows when The Shadow finished a delightful whiff of oxygen and

reached for the ringing telephone. Cranston was on the wire, ready to call off the list of depositors. The

Shadow told him to go ahead, but to limit himself to those he thought the most important.

"Here's a coincidence," he said. "The Stage Group was a depositor at the Paragon Trust Co."

"Too bad," returned The Shadow dryly. "I hate to see a struggling young organization suffer a financial loss."

"They won't lose anything," informed Cranston. "All depositors were insured up to five thousand dollars.

They didn't have that much in the bank. Each day, somebody deposited the receipts of the previous night, and

The Shadow seemed pleased that the Group was not in financial jeopardy. But it struck him that such a

"Do me a favor, Cranston," he suggested. "Send Stanley to some of the ticket agencies and have him buy

"They will cost a lot," interposed The Shadow, "but I'll send you a check from the special account that I carry

in your name. Now about those tickets, Cranston, and what I want you to do with them. On your way home

The rest of The Shadow's statement was audible only to Cranston. Someone was stopping at the door of the

hospital room, so The Shadow lowered his tone to a whisper and confined it to the mouthpiece.

Cutting off Cranston's goodby, The Shadow settled the telephone on its stand and rolled back beneath the

Finding his patient much recuperated, Sayre took him to the Cobalt Club on the promise that he'd return

home shortly. After that, Sayre made a few late calls. He was swinging into Park Avenue in his coupe, when

The big car was New Jersey bound, but Stanley must have violated some traffic rule, for Sayre saw Cranston

leaning from the window trying to square things with a cop. It made Sayre smile to think of The Shadow

Apparently he was making out all right, for the traffic cop was beginning to nod. So Sayre continued on his

This simply proved that Sayre was forgetting his own theory regarding two Cranstons. Otherwise, he might

have realized that his expatient wasn't the man in the limousine. The real Cranston was homeward bound,

The Shadow was dining with Margo Lane under the lights of a sidewalk cafe, where he could sniff the

pleasing aroma of exhaust fumes from passing cars and reiterate how much he enjoyed fresh air.

Margo didn't share his opinion regarding the atmosphere, but she naturally wouldn't appreciate it, not having

Besides, Margo had other things to think about. Most important was Lamont Cranston himself.

Margo Lane allowed for people's moods, since her own were inclined to vary. Indeed, it was Margo's ability

as a listener that made her popular in cafe society. Physically, Margo was a very attractive brunette, with a

Usually, conviviality formed a portion of her charm, but she could go soulful quite as readily, and her serious

manner generally brought a response when she turned it on. Sometimes it worked with Cranston, but that was

the odd part. Just when Mango was most sure that she really understood Lamont, she'd find out that she

LAST night, Margo had learned that her complacent friend didn't care for oldstyle theatrical performances.

He'd termed them "too artificial." This evening, his opinion was changed. Lamont was actually showing

enthusiasm over the current production of the Stage Group, which was a drama of the French Revolution.

Thus Margo's eyes were tending toward perplexity when The Shadow, sensing the reason, supplied a simple

"I've been reading up on Carlyle," he remarked. "Spent half the morning the half I was awake digging

through his 'French Revolution.' The title of tonight's show, 'Robespierre,' began to intrigue me. I wouldn't

"So that's it!" the brunette laughed. "I'd been wondering how to account for your sudden Parisian tastes,

"Your picking this sidewalk cafe for dinner," explained Margo, with a gesture. "Last night you insisted that

such places were abominable, with the noise from automobile horns and the stares of passersby."

"So I did," remarked The Shadow in a recollective tone. "Do you know, Mango, sometimes I feel that I'm a

split personality. I really should discuss matters more fully with my other self."

Margo smiled. She thought her friend meant The Shadow, not the actual Lamont Cranston. For Margo Lane

had long identified the blackcloaked fighter and the leisurely clubman as one and the same. A situation

which was so intriguing in itself that Margo never dreamed that there could be a further riddle within the

Why should she even imagine that there could be two Cranstons, when one was so amazing?

The answer was, Margo didn't imagine it which suited The Shadow perfectly. Nevertheless, it wasn't good

policy to get out of character while playing the part of Cranston. So The Shadow emphasized his new interest

in historical dramas by glancing at his watch and remarking that it was time to start to the theater.

There was a good crowd at the Victoria Garden, the playhouse used by the Stage Group. The theater was so

named from a courtyard entrance that lay between two streets. Something of a garden, the courtyard not only

gave access to the main entrance, but to a short inner alley that led to the stage door.

Charles Medor was waiting for the members of his box party. Hardly had The Shadow arrived with Margo,

before Commissioner Weston appeared, bringing Dustin Bardell with him. Weston was in one of his most

impatient moods, stating bluntly that he wished the show was over, an opinion in which Bardell solemnly

"Well have to hold another conference," ordained Weston. "I want you there, Cranston, and you too, Bardell.

This robbery today a hundred thousand dollars rifled from the Paragon Trust it was outrageous!"

"Particularly since we were there to see it happen," put in The Shadow. "That made it worse, commissioner."

"We didn't arrive soon enough," argued Weston. "I'd have identified those tellers as criminals. I can tell a

Only Margo saw the slight smile that appeared on the lips of the man she thought was Cranston. Then they

were entering the theater and being ushered to their box, while Weston was remembering that he'd brought

along Cranston's brief case from the Cobalt Club. Handing the bag to The Shadow, the commissioner said:

"It's lucky your broker phoned me. Careless of you, Cranston, to leave a brief case lying about, filled with

valuable stocks and bonds. But they're all there. I checked them over the phone with Mann."

House lights were darkening as they reached the curtained box. Casually, The Shadow glanced over the

audience and saw that the seats were well filled. Buzzing conversation ceased as the curtain rose upon a scene

There was something prophetic about the blackedout set. It seemed to welcome more than mere actors.

Blackness was The Shadow's favored habitat. This was the sort of stage that he might choose for action. For

The Shadow was letting the show go on. He wanted to be sure of certain things before he projected himself

into a play that had been advertised as a drama of death. An apt term, that: one that promised The Shadow

A SPOT of light picked out a figure on the left side of the stage, an actor attired in royal regalia of the

Seventeenth Century. He represented King Louis of France, complete to ruffles and ornamental wig. In

stentorian tone, King Louis announced his identity and proceeded to recount what he had done for France.

A great crash sounded from the rear of the stage. Its clangor was unmistakable. It was the dropping of a

Then the spotlight was picking up another man, to the right of the stage. He, too, was made up in Seventeenth

Century style, though his garb was simpler than court dress. He was the famous Danton, great sponsor of

Again the smash of the unseen ax, bringing new shudders to the audience. Each fall of the hidden chopper

seemed to be wrenching a human life. Whoever designed this prologue knew his stagecraft.

The lighted circle reached the center of the stage. There stood Robespierre, a hunched man with his chin

buried in the ruffle of a more fastidious garb than Danton's. A good touch, this, for Robespierre was usually

A man of oratory, this Robespierre. He told his tale as had the others, and finished with the guillotine cue:

The third whack of the ax brought more than clatter. It produced light that flooded the entire stage. A grim

scene, this, with an actual guillotine its back drop. A huge frame more than twenty feet in height, with a

broad, sharp blade climbing slowly up the vertical tracks, to preen itself for a swoop upon another victim!

Onto the stage stepped other actors, one by one. Characters male and female, all from the pages of horrible

history. Silent, these, which made their appearance all the more impressive, now that the guillotine had been

unveiled. For each newcomer was hardly posted before the ax descended with its furious slash, to cut off any

The allegory was excellent. These characters were to appear in the ensuing acts of "Robespierre," and their

fate was predetermined. The audience was to remember throughout the play that over each person in the

drama loomed the hideous specter of the guillotine. They would disappear from the cast one by one, always

In front of the guillotine, and below its pedestal, lay a shallow basket, the common receptacle for the heads of

the doomed. Somehow, that wicker container was more terrible than the mighty cleaver at least to Margo

Lane, who was staring, transfixed, like the rest of the audience. Even Weston and Bardell were impressed,

One person in the box was speaking, now that the heavier dramatics were through. In an undertone, Charles

Medor was excusing himself, stating that he'd be needed in the office for a short while. Then he was stepping

out through the box curtains, not bothering to count the heads of his companions.

They were one head short, as surprisingly as if the guillotine had reached out to the box and claimed a victim.

The Shadow had opened his brief case, not at the top but underneath, to reveal a section shaped like an

inverted V between the normal compartments that were filled with stocks and other papers.

From that hidden section, he had produced a thin black cloak and a slouch hat. Those garments were already

Laying the brief case aside, The Shadow followed Medor. He already had his guns; they were in wellfitted

holsters beneath the evening jacket that The Shadow wore when doubling as Cranston. They'd be needed,

those automatics, because Medor wasn't going to the office as he claimed. The man that The Shadow

The curtain was falling on the prologue when Medor reached the wing. The play called for a fiveminute

intermission after the prologue, to allow the audience to catch its breath and the stage crew to rig another set.

The last part was simple, for all the stage hands had to do was lower a back drop that showed the fountains of

But no one was bothering about the curtain that was to hide the guillotine. Like the actors, the stage hands

were crowding about Medor, who, with a cunning smile upon his overhandsome face, was producing a

Opening the bag, Medor began to count out sheaves of bank notes, the loot from the Paragon Trust Co.!

THREE actors edged forward to assist. King Louis, Danton and Robespierre forgot their historical

animosities, while their deft hands thumbed through money the way they had that afternoon. Three of a kind,

these thieves. In order from left to right, they were the fake bank tellers who had swindled the Paragon Trust.

And of them, the middle man was Robespierre, hunched exactly as he had been in the central teller's cage!

A repressed laugh trickled from The Shadow's hidden lips as he moved forward from darkness. He was

timing his personal appearance until the payoff. He wanted all hands to be present, which they were. Even the

They were three, those stage hands, the former attendants at the scientific museum. Along with a dozen

actors, they were getting their cut of two thousand dollars each, the rest to be retained by Medor, the Hydra

Head, for benefit of himself and the other leaders of the sinister organization.

Forward moved The Shadow. His laugh grew as he came. Plotters heard it when he was almost among them.

Like Medor, the rest wheeled to find themselves under the muzzles of two moving automatics that threatened

By then, The Shadow's laugh was striking a strong pitch. Strident, it hurled its sinister mirth for the audience

to hear. Beyond the curtain were people who should be told what the real crimes of the actors were. Not

fanciful exaggerations of French Revolutionary lore, but modern, streamlined villainy done by criminals who

Fiercer, more chillinspiring than the crash of the guillotine was that accusation of The Shadow, a mocking

laugh for the world to hear. Persons out front didn't have to see what was happening backstage to know that

crime was uncovered. With one mighty taunt, The Shadow was shattering the Hydra's latest game, throwing

They did just what a disorganized group would do: some lunged forward independently, others dodged for

shelter, while a few actually fled. Some let their money flutter in their excitement; the rest clung to their share

of the stolen funds, tightly and grimly. All, however, were yanking weapons of their own. Nobody who

The Shadow's guns blasted first. Tongues of fire stabbed the nearest foemen before they could jab their own

revolvers in return. Tongues of flame with bullets of metal that cut a swath through the ranks of murderers.

Asking for such treatment, they were allowing The Shadow no choice but to give it.

The principal members of the cast were the ones who took the brunt. Across the sprawling forms of King

Louis, Danton, and Robespierre sprang The Shadow, wheeling to a better vantage point where he could deal

with the rest. In particular, he wanted Medor, but it wasn't judgment to forget the others.

Guns were popping from all about the stage; even those who had started to flee were rallying for the fray.

Clutching the great bulk of the bank swag, the Hydra Head was keeping behind his followers as he shouted

for them to flank The Shadow and thus dispose of their mutual menace. Time was short, and Medor wanted

Wheeling toward the center of the stage, The Shadow was revolving like a human gun turret, but there was

still a chance to trap him. Keeping behind a screen of charging followers, Medor continued his urging shouts.

