THE THIRD SHADOW .....................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. THE MAN IN THE CAB ..................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. DEATH AFTER DUSK ...................................................................................................4

CHAPTER III. THE SHADOW DEDUCES .........................................................................................10

CHAPTER IV. ONE MAN SEES.........................................................................................................14

CHAPTER V. THE SECOND SHADOW............................................................................................19

CHAPTER VI. SPOILS TO THE VICTOR ..........................................................................................23

CHAPTER VII. ONE MAN RETURNS ...............................................................................................27

CHAPTER VIII. THE SHADOW LEARNS .........................................................................................33

CHAPTER IX. THE MAN FROM HAVANA.....................................................................................36

CHAPTER X. SHADOWS OF NIGHT................................................................................................40

CHAPTER XI. A BIG SHOT PLANS..................................................................................................46

CHAPTER XII. THE LINK TO CRIME..............................................................................................51

CHAPTER XIII. CLOAKED RIVALS MEET .....................................................................................54

CHAPTER XIV. THE NAME IN THE BOOK....................................................................................59

CHAPTER XV. SHADOW VERSUS SHADOW................................................................................64

CHAPTER XVI. THE SHADOW KNOWS.........................................................................................69

CHAPTER XVII. WESTON TAKES ADVICE...................................................................................74

CHAPTER XVIII. CROOKS SURPRISED ..........................................................................................79

CHAPTER XIX. SPARKLER'S STORY ..............................................................................................84

CHAPTER XX. DEATH IS DEALT....................................................................................................87

CHAPTER XXI. CRIME'S AFTERMATH..........................................................................................92

TRAFFIC was jammed about Times Square. The rush hour was on; a heavy drizzle added its impeding

influence. Umbrellaladen pedestrians were blundering across crowded sidewalks; while taxicabs and other

A sallow, longfaced taxi driver was peering from the wheel of his parked cab. He was stationed on an

eastbound street, fifty yards east of Broadway. Though his spot was a gloomy one, the cabby had high hopes

of a passenger. On nights like this, wise persons who were seeking cabs invariably picked those that were

Looking backward along the street, the cab driver was watching pedestrians on the other side. He was ready

to hail any prospective customer who might be walking eastward. The cabby was counting upon a lucky

break. He gained one unexpectedly. A man stepped up suddenly from the sidewalk on the right side of the

The taxi driver heard the door slam. He swung about and looked through the partition to see a muffled man,

whose overcoat collar was high above his chin. The driver spied the outline of a whitish face beneath a derby.

Huskily, the passenger gave an address near Park Avenue, on a side street. His voice choked as he completed

the statement; and he followed with a spasm of heavy coughing. The driver started the taxi forward. The

The taxi driver pulled a cheap watch from his pocket and consulted it as he guided the cab toward Sixth

Swinging left on Sixth Avenue, the driver encountered trouble beneath the pillars of the elevated. Traffic was

badly jammed; the cause was visible after the cab had managed to proceed one block. Smoke was pouring

from the front of a little Chinese laundry; three fire trucks were on hand, dealing with the blaze.

A hoarse ejaculation of impatience came from the passenger in the cab. The driver responded. Without

waiting for traffic to unsplice, he swung across to the left of the avenue; bucked oncoming cars, then thrust

the cab between the "el" pillars toward his right. Skidding across the path of a southbound trolley car, he

Safe from disaster, the driver regained control and spun for a right turn at the next eastbound street. An

armwaving traffic cop certified the driver's action. Away from the jam, the cab sped eastward.

THE cabby was still grinning over his smartness when he pulled up at the destination. He had made the trip

in the ten minutes that he had estimated. A grunt of approval came from the muffled passenger. Then an

"A twenty is my smallest," interposed the passenger, huskily. "Here. Take this to the drug store." He thrust a

twentydollar bill from a gloved hand. "Tell them it's change for Mr. Yorne. Bring the change to my house.

The passenger stooped his head. The driver knew that he was reading the registration card, whereon the

driver's own name Luke Ronig appeared with his photograph. A natural precaution, since the passenger

was risking twenty dollars on Ronig's honesty. The driver saw his fare alight; he watched the muffled man

Stepping from the cab, Ronig went to the drug store, which was at the corner, forty paces distant. The clerks

were busy; it was a few minutes before one of them received Ronig's request to change a twenty. The clerk

looked dubious, until he heard that the change was for Mr. Lucian Yorne. Then he changed the bill

"Sounded pretty bad. His voice was husky; he coughed like he was goin' to crack apart."

"Too bad. He's been that way for a week. Only yesterday, I told him he ought to stay indoors. Said he was too

Carrying the change in his fist, Ronig left the drug store and went back to Yorne's house. He noted the

nameplate as he rang the bell. A minute passed; then the door was opened by a tall, wearyfaced servant

"You may deliver the money to me," informed the servant, dryly. "I am Parlington, Mr. Yorne's butler.

The change amounted to nineteen dollars and forty cents. Parlington was counting it as Ronig watched him

cross a gloomy hall and enter the distant door of a lighted room, which, from its location, might have been a

Ronig waited; the hall was silent except for the ticking of an oldfashioned grandfather's clock that registered

a few minutes past six. The taxi driver compared the time with his watch. While he was doing this, he heard

the sound of Yorne's hacking cough, coming from the open door of the distant study.

Half a minute later, Parlington returned. Eyeing the taxi driver rather dourly, the butler inquired:

"Mr. Yorne wanted to be sure," informed Parlington. "He does not trust cab drivers, as a rule. He saw your

"What's that got to do with it?" demanded Ronig. "I showed up with the dough, didn't I? Say "

"Here is your tip," interrupted Parlington, frigidly. He handed Ronig forty cents. "Good evening."

RONIG pocketed the change. Parlington opened the door; the cabby went out and boarded his taxi. He

headed for an avenue, swung southward and kept on until he reached a westbound street. Turning into that

thoroughfare, Ronig looked over the pedestrians whom he passed. He pulled up to the curb and hailed a

"Hop aboard," invited the cab driver. "I'll give you a lift; and a dime besides, for a cup of Java."

"I get the idea," he chuckled. "Them coppers on Sixth Avenue won't let you jam into Broadway with an

"You hit it, buddy," returned Ronig. "Half the cabs in town are over around Times Square, grabbing fares.

The traffic cops keep us out until the lines get short. But they can't stop me if I've got a passenger."

Ronig was right. He crossed Sixth Avenue past the inspecting eye of a watchful traffic officer. When he

neared the Times Square area, he spotted an opening and pulled up to the curb. The shabby man alighted and

"And here's something for you, hackie," returned the shabby man. He held up an expensive umbrella with a

gold handle. "Just found it on the floor when I was getting out. Guess your last passenger must have left it."

Ronig looked at the umbrella. Its handle bore the initials "L. Y." The cabby grunted and handed the shabby

"I'll get a tip for takin' this where it belongs," said Ronig, "so the twobits is yours, buddy. L. Y. those

"Naw! That won't matter. I'm not takin' it back there now. Too much business around here; and there'll be

plenty clear through until after the showbreak. Plenty of fares from the theater crowds on a night like this.

"Yorne will have to wait until midnight for his umbrella. If he's asleep when I stop by there, I'll keep ringin'

RONIG stood the goldhandled umbrella beside the driver's seat. The shabby man strolled away; a minute

later, the cabby opened the door for two passengers who had spied his waiting taxi. Soon, Ronig was on his

way again, wangling through traffic, making the most of the rainy weather that every alert taxi driver

The umbrella was jogging by the cabby's elbow, its gold head catching the colored glimmer of passing neon

lights. It would serve as a reminder of Ronig's later mission. As he drove along, the taxi man was repeating

the names of Yorne and Parlington. He was wondering, too, how much of a reward he might expect when he

Had Ronig been able to foresee the future, he would not have looked forward to it with pleasure. For that

umbrella was due to cost him much in time and trouble. By the time Luke Ronig returned it, the law would be

investigating the affairs of Lucian Yorne. For crime was abroad upon this drizzly night.

A DOZEN minutes after Luke Ronig had driven from Lucian Yorne's, two other cabs pulled up in front of the

old house near Park Avenue. Two couples alighted from each taxi. Prompt greetings were exchanged in the

rain; then the four two men and two women ascended the steps of the house. Parlington admitted them.

Gravely, the butler greeted the arrivals by name. One was a middleaged man, whom Parlington addressed as

Mr. Elward; the lady with him was Mrs. Elward. The other man was younger. Parlington spoke to him as Mr.

Parlington ushered the guests into Yorne's study. Elward spoke in surprise when he saw that the room was

"Where is Mr. Yorne?" he inquired. "Ah I see that he is somewhere about. His coat and hat are hanging

"Only because I insisted that he don fresh garments, sir. His cold is quite severe; it would have been a great

"Yorne is making a mistake to go out at all," interposed Renwood. "You should take better care of him,

"What can I do, sir?" pleaded the butler. "It was six o'clock when Mr. Yorne arrived home. I had been

awaiting his arrival since five. I thought surely that he would stay; instead, he spent only a few minutes here.

"Quarter past six," remarked Elward, as the big clock chimed from the hallway. "Mr. Yorne told us that

"He told me to postpone dinner, sir," stated Parlington. "It will not be served until seven o'clock."

"I hope so, sir; but I am not positive. Mr. Yorne said that his guests should begin dinner even if he had not

WITH that Parlington left the study and crossed the hall to a kitchen. While the guests chatted among

themselves, the butler brought drinks. After that, they could hear him busied in the kitchen. Parlington was a

capable servant. Despite the fact that he was cook as well as butler, he kept paying frequent visits to the study

to make sure that the guests were constantly supplied with preliminary refreshments.

Conversation was flowing well between the guests. Elward and Renwood were friends of some standing,

"It's good to see you again, Jerry," remarked Elward to Renwood. "I hope business has been picking up with

"Not much, Kent," returned Renwood, with a shake of his head. "Some brokerage offices have been doing

fairly well; but ours has been practically at a standstill. How is the advertising game?"

Kent Elward considered the question, as he puffed at his cigar. He nodded slowly.

"Quite good," he stated, "so far as certain types of accounts are concerned. Jerry, if there happened to be a

way of promoting advertising with certain untouched industries, there would be a fortune in it!"

"You mean that certain businesses do not advertise in proportion to their earnings?"

"Yes. That is when compared with businesses that do advertise. Take Lucian Yorne's business, for example.

"I know that he doesn't. He is connected with the Allied Jewelry Company. Not a line of advertising comes

from their offices. Those offices, by the way, are important enough to occupy a full floor of the Tower

"Granted. Yet wholesalers advertise in other lines of business. But let us take a more specific case. Lucian

"No. He has a little office on West Fortythird Street. He meets special customers there. That is the only way

he does business. I have known him to carry jewels valued at more than a hundred thousand dollars, just to

"In the vaults of the Allied Jewelry Company. Of course, I can see why Lucian should preserve secrecy

regarding his present transactions. I find no fault with that procedure. But what I can not understand is why

"You are right. His special customers could come to the store. He would gain other trade besides."

"Particularly if he advertised. We are back to the original premise, Jerry. If Lucian Yorne "

Kent Elward paused as Parlington entered. The butler had come to announce that dinner was ready. The

company went to the dining room and began their repast. They dined from seven until eight. Lucian Yorne

AFTER dinner, the four guests went back to the study. Jerry Renwood remarked that Lucian Yorne must

"I doubt that Lucian would have forgotten us," he stated. "He should have called by telephone, to tell us that

Renwood pointed to the desk, where a large gold watch was lying. He turned to Parlington, who had entered

"Yes, sir," answered the butler. "Mr. Yorne forgot the watch two times today. When he went out at noon; and

"That is why Yorne has forgotten the time," said Renwood to Elward. "Don't worry about him, Kent."

An hour passed. It was after nine when the doorbell rang. Parlington answered; the guests expected to see

Lucian Yorne. Renwood remarked, chuckling, that their host must have forgotten his key as well as his

watch. But it was not Yorne who entered the study. The man who came with Parlington was a tall,

"My name is Loftus," he announced. "Clark Loftus, from Detroit. Two friends and myself had an

appointment with Mr. Yorne, at his Fortythird Street office. We were to meet him there at half past eight.

"Mr. Yorne left here a few minutes after six," declared Elward. "We arrived about sixfifteen. We came to

"So the servant tells me," interposed Loftus. "Frankly, gentlemen, it worries me. Mr. Yorne has jewels of

mine, along with others that I had not yet purchased. That is why I came here personally, to talk to him. My

There were no objections. Loftus made the call. He turned to the solemnfaced guests.

"Detectives are to meet me outside the office," he stated. "Do any of you wish to come along?"

"No," he decided. "It would be best for us to remain here, in case Lucian arrives. We shall have him call his

Clark Loftus bowed, and donned his drizzlesoaked hat. Elward and Renwood followed him to the door.

IT was fifteen minutes later when Clark Loftus arrived at a small office building on West Fortythird Street.

A police car was already there; a man in plain clothes stopped the arrival. Loftus identified himself. The dick

"Thought it was you," he stated. "Come on up. We've broken into Yorne's office. Inspector Cardona wants to

Yorne's office was on the second floor. Arriving there, Loftus saw his two friends standing by the door, a

detective beside them. One started to speak; the dick ordered quiet. Loftus stepped into the office. His path

was blocked by a swarthy, stocky man, whom Loftus guessed to be Acting Inspector Cardona.

In reply, Cardona stepped aside. Loftus stared aghast at the sight across the room. There, sprawled in a swivel

chair, lay a man whose outstretched arms hung limply toward the floor. Loftus saw a bloodstained shirt front;

"But but we have been here since half past eight. I heard no shots. Did did my friends "

Cardona spoke to a police surgeon who was standing beside the desk. The physician responded.

"This man was slain before half past eight," he stated. "He has been dead at least three hours."

"It is ninethirty, right now," added Cardona. "That puts the murder at sixthirty or earlier."

"Sixthirty!" exclaimed Loftus. "That is just about the time when Yorne should have arrived here. He left his

"A good point," decided Cardona. "We'll go up to the house. I've already ordered two men to be there. But

IT was nearly eleven when Cardona and Loftus arrived at Yorne's residence. An hour and a half had

Joe Cardona had long been recognized as the ace detective on the New York police force. In the capacity of

acting inspector, he had enlarged his fame. There were times when Cardona was quick to recognize persons

who were free from blame in crime. Tonight was one of them; for Joe's initial suspicion of Loftus had ended

At the old mansion, Cardona found four very impatient people awaiting him. They were the guests, all

Cardona listened to Kent Elward and Jerry Renwood. He believed their statement that they had arrived at

sixfifteen. More than that, Elward and his wife both established the fact that they had come directly from

their home; while Renwood proved that he and Miss Arthur had been with friends at a tea dance in the Hotel

"None of you could have been at Yorne's office," stated Cardona, "but that's not the point we're after. What I

"According to Parlington," declared Elward, "he was here between six and sixten. Long enough to put on

"So I've been told." Cardona studied the hat and coat that were hanging in the study. "An old coat and an old

derby just about like the ones that Yorne was wearing when we found his body. What about these?" Joe

"No, sir," replied the butler. "He wore them this afternoon because the weather was inclement. I insisted that

he change to his new hat and overcoat, despite the drizzle. He was almost drenched, sir, when he arrived at

"Positive, sir! He sent the taxi driver to the drug store to change a twentydollar bill. I received the cab man

"No money in his pockets when we found him. Whoever took the jewels must have lifted his cash, too.

CARDONA eyed Parlington as if he doubted the servant's story. Parlington noted it and looked troubled. He

began to protest, swearing that his account was a true one. Cardona silenced him.

"Yorne was murdered before sixthirty," emphasized Joe. "He could have left here at sixten and gone

directly to his office. But we only have one man's statement yours, Parlington that Yorne was here. We

An interruption. An officer had arrived from the front door, bringing a man with him. The fellow was a taxi

driver; he was carrying a goldheaded umbrella. Parlington uttered an ejaculation of happy relief.

"This is the man!" exclaimed the butler. "He brought Mr. Yorne home at six o'clock! He is the taxi driver

"His boss told him," put in Ronig. "He took a squint at my license card. Wanted to lamp my mug and my

moniker, in case I didn't show up with the change for his twenty. Then he was dumb enough to leave his

umbrella in my hack. I didn't have a chance to bring it back here until after the showbreak."

Another policeman was arriving with the clerk from the corner drug store. This fellow recognized Ronig and

Ronig's account was concise. He gave every detail from the moment when his muffled passenger had entered

the cab near Times Square. He gave an imitation of Yorne's husky voice. It was corroborated by the drug

Parlington identified the umbrella. The initials on the handle supported the butler's testimony. Cardona took

final notes; then announced that his quiz was finished. He departed with Clark Loftus. On the way to the

"We've established the time of the murder," decided the acting inspector. "According to the facts at hand, it

was between sixtwenty and sixthirty. We knew that Yorne was killed before sixthirty; now we've found

out just how long before. What's more, that time element has eliminated three persons who were pretty close

"Elward Renwood Parlington. Those three have a clean bill. The job is to find out who else could have

known Yorne well enough to guess that he had jewels on him. I've got a hunch that the murderer won't be far

Though often blind ones, Cardona's hunches were usually correct. Such was the case with this one. Joe

Cardona might have picked out the murderer tonight, had he used deduction with his hunch. That task,

The murder of Lucian Yorne had been a clever crime; more than the direct killing which Joe Cardona

supposed it to be. The ace detective had failed to guess the flaws. So far as Cardona was concerned, the crime

would remain an unsolved one. Until some keener brain intervened, the murderer of Lucian Yorne would

SUCH a brain would soon enter the case. For in New York was a master sleuth, whose specialty lay in

solving crimes like this one. That being was The Shadow, mysterious avenger who dealt with men of evil.

Perhaps Joe Cardona's confidence was due to the fact that the ace knew of The Shadow's presence.

It was The Shadow, not Joe Cardona, who would pick out the murderer of Lucian Yorne. Yet oddly, his

detection of that crime when it came, would start a chain of other, unexpected circumstances. The Shadow,

from the moment when he concentrated on this case, would be upon the threshold of crisscrossed

TWO days had passed since the death of Lucian Yorne. Joe Cardona was seated at his desk in police

headquarters, fuming over a stack of typewritten reports. Across from him was a stolidfaced companion:

"It's a oneman job!" Cardona thwacked his fist upon the desk. "And there are no thugs in it! They wouldn't

Cardona paused and shook his head. He glowered at a pile of newspapers journals that blazoned the news

"I talked with Barstow Leland," stated the ace, referring to a report. "He's the president of the Allied Jewelry

Company. The only man there who knew that Yorne had gone out with a hundred thousand dollars worth of

sparklers. Yorne left that office before fivethirty. At quarter of six, he entered Ronig's cab at Times Square."

A long, streaky shadow spread across the desk. Cardona looked up to see a lanky, stoopshouldered man

entering the office. Joe grinned at the sight of the wanfaced arrival who was carrying mop and bucket. The

"Hello, Fritz!" greeted the acting inspector. "Early again, eh? Fivethirty isn't soon enough for you. Every

Fritz uttered the reply in a guttural tone. He started to work with mop and bucket. Unmindful of the janitor's

"Yorne could have taken the subway to Times Square," declared the ace, "then hopped a taxi to avoid the

jammed shuttle line over to the Lexington Avenue sub. Or he may have hopped a taxi right outside of the

Tower Building, there at Thirtyfourth Street. If his cab got in that Times Square jam, he'd have been wise to

"He could have gone to his office," suggested Markham. "It was right there on Fortythird Street."

"I've thought of that," nodded Cardona. "But I can't see why he would have gone there once, then home and

back again. If he'd gone to his little office and stayed there a half hour, that would have made sense. He could

"Maybe he stowed the jewels there, then got worried about them on the way home."

"Not a chance! There's no safe in the office. Yorne was no sap. He knew how to take care of gems when he

Glumly, Cardona began to finger the report sheets. One by one, he discussed the names mentioned there.

