THE PYTHON....................................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. THE PYTHON'S PRISONER ...........................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. THE PYTHON'S WILES................................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. WEALTH RECLAIMED...............................................................................................8

CHAPTER IV. THE PYTHON'S TERMS ............................................................................................12

CHAPTER V. BENEATH THE RIVER ...............................................................................................15

CHAPTER VI. OUTWARD BOUND..................................................................................................19

CHAPTER VII. ABOARD THE "TROPICAL"...................................................................................22

CHAPTER VIII. CRIME'S ZERO HOUR............................................................................................25

CHAPTER IX. THE DISTANT WATCH .............................................................................................31

CHAPTER X. CROOKS CHOOSE TO FIGHT...................................................................................34

CHAPTER XI. ODDS PREVAIL.........................................................................................................38

CHAPTER XII. THE CASTAWAYS...................................................................................................41

CHAPTER XIII. MOVES AT DUSK...................................................................................................45

CHAPTER XIV. THE BROKEN INTERVIEW ...................................................................................50

CHAPTER XV. THE MIDNIGHT MEETING .....................................................................................54

CHAPTER XVI. SMOOTH STRATEGY............................................................................................58

CHAPTER XVII. DEATH UNCOVERED ...........................................................................................62

CHAPTER XVIII. AT THE LEGRAND HOTEL................................................................................66

CHAPTER XIX. ORDERS FOR MURDER........................................................................................70

CHAPTER XX. CRIME'S SEQUENCE...............................................................................................74

CHAPTER XXI. THE DOUBLE STROKE ..........................................................................................78

CHAPTER XXII. MOVES BY NIGHT ................................................................................................82

CHAPTER XXIII. HALF PAST TEN ...................................................................................................87

A SALLOW, leering face gloated as it studied the prone, limp figure stretched upon a rickety cot. Ratlike

features surveyed the closed eyes of a drawn, bloodstained countenance. Such was the scene that showed

beneath the glare of a single electriclight bulb, which provided the sole illumination of a windowless,

The leering man was short and stocky. The malicious ugliness of his thick lips and pudgy profile was

His clothes, though new, were cheap and illfitting. In every point of appearance, he was inferior to his

The prisoner on the cot was clad in evening clothes of faultless fashion. His face, despite its gashes, was one

that betokened dignity. His features were of even mold; calm, even in this temporary state of oblivion.

The ratfaced man turned from the cot. He thrust a cigarette between his puffed lips and scratched a match

upon the surface of a metalsheeted door. As he lighted his cigarette, he stopped abruptly; then wheeled

The sallowfaced man recognized the knock. With a clumpy stride, he crossed the room and drew a bolt. His

stocky figure backed away. A tall, stoopshouldered man entered the room and gave an ugly grin of greeting.

The newcomer, too, was a sallow, hardfaced ruffian. The pockmarks on his longjawed countenance were a

"Hello, Bevo," growled the stocky man. "I've been waiting for you. Thought you'd be here soon. Doc said he

"Doc called me," returned the stoopshouldered rowdy. "Told me to chase up here in a hurry, Chuck. Said

Bevo paused. Looking past "Chuck," he had seen the figure on the cot. His glary eyes widened as they noted

"Say!" exclaimed Bevo. "Doc told me you was watching some bloke; but I figured it was some stoolie you'd

"Class, ain't it?" queried Chuck, his thick lips leering. "Ritzylooking, ain't he?"

CHUCK gaped. For a moment, his features froze as he heard Bevo's statement. Then, with a forced laugh, the

"Lay off the hooey, Bevo," insisted Chuck. "It ain't good business, talking about The Shadow. Even when

"I'm not kidding," retorted Chuck. "Say do you think Doc would want two of us to watch a guy that's lying

here cold? A guy that Doc's loaded up with dope, to keep him that way? He wouldn't not unless it was The

Bevo pondered, still doubting. Chuck delivered an ugly laugh; then reached underneath the cot and dragged

forth a dresssuitcase. He yanked the top upward and pulled out a mass of cloth. Bevo stared, almost aghast,

"Lamp this," snorted Chuck. "And take a look at that slouch hat laying there. Get an eyeful of them

"Whew! What gats!" Bevo, stooping, was hoisting two huge automatics from the suitcase. He replaced the

"Say there is only one guy who'd want to handle these rods. Boy! A .45 like this baby" he paused to test a

"Maybe," corrected Chuck. "Maybe not. Anyway, this mug's The Shadow. Lamp this ring he's wearing,

Chuck raised a limp arm from the prisoner's side. Bevo stared warily at a resplendent gem that shimmered in

The stone was a rare girasol, the only jewel that The Shadow wore. It shone from the long third finger of the

"Doc says it's a kind of fire opal," informed Chuck. "Worth plenty of jack, maybe. Kind of a ring The

Shadow might be wearing. We got to leave it on him, though." Chuck flung the arm against The Shadow's

"So Doc says. He put the call through and got the flashback. But we won't be seeing him, nor Doc either.

"Yeah. That's where we'll leave The Shadow for him. But not until Doc gives us the word."

BRIEF silence followed. Bevo was staring at the wan face on the cot. The lips of Bevo's pockmarked face

Chuck, too, had been leery when he had learned that the man was The Shadow; but Chuck had gotten over it.

"We didn't," he admitted. "It was a lucky break, Bevo; that was all. It came when we was up by the Hotel

"Yeah. Like you was this afternoon. Doc and I had the sedan. We was half a block away from the

Bragelonne, ready to tail Jurrice if he took a cab. Just to be sure he wasn't clearing town."

"I'm coming to that. While we was sitting there in the car, a big, swell looking limousine comes across the

avenue, going toward the hotel. Just then a truck kites around the corner, making a left turn. The truck rams

the limousine and sends it up on the sidewalk. It hits a brick wall the limousine does and the door opens.

"This guy comes diving out bag and all and hits the sidewalk. A chauffeur climbs out of the front seat,

kind of dizzylike. We was right there Doc and me and it would've looked phony if we hadn't jumped out

"How'd we know who The Shadow was? Luck, I told you. First thing we see as we come up to him was this

bag. It had cracked open; the cloak and hat was half out of it. We saw the gats. I was dumb, Bevo; but Doc

Chuck paused to snap his fingers as an indication of the rapidity with which Doc experienced mental

"Doc slams the stuff into the bag," he resumed. "Closes it and hands it to me. A copper comes up; Doc stoops

over the unconscious guy and tells the flatfoot to help him get the mug into our car.

"'I'm a physician, officer,' says Doc. He used to be a croaker you know that, Bevo and he tells it to the

copper like he meant it. 'I'm a physician. My car is available and I shall hurry this man to the nearest hospital.

"Sure. We started in a hurry so's the flatfoot wouldn't see that Doc didn't have no green cross on his car. The

Shadow took a jolt, falling out of that limousine. But he wasn't hurt so bad, Doc told me. Doc brought out

that kit he carries under the rear seat. I stopped while he jabbed a needle full of hop into The Shadow's arm.

"Then we stopped again, while Doc went into a place to telephone. The word must have gone through in a

hurry. Them blue lights was blinking when we got here. Doc says the signal was his. Orders from The Python

to hold The Shadow here. After we'd lugged him in, Doc went out to call you, Bevo."

"He will be," replied Chuck. "But he's got something to do meanwhile. He frisked The Shadow before

making that call. Found a wallet on him; what was in it, I don't know. But Doc does; and he's using what he

Bevo stopped short. A signal tap was coming at the outer door. Chuck nodded. Bevo, opened the barrier.

A BLOCKY, squarefaced man entered. He was wearing an expensive overcoat, with kid gloves and a derby

hat. His face, though hardened, had a professional look, which was accentuated by a pair of goldrimmed

Doc shook his head. He went over to the cot, raised a limp arm and felt the pulse. Drawing a leather case

from his pocket, he extracted a hypodermic needle and made an injection. A sour smile showed on his lips.

"That'll hold him," chuckled Doc. "For an hour more, anyway. He won't need more than one of us to watch

"No. He's gone out by this time. We'll have to trust to more luck take a chance that Jurrice hasn't become

jittery enough to leave town. The Shadow was more important. Much more important." Doc paused

"To grab a hamburger and a cup of Java. Neither of us have eaten yet, Chuck. Don't worry about our leaving,

Doc motioned for departure. Chuck followed him. Bevo remained alone. He looked toward The Shadow. A

confident gloat had come over Bevo's pockmarked features. He, too, shared the elation that the others felt.

For Bevo and Chuck, as aids to Doc, were henchmen of The Python, an insidious master whose ways were

those of evil. Yet in such service, these underlings had held one fear. Men of crime, they dreaded a foe whose

That foe was The Shadow, the only being who could thwart The Python. His probable entry into the affairs of

the supercrook had been the doubtful element; the event that minions felt inevitable; and toward which they

Tonight, haphazard fate had brought an unexpected triumph to the cause of crime. For The Shadow, helpless,

was to be delivered to the Python. And that delivery would mean The Shadow's final doom. The Python, as

his chosen name implied, was a personage who would show no mercy to a captured foe.

CHUCK, in his chat with Bevo, had used some specific terms. He had spoken of a "flashback" in response

to a call that Doc had made. He had later referred to "blue lights blinking"; as if the two references had

They did. In fact, while Bevo remained on lone guard over The Shadow, blue lights were blinking another

Stationed at a window of a darkened apartment in the Fifties, this individual was staring across a low sweep

A corner of the loft building was visible from the apartment window; and that was the spot that the watcher

noted. As he kept observation, corner lights blinked slightly. Their signals came in quick succession. They

Then the blinks had ceased. A satisfied chuckle sounded in the gloom of the apartment. Footsteps moved

toward the door; a hand turned the knob. The apartment occupant stepped out into the hall and closed the

Standing in the light, the man from the apartment appeared youthful and immaculate of attire. Though the

assurance of his face indicated his correct age as nearly forty, most persons would have considered him as

being much younger. He was sleek, wellgroomed; his tuxedo fitted him to perfection.

There was poise in this man's manner as his lips formed a calculated smile. His face, whitecomplexioned

beneath his lightbrown hair, was one that pretended frankness. His actions gave the semblance of a dress

rehearsal as he nonchalantly adjusted a cigarette in its holder, applied a flame from a sterlingsilver lighter.

This man's name was Albert Thurney, a fact which he revealed as he stepped away from the apartment door.

For the action removed his figure from a name plate which contained a cutout center of one of Thurney's

WHEN he reached the street, Thurney stepped into a cab that the doorman hailed for him. Giving the driver

As the cab rolled along an avenue, he looked out and upward toward a window on the fourteenth floor of

the apartment building. That window, on the topmost story, represented Thurney's own apartment.

He had chosen it because it afforded a view of the distant building with the blue lights. Riding in the cab,

Thurney could gain no immediate glimpse of that glare. But as the taxi continued eastward, he sighted it three

or four times, thanks to partially open spaces. The lights were no longer blinking.

The cab reached a wide, secluded avenue, the last thoroughfare before the river. It stopped a few doors above

Thurney alighted, paid the driver and strolled toward the house where they had stopped. As the cab pulled

away, he changed his course. Crossing the avenue, he picked a threestory building on the corner. Ascending

The visitor knew this neighborhood. It was an exclusive section, newly developed and named Versailles

Place. Several large apartment buildings had sprouted up from a dingy setting of abandoned tenement houses.

The tenements, in turn, had been reconstructed into swanky apartments that commanded fabulous rentals.

The house which Thurney now stood before was the home of Danton Califax, a retired manufacturer who had

foreseen the development of Versailles Place and had bought this property before values had jumped.

THE front door opened and a suspiciouseyed flunky surveyed Albert Thurney. The servant had seen the

"Hello, Sykes," greeted Thurney, in a suave manner. "Is Miss Califax at home this evening?"

"By the way, Sykes. Was it you who answered the telephone this afternoon? When I called Miss Califax?"

"Ah, yes. I thought I recognized your inimitable voice. So you were the fellow who informed me that Miss

"I obeyed the instructions that Miss Califax gave me. Moreover, Mr. Thurney, she told me to repeat another

message should you chance to call here. Miss Califax does not care to see you in the future."

Thurney's smile retained its suavity. He eyed Sykes; and the fellow waited for him to speak. The door was

half open. Looking beyond, Thurney could see a lighted hallway. At the rear was a peering face, that of

"Very well," decided Thurney, in a nonchalant tone. "You may tell Miss Califax that I hope she will reverse

Sykes nodded. Thurney turned about and strolled down the steps. Sykes watched him walk toward the

avenue; then closed the door with a slam. Thurney looked about as he heard the bang. He sidled to the house

Soon the door opened. A stooped figure appeared there. It was the servant whom Thurney had seen at the rear

The servant a middleaged man with a hard, wise face was careful in his silent closing of the door. With

a whisper he led Thurney through the hall. Together the pair ascended a flight of stairs.

THURNEY and his guide had reached the third floor. They stepped into a tiny corner room which had two

windows. The hardfaced servant pointed to one window which faced the avenue. From there it was possible

"You've done well, Warthrope," stated the visitor. "And to think that I thought you timid! Of course I had to

threaten you with some petty thievery that I knew about when you worked for your previous employer!"

"Never mind the rest, Warthrope. The Python knew all. You have been honored, and I as his Coilmaster can

Thurney paused, then continued suavely, "You are one of my men, Warthrope, and so is my valet, Warring.

Both of you work under me. We all have our own special codes by which we know when to act. You are the

only supporting Coil to a Coilmaster, Warthrope, who has a code list. The future speaks well for you."

"A Coilmaster? Yes. You have proven your usefulness. And now, is everything ready? The microphone?"

"It is," acknowledged Warthrope. "The wires run in back of Mr. Califax's filing cabinet and we will catch

Warthrope stole over across the room and locked the door. Together they went toward a small radio set.

There Warthrope unscrewed the cover and listened as he turned a dial. Faintly sounds came from below.

Thurney nodded. Together these aids listened for the words that were to come from the room below.

IN the room below, three men were gathered at a large oak desk that matched the deep, rich polish of the

paneling. One, who sat alone, was Danton Califax, a man of fifty. Shoulders slightly stooped, his face tired

and hollowcheeked, Califax possessed a weariness that explained his early retirement from active business.

His smile, however, showed that Califax was making an effort to receive his guests. While he used one hand

to stroke the front of his baldish head, Califax employed the other as a means of introducing his visitors to

"This is Lester Bornick," stated Califax. He pointed across the desk to a rangy, firmjawed man whose face

Bornick thrust out his hand to the other man, a palefaced, nervous fellow of medium height. At the same

"This is Craig Jurrice," said the manufacturer. He lowered his left hand from his brow. "You know about

Califax extended a box of cigars. Both visitors accepted. Jurrice, more nervous than before, was still wincing

from the pressure of the handclasp that he had received from Bornick. He gazed askance at the lawyer; then

"About your offer?" said Califax, with a smile. "I have told him everything, Jurrice. Right from the start. I

"I am Mr. Califax's counsellor," interrupted Bornick, his gaze firm on Jurrice. "He seeks my advice on many

"I I understand." Jurrice managed a smile. "I see you are Mr. Califax's lawyer? Not just someone whom

"Mr. Bornick has represented me for years." It was Califax who made the reply. "Set your mind at rest,

Jurrice. Among his clients, Bornick numbers many who are far wealthier than myself."

"Suppose we recapitulate," suggested Bornick. "Start with the beginning and sum up the entire matter. It will

"Very well." Jurrice spoke untroubled. His nervousness had lessened. "I shall do so, gentlemen."

He paused long enough to take a few puffs at his cigar; then began to speak in a slow, careful tone.

"I have a friend," declared Jurrice, "whose name is Revoort. Louis Revoort. Some years ago, Revoort traveled

extensively in the West Indies. In the course of his journeys he met many wealthy Cuban planters. Some of

his Cuban friends became closely identified with the affairs of the Machado administration. When that

"Not long ago, Revoort met a Cuban whom he knew. The Cuban's name is unknown to me. I merely have the

assurance that the man really exists. This Cuban told Revoort that he had left a fortune in his native land.

Wealth, in gold, valuable securities and precious gems. The last named constitutes the greatest part of the

"The Cuban had not been a party to the misdeeds of the former administration; but certain high officials were

his friends. Personal enemies have believed ill of him. The Cuban dares not set foot in his country. So he

JURRICE paused; he leaned forward on the desk. His voice became a deepdrawn tone.

"It means a fortune for Revoort!" he exclaimed. "One third of the total amount, with a commission on the sale

of the jewels. That part is most important. For both the Cuban and Revoort want an immediate conversion

"Revoort required funds. He called upon me, not only as a friend, but as one who has dealt in precious stones.

It will be my task to find a single buyer for those jewels; to offer them as an unusually fine bargain for one

"I talked to people," replied Jurrice, soberly. "To persons at my club; to some among the trade. I spoke quite

cautiously; but mentioned that I might have access to a valuable collection of gems.

"Various persons told me names of those who might be interested. Several collectors were mentioned; among

"No," replied Jurrice. "I don't recall just who. I heard your name mentioned somewhere; then made inquiries

"Hardly a real one, Jurrice." Califax motioned over his shoulder, toward a safe at the back of the study. "I

have some gems in there; but their total value is not great. True, gems have been a hobby with me, since my

"That's just it, Mr. Califax!" exclaimed Jurrice. "Don't you see? I wanted to meet someone who was just

beginning as a collector. One who did not have too much money tied up in precious stones. One who could

THE windows of Califax's study had raised window shades. Bornick, seated in front of the desk, could see

straight past Califax, out toward the avenue. The lawyer's view was an angled one that Jurrice could not gain.

Nor could Califax observe what Bornick saw, for Califax had his back toward the window.

Bornick was watching blue lights that blinked from the corner of a distant loft building. His lips moved

almost imperceptibly as he marked off dots and dashes. Lights ended their blinking.

Bornick continued to watch as they resumed again. He heard a question from Califax. Lips tight, Bornick

stared straight at the manufacturer, yet kept watching the lights while he did so.

"What do you think, Bornick?" Califax was quizzing. "Would I be making an illegal step if I should purchase

"I think you would be," returned Bornick, steadily. Lights had blinked and finished. The lawyer's eyes eased

slightly, but neither witness noted their change. "Not so far as any Cuban complications are concerned.

Provided, of course, that this Cuban friend of Revoort's actually has title to the gems.

"But if the jewels are smuggled into the United States and I understand that they are coming here by such

method any purchase of them would be a defiance of the customs law. You could be held responsible,

"There is no intent to break the law," he declared. "Revoort already has the treasure. He came from Cuba by a

small boat and landed in Florida, unchallenged by coast guards or customs officers.

"He does not want to escape paying duty. The gems can be declared after they reach New York. Any

payment to the government will be deducted from the purchase price. That is why it has become imperative

"What of the gold and the securities?" questioned Bornick. "Why not use them to pay the customs charges?"

"Revoort's Cuban friend needs cash at once," explained Jurrice. "Whatever remains may not be sufficient.

"I explained this to you, Bornick," reminded Califax, mildly. "Jurrice told me these facts several days ago. I

"Did did Mr. Califax mention what Revoort has done?" questioned Jurrice, nervously, as he faced Bornick.

"About about his planning to take passage on the steamship Tropical, at Savannah?"

"I did," replied Califax, speaking for Bornick. "Mr. Bornick knows of Revoort's plans. The Tropical,

however, is a coastwise vessel. It comes from no foreign port; therefore, it will run into no difficulty with the

"My advice, Califax," stated Bornick, carefully, "is for you to avoid this purchase. If you decide to go ahead

in spite of my advice make no transaction whatever except in the presence of an attorney."

"I mean exactly that. You understand, of course, that as my client you have absolute assurance that this entire

subject has been and will be kept a secret. But I can not place myself in the position of becoming party to a

"Suppose the matter be forgotten," he suggested, speaking to the lawyer. "For the present, you understand.

Then suppose I should approach Mr. Califax. No better not for me. Suppose a stranger such as Revoort

"Under those circumstances," decided Bornick, interrupting, "it would be difficult to class the transaction as a

conspiracy. Mr. Califax could summon an attorney and ask his advice in the unusual matter."

With that, Bornick arose and extended his hand; first to Califax, then to Jurrice. Blue lights had begun anew.

"I have an important appointment," recalled the lawyer. "One that I postponed on account of this visit. I

Bornick lingered while the blue lights finished their blinking. The slight delay allowed Jurrice opportunity for

"I talked too much at first," declared the palefaced man. "I even made the mistake of mentioning to certain

persons that Revoort was in Florida. That was unwise, I know, for there have been some startling robberies

lately. The Hildebrand collection of gems was stolen. A shipment of uncut diamonds was taken from a

"But I have preserved silence recently. Even when persons have tried to make appointments with me. There

was one man who called me today a gem collector named Lamont Cranston. I knew of him, however. He is

"I left without waiting for him. Hence I can assure you, Mr. Califax, that I shall come to you first. Once the

Bornick had nodded his departure. He was passing out through the door when Jurrice paused. The palefaced

"Perhaps it would be best," he decided, "for us to drop any further discussion. Particularly in view of what

"I think that is wise, Jurrice," agreed Califax. "Let us do as Mr. Bornick suggested. Forget the matter for the

present. Come; let us go downstairs and have some refreshments before you leave."

IN the room above, Warthrope whispered to Thurney as conversation ceased across the wire.

"Did you see the lights blinking?" questioned the servant. "Maybe they were for you?"

"No." Thurney shook his head. "I saw them. Probably some Coilmasters reporting in."

"If he doesn't acknowledge the lights within half an hour, they'll come through again. Just as with us,

"There was nothing new. Nothing of great consequence. Leave the report to me, Warthrope."

A buzzer sounded. Warthrope whispered that it was his summons. Thurney nodded and followed the servant

from the room. They descended by the rear stairs. There Warthrope pointed the way to a back door. As soon

as Thurney was gone, the servant went into the living room. He found Califax there with Jurrice.

"Do less napping in the future," reprimanded Califax. "You may leave, Warthrope." The stooped

manufacturer held up a glass as he spoke. "Sykes has served us our refreshments."

Warthrope looked toward Sykes, who was present. He saw suspicion in the other servant's eye. Warthrope

was worried as he went upstairs. He mistrusted Sykes because the man was honest.

In his room, Warthrope covered over the dictograph set; something that he had previously forgotten to do.

Warthrope then closed the door of his room and sidled over to the corner by the fake radio.

Neon lights were quivering again, blue in the blackness of night. Warthrope guessed that The Python still

planned moves tonight. In that conjecture, the underling was correct. For the hour was approaching when The

EYES opened wearily. Dully, they looked about. In slow, vague fashion, The Shadow resumed a mental

process that had ceased when he had pitched headlong from his wrecked limousine. Weakly, he tried to

He was a prisoner. His arms and legs were securely bound, and he was sitting upright in a rickety chair.

Before him was a table; beyond that a single door. That barrier was the only entrance to this stonewalled,

windowless room, where the atmosphere was dank and cobwebbed corners shimmered in the glow of a single

The door of the underground room suddenly swung outward. Hazily, a figure stepped into view. Doubled

almost to the floor, it approached like a human crab until it reached a chair on the near side of the table.

The Shadow saw a brownish, senile face beneath a mass of snowwhite hair. He heard a hoarse gloat. He

caught the sharp glint of harsh eyes between narrowed lids. His own vision clearing, The Shadow began to

"So!" The word was an evil hiss from twisted lips. "At last, I have met you. I have discovered The Shadow.