Bullets were chopping hard into the stage. They were coming from many angles, including balconies that led

to the dressing rooms. Scattered, The Shadow's enemies were dangerous, a thing he had foreseen. But he was

keeping them here on this battleground until aid arrived. Still, with metal slugs whistling through the folds of

THE SHADOW saw a vantage point: the rear of the stage beyond the hovering guillotine. He feinted toward

the footlights, then reversed while gunners were peppering along the lowered curtain. He'd fooled the Hydra's

Head No. 7 made a perfect guess. His hunch was that The Shadow wouldn't go stage front; otherwise, stray

bullets would cleave the curtain after missing him and produce casualties in the audience. Hence Medor,

playing still farther ahead, swung about and barked an order to a henchman near the rear corner of the stage.

The fellow paused only for a quick glance at The Shadow, now in his rearward whirl. At another gesture from

Medor, the fake stage hand tugged the cord. There was a tremble from the guillotine frame as the great ax

At that moment, The Shadow was right beside the wicker basket. Guns were swinging in his direction, more

of them than he could put out of combat with a single volley. To The Shadow, the drop of the chopper could

prove fatal, because the broad ax, once down, would block off passage to shelter beyond it.

Again The Shadow did the unexpected, this time with a risk so great that aiming foemen stopped with staring

eyes, their guns idle in their fists. Finishing his whirl with a dive, The Shadow cleared the basket and shot

headlong between the uprights of the guillotine while the mighty ax was sizzing down those very rods!

A thing amazing, that mass of human blackness arrowing beneath a dropping juggernaut of sharpedged

steel. Head, shoulders, body, feet all were vulnerable to the murderous blade. It was a matter of

splitseconds, sliced to the fraction of an inch. A frequent hazard with The Shadow, but never on such a

Blackness disappeared as though banished, as it was cut off by the scintillating chopper. But it was cut off

Foemen were staring at a threefoot expanse of glittering steel, with no fragment of The Shadow in sight.

Unless they chose to count the mere patch of black cloth, a bit of sweeping cloak fold that the knife edge

clipped and let flutter as testimony that The Shadow had split his escape to the thinness of a hair.

Then guns talked, too late. Bullets were flattening against steel from beyond which came The Shadow's

laugh. He'd turned the menace into a bulwark, and from near one post, his gloved hand poked a gun to jab

Medor was hopping over to haul up the guillotine blade. He took that duty for himself, because the man in the

corner had ventured too far out and was staggering from a bullet that The Shadow gave him.

Medor was too late with his haul. His horde had begun to scatter under The Shadow's fire. The cloaked

In from both wings of the stage, from the alley door that afforded the only exit, came brawny men by dozens,

most of them with guns. Thanks to Cranston, The Shadow had stocked the house with them. They were the

recipients of the fifty theater tickets, friendly traffic cops that Cranston had contacted all along the avenue,

The chopper was up again, with Medor clinging to its rope. Shoving the cord into the hands of the wounded

man beside him, Medor ordered him to hang on. Savagely, Medor dashed across the stage, to meet The

They met gun for gun, but The Shadow's trigger finger had already begun its squeeze. Medor staggered

sideward, clutching his mass of currency beneath a wounded shoulder, while his other hand kept stabbing

Fading from Medor's fire, The Shadow supplied a return jab just as Medor sprang between the posts to gain a

deeper shelter. Money fluttered from Medor's clutch as he clamped his hand painfully to his side. He was

spinning like a faltering top, weakening beyond the guillotine. His turn finished with a forward sprawl, as his

Another hand was failing, that of the man who held the release rope. Fingers gave and the mighty chopper

Medor heard the horrendous rattle from above him and voiced a terrified scream, but he couldn't pull himself

forward when he tried. Small wonder, for Medor's head was coming over the baseboard of the guillotine's

base and his shoulders wouldn't follow. Medor started to raise his neck too late.

The great blade found its mark. It didn't even quiver as it made the slice. Something plopped and landed in

the basket. It was a Hydra Head, chopped off literally. The slice not only ended Medor's shriek; it left stout

cops and their prisoners staring at a thing that gave them a deadly leer from a bloodbathed wicker basket.

From the stage door came a strange grim laugh, The Shadow's. It wasn't just a knell to mark the passing of

Charles Medor, man of murder. That tone marked The Shadow's recollection of the Hydra's ways. For every

The Hydra would avenge its seventh Head with a new and wider campaign of relentless crime, with every

For a week, such crime had seethed, hissing like the tongues of a dozen snakish heads about to rear

themselves. There had been runins between The Shadow's agents and workers of the Hydra, but with no

avail. Eyes and Ears had always been backed by Teeth who maneuvered their escape before The Shadow

Sudden attempts at robbery, efforts at murder, always directed against wealthy men. All the more insidious,

those crime strokes, because the hidden brains behind them were of the same class men of substance and

So greatly did the Hydra admire and seek wealth, that it enlisted moneyminded men as Heads. That went

without saying; the thing to prove was who these men might be. They were the sort who had always upheld

Finding something bigger than the law the Hydra they embraced it and became its Heads because it also

Separating the good from the bad was the peculiar province of Commissioner Weston, and he was at a total

loss. At a secret conference in the Cobalt Club, he expressed his opinions to The Shadow, who had come

Present also was Dustin Bardell, the one man of affluence that Weston could trust, because Bardell had been

suspicious of Medor. Even though Glencoe's case was written off and its claims paid, Bardell was to be

praised. If Medor hadn't been wrong on the Glencoe matter, he had been plotting against the Paragon Trust

Thus Bardell was the nucleus of a group that Weston wanted to organize into a civic committee to help

against the Hydra. So far, except for Cranston, who belonged without question, there had been only one safe

candidate. He was present tonight, a man named Lloyd Casler, who couldn't be under the Hydra's influence,

A broadbuilt man with an austere countenance, Casler looked both blunt and honest. Further, he preferred to

"So far, we've blocked everything since the Paragon Trust robbery," affirmed Weston. "We stopped a

penthouse robbery, a Wall Street holdup, and stalled three attempted murders. But we answered a thousand

crank calls managing it. The trouble is, the crimes we did stop looked like feelers. The Hydra is too smart to

let a whole crew be annihilated again. Lately, they've pulled out when things didn't seem too pleasant."

The Shadow could have corroborated that statement. The crimes mentioned, and several others, had been

forestalled largely through his vigilance. But they weren't just feelers, as Weston chose to term them.

"Big crime needs opportunity," remarked The Shadow. "As soon as the right time arrives, you'll be in for it,

"I know we will," groused Weston. "Gad! If we could only think ahead of these chaps. Remember, Cranston,

"But The Shadow settled that one, commissioner. The crooks are dead or captured and the funds were

"Yes, The Shadow did well," conceded Weston. "He used the facts that we overlooked. He realized that only

clever actors could have impersonated those bank tellers; more than that, they would have had to visit the

"Somehow The Shadow learned that the Stage Group made steady deposits at the Paragon Trust. That was

the vital link he needed. He did a fine job at the theater, while I was sitting in the box looking right at the

"Remember what you said beforehand, commissioner?" he asked. "How you could tell a crook when you saw

"You wouldn't have known if I had," snapped Weston. "Why, the first shots from backstage must have blown

you right out of the box! You were gone when I started to find what the trouble was. The next place I saw

The Shadow acknowledged Weston's skill at repartee, whereupon the commissioner returned to business.

"SOMETHING may happen tonight," predicted Weston. "It's the opening of the jewelry show at the

International Antique Gallery. The display of European crown gems alone would satisfy the Hydra."

"Every precaution," returned Weston. "Detectives inside and outside; armored cars like we had at the bank;

patrol cars and motorcycles. Every visitor has to show a special pass, and they've all been warned that if the

alarms go off, they'll have to take their dose of tear gas. It may cut down the attendance, but it certainly will

Bardell agreed that it would. Whereupon, Weston added that Inspector Cardona was in personal charge of the

jewel show. If no one had any better suggestion to offer, the commissioner thought it would be a good plan to

go over and view the arrangements he had mentioned, though everything was under complete control.

Commissioner Weston had just about forgotten that Lloyd Casler was present. The blunt man reminded him

"I have something better," insisted Casler. "That is why I asked Mr. Bardell to bring me here. I think we

"It is more important than you think," continued Casler. "The society is composed of very wealthy people,

and tonight they are subscribing to an international aviation fund for men in the services of all United

Weston recalled the name of Hart Ribold as that of a wellknown society man. He couldn't see anything

"Ribold wants a quarter million," he declared. "The whole amount is to be placed in his hands in the form of

certified checks. So far, there have been no objections. Now suppose that Ribold happened to be a Hydra

"He'd clear out with the entire fund!" interrupted Weston. "You've made your point plain, Casler. It's just the

subtle sort of crime that the Hydra would try, and with the organization behind him, Ribold would vanish

"You're right, Casler: we must go to that meeting. At a time when men of reputed character may all be

LEAVING the club in Weston's car, they drove past the International Antique Gallery, where the famous

display of crown jewels was to be held. Fronting on an open square where Broadway crossed an avenue, the

Its location was convenient, for there were several subway entrances nearby, and from them branched

numerous underground concourses to other lines. This was a spot where visitors could converge from all

An excellent place, likewise, for police precautions. From side streets as well as locations in the parklike

square, detectives could command the Antique Gallery to the extent of setting up machine guns, had they so

chosen. Indeed, the area was already an armed camp, the best feature being that the fact wasn't visible.

So many parking spaces were handy that patrol cats and armored trucks looked few and far apart. Uniformed

police, though numerous, were too scattered to attract more than passing attention. As for the detectives, they

couldn't be spotted at all. They were everywhere, by newsstands, in doorways, near subway entrances. It was

The jewelry show was to open this evening, and it was already dusk. The last exhibits were arriving, but they

were chiefly antiques, loaned by the directors of the gallery. Some large objects were needed to trim the

exhibit room, which would look too monotonous if nothing but jewel cases were about the place.

Weston ordered his chauffeur to stop behind the gallery. There, Inspector Cardona was supervising the

unloading of crates and boxes, checking on their contents. Four truckmen appeared carrying a box that

They paused with their burden on their shoulders, while Cardona checked the bill of lading.

The item in the packing box was an antique spinet. Looking through an antique catalogue, Cardona found the

number of the exhibit and learned that a spinet was an early form of piano. So he waved the truckers through,

and was examining a marble statue in an open crate when Weston's car pulled up beside him.

Briefly, Cardona reported that all was quite in order. Unless the Hydra had subsidized half of the

After that quip, Joe added emphatically that there wasn't a disloyal man in all the force. He'd picked men who

had already tangled with the Hydra's followers, and Cardona's present contingent included a batch of the

traffic squad who had mopped up at the theater following The Shadow's singlehanded rout of Medor and his

So the commissioner's car rolled along, with The Shadow peering from a window to catch signals from

certain men he passed. They were his secret agents, on duty like Cardona's squad. They, too, were reporting

There was only one thing unusual in the whole vicinity of the Antique Gallery. The Shadow didn't notice it,

because the commissioner's car arrived by another street. Neither did Cardona nor the agents report it,

Two blocks away from the Antique Gallery were a pair of subway entrances, of the old kiosk type that looked

like little houses set up on the sidewalk. These old structures were quite close together, because one was used

only during the rush hours when the crowds were heavy. At present, some workmen were busy in the extra

entrance. They were about to paint the interior, now that the rush hour was past. They were laying boards

down the steps to the landing and beyond. While some began to prime their paint brushes, others put up a

That done, the workmen suddenly lost interest in their job. They drifted away one by one, a fact which wasn't

noticed because the barrier hid the steps where they had been. A few blocks distant and completely away

from the Broadway square, the workers assembled anew, entered a truck containing more supplies, and drove

They had a new trick, these. In identifying one another, they used the clenchedfist system, but each man

opened his hand twice and stressed the fact that all fingers were extended. Anyone could count those fingers,

The sign of the Hydra, with the number of fingers shown announcing the Head for whom this crew worked.