"CLARK LOFTUS was the only customer who knew that Yorne would be at his office at eightthirty,"

declared Joe. "Half of the gems belonged to Loftus. The friends that he brought with him were reliable; they

didn't know their destination until they arrived. I've doublechecked on Loftus. He stands the strain.

"Kent Elward apparently knew a lot about Yorne's business. Elward is an advertising man of good standing;

what's more, he has an alibi right up to the time when he arrived at Yorne's house. So the fact that he knew a

"Jerry Renwood works in a stockbroker's office; he's sort of a manabouttown, so he doesn't rate as high as

Elward. But Renwood didn't know much about Yorne's business. What little he learned was mentioned to

him up there at the house, while they were waiting for Yorne to show up. That puts Renwood out.

"As for Parlington, the butler, he could have known a lot about Yorne. But Parlington was there at the house

when Yorne came in at six. When Ronig, the cabby, showed up with that umbrella, it clinched Parlington's

"Beyond that, there's nothing. No customers of Yorne's; no friends who knew his business; no other servants

who ever worked for him. I've tried to figure a teamup that might account for the crime; but that flops."

Rising from his desk. Cardona arranged report sheets in pairs and indicated them with his forefinger.

"Elward plus Renwood," he suggested. Then, with a shake of his head: "No. Their alibis are separate until

they reached the house. The two women and Parlington substantiated the time that they arrived there.

"Another combination that don't click is Ronig and Parlington. You can't figure a cab driver and a flunky as

pals; even if they were, what of it? Ronig could have laid outside the house and picked up Yorne for the trip

back to the office; but how did he happen to get Yorne in the first place, except as a chance passenger?"

"Ronig is pals with the hackies who were in that line down by Times Square. Talking with some of them

right up until the time he got his fare. I thought I was smart for a while, figuring Ronig as the one man in the

game, but the more I quizzed him, the more I saw that he was out. And to try to tie with Parlington only made

Cardona picked up his report sheets. He donned hat and overcoat. Standing by the desk, he delivered final

"It's a oneman proposition," he affirmed. "All five that I've mentioned are out of it, though. That's what I've

"No," replied Cardona. "At the Cobalt Club. He's having dinner there. I'm going to grab chow before I drop in

CARDONA stalked from the office; Markham followed. Fritz remained alone, conscientiously working with

mop and bucket. Five minutes passed; then a change came over the stoopshouldered janitor. A keen light

Even Fritz's blackened shadow seemed to gain life. Its profile formed a hawklike silhouette, as the janitor

gathered implements and made for the door to the hallway. Spying no one in sight, Fritz showed briskness as

There he put away the mop and bucket. From the locker, he drew forth folds of black cloth. A cloak settled

over shoulders; a slouch hat fitted upon his head. Long hands drew on thin black gloves; a whispered laugh

This was not Fritz, the janitor. The masquerader had transformed himself into a weird, cloaked being, whose

gliding course was an elusive path. A shape that belonged with night, the intruder edged out into the early

Made up as Fritz, The Shadow had listened in on Joe Cardona's findings. Thereby, he had gained his final

check on circumstances involving the murder of Lucian Yorne. He had learned of Cardona's appointment

with Police Commissioner Ralph Weston at seven o'clock. The Shadow had work to do before that hour.

HIS next appearance occurred within a blackwalled room. A blue light clicked; focused rays spread

downward upon the surface of a polished table. White hands came into the light. They fingered clippings;

they made notations in ink of vivid blue, that faded away after it had dried. The Shadow was summarizing the

His written comments concerned a most essential point: namely, Yorne's movements from the time that he

had left the Tower Building at Thirtyfourth Street. The Shadow was banking on the testimony of Barstow

Leland, president of the Allied Jewelry Company. He knew that others must have seen Yorne leave the

offices of the jewelry company, even though they did not know that he was carrying gems with him.

Next: Times Square after a gap of fully fifteen minutes. The testimony of Luke Ronig, the taxi driver.

Circumstances alone had introduced Ronig to Yorne. Ordinarily, a cabby would have no guess as to the

identity of a passenger, particularly on a drizzly night. That trip from Times Square to the house near Park

What gave it strength was the subsequent event: Parlington's testimony of Yorne's arrival and immediate

departure. Ronig had talked with Yorne outside; he had given money to Parlington inside. The Shadow came

Though Lucian Yorne's progress seemed distinctly traceable from the Tower Building to his home, it actually

was not a trail. Only two men who knew Yorne had testified that they had seen him and talked with him in

the light. One was Leland, president of the jewelry company; the other was Parlington, the butler.

Before fivethirty; after six o'clock. Therein lay a period that interested The Shadow more than the time

space between sixtwenty and sixthirty, the ten minutes upon which Joe Cardona had concentrated.

Evidence chiefly testimony had caused the ace to establish the time of the murder; and therefore to

Written words became concise deductions, as The Shadow inscribed them. He was putting down other facts

that Cardona had mentioned. So far as his quizzes were concerned, Joe had done well. In a sense, he had done

The Shadow's light clicked out. A whispered laugh resounded in this room he called his sanctum.

Then came silence. The Shadow had chosen a new destination. He needed time for preparation before he

SEVEN o'clock. Police Commissioner Weston was dining in the grillroom of the Cobalt Club, when someone

approached his table. The commissioner looked up, expecting to see Joe Cardona. Instead, he recognized his

An interesting chap, Cranston. He formed a contrast to the police commissioner. Weston was a man of

military bearing, with brisk manner and pointed mustache. Cranston was of leisurely manner; his

wellmolded face was masklike and impassive. A globetrotting millionaire, Lamont Cranston had gained

his share of adventure. Yet when he was present in New York, he seemed indolent and bored with life.

Weston invited Cranston to sit down for a chat. Hardly had the millionaire taken his place across the table

when Joe Cardona arrived. The ace nodded to Cranston; they had met before. Weston motioned Cardona to a

"Very unsatisfactory, Cardona," was the commissioner's verdict. "You are getting nowhere with this case!"

"But I have eliminated five men," protested Cardona. "That is something of a start, commissioner "

"A start that you had two nights ago." Weston snapped his fingers. "Those men were out of the case like that.

"Certainly! Partly as a matter of procedure; partly to see if they could name persons concerned with Lucian

"I intend to do so, commissioner. But in the meantime, I must know what to do about these witnesses. Some

"They will all be up at Yorne's house, tonight," he stated. "I told them to be there. That's where I'm going

"Wait here a few minutes," insisted Weston. "I shall accompany you, Cardona. Well, Cranston, would you

"Sorry, commissioner." Cranston had risen. "I have another appointment. One of my own, with a man whom

A SLIGHT smile showed upon the fixed lips of Lamont Cranston, as he strolled from the grillroom.

Reaching the lobby, the millionaire walked to the street; a doorman signaled to the chauffeur of a parked

"Drive northward," he said, through the speaking tube. "Along Park Avenue, Stanley. I shall tell you when to

The chauffeur nodded. The big car pulled away. Lamont Cranston opened a small bag that lay upon the floor;

from it, he extracted garments of black. A cloak slipped over his shoulders; a hat settled on his head. A soft

Like Fritz, Lamont Cranston was The Shadow. One guise served for visits to Cardona's office; another for

meetings with the police commissioner. But when he traveled upon lone excursions, The Shadow preferred

The Shadow was right when he had stated that he had an appointment with a man whom he must meet

privately. But both Weston and Cardona would have been astounded had they known the name of the man

The man whom The Shadow expected to meet was the murderer of Lucian Yorne. The place that he had

chosen for the meeting was the very spot to which Weston and Cardona would soon be on their way. The

IT was nearly eight o'clock when Commissioner Weston and Joe Cardona arrived at Yorne's house. Cardona

had deputed an officer to precede him. It was the bluecoat who answered the door and conducted the arrivals

to a front reception room. Larger than Yorne's study, this room was a better place for such assemblage.

Elward and Renwood were present. They were seated, while Parlington was standing by the wall. Ronig was

also at the meeting; the taxi driver looked ill at ease in these surroundings. While Cardona was introducing

Commissioner Weston summarized the case. He made references to Cardona's report sheets; he repeated

questions that Joe had asked before. They brought uniform responses from the witnesses. Weston was

"Apparently, none of you can offer further aid," decided the commissioner. "We appreciate the testimony that

you have already given. We are sorry that any of you should have been inconvenienced. However, since

developments are still pending, I should like to know regarding your individual plans."

"I should like to go back to Detroit," asserted Loftus, promptly. "Naturally, I shall be available at any time.

Should you gain any trace of the stolen jewels, I can come to New York immediately."

"I had planned a trip abroad," stated Elward, a trifle nervously. "My wife and I arranged passage one week

Elward smiled in pleased fashion. He mopped his forehead with a silk handkerchief. Parlington spoke up.

"I am a British subject, sir," stated the butler. "I came to Canada a few years ago, with Sir Arthur

Grendenning. I was anxious to visit the States, so Sir Arthur arranged to have me take service with Mr.

"I can return to service with Sir Arthur. He is still in Montreal, and would be glad to have me in his

household. That is where I should like to go, sir, at whatever time would be convenient. Should I be required

Weston nodded as he spoke. He had referred to Cardona's report on Parlington. It contained full details of the

"I shall be right here in New York," remarked Renwood. He was lighting a cigarette as he spoke; his manner

lacked nervousness. "Any time you want to see me, commissioner, just put in a call to my brokerage office."

"My cab's outside, waiting," he said. "I'll be in it any time I'm wanted. If you don't mind doing me a favor,

commissioner, give me a pass so I can bust past them wise traffic cops on Sixth Avenue. I'd like to go right

The commissioner smiled indulgently. He drew a card from his wallet and wrote a brief order of approval. He

handed it to Ronig. The taxi driver started toward the door, to find Loftus waiting for him.

"I'll use your cab," remarked the man from Detroit. "I want to reach my hotel in a hurry. You can drive me

THE two left. Weston looked about and noted that Elward and Parlington had also gone. He glanced

"Elward's in the study," explained Joe. "He's calling Mrs. Elward, to tell her that they can take their trip to

Europe. Parlington went upstairs to get his luggage. He's going to take the late train to Montreal."

Renwood was a listener to this statement. Puffing at his cigarette, the young man watched Weston and

Cardona begin a review of the report sheets. Casually, Renwood strolled from the room and entered the front

hall. The front door was closed; apparently the policeman had gone outside. Renwood turned about; then

Footsteps were coming down the stairs, which lay past the door to the study, at the end of the long side hall.

Renwood was standing where he could not be seen; but he chanced to notice a wall mirror that gave him a

view directly to the stairway. There was a light at the foot of the stairs; hence Renwood's view was clear.

The man who had descended was Parlington. The servant was carrying two large suitcases. He turned right;

Renwood knew that he had stepped into the pantry. It was then that Renwood saw the sight that held him

Blackness moved. It came from the end of the hall just past the stairway. Shrouded, that mass looked vague,

yet living. As it advanced, Renwood thought that it would take human form; then his view was clouded, for

Renwood blinked as vision cleared. The shrouded figure had faded into nothingness.

Renwood had two solutions. One was the pantry, where Parlington was; the other possibility was the study,

where Elward was telephoning. The mirror gave no view of either door. Renwood had merely guessed that

Parlington had taken to the pantry, for he had seen the direction of the servant's turn. But that shape in

On tiptoe, Renwood moved from his place of obscurity. He went back through the hall. He stopped between

two doors that stood ajar. On the right was the study; Renwood could hear Elward talking on the telephone.

THE room was dimly lighted by a globe set in a wall niche. Within its walls, two figures formed a striking

tableau. One was Parlington; the servant was standing beside the china closet in the corner. He had opened

the door of the closet; from it, he had removed a stack of small black boxes. Turning, with these prizes in his

This second figure was that of a blackcloaked intruder. Renwood could see the stranger clearly. The weird

visitor was standing by the open door to the kitchen, turned half away from Renwood. Hence Renwood,

though he saw the shape, was unable to spy the burning eyes that glared in Parlington's direction.

He could guess the power of those eyes only from his observation of Parlington's features. The butler's face

had whitened; his whole frame was trembling. Then Renwood saw another threat: the muzzle of an automatic

projecting from a blackgloved fist. He heard a whispered tone of suppressed challenge. He caught the words

Parlington's recognition revealed the servant's caliber. It told that he was a man of crime; one who knew the

Renwood heard a hissed command. He saw Parlington's hands lower. The servant laid the boxes on a shelf

beneath the china closet. Trembling, he opened them. The glitter of gems sparkled in the light.

The Shadow had stepped closer to his quarry. Renwood saw one gloved hand thrust a pen and paper toward

Parlington. Still quaking, the servant took them. Then Renwood listened to a sibilant statement, as The

"Henry Durwell," repeated The Shadow, "alias Parlington, the murderer of Lucian Yorne."

With twitching lips, Parlington was writing the words. New statements came, in The Shadow's voice. He was

"I knew that Yorne would be coming to his office." The Shadow paused to watch Parlington write. "I waited

for him there. I shot him when he arrived. I took the jewels and his money. Yorne had worn his new hat and

"I took a cab that happened to be Ronig's." Coldly, The Shadow was still speaking for Parlington. "I talked in

a hoarse voice to imitate Yorne. I sent Ronig to change the twentydollar bill. I received Ronig when he

"That was just after six o'clock. When Elward and Renwood arrived at sixfifteen, they established my alibi

from that time onward. I had carried Yorne's umbrella. I purposely left it in the cab. I made Ronig think that

Yorne had told him my name, so that, later, if necessary, I could have the police find him.

"I, alone, was responsible for the crime. I was glad to leave England" The Shadow's tone was significant

"because of robberies that I had committed there. Crimes which had remained undiscovered."

Renwood stared. He wondered how The Shadow had guessed the past of Henry Durwell, alias Parlington.

Then, suddenly, the answer struck him. Parlington's recognition of The Shadow had been the clue. It proved

the servant to be a man of former crime; one who feared this avenger, whose name was dreaded by all crooks.

"With this note" The Shadow added final statements "I leave the stolen jewels. The gun that you will find

Fearfully, Parlington scrawled both names by which he had been known. Then came another order from The

AMAZED, Renwood watched Parlington reach into his coat pocket and produce a .32. Trembling, the servant

held the weapon, but dared not use it. The sight of the looming automatic made his gun seem puny.

Then The Shadow faded; his tall form blended with the darkness of the kitchen beyond the pantry. Parlington

Yet the crook still felt The Shadow's presence. That mysterious visitor had completely sized Parlington's

caliber. The Shadow knew what the crook would do, once his crime had been discovered.

Renwood watched Parlington raise the muzzle of the revolver to his temple. The murderer was bent on

suicide. The shot that would produce his own death would bring Cardona on the run, to find the butler's

As Renwood stared, a heavy hand clamped on his shoulder. The young man swung about, to be promptly

thrust aside. The arrival was Joe Cardona. Stepping from the reception room, the inspector had seen Renwood

peering at the pantry door. As he pushed the eavesdropper aside, Cardona gave a demanding growl; with his

Cardona saw Parlington, with gun still to his head. The ace sleuth spied the glittering jewels. With a roar, Joe

drove inward, yanking a Police Positive from his pocket. His gun, like Parlington's glimmered in the light.

The effect was instantaneous. The Shadow's spell was broken. New murder not suicide became

As Cardona drew, Parlington jumped back and aimed his own gun for the ace. Renwood, back at the

doorway, saw the snarling butler gain the bulge. He knew that Parlington would beat Cardona to the shot. But

before Parlington could fire, a burst of flame spat from the kitchen; with it a reechoing roar that came as

A sizzling bullet speeded from the kitchen, to find its lodgment in Parlington's gunwrist. A howl came from

the servant's lips as his finger refused its task of pulling the trigger. Then, before the crook could recover,

Firing instinctively, Joe drove a stream of bullets into the murderer's body. Parlington succumbed.

Renwood's gaze turned toward the kitchen door. For the first time, the eavesdropper saw the burning eyes of

The Shadow. Glowing orbs from darkness, they made the startled observer drop back into the hall. As he

It was The Shadow's knell for the deserved fate that had come to a man of evil. Parlington, slayer of his

master, was dead. Not by his own hand, but from the bullet justly dealt by Joe Cardona. The ace had taken

WESTON and Elward were dashing into the hall to find Renwood gasping like a man who had experienced

Weston and Elward kept on; Renwood managed enough nerve to follow. They found Cardona holding the

signed confession and the jewels, with Parlington's body on the floor beside him.

Renwood glanced nervously toward the kitchen door. He saw no sign of The Shadow. The master sleuth had

In the talk that followed, Joe Cardona listened sympathetically to Renwood. The young man stated that he

had seen Parlington go into the pantry; that he had wondered why the servant did not come out. He had gone

to the door so he said just in time to see Parlington raise the revolver to his head. The sight, Renwood

Joe Cardona believed the story. He wanted to believe it, because he was glad that no mention had been made

of the shot from the kitchen. Joe knew that he had been saved by The Shadow; he could guess whose

influence had impelled Parlington to turn yellow at the moment when his getaway was clear. But Joe knew

When he left the house, Jerry Renwood gave way to nervousness that he had managed to repress until he

walked alone. Striding along Park Avenue, he felt the fearful sensation that eyes were watching him; that

Until tonight, Renwood had been calm, although he had been a possible suspect in the murder of Lucian

Yorne. Parlington's confession and death had cleared Renwood of all implication. It was odd, somehow, that

There was an answer. Jerry Renwood had seen The Shadow. He had learned how that weird master dealt with

evildoers. Jerry Renwood feared The Shadow; the reason, logically, was because Renwood held a secret of

his own. Though blameless so far as Yorne's death was concerned, Renwood knew that he could be

Contempt for the law had been his motto. But he had quailed at the sight of The Shadow, who had stepped in

where the law had faltered. Jerry Renwood had seen The Shadow; and deep within, he felt the sinking fear

AT two o'clock the next afternoon, Jerry Renwood came from the doorway of a restaurant on Broadway. He

spied a waiting taxicab; one look at the driver worried him. He was sure that he had seen the same man

It was partly on account of that cab that Renwood had come uptown for lunch. He had wanted to test his

Renwood turned about and walked up Broadway. Looking over his shoulder, he made sure that the taxi did

not turn about to keep him in sight. The cab remained stationary; but Renwood was lucky enough to spot

another man who might be a follower. This stranger was a young chap who happened to stroll from the

Increasing his gait, Renwood thought of a hasty plan to shake off the man who was trailing him. He was on

the west side of Broadway; he quickened his pace to reach the next street. There he darted into a subway

entrance; pulling a nickel from his pocket, he pounded down the stairs in hope that he might gain a break.

It happened as Renwood wanted. Just as he neared the turnstile, a southbound local rattled into the station.

Renwood dropped his nickel in the slot; he pushed through the turnstile and ran for the rear car. As he passed

a news stand, he suddenly changed course. Backing against the wall, he used the news stand for cover.

Another man came through the turnstiles. It was the same fellow whom Renwood had seen coming from the

restaurant. The arrival managed to squeeze aboard the local just before it started. The doors closed; the train

rumbled southward. Renwood grinned as he stepped from his hiding place. This was a local stop only; the

pursuer if he was such had taken it for granted that Renwood had boarded the train.

Still thinking of the taxi driver, Renwood dashed back through the turnstile and up the steps to the street. He

ran into a frail, hunched man at the top, and nearly bowled the fellow from his feet. Mumbling an apology,

He was none too soon. As he peered from the obscure spot, Renwood saw the taxi that he had observed

before. It was coming eastward along this oneway street. The driver had evidently made a quick trip around

Grinning to himself, Renwood watched the cab roll by and turn south on Broadway.