The statement was followed by a cackling chuckle which proved all that The Shadow needed to establish

Whatever The Python's true appearance, he had covered it before coming on this visit. Whatever The

Python's game might be, one point was already definite. He was a master at the art of makeup.

His only fault was that he had overdone the job on this occasion. The Python so The Shadow discerned

The brownish face was stained to its present complexion. The senile grin was a pose; so were the halfclosed

eyelids. The moppish, white hair was a perfectfitting wig. Even the clawlike fingers were faked for this

The cackling laugh, an afterthought, was proof that The Python never used such a chuckle in real life. Though

he could not penetrate the disguise, The Shadow recognized its falsity; and he added another point to his

opinion: namely, The Python's crouch, a device which the rogue was using to completely hide his actual

"You meddler!" ejaculated The Python, harshly. "I expected your attempt to nullify my game. At first I

moved too quickly for you." A pause, punctuated by a cackle. "My robberies were timed. They struck at

unsuspected weaknesses. The Hildebrand collection; the uncut diamonds from the liner; three other jobs of

"I covered my crimes" lips were twisted in their gloat "covered them so all that you could do was to

watch for new attempts. When Craig Jurrice talked too much regarding a Cuban treasure, certain of his

statements reached my ears. You heard them also. Both of us entered: I, to intercept Louis Revoort and wrest

the treasure from him. You, to continue your meddlesome policy of thwarting wellplanned schemes."

THE PYTHON stopped. His eyes were studying The Shadow's halftwisted form. From beside The

Shadow's body extended his bound left hand. The Python saw the gleaming girasol and chuckled. Then he

"Chance made our paths cross," jeered The Python, "to your misfortune. Through it I learned the masquerade

that you have been making. How you have passed yourself off as a man named Lamont Cranston. You were

"The contents of your wallet have been examined. I have found your airplane ticket to Savannah. I know that

you intended to fly there tonight, after a visit to Craig Jurrice. You intended to warn him to be careful. Then

you planned to reach Louis Revoort before his ship the Tropical left that city tomorrow."

The Shadow offered no rebuttal to these challenging statements. Instead, he surveyed The Python calmly, as

A change came over the leering figure. Though he did not change his posture, The Python subsided. The

glimmer faded from his evil eyes; his lips, though twisted, were soft in their speech.

"You are The Shadow," declared The Python, "and you claim to have no fear. Such a boast, however, came

before you ever heard of me, The Python. So to you, I shall show certain indulgence. I shall allow you the

"Not through mercy. I have none of that peculiarly insane madness which fools consider a virtue. I shall offer

you terms that include your prospect for a continued life. Like myself, you have men who aid you. They, like

"He is a watched man, Revoort. When he goes aboard the steamship Tropical, his doom will be sealed, at my

order. Unless, by some misadventure, those who serve you are also capable. Because of that, I give you

"I shall hold you, alive, until your men have been eliminated. You will remain a prisoner thereafter, until my

plans have reached a culmination. Then, when I need crime no longer, you will be released. For The Python's

The Python paused, glaring through his slitted lids. The fierceness of his eyes had returned; his expression

Instead, a thin smile appeared upon the firm lips of The Shadow's molded face. Through that expression, The

"Your life for theirs!" snarled The Python. "Remember, the odds are hopelessly against them at the start.

THE SHADOW'S lips straightened. His answer had been given. He was willing to face immediate death

rather than to give an inkling toward the identity of his agents. Time and again, those faithful workers had

"Hold no hope," added The Python. "Word has been sent to the hospital where your chauffeur or Cranston's

was taken. He has been informed that you received firstaid treatment and have gone on your journey.

"Your one chance for life is to tell me what I wish to know. You have heard my terms. The time has come for

THE SHADOW'S eyes were burning. Fierce through their masklike visage, they told The Python that The

Shadow's decision was made. Scowling, the disguised scoundrel arose from his chair.

"Perhaps you may still have the opportunity to live." Again The Python cackled. "Remember it, when the

Crablike, The Python sidled to the hall. He gave a cackly call. Doc appeared in the gloom outside of the

room. The Python, because of his disguise, apparently had no reluctance in holding conference with one of

Conversation buzzed; then ended in The Python's evil gloat. The chief and his lieutenant separated. The

Python went out by one direction; Doc went in the other. Soon the man who had captured The Shadow

The subordinates gagged The Shadow and hoisted his bound form between them. Still too weak to battle

against his bonds, The Shadow was carried helpless from the room, through the darkness of the hall, into the

outer cell. There Doc decided to give him another injection; one that would produce a short interval of

The hypodermic used, Doc waited until The Shadow had sunk beneath the opiate's spell. With a wave to his

helpers, he led the way out; up through a stonestepped passage, to a narrow, deserted street.

There The Shadow was pitched aboard the sedan. Chuck climbed in beside his motionless body. Bevo

The car rolled eastward. Aides of The Python were on their way to obey the mandates of their chief. They

were prepared to deliver that torture which would end in death; that crushing violence that The Python had

Doc's sedan came to a stop at a spot on the lower East Side, not far from the river. Doc parked it at the end of

an unused street, where tornup pavings and boarded fences prevented further driving. Stepping from the car,

It was after midnight. Traffic had been light on the last stage of the journey. Here, in this barred street, there

were no cars. No one saw the scene of two men who carried a limp body between them, while they followed

"You know where we are, Chuck?" growled Bevo, as they picked a rough path through the dark. "This is

where they're digging that new tunnel under the river. Say ain't there liable to be a watchman around here?"

"He's been attended to," returned Chuck. "Doc told me what might be coming. He spilled it while me and him

"Tony and Butch. They're working with us. Lay off the chatter; and keep clear of them lights. Follow Doc;

The pair arrived at a darkened shack, set close to a halfdemolished building. Doc had stopped ahead. He

was talking to men in the darkness. His palaver finished, he urged Chuck and Bevo farther along. They

"Say what's the lay?" queried Bevo. "This thing ain't moving. Getting kind of tough in here, too. Hard on

Doc had turned on a light. He was standing by a closed metal door. He grinned as he heard Bevo's statement.

"This is a compression chamber," he remarked. "What you're feeling is air pressure. Get ready for more of it

"We're going under the river, Bevo," added Chuck. "That's where we're going to leave this mug."

He indicated The Shadow; then nudged Doc. The prisoner's eyes had opened. Doc nodded and made a

"That's the way The Python wanted it," he said. "It's why I didn't make the last shot too strong."

AIR pressure had increased. The elevator was moving downward. Bevo was clapping both hands to his ears.

Doc told him to swallow. When the elevator reached the bottom of its shaft, the Coilmaster opened the door

"Whoosh!" ejaculated Bevo, as he and Chuck lugged The Shadow into cavernous darkness. "Hold it, Chuck.

Doc flicked the flashlight toward Bevo's pockmarked face. He saw the stoopshouldered rowdy sag.

"Getting the 'bends,' I guess," he remarked. "That's what knocks the fellows in these caissons. Steady him,

The Shadow's bound figure rolled in the mud as Chuck released his burden. Bevo steadied under the

"Cut him loose," he ordered, turning his torch toward The Shadow's bloodstreaked face. "We don't want the

gag on him, either. Lug him along between you. I'll follow, with a gat in my fist.

Chuck released The Shadow, who stirred weakly. Bevo joined him, and the two raised the prisoner between

them. Doc held the flashlight high, pointing out the way along a huge tunnel. In his other hand, he held a

"Keep him moving," was Doc's order. "We've got a way to go yet; then we'll hop back to that elevator. Butch

"The mug's sagging, Doc," reported Chuck. "He's passed out again. That last jab you gave him must have

"He'll come to in a little while," observed Doc, with a growled laugh. "How are you making out, Bevo?"

Chuck was right when he stated that The Shadow had suffered a relapse. His recovery of consciousness had

been spasmodic. During the interval, he had caught but snatches of the conversation that passed between his

captors. A dozen minutes went by before The Shadow again sensed his surroundings.

He was in silent blackness; cramped in space that seemed unusually confining because of the pressure on his

eardrums. His arms and legs were loose; the gag was gone from between his teeth. Yet he could scarcely stir

The Shadow's outstretched band contacted slimy ooze; above his head, he heard a peculiar bubbling.

Backing, he struck against the moistened surface of a huge steel barrier. Rubbing his forehead, The Shadow

A NEW tube was in construction beneath the East River. The work had progressed past the water's edge. The

tunnel was being burrowed with the aid of a huge shield. Compressed air, driven through that barrier, was

Workmen had been employed beyond the shield, digging away, sending earth and chunky stones back

through the shield. When they had ceased for the day, the shield had been left in its present position.

The Python had ordered Doc to push The Shadow through the barrier, to leave him in the tiny

The bubbling noise that The Shadow heard was the escape of compressed air, upward through the river bed.

More air was coming through, to keep up the pressure. This was common in such operations. Flaws in the

Those oozing jets of air were forcing their way through mud and water, clear to the surface of the river,

The Shadow was in for an ordeal. Workers beyond the shield seldom stayed there more than a short while.

The Shadow could not guess how long The Python might intend to keep him here. His measurement of time

More minutes passed. The Shadow heard a clicking sound. It came from a spot near his feet. On the ground,

he found a telephone, its receiver off the hook. A voice was coming across the wire, delivering a harsh

question. The Shadow responded; his tone was a challenging laugh. A growl sounded from the receiver. It

Air pressure was increasing. The force against The Shadow's eardrums became more apparent. Again, the

harsh voice sounded. Once more, The Shadow laughed in answer. His mockery sounded hollow in the strange

The Shadow had learned The Python's game. That voice over the line was demanding that he speak; that he

tell the facts The Python wanted. In return for The Shadow's refusal, more air was being injected into the

ABOVE ground, Doc was seated at a table in a woodenwalled control room. Tony and "Butch" had bagged

another watchman; that pair was outside. Chuck and Bevo were with Doc. They were staring at an

"Are you squawking?" Doc quizzed. "How about it? Want me to ease it for you down there? If you do, you'd

The clicking tones of a laugh came mockingly from the receiver. It was The Shadow's laugh, still challenging

Reaching with his right hand, he pressed a lever by the control board. Chuck and Bevo watched the dial

Doc had been holding his hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone. He started to raise it; then paused long

"It will be curtains after this," he informed. "Whether the guy decides to squawk or not. But he'll squawk this

Doc spoke into the telephone. His demand was harsh; but it was coupled with the promise of less pressure if

The Shadow named his agents. Doc followed with the threat of more compression if The Shadow refused to

Doc jammed the receiver on the hook. He reached for the compression lever. Savagely, he shoved it to its full

extent. Curtains for The Shadow every ounce of air pressure, all at once. Doc was carrying out The

DOWN in that chamber past the shield, The Shadow heard the hissing surge of the incoming air. He had

caught the sound of Doc's clicking receiver; he knew that this was the final stroke. Yet The Shadow laughed

as he rose within the cavern. Weak though his mirth sounded, it carried a prophetic tone.

Grasping toward the ceiling, The Shadow dug his fingers into slimy ooze. He could feel the rush of escaping

air, sweeping his hands as it fizzed up through the cracked rock. His head was roaring with tumultuous

Its increase might mean death within a minute. Yet that very threat afforded The Shadow one bare hope of

safety. The Shadow had taunted Doc, to drive The Python's lieutenant to this very measure.

Suddenly, the action came. Its swiftness was so stunning that The Shadow did not sense it. He was already

sagging, about to cave under the advanced pressure that no living person could long stand.

His ears, bursting inward, heard nothing; nor did he feel the terrific, puffy blast that loosed itself from within

The terrific pressure had proven too great for the flawed rock above. With a mighty blast, the pent air ripped

Like the contents of a burst balloon, it tore a wide opening through the ceiling, at the very spot where The

Shadow stood. With the blast, The Shadow's sagging form was rocketed straight upward through the river

Foaming bubbles were all about. Pressure relieved, the air from the tunnel was sizzling through from the

opening that it had cut. The Shadow had reached the surface in safety. He was uninjured by the terrific trip.

His feebleness, however, had not ended. Even the reviving coolness of the water was not sufficient to offset

Struggling weakly, he managed to keep afloat; that was all. His ears could vaguely hear the sound of

steamboat whistles. They seemed far away, like noises from another world. The Shadow could see lights;

BACK in the control room, Doc drew back the lever. He stopped it before he had gone far. He had gained no

indication of what had happened below. He thought The Shadow still a prisoner; and he decided to play sure.

"He's finished," Doc told his men. "I gave him six minutes; I'm leaving the pressure tough enough even if he

Doc was right; but he might have added that earth and rock had failed before The Shadow. Doc's word would

be that The Shadow had died. The Python, like Doc, would believe it, when he heard the details. Neither

There was still a chance, however, that The Python's machinations would succeed, even though The Shadow

The accident, the dope, the air pressure all had preceded his rapid journey through the river bed. They had

Upon the wavy blackness of the lower East River, a feebly moving form was drifting with the tide. Weakened

arms were failing in their efforts to strike out; tired legs were doing no more than to aid in the mere task of

Minutes only; at the end of a brief interval, The Shadow would succumb. Oddly, his surge to safety had left

him in a plight that soon would bring him to the doom that The Python had forecast. Death was hovering

The speakers were peering from the side window of a tiny pilot house, aboard a seagoing tug. They were

watching the flicker of those bluish lights atop the loft building. The glare was easily discernible from this

The man called Lem was standing with one hand on the wheel. The dim light of the pilot house showed a

hardened, flattish face beneath a stiffvisored cap. Lem was the captain of the tugboat. His pal Jake, a

"Remember, Jake," confided Lem in a lowpitched tone, "I'm Mr. Hurdy, on board this packet; and you're

"Good. Make sure that nobody forgets it. I'm the captain of the tug Colonia; you're the first mate; nobody else

counts. We've got to act like we were somebody, in case we talk to coast guards. This Lem and Jake stuff

Hurdy was looking through the front window of the pilot house. He spied a light twinkling halfway from the

Jake Baliss caught the idea. The light indicated that the little boat manned by "Tanker" and Pete; Lem

WHILE Lem was talking thus to Jake, another man was also conversing with a lone companion. Seated in the

stern of a rowboat, the underling called Tanker was speaking to his pal Pete, who plied the oars.

"Here comes the Colonia, Pete," Tanker was saying. "Let her drift; the tide's moving us upstream. They'll

Pete complied. The rowboat swished around in the lapping tide. Tanker used the flashlight. The Colonia

swung shoreward. Tanker dropped his right arm to the side of the seat. An instant later, he delivered a hoarse

Pete swung about from gazing at the tug. He dropped his oars as he felt the rowboat tip to one side. Yanking

a flashlight of his own, he turned its beam on Tanker. Instantly, Pete saw the reason for his pal's shout.

Hands from the water had gripped the side of the boat, close to the stern. Clawing for a better hold, they had

found Tanker's arm. Fingers had gained a viselike clutch, the grip of a drowning man. One grappling arm was

Tanker was trying to wrest away; but could not. Out of the river had come a dripping shape. Grim eyes were

Fighting desperately for life, this unexpected passenger had tipped the boat so that it was shipping water. Pete

"Haul him in!" he ordered, to Tanker. "Haul him in before he drags you out! Get him aboard, Tanker, or

TANKER clutched the figure that had gripped him. As he wrested, he tugged, pulling toward the uptilted

side. The lower gunwale raised. Pete reached for Tanker as the fellow twisted toward the bow. Both men

"He's over the gunnels," coughed Tanker. "Ease up, Pete. Let him flop. He had his talons in my neck; but he's

Pete had dropped his flashlight; but he and Tanker could hear and feel the slosh that came when their

struggling visitor sank gasping into the bottom of the boat. Tanker found his flashlight and turned it on the

Squarely in the center of the rowboat lay a form attired in black trousers and a bedraggled white shirt.

Most of The Shadow's makeup had survived; but his features were no longer a close resemblance of Lamont

Cranston's. He was still disguised; but only in a fashion. A grotesque hollowness had come upon his hawklike

countenance. To Tanker and Pete, however, The Shadow was no more than a chance swimmer exhausted in

The tug was alongside the rowboat. A gangway opened; crew members gripped the little craft. Tanker and

Pete stumbled to the tug's deck while the others hauled the rowboat over the side.

Pete was starting an explanation; in the midst of it, The Shadow's prone figure rolled from the inward tilting

Jake Baliss had arrived; he started as he saw the living derelict. Tanker was too choked to talk; Pete acted as

"Guess the guy was trying suicide," he stated. "Must have lost his nerve; for he grabbed Tanker, over the side

"How about pitchin' the mug overboard right now?" came a growl from another crew member. "How about it,

"The guy's out; he won't make trouble," Jake decided. He glanced toward The Shadow. "We'll lay him in the

fo'c's'le. Lug him down there, Pete you and Tanker; you fellows brought him aboard."

THE men from the rowboat hoisted the limp body and carried their burden forward. Jake mumbled to

The hardfaced captain must have promptly turned the wheel over to his equally tough mate; for it was Lem

himself who showed up in the forecastle soon after Tanker and Pete had arrived there with The Shadow.

"What was the idea, you boobs?" demanded Lem, as he surveyed The Shadow lying wanfaced in a bunk.

"Trying to make a bid for a Carnegie Medal? I didn't hire you to be a couple of life savers."

"There wasn't no way out," returned Tanker, who had found his voice. "This egg was yanking me overboard,

"Someone said something about heaving the guy overboard," remarked Pete. "It don't seem right, though,

"Your jobs will be whatever I order!" rasped Lem. "When I'm ready to get rid of this bird, I'll call on you two

for it. Anybody that begins to act soft don't belong with my crew. That goes for both of you!"

Scowling, Lem Hurdy looked toward The Shadow. He saw eyelids flicker weakly; they opened to reveal

straightstaring optics. Then the eyelids closed; The Shadow's head wavered from side to side.

The tugboat captain attributed this condition to the shock of nearly drowning; but Lem's surmise was wrong.

The Shadow was actually suffering from an attack of the "bends," produced by the sudden decompression

"Keep an eye on him," decided Lem, turning to Tanker and Pete. "I'm holding the two of you responsible.

Take turns staying here; and when you get the word from me, tie the guy up. If he begins to kick up trouble in

Lem went up to the deck. He noted that the tug was passing Governor's Island. The lights of moored ships

were twinkling in the harbor. Growling to himself, this skipper who served The Python stamped toward the

"How about it?" queried Jake, when Lem entered. "Want me to get rid of the fellow now that we're past the

"There's ships moored all along here," stated Lem. "Then comes the Narrows; after that the Lower Bay,

where there's likely to be some coastguard cutters. We don't want to heave that guy overboard where he may

"You've guessed it, Jake. This gazebo will be just one more floating corpse after that party's finished."

The tug steamed onward toward the Narrows. Outward bound, it carried The Shadow, still a prisoner.

Escaping from one of the Python's many Coils, he had fallen into the grip of another evil crew that served the

Yet The Shadow did not recognize his plight; nor had he learned the mission upon which this tug was bound.

The tug Colonia was outward bound to aid in crime; to play its part in a fierce scheme of evil that The Python

DAWN showed the tug Colonia cleared from New York, plodding slowly northward at a reduced speed. On

To Tanker and Pete, The Shadow was a charge. Less cruel than the other members, they could see no reason

for neglecting the prisoner. Thus when the news was given that the passenger was less feverish, orders were

Meanwhile, aboard the steamship Tropical, a dance was in progress. Some passengers were busy dancing,

In Room 313, its occupant was a keeneyed, nervous man of bronzed complexion, who paced back and forth

A rap sounded on the door of the cabin. The nervous man opened the door and peered through a narrow slit.

With a relieved smile he drew the barrier wide and allowed a uniformed man to enter. After that, he closed

The nervous man, tall, thin and wiry, was Louis Revoort. His visitor, squatty and blufffaced, and dressed in

"You wished to see me, Mr. Revoort?" inquired the purser, quietly. "Was it about the coffer that you placed

"Shh! Don't talk about it, purser. You are the only one who knows that the coffer holds great wealth. That is

"The coffer is safe, Mr. Revoort. I placed it in the strong box in my office. I alone have the keys; the office

"Someone may try. I am warning you of it, purser. Please take my advice; have your office watched by

reliable persons. If dangerous persons try to enter, they will make themselves known by their act. Then they

"You told me this before, Mr. Revoort," interposed the purser, wearily. "You are repeating yourself."

"Perhaps, although I have been watchful. Frankly, Mr. Revoort, I have seen nothing to make me share your

Revoort nodded eagerly. The purser smiled and stepped toward the door. He unlocked it; then made a

"The air will be clearer in the smoking room," he stated. "Why don't you go there, Mr. Revoort? Get yourself

"All right." Revoort smiled a weary agreement. "You're taking my advice, purser. I'll follow yours."

ACROSS the short side corridor, the door of Cabin 309 was slightly open when the purser appeared from

Revoort's room. It closed, without an audible jar. A hand pressed a light switch; side brackets revealed two

men. One, a quiet, cleancut chap, had been listening at the door. The other, huskier and of chiseled

These men were The Shadow's agents, Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland. They were the pair whose names

The Python had not learned. Aboard the Tropical, they had gained a stateroom that gave them close watch on

"The purser has gone, Cliff," whispered Harry, from close behind the door. "But Revoort is still in his cabin."

"Worried, all right," Cliff acknowledged. "Maybe we ought to be watching the purser's office. Then there's

"Right enough, Harry. We'll stick close by, to protect Revoort when trouble comes."

Cliff's words were prophetic. They reminded Harry of a present duty. Extinguishing the light, Harry opened

the door; then gave a whisper to Cliff, who came over beside him. Revoort was coming out of his cabin.

ONCE in the corridor, Revoort closed the door of Room 313. He pulled a key from his pocket and inserted it

The observers watched Revoort give a grimace. The fellow reached into his pocket and produced another

Revoort pocketed the first key and used the second. This time the door locked. As Revoort placed the keys in

separate pockets, Harry eased his own door shut. He heard Revoort pass through the corridor; then he turned

"Maybe one was a passkey," responded Cliff. "Revoort may have brought along a supply like we did, and

"Then why did one fail to lock the door? If one was a passkey and the other belonged to 313 "

"I've got it, Cliff!" he exclaimed. "Let's see that copy you made of the passenger list. The one we've both been

Cliff produced the list. Its margins bore notations. Harry passed a string of names; then indicated one.

"J.F. Jenks," he read. "He's the fellow whom we haven't seen. Never been in the dining saloon for meals.

"Cabin 222," remarked Cliff. "A good place to stay away from, if Jenks is always in it."

"Let me have the passkey, Cliff. While you're out keeping an eye on Revoort, I'll make a trip to Cabin 222."

"I heard you. Don't worry, Cliff. My hunch is a sweet one. There'll be no trouble. I'll look you up later."

The two went from their cabin, Harry smiling; Cliff, half puzzled. There was no chance for Cliff to question

Harry in a corridor; so they parted after they had passed a bulkhead. Once Harry had left him, Cliff gained a

Not much of a deduction, Cliff admitted to himself; nevertheless, he was pleased when he reached the

smoking room and found Revoort there. Twenty minutes passed; from a corner, Cliff saw Revoort rise and

CLIFF left the smoking room half a minute later. He took a circuitous route toward the state room that he

shared with Harry, but he made rapid speed. When he reached the end of a long corridor, he was just in time

Cliff reached 309. He paced about for several minutes; then heard a key click in the lock. Harry entered. His

"Then we've nothing to do but watch him," decided Harry. "The purser's office doesn't matter. The ship's

"Revoort had two keys," reminded Harry. "Since one failed to lock his door, I figured that it belonged to

"There is no J.F. Jenks. Moreover, Revoort is wise enough to stay away from that cabin, which he knows no

one will visit. For Cabin 222 contains luggage, although it has no occupant. I found a trunk in there, Cliff; it

"Exactly. The coffer that the purser has in the strong room is nothing but a bluff."