How Head No. 10 expected to succeed in impossible crime was something that would be learned only when it

happened. A crime was planned that was calculated to produce double surprise this time to The Shadow as

THE World Wide Friendship Society was throwing quite a dinner, to welcome new guests. Impounded under

that clause, Commissioner Weston and his companions joined the banquet table. Over glasses of rare

champagne supplied by one of their group, the members of the society heard Hart Ribold deliver his

He was a convincing speaker, this Ribold. His tone was a persuasive basso that he modulated to a musical

pitch. Handsome in a virile way, Ribold had a bronzed complexion topped by lightblond hair, giving him

In dress, Ribold was different. Where others wore conventional evening clothes, he sported a plumcolored

uniform jacket shaped to a Tuxedo cut, with a single epaulette upon its right shoulder. Below his other

From what he knew about Ribold, The Shadow assumed that the sun tan was a product of Palm Beach rather

than Equatorial Africa. The uniform was that of a foreign air force that had been very free with honorary

commissions. The medals were the sort that could be obtained through certain channels for a price.

Men like Ribold weren't uncommon among Manhattan's social set. As Cranston, the Shadow had met many

of them and found them generally harmless. But the people present were taking this comicopera character

seriously. Precisely as claimed by Lloyd Casler, the selfflattering Mr. Ribold was seeking funds and getting

This affair was being held in a private dining room of the Hotel Metrolite. A connecting office had been hired

for the occasion, and from it secretaries were bring sheaves of letters and impressive documents as fast as

Correspondence from high officials of exiled governments gave indorsement to Ribold's work. They backed

his claim that if funds were available at the right time and place, much could be done to aid a united cause. It

wasn't just a case of aiding the morale of airmen fighting in the forces of other nations.

Captain Ribold, as some of the letters addressed him, was planning the organization of new corps

everywhere. He believed that he could reach men who were immobilized in occupied countries, smuggle

them out and place them where they would count. Such an effort would require three things. All three were

Of the thirtyodd people present, all were willing to subscribe. Many had brought along certified checks and

were tendering them to Ribold. The Shadow saw the look that Casler gave Weston, along with the nod that

the commissioner returned. Then Weston came to his feet and asked just how Ribold intended to safeguard

It was a neat point. Subtly, Weston was expressing concern for Ribold, whereas he actually felt it toward the

subscribers. The commissioner was handling that angle quite well, so The Shadow arose and strolled away

Stepping into the little office, The Shadow found that the secretaries had gone, taking along Ribold's records.

Picking up a telephone, The Shadow made a call. There was something that he wanted, and when he learned

that it could be delivered within ten minutes, he gave a satisfied laugh, then sat down to have a smoke while

DURING those ten minutes, Weston was making out well with Ribold, who was quite willing to accept

suggestions. Ribold agreed that the funds should be safeguarded and offered to place them in the hands of

certain persons present. When Weston insisted upon choosing the people in question, Ribold shrugged his

Thereupon, Weston chose a retired jurist, Judge Kerland, who was the very symbol of integrity; a lawyer

named Hubert Luhrig; and finally a prominent banker, James Aldan. Having thus combined honesty, legal

skill and finance, Weston announced himself as an exofficio member of the fund committee.

This was all accomplished when The Shadow reappeared. When he gave an inquiring look that suited

Cranston, he was drawn aside by Bardell and Casler, who told him privately how his friend the commissioner

"Look at Ribold," he undertoned. "See the way he frowns. No wonder, with a fortune going right out of his

At that moment, Ribold explained his frown. He was thinking of future problems, so he said. Ways in which

to disburse the fund that he had raised, so that there would be no question about its proper use and that every

He would report on these problems when he solved them. Meanwhile, he hoped that the fund would continue

"No wonder!" whispered Casler caustically. "The bigger it gets, the more for Ribold when he completes the

flimflam. But the only future problem that really worries him is how he can manage that grab. I'd say that

Judge, lawyer and banker were about to leave with the cash and certified checks. While shaking hands with

them, Ribald took a few looks toward the connecting office. Weston noticed it when he joined Bardell and

Noting the glances he received, Ribold came over. In his smooth style, he suggested that the men with the

funds might need protection on the way to the bank, that he'd thought of sending his secretaries along with

them. The secretaries had left, but Ribold was sure he could reach them if he phoned to the hotel lobby.

"I'll do better than that," rejoined Weston. "Tell the committee to wait, Bardell. I want to talk to you, Ribold,

and meanwhile, Cranston can phone headquarters to say that I want two men for special detail."

Turning as he gestured, Weston stared blankly when he found that Cranston was no longer present. Casler

stated that the commissioner's friend had just remembered an important date and had left to keep it. Weston

Those sudden dates that so often spirited Lamont Cranston away could all be blamed on a nuisance named

Margo Lane. Without inquiring why Weston was so annoyed, Casler volunteered to make the call in

From the moment that Lloyd Casler entered the adjoining office, his actions became peculiar. A gleam on his

broad, blunt face, Casler took a quick look at his watch, then locked the door behind him. Crossing the office,

Locking that door, Casler tried a third. It showed a closet where several coats and hats were hanging. Closing

the closet, Casler went to the desk and picked up the telephone. Its cord was hooked in the crack of a top

drawer, so Casler wrenched it loose, then dialed a number. When a voice responded, Casler spoke:

An amazing statement! Given in as insidious tone as Casler could command, it revealed him as a master of

subterfuge. As a Hydra Head, Casler was planning crime tonight, a thrust wherein his Teeth would act upon

information supplied by Eyes and Ears, who could also have had much to do with the preliminary

To cover his identity as a Hydra Head, Casler had picked a perfect alibi. He had arranged a side issue under

the auspices of Commissioner Weston, in whose company Casler would be when crime struck elsewhere!

WHILE plotting his own crime, Casler had been looking for a man toward whom he could divert attention,

and he had found one: Hart Ribold. Whatever the shortcomings of the pretentious captain, they could be no

What Casler was now saying to the Ear at the other end of the wire proved that Head No. 10 considered his

"I've steered the commissioner the way I wanted," spoke Casler. "I'll hold him here so he can't make trouble.

"Well, what about The Shadow?" demanded Casler. "He hasn't shown up so far, has he? I tell you, he's an

unknown element that has to be handled when and where he enters. I'd be willing to take my chances with

That settled the Ear. He must have reverted to the matter of scheduled crime, for when Casler spoke again,

"Correct," declared Casler, glancing at his watch. "The zero hour is nine o'clock. No change."

It was just ten minutes of nine. Replacing the phone with one hand, Casler was putting his watch away, when

its dial seemed to cloud. Odd, the lighting in this office to dim itself so suddenly. While Casler puzzled, the

Close to the Head's ear came a whispered laugh. Looking up, Casler saw why the light had faded. Between

him and the wall bracket had stepped a figure cloaked in black, whose eyes bored from beneath the brim of a

Mere moments ago, Casler had said that he'd like to meet this personage in black. Here was his chance to test

the unknown element. As proof that The Shadow wasn't supernatural, Casler saw the open door of the closet

and realized that the weird visitor had simply been in hiding behind the hanging coats.

That alone was enough to make Casler turn murderer. If he could kill The Shadow, the Head would be clear.

Casler could call it a mistake, claiming that he'd thought the cloaked master was a criminal teamed with

Ribold. After all, Casler was supposed to be calling headquarters for the police commissioner. He'd naturally

Those were reasons why Casler boldly whipped a revolver from his pocket and aimed it at The Shadow. But

the final and most important reason was The Shadow's pose. Arms folded calmly, the cloaked accuser didn't

Up came The Shadow's hand, gunless and ungloved. Thumb and second finger snapped together, straight

toward Casler's face. The result was a sharp explosion that sounded like a cannon shot. Two chemical pastes,

meeting in the friction of thumb and finger, produced a burst of flame along with the huge report. (Note:

Because The Shadow's explosive powder used in this instance is too dangerous for any but the most

experienced to use, we do not reveal the nature of its formula, so that the inexperienced might not attempt this

Shaken, dazzled, the Hydra Head nearly lost his grip on the revolver while he tried vainly to glimpse The

Shadow anew. All that Casler saw was blackness, enveloping himself and the desk against which he leaned.

Living blackness that gripped Casler and delivered another of those weird laughs that came as a whisper of

Blindly, Casler was reeling toward the door, the gun plucked from his hand. He thought he was getting clear

of The Shadow, not realizing that he was actually being guided to further disaster.

For when Casler managed to unbolt the door, The Shadow gripped him again, sending him into a whirl that

carried the Head away from the door, then back to it, into the clutch of Commissioner Weston and a pair of

husky hotel detectives who had started for the office when they heard The Shadow's blast.

Before Casler could even begin to alibi himself, full attention was captured by The Shadow's laugh. The

cloaked master was opening the top drawer of the desk to display a flat recording machine, which was the

Beside the device was a broken thread, which The Shadow had attached to the telephone cord. In jerking the

cord from the edge of the drawer, Casler had broken the thread and started the recorder!

Now the machine was speaking back in Casler's own voice, disclosing him as the tenth Head of the Hydra

and revealing that the zero hour was at hand for his thrust at the Antique Gallery. As that criminal confession

Weston and his companions looked for the master in black. He was gone, through the outer door, which he

had opened while their attention was on Casler's recorded statement. This laugh that they heard was the one

that The Shadow had first given Casler. The recorder had picked up that sinister mirth.

The Shadow had left on a rapid trip to the Antique Gallery, a race against time, wherein he hoped to conquer

ALREADY wheels of crime were on the move. Lloyd Casler, the tenth Hydra Head, had started them

human cogwheels, deft in evil. But they weren't the only wheels that were to produce results.

One wheel had already done its stint. It was the circular turntable of the recording device in the desk drawer.

That wheel provided an odd aftermath, hard upon the mechanical laugh that symbolized The Shadow's recent

The recorder issued a terrific bang! a replica of the explosion with which The Shadow had startled Casler.

This time the sound marked Casler's recuperation. He sprang away from the desk, shaking off the grip of the

hotel detectives. Punching his way past Bardell in the doorway, Casler raced across the banquet room.

Ribold was too far away to block him. The fancydressed captain began barking orders, but no hands could

Out through another door, down a stairway to the lobby, the frantic Head was off to safety.

Spurring Casler, came a mocking laugh. It was the final taunt that The Shadow had given during the office

scene. Casler snarled happily as he heard it. This time, The Shadow wasn't here to back his powerful mirth.

Though Lloyd Casler didn't realize it, The Shadow was no longer lopping Hydra heads, unless dire

circumstances should compel him. Instead, he was seeking to ensnare the various leaders while breaking up

their crimes. For the way in which the Hydra branched was its most insidious feature.

Wheels were whirling The Shadow to his appointment with crime the swift wheels of Moe's cab, which had

been waiting outside the Hotel Metrolite ever since The Shadow went there. But with all Moe's efforts, the

Visitors at the jewelry show heard the nineo'clock clang of a great clock in a tower across the square. They

Beside the exhibit stood Inspector Joe Cardona, somewhat annoyed by the way some people mistook him for

a guide. Joe kept gesturing to a withery old gentleman who was describing the various gems.

These were the crown jewels of many countries, brought to America for safety, placed on display that the

proceeds from their show might go to the aid of refugees from those lands. Crowns, tiaras, scepters, rings,

and even sword hilts, provided a glittering array of color from the closely guarded stand on which they

Diamonds were, of course, the main attraction, though rubies, emeralds, sapphires and some rare specimens

of topaz were in abundance. The lecturer was finished with the diamonds and was pointing out the rubies.

Close to the display, Clyde Burke and Harry Vincent were noting the faces around them and finding none that

was suspicious. As visitors to the show, these agents of the Shadow had so far failed to scent a trace of

"This immense gem," declared the lecturer, pointing to a great red stone that studded a sword hilt, "was long

regarded as the world's largest ruby. A misnomer, because in the actual sense there is no true ruby. Garnets,

"The Oriental ruby, most precious of the entire category, is properly a red variety of sapphire. Being the most

valued of ruddy gems, it has claimed the title of ruby. If this great stone" he gestured to the sword hilt

"Unfortunately, it is only a spinel, identified as such in recent years. A spinel is a gem stone found in various

color varieties, among them red. So you are viewing not the world's largest ruby, but a fine specimen of

"A spinel. Where did I hear that before? Spinel... spinet! One looks like a ruby and the other a piano. Spinet

With that, Cardona turned to look at the antiques, hoping he'd see the spinet. But there wasn't anything

resembling a piano among the ancient furniture that was ranged to cover barren spots amid the showcases.