Sneaking from the doorway, Renwood remembered the man whom he had bumped on the subway steps. He

threw a suspicious glance toward the subway entrance, but saw no sign of the man. Satisfied that he was no

longer watched, Renwood threaded a circuitous course along various thoroughfares until he reached an

RENWOOD entered. He ascended a flight of steps and came to a room that had only a few tables.

A man was seated alone; he looked up as Renwood entered. Darkeyed, sallowfaced, the fellow delivered a

"What was keeping you?" he demanded. "When I called you up, you said you would come uptown as soon as

"Nothing much, George," returned Renwood. "I I thought I'd better get lunch uptown. That was all "

"You could have called here. All you have to do is ask for Mr. Corbal. They'll look for me up here."

Corbal arose and shut the door. His eyes narrowed; his face hardened as he studied Renwood's worried

countenance. Ordinarily, Renwood had an air of nonchalance that fitted with his light, wellfeatured face.

"Out with it," purred Corbal, his tone not unfriendly. "Come on, Jerry something has taken your nerve. It

can't be this Yorne business. That was settled last night. You're in the clear, so far as that is concerned."

Renwood fumbled for a cigarette. Corbal passed him one; then clapped him on the shoulder.

"All right." Renwood nodded with an effort. "It's about Parlington. You've read the newspapers, George.

"Yes," admitted Corbal, sourly. "And the worst part of it was that we didn't guess he had it. There you were,

making friends with Yorne, so we could build up to a swindle. Along came Parlington and finished him. Kept

"We could have shaken Parlington for a divvy, if we'd known it. Bad business, maybe, dealing with a

murderer; but he was a smooth one. Yes, it does look funny that the fellow turned things on himself. Why

"Yes. He had reason to be nervous. That confession was dictated to him, George."

"By someone who was in the room with him someone in black. Parlington called him 'The Shadow' "

AN exclamation from Corbal. Renwood was surprised at its sharpness. It reminded him of Parlington's

"The Shadow," repeated Renwood. "He had the goods on Parlington. The fellow wilted. I would have, too, if

I'd been him. Black cloak slouch hat an automatic that looked like a cannon. That describes him, George.

"I've heard of The Shadow," interposed Corbal, as Renwood faltered. "I never met anyone, though, who had

seen him. He must have a lot on the ball, to scare the daylights out of a cool card like Parlington. The fellow

"Absolutely! He took it while The Shadow told him every detail of his crime. It left me woozy, George!"

"You wouldn't have forgotten it. Listen, George: After I left Yorne's, I'd have sworn that I was being tagged.

Today, everywhere I've been, I've felt that eyes were watching me. A taxi driver a man in the subway "

Corbal strolled about the room, eyeing his informant. At last he put a question:

"Don't want to go through with the next job?" queried Corbal. "Not anxious to help in the Garraway frame?"

"It's bad business, George," returned Renwood. "We don't deal in murder, either of us. Nor burglary, nor any

"Only when we've dealt with people who can't afford to squawk. There's no comeback from the law."

Corbal laughed harshly. A slow hard smile appeared upon his features. At last he spoke.

"Suppose we call the Garraway job the last one," he suggested. "Make it the payoff; then travel our own

"Eight o'clock tonight," he said. "You know where to meet me. At the new apartment. If you arrive ahead of

me, open up the cash box and count over the swag. That will make you feel good. Then we can talk over the

"Just about. We'll talk it over when we get together. I'm going out from here by the back away. You stick

around, have dinner here, then go out by the back and head for the apartment. You know you haven't been

WITH that, Corbal departed. He left Jerry Renwood in a strengthened frame of mind; for his words had been

Alone, Renwood pulled a large envelope from his pocket and took out a stack of investment literature. These

papers would be useful in tonight's game. Renwood had worked his racket often, always with Corbal.

Renwood, because of his brokerage connections, served as the "blind"; actual blackmail was always staged

by Corbal. That had lulled Renwood in the past, for it placed the burden on his pal. As Corbal had remarked,

there had never been any "comeback." But Renwood had felt some worriment, for he had frequently supplied

Through various connections, Renwood gained inklings of doubtful deals that had been worked by persons of

good standing. Whenever such cases showed new developments, a trimming was in order. No one knew that

Renwood was acquainted with Corbal; hence they set the stage so that Renwood would be a witness to

Corbal's blackmail. Always, Renwood would soothe the victim afterward, advising him to say nothing; also

Experience had shown them that a blackmailed party would come across for the first time; but from then out,

would constantly devise ways to prevent a second attempt. Hence they never played the same sucker twice.

They had gone through a fat list; the next man in line was Machias Garraway, the banker. Renwood had

looked forward to this trimming. But last night, his enthusiasm had faded. Today, encouraged by Corbal's

Afternoon waned. Renwood's plans were complete. The young man was nonchalant when he strolled

downstairs to the cafe and ordered dinner. He sat by a front window that was heavily curtained. Peering

A taxicab was dim beyond a street lamp. Renwood hoped that it was not the one that he had seen on

There were few diners in the restaurant, a fact that Renwood noted with satisfaction. He saw no one who

looked suspicious; nevertheless, when he left, he took the door that few persons knew about the exit to the

rear street. He walked several blocks; then became cautious as he neared a secluded apartment building.

IT was nearly eight o'clock. Darkness had brought worriment. More and more, Renwood had felt the strange

fear that had gripped him the night before. The Shadow might be anywhere, Renwood decided. Perhaps he

had learned of the Marimba Cafe; possibly he had discovered the rear exit and had lurked there.

Entering the apartment house, Renwood felt new terror as he ascended to the third floor. He had a key to the

apartment; it was at the rear of the house. Its side windows overlooked the low roof of a garage that wedged

Renwood was nervous when he opened the window and peered out into the darkness. The roof the narrow

Steadying himself, Renwood went to a corner of the living room. Stooping, he pressed a section of the

baseboard. It clicked open, to reveal a cavity that contained a large metal box.

Renwood opened this container; from it, he removed stacks of currency, bundles of securities all labeled

with the names of former owners. As he counted this swag, Renwood kept darting new glances toward the

window. Strained, he could think only of that menace; he gave no heed to the locked door behind him.

It was not until he heard the slight thud of a closing door that Renwood remembered the entrance. Hands

filled with spoils, the crook came to his feet and spun about. Horror seized him; his face froze rigid.

Renwood, indeed, became an exact copy of Parlington, as the crooked butler had been the night before.

The reason for Renwood's startlement was the same as Parlington's. Within the door stood a figure garbed in

black one whose cloak collar was high about his chin; whose hat brim, turned downward, obscured his

visage. A gloved fist extended from the intruder's cloak; a steady hand gripped a leveled automatic.

In one brief instant, Jerry Renwood broke. Stolen wealth dropped from his hands; his quivering shoulders

sagged. He had seen The Shadow once before; this time, he was faced by that formidable foe.

STAMMERED words came to the lips of Jerry Renwood. Pleading, incoherent, he was begging mercy of The

Shadow. Upon the floor lay proofs of crime; the spoils that he and George Corbal had gained from

blackmailed victims. Renwood was ready to part with all such wealth, could he avoid the fate that had

Renwood was not waiting for dictated terms. He was blurting all he knew; blabbing the name of Corbal;

blaming all he could upon his partner in crookery. The vengeful form in black came closer. Renwood tried to

back away. Quaking pitifully, he slumped to the floor, his hands raised piteously.

A harsh laugh sounded. Venomous, rather than sinister; yet the gibe had effect. To Renwood, the mere sight

of The Shadow's shrouded shape had been sufficient. He expected instant flame from the looming gun

muzzle. He buried his face in his hands. The laugh changed. It was raucous. Surprise made Renwood raise his

head. He realized suddenly that no burning eyes were peering from beneath the hat brim. He wondered.

The slouch hat whisked backward as a gloved hand impelled it. The same hand threw aside the collar of the

cloak. As the automatic lowered, Renwood saw a face he recognized. The man in black was not a strange

"YOU you were at Yorne's last night?" Renwood sputtered the question, almost unbelieving. "You were

"No." Laughing, Corbal was laying aside his garments. "It was The Shadow who was there last night. The

real McCoy. You gave me an idea when you spitted your story, Jerry. I rigged up this trick outfit, after I left

Renwood was losing his sheepishness. Fists clenched, he had risen from the floor. He was angered, now that

"Don't act sore, Jerry," he argued. "I had to spring this gag on you. I wanted to see how it would work. So you

"You made a sap of me," interjected Renwood. "Because I was on the level; because I let you know that I was

"Easy, Jerry. I could be peeved, too. You squawked a lot while I had you covered. Mentioned my name, as I

"This rig is a swell idea," resumed Corbal, placing his discarded garb upon a chair. "It worked even better

than I thought it would. I don't think that it would shake you, though, if you knew that I was inside it. That's

"All this swag of ours," said Corbal, indicating the securities and the cash, "was plucked from people who

had duped others. Garraway is just another in the crowd. You know why he wants to talk to you, Jerry.

Garraway had juggled the trust funds of several estates. He switched bum stocks for good ones. He wants to

"Garraway figures you're too dumb to know it. He wants to use you for a fence. Your job is to keep on

playing dumb. Mine is to walk in when he's showing you the stuff; to tell him what it is and to make him

"That's it! Remember that I'm the man behind this batch of crepe and watch Garraway for your cues. Act just

Corbal was stooping on the floor, picking up bundles of currency that Renwood had scattered. He saw his

"Slide on up to the Hotel Dothan," ordered Corbal. "You know Garraway's suite No. 1200 and he's told

"I'll put it on after I get to the twelfth floor. I'll carry one of the suitcases that we have here in the closet. It

Renwood donned hat and coat. His shaken confidence had been regained. He strolled to the door and nodded

"I'll be there in ten minutes, George," he assured. "Waiting for you to show up. Pull the stunt as strong as you

RENWOOD made the trip in the time that he had estimated. Arrived at the Hotel Dothan, he went up to

Garraway's suite. He rapped at the door. A slouchy, baldheaded man admitted him. This was Garraway,

"Well, well!" greeted the banker. "So you have come to see me, Mr. Renwood! I had not expected you

tonight, or I would have kept my servant here. He knows how to prepare refreshments better than I do."

"I have come on business, Mr. Garraway," returned Renwood, briskly. "About investments. I have prepared

As they walked into the suite, Renwood pulled an envelope from his pocket. He noted that Garraway did not

latch the door; that fact pleased Renwood at the outset. By the time they had reached a room that served as an

office, Renwood had extracted papers from the envelope. He spread these upon the banker's desk.

"My assumption," stated Renwood, "is that you intend to purchase some substantial securities. Of course, I

may be wrong. Sometimes I meet clients who wish to sell some of their own. In fact" he paused wisely

"certain of my offerings are the property of customers whose names I never mention."

Garraway was looking over Renwood's data. Hearing the visitor's last remark, the banker raised his head.

"Do I understand," he inquired, "that you make a custom of handling such transactions? That you ask no

"I should be glad to purchase them at a few points below the current market price."

GARRAWAY arose from his desk. He went to a safe in the corner. He handled the combination; then opened

the door and brought out a narrow box. From its depths, he produced a bundle of securities.

"These should satisfy you," assured Garraway. "They happen to be some stocks that a friend of mine must

sacrifice. An old friend let us say a friend who is in difficult circumstances, one who would not care to have

"Look them over. Confidentially, of course. Perhaps you may wish to buy some of them. Of course, if it

Garraway was rubbing his hands. He was just about to make reference to the mythical friend whom he had

previously mentioned. Then, suddenly, words froze upon his lips. Renwood saw the banker stare toward the

For the third time, he was viewing a figure cloaked in black. Knowing of the part that Corbal had planned to

play, Renwood had imagined that he would need to fake startlement for Garraway's later benefit. Such

pretence, however, proved unnecessary. Despite himself, Renwood felt a chill of fear.

Last night's episode with Parlington; the bluff that Corbal had staged tonight at the apartment these had left

Renwood in a jittery frame of mind. Past recollections made this spectral figure seem a living threat. The

tension remained until the intruder laughed. A harshness in his mirth reminded Renwood of Corbal.

Slowly, steadily, the masquerader approached the desk. Garraway cowered before the gun muzzle. Renwood,

feigning fear without great effort, heard another tone of whispered mockery. This taunt was an improvement;

Corbal, apparently, had profited by Renwood's criticism. Then the intruder spoke.

"Stolen goods," he sneered, his tone smoothening as he proceeded. "Wealth that you have rifled from those

who trusted you. I am The Shadow! I have come here to right a wrong! Tell me the names of those whom you

betrayed." Lips quivering, Garraway confessed. He blurted names of persons; amounts of cash; the specific

securities that had been transferred. All the while, he stared as though entranced, looking straight toward the

Renwood, standing at one side, remained motionless. "These holdings will be delivered to their owners,"

ordained the cloaked visitor. "I shall see that the right ones receive their property. You will do wisely,

Garraway, to notify them to expect specific securities. Wise, also, if you remove the worthless paper with

"As for you, Renwood" the cloaked figure wheeled "I regard you as an accomplice of Garraway's. You

are to leave this city. You are to maintain silence. If you fail to do so, you will suffer. Go, before I regret my

MECHANICALLY, Renwood walked from the room, skirting wide past the figure in black. He reached the

outer door; there he paused to dart a quick look over his shoulder. He could see the open doorway of the

office. The figure in black was backing outward; beyond, Renwood could see Garraway.

The banker had crumpled; he was slumped upon his desk. Terror had overpowered him.

Closing the door of the suite, Renwood crossed the hall and rang for an elevator. He was still tingling when

he left the lobby of the Dothan. Corbal's impersonation had been a marvel of realism. When he reached the

apartment where the swag was hidden, the young man unlocked the door. Muttering to himself, he was

"Great work, George!" mumbled Renwood, grinning. "You bowled out Garraway. You forced me clear of the

picture. We're set to take it on the lam before Garraway has sense enough to get wise "

Renwood stopped short. He had opened the door; he was on the threshold of the apartment, staring into the

lighted living room. On the floor lay the metal box, opened and empty. Beyond it was a sterner sight a

figure, bound and gagged, sprawled in a large chair. A man in a crumpled cloak of black, a slouch hat

With a cry, Renwood bounded forward. He yanked the hat from the bound man's forehead. He stared at the

face beneath. Sullen eyes met Jerry Renwood's startled gaze. The helpless man in the chair was George

IN that instant, Renwood knew the truth. His qualms about the opened window had been real ones. A watcher

had lurked outside the window; one who had followed the trail from the Marimba Cafe. The Shadow had

been here, a silent, invisible observer, when Corbal had first entered in his guise of black.

The Shadow had struck as soon as Renwood had gone. He had overpowered Corbal. He had taken the spoils

from the metal box. It was The Shadow, not Corbal, who had followed to Garraway's. Gone, vanished, The

Shadow had added Garraway's illgotten proceeds to the swag that Renwood and Corbal had accumulated.

Wealth would be returned to proper owners by The Shadow. And here was the sequel to his successful

exploit, a grim jest wherein one crook discovered his companion, that both might discuss the futility of crime.

To murderers, The Shadow dealt death: to such schemes as Corbal and Renwood, he dealt ridicule.

Thus had The Shadow ended the Masquerade of George Corbal, the man who had posed as a second Shadow.

Upon it, he had allowed Jerry Renwood to return. Two crooks, deprived of spoils, had learned that their

THE next morning, Jerry Renwood awoke in his old apartment; but it took him a full minute to recognize his

surroundings. A deluge of scattered thoughts dominated his brain. Yorne's the Marimba Cafe Garraway's

the apartment where he and Corbal had kept their swag all these formed a confused recollection. At last,

Clear was his memory of The Shadow. A specter in black, who persisted even in daylight. Then to

Renwood's ears came a repetition of the sound that had awakened him. Someone was pounding at the door of

the apartment. Nervously, he donned slippers and dressing gown. He answered the summons.

A messenger was outside the door. The fellow handed Renwood an envelope and a pad to sign.

Mechanically, Renwood wrote his name; then, as soon as the messenger had gone, he opened the envelope.

There was no signature. The message did not need one. Renwood knew that it had come from The Shadow.

As if in final proof, the note itself performed a mysterious deed one that matched The Shadow's own

performances. While Renwood stared, the written lines erased themselves, word by word, until blankness

There were other papers in the envelope. Examining them, Renwood found that they were oneway tickets to

San Francisco two in number. He shoved them in the pocket of his dressing gown, then crumpled the blank

The Shadow's purpose was plain. He was giving the partners in crime another chance. He was depending

upon Renwood to see that Corbal went straight. Somehow, The Shadow must have looked into the affairs of

Not long ago, Renwood had received an attractive offer of employment from a Pacific coast brokerage house.

He had been asked to come West and bring along any capable man whom he might recommend. Renwood

had passed up the offer at Corbal's urging; but he knew that the jobs were still open. The Shadow, too, had

THE telephone rang. Renwood answered it, to hear Corbal on the wire. Corbal had stayed at the apartment

where they had kept the swag. This morning, he had received a mysterious telephone message, telling him to

communicate with Renwood. Having given that information, Corbal said that he would arrive in fifteen

Jerry Renwood engaged in sober thought while he waited. He had formed a plan of discourse by the time

George Corbal arrived. As soon as the two exblackmailers were together, Renwood produced the railroad

"We'd better grab the chance," urged Renwood. "We've crossed The Shadow once. We're lucky we didn't get

"I have about six hundred. That's eleven hundred actually our own. Suppose we draw out the money,

"Maybe we did cross The Shadow," he asserted. "But what of it? Just because he piled in from the window

and smeared them once is no reason that he can pull that gag again! We've lost a pile of gravy, Jerry. It's up to

"We'd be licked from the start, George," he insisted. "The Shadow has us ticketed. We've got to get out of

"But how can you stage the racket in Frisco? It will take you months to get acquainted well enough to build a

"Bah! So you've gone goodygoody, eh? Well, you've got your car fare. Beat it for Frisco if you want. But

"Yes. What's more, I'll play a lone hand. One that will drive The Shadow woozy! Listen, Jerry I know a lot

I haven't told you. While you've been getting the lowdown on respectable people, I've been looking into

CORBAL eyed Renwood while making this final statement. Shrewdly, he noted the strained expression that

showed upon Renwood's face. Corbal started to ask a question; then paused. Renwood spoke.

"I'm through with the racket, George," said Renwood. "I want you to drop it, too. For your own good. You

showed the way when we worked crooked. Give me a chance to lead when we go straight."

Corbal nodded. His whole face had sobered. Renwood was surprised at the sudden change. He did not realize

"You're right, Jerry," declared Corbal. "Yes, you've picked the one way out of it. Let me see those tickets."

"Not a bad guy, The Shadow," purred Corbal. "He's staked us to the tickets. It's up to us to make the

"I'll go down to Grand Central. I'll arrange for a compartment to Chicago; another from there to San

"There's a good train out at nine o'clock tonight," he said. "I'll meet you on it, Jerry. Ask at the gate for the

compartment number, if you don't see me waiting there. I may go in ahead of you."

TO Jerry Renwood, that day became a strange one. After Corbal's departure, Renwood dressed and went

down to the office. He announced that he had taken the San Francisco offer; and gave up his New York job

therewith. Later, he went to the bank and drew out his six hundred dollars. After that, he wired the concern in

Renwood had dinner at his favorite Times Square restaurant. With that farewell to Manhattan finished, he

headed for Grand Central Terminal. He arrived at the train gate at quarter before nine. He asked the gate

"Mr. Corbal is on board," he said. "Compartment B, Car J 3. He has your ticket with him."

Renwood beckoned to the porter who was carrying his bags. As he did so, a man beside the train gate brushed

against him. Renwood did not see the fellow's face. All that he heard was the word that the man whispered:

Renwood nodded without turning. A folded piece of paper was thrust into his hand. Ordering the porter

through the gate, Renwood followed. Walking along the platform, he opened the wadded note.