"And unless someone grabs the coffer and cracks it open, nobody will know that the real swag might be

"If there is a gang aboard," concluded Harry, "they'll raid the purser's office first. Once that has been

"They'd come for Revoort, though," decided Cliff, "unless they already know as is likely that there is

nothing of value in his own cabin. Maybe some bribed steward has made a search there for them."

"That's probable," agreed Harry, "and it's likely that Revoort has paid a steward to stay out of 222. Two could

handle that game, Cliff. But if a raid is made on the purser's office, with success, they'll come for Revoort

"Yes. That's why we'll stay here. To be ready for the sequel, should the first attack succeed."

That matter settled, The Shadow's agents began their vigil, as selfappointed guardians of Louis Revoort.

Trouble was brewing, they were sure. Both Harry and Cliff felt themselves prepared for it.

These aids of The Shadow were right in their surmise. Evil purposes were already in action aboard the

steamship Tropical. Coming events, however, were to be of a magnitude that neither man expected!

IT was close to midnight when Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland began their vigil in Cabin 309. They had

concentrated their efforts upon the guarding of Louis Revoort, in Room 313. They had ceased to worry for

They had discussed a passenger named Luke Duronne, the man who looked like a card shark. Cliff had seen

the fellow while in the smoking room. Duronne had been playing poker with a crowd and had seemed quite

While The Shadow's agents watched below, Duronne was still in the smoking room. Sallow and quickeyed,

he was tugging at the pointed ends of a dark mustache while he played a twohanded pinochle game with a

bulky, dullfaced passenger. The poker game had ended. Duronne had apparently picked up an acquaintance

As they played their cards, however, Duronne was speaking in an undertone. Looking past the bulky man's

Duronne was catching some of the words that lips were forming; he was repeating his observations to his

"They're talking about the strong room, Hank," Duronne was saying. "The purser's seen Revoort; that's a

"I don't know." Duronne watched the speakers. "Psst! They're coming this way, Hank!"

The purser and his companion walked past the card table, while Duronne and Hank busied themselves with

The purser left the smoking room; the other man strolled away. Hank whispered to Duronne.

"Sure," returned Duronne. "It means that guards will be posted around the strong room. But they won't put

"Yes. That gives us a good part of an hour. The purser's gone below. Eddie will fix him and tip off Gouger.

Hank grinned. He admired Duronne's sangfroid; and with good reason. For, among the Coilmasters of The

Python, Luke Duronne was one of the most capable when it came to handling deliberate crime.

THE purser, Mr. Lycher, went directly to his own cabin after leaving the smoking room. There he removed

He brought a bottle of large pills from a bureau drawer and dropped three of the tablets into a drinking glass.

He added water from a decanter and stirred the liquid with a spoon. When the pills had dissolved, the purser

This was Lycher's regular dosage; he used these pills in connection with a restricted diet. Overweight, the

purser had long been trying to reduce. He followed the medicine with some calisthenics; after a few minutes

Black spots were showing before Lycher's eyes. A sudden nausea had gripped him. He began to waver; then

caught himself with an effort. Faltering toward the door, he pressed a button; then staggered back across the

Someone knocked at the door. The purser answered feebly. He lacked the strength to rise. A passkey clicked

in the lock; a peakfaced steward entered and stared at the prone figure on the bed.

"Is that you, Eddie?" queried Lycher, his eyes closed. "Give me a drink of water, will you?"

"Certainly, sir," responded Eddie. He poured some water into the glass that had contained the medicine.

"I'm sick." The purser managed to rise and sip from the glass while Eddie held it. "I'm feeling feeling

Eddie replaced the glass on the bureau. With his other hand, he produced a small bottle of pills and laid it

beside the glass. He quickly pocketed the duplicate bottle from which the purser had taken the tablets. That

done, Eddie looked over his shoulder and saw that Lycher's eyes were still closed.

Quickly, the furtivefaced steward reached into the pocket of the purser's coat. He gripped a bunch of keys,

tightly, so they would not clink. They were hooked to the lining of the pocket; Eddie tore the cloth as he

EDDIE made a quick departure. He closed the door behind him, followed a long corridor and ascended a

flight of stairs. He paused near a small foyer, while a few belated passengers entered an elevator. As soon as

the lift had descended, the steward edged forward and wigwagged a signal toward a door that led to the deck.

A lurking man caught the signal. This fellow was a deck hand. Scurrying along a deck, he came to a

hatchway and ascended the steps, which brought him to a deck outside the glassinclosed smoking room.

He paused there, shifting close to the window; then moved away. He was seen by watchful eyes within. Luke

They ascended the nearby stairs to find Eddie awaiting them. The steward pointed across the foyer, toward a

"Lycher took the knockout drops," whispered Eddie. "From the bottle that I left for him. I switched the

bottles; he was too groggy to see me do it. He didn't see me grab the keys, either. I've unlocked the office

They entered the purser's office. With the door closed, Duronne approached a safelike strong box. He found

the right key and opened the bulky door. The light showed a metal coffer, bound with iron bands; and

equipped with stout locks. The chest was not much larger than a steamer trunk. But when Duronne tried to

Eddie fetched the deck hand, who was lurking outside the office. The four men managed to raise the heavy

coffer. Trusting to chance, they lugged it from the office and followed the passage to the deck.

"Get the other fellows," ordered Duronne, in a quick whisper to Gouger. "Stick with Gouger, Hank, to keep

watch. It's going to be a job taking this chest up the companionways. Remember: it goes in lifeboat number

"Maybe we ought to crack the box," suggested Gouger. "It would be easy to handle the swag if we did."

"Yeah?" queried Duronne, savagely. "Do you think everybody's deaf on board? Get along, you two. Come

DURONNE and the steward made a quick return to the purser's office, where they locked the strong box and

extinguished the light. They then locked the door behind them; and sidled down the steps.

"Get back to Lycher's cabin," ordered Duronne, as he and Eddie neared the bottom of the stairway. "Put these

The pair separated. Luck had been with Luke Duronne; it was not quite one o'clock; yet the Coilmaster had

gained Revoort's coffer before a watch had been instituted. But luck was due to change. Eddie found that out

Lycher was sitting up; beside him stood the ship's physician. The purser glowered as he saw Eddie. Although

"Where have you been?" he demanded. "I managed to call Doctor Reed's cabin and found that he was there.

"I I was looking other places," returned the steward. "Sorry, Mr. Lycher. Are are you feeling better, sir?"

With this statement, the physician left the cabin. Lycher rubbed his forehead and looked at Eddie.

"I wonder if it could have been my pills," he remarked. "Funny thing they were absolutely tasteless tonight.

The steward complied. As he approached Lycher with the glass, the purser arose. Somewhat unsteadily, he

"I I wouldn't try too much, sir," stammered Eddie. "I I would relax if I were you, sir."

LYCHER had reached the wall. He lurched, although the ship was not rolling. His back was turned toward

Eddie; and the steward knew that inside another minute, the purser would be reaching to find the missing

Eddie thrust his left hand into the pocket of his jacket. Frantically, he twisted away the cap of the bottle that

held the knockout drops. Bringing out the bottle, he let a flock of pills glide into the glass of water.

It was a race; the melting of those pills against the purser's present recovery. Eddie's game won; the tablets

Eddie dropped the little bottle into his pocket; he stepped forward with the glass just as Lycher's hand went

"Drink this water, sir," suggested Eddie. "All of it. You will feel better, Mr. Lycher."

The purser nodded. He took the glass and gulped its entire contents. Passing the glass back to Eddie, he

reached into the coat pocket. His eyes bulged as his hand found emptiness. Lycher wheeled suddenly; he saw

"You you thief!" accused the purser. He saw Eddie's expression, and it was a give away! "You you stole

Lycher's voice failed as he lumbered forward, seeking to clutch the steward's throat. The new dose of

Lycher swayed across the cabin; slumping to the bed, he clutched the telephone, while Eddie stared, too

The purser had raised the receiver. He was calling the doctor's cabin. Eddie could hear a voice responding to

the purser's hello. Wildly, the steward surged forward as Lycher started to speak. His attack, however, proved

That was all that Lycher managed. The telephone fell from his hands; he sprawled to the bed, then rolled to

the cabin floor. Eddie scoopedup the telephone; nervously, he finished the call.

"It's Mr. Lycher, sir," panted the steward. "He he has had another dizzy spell, doctor. Shall shall I give

The receiver clicked at the other end, announcing that the doctor was on his way. Eddie stumbled over and

replaced the keys in the purser's pocket; he fastened the catch to another portion of the lining. Opening the

Returning to Lycher, Eddie stooped beside the purser's body. Lycher had fallen heavily. His head had

thumped the end of the bed. Blood was clotting his hair; his eyes were glassy when the steward raised their

Some minutes passed before the ship's physician arrived from his distant cabin. He found Eddie

anxiouseyed, beside the body. The doctor attempted to restore the stricken purser; but a half hour of effort

TWOTHIRTY found a solemn group assembled in the captain's cabin. The doctor was talking to the

"I was slow responding," admitted the physician, "because I supposed the trouble to be nothing but a mild

relapse. Eddie, the steward, was there to look out for Lycher. Unfortunately, the purser was dead when I

"It may have been responsible for his death, Captain Henderly. Lycher was a heavy man; he received a severe

"What about your talk with Lycher?" inquired the captain, turning to the officer who had been with the purser

in the smoking room. "You say he apprehended trouble? That was at midnight, Mr. Rodney?"

"Yes," replied Rodney. "Lycher wanted men to watch his office. But he did not seem greatly apprehensive,

sir. He seemed merely to have some reason for thinking that precaution might be wise."

"Yes, sir. I have just come from there. Here are his keys; I had to rip them loose from his pocket."

"No," returned the doctor. "On the contrary, he was very helpful. Nervous, of course, but that was natural. He

"I don't like it," he declared. "Place two men on watch in Lycher's cabin. Have others stay outside the strong

"Let him go about his duty," ordered Captain Henderly. "Doctor Reed's statement clears him. Lycher's pills,

we know, are harmless. If there was foul play, it occurred before Lycher went to his cabin. Say nothing that

THE captain went to the bridge. The others also left the cabin. Mr. Rodney posted the required men. Half an

But it was at that hour three o'clock that Eddie, the treacherous steward, appeared outside of Duronne's

"Good work, Eddie," approved Duronne. "That overdose you handed Lycher has fixed things doubly well.

The crew members on duty are staying put, so Hank tells me. Some around the purser's office; others in

"Exactly. They'll start operations in the lounge and the ballroom, and work out from those points. What's

"Yes. He'll sock the guy that's in there with him and do some dirty work of his own. You be ready to go with

"Yes. We won't have long to wait. The ship's position will be just about right inside another hour."

Duronne was right when he stated that there would not be long to wait. Quiet followed after Eddie departed

from the Coilmaster's cabin; and that silence persisted for a brief half hour. Then came a sudden change

Harry and Cliff, awake in 309, were among the first to hear that clamorous alarm. They stared at each other

for one brief moment; then Harry leaped across the cabin and yanked open the door. He sniffed smoke as he

Then, before either he or Cliff could decide on the right move, their ears caught the sound of a bellowing

voice that delivered one tragic announcement amid the echo of the jangling alarm bells:

A battered, loudly ticking alarm clock registered that time as it hung from a wooden post in the forecastle of

the tugboat Colonia. Close to the clock was a single lantern that revealed the dial of the timepiece. Just within

The Shadow's eyes were peering upward. His face had lost its strain. The glint in his eyes showed that he had

recuperated; but the lantern light showed that his recovery had brought him new misfortune.

The Shadow's arms were beneath his back; his body and his legs were girded with taut ropes. Such had been

his plight for hours; ever since Pete had reported the improvement in the prisoner's condition.

The Shadow's face was impassive, despite the streaked, uncouth condition of its makeup. His eyes were

untroubled. On the contrary, they seemed alert and challenging. His ears were quick to detect sounds that

they heard from above deck. When a footfall sounded from the ladder into the forecastle, The Shadow's eyes

Tanker appeared within the lantern's range. Swaying with the roll of the tug, the seaman approached the

"Too bad, matey," declared Tanker. "We got to haul you up on deck, me and Pete, when he gets here. What's

coming to you, I ain't sure; but I don't advise you to count on no good luck to "

Tanker stopped abruptly; he had faced about to reach for the lantern and a clutching hand had stopped him.

As on that night in the East River, gripping fingers had seized Tanker's arm. Another hand came up as Tanker

TANKER gurgled and tried to wrest away. He was too late. The Shadow, his body and legs encased in ropes,

was plying two free arms to down the seaman in a swift and effective struggle. Tanker fought back; despite

his friendliness toward the doomed prisoner, he still considered himself as one of Lem Hurdy's crew.

During lone hours, The Shadow had managed to slip his wrists from a rope that lashed them. His body had

remained wound about with hemp; but he had worked slack in the upper coils by tightening those below.

He had feigned complete bondage until he was sure that Tanker had come here alone. Then, when

In his battle, he was gripping Tanker fiercely. Should the man shake him loose, The Shadow would sprawl

helpless, because of his bound ankles. That was one reason why The Shadow had caught Tanker's throat; to

choke his foe into submission. The other reason was also important: choking stifled Tanker's outcry.

A grim scene beneath the lantern. Tanker, writhing, lashing furiously to fling off his antagonist. The Shadow,

his bound legs whipped about, was struggling to retain his hold on the big fellow's neck.

As they swung against a bunk, The Shadow's shoulders jounced. For an instant, his fingers slipped. Then, as

Tanker managed a gasp and wrenched The Shadow's wrists, a roll of the tug sent the pair wavering across the

Feet on the bunk's edge, The Shadow straightened his body with a tremendous spring. He sent Tanker reeling

backward, straight for the post that held the swinging lantern. Tanker's head cracked the pillar as The Shadow

Then the roll of the tug, the impetus of The Shadow's plunge combined forces gained what Tanker had

sought and failed. The Shadow's grip was lost; his halfbound body floundered to the floor.

VICTORY was Tanker's; but the fellow could not take it. As The Shadow rolled over and tried to rise, he saw

Tanker's body slithering downward. It sprawled by The Shadow's side. That whack against the post had

The last stroke had succeeded; and The Shadow was quick to take advantage of it.

He was a bit unsteady, this selfrescued prisoner, when he crawled toward Tanker's shifting form after

putting off his bonds. The Shadow felt in the seaman's pockets, seeking a knife for which he would have

He found no knife; but he discovered an object that he needed more a fully loaded .32 revolver. Tanker's

Being coatless, The Shadow thrust the weapon into his hip pocket. He hoisted Tanker to a bunk and

Tanker's eyes were opening. The Shadow gagged him with a bandanna that he took from the man's own

pocket. The lantern's glow showed Tanker recovering from his thump, but no longer capable of struggle.

The Shadow moved toward the steps to the deck. He stopped suddenly and retreated to the front of the

Pete stepped into the glow. He looked about for Tanker; then stared at the bound form in the bunk. Pete could

not see the features of the gagged face; but he realized that this was not the prisoner. A sudden hiss made him

swing toward the lantern. Pete stopped; his hands came up as he faced the muzzle of Tanker's gun, leveled by

Pete saw the glimmer of The Shadow's revolver. He knew that any resistance would be useless. He lay

quietly while The Shadow strapped his ankles with a belt; then found another handkerchief and used it as a

gag. Finally, The Shadow fished a second revolver from Pete's pocket. This one, a .38, was more to The

The Shadow had expected to find both these men armed. The guns that he had gained were proof that all

The crew, he decided, must number at least a dozen. The place to deal with them would be on deck; not in

CAUTIOUSLY, The Shadow ascended the steps. He reached the top and gained a view astern. The low roof

of the forecastle prevented him from seeing toward the bow. The deck of the tug was pitch dark. For some

reason, all lights had been extinguished. Until he could locate members of the crew, The Shadow's best

Easing himself to the deck, The Shadow stared toward the starboard rail. A glow showed against the distant

sky. To discern its cause, The Shadow raised his head above the level of the forecastle roof. The new position

A few miles distant lay a blazing ship; a liner revealed by the very flames that were sweeping its high

superstructure. Volumes of smoke were rising from the vessel's bow, pouring back to engulf the ship's twin

The tug was lying beyond the broad range of glare; waiting within thick darkness, like an expectant vulture

To The Shadow dawned the strange truth of his rescue; that the Colonia was manned by another band of The

For The Shadow had recognized that distant, flameframed liner. It was the steamship Tropical, the very boat

that he had expected to board at Savannah. On it were other of The Python's minions; opposing them, two of

For the present, all were concentrated upon the Tropical. All eyes aboard the Colonia were focused on the

Similarly, Lem Hurdy and his crew had no suspicion that The Shadow was within their circle. They had

forgotten Tanker and Pete the prisoner as well in the tense task of watching the conflagration aboard the

The Shadow, like foemen who did not know of his selfgained freedom, was also keeping distant watch upon

the steamship's glare. Doubly armed, he was biding his time for the proper moment. When it arrived, The

ABOARD the Tropical, chaos had come with flames. The very swiftness of the fire had produced

commotion. When officers hastened to give commands, they found themselves confronted by an inferno.

Gouger and his pals had passed up no evil opportunity. A few of them had shipped aboard as new members

of the crew; they had lined up some malcontents with promises of big pay. Nearly a dozen in all, they had

saturated the woodwork and upholstery with kerosene. Flames, once begun, had spurted like mammoth

Roaring from the spots where they had started, the blazes were sweeping sternward. They had made short

work of the lounge and the ballroom; all that the loyal crew could do was hope to halt the fire's progress. Fire

hoses were unlimbered; chemicals came into play. There again, proof was given of dastardly preparations.

The Python's henchmen had cut off the water line. Trickles, not streams, were all that the hoses produced.

The crooks had substituted gasoline for chemicals. The use of this equipment proved disastrous.

Flames tongued viciously at the startled men who spurted the supposed chemicals upon the fire. Officers and

There were cool heads aboard the liner. The officers had guessed that the fire was no accident. They were

sending men to repair the tampered equipment; to bring up chemicals and fire apparatus from the stern. Loyal

Passengers had reached the blistering decks. They were being ordered to the stern. Flamefighting crew

members were doing their utmost to prevent the fire from reaching that last refuge.

Engines had been halted; but the liner was drifting onward. The fate of the ship lay in the balance. Every

effort was being made to save it, but the start that the fire had gained made the fight a difficult one.

AMONG the passengers who had reached the A deck were three who formed a cluster. One was Louis

Revoort; the others were Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland. The Shadow's agents had aroused Revoort and

Cliff saw a chance to aid with a fire hose. Before Harry and Revoort could do likewise, an officer ordered

them astern. They were forced to back away to the rear of the A deck, where other passengers were scurrying

Revoort seemed to recognize Harry as a friend. The two remained at the companionway, watching the crew

battle the fire. Gouger and some of his pals were there. To cover their crime, they were aiding in the fight

Duronne came rushing out on deck, Hank close behind him. Harry saw the pair speak to crew members and

Duronne had contacted Gouger. That done, Duronne and Hank came sternward. They arrived at the very spot

where Harry and Revoort were standing. The glare of the flames showed a gleam upon Duronne's crafty,

In that instant, Harry knew the fellow for an enemy. Grimly, Harry stayed with Revoort. Hand in his pocket,

Gouger had dropped a fire hose to spring toward a lifeboat. He and two others were snatching away the

tarpaulin. They flung it in the bow of the boat, where it covered an object already there.

This was boat number six; the crooks had loaded the coffer aboard it and were keeping that heavy chest

Davits creaked as the boat began to lower. Gouger bellowed; crew members deserted their posts and dashed

Passengers, coming from sternward, began a rush up the companionway where Harry and the others stood.

The sight of boats being lowered had started a panic. Duronne's new scheme was working.

The Coilmaster's purpose was a double one. He wanted to get the coffer away from the Tropical before its

theft was discovered. He desired also to throw the loyal crew into tumult; to start them into a flight that

would end resistance against the fire. Duronne had hoped to panic the passengers; his expectation had been

As the surge came toward the boats, many of the loyal crew members lost their heads. Boat six was already

over the side; five of Gouger's pals were aboard, swinging oars to prevent others from coming with them.

Crew members and passengers seized boat eight, which Gouger had started as bait for them. More went after

IT was then that Duronne and Hank started an attack of their own. It came so suddenly that Harry Vincent

Harry was watching both Duronne and Hank; they looked ready to join in the rush toward the boats. Some

signal must have passed between them; instead of starting toward the bow, they wheeled about. Duronne

Harry whipped out his gun, too late. Duronne drove him backward, hard against a post beside the

companionway. Harry's head took the jolt; half staggering, he managed groggily to aim for Duronne. But

The Coilmaster was lucky with that blow. Harry sprawled to the deck, but came up on one elbow. He had

Duronne covered for a moment; then came a surge of passengers that trampled him flat.

Sprawled out beneath the rush, Harry could only protect his head from stamping feet. When the sweep ended,

Harry looked for Revoort and did not see him on the deck. Staring downward, he caught sight of him below.

Revoort and Hank had tumbled down the companionway; in the fall, Revoort had gained the edge. Though

slight of build compared with Hank, he was pommeling the big man into grogginess.

A shout made Harry turn toward the bow. Someone was shouting through a megaphone; it was Captain

Henderly. The skipper had braved sizzling flames and roasting decks to get here from the bridge. In a

Some were responding; others wavered, while a score of passengers clutched the rail, wearied by futile fray.

Duronne's boat had reached the water. Gouger had joined his pals in the second boat. He was snarling at crew

members on the deck, telling them to lower the lifeboat in defiance of the captain's order.

SENSING a conflict, Harry came to his feet and started forward, still gripping his automatic. He saw Cliff

turn about from a fire hose. His face blackstreaked, his coat and shirt gone, Cliff was reaching for his hip.

It came. Captain Henderly, the megaphone in his left hand, used his right to produce a big service revolver.

Men went piling back toward the fire hoses. The captain watched them scurry along the deck. He had not yet

turned to face boat eight. He did not know the fiendish caliber of the men aboard it.

Gouger was snarling to his pals. Revolvers flashed from their pockets. Six against two, they were aiming for

the captain and the officer with him. Neither Henderly nor his companion saw the coming menace. Harry and

Harry aimed with his automatic. Simultaneously, Cliff yanked a similar weapon from his hip pocket. Their

guns spoke together. Bullets ripped the gunwales of the lifeboat; one of Gouger's men collapsed.

Gouger and the others whirled about to meet this unexpected fire. Their revolvers barked quick answers. The

captain, startled at first by the shots on deck, saw instantly where the real menace lay. He and the officer

Harry clipped Gouger as the fellow aimed for Cliff. Bullets whistled and ricocheted from flamewrecked

walls. But the shots aimed for the lifeboat were directed toward one concentrated target. The Python's men

The captain bellowed an order. Loyal crew members, armed with axes and belaying pins, took up the charge.