Behind the exhibit of crown jewels, Joe saw a fancy, golddecorated screen. Past the screen, he spied a

Before more than a flicker of suspicion could cross Joe's mind, crime crashed through.

THERE was a roar from behind the screen, muffled only for a few seconds. Then, with a splintering smash,

the front of the box ripped wide. Something avalanched forth, flattening the screen, and hurtled like a

All the visitors dodged, with men's shouts and women's shrieks punctuating the process. The withery lecturer

went away in a hurried dive. Harry and Clyde were among those who cleared a path as they would have for a

It was a bantam automobile, spurting with a power that threatened mayhem to anyone who blocked its

This was the thing that truckers had brought into the Antique Gallery. Light in weight, four men could easily

carry it on their shoulders. Instead of an oldfashioned piano, Cardona was seeing the latest type of midget

The driver of the bantam car could have cut a vicious swath right through the witnesses, but he didn't.

Instead, he jammed the brakes and the midget menace shrieked to a halt beside the display of crown gems.

The door on the right flipped open and the man beside the driver scooped the plush drape that covered the

Bundling a vast fortune of gems as a waiter would gather up silverware when removing a tablecloth, the

Only Cardona could have stopped it. He'd been standing at one side of the display, hence hadn't needed to

dodge along with The Shadow's agents and detectives who were in the car's path. But Joe was handicapped

very unfortunately. He was on the wrong side of the car. Before he could get around to the right, the door had

The way ahead was clear. The midget machine had transformed itself from a mechanized menace into a

getaway car. Two men made a valiant effort to stop it when they grabbed for its rear bumper. Those two were

Harry and Clyde. If they'd gotten their grip, they could have lifted the rear wheels of the undersized car and

But the car spurted off too soon. It was roaring down an aisle between showcases, ducking antique couches

and other furniture while Cardona tried to stop it in his own way, with gunfire. Other detectives joined in

You could armorplate a midget ear and supply it with bulletproof glass and tires, just as with a fullsized

Deluged by bashing slugs, the peewee vehicle reached the street door, dented by impact. Like a hummingbird

buzzing out through a window, it hopped the curb and spurted across the square. Mere sight of the tiny car

was enough for Cardona's outside squad. All the machinery of the law went into motion to make the escape

Patrol cars were wheeling in from side streets. Big armored trucks were heaving up to throw a blockade. But

the midget car was as difficult to catch as a greased pig. It could take to sidewalks and it did, as soon as

traffic snarled about it. Cut off from a corner, it wheeled through the park, trimming benches so closely that a

What it lacked in size, the bantam made up for in speed and maneuverability. All the while, its occupants

were safe from the steady hail of lead that flew about it. One car alone, of all in the vicinity, could have given

Moe would have found a way to cut off the thing's escape, for he could handle his hack like a stunt driver.

But there were places where the cab couldn't go, and one of them was through the mess of traffic that

cluttered the avenue from curb to curb. The sidewalks, wide enough for the midget auto, were just too narrow

Still, crooks didn't seem to have a chance. Streets were blocked, and the sirens of motorcycles told that a new

class of vehicles were in the chase. The trouble was that the cycle cops were vulnerable, which the men in the

bantam weren't. A gun was chattering from the top of the small car's window when it neared the subway

With a rip like its departure from the crate, the tiny car carved through the flimsy barrier and zoomed down

the steps into the subway, using lengthwise boards for a roadway, the very boards that the fake painters

MOTORCYCLES rallied to the chase. From side streets where they had dodged, they converged upon the

The cop who won wasn't happy over it. His motorcycle took a jolt and he disappeared down the opening,

while others pulled up their twowheeled steeds and tumbled to the street, in preference to a longer fall.

The men in the midget car had stopped at the bottom of the subway steps just long enough to grab the lower

ends of the boards and haul them to the bottom. That done, they were on their way again, traveling

Officers and plainclothes men were dashing for the various subway entrances all around the square. They

still thought they had a chance to trap the midget car where it was. Sooner or later, they would hound it to a

subway platform. Police were getting to those platforms to make sure the crooks didn't hop from the car and

To Moe's amazement, his blackcloaked chief ordered him to wheel from the beleaguered square and drive

across to the other side of town. It wasn't until the trip was under way that Moe realized what it might

Never calculating that the subway could have played the part it did, the police had treated the situation as a

local one. They knew that two subways crossed at the square and that both were express stops. That meant

several platforms on two levels would have to be covered. But the police had just about forgotten that those

subways linked to a concourse that led to another subway on the opposite side of town!

When they remembered, it would be too late. On foot, they couldn't hope to overtake the tiny automobile. By

the time they hauled motorcycles down the steps, a mechanized pursuit would be useless. Of all the trickery

that the Hydra's men had shown, their final stroke was best that of leading the police underground, only to

learn that they should have stayed on the street and sent cars everywhere to cut off the crooks wherever they

That was exactly what The Shadow planned, and he wasn't trusting to mere chance. The Hydra had gauged

this thing so well that there was a chance it could have been handled too well. On the barren cross street, The

Shadow's cab was making as good time as the midget car in the underground concourse. Therein lay his hope

Reaching the far side of town, Moe was up against a tough proposition. There were subway exits here in

plenty, a dozen of them, some several blocks apart. How to find the right one, was the question; but it

As Moe cruised rapidly in and about this sector, still following The Shadow's order, a closed exit came in

sight. The Hydra had overdone its trick, by providing the tiny getaway car with a quick way out when it

finished its underground trip. The painters had come here after finishing their first job, and in preparing the

From within the cab, Moe heard a whispered laugh. Needing no further order from The Shadow, Moe

plunged the brake pedal and brought the cab to the spot where the crooks would soon emerge.

Wheels of crime were still in motion, rolling perpetrators to a new meeting with The Shadow!

LIGHTS out, Moe's cab was a lurking thing in darkness, while his chief, The Shadow, waited. The cab had

come by a straight route, whereas its midget prey had veered considerably. This accounted for the difference,

but during the wait it was quite evident that the Hydra's strategy had completely baffled the law.

Sounds of sirens were so distant as to be practically negligible. Only The Shadow had guessed where the trail

To Moe, the game seemed as good as won, until he heard a singular whisper close behind him. It was The

Shadow's warning tone, ordering Moe to keep low, which often meant that Moe would have to claw the floor

boards. Such a warning promised shooting, which made Moe think that The Shadow's keen ear had heard the

As Moe slid down into the seat, his last glance in the mirror showed him another cab pulling up behind his

own. He realized then that The Shadow had looked even farther ahead. The arriving cab belonged to the

Almost inaudible was the soft thud of the rear door in Moe's cab. Absolutely invisible was the cloaked shape

that slid to the darkened sidewalk and glided under the shelter of one cab back to the other. Mobsters had

extinguished their lights while coasting up to Moe's cab. Now men were creeping out to slug the unfortunate

hackie who had accidentally so they thought chosen their rendezvous as a parking spot.

Blackness whirled literally among them. It was as if night itself had solidified to strike like an invisible

thunderbolt. The guns that slugged were The Shadow's. They found targets with every stroke. Three thugs

literally melted with hardly an outcry. Not one even found a gun trigger, for they hadn't intended to start

In the cab up front, Moe heard The Shadow's low, triumphant laugh and popped up behind the wheel. No

Another cabby heard that strange mirth from the darkness where figures were mysteriously thudding the curb.

He reached for a gun and thrust it through the window, this man in the Hydra's cab. A Tooth like the rest, he

His bit was simply proving that he couldn't take it. In from the opposite window came a gloved hand that

pressed a cold gun muzzle against the driver's neck. Wilting, the crook let his own gun clatter outside his cab.

Then, with harder pressure of his gun, The Shadow was ordering the fellow to get going, which the cabby

did. How his hands managed to grip the steering wheel, was something quite remarkable; but the speed with

which the cab shot away was to be expected. The driver simply let his foot jam to the floor and stay there.

Back at his own cab, The Shadow found Moe climbing anxiously out. Hearing his chief's whisper, Moe

subsided, to learn why The Shadow had sent the other cab away. The Shadow simply stated that since only

one cab was supposed to be waiting here, he'd sent the other away. Moe began to understand.

"And say, chief," declared Moe, "can those Blue Spots travel! They're a new job, those hacks. How they'll

make dough, I don't know, with so many companies already in the business. I'll bet that guy you just chased

Moe broke off at a whisper from The Shadow, who was now inside the cab. There was a muffled roar below

ground, a hard rising spurt, the clatter of boards that served as tracks. Then, like a jackinthebox, out

SMASHING through the thin boards of the subway exit, the mechanical jackrabbit took a bounce across the

sidewalk and stopped by the curb. Its doors popped open and out sprang its twoman crew, one carrying a

While he was dashing to the cab with it, the other crook shoved the front of the stalled bantam and sent the

At that moment, the cab door was opening. The crook who shoved the bag inside let go of it and snatched for

a gun. He didn't reach the weapon, nor did his lips finish the savage oath they started. An interruption came in

the shape of an automatic, landing hard against the skull of the astonished jewel thief.

The other thug heard nothing because of the clatter that the bantam car was making as it zigzagged, unguided,

down the subway steps. When the fellow turned, he saw the cab pulling away; at the same time, the chug of a

This Hydra Tooth didn't realize that he was being given a chance for shortlived flight on foot, with

peaceable surrender to the law. He thought he was being doublecrossed by pals, who preferred not to wait

for him, now that the police were coming to this side of town. Angrily, the crook pulled a gun and opened fire

An automatic answered with a single stab. The Tooth reeled, wounded. The Shadow's shot was necessary, for

with a few bullets more, his frantic foe would have found the window of the cab. Looking back, The Shadow

saw his adversary sag beside the huddled figures who had been lying behind Moe's cab. The other man from

This concluding episode had proven very rapid. The last shots came amid the echoes of the final crash from

the midget car when it reached the subway platform. The wail of the approaching siren had halted just before

As ill luck had it, a patrol car zoomed down the very street that Moe intended to take. When the cab veered to

take a new route, the men in the patrol car saw it and the chase was on. Dodging one patrol car was a simple

They were everywhere, those pests, passing word to each other that crooks had transferred to a cab, which

didn't make it pleasant for The Shadow, considering that he didn't care to throw away a suitcase full of rare

crown jewels. So he kept them, but with the knowledge that he would take the blame for the crime if found

Calmly, The Shadow guided Moe through devious routes that promised safety. Strange, how this cloaked

fugitive could tell the exact locations of the pursuing vehicles. Time and again, Moe cut across a street

thinking he was going right into a snare, only to see a motorcycle going the other way.

Usually, the cops spotted the cab, but they had to turn around to go after it, and by then, Moe was elsewhere.

Cops were constantly overhauling the wrong cabs and stopping them, which helped a great deal; but there

In fact, Moe felt that, for once, the game was through when The Shadow ordered him to wheel through a side

street near the Times Square area. Even worse, The Shadow called for a stop midway through the block.

As Moe pressed down on the brake pedal, the cab slewed beside a limousine that was parked in front of a

night club. Moe didn't hear what happened, nor did the drowsy chauffeur in the limousine. Out one window,

in through another went a heavy suitcase of untold value. With that transfer of the crown gems from cab to

The motorcycle cops proved too pesky. Twenty blocks to the south, one of them overhauled the cab and

inquired about its hurry. A second cop arrived and each yanked open a door. Moe gave an anxious look in

back, then opened his eyes wide when he saw that his passenger was no longer The Shadow. Nor was there

In Cranston's guise, The Shadow was leaning back in the seat smoking a thin cigar. His cloak and hat were

tucked away in a special drawer beneath the rear seat. He'd put his guns there, too, in case the cops decided to

"Say!" exclaimed one. "Here's the pal who handed us those tickets to the theater!"

"We want to thank you, mister," expressed the other. "What a party that turned out to be!"