The writing faded as Renwood neared Car J 3. Renwood understood. This man who had slipped him the note

must be an agent of The Shadow. One who had been on yesterday's trail. The man had been watching for

Renwood, not for Corbal. He must have written the note while Renwood was talking with the man at the train

Instructions from The Shadow; and Renwood was ready to follow them. Instructions without a clue, for the

Lenning Service mentioned in the note was evidently a place that received telegrams and held them until the

proper person called on the telephone to make inquiry. Renwood realized that he was working with The

Shadow. He was pleased; for he knew that it would be to Corbal's eventual benefit.

Entering his car, Renwood reached the door of Compartment B. He started to open it; pressure blocked him.

"Nothing. I'll tell you later. Bring in the bags yourself. Keep the porter out."

Renwood walked back to the platform, where the station porter was standing with the bags. He tipped the

man; then waited while the porter walked away. Stepping to one side, Renwood saw a clear path to the train

Corbal was aboard. That was all that Renwood had to flash. Yet he was puzzled when he walked back into

the car. He could not understand Corbal's desire for secrecy. Nevertheless, Renwood stopped the car porter,

With that remark, Renwood sent the porter on his way. Opening the door, Renwood pushed the bags into

Renwood complied. When he clicked the light switch, he turned about, questioning words on his lips. He

stopped short as he saw the man who was seated by the windows, backed by lowered blinds.

It was not Corbal. In his friend's stead sat a roughfaced rowdy who was holding a leveled revolver.

"Sit down!" growled the man with the gun. "Don't forget that I've got this gat. We're goin' to be friends, pal,

"My name's Spike Gonley," grinned the thug. "George Corbal sent me in here. I've got your ticket, too, an'

"We was all set," resumed Gonley. "Goin' to knock off the joints together; with me slippin' the info to

George. We figured he'd need a mob, though. While we was still waitin', George rigged up another racket.

"A good pal of yours, George is. He ain't sore just because you got cold feet. He was just wise enough to

know that you couldn't stand the gaff. When he talked with you this mornin', he knowed that you was ready

to pull a fast one on him, because you thought it was for his good. So he switched it. Savvy?"

Renwood nodded automatically. "Spike" Gonley was looking for such a gesture. The thug grinned.

"Hit it right, didn't I?" he jeered. "Well, I'm just tellin' you what Corbal guessed. He's a smart guy, George is.

Renwood realized that Spike must have peered from the door of the compartment. Looking through the

passage window, the thug had seen the signal. Renwood decided that partial admission would be wise.

"An' what's the gag in Chi?" demanded Gonley. "You're to send a telegram from there, huh?"

"Yes," admitted Renwood. "To the office of the Lenning Service, in the Sharon Building. Just to say that

"He figured something like that," clucked Gonley. "An' after that when we get to Frisco what's the gag

Renwood had his opening. He nodded. A jolt told that the train was starting. Spike Gonley pocketed his gun.

"We'll split, after you send that telegram from Frisco," he stated. "Until we get there, though, I'm watchin'

you. Corbal says you ain't a bad guy; so we might as well be friends. Only if you try any wise stuff, it'll be

curtains for you. That's why Corbal fixed it so we'd be by ourselves while we're travelin'; he knowed I could

RENWOOD forced a smile. The train was gliding northward. It was too late to get word to The Shadow. Nor

Spike Gonley evidently intended to stick close, all the way. Renwood decided that the best he could do was

His former pal was a criminal at heart, and Renwood knew it. Corbal had gained a fair chance to go straight.

He had preferred to stay with crime. He had made his opportunity. By the time Renwood gained contact in

San Francisco, Corbal would have the start he needed. That was Renwood's only regret.

For he could guess the part that Corbal intended. The same game that he had tried to play last night. Only this

time, he would thrust himself into the affairs of the underworld, seeking to strike terror in the hearts of crooks

Already, Renwood was picturing San Francisco, where he could shake loose from Spike Gonley, after

sending a fake telegram. He could imagine himself speaking to some new agent of The Shadow, passing

Renwood was through with Corbal. He would be glad to tell the news that he had learned. He would state the

truth as he was sure it must exist. For Jerry Renwood knew that George Corbal had remained in New York to

Perhaps upon this very night, George Corbal was faring forth to crime, garbed as the second Shadow!

FIVE days had passed since Jerry Renwood's departure from New York. Three nights had been quiet ones;

the fourth had produced a startling event. On the streets, near the end of the fifth day, news boys were

Joe Cardona heard the shouts as he entered a building. He had finished a busy day; as a sequel, he was on his

way to Commissioner Weston's office. Joe knew what the subject of discussion would surely be. This matter

Cardona found Weston at his desk. The commissioner looked up when Joe was ushered in. Briskly, he told

the ace to be seated. Finishing with letters that he was signing, Weston planked both hands upon the glass top

"I suppose so, commissioner. I know of others, though, who have counted on him in a pinch."

"Myself, for one," he admitted. "Yes, Cardona, we both owe The Shadow a great deal. And yet this news

"According to the newspapers," interposed Cardona, carefully, "The Shadow raided the Hilo Club and took

what was on the tables. A pretty good haul, I guess. The Hilo Club was one of those places that we hadn't yet

"The Shadow made a getaway," added Cardona, reluctantly. "Patrolman Jennings heard the shouts and tried

to intercept him. The Shadow let him have it. Jennings is in the hospital. He may not live."

"That's just it!" Weston brought his fist down on the desk. "Cardona, we have allowed The Shadow leeway,

because we believed that he opposed crime. Today, we know that he no longer deserves our loyalty. He has

"It's tough about Jennings," agreed Cardona. "Yet we can't be sure that it was The Shadow who clipped him.

"If that's the case, Cardona, I'll change my present order. I want you to bring in the man who raided the Hilo

The question floored Cardona. A light came into the acting inspector's eyes. Weston had guessed an issue

"I get it, commissioner!" exclaimed the ace. "You mean that maybe it wasn't The Shadow at all! Instead, the

fellow who raided the Hilo Club could have been a crook rigged up like The Shadow. Some fellow smart

"If you're right, commissioner," said Joe, "it explains a lot. For a guy named Zutz was outside man for the

Hilo Club and it looks like he was bribed by the man in black. But we know The Shadow never deals with

"It is my suggestion we lay off this case temporarily, and let the other gambling places run wide open. Then

"Of all criminals, this unknown impostor has ventured far beyond bounds! His deed has been a deliberate

challenge to The Shadow! Cardona, our policy is to keep hands off. The Shadow can take care of his own

IT was an hour later when Commissioner Weston strolled into the grillroom of the Cobalt Club. Walking

toward his accustomed table, he saw Lamont Cranston seated there. The millionaire smiled slightly as the

"Well, Weston," came the quiet remark, "I have suddenly dropped my aversion toward crime news. I have

been reading of this latest development. Who is this person that they call 'The Shadow'?"

"He is a doubtful quantity, Cranston," replied the commissioner. "Once we thought that he sided with the law.

"An odd circumstance. Well, at least he has shown his particular specialty. He raided the Hilo Club and came

out a winner. From what I have heard, there are other places in town that should interest him."

"There are quite a few. We have been busy breaking the numbers racket. On that account, we have been slow

"Not at all. On the contrary, we shall allow the gambling places to continue unmolested. Inspector Cardona

made that suggestion this afternoon. He reasoned that since The Shadow has turned to crime, we might as

Later, when Lamont Cranston had entered his limousine, his thin lips delivered a soft laugh of whispered

understanding. The Shadow had learned much through his conversation with Ralph Weston. He had divined

Two men, alone, had guessed the truth that even the underworld had not suspected. Those two were Weston

and Cardona. They had reasoned that the raider at the Hilo Club had been an impersonator of The Shadow.

Having conjectured that fact from Weston's guarded statements, The Shadow had also visualized the course

Gambling houses would remain unclamped, in hope that the false, cloaked raider would continue his career

of crime. The reason for such decision was another hope; namely, that The Shadow, himself, would take to

ARRIVED at his sanctum, The Shadow turned on the blue light. He opened envelopes that he had picked up

at an obscure office on the way. One contained a telegram signed "Crofton." It was from San Francisco and it

had been sent to a New York investment broker named Rutledge Mann. The telegram discussed securities;

Miles Crofton, The Shadow's contact agent in San Francisco, had contacted Jerry Renwood, to learn that

George Corbal had not left New York. This, however, was news that The Shadow had already guessed. Since

last night, he had been working on the assumption that Corbal was still the second Shadow.

A tiny bulb glittered from the wall as The Shadow drew earphones across the table. The Shadow was putting

"Report from Marsland. Watching the Club Torreo. Hawkeye had trailed Jake Lassop, lookout due on duty at

A weird laugh chilled the sanctum. The Shadow had already gained results. Through Cliff Marsland, an agent

who knew the underworld, he had checked on the disappearance of Zutz, the lookout who had been at the

Hilo Club. The Shadow, like Joe Cardona, had figured how his imitator had worked.

Hawkeye was a spotter who worked with Cliff. In fact, Hawkeye was the little hunchedup man who had

bumped Jerry Renwood at the top of the subway stairs the day he thought he was being followed. Hawkeye

was a useful trailer; he had scored another hit. The Shadow had picked the Club Torreo as the next spot that a

raiding masquerader would choose. Hawkeye had already gained suspicions concerning Jake Lassop, one of

A GAMBLING house deluxe, the Club Torreo was difficult to enter. Yet Harry Vincent, an agent of The

Shadow, had managed to fix it for himself. He had done this through Clyde Burke, a reporter who also served

The Shadow knew George Corbal to be a man who had more nerve than cunning. Somewhere in Manhattan,

the fellow had a hideout. From it, he would fare forth to further crime, impelled by his success at the Hilo

Club. Crooks would not stop him; they were worried, for the present. Thinking that The Shadow himself had

turned to crime, they had not guessed that a repeat performance would be next in order.

Corbal, perhaps, had figured out that much. But The Shadow knew that the rogue would be in the dark

regarding moves intended by the law. He analyzed Corbal as a man who would be lulled by ignorance.

The Shadow, however, had wanted to know the plans of the police. If the law was ready to down the

Through casual conversation with Commissioner Weston, The Shadow had learned the law's intention.

Weston did not know that The Shadow passed as Lamont Cranston; nor had he guessed that through talking

Yet Weston had done exactly that. He had indicated fully that the law was counting on The Shadow.

Tonight, George Corbal would move to new attack. In turn, The Shadow would be present. Corbal had one

aid: Jake Lassop. The Shadow would have three: Vincent, Marsland and Hawkeye. What Corbal thought

The light clicked out within the sanctum. Silence thickened with The Shadow's departure. Tonight was a time

for action; a potential murderer must be thwarted in new crime. Such was The Shadow's purpose. The way

Yet no one not even The Shadow could foresee the episode that this night would bring. New freaks of

chance were in the making. Crime was to take a new, morestartling twist. All through the sudden loss of

Jake Lassop, traitorous lookout at the Club Torreo, was the minor factor whose action was to bring about

IT was close to eight o'clock. Business was brisk at the Club Torreo. A gambling joint was clicking merrily

on the floor above a pretentious night club. Visitors were subjected to close scrutiny. No trouble was

Within a secluded office, two men were engaged in conference. One was "Duke" Hydon, the bearded

proprietor of the Club Torreo. The other was a tall, sharpfeatured man whose presence Hydon regarded as

an honor. Small wonder, for the visitor held a reputation in the world of gambling. He was "Sparkler"

Sparkler deserved his nickname. The man had a flare for jewelry. Brilliant gems glittered from his finger

rings; in his necktie, he wore an oldfashioned stickpin with a diamond that reflected like a spotlight. Only

his teeth lacked gems; they shone with plain golden glimmer whenever Sparkler grinned.

"So you'll sell the joint?" Sparkler was quizzing. "Well, I ought to be glad to hear you say that, Duke. But I'm

"Why not?" queried Hydon in feigned surprise. "You just told me you wanted to buy."

"So I did. Revolutions have shot the racket in Cuba. But this place of yours is paying plenty, Duke. There's

"You've got the wrong idea, Sparkler," he declared. "The racket is still good; and will be. But the grind is

"They know who you are. That's enough. The best customers are scared for fear that joints are phony. There's

been squawks about fixed roulette wheels, paying too big a percentage to the houses. What they want is a

chance that they think is as good as Monte Carlo. If you take over the Club Torreo, the news will spread

DUKE broke off as someone knocked at the door. He nodded to Sparkler. The pair arose. They went to the

"The man I relieve is still there, Mr. Hydon. I thought I'd better speak to you before I went on duty."

Lassop eyed Sparkler Meldin. The man from Havana met his gaze with shrewd eyes. Lassop twitched

"It's just a crazy hunch, maybe," he said, "but I can't get rid of it. I'm worried about The Shadow. He

"Well it means that he may be coming here. I've heard a lot of talk about the way The Shadow pulled that

"You mean about Louie Zutz? The lookout? The fellow who sold out to The Shadow?"

"Zutz wasn't phony. They say he was a good guy. The Shadow knocked him off. At least, that's what a lot of

"So you're turning yellow, eh?" jeered the proprietor. "Afraid that maybe you'll be next? Well, that's settled,

Jake. You won't be. You're fired! I'll put one of the table men on lookout, down at the side door tonight."

"You've got the wrong slant, boss," pleaded Lassop. "You'll only be putting another guy in the same jam that

I'd be in. I don't want to crawl out of duty. What I want is somebody with me. Then if The Shadow does show

"What's more" Lassop's beady eyes were shrewd "it ain't fair to throw too much on one guy. Suppose The

Shadow does get past him? What then? I'll tell you. They'll be saying the same things that some wise mugs

"So that's the trouble, eh?" he demanded. "Why didn't you say it in the first place? Sure you can have

another fellow with you. Both of you will be inside the door. Besides that, there's the street man "

"He doesn't stay too close. He's usually half a block away, keeping an eye out for dicks."

"He'll be near enough if you need him in a pinch. All right, Jake you're hired again. Stick here, and I'll send

DUKE HYDON walked away, with Sparkler Meldin following. Jake Lassop watched them turn a corner and

approach the gambling tables. Apparently Duke intended to show his visitor some of the features of the

Jake whispered this odd word, as he approached the desk. Taking paper and pencil, he printed the letters in

sprawling fashion. Picking up the telephone, he began to dial. But instead of using numbers, he referred to the

A turn of the dial with each letter. Jake listened; a bell was ringing over the wire. But no one answered. Jake

darted a glance toward the door; then concentrated on the telephone. As he did this, his elbow brushed the

sheet of paper. Lazily, it floated from the desk, fluttered over and over and finally landed near the door, the

Jake did not notice the paper's fall, nor did he see the door as it opened inward. A sharpish face peered into

the room. The light caught the glitter of a diamond stickpin. Sparkler Meldin had returned to Duke Hydon's

Sparkler was just in time to note the falling paper. Looking downward, he read the odd word "Calakor." He

Jake was impatient while he waited to make the call again. Sparkler saw him peer about for the paper.

When he looked again, Sparkler saw that Jake had found the paper. Jake was referring to it as he dialed.

Sparkler guessed the game. Jake was calling someone who had not entrusted him with an actual telephone

number. Instead, that person had transcribed the number into letters, by reference to a telephone dial, and had

This time, Jake received an answer. Sparkler listened intently to the lookout's conversation. Though he was

"Listen, pal" Jake was talking tensely. "It's going to be a giveaway if I let you through, like Zutz did at the

Hilo... Sure, I could take it on the lam, but that would queer your racket. No, no! I ain't pulling out. I told

Gonley I'd go through with it... Only they'd have me ticketed, and it would be tough for both me and Zutz,

"Listen, here's our out... Yeah, a way to work it better... The old elevator, up from the basement... Yeah, the

service car it's supposed to be on the fritz, but it ain't... I found it out this afternoon... It's your bet...

"I'll be at the side wicket, another lookout with me. Get it? An alibi for me, to fool Duke... Sure! That's it... If

you have to make a break for it, I'll stick by when you scram through the side door. But lay off unless there's

"It ought to be a pip... Sure! All the tough mugs will think that you're The Shadow. There won't be many of

them around, anyway... The front door? Don't worry about it... Yeah, the guy that covers it is downstairs with

SPARKLER guessed that the telephone call was ending. He drew back from the door, closing it softly. He

stepped out toward the gaming room and arrived there just as one of the roulette operators left his place and

With sidelong glance, Sparkler saw Jake Lassop come from the office, just in time to meet the roulette

operator. The two went toward a stairway at the side of the gaming room. Sparkler watched them descend.

He strolled to the office. Opening the door, he noted a curl of smoke coming from the interior of a tall ash

For a moment, Sparkler Meldin looked toward the telephone, as if wondering what might happen should he

call the cryptic number represented by the word "Calakor." Then a shrewd smile came over the bigshot's

darkened features. Turning about, the man from Havana went out to the gaming room.

Always an opportunist, Sparkler Meldin saw a chance that might work to his advantage. He knew that he had

nothing to lose; perhaps he would find gain through coming developments. Sparkler had offered to buy

Duke's gambling joint, here above the Club Torreo; but it was not the only spot that he had considered as a

Trouble tonight might kill the Club Torreo. On the contrary, it might lead to a lower purchase price. Those

were possibilities that Sparkler Meldin studied. But there was another factor that impressed him even more.

Sparkler had heard of last night's raid at the Hilo Club, even before Jake Lassop had mentioned it. Like

He had learned that such was not the case. Chance had put Sparkler Meldin "in the know." He had uncovered

a fact that would have startled all gangdom; the very one that Commissioner Weston and Joe Cardona were

keeping to themselves. A fake Shadow was at large; a second worker garbed in black; a rogue who was

Here was a chance to see the game in progress. Sparkler Meldin had heard of the awe that The Shadow could

create. He had attributed it to The Shadow's own power; not to mere nerve, coupled with a guise of black.

Though most of the customers in the Club Torreo were persons not engaged in crime, Sparkler could see a

Would those ruffians wilt at the sight of an imitation Shadow? It would be worthwhile knowing. So Sparkler

Meldin reasoned, as he looked about and located an obscure door in a front corner of the compact gambling

The door was a sliding one; obviously the entrance to the littleused elevator shaft. Shrewdly, Sparkler

posted himself where he could watch it; and at the same time, he chose a spot that was near a little alcove. A

No word to Duke Hydon or any other. Sparkler Meldin intended to play as dumfounded as all the rest. To

himself, he kept repeating a word that might be useful later. "Calakor" the cryptic key that Jake Lassop had

Jake Lassop, through his failing nerve, had been the instrument through which a new factor had entered the

game. Unwittingly, he had put Sparkler Meldin wise. Coolly, the man from Havana was awaiting the arrival

DOWN at the side entrance to the Club Torreo, two men were standing by a halfopen door. One was Jake

Lassop; the other was the roulette operator whom Duke Hydon had posted with the lookout. Jake was

"The street man's around here somewhere." Jake spoke nervously. "His job is to watch for dicks. He'll stop

"Four short raps, like this." Jake tapped his knuckles against the woodwork. "That means O.K.; if he repeats,

"Two raps. Quick ones. Then we pass the word upstairs to duck the outfits. Duke can stow the wheels before

"That's safe. They'd have to go through the night club. The head waiters would shoot the word through fast.

"The bulls?" he repeated. "Well, ordinarily, I'd say they might be the only guys who'd want to crash this joint.

"He did. And there's a chance The Shadow may breeze in here. That's why there's two of us on the job. We'll

"One rap then two. If he repeats, we open the peekhole. There's enough light to spot a guy's mug. If he's

Jake was right in his reference to the light. Though the doorway where the pair stood was dark, a street lamp

threw a mellow glow to the inner edge of the sidewalk. Beyond that were dusky spots; it was from one of

these that a strolling man emerged. He darted a glance at the doorway as he passed. He gave a nod when he

"The street man," said the lookout to the roulette operator. "Everything's all right. Come on; we'll move in

WHILE Jake was speaking, the muffled sound of voices was audible from above. It was the noise of chatter

in the gaming room, that came continually to the lookout post. The sound hushed when the barrier closed.