They reached the lifeboat and surged over the side like infantry taking an entrenchment.

Gouger and his wounded tribe still had fight. They asked no quarter as they blazed away at the twenty men

who overwhelmed them. Nor did they receive quarter from those nervestrained men whose ranks they tried

to thin. When the quick fight ended, the minions of The Python lay annihilated. His automatic emptied, Harry

Vincent had pocketed the weapon and was dashing toward the companionway at the back of the deck. He

wanted no credit for his part in the fray; he was anxious to find Revoort. When he reached the B deck, Harry

Had Revoort gone back to his cabin? Harry chose a course along the side deck, heading forward. He plunged

He stumbled squarely into a struggling trio. One was Revoort, still pounding Hank; the other was Eddie, the

HARRY pitched into the fight and flayed out with his fists. Revoort staggered away while his rescuer dealt

He wheeled about to see Revoort in the clutch of a bulky, leering fighter. It was "Slug" Cladder, the rogue

A big fist crashed against Revoort's face. As the man's body slumped, Slug hoisted it and gave a heave across

Harry sprang in just as Revoort's body balanced on the rail. Slug turned upon him savagely. As they grappled,

Harry delivered an ankle kick that sent Slug sprawling. He had heard the splash of Revoort's body. Forgetting

Slug, Harry dashed through the smoke to grab a hanging life preserver. Gaining it, he hurled the circular buoy

From the smoke came Slug. On his feet again, the vicious fighter encountered Harry before The Shadow's aid

Gaining a hold upon Harry's throat, Slug proceeded to hammer his adversary into complete submission. They

sprawled to the deck, Slug on top. Half a minute of hard pounding left Harry limp and unconscious.

Slug arose, to find Hank and Eddie clutching the rail beside him. He heard a voice calling from the smoke; he

Yanking a revolver, Slug snarled to Hank and Eddie, telling them to pitch Harry's helpless form overboard.

A puff of breeze thinned the smoke. An approaching man appeared a dozen feet from Slug's gaze. The arrival

was Cliff Marsland. He had left his firefighting to look for Harry Vincent. Cliff, like Slug, could see plainly

He saw Hank and Eddie, struggling to lift Harry Vincent. He saw the glint of Slug's revolver in the glare of

Slug was shoving his fist forward in quick aim; Cliff jogged his reloaded automatic upward from his hip. His

Slug wavered, snarling. Staggering to the rail, he fired two quick, wide shots. Cliff could take no more

chances. Dropping back, he pumped three bullets straight into the wouldbe killer's body. Slug pitched head

Petty workers in Duronne's Coil, those two crooks had no nerve for gunplay. They had dropped Harry when

they heard the shots; they were pulling out revolvers as they scrambled inward from the rail.

Slug's fall, however, gave them panic. Eddie dived through an opening into the smokefilled ship. Hank

CLIFF chased the pair, stabbing more bullets through smoke and flame. He stopped short as he heard a

He had not even spotted his quarry; he had fired only to drive the two men onward. Cliff moved forward

cautiously through the increasing heat. He stopped again as his foot struck a tippy floorplate.

Eddie and Hank had dropped through a firegutted opening into flames below. They had fallen into the

cornered remnant of the inferno that Slug had started in the purser's cabin. They had perished in their own

Cliff went back to the deck. Hoisting Harry on his shoulder, he carried his comrade toward the stern. The

Excited passengers were reporting that the crew had gained control of the fire. The ship was being headed

shoreward; but it would not be beached if the fire could be completely extinguished.

Harry was still unconscious. Cliff's efforts to revive him failed. A physician among the passengers gave help;

he decided that Harry was suffering from a slight brain concussion. He predicted that a few hours of careful

Relieved regarding Harry, Cliff wondered what had happened to Revoort. Perhaps the man was safe among

the huddled passengers. Cliff planned to look for him later; for if Revoort had escaped harm amid the turmoil,

Should Revoort be missing, there would be a later task in which Cliff would need Harry's aid. That would be

It would not be a great problem; when all was quiet aboard the Tropical, many passengers would be moving

to new quarters. Cliff foresaw that he and Harry would be able to get unsuspicious stewards to help them with

Such a move, of course, depended on Revoort. Cliff still hoped to find the man aboard the forwardforging

Tropical. He did not know that somewhere, far astern, Louis Revoort was floating, forgotten his only hope

A DYING flambeau etched against the sky. Such was the steamship Tropical as it floated northward, still

within sight of those aboard the tug Colonia. The liner had passed to leeward of the lurking tug; its course

Darkness still persisted aboard the Colonia. From the heaving tugboat, The Shadow had watched the progress

of the fire. He had seen the glare subside. He knew that the stout crew had won their battle with the

The only clue to the tragic happenings aboard the Tropical had been the sight of a single lifeboat, pulling

Crouched by the forecastle of the Colonia, The Shadow had guessed the lifeboat's purpose. It was coming

seaward instead of heading for the shore. That fact betokened one logical answer. Those in the lifeboat knew

THE SHADOW shifted away from the forecastle entrance. He crossed the brinesoaked deck and reached

the windward side of the pilot house. He sensed that men were absent here; they were all to leeward,

The Shadow found an iron ladder in the darkness. He moved upward, silently, on the side of the pilot house

opposite the door. He reached the broad, flat roof above and crouched there, just in front of the tug's single

A flare squidged from the darkness the lifeboat's first cautious signal. The Shadow heard a growl from the

deck below; an answering flare fizzed to indicate the tug's position. Minutes passed; the creak of oarlocks

reached the ears of listeners. A flashlight blinked from near the tugboat's stern.

There was no need of further caution. The Tropical was far away; those aboard it would not recognize the

significance of distant lights. A small searchlight came into play, its beams directed toward the water. It

Lanterns glimmered. The Shadow could count the crew members. He saw boathooks grip the lifeboat; a

gangway swung open and half a dozen men clambered forward from the lifeboat. They stopped at Duronne's

order, long enough to raise a heavy coffer from beneath a canvas covering. The treasure chest came aboard.

The Shadow had gained and lost by waiting. He saw booty, ready to be regained for like Duronne, he

believed that the chest must contain Revoort's Cuban wealth. But now the number of his enemies had been

One procedure alone was possible. The Shadow knew that he must eliminate more foemen.

Furthermore, The Shadow needed a vantage spot; and he had picked one. His design was to capture the pilot

house, directly beneath the roof whereon he lay. One man Jake Baliss was alone in the pilot house.

The first task was to capture him; then wait for others to arrive. There was a great chance for The Shadow to

EIGHT men were hoisting the near gunwale of the lifeboat that had brought Duronne with the metal coffer.

Heaving together, they overturned the craft and let it pitch away from the tug. Satisfied growls followed.

That lifeboat would be found later. The verdict would be that it had capsized in the rising swells. The

"Good stuff," Lem Hurdy was growling to Luke Duronne. These Coilmasters were planning their next moves

together. "We'll get under steam and reach Norfolk first thing in the morning. We'll get rid of this tub as soon

The door of the pilot house had opened. Jake Baliss was on the platform at the top of the steps, waiting for

"Just one thing, though," added Lem, harshly. "There's a mug we've got to get rid of; a dope that a couple of

the crew pulled out of the East River. They've got him in the fo'c's'le; we'll heave him over alongside that

capsized lifeboat. If his body drifts ashore, they'll think he was from the Tropical.

"Better see to it that he's done for," suggested Duronne. "Might just as well load him with some bullets. My

outfit will be listed as mutineers. If one body is found full of lead, the coast guards will think we had a

"Guess they thought you wanted 'em to stick in the fo'c's'le," put in Jake from above. "Send one of the crew

Lem Hurdy started for the forecastle, while Luke Baliss remained outside the pilot house. The Shadow's need

Drawing his larger revolver Pete's .38 he edged over the roof and raised one whiteshirted hand to

One more man out another gun the pilot house as a fighting turret these were The Shadow's hopes. But

into his plan came a freak of chance that nipped his first intended stroke. One of the crew had turned the

small searchlight on the capsized lifeboat, which was drifting away from the tugboat's side.

Satisfied that the boat would fool those who found it, the man swung the searchlight inward. It tilted upward.

Luke Duronne had looked up with the glare. He saw more than Jake Baliss. He spied The Shadow, head and

shoulders over the roof edge, beginning his downward gun swing. Luke yanked a revolver, shouting an order.

JAKE BALISS recoiled as The Shadow's arm came down. The driving revolver glanced from the mate's

skull. The blow felled Jake and he sprawled backward through the open door of the pilot house.

Other guns barked. Vicious crew members were joining in the fire. Swaying on hands and knees, The

Shadow returned it with volleys from his guns. He did not aim for the searchlight. That would have been

Moreover, the outspread beam showed scurrying figures along the deck. The Shadow was dispatching swift,

Duronne, his revolver emptied all too hastily, went bounding down into the engine room. Unscathed by the

wild shots aimed for him, The Shadow had used his own barrage to lay five men writhing on the deck; and

Twelve shots had rifled from his revolvers. His ammunition gone, he was rising, ready to spring from the roof

But before The Shadow could make the move, a bellow sounded from the forecastle. Lem Hurdy had found

Tanker and Pete; hearing shots on deck, he had dashed up to spy the escaped prisoner atop the pilot house.

Lem opened fire, savagely. His bullets tore the ornamental "gingerbread" that fronted the pilot house roof.

Other revolvers joined in longrange fire. Crew members who had dived beyond the forecastle entrance were

Lem must have guessed that The Shadow's guns were empty. He was driving forward as he fired; half a

For an instant, The Shadow stood outlined on the roof. Then a wild cry sounded from his lips. His body spun

To the edge of the roof he twisted; there he went whirling in one long writhing dive. Clearing the narrow

deck below, he shot beyond the tugboat's side and plunged into the trough of a long swell.

LUKE DURONNE saw the splash. He leaped out to the deck and called for the searchlight. Lem Hurdy

arrived; they sent the gleam along the blackened water. Minutes passed while they explored the depths. There

"I clipped him clean," growled Lem. "Saw him spin around; the tug was rolling and he took a nose dive. He

won't be up again not for a while. Well it's the way you wanted it. A body loaded with lead.

"We're getting under way. I'll take the helm. Stow that chest in the rear cabin. We'll take a look at the swag

Crew members were lugging Jake's slugged form from the pilot house. Others were carrying the coffer at

Duronne's bidding. The searchlight was playing its final gleams out across the waves, where nothing showed

Lem Hurdy took his station at the wheel and clanged the bells. Chugs came from the tug's engine. The

Colonia steamed southward, gaining speed as it rolled through the swells. Once more The Python's men had

triumphed. The Shadow, like Louis Revoort, had been consigned to the blackened sea.

DAWN had streaked the ocean's horizon. A new day showed heavier swells than those of night. Amid that

area where the Tropical had blazed while the Colonia lurked, one craft alone was visible. That was the

A figure was perched upon the sheltered side of the shoreward drifting lifeboat. A bedraggled shape in black

trousers and white shirt, this was the same form that had fought from above the tugboat's pilot house. The

Shadow had survived that shortlived battle. He was drifting toward the final safety of the coast.

The lifeboat still retained some buoyancy; that fact gave the explanation of The Shadow's remarkable escape.

He had recognized the futility of further fight when Lem Hurdy had come into the fray.

He had acted with quick inspiration. His dive had been made with purpose; his wild cry faked to deceive the

The Shadow, too, had noted the lifeboat's drift, no more than fifty feet off the tug's side. It had been his goal,

that lifeboat; and he had neared it, swimming swiftly, before the searchlight's gleam had swept the sea.

He had stayed within that air pocket for half an hour. Then, confident that the Colonia must be gone, he had

swum out and reached the surface. Though it was not the summer season, the ocean lacked the killing chill of

winter. A long float with the lifeboat promised an eventual landing on the coast.

Rising winds, in from the sea, had propelled the lifeboat onward. With dawn, The Shadow could see

breakers, beyond them a low, sandy shore. Low houses told of a deserted summer colony; the location The

Shadow estimated it roughly was somewhere along the peninsular coast of Maryland.

Testing the buoyancy of the lifeboat's air chambers, The Shadow worked upward on the bottom. His long

He was anxious to reach the shore, somewhere near those houses; and the lifeboat's course was taking him

too far below. Moreover, a near line of breakers indicated a reeflike bar, where the boat might strand too

A HIGH, halfbreaking swell arrived while The Shadow was gazing northward. His keen eyes spied an

object, bobbing from a wave less than a mile away. The Shadow sighted it again; it looked like a man

clinging to a life preserver. The object was floating straight for the houses on the shore.

The Shadow slid from the lifeboat. His arms began long strokes. He had long since kicked off his

troublesome shoes; the very vigor needed in this swim was the test that he had needed. Unhampered, The

As he neared the object, he saw that his surmise had been correct. A man was clinging to the life buoy,

paddling weakly at intervals. Unlike The Shadow's boat, the buoy had afforded no shield against the

whitecapped swells. The floater had probably spent much effort in keeping his head above water.

With overarm strokes, The Shadow reached the buoy and gripped the nearer side. A pale face turned in his

The Shadow shifted his position to aid the wearied man. Though he had not yet learned the fact, The Shadow

Fellow castaways, they were drifting shoreward and the remaining journey was not far. Already each wave

seemed ready to break about them. The last stretch was coming, and it would be grueling for Revoort. It was

Revoort was sagging when they reached the breakers. The Shadow gripped him, to keep his head above the

surging foam. With the life buoy, they bobbed wildly; then, as a big wave passed, The Shadow's feet struck

Dragging Revoort's sagging form from the life buoy, The Shadow worked against a heavy undertow, pulling

his companion toward the shallow water of a shelving beach. Revoort's body was a burden by the time they

Revoort needed no resuscitation; but he was too weary to move. The Shadow rose unsteadily and looked

along a line of cottages that fronted on the beach. He saw one with curtained windows.

Helping Revoort to his feet, he urged the man to walk. Revoort managed it though he nearly collapsed with

The Shadow forced a cottage window. He entered and unlocked the front door. He had left Revoort sprawled

on the porch; he helped the fellow up again and dragged him into a living room, to place him on a couch.

This cottage was well furnished. Evidently, its owners visited it some times during the off season. The

Shadow found coffee and canned goods in the kitchen; and the gas and the electricity were still connected.

WHEN Revoort opened his eyes from the couch, a hot cup of coffee was awaiting him. He gulped the liquid

and felt better. Knowing that this new friend had rescued him, he tried to talk.

"My name," he gasped. "My name is Revoort. Louis Revoort. I I was aboard the steamship Tropical "

The effort was too much. Revoort sagged back upon the couch. The Shadow laid aside the empty cup; then

went upstairs in the cottage. He found some khaki trousers and shirts, with a pair of sneakers.

He donned these in place of his watersoaked garb. He also discovered an old but serviceable beach robe in a

He took the robe downstairs, shook Revoort and helped the cutaway out of his wet clothes. He aided Revoort

Revoort mumbled wearily; The Shadow left him lying half asleep. He locked the door of the little cottage and

It was noon when Louis Revoort was again aroused. Refreshed by sleep, he was gladdened by the sight of

food and coffee. He sat down at a table to eat and to talk with his rescuer. The Shadow completed the

"My name," he stated, "is Lamont Cranston. I had friends board the Tropical; but I was not on the liner. I

"The Colonia," continued The Shadow, "was the boat to which a crew of deserters took your ironbound

chest. I suppose they must have stolen it from the purser's office, aboard the Tropical."

Revoort gasped at this news. He wondered how his new friend could have learned about the false treasure

"The Tropical," resumed The Shadow, "is safe. She is steaming into New York under her own power and will

arrive there late this afternoon. My friends dispatched a coded radiogram to New York. They have found your

REVOORT dropped his knife and fork. This was uncanny! Had he talked too much while unconscious? A

"A few miles up the beach," explained The Shadow, "I finally discovered a cottage with a connected

telephone. I called New York and I reversed the charges. I learned these meager details. I shall know

everything, however, after the Tropical docks. My friends will have a full report."

"A mutual friend." The Shadow smiled, thinking of Rutledge Mann, an investment broker, who acted as

contact between himself and active agents. "Do not worry, Revoort; your secret is safe. The radiogram was

coded; it was a long one pertaining to stock sales, and no one will suspect its real purpose.

"For the present, you can aid matters by giving me the details which I shall surely learn later. I know about

your connection with Jurrice; I have also heard of your unknown Cuban friend. The more information you

"My Cuban friend," he said, slowly, "is named Carl Ramorez. He is somewhere in New York; he is to

"I was to register at the Hotel Legrand," explained Revoort. "Ramorez is to call me there and arrange a

meeting. Craig Jurrice does not know that fact; we intended to get together with him later."

The Shadow's eyes were keen, almost questioning. Revoort spoke as though impelled by them.

"To protect the treasure," he stated, "I put it in Cabin 222 under the name of a nonexistent passenger, J.F.

Jenks. I intended to have it claimed later. I had signed as Jenks and could, of course, duplicate the signature

"I feared trouble. That is why I loaded the original treasure coffer with old metal and put the wealth in the

trunk instead. I made the coffer heavy, to give thieves trouble if they tried to filch it."

REVOORT paused to swallow some coffee. He noted that The Shadow was eyeing him closely, studying

each gesture that he made. The searching gaze made Revoort twitch nervously. The Shadow smiled.

"Since you played the part of Jenks," he decided, "I shall don the guise of Revoort. There is danger in New

"You mean," inquired Revoort, puzzled, "that it would be unsafe for me to register at the Hotel Legrand?"

"I do. Therefore, I shall go there in your place. I shall keep the appointment with Ramorez."

"He will not. I shall use a disguise that will amaze you, Revoort. When I have completed it, I shall be your

"My part," explained The Shadow, "is to offset crime. An evil enemy has backed the game to gain your

treasure. He will learn that he has been thwarted. He is in New York; he is my foe as well as yours.

"Who I really am is something that we can discuss later. It is sufficient for you to know that I shall protect

both you and your wealth. When we reach New York, I shall be Louis Revoort. You will remain in seclusion,

at my home in New Jersey. Your treasure will be safe there with you, until after I as you have arranged

"Precautions have already been arranged for his safety. At present, however, he is in no danger. You will see

Louis Revoort sank back with a sigh. He believed in this new friend. Facts had amazed him; he was willing to

rely on these astounding promises and to obey all orders. One last iota of doubt still gripped him, however.

"If the Tropical reaches New York this evening," declared Revoort, "I should be there that is, you should be

there at about the same time. Yet we are hundreds of miles south; both of us, I suppose are penniless "

"Within three hours," interposed The Shadow, "an autogyro will land outside this cottage. We shall both go

aboard; the return trip will enable us to reach Newark airport by early evening. You will go from there to my

home; I shall go to the Hotel Legrand. I arranged for the plane when I made my longdistance call.

"Here, in this cottage, before we start our trip, we shall become doubles. New clothes and my required

makeup will arrive aboard the autogyro. In the meantime, I should like to view your signature. I shall have

LOUIS REVOORT was nodding in final bewilderment. He had learned the strength of hidden foes; now he

Confidence gripped Revoort as he visioned the immediate future. He realized that his rescuer was one who

Revoort's nod was his agreement. His trust was complete. In giving full privilege to The Shadow, he had

chosen the one wise course. Beset by many enemies, Revoort had placed his cause in The Shadow's hands.

The Shadow, too, had attained a mighty purpose. Back from the dead, he was free for his new struggle.

Master of vengeance, The Shadow was returning to deal at equal odds with his hidden foe, The Python!

THAT same afternoon found Albert Thurney standing at the window of his fourteenthfloor apartment. It

was after five o'clock; a clouded, sultry day had brought haziness to Manhattan. Through the gloom of

approaching dusk, Thurney could see the glow of blue lights in the distant loft building.

Neon bulbs were wavering. Straining, Thurney caught the signal. A smile showed on his lightcomplexioned

face. So intent was Thurney that he did not hear the approach of footsteps from an inner room of his

"Pardon, Mr. Thurney." The speaker was a droopfaced man who walked with a catlike tread. "I did not wish

"It's all right, Warring," approved Thurney, stepping back from the window. "The signals are working now

"Quite so, Mr. Thurney. If I might venture to say so, sir, I would suggest that the one weakness in the system

"The Python has no weakness, Warring," interrupted Thurney, his tone disapproving. "Moreover, it is not

"Pardon again," bowed Warring. "I was worried, sir, because of the telegram that you received from

"Duronne's wire?" laughed Thurney. "The one that passed me the news about the phony swag? Well,

Warring, the very fact that Duronne communicated with me is proof that contacts can be made without the

lights. Moreover, I made a telephoned report regarding the telegram. The flashbacks from the signal tower

There was profound admiration in Warring's tone as the valet eyed his master. Thurney, apparently, did not

"Work for me, Warring," he remarked. "You stay here while I am out. There may be other telegrams

perhaps a call from Warthrope. You see, Warring" Thurney nudged his thumb toward the window "those

LEAVING his apartment, Thurney hailed a taxi and gave an address on Sixth Avenue, not many squares

north of Fortysecond Street. He alighted at the entrance of a towering skyscraper and rode by an express

elevator to the fortieth floor. He walked to a corner office and read the elaborate legend on the door:

Entering the outer office, Thurney found a lone stenographer. He asked the girl if Mr. Bornick happened to be

in his office. The stenographer nodded. Thurney took a chair while the girl went along an inner corridor.

Only one of several small offices was lighted; its door was ajar. The stenographer rapped and entered. Lester

Bornick was seated at a huge mahogany desk, staring from the window, which had an eastern exposure.

In his hand, the lawyer held a pad. On it, he was jotting dots and dashes while he watched the slight flicker of

Suddenly sensing the girl's arrival, Bornick swung quickly in his swivel chair. For a moment, his lips seemed

about to deliver an angry outburst; then Bornick quickly regained his calm. He tossed the pad into an open

"Mr. Thurney is here, sir," stated the stenographer. "Does he have an appointment with you?"

"Thurney?" queried Bornick. "Albert Thurney? Ah, yes I recall him. Young chap, isn't he?

"Humph." Bornick stroked his chin. "I promised to see him at his apartment again; I suppose he was tired of

The stenographer went out and told Thurney he could enter Bornick's office. Alone at her desk, she pondered

over the notes that Bornick had been making. This was the second time that she had surprised the lawyer in

such an action. Although she had not noticed the blue lights, the stenographer felt sure that Bornick must

Moreover, the girl wondered why Bornick had been remaining so late in his office. Her duty ended at six

The girl was new to the late shift; nevertheless she had noticed the lawyer's habits and considered it odd

because Bornick's daily business affairs were invariably completed before five o'clock.

WHILE the stenographer was still puzzling over the matter, the outer door opened and a weary,

hollowcheeked man entered. He removed his hat to reveal a shining bald pate. He bowed and introduced

"Mr. Bornick is expecting you," acknowledged the stenographer. "Have a chair, Mr. Califax, while I tell him

She went to Bornick's office. This time her rap was answered by a sharp command to enter. Opening the

As soon as the door closed behind the girl, Bornick arose and strode to the side of the room. He opened

another door and pointed to a hallway that joined the main corridor. Thurney arose, nodding, and made his

exit. Bornick closed the door and went back to his desk. He was seated there when Califax entered.

"Sorry to have kept you here late, Bornick," began Califax. "But I am troubled about this matter of Revoort.