The Shadow was shaking hands with both the cops. When they got around to the present question, he told

them that he hadn't seen any cab that appeared to have crooks in it; at least, no such cab in flight. He'd noted a

parked cab that looked suspicious, but the cops told him the one they wanted wouldn't be stopping anywhere.

"When you see the police commissioner," remarked The Shadow, "give him my regards. We're old friends,

you know. In fact, I think I'll pick up my car and stop around to see him shortly. Maybe this very evening."

As the cab pulled away, the motorcycle cops went to a phone and called headquarters. They were told to

report to Inspector Cardona at the Cobalt Club, where he had gone to see Commissioner Weston.

MEANWHILE, The Shadow was putting in a call around the corner. It was another of those Cranston to

Cranston conversations that brought prompt results. Called to a phone booth in a night club, the real Cranston

caught the drift of things. Margo Lane was finishing a dance with another partner when Cranston joined her

In the limousine, Margo almost stumbled over a suitcase, which Cranston promptly lifted to the seat beside

him. He was smiling somewhat cryptically when Margo asked where they were going. She learned the

answer after a northward trip, when the cab pulled up in front of the Cobalt Club.

Some motorcycle cops were coming out, and others were arriving on the street. They nodded to Cranston as

he went by carrying the suitcase. Inside the club, Cranston and Margo reached the grillroom which Weston

had turned into his headquarters. Interrupting a report by Inspector Cardona, Cranston planked the suitcase on

Margo gasped at sight of the fabulous crown jewels, but her surprise was mild. Weston and Cardona were

pawing through the gems, totally confounded, while motorcycle cops came flocking back at Weston's bellow.

Then Cranston was explaining how he'd found the suitcase in his limousine, entirely by accident a thing to

She couldn't understand how Lamont had turned himself into The Shadow, recovered the jewels for which

the whole police force were searching, and still stayed around the night club as much as he had. Margo was

sure she hadn't been absent from Lamont for more than a single dance. Whatever miracles he'd performed as

The Shadow, he must have managed them in something less than ten minutes at a stretch.

Which would have caused Margo to decide that someone other than The Shadow had stifled crime tonight,

That was: when Cranston found the suitcase in the limousine, he didn't open it. So how could he have known

As she and Lamont left the Cobalt Club to the congratulations of Cranston's friends, the traffic cops, two new

officers arrived on motorcycles and alighted to learn the news. They happened to be the pair who had

overhauled The Shadow's cab twenty blocks the other side of the street where the night club was.

"That's what he meant when he said he was going to see the commissioner," put in the other. "It shows he

The two cops stared at the departing limousine as though they expected it to sprout wings and take off over

the Empire State Building. The more they tried to explain the thing, the more it bothered them, considering

To those two cops, The Shadow's latest victory over the Hydra was dropping right out of mind. They knew

that The Shadow could work wonders. But if they'd been asked to name the champion at such business, they'd

THE blue light glimmered in The Shadow's sanctum. Long, deft fingers were sorting through reports from

agents. From one of those fingers gleamed a rare gem, a fire opal that changed from hue to hue. This stone,

known as a girasol, wasn't a souvenir from the crown jewels that The Shadow had reclaimed.

Rather, this girasol that The Shadow had worn for years was the magnet that had attracted the other gems into

his hands. For never did The Shadow fare forth without this strange talisman, which had carried him through

threats of death that had seemingly required more than mortal effort to survive.

First of the reports were from Rutledge Mann. They went back to the death of Edmund Glencoe, a Hydra case

that still was unidentified as such by the law. Mann was seeking data that would prove murder and robbery in

The evidence looked negative. The funds paid to Glencoe's estate had been used to purchase stocks in

legitimate companies, as he provided. All the companies were doing well, their shares selling at a premium.

Bardell and others were buying into them, and Mann's advice, as a broker, was that either The Shadow or

Passing from that routine report, The Shadow found one from Moe. The cab had been in an accident and

would need a few weeks for repairs. Substitute cabs were hard to find, so Moe was taking a job with a

company for a while. He'd still be available when The Shadow needed him, but fares would count when ran

Clippings on The Shadow's table told of his victory over the Hydra, and described the widespread hunt that

the police were making for Lloyd Casler. The Shadow had already read those, and they didn't matter much.

He preferred that Casler should be alive and at large, rather than have new Hydra Heads appear.

Hunted by the law, with most of his crew eradicated, Head No. 10 was Eyeless and Toothless. At most, he

One more report was needed, from Clyde Burke. It hadn't arrived, so The Shadow reached for the earphones.

The contact man stated that Lamont Cranston was on the wire. The Shadow said to put the call through.

Phoning from his home in New Jersey, Cranston begged to be excused that evening. He felt his present

popularity would handicap The Shadow. With the Hydra still a pressing menace, every motorcycle cop in

Manhattan felt it a duty to convoy Cranston's limousine each time it appeared in town.

"I'm too much of a hero," complained Cranston. "I hope you settle this Hydra business promptly, so I'll be

forgotten. What's more, I can't see Margo because she asks too many questions, and if I don't see her, she'll

"I wish you'd take over a while, old man. It would be to our mutual interest. You can get around places in that

cloak of yours without being recognized as me. So you won't be bothered by the motorcycle squad, and when

Granting Cranston a deserved leave of absence, The Shadow resumed his chat with Burbank and inquired

about Burke's report. He learned that Clyde was still at the commissioner's office and would probably be

INTERWOVEN through all The Shadow's campaigns were many important twists. Clyde Burke's visit to the

Clyde's effort to halt crime at its source during the jewel robbery had not escaped Cardona's notice. In return

for services rendered, the inspector had promised Clyde an inside track on future stories.

Cardona was making good his promise, by inviting Clyde to a conference where he had a reasonable right to

be, anyway, since he'd figured in one Hydra case. At Weston's office, Clyde had met Dustin Bardell, who was

"It's impossible to trust anyone!" Bardell was declaiming, with one of those hand thwacks that struck the desk

resoundingly. "When Lloyd Casler turned out to be a Hydra Head, my faith in friends was utterly destroyed!"

"Why not look elsewhere than among your friends?" queried Weston. "What about Hart Ribold?"

"Certainly," returned Weston. "It was Casler who threw suspicion on Ribold. That ought to prove Ribold's

"It doesn't follow, commissioner," argued Bardell. "I still don't trust Ribold. He might have made away with

"If he had," declared Weston brusquely, "he'd have done crime his own way, not the Hydra's. We are sure

Bardell wrote Ribold's name on a sheet of paper. Weston then told him to begin another list, headed by the

names of Kerland, Luhrig and Aldan judge, lawyer, and banker who were holding the World Wide

"There are three good men," asserted Weston, "but we can keep them for the future. This evening, I shall

confer with them regarding the fund. After that, they may be candidates for the civic committee. And now "

The commissioner paused in a manner so impressive that Clyde knew his story was coming up. Taking some

report sheets that Cardona handed him, Weston glanced from Bardell to Clyde and asked:

"Why, certainly," returned Bardell promptly. "Ilchester is noted for his philanthropic achievements."

"His latest being the gift of his very valuable library," added Clyde. "He turned it over to an upstate

Bardell broke in with a recitation of Ilchester's earlier endowments, since they had begun years ago, at a time

that Bardell remembered but Clyde didn't. However, the reporter was able to correct Bardell as he went

"That's all I need to bear," declared Weston. "It proves that Ilchester is more interested in humanity than in

Thinking that he was going to obtain a committee member, Bardell started to put Ilchester's name on paper,

"Ilchester is no longer active," stated Weston. "We can not ask him to help us uncover Hydra Heads. We

must do that for him. We must find at least one Head on his account. Ilchester has been threatened by The

From Cardona's reports, Weston laid bare the Ilchester situation. The philanthropist had been hearing from a

mysterious extortionist who liked to deal in the number twelve. Phone calls had come at noon and midnight,

all bearing the same demand: that Ilchester pay the sum of fifty thousand dollars, or take unstated

True to the number twelve, the unknown persecutor had sent messages in packages delivered to Ilchester's

home. Every dozen eggs included an extortion note. When Ilchester ordered new silverware, there had been a

message with each twelvepiece batch. An encyclopedia which happened to come in twelve volumes

"What Ilchester fears is abduction," stated Weston. "He's been living in a bomb shelter that was dug in his

cellar some months ago. He went so deep with the shelter that he struck an old water main and had to have it

"He decided that was deep enough for a bomb shelter." With a slight smile, Weston produced a picture of the

cellar. "But it wouldn't do against this terrorist whom Ilchester terms 'No. 12.' That title that Ilchester chose at

"Head No. 12!" added Bardell. "The Heads have probably reached that total, since Casler's number was Ten!"

"That is my opinion," agreed Weston. "And Head Twelve has informed Ilchester that the deadline will be

twelve o'clock the night of the twelfth. Which means" the commissioner gestured to his calendar "that

CLYDE couldn't hold back his enthusiasm over such a story. Telling him he'd have to hold it for tomorrow's

Clyde went out to call his newspaper, the Classic. In the meantime Weston phoned the club to see if Cranston

Cranston wasn't, but before Weston could put in a call to New Jersey, his friend rang up. Needless to say, it

was The Shadow, phoning after receiving a rapid report from Clyde. Repeating the details of the Ilchester

The idea was this: Ilchester simply would not trust the police inside the house, fearing that No. 12 would

notice their arrival and use extreme measures in retaliation. Between them, Weston and Cardona had

wheedled him into inviting other guests. With people present, Ilchester's abduction would prove difficult.

Naturally, police would be on hand outdoors. Inspector Cardona was taking the assignment, with a few

handpicked men, the sort who could stay under cover. As for the party, if Cranston could suggest suitable

Stating first that he'd reach Ilchester's before midnight, The Shadow suggested that Harry Vincent be invited.

Weston approved the choice, since Harry rated well with Clyde Burke, the two having teamed against crime

Adding that if Vincent had a girlfriend for the evening, her presence should be suitable, too, The Shadow

"Cranston and that Lane girl again!" snapped Weston. "She's dated him this evening, so he wants other guests

"That Lane dame!" gruffed Cardona. "She's getting to be a milestone around Cranston's neck!"

"You mean millstone," corrected Weston. "Still, it doesn't matter. Both are heavy enough. Nevertheless" an

idea struck Weston "some feminine charm would help the occasion. It would look like a genuine party to

the Hydra's spies, if ladies were present. Call up Vincent, inspector, and ask him to bring a girl along."

LEAVING the sanctum, The Shadow was enjoying a laugh at Weston's partial expense. The Shadow's

suggestion had solved a pressing problem. He'd decided how to postpone Margo's questions, perhaps to

sidetrack them permanently. Through Burbank, The Shadow was instructing Harry to invite Margo to

Thus Margo wouldn't meet The Shadow until nearly midnight, by which time the situation would be tense. If

the Hydra should take over the party in the shape of Head No. 12, enough things would happen to make

Darkness had already settled, hence The Shadow found his cloaked garb to his liking. Contacting Moe, The

Shadow found him driving a Blue Spot cab. As they cruised along, with the meter ticking very slowly, Moe

"It's like you thought, chief," informed Moe. "There's a bunch of deadpans working for this outfit. A couple

"How can I tell?" demanded Moe. "They don't open their faces except to eat. Take tonight, for instance. I

never saw so many rush jobs. While we were in the onearm lunch joint across from the garage, the checker

pops in and orders five guys onto the street all at once. I was the only Blue Spot driver left in the hash house."

The Shadow was keeping a strict lookout for other Blue Spot cabs. He noted one parked in front of a

pretentious apartment house on the avenue that Moe was following. Telling Moe to pull up beside the

"How would I know?" retorted the deadpan in the other Blue Spot. "I ain't been down to Chinatown!"

"That did it, chief!" declaimed Moe. "One crack at your suggestion and I found out what I couldn't get for

"He wouldn't have confused a coolie cab with Chinatown," put in The Shadow. "He would have found out

that the coolies are the drivers who are stationed at the ferries, so called because they work long shifts."

Moe nodded. He was particularly pleased when The Shadow told him to keep cruising this area. Moe sensed

from his chief's tone that The Shadow's keen brain was thinking in terms of crime. Oddly, though, the

Therefore, other crime must be brewing, though The Shadow had sound reasons for linking it with the Hydra.