A figure stirred from blackness. Close against the wall, it emerged into the edge of light. A black arm raised

in signal to watchers across the street. Then, as silently as it had appeared, the phantom figure faded back

against the wall. Its brief appearance had been ghostlike; so was its evanishment.

This shape had been no impostor. Only The Shadow could have lurked in such narrow space of darkness.

Only he could have approached so close to the conversing men; and The Shadow alone could have avoided

The Shadow's purpose here was plain. He knew the arrangement of the Club Torreo.

The Shadow had expected to find Jake Lassop on side door duty. He knew that this would be the logical spot

through which George Corbal would enter. Close at hand, The Shadow was ready to intercept his imitator. He

had also provided for others to be present to take away Corbal if The Shadow found it necessary to deal with

Cliff and Hawkeye were across the street, hiding in an alleyway beside a darkened building. It was to them

that The Shadow had signaled. His motion meant that the stage was set. The aids were to be in readiness. For

The Shadow could already see possible complications. Jake Lassop usually performed lone lookout duty.

Though familiar with the interior of the gambling hall above the Club Torreo, The Shadow did not know full

details. He had not learned that the old elevator was still in operation; hence he considered the side door to be

Corbal's lone way of entry and departure. Concentrated upon that assumption, The Shadow was considering

Alone, the lookout could easily pass Corbal through. With a companion, Jake would have to stage a bluff;

and a good one. True, he could let Corbal as the false Shadow cow himself and the extra lookout; but

The only out that The Shadow could see would be for Jake openly to turn traitor and cover his companion.

That would do while Corbal was rifling the joint. Then, making a getaway, Corbal could shoot down Jake's

Did Corbal have the nerve for such a game? The Shadow decided that he had. Last night, Corbal had used a

From now on, he would shoot to kill, whenever occasion called. The Shadow had dealt with others of

Corbal's ilk. He knew their ways when they had tasted blood. Hence The Shadow waited in darkness,

confident that Corbal would stage his raid, despite the fact that Jake might have warned him that a second

lookout would be posted. In their conversation, neither Jake nor the other man had mentioned that Jake

himself had called for a companion. That vital fact would have been a tipoff to The Shadow. Unfortunately, it

UPSTAIRS, business was brisk. Duke Hydon's place, though small, was large enough for two roulette tables.

Both were working at full capacity. Men and women, all in evening attire, were flooding the boards with

stacks of currency. Duke Hydon's stakes were high. He called for cash, not chips.

Standing near one table was a keenfaced young man who watched the players as well as the play. This was

As yet, he had seen no one who resembled George Corbal. Though he knew the man by description only,

Harry was sure that he could spot him. Corbal's absence was proof that the crook intended to crash through

from the outside. Hence there was no reason for Harry to seek contact with The Shadow.

Harry was interested also in watching any thuggish customers. There were a few about the tables; these were

fellows who might figure, if gunplay broke loose. There was one man, however, whom Harry scarcely

The bigshot from Havana had arrived quietly in New York. No one here had recognized him. Duke Hydon,

busy with the customers, had not had time to chat again with Sparkler. Though Harry did observe Sparkler's

flashing jewelry, he did not grasp its significance. He took the tuxedoed bigshot for a customer who was

Only Sparkler was watching the elevator door. He was the sole person who saw its slight tremble. Calmly, the

bigshot waited. He spotted eyes that were peeking through to study the roulette tables. Then the door

A man in black bounded out. From the folds of a hightucked coat collar, the intruder delivered a harsh,

To Sparkler, the imposition was plain. That hurried spring was a giveaway that this could not be The

Shadow. The laugh, too, sounded false. The highraised collar, the lowjammed slouch hat, seemed part of a

Others, however, had not turned in time to see Corbal's anxious leap. The discrepancies of attire were

overlooked by them, and so was the oddity of the laugh. For this false Shadow had actually brought

startlement by the suddenness of his entry. More than that, he was ready with two automatics by the time the

"HANDS up!" snarled the intruder. "Hands up and keep them up! Back away from the tables!" Sparkler

Meldin acted with the others. When he raised his hands, he spread them palms forward. Only the plain gold

The cloaked impostor could not see the gems behind Sparkler's fingers. Nor could he spy the glitter of the

huge stickpin. Sparkler covered it by hunching his shoulders upward and lowering his long chin to the

The pretender who wore the guise of The Shadow was quick to size up troublemakers in the room. He had

eyed them from the elevator shaft; with both guns, he was motioning certain men into a huddled group. The

Awkwardly, the false Shadow poked one automatic beneath his cloak. Sparkler Meldin observed the

clumsiness of the move; but others were still too bewildered to catch it. All except Harry Vincent. He knew

Silence held the room in its grip as Corbal stalked forward to the tables and began to gather up cash with his

gloved left hand. He was hasty, almost fumbling; yet nervy enough to make his bold game pass.

Harry Vincent strained, a dozen feet away. He wanted to spring upon Corbal; but he withheld himself.

He knew that the fellow might go wild with his one gun. A barrage of frantically pumped shots could injure

helpless patrons of the gambling room. It was best to wait for a better moment of action.

Particularly because Harry had a confident feeling that The Shadow, even though tricked, would arrive before

Corbal made his getaway. Hence Harry waited, watching the blackclad rogue unscramble thousands of

DOWN at the side door of the Club Torreo, two men had noted the sudden hush that had begun above. Jake

Lassop had been the first to sense it. Wisely, he had said nothing. But his companion, ordinarily a croupier at

one of the roulette tables, had been thinking in terms of cash upstairs. The lack of buzz impressed him.

"What's gone haywire?" he questioned. "They've quit playing. Maybe we'd better go up and find out what's

The croupier pulled a revolver from his pocket. Jake sensed instant complications. He knew that the false

Shadow was at work. Moreover, he believed that the man would make a getaway through the elevator. Jake

"Hold it," he said, gripping his companion's arm. Jake drew a revolver of his own. "We'd better tip off the

Jake opened the door and peered out. He came back, shaking his head. He closed the door and locked it.

"No sign of him," he stated. "That means that everything's all right. The street man would have come here to

OUTSIDE, a figure was gliding from the darkness of the wall, close beside the door. The Shadow had seen

Jake Lassop bob into view. That, however, was not all that The Shadow had noted. Though the door had been

opened for brief seconds only, The Shadow had detected the lack of distant buzz. He knew that a hush had

Approaching the door, The Shadow gave four short raps. He waited a moment; then repeated the signal. With

his other hand, he was flashing a sign to his aids across the street. Against the door, The Shadow formed a

The door swung inward. Jake had heard the signal. He thought it was the street man wanting to say

something. He welcomed this opportunity to stall and help his alibi. Close beside Jake was the croupier; both

The Shadow stepped back instantly; from his cloak, he whisked a brace of automatics.

Jake gasped the recognition. Startled to helplessness, he knew that this was the genuine cloaked master. His

game was up; so was that of the impostor whom he served. At that moment, Jake like the goggleeyed

Then came a break. The Shadow wheeled; his guns uncovered the two men before him.

The answer came lunging from the dark. It was the softfooted street man, springing forward with leveled

revolver. Coming back from the corner, the fellow had spied The Shadow. But he had not been stealthy

enough to complete a surprise attack. The Shadow dropped as the street man aimed the revolver. While the

Locking with the attacker, he sent the outside man sprawling sidewise. The fellow rolled to the wall, his

revolver clattering from his grasp. The Shadow wheeled and dived straight into the doorway. The croupier,

jabbing forward, was the first to meet him. The Shadow jammed the man's gun arm upward; despite the

Jake Lassop scrambled for the stairway. He clattered upward, wildly hoping to give the alarm. He glanced

madly downward, to see the croupier's body spinning about like a dummy figure. He saw The Shadow loom

forward, heading for the steps. Jake made a last, terrified dive for upstairs safety.

Cliff and Hawkeye had come from across the street. Cliff had overpowered the street man while the fellow

was snatching up his lost gun. Hawkeye piled upon the dazed croupier, who was sprawled across the

doorway. Neither prisoner realized fully who their conqueror had been. Both helpless men were staring at

JAKE LASSOP had reached the head of the stairway just in time to witness the beginning of a departure.

Corbal had gathered up the swag. He had backed almost to the door of the elevator. A lone gun loomed from

his right hand; his left was filled with crumpled, pilfered currency. He still held those before him at bay.

Instinctively, many persons turned toward the sound of the clatter. Like Corbal, they saw the wideeyed

As Jake shouted, Harry Vincent saw George Corbal aim. With a quick lunge, Harry dived straight for the

Jake Lassop sprawled; his writhing ceased as Harry grappled hard with Corbal. The crook managed a swing

with his gun. His heavy gun fist clipped the side of Harry's head and sent The Shadow's agent to the floor just

But Corbal took no advantage of his chance to riddle Harry. Instead he threw the money to the floor of the

elevator and tugged at the door with his left hand, while his right aimed and pumped new shots rapidly

Corbal had guessed who would be close behind Jake Lassop. Those shots were meant for The Shadow; and

the sizzling bullets nearly gained their mark. For, as Corbal opened angled fire, he alone saw a cloaked shape

The Shadow dropped. Head and shoulders alone revealed, he was just below the line of Corbal's hasty fire. In

slipping downward, The Shadow lost his own chance for immediate gunwork. It was not until he had gained

entrenchment that he had opportunity to use an automatic. Then his .45 boomed its answering message.

The Shadow's opening came just as the elevator door clanged shut. A stream of rapid bullets mashed the steel

barrier. The delayed slugs were too late. Corbal was on his way to safety. He had left one victim behind him:

THOSE in the gaming room heard The Shadow's shots. They thought that another lookout had fired them; for

they could not see The Shadow, because of the stairway's angle. Harry Vincent's bold attempt to grab the

With mad accord, the huddled men beside Duke Hydon began to come to action. Yanking revolvers, they

"Try to head him off!" roared Duke. "Down through the side door down through the front around the

block! Anywhere " The Shadow had headed down the stairway while Duke was beginning his order.

Cliff and Hawkeye had shoved their prisoners into a doorway; hearing The Shadow's command, the two

agents followed him. The Shadow led the way through a darkened alley that extended to the next street.

The roar of a departing car echoed from beyond. The Shadow and his agents reached their goal too late. A

sparkling taillight twinkled around a corner, almost a block away. George Corbal, the second Shadow, had

When pursuers arrived from the Club Torreo, they found no trace of the pretender who had raided the

gambling lair. Duke Hydon's strongarmed men ducked their revolvers when patrol cars appeared upon the

scene. Stating that they were patrons of the downstairs night club, they urged the officers to join in the

The quest was futile. No clue remained to tell of the invader's getaway, though officers scoured the entire

area. And in their search for the false Shadow, they found no sign of the real. The neighborhood was vacant.

First to be balked, The Shadow and his agents had departed from the terrain. Their score with George Corbal

TWENTYFOUR hours had elapsed since the affray at the Club Torreo. New headlines had gripped the front

pages of the New York dailies. Again, the supposed activities of The Shadow had created a sensation. Yet a

Commissioner Ralph Weston had refused to admit that The Shadow existed. Wisely, Weston had refrained

from giving the real reason for his statement; namely, his belief that The Shadow was not involved in crime.

Instead, he had pretended the opinion that he had once held, long ago: that The Shadow in name and in

Until an actual identity could be given to the blackcloaked marauder, Weston was unwilling to declare a

policy. At first, the press had stormed; then one newspaper had swung to the commissioner. That sheet was

the Classic, on which Clyde Burke served as a reporter. Secretly an agent of The Shadow, Clyde had urged

Usually, other journals did not follow the example of the Classic; for it was a tabloid of yellow dye. In this

instance, however, the other newspapers showed a trend toward the lead that the Classic had instituted. When

a sensational daily turned conservative, editors suspected that something lay behind the actual news. Thus the

THIS day had been a difficult one for The Shadow. Counting heavily upon Clyde Burke, he had ordered the

reporter to keep in constant touch through Burbank. Late in the afternoon, Clyde had shot through an

unexpected report one that caused The Shadow to form an immediate cause of action, for it concerned a

man who had been present at the Club Torreo. Because of the tip that Clyde had gained, The Shadow

appeared at the Cobalt Club, in the guise of Lamont Cranston. The time of his arrival was exactly eight

The Shadow did not have long to wait. At ten minutes past the hour, a sharpfaced man entered the lobby of

the club. Wellattired, brisk in manner, the visitor gave his name to the doorman. The attendant shook his

Feigning the leisurely manner of Cranston, The Shadow sauntered forward. He eyed the sharpfaced man,

The arrival turned about. He nodded; his smile showed a goldtoothed gleam. He was puzzled by the face

before him; yet he was pleased to know that he had found an acquaintance here. The Shadow extended his

"Lamont Cranston is my name," he stated. "I met you in Havana, Meldin. Quite a fine place you had there.

What are you doing in New York? Why, of all places, have you picked the Cobalt Club for a visit?"

"I want to see Commissioner Weston," returned Meldin. "I dogged his office all day. He wouldn't let me talk

to him. So I came here, because some reporter told me that I might find the commissioner at the Cobalt

"So you will." The Shadow nodded approval to the doorman. "Come along with me, Meldin. We shall find

the commissioner in the grillroom. He is a friend of mine. Let me make the introduction."

THE friendship between Weston and Cranston was due for a severe strain. It came when The Shadow arrived

in the grillroom accompanied by Meldin. One look at gleaming teeth and diamond stickpin told Weston

"One moment, commissioner," he remarked, in the calm tone of Cranston. "I promised to introduce Mr.

Meldin to you. Really, he is a man of keen perception. I understand that he was present at the Club Torreo,

"I know all about that," blustered Weston. "I have full reports on what happened at the place. If Sparkler

Meldin thinks that he can tell me facts about this raider who calls himself 'The Shadow,' he will be wasting

"That is not Meldin's purpose," interposed The Shadow. He gave a steady, knowing gaze to the Havana

gambler. "I think, commissioner, that you will be surprised when you hear this gentleman's actual business."

Weston subsided suddenly. Meldin grinned and nodded his thanks to The Shadow. He drew up a chair and sat

down across from Weston. The Shadow's cue proved to be more than mere conjecture. Sparkler did have

"Commissioner," he stated, "I want to open a night club, here in New York. A place to be known as the

"What an absurdity!" exclaimed Weston. For the moment, he was totally astonished. "A gambling

"An outlaw?" Meldin's tone was suave. "Pardon me, commissioner the term is unwarranted. I have never

"Where gambling was legal. You forget, perhaps, that I also had a night club in Miami one, by the way, that

was given a perfect rating as a place free from gambling. Moreover, it was an establishment where racketeers

Weston pondered. These facts impressed him. He looked at The Shadow. He asked: "Is this true, Cranston?"

"Perhaps I have been too hasty," decided the commissioner. "Yes, Meldin, I suppose that you can have a

"None whatever," returned Sparkler. "The fact is simply this, commissioner. At present, business is hopeless

"His place cannot stay open. We have sufficient evidence to close it. The Club Torreo is finished!"

"A good decision. I did not intend to ask you to permit its future operation. I merely wanted to know if I

could hire Duke to work for me. I shall need a manager for the Casino Havanola to open the place while I

Once again, Sparkler Meldin had scored a surprise hit. Again, Weston gave agreement.

"Very well," decided the commissioner. "If you can show Duke Hydon the path to an honest living, I shall

have no objection. My proviso, though, is that he shall have no financial interest in the business."

Wholeheartedly, Sparkler extended his hand. With a bow, he turned and walked from the grillroom.

"This was your doing, Cranston," he chided. "What did you bring the fellow in here for?"

"Perhaps," said Weston, sourly. "But he, too, has some rights; and Meldin is smart enough to know them.

After all, the man has no court record against him. He could obtain an injunction or try to get one

"Because he preferred to be friendly. He wanted a favor: that matter about Duke Hydon. So I granted it on

policy. But we shall keep an eye on this new night club. You're leaving, Cranston? Well, we shall see each

Weston was chuckling over his little jest when The Shadow strolled away. The commissioner did not observe

the smile that appeared upon the thin lips of the supposed Lamont Cranston. This interview had developed

certain possibilities that had been to The Shadow's liking. There was reason for his prompt departure. He

THIRTY minutes later, The Shadow arrived at the Club Torreo. The gay night palace was glittering no

longer. It had been closed by police order. Tables and furnishings had been removed. Two watchmen were on

duty. They failed, however, to see the blackened shape that entered through the unlocked door. The Shadow

The front way to the second floor was open. Silently, The Shadow ascended. He reached the darkened

gambling room. He saw a glimmer of a light beyond. Advancing, The Shadow reached the door of the office.

"I'll fix it all tomorrow, Duke," The tone was Sparkler Meldin's. "The place the time of opening the

personnel. You had a tough break here last night. As manager of the Casino, you'll receive a percent on the

"But it will go against us, Sparkler." The speaker was Hydon. "What chance have we got to make a cleanup,

"That's just what we will have", assured Sparkler. "But it won't come right away, Duke. We'll bluff Weston

for a while; then we'll open wide. I know plenty of tricks that will foul the wise commissioner."

"Three days from now. I'll leave the train at Miami, spend a day there, and fly to Cuba. Meanwhile, Duke, I'll

THE two men were coming to the door. The Shadow drew back in darkness. Sparkler and Duke went by.

A soft laugh whispered through the gloom. The Shadow had checked upon what he had already surmised.

Sparkler Meldin was planning a New York gambling house, with the proposed Casino Havanola as the blind.

Moving to the side stairs, The Shadow descended. He found the lookout door boarded shut. He pried away

the inner fastening and stepped out into the night. The sequel had ended. The Shadow had placed the part that

Sparkler Meldin had planned to play. The man from Havana could be forgotten for the present. The task of

In this assumption, The Shadow was not wrong. Yet he was only partially correct. Sparkler Meldin did intend

to open the Casino Havanola, to turn it into a gambling den deluxe, ready for profits that would put the Club

Torreo in the shade. His new place would be a blind, with Duke Hydon as its capable manager.

But there was another purpose behind Sparkler's game; one so well veiled that it had slipped past The

Shadow. That other purpose concerned the second Shadow. Sparkler had not forgotten the facts that he had

learned by listening in on Jake Lassop. Nor had he failed to remember the amateurish deeds of the cloaked

Another sequel came when Sparkler sat alone, in the bedroom of an elaborate hotel suite. By a window that

opened high above Manhattan, the Havana bigshot reviewed a list of telephone numbers. Sparkler was

working out the meaning of the word "Calakor." He had marked out a circled diagram that represented the

ABC were the letters in the second hole of the dial. From these, Sparkler had decided that the exchange name

must begin with two such letters. A telephone book listed an exchange as Abbott5. A and B fitted. In hole

The letter "a" after "l" stood for the figure: two. The letter "k," like "l," appeared with the number five.

The "o," Sparkler had decided, must mean six. Since PRS appeared on the dial with seven, the final figure

SPARKLER had already called that number, with no success. He picked up the telephone and called the hotel

operator. He asked for Abbott 52567. A bell began to ring; Sparkler listened for half a minute. Suddenly, a

Sparkler responded. Suavely, he asked if this was the Acme Hotel. A laugh came across the wire.

"Got the wrong number, friend," said the man at the other end. "This here is a pay station."

"Sure! I was just coming in to make a call, when I heard you ringing. Better take another look in the

"Whereabouts is the pay station?" asked Sparkler, casually. "I'd like to kid the sap who told me it was the

"Downstairs in the Tyrone Drug Store," returned the speaker. "The one on Eighth Street, near Seventh

Sparkler hung up. His gleaming teeth showed satisfaction. He had learned the location that Jake had called.

The place where the second Shadow received telephone calls from bribed helpers who knew the keyword

"Calakor." Perhaps that device a word instead of a number could fool such men as Zutz and Lassop; but it

Moreover, the man from Havana had another guess. A hideout could be located in that neighborhood. A

crook pretending to be The Shadow would want to be quick when he ducked into cover and out. It might take

For Sparkler Meldin wished an interview with the second Shadow, one that would be brief and pointed.