"Perhaps it did," agreed Bornick, "but why should it concern you, Califax? I thought you had decided to wait

until Revoort called to see you; and to let the matter pass if he did not arrive."

"So I did decide. But Jurrice called me today and he seemed quite alarmed. He received a report at noon;

"Because," declared Califax, deliberately, "I believe that we should inform the police or the port authorities

regarding what we know of Revoort. I am convinced, Bornick, that the fire aboard the Tropical was of

"I see." Bornick smiled. "Jurrice, however, does not want you to inform the law."

"Because he called me also. He was disturbed by your statement that you believed all should be made public.

"Absolutely. For the present, Califax, no one should make a statement. Give the authorities time to start their

investigation. Let them seek facts. If mystery clouds the issue, then make your statement. In spite of Jurrice.

"Right now, however, you would be taking a most unwise course. You are not involved in any manner. You

merely chanced to know that one passenger aboard the Tropical was supposed to have a fortune with him.

"Perhaps Revoort is safe. His wealth may be on board, secure from harm. You were never in his confidence;

it was Jurrice not Revoort who talked to you. I am still your counselor, Califax. I advise no hasty step."

THE convincing words brought a slow nod from Califax. Bornick perched his elbow on the desk and wagged

"If Jurrice calls you again," he stated, "state that you have given me full discretion in this matter. Let me

handle Jurrice, while I watch the reports concerning Revoort. Should the time come to speak, the duty will be

"I suppose you are right, Bornick," decided Califax. "After all, the whole thing lies between Jurrice and

Revoort. Yet if robbery is uncovered, I shall be ill at ease. There have been many jewel thefts lately. I have

"Don't worry." Bornick shook his head. "Certain of those past robberies concerned my own clients; and I

know for a fact that the crooks were after large hauls. They knew the extent of the valuables before they went

"Some persons have seen my gems," reminded Califax. "One man in particular, whom I did not like. A young

upstart, who still persists in calling upon my niece, Patricia. I believe you met him, Califax the fellow's

"I know him," nodded Bornick. "I called at his apartment a few times, to look over some plans for a stock

company which he wants to promote. Mining enterprises, that look quite substantial; but I think his game

"Should I do so, I would have difficulty in checking on his later activities. He might offer bad stocks along

"I don't think so, Califax. No, this chap Thurney doesn't strike me as bad as all that. Forget the fellow; I'm

Bornick arose, shook hands with his visitor and ushered Califax to the door. Returning to his desk, the lawyer

took the swivel chair and turned to the window. He sat with one hand on the telephone, delaying some

MEANWHILE, Albert Thurney had reached a new destination. This was a crowded office in Manhattan's

downtown section. Close to Wall Street, with broad windows fronting on a thoroughfare, this office had

become a thronging point for anxiouseyed persons who were watched by curious crowds outside the door. It

was the headquarters of the Coastal Mercantile Marine, owners of the steamship Tropical.

Thurney gained admittance because of his businesslike manner. Strolling to a quiet corner, he watched men

behind the counter as they talked to worried persons who had friends and relatives aboard the steamship. The

employees were assuring everyone that the Tropical would arrive within a few hours.

A list of passengers had been posted; most of these names were checked as those of persons who were safe.

The captain of the Tropical had radioed all obtainable information; it was possible, however, that some

AMONG the group about the board was a tall man with heavy mustache, whose face was

darkcomplexioned. He was not conspicuous, for several South Americans were present and he looked like

one of their number. In fact, Thurney did not notice him as he walked over to the counter and spoke

"My name," informed the dark man in an undertone, "is Carl Ramorez. I am concerned about a passenger

He ceased his smoothly purred English to give the clerk a card. "Here is my address. Kindly notify me at

The clerk nodded and pocketed the card. Ramorez went back to study the board. A wiry young man arrived at

the counter and introduced himself as Clyde Burke of the Classic. The clerk asked him to wait and see the

"Here he comes now," concluded the clerk, pointing to a door marked "Private," which had opened. "Stay

The manager was coming from his office; with him was a talkative, palefaced man. Sounds of the fellow's

"There must be some way of learning!" was the palefaced man's protest. "I must know about my friend,

"Be calm, Mr. Jurrice," insisted the manager. "The Tropical will arrive within a few hours. I can give you a

"That won't do!" returned Jurrice. "You must radio the ship and get word back to me. At once!"

"No. I shall be at my apartment. You have the name the Bragelonne and the number of my suite is 602."

Feverishly, Jurrice pushed his way toward the door. Clyde Burke turned promptly, about to follow him; but

the clerk gripped Clyde's arm and began to introduce the reporter to the manager. Clyde could do nothing but

"That fellow Jurrice has been in my office for hours," explained Roquil. "That is why I could not see you

before, Mr. Burke. Here I have prepared a typewritten statement from the company. Let us go over it

CARL RAMOREZ had heard Craig Jurrice state his name and address. A gleam had come upon the Cuban's

Ramorez suddenly began to fight his way through. This action was observed by Thurney. The Coilmaster's

Again the throng had jammed; it was as futile for Thurney to pursue Ramorez as for the Cuban to overtake

Once there, he hurried to a corner drug store and found a telephone booth. He dialed a number. The response

"Four," spoke Thurney, by way of identification. "Jurrice returning to his apartment. Half an hour needed for

trip. Observed by man who may be the Cuban. Observer also left steamship office. All."

Again the croak. This time it was an acknowledgment. Thurney hung up and left the cigar store. He returned

to the steamship office, where Clyde Burke was still engaged with Roquil. Thurney waited a few minutes;

Cornering the manager, Thurney asked for a pass to the pier. His tone was anxious; Roquil supposed him to

be one who had friends aboard the Tropical. Thurney received the pass without question. Smiling his

Warring, the valet, had mentioned a weak point when he had spoken of the weakness in The Python's contact

system. That bluelighted signal tower, the strongest weapon in The Python's arsenal, was useless during

daylight hours. Thurney had recognized the fact, despite his statement that The Python had no weaknesses.

The Python's time of strength was night; and early darkness had brought his period of power. Many hours had

Albert Thurney had taken on the task of watching Craig Jurrice, to learn if the man had contacted Revoort's

Luck had favored Thurney. He had heard Jurrice talk; he had spotted a man who might be the Cuban.

Contact, perhaps, was coming soon. Thurney had reported the fact to the croaking man across the wire. The

IT took Craig Jurrice nearly fifty minutes to reach the Hotel Bragelonne. He had chosen to make the trip by

cab. Traffic was heavy at this hour and the taxi was stalled frequently on its trip.

Hence Jurrice, when he reached the apartment hotel, was both impatient and annoyed. He strode into an

Clyde Burke arrived five minutes later. He entered the lobby and approached the desk. He arrived just in time

to hear an argument between two clerks. One was rising from the telephone switchboard, where he was on

"You gave Mr. Jurrice the message then?" inquired the one behind the desk. "When was that?"

"When he stopped for his key," replied the man from the switchboard. "See? It's gone from the box."

"Yes. That's why there should be one here in the box. Unless, like most everybody, he forgets it occasionally

"Then why worry about it? Jurrice has his key. I gave him the message. His call has come and he's answering

Laughing, the clerk went back to the switchboard. His companion nodded, apparently realizing his own

"I should like to speak to Mr. Jurrice," stated Clyde. "His apartment is 602, I believe?"

Clyde took a chair. He felt relieved; for he had made speed in coming here. Clyde had haunted the steamship

office all during the afternoon, keeping tabs on Jurrice's stay in Roquil's office. For this was actually Clyde's

day off at the Classic; and he was keeping to the special task of watching Jurrice.

Jurrice's nervous behavior at the steamship office; his open speech in front of witnesses these combined

If Jurrice intended to keep talking about Revoort, Clyde knew of a place where he could chatter in security.

The fact that Jurrice was talking on the telephone gave Clyde the assurance that all was well for the present.

He did not see how Jurrice could be complicating matters by a telephone call. Had Clyde been able to listen

IN the little living room of Suite 602, Craig Jurrice was making statements that concerned his connection

with Louis Revoort. Moreover, he was repeating words that came across the wire, thus giving an indication of

what was being said at the other end. For Jurrice, hard upon his return to the Bragelonne, had received a call

"You saw me at the steamship office?" Jurrice was saying. "Yes. I was there... Yes, inquiring for Revoort... I

see; you decided not to speak to me there... Very wise... I said very wise, Senor Ramorez...

"Yes. I feel confident that you are Revoort's friend... Yes, he told me that he would visit the mountain slopes

of Vuelta Abajo... Also that he would have to go by boat upon the Cauto River... That is correct; he first went

to the Isle of Pines... Positively, senor. You do not need to convince me any further...

"Ah! So you were to communicate with Revoort? I see... At the Legrand Hotel?... This is real news. I should

like to know more about it... What's that? You're only a few blocks from here? Good... Certainly; it would be

"Yes. I have pencil and paper... Carl Ramorez... The address? Yes... Yes... I have jotted it down... I know the

Jurrice completed the jotting with his pencil. He concluded his call and placed the French telephone upon its

stand. His nervousness had eased; his pale face showed color. Though still worried about Revoort, Jurrice felt

Jurrice had believed Revoort's story of a rich Cuban who sought the reclaimed treasure. All along, Jurrice had

wanted to know the man's identity. Today had he been able he would have contacted Ramorez; but had

not known who the man might be or where he was. To hear from Ramorez at this hour had been more than

Taking off his brown coat and vest, Jurrice hung the garments over his arm and started toward the door of his

bedroom. He stopped long enough to pick up the sheet of paper on which he had written the Cuban's name

Passing through the open doorway, he turned on the bedroom light and closed the door behind him. He was

whistling softly as he performed these actions; his closing of the door cut off the sound of the melody.

DOWNSTAIRS, Clyde Burke was becoming impatient. The clerk at the switchboard had found some other

business; and had left his chair. When he returned, Clyde saw him pull out some plugs. Clyde wondered if

The man at the desk had strolled away when the other returned. Three or four minutes passed. Clyde decided

"What about Mr. Jurrice?" he questioned. "I thought you were going to tell him I was here."

The clerk plugged in and moved the switch. There was no response. The man shrugged his shoulders.

"Guess he's on his way downstairs," he declared. "Probably going out to dinner. He was talking on the

Clyde loitered in the lobby two minutes longer. Then, impatient when Jurrice did not appear, he entered an

elevator and rode up to the sixth. Clyde found the door marked 602. He rang a bell. At first there was no

response; but after a second attempt, Clyde heard a cheery response through the transom.

One minute proved to be three. Finally the door opened; Jurrice appeared, attired in a blueserge suit,

carrying an overcoat and derby upon one arm. He clicked the light switch as he opened the door; then stepped

Clyde saw a nervous twitch of Jurrice's lips; he noted a strained face in the pale light. Jurrice, evidently, had

"A reporter?" queried the man from 602, his voice a bit suspicious. "To see me?"

"Yes." Clyde spoke confidentially and motioned toward the elevator. "We have just received an unconfirmed

JURRICE'S eyes were sharp in the subdued light. They had reached the elevators; Clyde was ringing for a

"This is confidential," added Clyde, "and the only way to gain further news is to go to the Classic office.

Apparently, Revoort has not told the officers on the Tropical that he is still on board. He spoke only to a

"Not yet. Moreover, Revoort may not land with the other passengers. Suppose you accompany me to the

Jurrice was nodding as the elevator arrived. They descended in silence. In the lobby, Jurrice approached the

"Certainly." Jurrice drew the key from his pocket. "I had forgotten it the last time I went out. I have it now."

Jurrice accompanied Clyde to the street. The reporter hailed a ready cab. They stepped aboard and Clyde

gave the driver the address of the Classic. He began to talk to Jurrice as they rolled along.

"About Revoort," stated Clyde. "This word from him was somewhat mysterious. Apparently a radiogram was

sent from the ship to some friend who had been calling our office for news. When we "

"Stop a moment," interposed Jurrice. "I must make a telephone call. That corner drug store will do. Wait for

The driver heard the statement. He pulled to the curb. Revoort alighted and entered the drug store. Clyde

"Looks like a runout," returned the hackie, who was a sharpfaced fellow. "Better take a look in the drug

Clyde followed the advice. He returned in a few minutes and spoke again to the driver.

"Jurrice pulled a fast one," declared Clyde. "There's a side door to that drug store. He must have ducked out.

The driver wheeled his cab. His face was as serious as Clyde's. For Moe Shrevnitz, the hackie, was also in

The Shadow's service. His taxi had been waiting to give Jurrice further surety of safety. Moe was wondering

At the Bragelonne, Clyde entered and inquired if Jurrice had returned. Both clerks were on duty; they said

that they had not seen him. It was possible, though, that the man had gone past them.

The fellow at the switchboard rang the room, without an answer. Clyde remembered that he had done that

once before, while Jurrice had been in the room; hence this was no proof that Jurrice had not returned.

Both clerks looked suspiciously at Clyde. The reporter decided that a trip upstairs would be unwise. He went

out to the street, told Moe to remain in the vicinity, and chose the subway as his own route to the Classic

On the way, Clyde decided that Jurrice must have been suspicious of him; or else the man must have had

some appointment which he had to keep. Either answer would do as an explanation of Craig Jurrice's odd

There was another answer which never occurred to Clyde Burke. That answer happened to be the true one

concerning Craig Jurrice. For the present and for hours to come that answer would remain unguessed.

THE flamescarred Tropical did not dock until after ten o'clock. The stout ship had encountered heavy

weather outside New York harbor; yet it had managed to limp safely into port without the aid of attendant

Coming through the upper bay, the liner was greeted by saluting whistles; when the ship docked, a rousing

Captain Henderly and his crew were heroes; the slightly listing Tropical was a ship that would long be

remembered. Those aboard the liner had fought through the greatest of all ocean hazards fire at sea. They

had won their struggle without casualties, except those among mutinous crew members.

One dying crook had blabbed names among them those of two passengers: Luke Duronne and Hank Slyder.

Both were missing; and they were listed as with the mutinous group, for it was apparent that they, too, were

Yet Captain Henderly was not content. Two other passengers had failed to answer roll call. Though they

could not be marked as dead, the skipper doubted that they ever would be found; and that fact made him glum

amid the welcome. The two unfortunates whose fate burdened Henderly's mind were Louis Revoort and J.F.

During the landing of passengers and luggage, there were spying eyes upon the pier. Albert Thurney was on

hand; and so were others, members of a different Coil. Doc, the Coilmaster, and a crew of henchmen were

present, disguised as longshoremen. They were watching all baggage from the boat.

Among those who came ashore were Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland. With them, they had a battered,

The trunk went by The Python's watchers. It was taken by a transfer truck for baggage shipment to New

ONE hour after the Tropical had docked, a new guest entered the Legrand Hotel. He signed the register with

the name "Louis Revoort," eyeing the clerk as he did so. The man at the desk did not connect the name with

the list of passengers aboard the Tropical. He assigned the new guest to Room 810.

Tall, thin and wiry, this newcomer lighted a cigarette as soon as he had entered his room. He puffed his

smoke in short, nervous fashion, a simulation of Revoort's own action. In every detail including the bronzed

color of his face this was Louis Revoort. Actually, however, the new guest was The Shadow.

A telephone bell rang. The Shadow answered it and spoke in Revoort's tone. A quiet voice responded:

From Burbank, The Shadow's contact agent, came brief reports. Harry and Cliff had reached a little station in

New Jersey; Stanley had met them there, to get the trunk belonging to Mr. J.F. Jenks, who had just arrived as

a guest of Lamont Cranston. Cliff, as a friend of Jenks, was going to Cranston's. Harry intended to return to

The Shadow ordered Burbank to have Harry call the Legrand Hotel after his arrival. That done, he heard

Burbank's report from Clyde Burke. It told of Jurrice's sudden disappearance. Moe Shrevnitz, Burbank

reported, was still outside the Hotel Bragelonne and had not seen Jurrice return.

Had Burbank's report included mention of Carl Ramorez, it might have signified deep doings. Clyde,

however, had not noticed Ramorez at the steamship office. So The Shadow acknowledged the report and

hung up. In the guise of Louis Revoort, he lounged in an easychair while he considered matters for himself.

The Shadow could guess that Jurrice had heard from Ramorez. That would explain why he had slipped away

from Clyde. Jurrice would certainly trust Revoort's Cuban friend in preference to an unknown newspaper

Moreover, he might have made an appointment with Ramorez. While The Shadow speculated thus, the

A purring voice was on the wire. It inquired for Louis Revoort; The Shadow acknowledged in Revoort's tone.

A joyous sigh of real relief was audible on the wire. Then the speaker announced himself as Ramorez.

"I found your good friend Jurrice," came Ramorez's tone, in smooth English. "He was very unwise, at the

steamship office. Fortunately, no harm was done. He is with me at the present. We must all speak together.

"It would be well for you to come to the hotel that I have chosen. It is a very obscure place, where I have kept

close hidden. It is called the Cambia; and is much less conspicuous than the hotel where you are staying.

THE SHADOW donned outer garments, adjusting his overcoat to conform to automatics already hidden

beneath his suit. He left the Legrand, summoned a cab and drove to the vicinity of the Cambia. The hotel was

a secondrate one, located on a side street some distance north and east of Times Square. It fronted on an

The lobby which The Shadow entered was uninviting. Dingy and dim, it was occupied only by the clerk

The husky clerk motioned to an elevator, manned by an operator who looked like a bouncer. The Shadow

ascended in the clattering lift and stepped off at the eighth floor, which proved to be the top story.

Behind the feigned nervousness of Revoort, The Shadow had been vigilant during the entire trip. He knew

It was also possible that the supercrook had been clever enough to learn something about Ramorez or

Revoort's scheduled arrival at the Legrand Hotel, although these possibilities were less likely.

Keeping a constant lookout, The Shadow had spied no signs of lurkers. This proved that The Python's

henchmen were not about; for such underlings could not have dodged The Shadow's observation. This eighth

floor of the Cambia Hotel was utterly deserted; that was an additional good omen.

Carl Ramorez had chosen poor quarters; but that did not surprise The Shadow. He knew that the Cuban was

low in funds and practically in hiding. Moreover, Ramorez was a foreigner and in a district such as this would

be less conspicuous. There was quite a difference between the Cambia and Jurrice's hotel, the Bragelonne,

Knocking at the door of Room 820, The Shadow was admitted by a tall, darkskinned man with a heavy

mustache, who answered the description of Carl Ramorez. Passing a narrow entrance by a closet door, The

Chairs were drawn up beside a halfopened window, for the night had proven warm. Ramorez purred a

greeting and indicated one chair. As The Shadow took it, he noted a closed door beyond; and surmised that it

Apparently, the Cambia, despite its dinginess, had been recently made fireproof. Doors were of metal; so

were the smallpaned sashes of the window. The bed and the desk, though plain, were also of metal

construction. The chairs were simple, but of heavy wood, stained to resemble mahogany. The carpet, though

"Ah, senor," remarked Ramorez, who had closed the outer door, "You have been surprised at this fine room

in such an old hotel. It is one of very few; they have not completed the making over of this place. I was lucky

"But tell me, senor" the Cuban's tone showed anxiety "how was it that you were safe upon the steamship

Tropical? Our friend Jurrice has spoken with a reporter, who told him that you might be safe. I was lucky to

"Senor Jurrice? Where he should have gone before. To the newspaper office or to the dock I do not know

which. He was not certain when he went from here. But it was best, so we thought, that you and I should first

THE SHADOW had noted Ramorez's eyes. They had looked him over shrewdly, as if the Cuban sought to

make sure that this visitor was really his old friend Revoort. To the average person in disguise, the action

would have indicated that Ramorez had discerned some flaw in the makeup. The Shadow's thoughts,

He knew that his guise of Revoort was perfect in every detail; that Carl Ramorez or Craig Jurrice could

not have told him from Louis Revoort had both doubles come here together. With Revoort standing before

him in that Maryland cottage, The Shadow had made himself into the man's mirrored reflection.

There was a different reason for Carl Ramorez's doubt. The Cuban had some cause one that he could not

manage to conceal for believing that Louis Revoort could not be here in person. Even his greeting had

shown it. Instead of asking breathlessly about the treasure, he had first talked of the room; then given an

These facts had made The Shadow glimpse Ramorez keenly; and he had gained further knowledge by his

glance. He had discerned about the Cuban certain points of facial contour that did not tally with Revoort's

Unfortunately, The Shadow had not gained his full conclusion until the door was locked and he found himself

seated opposite the man who had received him. It was then, when the dark man smiled, that The Shadow

This smoothvoiced caller who had summoned The Shadow to a midnight meeting was also in disguise. He

had donned a deceptive makeup; but it had not baffled the keeneyed visitor. This man who called himself

This room that the supercrook had chosen for his present abode was a specially fitted chamber. Those metal

doors were the fronts of pill boxes, wherein henchmen lurked. The room was a death trap; any attempt to

ONCE more The Shadow was within The Python's power; and to add to his dilemma, The Shadow had

gained further understanding. He knew that The Python must have had aids on watch at the pier; that the

master crook was positive that Louis Revoort had not come ashore from the steamship Tropical.

Acquainted with The Shadow's prowess, The Python must surely have guessed of that escape from beneath

the East River. Contrarily, The Python had probably not heard of the episode aboard the Colonia, for those on

the tug had been out of touch with their evil chief too much so to have bothered with details of a chance

As Carl Ramorez, The Python had called the Legrand Hotel. Answered by Louis Revoort, he had made a

cunning guess; he had decided that it would be easier for The Shadow to be there as Revoort than for Revoort

Thus did The Shadow reason; and the correctness of his deductions proved the direness of his present

situation. For his one slight advantage his recognition of The Python was counterbalanced by

ONCE as Cranston; now as Revoort. For the second time, The Shadow faced The Python. His adversary, too,

had assumed a double guise. No longer a stooped, bewigged old man, The Python had taken on the identity of

Carl Ramorez. But though the parts they played were different, in each instance, circumstances stood the

Grueling had been The Shadow's adventures since he had last seen The Python. He had been consigned to

one of the master villain's merciless Coils; he had escaped that band only to encounter another crew, equally

as vicious. Finally free, The Shadow had fared forth on a new mission, only to find himself once more

Struggles for selfpreservation. Such had been The Shadow's conflicts with The Python. Again, the odds

were turned against The Shadow. His role of Louis Revoort was known by that foe who had assumed the

Still holding the smooth purring tone of Ramorez, The Python was talking of the reclaimed treasure. He was

pouring forth deep thanks to his friend Louis Revoort, commending him for his efforts, for the hardships that

he had undergone to aid a poor refugee. With such words did The Python camouflage the gloating which he

felt. He was hiding a double victory: a chance to gain a vast fortune; and an opportunity to finally destroy The

Nervously, The Shadow lighted a cigarette. His action was still a simulation of Revoort's usual manner. At

heart, The Shadow felt no fear. The helplessness of his position was actually inspiring him to swift deduction.

As he listened to The Python's pretended gratitude Ramorez to Revoort The Shadow was visualizing his

Since The Python had guessed that The Shadow would come here as Revoort, why had The Python not taken

even more precaution? In a sense, this trap could be made a double one. Though covered by hidden gunners,

The Shadow, by superspeed, could manage to whip out an automatic and drill The Python before the

Surely The Python knew of The Shadow's speed with guns; moreover, The Python had seen proof of The

Shadow's disdain for death. With escape blocked, The Shadow could seek solace in double doom, eliminating

The Python with himself. The Python certainly must have taken that possibility under consideration.