Considering the unique methods used by Hydra Heads, as displayed by Mance, Medor and Casler, The

Nor would The Shadow he disappointed on that score, should he manage to witness the scheduled events of

evil. Tonight, crime was operating on a sound merchandising system. It was coming C.O.D.

A CAB was rolling slowly along a side street, its driver acting as if he'd lost his way. An impatient man in

cape and high silk hat wagged a cane through the window to the driver's seat and snapped testily:

The cab stopped under a light, while the driver thumbed a street guide. The blue spot on the door was quite

"I'm headed the wrong way. I'll cut through this alley to the next street. That will fix us."

It fixed them, right enough. The alley widened into a courtyard, where lights were glowing. A man stepped

up and opened the door, to press a gun against the passenger's chest. Coming out with raised hands, the man

with the high hat gave a hopeful look back to the street from which they had come.

Therewith, the victim's hope became despair. There wasn't any street, nothing but a solid wall of brick! Then,

still gasping with amazement, the silkhatted man was piloted around the corner of the courtyard, to find

They were seated under a low roof fitted with large panes of frosted glass that covered the entire courtyard.

All had come in Blue Spot cabs, for others of these vehicles were parked across the court. The cab drivers,

Tables were spread for a buffet supper, with thuggish waiters presiding, but none of the guests were inclined

to eat. They knew one another, for they were all members of the World Wide Friendship Society. As for their

host, he was the fanciful Captain Ribold, wearing his honorary uniform with its customary display of medals.

"Relax, everybody," suggested Ribold, in his eager tone. "You are all worth more alive than dead. I am not

treating you like goods delivered C.O.D., though in fact you are. I hired this forgotten dining garden for your

A buzzer sounded and Ribold stepped to a deep wall to press a switch. Those near enough to the corner saw

an amazing happening in the alley. The front wall rose inward on hinges to admit a Blue Spot cab. Once the

vehicle was past, the baffler dropped again. Another piece of human baggage was delivered when the cab

Another cab was approaching along the street out front. This one contained a very observant passenger in the

The lawyer was shrewd enough to suspect that something was wrong. His driver had been acting queerly ever

Temporarily ignoring the driver, Luhrig reached for a revolver that he carried under special permit, and

looked to see who might be lurking on the street. All appeared serene, particularly in front of a twostory

brick house that was wedged between two other buildings. The only peculiar thing about the house was its

lack of front steps. Its closed door was on the sidewalk level; the windows above showed drawn shades.

Just when Luhrig was beginning to relax, he saw the house front rising inward. A dummy house front, its

Before Luhrig could shake off his surprise, the cab was wheeling into the alley that the dummy front had

hidden. By the time the lawyer could haul his gun from his pocket, he had no chance to use it.

His cab was in a courtyard, where someone opening the door was displaying a gun of his own. Letting his

revolver slide back in his pocket, Luhrig came out with hands raised. He was marched to the group over

"The visitor we have awaited," announced Ribold with a smile. "If others come, they will be welcome, but we

can now proceed with business. My terms are simple. I want a ransom for your persons, in the form of funds

already paid. I refer to the subscriptions that you so obligingly raised at my behest."

Ribold was speaking chiefly to Luhrig, who met him with an angry glare. To which Ribold responded:

"It may help matters if I introduce myself as Hydra Head Twelve. Our organization owns the Blue Spot Cab

Co., whose drivers were assigned to pick you up and bring you here. My lookout is admitting only those

"In fact, the police have no idea that this could even happen. I decoyed them to the home of a gentleman

named Ira Ilchester. I threatened him with death at midnight unless he paid over a given sum. Whether I

"Call Commissioner Weston," ordered Ribold, in a grating tone. "Tell him that you want to talk with Judge

Kerland and James Aldan, the banker. State that you have checked my last report concerning disbursement of

the fund; that you have contacted a majority of the society and that they agree I should receive the fund

tonight. Make it impressive, Luhrig, for yours is only one of the lives at stake, should you fail!"

Luhrig made the call, while mopping perspiration from his high forehead. The lawyer had a determined jaw

and he kept thrusting it as he talked. Finished, Luhrig sat down heavily, too weak to glare.

"I settled it," he declared. "Kerland and Aldan took me at my word. The commissioner would have been easy,

too, if he hadn't kept talking to that fool Bardell, who shouldn't have been there anyway. Bardell kept telling

The Teeth who served Hydra Head Twelve were moving forward with their guns. Ribold waved them back,

then stepped to the wall to press the switch in answer to another buzz from the lookout. While a gunladen

"The commissioner asked if others would call him," replied Luhrig. "I said they would. That satisfied him, or

Prisoners were crowding forward frantically, each anxious to make the first call. Using a gun as a pointer,

Ribold picked the ones he thought could tell the most convincing tale. He gestured his first choice to the

telephone, then stepped back to press the wall switch, for the buzzer had given another summons.

"When this red tape has been unwound," stated Ribold, "I shall leave you here while I collect the fund. How

long you will all remain depends on circumstance. I am sure that Aldan will give me cash for those certified

checks, so I can start for Lisbon at once. Perhaps by morning, you can be released. Possibly I may demand a

Ribold's speculations ceased. At that moment, the last cab had stopped. Something was happening to the

A chunk of blackness swooped like a living arm, drove the fellow's gun straight upward, and descended with

As the thug collapsed, blackness materialized into a cloaked fighter who sprang from the cab and whirled like

a human gun turret, blasting the fake cab drivers who served the Hydra. The Shadow was in action at his

They were far too many for any single fighter to handle, but The Shadow had a capable ally. As a whole crew

of gunners swept across the courtyard to gain a sure angle of fire against The Shadow, Moe spurted his cab

into their midst. Thugs went flying right and left, save for a hapless few who were bashed against the wall.

These Blue Spot taxis were good jobs, Moe learned. They could turn on a dime, and people simply couldn't

dodge them. With The Shadow knocking off Hydra followers like clay pigeons, Moe was turning the

remainder into sheep, literally herding them with his cab into the hands of prisoners, who were now on the

Ribold was wrenching himself from half a dozen hands. The Shadow, so far, hadn't time to deal with him. It

was all the better, for The Shadow wanted to keep Head Twelve alive, rather than have the Hydra sprout two

But Ribold was loose, aiming at his cloaked foe. As the Head fired, The Shadow faded, half faking a fall to

Luhrig saw The Shadow's falter and misunderstood it. Whipping out the gun that Ribold didn't know he had,

As Ribold struck the cement court, riddled with bullets, Luhrig gave a grateful cry to see The Shadow rising.

By then, battle was ended. Dead, wounded, captured, the Hydra's men had met with complete disaster.

THE SHADOW gestured Luhrig to the phone. Pocketing his gun, the grimjawed man put in a prompt call to

the commissioner and told him the truth about Ribold, adding that Head Twelve was dead.

By then, The Shadow was placing the Hydra's followers in batches and pointing the members of the World

With former passengers as drivers, the Blue Spots wheeled out to the street, The Shadow standing with one

hand on the switch, the other keeping a gun turned toward the line of huddled prisoners, whose own guns

"The commissioner is coming right over," announced Luhrig. "I told him he would find an open alley when

he arrived. He is bringing men to take away the prisoners. Kerland and Aldan are coming with him."

With a low laugh of approval, The Shadow moved away, leaving the switch to Luhrig, whose eyes followed

the mysterious cloaked being with an expression of full admiration. The last of the cabs was gone, with the

exception of Moe's. The Shadow's driver followed his chief along the row of prisoners, awaiting new orders

The telephone bell began to ring. Turning, The Shadow saw Luhrig leave the switch to answer it. Finishing

his patrol, The Shadow returned to the near end of the row. Luhrig was putting down the telephone as The

And then close by The Shadow's ear came a voice, a low harsh tone that carried strange foreboding. It said:

"You did me a good turn, Shadow. I appreciated it when it happened, but matters are different now. The

Hydra is too big for you to ever squelch. We both know its way: how its remaining Heads appoint new ones

A revolver was pressing between The Shadow's shoulders to emphasize the words to come.

"I have just heard from the Hydra," the harsh voice continued. "I have been offered the post of Head

Fourteen. Any man would be a fool to refuse such a proposition, especially when he is in a position to

The speaker was Hubert Luhrig! Loyal through it all, Luhrig had accepted the insidious offer of the Hydra to

become one of the replacements for the very Head that he himself had killed, Hart Ribold!

Only the Hydra could have inspired such doubledyed treachery in any human. Ready to serve his manifold

Hard upon his victory over Ribold, The Shadow was on the verge of defeat and doom, both to be delivered by

ONE question was pounding through The Shadow's brain: why didn't Luhrig deliver the death shot?

It was a question that must be answered instantly; yet, for once, The Shadow groped. The Hydra menace had

multiplied to so incredible a degree that answers simply wouldn't seem to come. Then, like a flash, The

Luhrig was holding The Shadow's fate in abeyance until he'd be sure of getting Shrevvy, too. As a Hydra

Head, Luhrig wanted a profitable future, not quick death as vengeance for The Shadow's. Moe's handling of

the juggernaut cab had given Luhrig respect for the cabby's ingenuity. He was waiting for Moe to pace to the

proper angle and the right range, where a quick shot would get him after The Shadow was finished.

And Moe was on his way to the fatal spot, at this moment only a few paces short of it!

If The Shadow had whirled, he'd have done something Luhrig wanted. Cleverly, the newly appointed Head

had let his gun recede, so The Shadow couldn't catch it with his shoulder blade while starting a spin.

There was only one other course. The Shadow took it on the instant, though it was something that Luhrig

preferred. With a long fling, The Shadow dived to the cement courtyard ahead of Luhrig's gunshots.

Perfect for Luhrig. With three shots from his reloaded gun, he'd surely bag The Shadow and have a clear aim

at Moe. The courtyard was wide open. It didn't have a single spot of shelter. At least, so Luhrig thought. In

becoming an inhuman Hydra Head, he had forgotten the human element, if it could be termed such.

As Luhrig's first shot whined above The Shadow's head, the blackcloaked diver veered into the ranks of the

nearest prisoners, those fake cab drivers who had served as Hydra Teeth. He was clutching two of them as

Then the cloaked fighter was up and around, two struggling men between himself and Luhrig before the Head

The Shadow didn't keep these men as human shields. They were still too active. Instead, he used them as

missiles, heaving them hard at Luhrig. Then The Shadow was wheeling away, bringing his own guns into

action, while Luhrig, half dragging the men who had encountered him, was making for the pile of discarded

Half a dozen hitherto helpless Teeth were piling for The Shadow, clutching him frantically to destroy his aim.

As The Shadow flung them off, they dived for the gun heap to become Teeth again. Servers of a man they

It was battle all over again, this time with no aid for The Shadow. Whipping loose, the cloaked fighter thrust

Moe into the cab, but his aid was helpless, for the vehicle was pointed out into the alley. Moe heard The

Then The Shadow was doing the amazing. He was among the tables, jabbing shots from behind them. As

Luhrig dodged behind a screen of followers, The Shadow planked one table on another and sprang on both,

carrying a chair to top the pyramid. He was short on bullets and men were almost at the tables, pointing guns

upward to clip their blackclad foe, when The Shadow delivered a single, timely shot.

He aimed it for one of the big glass roof panes. His shot cracked the square just above the heads of aiming

foemen. Down came the shattered mass of heavy frosting, its chunks felling the men who didn't dive away.

That was their last chance at The Shadow. A spring from upper table to chair; then, like a trick balancer, The

Shadow was tumbling the pyramid forward. Down came the furniture at other aiming men, while The

Shadow's hands, swooping upward at a forward angle, caught the edge of the empty frame from which he had

shot the glass and took himself up through, and out, with a strong lift of his forearms!

A dozen feet to that roof, which seemingly could give no exit. The Shadow had cut three fourths of the

distance with his improvised pyramid, and chopped an outlet which he first used as a missile. His final launch

was simplicity itself. He was gone while enemies were still taking the brunt of the final missiles, in the form

And Moe was gone, too, spurting his car through the alley. There was a note close to accusation in The

Shadow's parting laugh, which Moe took as a personal rebuke for not obeying orders. Straight through the

wall that looked like brick but wasn't, Moe hurled his car, to learn why The Shadow had wanted him to go.