Sparkler had bluffed Duke when he had said that he was going to Havana. Instead, he intended to remain in

New York. His evening strolls, moreover, would be in the neighborhood of Eighth Street, on the fringe of

Sparkler had bluffed more perfectly than he had guessed. Unwittingly, he had gained a march on The

Shadow. Though Sparkler did not know the identity of George Corbal, he was close to the second Shadow's

trail. With Sparkler lay present opportunity for a meeting with the man The Shadow sought.

The man from Havana had thrust himself deep into the game. He would be in deeper still, before either The

FIVE nights later. The Casino Havanola was holding its gala opening. Thanks to Duke Hydon, Sparkler

Meldin had gained a New York night club much sooner than he had expected. The Club Galaxy, an old

Manhattan bright spot, had been losing business. Duke had arranged for its purchase.

Since the Club Galaxy was already licensed, Sparkler Meldin encountered no red tape in the transfer. Almost

overnight, the place was transformed into a new establishment. Its glittering sign proclaimed it as the "Casino

Havanola." Spanish entertainers, already in New York, had been engaged for the opening performances.

Sparkler Meldin had presumably left for Cuba, via Miami. Duke Hydon believed that the bigshot had gone;

so did The Shadow. For both had every reason to suppose that Sparkler had found the opportunity he wanted.

The Shadow, moreover, had received a report from Clyde Burke. The Classic reporter, on a special

assignment in Washington, had interviewed Sparkler when his train stopped at the capital.

That had been two nights ago. The next day, Sparkler had been interviewed in Miami. A brief item to such

effect had been wired to New York. Presumably, Sparkler had taken a plane to Havana. But therein lay the

flaw. Though Sparkler had actually left Miami by air, his plane had secretly turned northward, instead of

Tonight, the bigshot was back in New York. Though he had spent the last few years in Cuba, Sparkler was

an old resident of Manhattan. Familiar with every quarter of the city, he had chosen several places where he

knew he could dwell unnoticed. The first of these was an apartment in Greenwich Village, cattycornered

MEANWHILE, The Shadow had continued with his quest. A lull had followed George Corbal's raid at the

Club Torreo. Evidently, the pretender had decided that his next move could wait. He had learned that he

The underworld had been perplexed by this sudden change of policy. Men of crime wondered what The

They still thought that Corbal had been The Shadow. Moreover, the killing of Jake Lassop had left a tinge of

mystery. Presumably, aids of The Shadow had attacked the side door of the Club Torreo while The Shadow,

himself, was gathering the swag. Jake Lassop's intervention had given the bribed lookout a clean bill. No one

suspected that Jake had been serving the man who had killed him. Corbal had worked a smart trick when he

In consequence of the Torreo affray, crooks had ceased their criticism of Louie Zutz, the lookout at the old

Hilo Club. Zutz had been under suspicion; for it was conceded that he had ducked for cover after the raid by

the pretended Shadow. Gradually, the opinion had grown that Zutz was hiding out because he feared The

The waning of suspicion had proven advantageous to The Shadow. He knew that there had been three links to

crime. One was Spike Gonley; the second, Louie Zutz; the third, Jake Lassop. Each of these had dealt with

Corbal. Gonley had traveled to Mexico, after parting with Jerry Renwood in San Francisco. Lassop had been

The Shadow had sensed that the Hilo lookout was still in New York. Hence he and his agents had engaged in

an intensive search for the missing man. So far, they had achieved no luck, although The Shadow himself had

Tonight, the search had spread. Cliff Marsland was scouring Brooklyn; Harry Vincent was in New Jersey.

AS for The Shadow, he had declared a temporary holiday. Tonight, he had chosen to view the opening of the

Casino Havanola. Attired in evening clothes, he had appeared in the guise of Lamont Cranston. Recognized

by a courteous head waiter a former employee of an exclusive hotel the millionaire visitor had been

Mexicans in native attire were strumming guitars, while a senorita crooned a Spanish melody. Surrounding

tables formed terraced layers; the night club was twothirds filled, although the evening was young.

Apparently, the Casino Havanola was heading for a profitable business, even on a legitimate basis.

The head waiter approached The Shadow's table. Courteously, he requested that Mr. Cranston visit the office.

The Shadow arose and strolled through a curtained archway. He passed between paneled walls, and was

ushered through an open doorway. His disguised lips formed a smile as his eyes perceived the persons

Police Commissioner Ralph Weston was seated in the office with Duke Hydon. The night club manager came

"My thanks, Mr. Cranston," he declared. "Commissioner Weston has told me that it was you who introduced

Duke Hydon formed a bowing figure. His trimmed beard lent him a polish that befitted his nickname; for

with it, Duke affected the air of a foreign nobleman. Evidently Sparkler had ordered him to add class to the

"Let me show you about," suggested Duke. "I should like you both to see the new appointments of the night

club. We have intended to use all the space in the two floors that are at our disposal."

The Shadow was studying the paneled walls of the downstairs office. His survey was casual; he turned when

Duke bowed and indicated the door. With Weston, The Shadow left the office. Duke conducted them to a

This led to the second floor. There they entered a passage with wide, open doorways on either side. At each

stop, Duke pressed a light switch, to show an elaborately furnished room. There were four such apartments,

"Rooms for special parties," explained Duke. "Each to be decorated after a different pattern. All will be ready

for use within the coming week. When they are not needed for private parties, we can use them for overflow

"No, no, commissioner," laughed Duke. "See for yourself. The entire floor is open. Above it, there is nothing

but the roof. Meldin's promise remains good, commissioner. The Casino Havanola will be a night club only.

THEY had reached the end of the corridor. The wall ended with a dometopped niche, wherein a fountain

and its basin had been set. Duke switched on some hidden lights, to throw a glow upon the imitation marble.

"When the fountain plays, the effect will be excellent," he stated. "Colored lights upon spraying water;

changing hues to add more beauty. Meldin brought the plans for this fountain. There is one like it in Havana."

On either side of the hallway were opencentered doors that served as entrances to cloak rooms. Noting the

interiors of these long, narrow rooms, The Shadow saw that the walls were paneled, like those of Duke's

downstairs office. More than that, he had observed a deceptive fact about this upper story.

The second floor of the Casino Havanola did not occupy as much space as the first. The grand staircase was a

The Shadow had counted paces as they walked along. He had made an estimate which he knew must be

correct. This upper floor had a depth that was no more than twothirds of the lower night club. In addition,

The supposed cloak rooms were secret entrances to the space beyond the final wall; just as Duke's office

served as the hiding place of a secret stairway. Customers, once on the second floor, could be admitted to a

gambling palace through an unused cloak room. Similarly, Duke Hydon could go up and down from his

Everything was fixed to open wide, once the Casino Havanola had established itself as a legitimate night

club. Commissioner Weston had been completely deceived by the arrangement. The Shadow could see a

pleased expression upon Duke Hydon's bearded visage. It was Sparkler Meldin who had arranged the layout;

THE trio returned to the night club. The head waiter spied them and approached. He gestured toward the

"A telephone call," he explained. "For Mr. Cranston. I had it transferred to your private wire, Mr. Hydon."

"That was right," nodded Duke. "Go right ahead, Mr. Cranston. The office is yours."

The Shadow went to the office. He picked up the loose receiver and announced himself in a quiet tone. It was

Burbank on the wire. The contact man had news. Briefly, he gave it: a report from Cliff Marsland. The roving

The report received, The Shadow strolled from the office. Outside the door, he met Weston and Hydon. The

commissioner was satisfied with his inspection of the Casino Havanola, and was about to leave.

The Shadow remarked that he had received an urgent call from New Jersey, and was therefore returning to

his home. In the leisurely manner of Lamont Cranston, he went from the night club.

The limousine was not awaiting him. Instead, The Shadow took a taxi; but he was careful in his selection. He

entered a cab that was parked fully half a block from the Casino Havanola. The driver did not hear him enter.

In fact, his first knowledge of The Shadow's presence came when he caught the order of a whispered voice.

The driver knew the command. For this was Moe Shrevnitz, an independent cab driver who was in The

Shadow's service. It was Moe who had trailed Jerry Renwood, that day on Broadway. Tonight, Moe had been

There was significance in the order that The Shadow uttered. Moe interpreted its importance. He nodded to

himself as he pulled away from the curb, swinging about to head in the direction of Brooklyn Bridge. Moe,

like other agents of The Shadow, knew the present urgency. He could guess that The Shadow's present

The link to crime had been uncovered. The Shadow had gained his chance to resume a lost trail. Through

Zutz, he might find a clue to the whereabouts of George Corbal, the skulking pretender to The Shadow's

Yet the mere finding of the link did not insure success. Long experience had told The Shadow that sometimes

the simplest of tasks produced great complications. Small fry though Louie Zutz might be, The Shadow did

As the cab rolled onward, long hands opened a bag that lay upon the floor. Garments of black came forth;

Slouch hat, gloves, automatics all these items of equipment became The Shadow's. His figure blackened

within Moe's cab. A chance observer would have thought the taxi to be unoccupied. The only token of the

unseen passenger was the slight whisper of a laugh that issued from invisible lips.

Louie Zutz, server of the second Shadow, would be due for a surprise tonight. Before an hour had passed, he

would stand face to face with the superfoe who fought all evildoers; Louie Zutz was destined to meet The

MOE SHREVNITZ stopped his cab beside the blank wall of a Brooklyn warehouse, near the side door of a

garage. As he extinguished the cab lights, the taxi driver heard the rear door close. The Shadow had stepped

A voice whispered from the darkness. Cliff Marsland was here, reporting to The Shadow.

"Zutz lives across the street," informed Cliff. "I tracked him through a pal who works in the garage. Zutz just

did a sneak into the garage to make a telephone call, maybe. I think he made one a short while ago; because

The Shadow headed to the garage door. He found a small, hinged entrance in the center of the sliding panel.

Entering, The Shadow found a dimly lighted interior. Past a cluster of stored cars was the door of an office.

The Shadow approached; he heard a man talking breathlessly across a telephone. It was Louie Zutz, a pasty,

"Honest, I'm scared!" Louie's voice was a half whine. "I can't get no job at no other joint. There's mugs that

are leery about the gag I pulled at the Hilo... Sure, I told Spike Gonley I'd work with you... Yeah, before he

took it on the lam for Frisco... Well, I worked for you for a while, didn't I, at the Hilo Club?

"I've doped it that Jake Lassop was working for you at the Club Torreo. What's that? You plugged Jake

because he tried a double cross? That don't change matters. One job's all a guy can pull... If those other guys

won't go through with it like they promised Spike Gonley, why should I? I ain't no fall guy... What's more,

"I wouldn't worry if I ran into The Shadow himself, after seeing the way you pranced around in that black

nightshirt... What's that? You want me to think it over and call again in fifteen minutes? All right..."

ZUTZ banged the receiver. Muttering to himself, he turned about. His eyes became goggly. Zutz was staring

Though he displayed no weapon, The Shadow's hands were ready at the borders of his black cloak. Zutz

forgot his recent boast. His impressions of Corbal, the false Shadow, were dimmed when he saw the real

"I don't know nothing," whined Zutz, guessing that The Shadow had overheard his telephone call. "Honest! I

was only helping a pal! Spike Gonley said I'd hear from a guy who wanted to knock off the Hilo Club. I did,

and the mug told me where to call him. He came rigged up like you; but it was him, not me, that bumped the

copper. I don't even know the number I just called. All I've got is a word the guy gave me. I spell it on the

Zutz displayed a piece of paper. The Shadow plucked it from his fingers. On the paper, The Shadow read the

word: "Calakor." Stepping past Zutz, he picked up a telephone book. His gloved finger found the page with

the exchange list and marked the first exchange. The Shadow's eyes had noted the dial on the telephone. That

"Abbott 52567. A pay station in the Tyrone Drug Store near Eighth Street and Seventh Avenue."

"H" meant Hawkeye; "C" meant Corbal. The Shadow's trail was settled. Hawkeye could take it temporarily.

Turning, The Shadow faced Zutz, who had stood puzzled during period of the telephone call to Burbank.

"I was to lay low," blabbed Zutz. "I called tonight to ask about my cut; but the guy wants me to take on

"Remain at your hideout," ordered The Shadow, his whisper sinister. "Later you will receive my order.

THE SHADOW was giving Zutz a break. Though a rat, the fellow had wanted no part in murder. The

Zutz appreciated the favor. He proved it, suddenly, when he emitted a hoarse cry of warning. Zutz was

looking toward the door; The Shadow wheeled. knowing that the man had spotted some danger.

On the threshold stood a scarfaced bruiser, gripping a .38. The rogue was some unexpected killer, whose

But before he could aim his revolver, The Shadow was upon him, pulling an automatic as he came. Sledging

The fellow sprawled clear through the doorway. The Shadow hissed an order to Zutz:

Springing out into the garage proper, The Shadow encountered new foemen. A squad of hoodlums had

arrived at the front door; they were jabbing bullets at The Shadow. A hoarse voice roared from a touring car

The Shadow knew the shouter. He was "Skate" Dover, the "wanted" leader of a murderous crew who had

been running bootleg gas to Long Island. This garage chanced to be their headquarters; returning from a run,

Stopping short, fading backward, The Shadow thundered bullets from his automatics. Wildstabbing

Skate shouted for crooks to dive behind parked cars. As they obeyed, The Shadow leaped beyond a big sedan.

He had clipped three foemen; he dropped another who came over the top of a coupe.

Skate shouted for a charge. His remaining followers closed in toward The Shadow, who bobbed suddenly

into view to meet them at close range. As he fired withering shots, a new gun blasted from the side door of

Into the barrage came a wildeyed man fleeing for safety, he ran straight into doom. It was Louie Zutz,

forgetful of The Shadow's orders. Bullets riddled the scared rat. Louie rolled over dead, just as The Shadow

As The Shadow spilled a last attacker, Cliff aimed for the touring car at the front of the garage. A door of the

Cliff fired; his shot went wide. Fading, The Shadow rolled on the oily surface of the garage floor. As Skate

missed a shot, The Shadow tongued a bullet upward. Skate sprawled, rolled over and lay still.

With Cliff behind him, The Shadow headed for Moe's cab. Hastily, they rode away, for sirens told that

gunfire had been heard and police were heading to the spot. Moreover, The Shadow had other work ahead.

He must take up the trail that he had left temporarily to Hawkeye the trail of the second Shadow, George

ALREADY Hawkeye, at the Tyrone Drug Store, had spotted a man who was pacing impatiently by the

telephone booths. Hawkeye was sure that this man was George Corbal. He watched the fellow glance angrily

After a few short, twisted blocks through Greenwich Village, Corbal descended stairs that led to a basement

apartment. Behind an oldfashioned picket fence, two doors away, Hawkeye heard Corbal click a key in a

lock. After the sound ended, Hawkeye came out from cover. Shambling past Corbal's door, he noted the

Hawkeye kept on around the block and picked what he thought must be the rear door to Corbal's hideout.

Hurrying back to the drug store, Hawkeye made a call to Burbank. The contact man told the spotter to stand

by. Soon, a bell rang in a booth. It was Burbank; when Hawkeye answered, the contact man ordered him off

The Shadow had stopped off and called while riding in from Brooklyn. He had gained Hawkeye's report.

WITHIN his basement apartment, George Corbal had chosen darkness; a matter of usual policy. Finally,

when he reached an inner room, he risked a light. The glow showed that the room had only one small

window. It was high up; Corbal had covered it with composition board so that no light could trickle through.

The sallowfaced crook opened a table drawer and produced two lists. One covered gambling houses. Corbal

had already crossed off the Hilo Club and the Club Torreo. Muttering, he ran lines through the other places

The other list had names of individuals, half of them crossed off. This was the list that Corbal had worked

with Renwood, before Renwood went West. Corbal studied the remaining names carefully. He found one that

suited him. He made a check mark beside it. Corbal still saw a chance for crime.

Opening a closet door, Corbal drew out garments of black. Donning cloak and slouch hat, he picked up

gloves and automatics. He took them to the table, laid them upon the lists. The apartment had no telephone;

but Corbal had previously supplied himself with a directory. Opening the telephone book, he found the name

that he had checked on the list. Corbal copied it as it appeared in the book, using a small piece of paper.

The pencil point snapped. Corbal threw the pencil aside. Some pages of the telephone book flipped shut upon

the paper that bore the written name. Finding another pencil, Corbal was about to slide back the flipped pages

when he heard a whispered tone behind him. Chilled, Corbal turned about. His fresh pencil dropped from his

Standing within the door was a figure whose attire resembled Corbal's own. Slouch hat, cloak of black there

the similarity ended. The arrival had provided himself with accouterments that Corbal had as yet neglected.

CORBAL gasped the name. His cry was an admission of his own imposture. The cloaked intruder gave

another laugh. Corbal trembled. Here was The Shadow, almost as Corbal remembered him from that hazy

night when the cloaked avenger had entered to bind and gag him and keep him from Garraway, the banker.

"Proceed!" ordered the intruder, a sharp hiss to his voice. "Your life shall be spared!"

"I shot Patrolman Jennings outside the Hilo Club," he admitted, "but I wasn't out to kill him. I had to plug

Lassop, because he was a doublecrosser. I was through with the racket. You can see the list, with all the

Compared to Corbal, the new entrant was an imposing figure. With a swish, the intruder reached the table.

Putting away one automatic, he lifted the list. Laying it aside, he picked up the other sheet.

"I I yes. I intended to visit that man tonight, to learn if he had funds available. I never had enough on him

for blackmail. He is a philanthropist; sometimes he keeps as much as fifty thousand dollars in his home. He

"You speak of funds," came the significant tone. "Where are those that you stole in the past?"

"In the large box." Corbal gestured toward the closet. "On the floor, to the left of the door "

Words failed Corbal. He uttered a piteous cry. A gloved finger was ready on the trigger of its .45, beginning a

The automatic muzzle delivered flame. Hard on the first blast came another; then a third, a fourth. Bullets at

close range, delivered for the heart of a cringing victim. Corbal sprawled crazily on the floor.

Corbal's slayer stepped to the closet; found the box and opened it to view the swag. He picked up the lists,

noted the one with the checked name and chuckled harshly as he folded the lists and added them to the

Stooping, he wrenched the black cloak that covered Corbal's shoulders. He raised the slouch hat, laughed as

he studied Corbal's sallow face. He put Corbal's hat, guns and gloves upon the cash box; then wrapped all

within the dead man's cloak. Bundling the burden, he strode through darkness and reached the front street.

There, the departer heard shouts; also the sounds of approaching sirens. His shots had been heard. Police

Quickly, the cloaked departer dashed for a space between two buildings. An approaching officer saw him and

hurried in pursuit. The cloaked fugitive turned and fired three shots. One bullet found the patrolman's

The fugitive dashed onward. A police car arrived on the street behind Corbal's hideout. The wounded

patrolman was clattering the cement with his club, using his good arm. Two officers came to his rescue.

"The fellow beat it!" gulped the crippled cop. "He headed off! Maybe you can nab him; but he's got a start "

"He was all in black! He came out of a basement on the front street, where the shooting was!"

The wounded patrolman grimaced as his shoulder twinged with a knifelike pain. He set his lips and nodded,

THE law had acted swiftly this night. Within fifteen minutes after the death of George Corbal, patrol cars

were scouring the terrain for blocks about. A complete cordon had been established, in case a desperate killer

Within thirty minutes after Corbal's death, Joe Cardona had arrived upon the scene. The acting inspector had

gained word of the killing. He had come to take charge of this case which appeared to involve The Shadow.