One answer flashed through The Shadow's brain. The Python, with the egotism of all supercrooks, had prided

himself on greater keenness than The Shadow. Though he had guessed that Louis Revoort might prove to be

The Shadow, The Python had been confident that The Shadow would not see through the guise of Carl

The supercrook thought that his own game was a complete deception. He did not know that The Shadow had

recognized him as The Python. Such was The Shadow's realization; and with it, he gained his plan of

strategy. The Shadow must continue to act the role of Louis Revoort; and with it, accept The Python as his

"I have given you thanks," purred on The Python, "knowing that you, my friend, must have brought my lost

wealth safely ashore. Tell me, Revoort: did you have trouble when that terrible fire burst loose aboard the

"I did," replied The Shadow, in Revoort's tone. "Trouble then and before. Ramorez, crooks were after your

"YES." The Shadow laid the cigarette aside. He knew that The Python must have heard from the Colonia,

enough to have learned that the stolen coffer held no swag. "You see, I brought your treasure in its original

chest. But before I went aboard the Tropical, I transferred it to an ordinary trunk."

"No. That would have been unwise. I hired another cabin under the name of J.F. Jenks. I placed the trunk in

"I believe so. The purser, I hear, died before the blaze began. A lifeboat left the liner, manned by supposed

deserters. I believe that they may have taken the coffer. I do not know; because I did not inquire."

"Because my life was in danger. I was attacked and almost thrown overboard." Speaking casually, The

Shadow knew that The Python could not have learned of Revoort's trip ashore on the life buoy. Those who

"Yet you were rescued," purred The Python, in the tone of Ramorez. "Come, my friend, tell me who gave you

"Two men," stated The Shadow. "One was named Vincent; but he did not tell me the name of his companion.

Both were passengers; some unknown friend had delegated them to protect me. They kept me hidden in their

"How did I come ashore?" The Shadow smiled in Revoort's fashion. "In a larger trunk, which had previously

held the luggage of my rescuers. They saw to it that both trunks were carefully handled."

A feigned look of alarm appeared upon The Python's darkly disguised visage. The Shadow raised one hand.

"Do not worry," he assured. "I am confident of the loyalty shown by those two men. I told Vincent to call me

The Python considered. The Shadow watched him quietly; than spoke a suggestion. His tone was troubled.

"It might be wise for me to remain here," he said. "I do not like to be seen about New York, for I am listed as

"Would it be possible?" queried The Python, smoothly, "to have the trunk delivered here?"

"Very difficult," returned The Shadow. "Vincent may already have it close to the Legrand Hotel. We

arranged absolutely for it to be brought to my own room there. Possibly he has already telephoned and is

THE SHADOW'S tone was still deceiving. To The Python, it meant that he still thought he was talking to

Carl Ramorez. It was clever strategy by The Shadow, this present simulation of Louis Revoort. It threw the

burden of a false move on The Python, who was anxious to preserve the deception that he thought existed.

The Python picked up a telephone and handed it to The Shadow, who called the Legrand Hotel. He stated that

he was Louis Revoort, and would like to talk to Mr. Vincent. There was a pause while Harry Vincent was

being paged. Finally came the announcement that Mr. Vincent was in the lobby, and would soon be on the

"Hello..." The Shadow was speaking to Harry Vincent. "Hello... Yes, this is Revoort. I have instructions for

The Shadow looked over the top of the telephone, toward The Python. He spoke slowly, so the pretended

"Do not inform anyone of my arrival... The police must not know that Louis Revoort is in town... Bring the

trunk to my room at the Legrand... You can have the truckmen help you. Pay them and get the money from

"Whoever you meet tonight is to be there by my order... Do not wait for me to come... Call me yourself

tomorrow... I can announce myself then because there will be no need of any great secrecy... There will be no

A brief acknowledgment came over the wire. The Shadow hung up the receiver, placed the telephone on the

table and resumed his chair. His glance at The Python told him that the disguised crook had not caught slight

"Inform the police Louis Revoort is at the Legrand. Have them get whoever is there. Do not come yourself

The emphasized words nullified all else. Harry Vincent would stay away; the Cuban treasure would not be

delivered. Instead, the law would appear to investigate Louis Revoort's odd reappearance. Not finding

Revoort, the police would hold and question whoever might be in his place, providing that Harry Vincent

So had The Shadow ordered; and by "whoever," he had meant The Python. Already, the pretended Ramorez

"Make yourself comfortable, Revoort," he was purring. "Sit right where you are, in that chair by the window.

Goodby, my friend. When you hear the ring of the telephone, be sure to answer. It will be myself, telling

WITH this assurance, The Python swung to the door and went out into the corridor. The Shadow leaned back

in his chair. He had caught the double significance of The Python's words. The crook had addressed his

hidden Coil members, telling them that when the telephone rang, they were to eliminate The Shadow.

Though The Python had not suspected The Shadow's clever ruse, he wanted to be sure of holding the treasure

before he ordered the doom of the person who controlled it. The Shadow had foreseen that The Python would

The Shadow's part was to keep on with his pretence. He had taken off his hat and coat; rising from his chair,

he lighted a cigarette and strolled over by the window. The farther he kept away from the outer door, the

more would the waiting assassins be lulled in their vigil. Without The Python to combat him, The Shadow

Meanwhile, he had given The Python some coming troubles of his own. Leaving The Shadow in an airtight

trap, the master crook was faring forth on a quest that would result in his own ensnarement. This was better

The Shadow, however, was not thinking further of The Python. He was watching his own actions, avoiding

any false step that might start lurking hairtriggers into a barrage from under cover.

While minutes passed, The Shadow lingered, smoking by the window. Across low, squalid buildings, he saw

a blackened structure where blue lights shone from one high upper story. As he watched, The Shadow saw

No change came on The Shadow's disguised countenance. Yet in those flashes, six minutes after The Python's

departure, he saw significant meaning. The Shadow, though still a prisoner hoping for escape, had spied The

THOSE blue lights of The Python's secret tower were visible in many portions of Manhattan. Yet the

luminous quiver passed, unnoticed even by persons who would have reason to investigate the mysterious

The lights were visible, for instance, to the two occupants of a small police car, speeding northward. Neither

Perhaps this pair could not be blamed for their lack of observation. They were concerned with their own

business; and it promised odd developments. For one occupant of the red roadster was a police sergeant

named Markham; while the other was Clyde Burke. Markham was grunting in noncommittal fashion while

"Why all the mystery, Markham?" questioned Clyde, as the car lost its view of the unnoticed blue light.

"Frankly, I don't get it. You flag me when I'm coming out of the Classic office and tell me to hop aboard.

"Joe Cardona will talk to you," returned Markham, gruffly. "He's acting inspector in charge of this case."

"That's something to know, Markham," commented Clyde. "So I'm going to have the inside track on a story

"Maybe not so good," remarked Markham, cryptically. "Maybe you'll be due to do some talking of your own,

The car swung left. It rolled along a secluded street, made another series of turns and finally pulled up in

front of a large building. For the first time, Clyde recognized the exact neighborhood.

"It it's the Hotel Bragelonne," stammered Clyde. "Say, Markham I know a fellow who lives here. I I

Uniformed officers were in the lobby, a policeman was in the elevator. Clyde wondered as he saw these

changes. He entered the lift with Markham; the car stopped at the sixth floor. Even then, Clyde was still

Markham urged him to the open door of Suite 602. They entered Jurrice's living room. Joe Cardona, stocky,

swarthy detective, was waiting to receive them. Ace of New York sleuths, Cardona had been appointed as

"Hello, Burke," greeted Cardona. "Come on in the next room. Something there I want you to see."

THEY entered the bedroom. Clyde stopped short. Across the room, near the opened door of a closet, lay an

outstretched body. Beside the corpse stood a police surgeon. Clyde, however, was scarcely conscious of the

physician's presence. His eyes were focused on the body; and as he gazed, Clyde gasped.

"Jurrice!" was the reporter's ejaculation. "Craig Jurrice! Murdered! Who who did it, Joe?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," retorted the ace, "and you're here to help us, Burke. As far as we know,

"I met Jurrice shortly before seven o'clock," stated the reporter. "We went out together and took a cab. He

was coming with me to the Classic office; but he must have changed his mind. He left the cab to make a

"I came back here, thinking that Jurrice might have returned. I called his room from the lobby. He did not

Clyde's answers were direct; they impressed Cardona. After a short pause, the ace detective put another

"Where did you first meet Jurrice, Burke? Tonight, I mean. Was it in the lobby, or up here?"

"No. I had to ring the bell for him. He came out and locked the door behind him. He had his hat and coat on

"Because he had a friend who was reported missing from the steamship Tropical. I learned of Jurrice's

anxiety, when I was at the steamship office this afternoon. I wanted Jurrice to come with me to the Classic

office, to tell the city editor about his missing friend. Revoort was the name of the missing man."

"Yes. I had a hunch there might be a mystery in Revoort's disappearance. If I could coax a story from Jurrice,

"I wanted witnesses, in case he gave a yarn that he would later deny. It looked hot, Joe; I couldn't take

Cardona stalked over toward Jurrice's body; Clyde followed him and stood beside the ace detective.

"Strangled," was Cardona's verdict. "Look at those bulging eyes, Burke. Choked to death by some killer who

never gave him a chance. The murderer was probably hiding in the closet, to snag Jurrice when he came

"The valet was working late," replied Cardona. "He came up with a suit for Jurrice. When he found the door

locked, he had the elevator man admit him with a passkey. The valet went to hang the suit in the closet. The

"I've quizzed the night clerks, Burke; and the elevator men, too. They remember Jurrice going out with you;

and you coming back alone. None of them are sure just when Jurrice came in himself. He seldom stopped at

the desk; the elevator man had so many people going up and down that he couldn't tell just who was in or

"Because I didn't want the story to leak out until I'd heard your statement. You're a witness, not a reporter, in

"CRAIG JURRICE died at approximately seven o'clock," informed the physician. "His death was due to

strangulation. My examination proves that he has been dead for at least five hours. It is now after midnight."

"It was pretty close to seven when Jurrice and I went out together," mused Clyde. "If he came back here in a

hurry, he would have arrived by five minutes past seven maybe earlier. But he didn't answer when we rang

"That doesn't help," grunted Cardona. "Maybe he didn't come in until right after you left. On the contrary, he

"When I was first in the lobby," recalled Clyde, "Jurrice didn't answer when I rang him. That's why I came up

here. What's more, he was slow in answering my ring at the door. Maybe he was in this bedroom, getting

The telephone bell interrupted. Joe Cardona answered; then put his hand over the mouthpiece.

"It's headquarters, Burke," Cardona told Clyde. "Some call from the Classic. They must have seen you meet

up with Markham and figured you'd gone there. Shall I tell them you'll call the office?"

Clyde nodded. Joe gave the information. He hung up and handed the telephone to Clyde, who put in a call to

"I'll be in later," he stated. "What's that? No... Nothing important... Well have him call me here... Hotel

Bragelonne, Room 602... Just here with some friends. I can't get away from here for a while..."

Hanging up, Clyde turned to Cardona with a grin. He knew that the ace would be pleased by the bluff.

"I'm working with you, Joe," informed Clyde. "You heard what I told them. Nothing important."

"I had to. The fellow who answered said the Old Man wanted to talk to me. That's why I said for him to call

me here. He probably won't, because he'll think I'm coming back to the office. But if he does, Joe, I'll bluff

Clyde was pulling another bluff as he spoke. The speaker from the Classic office had said nothing whatever

about a talk with the city editor. He had told Clyde that a friend had called and was quite anxious to speak to

him. Clyde had paved the way for prompt communication, once the friend had made a repeat call to the

"We can't learn anything about this fellow Jurrice," began Cardona. "You've brought us the only dope, Burke.

We have no line on any friends; but this fellow Revoort may turn out to be somebody of importance.

"But you say Revoort was missing from the Tropical. That hits me odd, because practically all of the

passengers were saved. I haven't seen the final list of those aboard the Tropical; but I'll check up on it mighty

"One man missing from the steamship. Another found strangled in his apartment. It doesn't sound healthy to

me. Particularly since there's been talk of sabotage aboard the Tropical. Some torch may have started that

"There may have been murder on the steamship, too. The port authorities are ready to investigate the death of

Cardona broke off. The telephone had again sounded its interruption. Clyde reached for the instrument and

Actually, Clyde had recognized the voice of Burbank. Quiet, steadytoned, the contact man was relaying

word from The Shadow, received through Harry Vincent. Clyde's responses were terse and cagy.

"Yes... I see... Certainly. I'll tell the police... Best for me to do it... Sure, I know right where Joe Cardona can

be reached... Yes. Louis Revoort... Legrand Hotel... Whoever is there... I get it. Yes. It is important... Count

Clyde was thinking quickly as he hung up. He had not been able to tell Burbank of Jurrice's death. He had

merely been able to receive the order which insisted that the law be stirred to immediate action against an

unknown foe. But Clyde had realized instantly that Jurrice's death could be used as a wedge to rouse Cardona

Clyde knew that he must keep up the bluff by pretending that the call came from the Classic office. He also

saw that he could use his own imagination to weave a plausible story that would impress the acting inspector.

Finished with the telephone, Clyde wheeled to Cardona and began an excited fabrication.

"They've located Louis Revoort!" exclaimed the reporter. "The fellow who is supposed to be missing from

the Tropical! He's at the Legrand Hotel, registered under his own name. But they didn't want to chance

"Revoort hasn't reported to anybody. That's bad business, isn't it? Maybe he didn't come in on the Tropical.

"Maybe he was the fellow who got Jurrice!" exclaimed Cardona. "I get it now, Burke. Revoort could have

told Jurrice that he was on the steamship. That would have given him a chance to alibi himself."

"THERE'S another possibility, Joe," put in Clyde, wisely. "From the way Jurrice talked, I'd have sworn that

he and Revoort were real friends. Revoort being under cover doesn't mean that he's a crook. The fact that he

registered under his own name is something in his favor. What if Jurrice and Revoort were both in the same

"That is a hunch," acknowledged Cardona. "A good one, Burke. The two of them may have had an enemy.

When Jurrice heard that Revoort was missing, he may have thought his friend had met with foul play."

"And Jurrice was pretty nearly ready to do some talking, Joe. That would account for him being bumped. Tell

me what's going to happen now that Revoort's still alive? When he finds out that Jurrice has been

"Yes. If he has a chance, Joe. Suppose the murderer learns that Revoort is safe and finds him at the Legrand

The suggestion brought a quick interruption. It was all that Cardona had needed for prompt action. The ace

"We're going to the Legrand Hotel," Cardona told Clyde. "If we find Revoort there, we'll get him to talk.

"Suppose, Joe, that you don't find Revoort. Suppose that someone else is there instead of him."

"Then we'll act different. We'll grab whoever is there; and hold him as a suspect. Some stranger, eh? If that's

Clyde Burke was elated as he followed Cardona and the squad. Bound for the Legrand Hotel, the law was

going in the service of The Shadow. Harry Burbank Clyde all had done their part. The Shadow had

ordered a trap for some unsuspecting foe. The law, represented by Joe Cardona, would be there to spring the

IN his trip to the Legrand Hotel, The Python had paused only once. Outside the Cambia, he had stopped long

enough to put in a telephone call that would be relayed to some Coilmaster. Such was the explanation of the

Reaching the Legrand, The Python had gone directly to the room that The Shadow had taken under the name

of Louis Revoort. He had found the door unlocked; still in the guise of Carl Ramorez, The Python had

Upon one point, The Python had complete confidence. He was positive that he had deceived The Shadow;

that the pretended Louis Revoort had not suspected that the mask of Carl Ramorez hid The Python. Had the

real Revoort visited the Cambia, The Python would have felt the same confidence. For the supercrook prided

The Python's weakness lay in his very strength. So sure was he of his schemes that he minimized minor

failings. His blue lights, visible from all his outposts, were so useful by night that The Python did not worry

Similarly, the necessity for an ironbound trap had caused him to outdo himself in the equipment of that

eighthfloor room in the old Cambia Hotel. The Python thought that his glib explanation of the hotel's

reconstruction had been sufficient to cover the case. Perhaps those statements might have fooled the real

So far as smooth strategy was concerned, The Shadow had surpassed The Python. Though The Shadow still

was trapped, he knew it; The Python, on the contrary, had walked into a web unwittingly.

Seated in the comfortable room at the Legrand Hotel, the master crook was positive that he would soon gain

the treasure that his Coilmaster Duronne had failed to snatch from the burning Tropical.

The smile beneath the mustache of Carl Ramorez was proof of The Python's contempt for The Shadow.

Vincent! The name was one of those for which The Python had previously offered life, had The Shadow

chosen to give it. The fact that The Shadow as Revoort had openly declared the name was proof

conclusive so The Python thought that The Shadow had not guessed the true identity of the man who had

MANY minutes passed; yet The Python was not perturbed. He had expected that Vincent would be slow in

delivering the trunk. It would have to be brought here cautiously. Moreover, The Python was pleased because

of the delay. He had plans for dealing with Vincent when the fellow came. Those plans required an interval

It was just when The Python first began to show impatience that footsteps sounded in the corridor outside. A

smile of greeting was forming on the dark face of Carl Ramorez. Sharp eyes glittered toward the doorway, as

Then, following a slow turn of the knob, the door was suddenly swung inward. A stocky man bounded across

The Python's eyelids narrowed as his hands came upward. More men were entering. They formed a squad of

plainclothes men. The Python needed no further guesswork; he knew the identity of that stocky man who

Realizing that he was trapped, The Python smiled evasively. He managed to feign surprise at the intrusion.

He looked questioningly at Joe Cardona. Still holding his revolver, the ace introduced himself.

"I'm acting Inspector Cardona," announced Joe, gruffly. "From headquarters. Looking for Louis Revoort. Are

"I am a friend of Mr. Revoort," he replied, in perfect English. "My name, senor, is Ramorez. Carlos Ramorez;

With two fingers, The Python reached into a vest pocket and produced a calling card, which he tendered to

Cardona. The sleuth read the name Carl Ramorez, with the address: Balboa Apartments.

"The Balboa Apartments," repeated Cardona, aloud; then, with a sharp gaze at the mustached man: "That's

"The Bragelonne? I have seen it, yes. It was too expensive, senor inspector for one who has so little money as

I. There were friends of mine other Cubans at the Balboa. That is why I took an apartment there. The

"Do you know of a man named Jurrice? Craig Jurrice, who lives at the Bragelonne?"

"A friend of Revoort's?" prompted Cardona. "Didn't you hear the name before? Jurrice?"

"No," replied The Python, "It is this way, senor. My friend Revoort was one whom I had known in Cuba.

Some time ago, he told me that he was going to visit my home country. He promised to seek friends of mine;

"Today, I have learned that my friend Revoort was missing from the steamship Tropical. I was sad, until

tonight; he called me at my apartment. He said that he had news for me; that I was to come here to meet him.

"That is why I am here. I was surprised to see you instead of my friend Revoort. Tell me has he done

something that the law does not like? I can not think that my friend Revoort would do any such thing, senor."

THE purring tone was convincing. So much so, that it threw Cardona on guard. Joe was a veteran sleuth; he

He glanced toward Clyde Burke, who had come in with the raiders. The reporter shook his head; indicating

"Sorry, Mr. Ramorez," he told The Python. "You'll have to come along with us to headquarters and stay there

"You stick here, Markham, with half the squad. If Revoort comes in, grab him. Get anybody else who may

Though Cardona had doubted The Python's story, he did not think this one man could prove formidable.

There was a mildness in the bearing of Carl Ramorez, that indicated he would not make trouble.

Cardona frisked the prisoner, but found no gun on him. The Python retained his smile. He had reasons for not

Pocketing his own revolver, Joe gripped The Python's arm and urged him through the doorway. They started

for the elevator, followed by two plainclothes men. A second pair had remained with Markham. Clyde

"I'll keep the bracelets off you," Cardona told The Python. "But remember, there's three of us. Don't try to

"Ah, senor!" The Python was smiling as Cardona pressed the elevator button. "It is not my part to make

trouble. I have told you truth; I am only too glad to go with you to headquarters. I hope only that my friend

The elevator door was opening. Cardona felt an elbow slide from his grip. He swung about; as he did, he

heard a fierce hiss. Joe's eyes saw the face of Carl Ramorez, distorted into a fiendish scowl. That loud,

JOE shot a hand to his pocket for his gun. As he did, The Python launched a swift, wideswinging punch.

The blow caught the side of Cardona's face; it came just as the elevator door slid wide. The ace staggered

sidewise and sprawled into the elevator. Women passengers screamed as Cardona landed on the floor, among

The Python's venomous hiss had never halted. He was springing away, while Clyde Burke sought to stop

him. The Python hurled the reporter aside and dashed toward a side corridor that led to a fire tower.

Cardona's men yanked their revolvers and started in pursuit; close after them came Joe, recovered from his

As they reached the corridor, shots broke loose. Bullets ricocheted from the walls. One detective staggered,

clipped by a glancing slug. The Python had reached the fire tower; it was from there that guns were blazing.

Grabbing the one man who remained with him, Cardona began a retreat, firing as he retired. Shouts issued

from The Python's crew; those henchmen dashed forward in pursuit. Backed past the corner, Cardona halted.

They swung suddenly into the side corridor, their revolvers snorting fire. Crooks returned the volley, then

broke and scurried back toward the fire tower. Five in number, they had charged too far. Surprised by

Cardona's countercharge, the thugs were no longer a match for a band of equal size.

Two crooks sprawled, dropped by the police fire. The others kept on, down the fire tower, with the detectives

in hot pursuit. It was a running fight, with revolvers echoing down flights of gloomy steps. The retreat of The

Reaching the ground pellmell, the surviving trio dashed for a sedan that was parked behind the hotel. A

bluecoat came running up to halt them; but as he neared the front of the car, a stooped figure sprang forward

and sprawled him in the alleyway. It was The Python, here ahead of his fighters.

Grabbing the officer's gun, the disguised supercrook delivered a vicious barrage toward the bottom of the fire

tower. The quick shots stopped Cardona and his fellow pursuers long enough for The Python's henchmen to

The sedan jolted forward; The Python leaped aboard, beside the driver. Cardona came from the fire tower, to

FIVE minutes later, sirens whined to the ears of those in the fleeting sedan. The man at the wheel was Doc,

"They got Chuck and Tony, chief," informed Doc. "That only leaves me, Bevo and Butch. We'd better ditch

"At the nearest elevated," returned The Python, still using the voice of Ramorez. "I shall soon be where I can

abolish my present disguise; but it will not be wise for me to tarry on the way.

"I shall let you report to Laxley at the signal tower. Tell him that I was with you. Order him to pass the word

The sedan jammed to a stop. The Python alighted; with long strides, he made for the steps of an elevated line.

Doc watched the figure of his chief; he knew that The Python was again disguised. Doc had seen The Python

in the guise of an old man; this time, he was viewing him as Ramorez. Never, however, had he viewed The

Doc had come to the Legrand with his men, to be ready for the removal of the swag. He had answered that

call that The Shadow had seen the blue lights issue. Treasure had not been gained; but Doc had effected The

Starting the sedan forward, Doc followed the elevated for two more blocks; then veered right, into a side

street. Sirens were closer; but Doc gained the obscurity of a small, deserted parking place. He ordered Bevo

and Butch to scram. As they piled from the rear seat and chose one direction, Doc took the other.