Weston and the police cars had arrived. The barrier being shut, the fake house front had fooled them. They

didn't know how to reach the source of gunfire. Sight of Moe's cab ripping out through brickpainted canvas

The patrols wheeled into the courtyard. There, frantic crooks were bringing more than panic on themselves.

They were shooting at the glass roof, hoping to clip The Shadow, but they were only bringing frosted glass

They couldn't find The Shadow, because he was using the simple system of moving to the squares that were

broken by gunfire. Trying new panes all the while, crooks were forgetting the blackened blocks that were

Of those who wheeled to meet the arriving police, only one man was dangerous. He was Luhrig, the new

Hydra Head. Spotting Weston, Luhrig aimed pointblank, but never fired. From an empty space above, The

Shadow staggered Luhrig with the last shot from his otherwise empty guns. As Luhrig reeled, policemen

Better to have left him wounded from The Shadow's bullet. Two new Hydra Heads would crop up to replace

DURING the progress of this second garden party, the siege had lifted at Ilchester's. Guests, among whom

were Clyde Burke, Harry Vincent and Margo Lane, had been humoring old Ira Ilchester and finding him a

The party was being held in Ilchester's firstfloor parlor when Inspector Cardona shouldered into the house.

At first, Ilchester had shown panic, but when he learned that Hydra Head Twelve was dead, he became

A keen old man with sharp face and bright, beady eyes, Ilchester had craned his neck forward, one hand to

Knowing nothing about the prompt way in which Hubert Luhrig had accepted appointment as another Hydra

Head, Cardona bluntly announced that the menace was permanently ended. Which, in Ilchester's language,

called for a celebration. He sent his butler down to the cellar for some of his best wine.

The wine had just arrived when Ilchester received a phone call. He answered it and chortled happily. Laying

the phone aside, he said he'd received new word from Commissioner Weston, corroborating Cardona's

tidings. But Ilchester's glee soured when he saw the bottles that the butler had brought.

"Bah! These are not the best!" snapped Ilchester. "We can choose better for ourselves. To the cellar,

When they reached the cellar, Ilchester smiled. He pointed to a flight of narrow steps and beckoned. They

followed the sharpfaced man down into the bomb shelter that he had built. It was a square room, supplied

with all the comforts for a long stay. Gesturing his guests to chairs, Ilchester paced over to the far wall.

With a smile at his own expense, Ilchester faced a square of cement which looked quite new. It was where his

diggers had struck the old water main, he said. Though no longer in use, the pipe was still city property,

"And to think," declared Ilchester, "that I intended to stay cooped up in this horrible hole! Why, I even had

these!" From a rack on the wall, he produced a pair of longbarreled revolvers. "I kept them here thinking I

"But that time is over. Really over." Ilchester chortled as he cocked the loaded guns. "Because now I am the

hunter, not the hunted. More than that" the old man's eyes were narrow slits, his tone a ferocious gloat "I

have already trapped my prey. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Hydra Head Fifteen!"

LISTENERS didn't believe it until they made slight motions. Then Ilchester became so threatening with the

Ilchester laughed in gritty style as he looked over his human prizes. There were four who counted: Inspector

Cardona first; next Burke, the troublesome reporter; third, the chap Vincent, who had meddled with the

Finally, Ilchester's cunning eyes settled on Margo Lane. She was a close friend of Lamont Cranston, reputed

millionaire. For Margo alone, Ilchester could demand a sizable ransom. The look that he gave the others so

belittled them that they felt themselves slated for death, rather than belonging in Margo's category.

Back and forth, with short paces, Ilchester's feet clicked on the cement, but always his thin hands were steady

with their guns, while he declaimed more for his own amusement than the information of his prisoners:

"I was wealthy once. Very wealthy." Ilchester's features mingled smiles and frowns. "So wealthy that I

became a philanthropist. A bad mistake, for it made me a forgotten man. I might as well have been dead, with

my name engraved on a tombstone, as to have it placed on buildings which my money had endowed.

"My fortune dwindled from many causes. Where, then, was my share of wealth? Gone into things for which I

had no use. My last endowment, that library of mine! Bah! I would have sold it, but the prices offered were

insults. I had no room for it, having been forced to sell my country mansion. So I gave my books away."

The guns were quivering in Ilchester's hands, but not because his grip had weakened. Weapons seemed eager

Harry and Clyde were exchanging looks with Cardona. They were ready to rush those guns, though chances

were that two men would be doomed. The third might make it before Ilchester could again cock one of the

"Then came the Hydra," spoke Ilchester, "as personified by Head No. 12. The Hydra, hungrily demanding

what money I had left. I feared... and I admired. The Hydra was honest in its way. It didn't wheedle for funds

"The Hydra must have known my thoughts. When the twelfth Head was lopped tonight, the others got

together. They needed new Heads and they considered me, because as a threatened man I was in the very

position to turn the game about. I could turn guests into prisoners and demand a ransom by merely cocking

"That phone call I answered wasn't from Commissioner Weston. It was from the Hydra, offering me the

chance that I accepted. I shall have wealth equal to my former dreams! Crime even murder why should I

forego it? I have experienced everything else. With the Hydra there can be no penalty. Because by now the

"Now." Leaving Margo by the steps, the three men charged. Clyde and Harry were ahead of Cardona, but not

because Joe wanted it that way. They were simply quicker on the takeoff, that was all.

For with the moment of their lunge, Ilchester thrust his guns at Harry and Clyde respectively. Before they'd

covered three paces, the new Hydra Head fired both weapons pointblank at his victims!

TREMENDOUS was the blast, far greater than a double discharge of revolvers could produce. Like the

explosion at Glencoe's, this one rocked the premises. Only stone walls could have stood its force, which they

did. But cement gave, the thin layer beneath Ilchester's feet. It sprouted upward like the mushroom puff of a

The man of intended murder seemed to fly apart. His guns were scaling to the ceiling as they flashed. Harry

and Clyde were hurled to the wall, not by the impact of bullets but by the concussion from the floor. They

found themselves on the floor beside Margo and Cardona, staring at the whitish smoke that issued in

The white cloud cleared. Blackness replaced it in the shape of a rising form. There stood The Shadow, up

through the hole that he had blasted with a wellplaced charge of explosive. He'd come to Ilchester's after his

Instead of wasting effort upon the cellar door that Ilchester had barred above the stairs, The Shadow had

remembered the old water main. He'd crawled through it, and listened to Ilchester's threats and paces while

setting the charge that could alone effect the rescue of four helpless prisoners.

The way above was open, for the upper door was bolted from this side. The Shadow gestured his friends

along that route, while he returned to the underground tunnel from which he had arrived. As the four

ascended the steps to freedom, they heard the strains of a hollow, deeptoned laugh.

Regretful mirth, The Shadow's. Not so much for Ira Ilchester, who had voluntarily accepted his course of

evil, as for Hydra Head Fifteen, which the dead man represented. For Ilchester's death would bring another

Tonight, in winning three triumphs over the Hydra, The Shadow had actually added four future tasks to the

Without a doubt, the greatest foe that The Shadow had ever met was that one composed of many: the Hydra.

LAMONT CRANSTON was reading up on mythology. He already knew that the Hydra was a manyheaded

monster, but he wanted to know what was done about it in ancient times. Cranston learned that a gentleman

So Cranston went to the telephone and called Burbank, who connected him with The Shadow. In identical

voices they discussed the Hydra, and Cranston learned a few things about the modern model. He had a chat

"A horrible creature, Mr. Cranston," agreed Richards. "Such a plethora of information that one hears on the

"That's just it, Richards. Those Heads have been deprived of Eyes, Ears and Teeth. Now is the time to defeat

"Very good, sir," Richards acknowledged. "I trust that you will voice your opinion to the civic committee."

Something other than the civic committee was at that moment busy on the Hydra situation. The Shadow was

in his sanctum, studying reports from agents. To those from Clyde and Harry, The Shadow added another, the

mutual report of Cliff Marsland and his sidekick, Hawkeye, who covered the underworld.

What The Shadow had told Cranston seemed definitely true. Shorn of lesser workers, the Hydra was

dependent solely on its Heads. They would soon grow the needed members with which they saw, heard, and

Rutledge Mann had submitted his usual report. Recommended investments were doing better than before.

New stocks were being issued in all the companies that Glencoe liked. But The Shadow was interested in all

Leaving the sanctum, The Shadow paid a Cranston visit to Weston's office. Bardell was there with a list of

names for his committee. He'd just about given up after Luhrig and Ilchester had swung over to the Hydra.

Then, on the basis that no men were perfect, Bardell had formed his committee anyway.

"Nothing can be lost," declared Bardell, "and much can be gained. Our only danger is that the Hydra may

The Shadow pondered over that one; then, in Cranston's casual style, he stated that he could find one. Indeed,

he could think of one already, the roof garden of the old Hotel Marmora. It was being remodeled into a

private dining room and would probably be available whenever the committee required it.

When Weston suggested tomorrow evening, The Shadow called the Marmora and found that it could be

arranged. The rest of that day he spent with his agents. There were four that he could use: Harry, Clyde, Cliff

Burbank and Moe being required for their present duties, The Shadow wanted another, because for his

particular purpose he required five. So he sent for Miles Crofton, an aviator who had served him on other

That done, The Shadow made provision for a sixth man, one whose special abilities would prove very useful.

LATE the next afternoon, The Shadow entered Moe's cab. Not the Blue Spot, but the old reliable, again in

service. A week had passed since the RiboldLuhrig fray, and out of that entire period Moe had but one thing

"Got rid of the Blue Spot this afternoon," said Moe. "Took it out for another cruise and picked up a fare who

steered me to a repair shop. They were buying cabs. Paid me cash on the line, no questions asked."

Moe exhibited the cash in question, a fistful of it. Quite interesting, since Moe hadn't owned the Blue Spot

"They had some other hacks there," continued Moe. "All new paint jobs. Looks like they've been calling in

all that were left. They thought I was another guy named Joe who didn't get around to that big brawl where

Modest of Moe to overlook the helpful part that he had played in the courtyard fight. But The Shadow was

more interested in what had happened today. Questioning Moe, he learned that the repair shop where the Blue

Spot cabs were being camouflaged occupied a portion of a warehouse belonging to the Diana Storage Co.

Apparently the repair shop had served previously as a garage for the trucks that served the storage company.

But there were no trucks there any longer. Nothing but the cabs that were undergoing transformation. Again

The Shadow laughed. He could deal in camouflage, too, as he intended to prove before this night was over.

Becoming Cranston, The Shadow stopped at the Cobalt Club, to find Commissioner Weston all enthused

about tonight's committee meeting. When The Shadow casually stated that he wouldn't be there, Weston

"I know you're not on the committee, Cranston," declared the commissioner. "But you will have to help me

explain matters to the members. Bardell has chosen a dozen men of repute, who have heard only vaguely of

the Hydra menace. Your recovery of the crown gems is something they would like to hear about, firsthand.

"Similarly, I think Miss Lane's testimony would help, since she was the target of crime in the Ilchester

episode. And so" Weston's eyes showed a twinkle "I would appreciate it if you would bring Miss Lane to

It chanced that Cranston had. That was all arranged, with The Shadow fishing for the very invitation that

Weston extended. But it wasn't The Shadow who would take Margo to the Hotel Marmora. The assignment

When the phone rang at Cranston's, both Richards and his master answered it, one downstairs, the other on

the second floor. When he heard Richards speak, Cranston hung up, as he left most of his calls to the valet.

Strolling to the top of the stairs, Cranston saw Richards coming from the telephone. Looking upstairs, the

"That phone call," explained Richards. "There was no one on the wire. Except you, sir, using the extension

"An odd habit of mine," he said. "Acquired from my foxhunting friends in England. Curious how it cropped

up on me. By the way, Richards, tell Stanley to bring the car. I am going into town at once."