Stooping, Cardona examined a trophy. It was a short strip of black cloth, twisted half about the dead man's

"This guy must have grabbed the killer's cloak," stated the dick. "Got away with a chunk of it. Funny, though,

Cardona started to make a comment. He stopped suddenly. He was wondering about this clue. That piece of

cloth looked like a portion of a garment that the dead man had been wearing. Could someone have killed this

Plausibly, yes. Yet the dead man could not be The Shadow. Cardona could not picture that sallow face as The

Shadow's own; nor could he visualize The Shadow, trapped and slain, in so poor a hideout as this one.

"He took it on the lam, The Shadow did," the detective was reporting. "Patrolman Ruskin saw him. He was

carrying what looked like a box of swag. Fired three shots at Ruskin. Got him with one of them. Not

CARDONA was nodding to himself. He was forming a reconstruction of this crime. One that did not hit the

bull'seye, yet which scored a marker. The dead man, here on the floor, had been wearing a black cloak.

Therefore, Cardona knew who the dead man was. He was the one who had raided the Hilo Club; and

Not The Shadow. On that point, Cardona was positive. This episode had convinced him more than ever that a

duplicate Shadow was in the game. The Shadow would not have shot down a helpless wretch, like this fellow

on the floor. Nor would he have made a half maddened run for safety, pausing only to fire back and cripple a

More than that, Cardona had just come from another case. Skate Dover, murderer, had been found dead in his

Brooklyn headquarters. With him had perished members of his crew. Others survivors had blabbed of a

lone fighter in black; then they had turned mum. Public enemies had been eliminated; and the one fighter

Figuring the time element, Cardona calculated that The Shadow could not have come from Brooklyn to

Manhattan within the period that had passed between the two events. Someone other than The Shadow had

dealt death in Greenwich Village. One crook had guessed another's game; had slain him; had deprived him of

Cardona had scored close to a perfect hit. His one error came when he tried to visualize the killing of George

Corbal. Cardona's guess was that another man had dropped the imitation Shadow; then had taken cloak and

The actual truth did not occur to the ace sleuth. He never suspected that the slayer of Corbal had been guised

in black at the beginning; that the dead man had believed himself faced by The Shadow.

Hence Cardona had no inkling of the cunning possessed by the man with whom he would have to deal. He

Because of that, Cardona took it for granted that detectives had searched the place sufficiently. He finished

his report then prepared to leave. He would have gone without a further clue, but for the comment of a

"FUNNY thing," remarked the headquarters man. "This guy having a phone book, but no telephone. What do

"What of it?" he inquired. He noted the directory on the table and began to thumb its pages. "Probably he just

Cardona stopped suddenly. His moving thumb had struck the edge of a paper, wedged between two pages.

Cardona opened the book. He found the sheet upon which Corbal had copied a name.

"Jothan Swedley," read Cardona. "That's an odd name. Wonder why this bird wrote that one, and left it here

He turned the pages, going toward the back of the book. He found the name Swedley listed half a dozen

"That's the one," decided Cardona. "The only Swedley whose first name could be Jothan. I'll tell you what

this means. This dead man must have known something about J. M. Swedley, in order to write down his first

"Across the street," informed a detective. "That's where we called you from, inspector."

Cardona pocketed the sheet of paper. He wrote Swedley's telephone number in a notebook. He went across

There was no answer at the J. M. Swedley number. Coming out of the house, Cardona bumped into

"I've got a theory, Markham," informed Cardona. "One crook bumped another. The killer took the swag all

"Not at all," rejoined Joe. "You know the commissioner's decision. We're not looking for The Shadow. We're

"The dead guy across the street is the one we wanted. The killer took the cash he found there; and maybe he

learned a few things besides. Like what the dead guy was going to do next, for instance. Well, in the

"There's a J. M. Swedley, and I've just called him. No answer. The man lives on East Eightyfifth Street.

That's where we're going, with a squad. Maybe the murderer will have some reason to get Swedley; and

maybe he don't know about this paper that I found. Here's our chance to do two good bits of business. Protect

TOGETHER, Cardona and Markham boarded a police car. They traveled along a narrow street, the

headlamps cutting a wide swath. As they neared a corner, the glare of the lights fringed a doorway. Oddly,

blackness refused to vanish in the momentary glow. That fact escaped the men in the car.

Blackness moved when it had again blended with deep darkness. A gliding figure began a silent course along

the street. It drew aside when a searching patrolman went by, flicking his flashlight here and there. The

officer's search was scarcely more than a routine. He did not believe that any fugitive would have doubled

However, that stranger of the darkness was no fugitive. He was a different personage in black than the one

who had made a wild flight from this district. The Shadow had arrived in person. He had been delayed in his

approach, through the presence of a police cordon. From one spot of blackness to another, The Shadow had

He reached the basement doorway. He edged into darkness. There The Shadow saw the glow from the room

where Corbal's body lay. Two detectives were coming out through the darkness; a uniformed policeman was

"So that's where the inspector has gone," remarked the policeman. "Up to see about this fellow Swedley.

"Swedley's name was on that sheet of paper, wasn't it?" retorted a dick. "That means the dead guy knew

"With a first name like Jothan? Say there only could be one. I saw the inspector looking through the phone

JOTHAN SWEDLEY. The Shadow remembered the name, as he made a circling course in darkness. When

he neared the lighted room, he peered over his shoulder and saw the policeman at the outer doorway, still

chatting with the detective. Gliding into the room, The Shadow formed a spectral figure in the light. He spied

the opened telephone book. It lay beneath the glare of the table lamp. He noted the name of J. M. Swedley.

The Shadow also made careful notation of the address. Not a wealthy neighborhood, where J. M. Swedley

A black glove peeled from The Shadow's left hand, as his right drew it away. A gem, The Shadow's girasol,

shone iridescent beneath the light. The Shadow's fingers rubbed the book page with their tips. That touch

ended, they quickly turned the pages, to a section of the directory that was closer to the front.

The Shadow stopped among the names that began with the letter J. His fingers moved along the righthand

page, while his eyes scanned the left sheet. The Shadow made a double discovery. His fingers encountered

indentations. Someone had written a name, while resting a paper upon the opened telephone book. Also, The

George Corbal copied it directly from the book. Because of that, he had written the last name first, according

to the usual listing. "Jothan Swedley" meant Swedley Jothan. There, in plain view was the name that The

VOICES from the front room. Turning swiftly, The Shadow swung back against a rear door in the farther

As he stood there, waiting, The Shadow stared toward the figure on the floor. He could see the sallow

features of George Corbal. He recognized the man who had played the role of the second Shadow.

Two men entered. One was the bluecoat: the other, a new detective who had come with Markham. This chap

"The inspector don't know who we're after," stated the detective. "Didn't I hear him telling that to Sergeant

Markham? So here's the stiff, eh?" He viewed Corbal's body. "Well, from what Cardona says, he may have

"Yeah?" quizzed the bluecoat. "Then what was he doing on the next street, running away except when he

stopped to plug Ruskin? Shot off some fireworks in here to begin with, then beat it, then ducked back and

committed suicide without firing a shot? Is that the way you figure it? Say if that's the way you hear things,

"Get wise to yourself!" snorted the detective. "It could have been another guy outside. Some mug who

snatched the black kimono off of this one. My hearing's good enough. How's your eyesight?"

"Well, you'll have to do a lot of looking won't you? Squinting around to see if you can spot a guy in black?

THE detective stopped short. All this while, The Shadow had been softly turning the knob of the door that led

into the back room of the basement. He had opened the barrier; he was fading backward into darkness. By

chance alone, the talking detective had looked up to catch a glimpse of his fading shape. The light showed

"Say!" The detective stared. "Look at that door! I'd have swore I saw movement "

The door was closing. The shine of its darkstained panel replaced the deeper darkness of the room beyond.

"Some guy just ducked out of sight!" he cried, excitedly. "Come on! We'll get him!"

Yanking guns and flashlights, the pair sprang for the door and opened it. The glimmer of the torches flicked

As the pair dashed for the back door, the inwardprojecting key performed a singular action. Clipped by

The detective reached the door and grabbed the knob. He tried to open the barrier. He failed.

"Maybe it's still locked," put in the policeman. "That's the way it was when we looked the place over."

The detective turned the key. The lock clicked open. He turned the knob; the door swung inward.

"No guy could have locked it that quick," decided the dick. "Not with the key here in the door. Yet I saw the

"Maybe you thought you did," interposed the bluecoat. "It sort of looked that way to me, too. But these

flashlights do funny things when you swing them. Sometimes they make it look like something's moving

BOTH men swung beams about the rear steps. Discovering nothing, they went back into the basement,

locking the door behind them. A silent, motionless figure detached itself from the wall. Gliding invisibly, The

Joe Cardona had been right; The Shadow, when he made a departure, did not take to maddened flight. The

man who had slain George Corbal had been a masquerader, like the victim. The Shadow, too, had divined

that fact from the talk that he had overheard between the remaining detective and the bluecoat.

Clearly, The Shadow pieced the circumstances, adding the finishing touch that Cardona had failed to get.

Another crook had guessed Corbal's game. That new worker of evil had come here to murder the man who

had passed himself as The Shadow. But such a crook, clever as a ferret, would surely have come prepared.

More dangerous than Corbal, he had adopted the same ruse as the second Shadow, to try its working for

A third Shadow had entered the game. One who had taken Corbal's swag. One who had probably learned of

plans which Corbal, now dead, could not continue. One who would amplify the slain impostor's purposes

with methods of his own. One who already might be threatening a man named Swedley Jothan.

Joe Cardona had guessed in reverse. He had gone to protect a man named Swedley, whose life stood in no

danger. The Shadow, also, was starting on a mission of protection, following an urge that was the same as

Cardona's. Chances were that The Shadow would encounter a superfoe of crime one whose name he had

But on one point, The Shadow was sure. The enemy was a supercrook who had taken up the game where

Corbal had left off; a new masquerader who had profited by his elimination of the old.

SWEDLEY JOTHAN'S home was a gloomy residence that had the appearance of a mausoleum. Though it

stood close to modern buildings, it was not conspicuous; for a high wall surrounded the antiquated edifice.

Passers on the street did not realize that a house stood beyond that plain brick wall.

Nor was Swedley Jothan widely known. He was not a man of tremendous wealth. His own fortune was less

than a million dollars; and he had acquired it purely through his connection with large enterprises in which

his name had not appeared. But Swedley Jothan was a philanthropist of unusual quality.

Unassuming by nature, he had retired from business to seek seclusion in this old Manhattan house. He had

contacts with old friends who were men of greater wealth. He had impressed those former associates with his

own belief in charity. Hence Jothan had become the handler of many anonymous gifts to worthy causes.

Tonight, Jothan was in his secondfloor study. Usually, the philanthropist retired early; he had broken his

regular rule because he had work to do. Seated at a cumbersome mahogany table, Jothan was marking notes

Stoopshouldered, withered of frame, he made an almost pitiful figure. Yet when he looked up in response to

Thin gray hair topped a smiling countenance. A friendly light sparkled from keen, understanding eyes. Jothan

"I know it, Rodney," chortled Jothan. "The hour is long past my usual bedtime. However, I shall still be

"This is an exception. I have important work, Rodney. I am revising the final lists that cover a half million in

donations. Many worthy causes will derive benefit through these gifts. Best of all, Rodney, there can be no

doubt about the money. All the funds have been delivered. The entire amount is in my safe."

"That is excellent, sir! But can you not leave the work to Mr. Dalley? He is your secretary."

"Of course. But Dalley needed a night off. He will be surprised when he learns that I have attended to the

details of this work. Send him up here when he comes in, Rodney. Then you and Throckmorton can lock up.

"On the third floor, sir. He has retired. You said that you would not need him."

"So I did. I had forgotten. Very well, Rodney. You can go downstairs and wait for Dalley. He stated that he

RODNEY went away. His footsteps echoed from a flight of stairs. Jothan resumed his work. A hush filled the

large, oldfashioned room. Wall brackets formed a mellow glow; a table lamp concentrated a brighter gleam

The open door where Rodney had knocked was located midcenter in a long wall. It was directly opposite

Jothan's table, and the door gave access to the hall. In addition, there were two other doors, each in a separate

This second door was close to the wall that separated the study from the hall. The door was to Jothan's right;

beside it stood the safe of which the philanthropist had spoken. Large, modern in design, that strongbox

formed a formidable device, one which would have taxed the supreme efforts of any safecracker.

The door in the right wall moved slightly open, immediately after Rodney's departure. The servant could not

Nor did Jothan observe the motion of the barrier. He was too deeply engrossed with his papers. Nevertheless,

the philanthropist must have remembered Rodney's reminder of the lateness of the hour. A few minutes after

He fingered the combination. He opened the big door, swinging it toward the side entrance of the room.

Jothan started to put his documents away. As he did, he heard a harsh chuckle from his left. Looking up, the

The intruder was in black. The collar of his cloak fringed his lower features. His slouch hat, slanted

downward, served as a mask for his eyes. The arrival was wearing gloves. In one hand he held a businesslike

"PASS over the swag," hissed the intruder, his tone an evil jeer. "I know it's here. Pass it to me!"

Jothan hesitated, trembling. His eyes glanced inadvertently toward the safe. The intruder spied the action and

glimpsed a squareshaped box. Stepping forward, he thrust Jothan back with a jab of the automatic. With his

Moving away, he laid his prize upon a chair. He yanked open the top of the box; then laughed insidiously

when he saw the contents. The box held currency of large denominations; fivehundreddollar bills, and

Jothan started to nod; then restrained himself. But the invader had caught the tip.

Jothan obeyed the command. He drew the papers from the safe and gave them to the man who held him

covered. The invader added the documents to the swag. He closed the lid of the box. Lifting the burden from

Jothan complied. The cloaked crook swung toward the doorway through which he had appeared. Jothan could

Instinctively, Jothan knew what was coming. Death was to be his. Murder was to follow robbery. The

philanthropist was too terrified to move. He was in the open, a sure target for the killer's gun. The only point

that delayed the delivery of bullets was the range. The intended murderer wanted to be sure of an immediate

During those tense moments, a new motion occurred. One that neither Jothan nor the black intruder sensed.

Another door was opening. It was the barrier at the front of the study. Slowly edging into the fringe of light

came a figure that matched the one that Jothan faced. Another arrival cloaked in black.

This visitor differed from the first in one respect. His masking cloak collar and his downturned hat brim did

not totally obscure his countenance. They allowed a view of burning eyes orbs that blazed from a shaded

Below the eyes loomed an automatic. Held in a firm, gloved fist, the .45 was leveled straight across the room.

A ready finger was upon the trigger. The Shadow was present to deal with the impostor who sought murder.

Yet, for the moment, his hand was stayed; and with good reason. Swedley Jothan was almost directly in the

The snarl came from the cloaked faker beyond the safe. His command was directed to Jothan.

Faltering, the philanthropist obeyed. He knew that the move was intended as his death warrant, for it brought

A fierce burst of mockery filled the room. A rising, whispered taunt that commanded all attention. Jothan

heard it as he was stumbling forward; it compelled the grayhaired man to turn. With the direction that he

was taking, Jothan's new move threw him farther from danger. The sudden mirth gave startlement to the

One more instant would have spelled the killer's doom, for The Shadow held him covered. The

masterfighter was pausing only to draw the murderer's aim in his own direction, that no chance shot might

But at that vital moment, another factor intervened. A gun shot crackled; it came neither from The Shadow

nor his imitator. The weapon that spoke was a small revolver. It was fired from the main door of the room.

By Rodney. The servant had come upstairs. He had heard the sound of voices. He had arrived at the hallway

door. He had heard The Shadow's laugh; he had seen the cloaked avenger aiming with an automatic. Not

THE servant's hurried shots were wide; yet they whistled close to the folds of The Shadow's cloak. Instantly,

The Shadow dropped back into the front room; but he boomed quick shots as he fell away. His bullets sizzled

toward the black impostor, far across the room. They missed their mark, for The Shadow's aim was spoiled,

The threatening killer dived for security beyond the open door of the safe. Jothan, seeking safety, staggered to

the front of the open strongbox. The steel door lay between him and his foe. Only by leaning around it could

He took a chance on such action, for he saw Rodney hurtling through the room, on his way to block The

Again The Shadow's automatic stabbed from darkness. Picking a path past Rodney, the avenger sent a

warning bullet that bashed against the projecting safe door. The wouldbe murderer dropped away.

Plunging forward, The Shadow met Rodney headon. The servant was aiming madly with his revolver. With

free hand, The Shadow drove Rodney's gun arm upward and sent the fellow over his shoulder with a quick

jujitsu grapple. Again The Shadow clanged the safe door with a bullet. Then a new antagonist was upon him.

It was Dalley. The secretary had arrived home. A thin, bespectacled man, he was coming in from the same

door that Rodney had chosen. Dalley clutched at The Shadow. With a quick jolt, the cloaked battler sent the

One flash of a blackclad rogue in flight. The impostor had leaped away from the space beyond the safe. The

box of wealth beneath his arm, the crook fled just in time to avoid another bullet from The Shadow's ready

A shot thundered, just too late. Then The Shadow took up the pursuit through the far door.

Hardly had he passed from view before Rodney and Dalley came to their feet and started a chase. They had

seen only The Shadow. They pursued madly, in spite of Jothan's blurted protests.

THROUGH the rear room, The Shadow burst into a dim hallway. Here he plunged squarely upon two

grappling figures at the foot of the stairway leading to the third floor. Throckmorton, the other servant, had

come down from above, just in time to meet the invader who wore the imitation cloak.

With one fierce clutch, The Shadow seized the blackclad impostor. He sent the killer sprawling to the floor,

headlong toward a flight of stairs that led down to the back kitchen. The box of wealth went bounding to the

wall. Stepping above it, The Shadow aimed his .45 to cover the crook whom he had spilled.

Throckmorton saw The Shadow. Dazed by a blow upon the head, this second servant thought that he had

spied his former antagonist. He leaped upon The Shadow and tried to grab the avenger's automatic. As they

The Shadow's .45 stabbed the dim light of the hall. The bullet went wide, for Throckmorton had grabbed The

Shadow's wrist. But the shot was too close to suit the rising crook. With maddened plunge, the thwarted

He was none too soon. Upon that instant, The Shadow broke Throckmorton's clutch and sent the servant

The fray had required a scant four seconds; but it had carried the grapplers past the stairway. Throckmorton,

groggy, sprawled wearily upon the money box. The Shadow, half off his footing, thrust out a hand to stop his

fall. His fist encountered a loose door. The barrier swung inward. Slipping, The Shadow tumbled sidewise

The chance misstep halted his opportunity to pursue the fleeing murderer; and it produced another twist of

circumstance. Just as The Shadow slipped from view, Rodney and Dalley came dashing into the rear hall.

They saw Throckmorton rising, his hands to his head. They heard the final clatter at the bottom of the

Brandishing his revolver, Rodney dashed down the back stairway. Dalley followed at his heels. Neither had

The Shadow, coming to his feet stepped out into the hall. He heard the descent of the pursuers. He saw the

Head bowed in hands, Throckmorton had stumbled to the steps leading to the third floor. He was slumping to

a seated position. He did not see the spectral, blackclad figure that stooped and plucked the box from the

floor. The spoils regained, The Shadow strode back through the rear room. The first man to view him was

The philanthropist had faltered to his table. He was seated there when The Shadow entered. A cry of alarm

stopped short on Jothan's lips. For an instance, the philanthropist had thought this to be the murderer

returning, for The Shadow held the precious box. Then the gleam of The Shadow's eyes told Jothan that this

The Shadow knew that Jothan, alone, had seen two figures in black. He placed the box in front of the

philanthropist. He opened the cover to display the reclaimed contents. In a quiet whisper, The Shadow spoke:

"Your servants will speak of one intruder." The Shadow's words were like a prophecy. "Do not dispute their

statements. Let them believe that they drove off the murderer. That you found the box yourself, in the back

"Soon you will meet a man named Cardona"; whispered the cloaked rescuer. "He will be the police inspector

in charge of this investigation. Request an interview with Commissioner Weston. Tell your complete story,

"State that The Shadow gave you rescue," ordered The Shadow. "Tell them that the man who robbed you was

obviously an impostor. Affirm your belief that the thief will have a short career. State that he has supplanted

"They will believe you. They will express their thanks, for they will know the course to follow."