His own appearance presentable, Doc felt no qualms when he reached a corner by the elevated. He entered a

small drug store, went to a telephone booth and dialed the same number that Albert Thurney had called that

afternoon. In response to a croaking answer, Doc told briefly of The Python's flight; then added:

Little did Doc realize the importance of that message; for he did not know that The Python had been tricked.

It was The Python, alone, who had guessed the true details of The Shadow's ruse, after the law had struck.

Coilmaster Five was the one in charge at the old Cambia Hotel, where The Shadow still remained within The

Python's trap. That order to Laxley, the signalmaster, was The Python's death warrant for The Shadow!

No sounds of wailing sirens had reached the eighthfloor room of the old Cambia Hotel. That spot was too

far east of the paths that police cars had taken in chase of the fleeing Python. Silence persisted in the trap that

During the time since The Python's departure, The Shadow had persisted in his part of Louis Revoort. Any

impatience that he had exhibited was of a natural sort. Louis Revoort, anxious for Carl Ramorez to return,

would have logically paced about the room. Hence The Shadow, at intervals, began a nervous pace within the

Glimpses of the closet door had shown him that its free edge was in his direction. The door was not quite

shut; a proof that eyes were watching. It would take but a moment for revolvers to bristle through a widening

As for the door into the next room, that, too, was ready to swing open. Any number of The Python's

tribesmen could be located behind it. When The Shadow strolled half way between the main door and the

window, he was directly between the swinging edges of the barriers that hid The Python's minions.

A clever trap! Like pill boxes, both doors were ready. Men in the closet prepared to stop flight in their

direction; others in the next room, eager to mow down a fleeing foe by riddling his back.

Even to The Shadow, an attack against these strongholds would be futile. He would have to fight both

At intervals, The Shadow strolled toward the halfopened window; and during those excursions, he realized

that he had found the one place of temporary security. The window was covered only by those in the closet. It

Moreover, it was the portion of the room most distant from the closet door. Shots from that further room

might lack immediate accuracy. Nevertheless, The Shadow did not intend to test The Python's strength with

He suspected that the adjoining room might be equipped with a machine gun. Such a weapon, used from

behind a shield, could be brought to bear in less time than The Shadow would need to reach the outer door.

The window, open and unprotected, offered the sole way of exit; its disadvantage lay in the fact that it was

eight floors above the ground. Nevertheless, The Shadow found it worthy of consideration.

Finishing his cigarette, he tossed the stump out into the darkness. In a a natural fashion, he leaned forward to

WITH a shrug that typified Revoort, The Shadow turned inward from the window; but in that glance, his

head had gone just past the lower edge of the sash. The move had given him the glimpse that he wanted. He

Seating himself in one chair, The Shadow studied the chair opposite. He was comparing the length of its legs

with the space of the opened window. He estimated that the opening was less than the length of the chair legs.

Lighting another cigarette, The Shadow arose impatiently and stared from the window; at the same time, his

He puffed nervously at the cigarette. The Shadow seemed annoyed because The Python did not return. He

was leaning against the high window sill, looking in toward the room. At last he sat down in the chair that he

By this time, The Shadow knew, The Python must have stayed long at the Legrand Hotel. It was quite

possible that the police had already arrived there; that, however, was a doubtful factor. It depended entirely

upon how well Harry Vincent and others had managed to stimulate the closing of a trap.

If The Python had been captured, The Shadow could afford to wait here as long as he chose. If, however, the

supercrook had eluded his enemies, anything might happen. Particularly the ringing of the telephone bell a

There was also the chance of blue light flashing; for they would be visible both from the closet door of this

That was why The Shadow had seated himself in the chair toward the window. Though watchers might

suspect nothing from this casual move by the pretended Revoort, it served The Shadow well. While he puffed

A waver. Neon lights were quivering. A signal perhaps to those on watch here. For a moment, The Shadow

made no move. The blinks were slow, evidently spelling a message in their flicker. The Shadow, keenly

tense, was sure that The Python had chosen this method to send the warrant of doom.

STILL maintaining his indifferent attitude, The Shadow arose and stared at the remainder of his cigarette. He

leaned forward to toss it from the window; as he did so, he rested his left hand upon the back of the chair.

While blue lights quivered their order for murder, The Shadow made a vaulting twist that swung his lithe

form squarely along the wide window sill. Face downward, he performed a backward roll, as part of his

original motion. One acrobatic move his figure was gone, out over the window ledge!

Those left fingers had retained their grip. With the left hand went the chair, yanked up from the floor, like the

tail of a diving kite. The back of the chair sped through the window. The seat struck the high sill and stopped

there. The rear legs of the chair caromed upward. Too long for the space, they jammed tight when their tips

With splitsecond speed, The Shadow had left The Python's trap. The chair was inverted on the window sill,

its seat forming a base. The back legs were pointed slightly inward, wedged tightly against the sash.

The counterbalance was The Shadow: still gripping the back of the chair, he was hanging against the wall

outside the window, two feet below the opening through which he had so quickly rolled.

He was completely gone, The Shadow not even his hands remained on the level of the sill. No portion of

him served as target for those hidden gunners whose sight he had so speedily left.

With both hands clinging to the chair, The Shadow was swinging seventy feet above a concrete paving,

trusting to strength of the stout chair. His feet, on a level with the window below, were kicking at the raised

IN the room, men hidden in the closet had seen The Shadow's leap. Their door came swinging open; a trio of

gatwielding ruffians, they shouted the news to those behind the adjoining door. That barrier swung inward;

others with guns poured into sight. Already, revolvers were spurting, aimed at the only target that remained

Bullets shattered windowpanes. They thudded and dented the steel sash. Other slugs splintered the wedged

chair legs. The chair began to loosen; with howls of triumph, The Python's men riddled the wood to cut it

Too late, this plan. With the chair's first quiver, The Shadow had let his legs drive downward. His feet were

lowering both smallpaned sashes of the seventhfloor window. He dropped his hands from the chair and let

Body outward, he would have hurtled backward had the ride been a long one; but the distance was less than a

Outstretched arms thrust gripping hands against the brick sides of the lower window. Forward to full length,

those hands found holds while firm feet still pressed the crossbars of the window sashes.

That lower window was made of wood; but it did not splinter until The Shadow's arms thrust inward, to grab

the tops of the sashes. As the threatening break began, The Shadow caught the inside wall, to roll through the

Blue lights had flickered all the while; their completed message was forgotten. Ripping shots had supplanted

The splintered chair dropped from the eighthfloor window; it sped downward just as The Shadow rolled in

through the seventhstory opening. By the time the elusive prisoner had dived sprawling to the floor, a crash

Rising within the darkened lower room, The Shadow swung toward the hallway door. He had gained escape;

he knew that battle would follow. His firm hands were whipping out those concealed automatics. Reaching

He reached his goal just as footsteps pounded downward from the eighthfloor level. The Python's men had

reached their upper windows to view the scene below. They were coming to halt the fugitive. A vicious pair

of leaders had arrived with ready guns; but they found more than a mere traveler from danger.

THE SHADOW swung as his adversaries aimed. His heavy guns tongued instant flame. Each .45 boomed a

message, a warning to others of The Python's horde. Snarling foemen toppled; one sprawled upon a landing,

With the echoes of the automatics came a weird defiant laugh, The Shadow's challenge to all comers. Again,

One thug dived back to cover; another emitted a howl as a slug clipped his shoulder. Pursuers halted, The

More opposition came when he reached the lobby. Word had been telephoned below. The clerk and two

elevator men were ready with their revolvers. They, too, were hirelings of The Python.

But they showed poor judgment in being away from cover. Aiming as they saw the figure of Louis Revoort,

they were met by a strident laugh, its crescendo punctuated with roaring stabs from huge automatics. One

fake elevator man floundered; then the other. The clerk cleared the desk, with a headlong dive. A clipping

With smoking automatics, The Shadow swept unhindered to the street. He heard distant shouts; indications

that the gunfire had alarmed the neighborhood. The Shadow had no time to linger. He was on his way to

other missions. Word to Harry to join Cliff; word to Cliff to take Revoort and the treasure clear away from

No trails must remain for The Python, supercrook, who still remained at large. Though The Shadow and the

law had thinned the ranks of The Python's henchmen, the supercrook still had hordes upon which he could

Counterstrokes would be forthcoming. The Shadow's course was to nip them early. Balked, The Python

TWENTY minutes after The Shadow's departure from the Cambia Hotel, Joe Cardona arrived at that

bulletriddled establishment. Reports of a new conflict had brought the ace detective from his hunt for Carl

Ramorez. Joe had come to learn of this later conflict; and he had brought Clyde Burke along.

A squarefaced patrolman gave Joe a brief report; and in it were facts that pleased the acting inspector. The

bluecoat had arrived promptly on the scene; he had found the moaning hotel clerk and had made him talk

"He blabbed," asserted the officer. "Told what he knew, inspector, although it wasn't much. He said he was

"The Python!" Cardona swung to Clyde. "Say remember what Markham just told us? About that fellow we

plugged at the Legrand? The one called Tony? Just before he cashed in, he mumbled that same name The

"There's a bigshot in back of this business, Burke. A bigshot called The Python. He was the one who

pulled that funny business down at the new East River tunnel, too. How do I know? Because that fellow Tony

was one of the bunch that tied up the watchmen there. He fits the description; we've been looking for him.

"What's more, Burke, it fits in with this dirty work on board the Tropical. There was a torch in back of that

blaze; and like as not he was working for The Python. And when we add it all up, we've got more. Those

jewel robberies that left us groggy; we figured they were all staged by one big brain.

"The Python. That's the name the bigshot goes under, so far as his crew is concerned. But we know more

That decision rendered, Cardona finished a brief inspection and left the Cambia Hotel with Clyde in his wake.

They entered a police car; Cardona instructed the driver to take them to the Balboa Apartments. While they

"The Balboa Apartments," he stated, "are only about three blocks from the Bragelonne. So here's the way I

figure it. Ramorez was on the watch of Jurrice. He saw him go out; so he went up there to Jurrice's room. As

"Then he went out to look for Revoort. He was waiting for him when we walked in. It was a nice surprise for

Senor Ramorez; but he made a getaway. Anyhow, he didn't find a chance to strangle Revoort.

"You know, Burke, I've got an idea why this crook calls himself The Python. That's a big snake a python

that can strangle anything up to the size of a tiger. Say he's got crust, this fellow, calling himself The

FIVE minutes later they arrived at the Balboa Apartments. When they had alighted, Clyde pointed to the

nearest corner, where large, darkened windows indicated a drug store that had probably closed at midnight.

"That's the place where Jurrice went in to telephone," exclaimed. Clyde. "Say, that's odd, isn't it? Jurrice

stopping off here so close to Ramorez's apartment. There were other funny things about Jurrice. His keys, for

"Forget Jurrice," interposed Cardona. "We're going to take a look in on Ramorez's apartment. I've got a man

here; but he's been waiting until I showed up. Well, look who's here" Joe paused as they were entering a

The man whom Cardona addressed was the police surgeon who had been on the Jurrice case. The doctor was

"I've been waiting at the Hotel Bragelonne," he declared. "Expecting you to come back there. You walked out

"I had, practically," quibbled the surgeon, "but how did I know that you were through with me? I called

"Well, here I am. Sorry, doctor, to have kept you waiting. Come along with us while I look over an

Stepping from an automatic elevator on the third floor, Cardona and his companions found a detective

waiting for them. The fellow produced a key that he had obtained from the janitor.

"Been here about fifteen minutes," informed the dick. "This is Ramorez's apartment 3 H but I haven't

Joe took the key and unlocked the door. He stepped into a room that was pitchblack, because of lowered

shades. Fumbling, Cardona found the light switch and pressed it. He looked about a tidy living room; then

DRAWING a revolver, Cardona bounded forward to the doorway, where only a human hand was visible,

projecting from the next room. The light showed a sprawled body, when Cardona reached the edge of the

doorway. A head was turned face down. Cardona stooped and tilted the face into the light.

"Strangled like Jurrice," decided the police surgeon, methodically. "Hmmm. Step back, please, while I

They made the search while the doctor was examining the body of Ramorez. Finding no one, they returned

and looked at the body. Cardona brought out his watch, noted the time and spoke to Clyde.

"It was twelvefifty when we arrived at the Legrand," stated Joe. "It's onefifty now. Exactly one hour. In

that time, Ramorez not only made his getaway; but he came back here. Somebody was laying for him; and

"Yet who could have pulled it? We figure The Python; but Ramorez is the one we took for The Python.

Remember that hiss of his, Burke? And a crew coming in when they heard it? I can't figure it as it stands

"You know this man?" The police surgeon interrupted with his query. He had risen from beside the body.

"Just an hour ago," replied Cardona. "I had him under arrest, down at the Legrand Hotel."

"Very interesting, inspector." The surgeon was studying his watch. "Let me see it's nearly two o'clock. That

"Let me finish my statement, inspector. One hour after Jurrice was strangled, this man whom you say is

"But we saw this dead man, doctor! Both Burke and myself. Shortly before one o'clock "

"This man has been dead for six hours at least." He pointed, wagging his finger toward the body of Carl

Ramorez. "He was murdered before eight o'clock. Within one hour after the death of Craig Jurrice!"

The startling truth began to dawn on Joe Cardona. The intruder at the Legrand Hotel must have been The

Python; that much was certain. But he had not been Carl Ramorez, much though he had resembled the dead

Cuban. The Python had murdered Ramorez hours ago and had taken the dead man's place.

"The Python," mused Cardona, solemnly. "A double murderer a master of disguise the man in back of the

"Yes," nodded Cardona. "Let it ride, Burke. Go after it strong. We'll keep this crook on the run this

LATER, reports came to The Shadow, in his sanctum. Harry and Cliff had left New Jersey, accompanied by

Louis Revoort; and the treasure had gone with them. That point was settled; what now concerned The

Details regarding the deaths of Craig Jurrice and Carl Ramorez. To The Shadow, these told more than Joe

Cardona had guessed. The strange behavior of Jurrice was explained. So was the trap which The Python had

His hand drew a line through the topmost name. Revoort so The Python thought had been eliminated,

aboard the Tropical. That belief had caused The Python to concentrate upon Jurrice. He had watched Jurrice;

when the fellow became too conspicuous at the steamship company's office, The Python had decided that it

Yet the treasure had been missing; and Jurrice was the only link. The Python must have learned that Jurrice

was going back to the Bragelonne; thus informed, the crook had gone in there ahead of him. How? The

The Python had entered the Bragelonne made up as Jurrice. It was he who had obtained the extra key. He had

been lurking in Jurrice's bedroom when the man entered the suite. The Python had hoped for a break,

probably because one of his watchers had spotted Ramorez at the steamship office. The break had come a

The Python must have learned Ramorez's true address, the Balboa Apartments. He must have heard Jurrice

say that he would go there. That would have been sufficient cause for The Python to strangle Jurrice. It was

As Jurrice, The Python had slipped Clyde Burke and had visited Ramorez. He had learned the Cuban's plans

for communication with Revoort. He had strangled Ramorez; then, still using his ability as a makeup artist,

he had disguised himself as the dead Cuban. Believing Revoort dead, The Python had guessed that the only

The pillboxed room at the Cambia Hotel must long have been a ready trap; one that The Python had

prepared for the reception of an unsuspecting foe. Having learned that Revoort did not know Ramorez's

actual address, The Python as Ramorez had made the Cambia his new abode. He had kept calling the

THE SHADOW, in this reconstruction, had crossed out the names of Jurrice and Ramorez with heavier lines

than he had used on Revoort's name. The Python's past actions were plain to The Shadow. The future had

become The Shadow's new concern. Slowly, his long, pointed finger tapped the blotted name of Craig

Jurrice was the man who had dickered, in hope of selling the regained treasure. The law would unearth facts

concerning Jurrice. Through such discoveries, The Python could be traced. The Python, himself, must know

that fact; having played for wealth and lost it, to The Shadow, The Python would also know that his only

The Shadow had won a victory; but his foe, The Python, had managed to retreat. The Shadow's present

strategy must be to harry his balked foe; to force The Python to the limit. Action would be necessary on The

Python's part, even when seeking cover, if the issue could be forcibly pressed by The Shadow.

There was a way to do it. The law could be stirred, through a prompt newspaper campaign. By rousing the

press, The Shadow could bring facts to light concerning Craig Jurrice. The more the law gained, the worse

would be The Python's situation. The supercrook, driven to hiding, would have to order his remaining

The Shadow had already planned a way to intercept new messages between The Python and his Coilmasters.

Prepared for strike, unseen and unsuspected, The Shadow needed only to deliver the preliminary blow; that

IT was late the next afternoon. Lester Bornick was seated in his private office, his desk stacked with

newspapers. Opposite the lawyer was Danton Califax. The wealthy client had just arrived; but he was already

"You have read the newspapers, Bornick!" Califax was exclaiming. "Look at those headlines! The Python!

"Why hasn't such talk stirred you? I have called you five times during the day; all you have said is 'Wait'

and I have waited. All the while, I have realized that I am shirking a duty at your order.

"Can't you see that Jurrice is the key to this man they call The Python? That the law should be informed of all

we know about him? You, yourself, have told me that my dealings with Jurrice did not reach a state of

"Calm yourself, Califax," remarked Bornick. "So long as you act upon my advice, you will be doing well. I

A LOOK of relief appeared on Califax's face. The baldish man sank back in his chair. Bornick smiled and

"I have called Commissioner Weston," stated the lawyer, "and have arranged an appointment. I shall call him

again, to name the time and place. So far, I have not mentioned your name; that is why I wanted you to come

"I would suggest that the meeting be held in your home in your study at a fairly late hour. Let us say ten

o'clock. By that time, the police commissioner would be through with any extra duties; and I shall have

"Very well," he decided. "I would prefer an earlier hour; but I shall be guided by your opinion, Bornick. So

long as the appointment is assured, I am satisfied. One point only: would it not be best for me to have

policemen on guard at my home, between now and ten o'clock? I have gems of my own, you know, and since

"Not tonight," assured Bornick. "There has been too much hue and cry about him. No, Califax, it would be

unnecessary. Moreover, it would force too early a revelation of your name. I would prefer to withhold your

Before Bornick could begin another statement, the door opened and the stenographer appeared. The girl had

"Why didn't you knock?" demanded Bornick, angrily, pounding the desk as he rose from his chair. "You

"Remember it next time. Go back and tell the visitor to wait. Show him in at the end of five minutes."

The girl made a hurried departure. Bornick shook his head as he turned to Califax.

"Persistently dumb," he declared. "That's the way with all stenographers. Humph. As if I didn't know who

would be out there. I'm expecting a pest named Rollings, who has a patent case. He's one man who's always

"We can talk then," interposed Bornick. "At ten o'clock. Come, Califax. You must leave. Out by this door."

The lawyer opened the exit to the corridor. "The sooner I finish with my appointments, the better."

With Califax gone, Bornick swung toward the window. Darkness had settled; far off, he could see the top

story of the distant loft building. Neon lights were glimmering from that floor; as yet, they had not begun to

Bornick smiled as he turned back to his chair. He opened his desk drawer and glanced at papers that bore dots

and dashes. A rap at the door caused him to cover the sheets and close the drawer. Bornick called "Come in."

The visitor who entered the private office was not a man named Rollings. The arrival was Albert Thurney.

OFF in the loft building where blue lights gleamed, men had begun work on the illuminated room. The place

was an engraving plant that employed a regular night shift; but to those at work, no flicker of the blue lights

The reason was that the corners were blocked off with large, permanent cabinets. The only tricky lights were

A visitor had arrived at the engraving plant. He had entered from the elevator and was standing, unnoticed, in

the gloomy hallway entrance. Tall, silent and keeneyed, he looked about and spied a single window in the

Unobserved, the stranger stepped to the window and opened it. Clinging to a broad sill, he edged outward and

closed the window behind him. High up, against the only blackened portion of the entire wall, this mysterious

visitor gazed skyward. Above him was a cornice; an ornamental block above the window afforded a stepping

Like a human fly, this visitant gripped the block and raised his body upward. His arm stretched high and

reached backward. It caught the cornice. A lithe figure swung outward, dangling precariously in space; then

The Shadow had reached the roof above The Python's signal lights. He was close beside a structure that

topped the loft building. It looked like a tiny penthouse, except for the fact that it was windowless. The

Shadow had chosen an inner wall, and had scaled the eight feet of this structure.

He found a darkened skylight. From a short leather bag, The Shadow produced a portable jimmy and set to

work. His scrapings were barely audible; yet they succeeded. The framework of the skylight opened. The

A tiny flashlight glimmered. It showed a door. Extinguishing his light, The Shadow approached the barrier

and opened it. He stared into a lighted room that had no opening in walls or ceiling. There he observed a

A stoopshouldered man was seated at a table whereon were stacked blackcovered books. In front of the

fellow was a device that looked like a microphone. On a block beside him was an electric switch.

A slight turn of the man's head revealed his profile. The fellow looked like a hermit, heavily bearded and with

sunken eyes. Looking beyond, The Shadow saw cabinets stacked with canned goods; and an open door that

led into a small kitchen. The Shadow knew that the room he had first entered must be the man's living

The Shadow had discovered Laxley, The Python's signalmaster. That switch controlled the blue lights of the

corner windows in the floor below. What The Shadow still needed was some token of Laxley's procedure

FIVE minutes passed. Laxley, bent over at the table, did not sense that eyes were watching him. Then came a

buzz from the bottom of the microphone. It corresponded, in duration, to the rings of a telephone bell. Laxley

From bearded lips came a grotesque croak. That was Laxley's sole acknowledgment. It produced a

toneddown voice directly from the microphone. The Shadow heard the words; he recognized the gruff voice

"Two. Reporting crew on new tug, the Corsair. Waiting in East River. Signals visible. Will wait for orders."

A pause. Laxley acknowledged with his croak. He turned the knob back to its original position. Then he

rummaged among the blackcovered books and chose one. The Shadow watched him press the switch; then

A few minutes passed. Evidently, The Python had not received the signal, for Laxley flashed it again; but this

time, he used another page of his code book. It was the duration of the message that made The Shadow

Another minute passed. A buzz from the microphone. Laxley acknowledged with his croak. A hiss came

Laxley found a code book and gave a few clicks to the switch. He had evidently sent a conventional signal

that Lem would understand. The Shadow crept forward. In dark clothes, with a facial guise that was hawkish,

he was less sinister than when cloaked in black. Nevertheless, his approach was ominous.

Laxley chanced to turn just before The Shadow reached him. With a fierce croak, the bearded signalmaster

leaped to meet his foe. An instant later he and The Shadow had locked. They wrestled back and forth across

One minute of ferocious struggling proved that The Shadow had struck upon a foeman of unusual

stubbornness. Laxley's strength was surprising; he matched every hold that The Shadow used against him.

Then came a token that inspired both fighters to harder action. It was a repeated buzz from the microphone.