The token that The Shadow had promised. The word that would bring Cranston to the kill of some thing more

WHEN the commissioner's official car arrived at the old Hotel Marmora, it was accompanied by a flock of

motorcycles, whose riders were again convoying their friend and hero, Lamont Cranston, along with the

Again, Weston thanked Cranston for selecting this meeting place. By stationing detectives in the lobby,

Inspector Cardona joined the group and went up in the elevator, since he was to testify before the civic

committee, too. At the top floor, the arrivals were received by an African attendant in a resplendent uniform.

Hired specially for this occasion, he bowed them to the remodeled dining room, where Dustin Bardell and the

Placed beside Cranston, Margo glanced about at the decorations of the new dining room. It bore no

resemblance to an oldfashioned roof garden, the sort of place that would have fulllength windows opening

An oblong room, with smooth, unbroken walls done in tasteful style, a compromise between plain papering

and mural paintings. A plain pattern would have made the place boxlike, whereas murals would be too garish.

So the decorator had chosen an ornamental wallpaper bearing pictures of oldtime ships in New York harbor.

The same motif was repeated all about the room, there being just enough variety in the design to make it

interesting. Margo was counting the masts on an old frigate, when Cranston quietly informed her that the

Amid the dozen committee members, one man had risen: Dustin Bardell. Bluntly, he was voicing the

sentiments of his companions, who listened approvingly, their faces firm with dignity. What Bardell had to

"Crime has gone beyond all bounds," declared Bardell. "We concur in the opinion that the law is unable to

cope with the monster known as the Hydra. For example" he swung to Weston "can you tell me,

"You are admitting negligence," snapped Bardell. "I have been able to compute the number. My records show

that Heads Two, Three, Five and Six are men who have purposely disappeared from sight. Heads Four,

Seven, Ten, Twelve, Fourteen and Fifteen have been eliminated, not by you, commissioner, but by The

"Allowing for five Heads with numbers lower than Fourteen, six new appointments after Ribold's death;

eliminating two, namely Luhrig and Ilchester, the Hydra should by now have four more. Five and four are

Weston was using his fingers on which to count, and Joe Cardona was trying to help him, which mixed them

"I know more about the Hydra than you do, commissioner," declared Bardell. "For instance, it has occurred to

"Impossible!" exclaimed Weston. "Why, then the Hydra would actually be embodied in a single man, the rest

of the socalled Heads being his lieutenants. I couldn't believe that, Bardell, not without proof!"

Hands in his pockets, Bardell bowed. As his face came up, it displayed a vicious glare, as fiendish a gloat as

any that Weston and his companions had ever seen. Bardell's eyes glinted like steel, as did the object that his

hand whipped from his pocket. For the object in question was steel. It was a revolver.

The gun's sparkle flashed a signal for others. The rest of the committee men were on their feet, producing

guns. Those prominent persons chosen by Bardell to aid in a campaign against crime were showing their

Bardell was Head No. 1, the real Hydra! These others were the remaining Heads that he had appointed to

replace those lopped by The Shadow. An organization by one superbrain, the Hydra, with lieutenants to

Such was the Hydra, personified by Dustin Bardell Co. Deprived of lesser workers, the Heads were taking

WHILE the many Hydra Heads held their prisoners helpless, Dustin Bardell explained the reason for his

supreme stroke. He began with a few preliminary remarks, delivered in caustic style.

"New York needs a new police commissioner," decided Bardell. "You have been very inefficient, Weston, as

we, the Hydra, are qualified to judge. As for your ace inspector, we have found Cardona stupid but

Looming gun muzzles backed the Hydra's threat, but Bardell did not give the order for slaughter. He

preferred more subtle methods of delivering death to helpless victims. Besides, he had more to say.

"However, commissioner," the chief Head gloated, "you must not flatter yourself with thoughts of

importance. We could put up with you and Cardona, if we chose. We staged this stroke for the prime purpose

The way Cranston took it was remarkable. Glancing toward her companion, Margo was amazed at his

calmness. She'd always thought that in a pinch like this, Cranston would galvanize into The Shadow in a

"Come, Cranston!" sneered Bardell. "You know that Willard Mance was Head No. 4. We finally learned that

he went to your home after he had murdered Edmund Glencoe. Which proves that Mance had marked you as

"So that was it!" remarked Cranston. "I wondered why Mance talked about a showdown over something that

"Because I had no other choice. The elephant gun went off and that was the end of him. When I learned he

Cranston's reference to an elephant gun left Bardell somewhat puzzled. Thinking in terms of .45 automatics,

"You can't deny your identity," asserted Bardell. "Your recovery of those jewels was another giveaway."

"Your broker kept snooping into my investments," interrupted Bardell. "You should have learned enough to

know that I controlled the companies in which Glencoe had promised to buy stock. I was getting mine from

Cranston simply sat speechless. He hadn't an idea that any such thing was going on. The Shadow should have

"I covered my trail well," continued Bardell, "until the night when Ribold died. Knowing that you were The

Shadow, I tried to finish you, Cranston. I was with the commissioner when he heard of Ribold's death, and I

"From there I phoned Luhrig and Ilchester, appointing them Hydra Heads. One was to kill you, Cranston, the

other to trap the Lane girl, in case the first missed out. You finished them both, and from that time on, you

should have marked me as the Hydra. Furthermore, there are many other heads working for me, that you do

The fact was selfevident. Only Bardell could have signed up Luhrig and Ilchester so promptly after Ribold's

death. What amazed the listeners, Cranston included, was that The Shadow hadn't divined those facts himself.

True, no one else had grasped them, but analyzing such matters was The Shadow's specialty.

If so, he had been letting Bardell live on sufferance until the present. Worried by the thought, Bardell had

staged his present trick of forming a committee all of Hydra Heads. If only The Shadow could have foreseen

Apparently The Shadow hadn't. There was no place for him to be concealed in this room of barren walls, with

its heavy, bolted door. Hence Bardell, confident that The Shadow would not miss this meeting, was more

Venom flashing from his eyes, the Hydra could wait no longer to dispose of his archfoe. With a snarl that

FIERCE, challenging was the mighty laugh that interrupted, a mirth so unmistakable that Bardell forgot his

prey for the moment. A dozen Hydra Heads were turning, all with guns, hoping to deal with a lone foe.

Bardell's theory regarding Cranston was therewith rejected. The Shadow's laugh hadn't come from Cranston's

Such was the effect, until Bardell broke the spell by snarling across his shoulder to Cranston:

"Another trick of yours, Shadow! You can't be nowhere any more than you can hope to be everywhere."

Bardell was wrong. Amid the snarled statement, The Shadow arrived from nowhere and appeared

everywhere. The echoes of his laugh were drowned by surrounding crashes as the side walls of the room

Six Shadows, three to a wall, each with a brace of automatics. Twelve guns in all, to match the weapons of

the Hydra. Those guns talked ahead of their rivals. Automatics were jabbing deadly tongues of flame, while

This was The Shadow's way of strangling the Hydra. Bringing its Heads together, he was smothering them en

masse with a blanket of gunfire. If the Hydra could have twelve Heads, The Shadow could supply six Selves.

Every revolver had been beaten to the shot. Each of six Shadows had picked a pair of Hydra Heads. Only

Bardell remained unscathed, for he had dodged instead of trying to shoot. Now, Bardell was springing to the

door, unbolting it under a shield of crippled lieutenants, those who had managed to detach themselves from

Weston and Cardona were after the remnants of the villainous tribe. Cranston remained calmly at the table,

restraining Margo. Quite foolish, Cranston thought it, to block off six avenging Shadows from their prey.

Yanking the door wide, Bardell dashed through. Six other Heads were behind him, but their dash didn't last.

They wagged guns back at Weston and Cardona, who ducked for cover; but the delay suited the giant African

His name was Jericho and he worked for The Shadow. Plucking the crippled Hydra Heads in pairs, Jericho

clapped their skulls together and tossed them aside, using each pair as a shield, until he thrust his massive

The last pair offered trouble. They were aiming their guns when Jericho reached them. But by then, a flood of

Shadows was upon them from the rear, snatching their weapons away from them while Jericho took the necks

Only one Head had escaped, the one who was truly the Hydra, Dustin Bardell. He was in an elevator, going

down; but in a second car, The Shadow followed. Five other Shadows were taking to a stairway, removing

their cloaks and hats. They weren't the one and only Shadow; he had taken the Hydra's trail. These were The

Shadow's secret agents, the five that he had chosen to aid him in a multiple appearance.

Back in the dining room, Lamont Cranston was pointing to the gaping walls. There, Margo Lane saw six

deep, fulllength windows, a feature of the old Marmora roof garden in the days when a sixteenstory hotel

Those deepset spaces had been papered over. Six Shadows had reached the windows along the narrow

promenade outside the garden. Screened only by wallpaper, they were ready to rip through from the moment

the meeting began. They had waited only for Dustin Bardell to declare himself the supreme Hydra.

It happened that The Shadow, as Cranston, had suggested this meeting place, knowing how effective its

arrangements could be. Conversely Bardell, the Hydra, had totally overlooked the purpose behind the

RACING from the Hotel Marmora, Bardell was on his way to the Diana Storage Co. Gesturing his revolver,

Bardell frightened away the cabby who had brought him and dashed into the repair shop that had once been a

In answer to Bardell's bellows, men hurried down from storage rooms on the floor above.

They were the Heads that Bardell had written off. Foremost of these men who had disappeared was Lloyd

Casler. Bardell had mentioned him along with lopped Heads, purely because Casler had been trapped in

Bardell gestured his living associates to the repainted cabs. When they hesitated, the chief Hydra roared:

"Forget Glencoe's treasures stored upstairs! Let the police recover them, as they did the bank money and the

crown jewels. The Hydra still lives and it yet possesses Heads! We are stronger now than when we first

Time was too short. As taxicabs wheeled from the garage, the whines of sirens came from all around.

Scattering, the Heads drove their vehicles savagely, but to no avail. Tuned to the shrieking sirens was the

Again The Shadow seemed to be nowhere, yet everywhere. He was shifting rapidly as he spurted his guns at

the tires of the fugitive cabs. They weren't armored like the bantam car that had once served the Hydra. These

So were their occupants. Some were clipped by The Shadow's gunfire. Others wrecked their cabs when his

bullets burst their tires. As they clambered out with guns, the Heads were confronted by arriving police, who

One alone managed to offset the odds of many police guns. Out of his wrecked cab, Dustin Bardell flung

himself across the hood to reach the sidewalk side. Turning spryly about, he jutted his gun across the hood,

From behind Bardell came a sinister laugh, the final warning of The Shadow. Swinging about, Bardell jabbed

shots at blackness, probing for a foeman that he couldn't find. Blackness was thick and plentiful, too great an

expanse for Bardell's frantic shots to cover. Besides, it was filled with shelters doorways, house steps, and

One shot answered the Hydra's frenzied volley. Clipped by The Shadow's unerring aim, Bardell jolted high,

twisting half across the hood of the cab, his gun hand going ahead of him. A hand with an empty gun that it

Three police guns spoke, completing The Shadow's work. Slumping to the gutter, Dustin Bardell emitted a

rattling snarl, his last. That dying gasp had a peculiar likeness to the gargle of a strangling creature.

It represented such. With the death of Dustin Bardell, the Hydra was gone forever, strangled by that modern

Hercules, The Shadow. Instead of lopping off Heads, The Shadow had choked them all at once, the final

member of that cluster being the one Head that contained the real brain of the Hydra.

Strange was the laugh that faded into night, trailing into echoes that still persisted in this battle area where

ELSEWHERE, Margo Lane was frowning in perplexity as she stared at Lamont Cranston, riding beside her

in Weston's official car. Until tonight, Margo was sure that Lamont must be The Shadow.

Cranston couldn't be The Shadow, because he'd been himself when the cloaked avalanche smothered the

With six on the scene, five must have been mere masqueraders, enlisted to confuse the Hydra Heads. If five

In that case, Lamont Cranston still could be The Shadow. Yes, it would be his way to guise six men in black

and let them deliver an attack from ambush under conditions where they couldn't lose.

Still, the laugh that produced six Shadows couldn't possibly have come from Cranston's immobile lips. Or