Fierce gurgles came from Laxley's throat, evidences that the man had no power of speech, although his

hearing must be sound. Wildly, the signalmaster tried to wrench his hands free, so that they might grip The

Shadow's neck. For a moment, The Shadow's grip relaxed. Laxley twisted away; croaking fiendishly, he

THE SHADOW'S action was a ruse. Instead of trying to ward off Laxley's clutch, he jabbed a swift punch

between those clawing hands. A tight fist drove against the chin beneath the matted beard. Laxley's head

The Shadow reached the buzzing microphone and turned the knob. He gave a croak that was a perfect replica

The Shadow acknowledged with a croak and turned back the knob. He picked up the code books and found

them marked with names as well as numbers, except for one, which bore the title "Chief." This was the book

that Laxley had used when he flashed The Python. The book contained a dozen codes, each marked with an

The Shadow had caught the idea from Laxley. He started with one code, first announcing it; then paused, in

the middle of a word. He gave another identifying signal; then finished the short message with the second

Laxley was still slumped when The Shadow had finished flickering the lights. Knowing that microphone

buzzes would announce new messages, The Shadow took time out to bind the bearded signalmaster. For this

purpose he used a coil of stout insulated wire that he found in Laxley's table drawer.

No response had come from The Python. Obviously, he had seen no reason to acknowledge the report of

Number Four. The Shadow began a quick survey of order sheets on Laxley's table. The Python, to avoid all

mixups, had furnished his signalmaster with complete instructions. From these, The Shadow learned that

when The Python acknowledged one signal, he would be ready for all others, until he came to the state where

Much information lay available. The Shadow checked the numbers of the Coilmasters. Duronne was One;

Hurdy, Two; Doc, Three; Thurney, Four. Number Five was listed under the name of Gunner. The title led

The Shadow to believe that he was the Coilmaster who had commanded the ambushes at the Cambia Hotel.

Each had his own book, with varied codes. There was an extra book a small one that bore the figure zero.

It had the name of Warthrope upon it. This fellow, apparently, did not yet rate as a Coilmaster.

Looking about the room, The Shadow found a knobless door in one corner. The door had a keyhole;

searching the pockets of the groggy Laxley, The Shadow found a bunch of keys. He picked the right one and

used it to unlock the corner door. The barrier slid sidewise, to reveal a tiny elevator. A careful examination

showed that the unlocking of the door controlled the switch that would bring the elevator up or down.

He knew that the loudspeaker must be located in the base; that the microphone itself received Laxley's

The Shadow had guessed correctly. This mechanism had replaced a telephone of the nondial type. Outgoing

calls could be made upon it; a privilege which Laxley could not abuse, for he had no power of speech. In a

Briefly, The Shadow stated his present location; and gave the probable location of the lower entrance to the

elevator shaft. Holding Laxley's key while he spoke, The Shadow ordered Burbank to bring keys H, I, and J

of series seventeen. One of these, The Shadow had decided, would prove a close mate of Laxley's.

One minute after The Shadow ended the call, the signal buzz sounded. Coilmaster Five was reporting. The

Shadow gave the necessary croaks; then flashed a message to The Python. This time, a buzz responded.

Hissed words came in answer to The Shadow's perfect semblance of Laxley's croak.

FOR the next half hour, The Shadow was busy with intermittent calls. Hardly had a new lull begun before a

slight rumble from the wall told him that the elevator was descending. A pause; the lift came up again.

The final touch came later, when this high room showed a strange scene. Laxley bound in a corner, with a

gag to stop his croaks, was glaring at the back of a man who was seated at his table. That man was Burbank;

he was emitting croaks that matched The Shadow's duplications of Laxley's guttural tone.

Beyond was The Shadow, his disguised face no longer visible. He had donned cloak and hat, from a bag

brought here by Burbank. From his lips came a whispered approval of Burbank's imitation of Laxley.

Burbank ended his vocal practice to make a final study of the code books and the orders. He nodded to

The Shadow swept across the room and reached the elevator shaft. He entered; as he closed the door, he

delivered a whispered, parting laugh. That tone gave final confidence to Burbank; it brought a glower from

The Shadow, replacing Laxley, had gained many inklings of The Python's coming moves. Burbank,

substituting for The Shadow, had full benefit of that knowledge and would learn more. Meanwhile, The

"I'm waiting for a call from the commissioner, Markham. He's going to tell me where to meet him."

Joe Cardona swung about at his desk. He picked up the telephone and spoke promptly.

"Detective headquarters. Acting Inspector Cardona speaking... Oh, yes... Hello, commissioner. You're ready

Looking from the other side of the desk, Detective Sergeant Markham saw a rigid expression grip the usually

steady features of Joe Cardona. The acting inspector's eyes took on a bulging stare.

Markham saw Joe try to speak and falter. For the moment, it seemed as if Cardona were due for an epileptic

stroke. Markham gazed astounded; he had never seen Joe exhibit such symptoms before.

Then the spasm ended. Though still tense, Cardona managed to control himself and regain his voice. In a

After that, Cardona listened. He was hearing a weird voice, a sinister whisper that had supplanted Weston's

precise tones. That was why Cardona had stared and faltered. He knew that whisper for the voice of The

Shadow. The mysterious caller had first given a perfect imitation of the police commissioner's voice; then,

with Cardona's attention captured, The Shadow had swung to his own inimitable tones.

"Yes... Yes..." With intervals between his affirmatives, Joe Cardona was punctuating The Shadow's

statements. "I understand... Yes... My cooperation? Absolutely... But if I am questioned later... Yes, that's

A click had ended the call. Cardona sat holding the receiver to his ear. Staring across the desk, he saw

With that, he hung up the dead receiver. He motioned Markham toward the door with one hand while he

AS soon as the detective sergeant was gone, Cardona began to mumble almost incoherent phrases.

"Danton Califax so that's the fellow we're going to see, whoever Danton Califax is. This lawyer the

commissioner spoke about one his name is Bornick. Lester Bornick. The Python he knows about it and

The telephone bell rang while Cardona was muttering. Picking up the receiver, Joe responded. Again, he

heard the voice of Commissioner Weston; this time, however, the tones did not change.

"You're ready, commissioner?" queried Joe. "All right, sir... Meet you, shall I? Very well... At the residence

"By the way, commissioner. What was the name of that lawyer? Yes... The man who's taking you there... I

see. Lester Bornick... I just wanted to know who he was, since you're all ready to start out with him..."

Hanging up, Cardona stared at the wall. His head was nodding mechanically as he mumbled once more.

"It was The Shadow," affirmed Joe, aloud. "The Shadow, right enough. He had it all straight. Califax

Cardona's speculation ended. With the pencil he began to write out instructions on the paper; orders that were

indelibly pressed upon his mind. Cardona had received The Shadow's aid before; and less than ten minutes

ago, he had made a promise to his mysterious caller. Convinced after Weston's call, Cardona was going

It was Markham, at the door. Cardona kept on writing, giving an order as he worked.

"Call Inspectors Lavin and Bray," he told Markham. "You come in with them. I want all three of you to hear

Markham went to deliver the order. Cardona kept on writing, murmuring to himself:

Lavin and Bray arrived, Markham with them. Cardona showed them his penciled papers.

"Read these over," he ordered. "Instructions from the commissioner. Follow them to the letter. Not one

The men nodded their heads. Cardona strode from the office, his swarthy face grim. He had taken chances,

giving those orders as if they had been the commissioner's. The instructions were not even Cardona's own.

Yet Cardona realized that if the future proved the worth of those instructions, no explanations would be

needed. If, on the contrary, expected trouble did not come, he could merely claim later that he had taken

WHILE Cardona was realizing thus, two men were holding conversation elsewhere. The gist of their remarks

was proof that The Shadow's message carried import. The two men were Coilmasters of The Python. Luke

"Half past nine," Duronne was saying. He looked across the city. "The flashbacks quit more than half an

The suavity of the one made Duronne stare. Tugging at his mustache, the crook who had escaped the Tropical

"I do," agreed Thurney. "What's more, Duronne, I have a few things to tell you. My instructions, that I

"Quite true. But let us be serious, Duronne. The Python has lost out on that treasure that Revoort was

bringing to Ramorez. What's more, all this newspaper howl has placed him in a tight spot. The Python

"We both know the trouble, Duronne. The Shadow managed to keep in the game. He has the swag. All that

The Python can do is close out for the present, anyway. So he's doing it in a big way."

"By going after Califax's gems?" queried Duronne. "Say they're not worth more than fifty grand!"

"That isn't what counts," declared Thurney. "The Python already has more than a million in swag that he took

from those last jobs. He can afford to close up shop for a while. He wants to scatter his outfits, making it look

"That's logical, Thurney. Well the getaway on tonight's job will be a cinch. The whole thing is made to

order. We'll all duck under cover. The only trouble is, we won't be bringing the Califax swag back to New

"He wants it kept intact, Duronne. You received that order yourself. You and I are the ones to keep it. You

were told that, too. There's a chance, though, that I won't be with you. In that case, you're to hold the swag

"Here's the lowdown," stated Thurney. "I'm the man who tipped off The Python to the fact that Califax had

gems. One of my Coils fellow named Warthrope is a servant at Califax's. He listens in on conferences."

"He does, eh? Say Warthrope must be the fellow who learned that the commissioner would be at Califax's

"Probably he was," replied Thurney. "Warthrope, however, makes contact direct through Laxley; he was

lucky enough to get a room that opens toward the tower. But here's the rub, Duronne. Califax knows me,

because I used to call on his niece. Califax's lawyer Bornick knows me, too, because I had him up here to

"One of them may. It's obvious that someone must have been watching Jurrice. Califax or Bornick for that

"What if I'm named?" Thurney chuckled. "Warthrope will tip me off, if I am. He and Warring will clear out;

and I'll go my own way. Which won't be the direction that the police will trail. That's all fixed."

"That I'll be listed as The Python. Which is exactly what The Python wants. He's playing for that bet tonight.

"That's a sweet stunt, Thurney. They trail you; they can't find you. You're The Python so they'll think and

even The Shadow won't get wise. I get my part in the play. Leave it to me to wait for word from The Python.

"I don't need one. What's more, I'd be a sap to blow if my name's not mentioned. Don't worry about me. I'll

Duronne nodded; his gesture was commendation of The Python's craftiness. Warring came in from the other

Albert Thurney remained by the window. Staring eastward, he watched unblinking lights of blue; then spoke

"Nearly ten o'clock, Warring," remarked Thurney. "I can picture Warthrope, sneaking upstairs to that room of

THURNEY'S visualization was a bit belated. Warthrope had already reached his thirdfloor room in Danton

Califax's home. He was stooping in the corner, lifting the false radio cover from his dictograph receiver.

"We are most interested in The Python," Commissioner Weston was saying. "If either of you gentlemen have

"I believe I know who he is." Warthrope recognized Bornick's tone. "I think that Mr. Califax will agree with

me. I refer to a young man named Albert Thurney. Remember, Califax? You asked me about him."

"I have changed my opinion. I have seen Thurney since. I strongly suspect him as the criminal, for reasons

"You have Thurney's address?" inquired Weston. Apparently, Bornick must have nodded a reply, for the

commissioner added: "Write it down, Cardona. Then call headquarters and tell them to arrest Albert

Darkness was creeping in upon Warthrope. The servant did not realize it as he stooped above the dictograph

receiver in the dimly lighted corner. Warthrope had heard news that he knew might come.

It was his cue to take to flight; to pass the word along to Thurney and Warring, before the police could reach

the apartment. Warthrope arose and started to replace the cover of his fake radio.

It was then that approaching darkness took living form. From the blackness that edged the room, a cloaked

figure swooped forward upon the spy. Warthrope heard a swish; he tried to blurt a cry as he wheeled around

WARTHROPE could only gurgle his recognition of this formidable antagonist. The cloaked attacker clutched

his throat with choking hands and pinned the treacherous underling to the floor. As Warthrope lay gasping,

gloved hands bound his wrists with thongs; then tied his ankles. A gag was jammed between Warthrope's

The Shadow lifted the shell from the listening apparatus. He clicked a button; again voices came from the

room below. Stooped by the floor The Shadow had become the silent listener to the conference in Danton

While he heard, The Shadow watched. From Warthrope's window, he could see that signal tower where

Burbank still held control, to relay any of The Python's messages. No longer did blue light flicker. The

Moving in from darkness, The Shadow had first captured the signal room, the heart of The Python's insidious

system. His present step had been to gain Warthrope's listening post, a spot that might later prove of vital

Meanwhile, between those strokes, The Shadow had thrust plans upon Joe Cardona orders which the ace

sleuth had accepted. And as a final touch, by his elimination of Warthrope, he had prevented the flight of

Albert Thurney, who uninformed of happenings would remain at his apartment, to be captured by the

The Python's Coils were tightening; but no victory lay within their grasp. Soon they would be writhing,

WITHIN Danton Califax's study, three men were listening to one. Danton Califax himself was the speaker.

Stooped wearily behind his desk, he had finished his account of his dealings with Craig Jurrice. While others

"I knew of Revoort through Jurrice," summarized Califax. "I knew also of a Cuban a friend of Revoort's

but I had never heard the name Ramorez. I realize, commissioner, that I should have spoken sooner. I wanted

to speak, immediately after the news about the Tropical; but Jurrice protested. Moreover, Mr. Bornick

"Rather poor advice, Mr. Bornick," remarked Weston, testily. "Rather poor advice."

"I don't agree with you, commissioner," retorted Bornick. "My advice was entirely justified, from the legal

Joe Cardona was listening mechanically to the dispute. Joe was tense. Through his brain were flashing

The second reference had puzzled Cardona. The Shadow had spoken of blue lights in a loft building; lights

that would be visible from the river and also from a parking space near empty tenement buildings behind the

Califax home. Those lights so Cardona had promised would not be molested by the law. Their flash

Staring beyond Danton Califax, Cardona could see blue lights through the window. A clock on the mantel

gave the time as half past ten. Small wonder that Joe Cardona had become tense. Time had been moving at

"Very well, commissioner," Bornick, his long arms folded, was speaking again. "I shall accept your criticism.

In return, you must commend me for naming Albert Thurney as The Python. Any moment now, you will

"My client, Mr. Califax, has unburdened his troubled mind. I am glad of that; for he has lived in fear of

robbery. With The Python trapped, he need have no further dread. Cardona's call to headquarters settled that

"While we wait to hear of Thurney's capture, I shall tell you how I came to suspect the fellow. When and how

he arrived in New York, I do not know. I first received a call from him, asking me to call at his apartment. I

went there one evening to discuss the matter of some stock certificates. While I was there "

Bornick paused abruptly. He was staring past Califax; he, like Cardona, could see blue lights begin to flicker.

Weston and Califax showed puzzled expressions when Bornick stopped speaking; but Joe Cardona did not.

Instead, the detective tugged his right hand from his pocket and flashed a revolver into view.

He stopped again at sight of Cardona's gun. The detective had arisen to jab the weapon squarely in front of

Bornick's face, cutting off the lawyer's view of the blue lights. Weston, amazed, leaped to his feet, while

"It means," chortled Joe, "that I have trapped The Python. Look him over, commissioner."

UPSTAIRS, The Shadow had heard Cardona's statement; the proof that the ace had acted when the blue

lights flickered. There were sounds, however, that brought immediate interruption. The rattle of gunfire was

breaking loose outside of Califax's house. The Shadow sprang to the rear window and hurled it open.

His angled view of the river showed a tugboat nosing in against the river bank, toward an old pier at the rear

of Califax's house. From the tug's deck, guns were spurting, opening fire on another craft that was speeding

A siren swelled. A searchlight swept the tugboat, to show Lem Hurdy and a gunshooting crew. Then came

answering shots; the rattle of machine guns. The craft with the searchlight was a police boat, speeding in to

From the rear tenement house, a flood of skulkers were springing into view, headed for the back door of

Califax's home. Guns ripped from across the avenue; crooks stopped to answer another fire. Bluecoats and

Some of Lem's men had leaped ashore. They dashed to aid those who were battling the land force of the law.

Guns were barking, to stop the police in their too impetuous charge. It was then that The Shadow entered.

Officers from the police boat were trying to board the tug. Those from the avenue were dropping back to

cover. Both groups were halted; crooks swung their flashlights upward to reveal the cloaked avenger who had

opened the surprise bombardment from above. Wild shots peppered all about the window.

The Shadow's laugh returned its challenge. Eyes and guns; those were all that he kept above the sill while

bullets whistled close above his black slouch hat. Stabs from his guns marked new sprawlers on the turf of

Then came a rally of the law: shouts of triumph told that the tug was taken; a surge from the avenue marked a

new charge by the police. Still The Shadow's guns pumped on; each .45 a menace to every venomous sniper

IN the study below, Cardona was talking above the muffled rattle of outside guns. Still covering Bornick, Joe

was explaining everything to the commissioner. His voice, however, could not reach The Shadow, whose

"Orders from you, commissioner," grinned Joe. "At least I thought they were, at first; but after I got here, I

realized they must have come from The Shadow. He had your voice down perfect, commissioner.

"I couldn't change things then; it was too late. I couldn't tell you, either. The works were due to pop at half

past ten; when blue lights flashed from a loft building. The Python's signal, I guess, but The Shadow was

wise to it. Our men, posted on shore and in boats, are smashing up The Python's crew right now.

"Some on a tugboat; some in a tenement house. That's where the crooks are being nabbed. But that's not all.

The Shadow told me that The Python would be here in this room; that I could nab him when he gave himself

Cardona paused. Weston stared squarely at Bornick. The lawyer tilted his head back and delivered a harsh

"You're a fool, Cardona!" he exclaimed. "Of course I was watching those blue lights. I've been watching them

for days; ever since I first saw them from Thurney's window and noticed him observing them. I could see

them from my office because it happens to be high up and I've seen them from here as well.

"I have a pocketful of notes, ready to give you. All dots and dashes, that I've tried to decode. That's why I was

sure Thurney was The Python. But it wasn't until after the murders of Jurrice and Ramorez that I realized I

Bornick broke off. Footsteps were pounding toward this room. Weston wheeled toward the door; pulling a

gun, the commissioner was in time to cover an armed man who came staggering into view. It was Duronne;

alone of those in the tenement, he had managed to make this house. Half dazed, he had blundered into this

"Over here," snapped Cardona, as Duronne let his revolver fall to the floor. "Stand beside your chief, The

"That won't be necessary," scoffed a harsh voice from behind the desk. "Drop those revolvers, both of you!"

The order was followed by a fierce, snakelike hiss. Weston and Cardona wheeled to find themselves covered

by two revolvers, one in each of Danton Califax's bony hands. The baldheaded man had drawn himself

erect; his face was gloating as he delivered the venomous sound that betokened The Python.

REVOLVERS clanked to the floor. Weston and Cardona stood helpless. Duronne sprang over and grabbed

Bornick was standing stupefied. The outside gunfire had become spasmodic; The Python's hordes were

"You were my dupe, Bornick," sneered Califax. "I kept ordering Thurney to see you, hoping that you would

suspect him. He was but one of my lieutenants; the one whom I appointed to make a false trail for the law to

"I am The Python. I staged those first robberies. I went after the treasure that Revoort was bringing to

Ramorez. My men fired the Tropical, but failed to get the swag. I, myself, murdered Jurrice and Ramorez,

"Bah! What need of other explanations to fools like you? Suffice it to say that I arranged this raid tonight, to

unload all the early swag, which is in my safe with my own gems. It was to have been a quiet raid; all of us

tied up and left here. Should it fail, through some misadventure, nothing would have mattered. The law

would still have gone after Thurney, thinking him The Python. The law would still have regarded me as one

Though his guns were covering Weston and Cardona, Califax was glaring at Bornick, who stood between

him and the door. Narrowed, beady eyes; the evil, hissing voice these were tokens of The Python's

"Your meddling means your death, Bornick!" spat The Python. "Weston and Cardona shall die with you. I

shall say that the three of you were slain by raiders. Death! To all of you, because you have guessed my most

important secret the existence of that signal tower the center of my strength and "

The Python's narrowed eyes became fixed, as his ears were the first to hear a shuddering mockery from the

study door. Past Bornick, Califax saw a shrouding figure. The Shadow had heard The Python's gloating

voice, across the very dictograph that Califax had planted here through Thurney.

The use of Warthrope had been a master stroke by The Python. It had enabled him to preserve his identity

from his own followers. He had avoided calls from this room to the signal tower whenever he knew

A proof of the innocence of Danton Califax, that dictograph hookup. Such would it have been when a

showdown came. Its discovery would have made Califax appear as a man spied upon by traitors. Its use,

moreover, had fooled Albert Thurney, the man who in a pinch would have been unable to point out the

But now The Python's own device had been used against him. The Shadow had captured Warthrope without

The Python's knowledge. He had listened in on the beginning of The Python's own declaration of identity;

while the supercrook had continued his gloating statements, The Shadow had been on his way, down from the

Joe Cardona had bungled, picking Bornick instead of Califax. That had been excusable, for not even The

Shadow had known of Bornick's observation of the lights. Cardona, however, was out to make amends.

As his ears picked up The Shadow's laugh, Joe lost no opportunity. Away from the line of The Python's

sudden stare, the ace sleuth bounded forward, defiant of the fiend's leveled gun.

COMMISSIONER WESTON sprang an instant later, in copy of Cardona's example. He, too, was quick of

action. So also was Lester Bornick; but the lawyer instinctively chose the foe who had him covered: Luke

Three men had acted against individual dangers. Cardona and Weston were plunging forward, while Bornick

wheeled; but each was after the nearest gun. By the very naturalness of their response, they served The

Shadow. Bornick, in particular, for his twist about cleared the way for The Shadow's aim.

Swift though The Shadow was where his own life lay in danger, he was even speedier when the fate of others

stood at stake. He boomed both automatics straight for The Python. Tongues of flame zimmed like arrow

points, indicating a double line between the converging figures of Weston and Cardona.

The Shadow's bullets sped before two desperate men had blocked the way with their own bodies. The

Shadow's quick shots were also launched before The Python could jab the triggers of his pointed revolvers. A

snarl coming from his lips, the master crook capsized with guns unfired. His hands were clawing, loosened as

The Shadow wheeled as a revolver barked. It was Duronne's gun; the groggy Coilmaster had managed to fire

a shot at Bornick's shoulder. The lawyer was wavering, wounded. Duronne, his daze ended, was wheeling

toward The Shadow. The crook's revolver barked again; its report was simultaneous with the blast of a

One bullet whizzed close as it passed The Shadow's ear. The other, traveling in the opposite direction, found

a living target in Duronne. The Coilmaster rolled groaning to the floor, whereon his chief, The Python,

To save Weston and Cardona, The Shadow had driven two bullets straight through the evil heart of Danton

Califax. Death had been delivered to The Python. Life remained to The Shadow. A mirthless laugh,

reechoing through the room where guns had talked: such was the departing triumph of the master fighter,

WHILE The Shadow had dealt with The Python, the law had finished the supercrook's lieutenants and their

followers. Luke Duronne, wounded, was one of few survivors; as was Albert Thurney, already captured by

Markham and a squad of detectives. These prisoners belonged to the law; so did a few others, such as

Laxley, also. Burbank had finished with the blue lights, after sending that last signal ordered by The Python.

A signal with a double meaning; for it had brought the law upon attacking crooks. Burbank had gone from

the signal tower; but Laxley still lay there, to be found by investigating police. Burbank had left the lower

Louis Revoort was safe, with his treasure. All spoils of Danton Califax erstwhile The Python had been

reclaimed by the law. The Python had paid full penalty for his selfconfessed robberies and murders.

Three valiant men had gained rescue through The Shadow. Weston and Cardona, unscathed; Bornick, with

but a minor wound they could well testify to the prowess of The Shadow. But only The Shadow, in his own

archives, could record the full tale of his desperate, uphill conflicts with that superfoe, The Python.

From those annals has this chronicle come; this story of The Python, the master rogue who failed, when