Footsteps were sounding from the rear stairway. The buzz of voices came from the rear room. Swedley

Jothan saw The Shadow wheel about, then stride toward the doorway into the front room. His figure faded

into blackness. A whispered laugh no more than an echo reached Jothan's ears as a final reminder. The

Dalley and Rodney entered the room, bringing Throckmorton with them. They uttered happy exclamations

when they saw their master seated at his table. They gave new expressions of satisfaction when they spied the

Swedley Jothan smiled serenely when he heard his servants tell their versions of the fray. The Shadow was

right; not one of them knew that there had been two blackclad visitors to this study. Jothan alone had seen

Shadow versus Shadow. He had seen the real deliver bullets at the false. Shots which the servants thought

True facts would be kept until the proper moment. That time would be when Swedley Jothan held conference

with Commissioner Ralph Weston. So had The Shadow ordered; and Jothan, knowing that he owed a debt of

TWELVE days had passed since the attack at Jothan's. Startling events had gained new repetition. Again, a

roaming, blackclad raider was at large. In swift, successive strokes, a new crook was spreading

consternation. Like the Hilo Club and the Club Torreo, four gambling places had been pillaged by a cloaked

New evening had settled upon Manhattan. Commissioner Weston was still in his office, tarrying late because

of overwork. Joe Cardona was announced and admitted. Weston eyed the acting inspector with impatience.

"I don't know, commissioner," admitted the ace. "We're up against something tough. But for that matter, so is

"Bah!" ejaculated Weston. "He has taken on too much that is the whole trouble, Cardona. It's time that we

"I don't think so, commissioner. I believe that The Shadow is due. Everything has worked against him since

that night he rescued Swedley Jothan. It's time that a break was coming in his favor."

"All right, commissioner. Suppose we take it from the beginning. We guessed that faker was pretending to be

The Shadow. We decided that the best way to handle that crook was to let The Shadow cover him."

"Because he was busy elsewhere, doing the law a more important turn. Another criminal found Corbal ahead

Weston banged his fist as he spoke. Pounding the desk repeatedly, he stormed at Cardona.

"Jothan told us all we needed," flared the commissioner. "He practically delivered a message from The

Shadow. We were ready to put the clamps on the gambling places. We waited, to give The Shadow

"What has happened? Four raids by the criminal! The Shadow has not stopped him. What has been gained?

Nothing! Nothing, I tell you! We should have clamped the lid on every gambling room in town. At least you

Joe shook his head. "I don't agree, commissioner," returned the ace. "I'll tell you why. If we had closed the

joints, new ones would have opened. You know how they work it. Always a jump ahead of us. But by sitting

tight; we've accomplished something. Do you know what the joints are doing? They're closing of their own

"Yes. They're scared, commissioner. Scared because they think it's actually The Shadow who's raiding them.

I've got some straight reports here. The gambling racket is nearly finished, of its own accord. The places have

"But all this while," he roared, "a murderer has been at large! He has not dealt in slaughter since he killed

Corbal; but that is only because he has not found it necessary. Surely, The Shadow must recognize the

"Probably he does," assured Cardona. "That's why he has chosen the only way to get this crook he's after.

Don't you get it, commissioner? Like us, the Shadow is dealing with a lone crook a smart one who uses

no pals. The dragnet won't land him. We wouldn't know him even if he walked into this office.

"We've got to let him show himself. So does The Shadow. And if we clamp down on all the joints, where will

that crook pop up? At some place like Jothan's, to murder when he robs. But as long as the joints stay open,

"They are. The list is narrowing. There are less places for this crook to raid. He's cornering himself,

commissioner, and he doesn't know it. But The Shadow does. That's why I say he's due to get the crook. Look

"Slook's Cafe," said Joe. "Sounds like a hash house; and that's all it looks like. One of those places with

armchairs. But upstairs, they tell me, it's got one of the fanciest layouts in New York. Roulette and faro.

Plenty of people with dough sneak into Slook's. Ones who are socially prominent, too.

"It's miles ahead of any other joint in town. Any of those that are left, I mean. That's where this stickup guy is

due tonight; and if he's due, so is The Shadow. Don't think The Shadow is letting us down, commissioner.

"I'm not taking chances!" banged Weston. "At last, Cardona, you have shown some brains. Get ready. Pick

"Exactly! We shall go in there and take charge. When the raider arrives, he will have to deal with us."

ON a side street west of Broadway stood Slook's Cafe, a place that fitted Cardona's brief description. The

armchair lunch room was a blind for the upstairs gaming house; but there were other entrances also. Street

One side of the gambling hall flanked a lowroofed space between this building and the next. Shuttered

windows were all along the wall. One of these, at the very end, opened into a hallway that adjoined the

For on this important evening, an intruder was prying at the shutters. Black against the side of the wall, he

was clumsily trying to jimmy the barrier. He might have failed with other windows; but this one chanced to

be comparatively weak. The shutters opened with a sudden jolt. The interloper entered.

A large crowd was at play within the barewalled gambling room. The place lacked class; but the customers

were not particular. All of the fancier gambling halls had closed. This one had gained the more exclusive

patronage. Tuxedoed patrons rubbed shoulders with less genteel habitue's. At one roulette table, a bejeweled

"That's Mrs. Randolan," someone was saying. "She must have stopped here on her way to some swanky

Someone uttered a shrill cry. All eyes turned toward the side passage. A blackclad raider was advancing: an

automatic in each hand. Babbling voices ceased as the intruder uttered a fierce laugh. The automatics moved

Croupiers heard a snarl. Nodding their willingness, they began to push money toward the center of the board.

Others added house cash to the stakes that players had wagered. Quivering lips were muttering the identity

SHOVING one gun beneath his cloak, the raider pulled out a cloth bag and tossed it on the table. The cowed

attendant hurriedly gathered the money into the bag. With a contemptuous laugh, the cloaked man stared

along the wall. His eyes caught the glitter of jeweled finger rings. He beckoned to the croupier who held the

"Hold it out," ordered the raider. Then, to Mrs. Randolan, he added: "Shed those rings! Into the bag! And add

There was a snarl to the tone. Trembling, the dowager delivered the jewels and the necklace. The raider

whisked the bag from the croupier. Retreating, he made his way to the passage. He tossed the closed bag

At that instant, a door sprang open. The barrier was down the passage, at the farther end, where only the

departing raider could observe it. Swinging, the impostor saw a swirling shape in black. He caught the gleam

of eyes that blazed. An automatic muzzle leveled in his direction. Again, the impostor was faced by The

As The Shadow pressed the trigger of his automatic, a man sprang upon him from in back. The Shadow's aim

was wide. His bullets found the open shutter; not the diving man who was going through the window.

Coming in, The Shadow had overpowered one lookout; he had bound and gagged the fellow. This

Twisting, The Shadow fought to fling the man aside. Together, they staggered through the passage. There,

The Shadow gave an upward heave and sent the man spinning headlong. The very power of his fling kept

The Shadow moving forward. Half staggering, he stopped against the wall, just within the gaming room.

Sounds of pistol shots and scuffle had aroused the bolder persons present. Revolvers were flashing as

The Shadow wheeled. His laugh rose strident as his .45 broke loose with flame. He was firing high, above the

heads of people; but his action was effective. Armed men broke; they dived for the cover of the tables.

Then came the shrill blasts of police whistles. One door splintered beneath the driving power of an ax. The

Shadow turned, to choose the window through which his imitator had fled. He wanted to make pursuit before

SPEEDING through the passage, The Shadow gained the stairway by which he had reached the gambling

joint. At the bottom, he flung open the street door and sprang to the sidewalk. A policeman pounded upon

The Shadow's fist caught the bluecoat's wrist. With a powerful twist, he wrenched away the officer's gun

Two dozen forward paces, as if in hasty flight. The Shadow stopped short and flattened against a wall beside

a pair of steps. He did this in a space of darkness, just as the policeman fired with his regained gun.

As the revolver spurted, The Shadow delivered a strange, wild cry. More shots jabbed from the revolver.

Again The Shadow gave a cry; this time, a trailing one that ended with an anguished choke.

The bluecoat pounded by, shouting as he ran. He thought that he had bagged his quarry. The Shadow's

deceiving call had made the officer believe that a wounded man had kept on staggering. A patrol car skidded

For a moment, the way was clear. The Shadow glided swiftly across the street and edged beneath a flight of

high steps. He found an unlocked basement window; he opened it and entered a darkened house. With tiny

flashlight glimmering, he picked his way through deserted rooms, opened a rear window and stepped out to a

THE law's invasion of the gambling den had come too late to trap the raider whom both police and The

Shadow sought. Worse than that, it had brought disaster to The Shadow's chase. His chance to overtake the

impostor had ended, at least for this night. Commissioner Ralph Weston had staged a bad blunder.

Joe Cardona guessed that fact when he heard the reports of an unsuccessful search for a supposedly wounded

raider. The jimmied window looked like a spot of entry. Yet lookouts testified that The Shadow had come by

the stairs at the rear. Moreover, the sparing of the officers; the weird evanishment of a pursued departer

Cardona, however, was wise enough to keep his theory from Commissioner Weston. That worthy was in no

LATER, The Shadow stood within his sanctum. Burbank was speaking quietly across the wire. The contact

man was relaying a report from Clyde Burke, who had just talked with Joe Cardona. The Classic reporter had

The Shadow made notations. When the call had ended, he brought typewritten report sheets into view.

There were permanent records statements gained through agents. Reports that The Shadow intended to

keep for his archives. One was an old one. It referred to Corbal's raid on the Club Torreo.

Harry Vincent had been present on that occasion. Yet Harry had scarcely noticed Sparkler Meldin, who had

also been on hand. Moreover, the jewelsporting bigshot from Havana had escaped Corbal's notice as well.

The Shadow already knew that Corbal had missed an opportunity when he had failed to lift Sparkler's

Corbal was dead. Another raider had taken up his game. A daring, coolheaded crook who did not overlook

opportunities. Tonight, according to Clyde Burke, this new impostor had grabbed more than the money on

the gaming tables. He had also bagged a dowager's jewels. A direct contrast between this rogue and Corbal.

A whispered laugh pervaded the sanctum. The Shadow's hand produced a sheet of paper. It was a cablegram

from Havana. Addressed to Rutledge Mann, the investment broker, and signed Marsland. One week ago,

Though the cable referred to stocks and bonds, its actual message was a hidden one. Its wording was simply

an answer to a question that The Shadow had ordered Cliff to discover. The cable told that Sparkler Meldin

Jewels overlooked; jewels seized. These showed a contrast between the second Shadow and the third. Only a

person who had noticed Corbal's lapse would have remembered not to make one of his own, where gems

were concerned. Particularly a person who could recognize rare stones when he saw them.

The Shadow had done more than guess the identity of the third Shadow. He knew the impostor for what he

was; and who. The man with whom The Shadow still must deal was Sparkler Meldin, the bigshot from

But in police headquarters, discussion still ranged over the mysteries of the gambling dens thefts.

"WELL, commissioner, our chances ended with last night. That raid at Slook's has clamped the lid. There's

"Good riddance, Cardona. We shall try my policy a while. I told the reporters this morning that these raids by

an unknown crook will end. For the simple reason that he will have nowhere to strike."

"Which makes it tough for The Shadow, commissioner. And forces a mighty dangerous crook into new

Weston made no comment. He merely passed a newspaper across the desk. It was a late edition: one that

"There is my statement, Cardona," announced the commissioner. "The morning newspapers will pick it up

"So will The Shadow," observed Cardona, ruefully. "Unless he already knows. That's not all I'm thinking

"Let him," decided Weston. "Perhaps he will recognize the futility of his misdeeds. We must find that man,

The telephone bell rang. Weston picked up the instrument from his desk. Cardona heard his chief's tone

"Hello, hello," said Weston. "Ah! Judge Trostler. Glad to hear from you... Certainly. I should be glad to learn

such information... What's that? The Casino Havanola?... This positively amazes me."

"Rumor is rife, Cardona," declared the commissioner. "Someone has informed Judge Trostler that the Casino

Havanola has gone in for heavy gambling! With the highest stakes ever played in New York!"

"Where did he get that dope?" demanded Cardona. "I was down there night before last. The place looked

"I have seen the place also," stated Weston. "I cannot understand how gambling could go on there. Those

Again, the telephone was jangling. Weston held another brief conversation. "Hello, Parrow... Yes, I have

heard... No details, however... Yes, it may only be a rumor; still, it is a likely one..."

"That was Parrow. Assistant to the district attorney. He has heard it also. There must be something to this

"Cranston?" Weston laughed. "He knows nothing, Cardona. A keen enough chap when it comes to biggame

hunting. Bagging elephants and tigers. Or fishing for barracuda. But gambling is not within his range."

"He knew Sparkler Meldin," observed Cardona. "It was Cranston who introduced Meldin to you."

"That is true. I had almost forgotten. By the way, Cranston was with me when Hydon showed us about the

Casino Havanola. Hydon was pleased to see him at the place. I wonder if Cranston has been going there

"I shall." Weston glanced at his watch. "It is after six o'clock. We may find Cranston at the Cobalt Club.

ARRIVED at the Cobalt Club, Weston and Cardona found the person whom they sought. Neither saw the

semblance of a smile that appeared upon the fixed lips of Lamont Cranston. The Shadow had expected this

visit; and with good reason. It was he who had made both telephone calls to Weston's office.

"Yes," replied The Shadow. "Only a few nights ago. In fact, I am going there this evening."

"Nevertheless," added The Shadow, "I have heard that Sparkler Meldin is a clever chap. Gambling appears to

be part of his existence. It is difficult to picture Meldin without also visualizing the background of a gaming

"You saw his gambling place in Havana?" inquired Weston. "How long ago, Cranston?"

"He is. He will be back in New York later. Meanwhile, we would like to learn the real inside of this rumor."

"Previous? You mean that gambling may not start until Meldin returns? Is that it?"

"Yes. Your trouble will begin then. You can anticipate it, commissioner. Do you know, I have felt quite

guilty because I introduced Meldin to you. The man was merely an acquaintance of mine; not a friend. That is

"Absurd, Cranston! That would mean an injunction against the police department, to make us show cause

Weston beamed with sudden enthusiasm. "You have hit it, Cranston!" he exclaimed. "I shall do exactly as

you have suggested! For a fortnight, the Casino Havanola had been under the sole management of Duke

"Since Meldin has not performed the duties of an actual proprietor, I am quite within my rights in giving this

decision. It is for the public welfare. To protest, Meldin will have to come from Havana. When he does

"How soon are you going to shut down the place?" he asked. "Will you give them to the end of the week,

"Yes," replied Weston. "That allows three more nights, including this evening. I shall call Hydon from here.

In a way, I feet sorry for the fellow; he has a pleasant personality. At the same time, he knows that I cannot

grant him a night club license after our experience with the Club Torreo. Therefore, I shall tell him that I

cannot tolerate the Casino Havanola, since he rather than Meldin appears to be the proprietor."

"Better not mention Mr. Cranston's name," put in Cardona. "He's going down there tonight. Better let him

appear to he surprised, if Hydon weeps on his shoulder and begs him to put in a good word with you."

"An excellent suggestion," interposed The Shadow, "and I have another, commissioner. This was an

interesting statement that you made today." In leisurely fashion, The Shadow picked up an afternoon

newspaper. "People are probably pleased to learn that you have clamped down on the gambling racket. Why

not announce that you are closing the Casino Havanola because of Duke Hydon's former connection with the

ONE hour later, The Shadow arrived at the Casino Havanola. Scarcely had he taken a table before the head

waiter arrived with a request. Addressing The Shadow as Mr. Cranston, he asked if the guest would be kind

The Shadow went to the office. He found Duke Hydon pacing the floor, muttering epithets into his beard.

"A favor, Mr. Cranston," he pleaded. "One that only you can supply. I have received bad news very bad

"No, no! I have had no communication from Meldin. This word came from the police commissioner. He has

"He has not stated his true reason." Duke wagged a knowing finger. "I know what the commissioner believes.

He thinks that I am running a hidden gambling establishment. That is why I should like you to speak with

him, Mr. Cranston. You have been here often enough to know that the charge is false."

"My testimony would be rather negative," expressed The Shadow, in a dry tone. "The fact that I have seen no

Duke beckoned. They went from the office. As on the opening night, they ascended to the second floor. Like

"The cover charge is less up here," explained Duke. "Look, Mr. Cranston. Is there any place for gambling?

The Shadow nodded; then he eyed the fountain at the end of the hall. The waterspray was in operation,

"Quite a splendid sight," he observed. "I suppose that Meldin will enjoy seeing it?"

"Not if the place is closed when he gets back," grumbled Duke. "I don't know what is delaying Meldin. He

should have been back in town this week. Well, Mr. Cranston, you have seen everything. I hope you will see

As they turned about, The Shadow noted the two cloak rooms; both were filled with garments. Two wiry

"Good workers, those Cubans," remarked Duke, as he and The Shadow walked away. "Sparkler Meldin

brought them with him from Havana. He left them here. Competent, both of them, and courteous."

As they reached the top of the staircase, The Shadow paused to light a cigarette. Duke stopped several steps

ahead. A young man was coming up the stairs. It was Harry Vincent. He strolled straight past The Shadow

"Coming downstairs, Mr. Cranston?" queried Duke, anxiously. "The floor show is just beginning. You should

The Shadow followed the bearded man. He saw Duke show an expression of relief. The Shadow knew the

reason. It was because of Harry Vincent. A former patron of the Club Torreo, Harry had gained special

Going along the upstairs hallway, Harry stopped at the cloak room on the right. He spoke to the

whitejacketed Cuban, who nodded his approval. Harry waited while the fellow drew back the cloak room

Going deep into the cloak room, he knocked upon the paneled end wall. A door swung inward at his signal.

Harry had gained admittance to the gambling room of the Casino Havanola. Harry had been there nearly

every night since the opening of the place. He had forwarded regular reports to The Shadow. Those reports

explained the telephoned tips that Weston had received. Yet The Shadow, though he knew the full secret of

He had delivered enough to insure the closing of the night club. Beyond that, he had furnished nothing.

Weston had failed to give complete cooperation; The Shadow's only course had been to use the commissioner

IT was after nine o'clock when The Shadow strolled from the Casino Havanola. On the avenue, enterprising

newsboys were already shouting out the death knell of the glittering night club. Patrons were eagerly buying

The Shadow bought a copy of the morning Classic. This was the bulldog edition, on the street before nine

p.m. He smiled as he noticed Clyde Burke's name as having written the night club story. The Shadow's own

The police commissioner had taken advice from The Shadow. Tonight; then two nights more. Those alone

remained for the Casino Havanola. A fact that was doubly to The Shadow's liking. First, because the law

would investigate no further. No need to molest the Club Havanola on the flimsy strength of rumor; for the

The second reason was quite as important as the first. The Casino Havanola hid the only remaining gambling

joint that catered to wealthy, carefully chosen customers. Sparkler Meldin had not raided it, for the place was

his own. But since the Casino's career was doomed, Sparkler might form other plans.

Wealthy customers, with rolls of cash that would not cross the gambling tables; patrons loaded with jewels

bait for Sparkler Meldin. One more chance for the crook to play the role of the third Shadow. To give himself

Tomorrow night. Then would come the best time for opportunity. Sparkler would be too wise to wait until the

final evening. Thus did The Shadow reason, as he entered his limousine and ordered Stanley to drive

eastward. The car was headed for the vicinity of the sanctum. The Shadow was donning cloak and hat.

Well had The Shadow begun to gauge his plans. Yet always, there was the chance of unexpected

circumstance. Though The Shadow had not learned it, trouble had already begun to break.

COMMISSIONER WESTON had been a bit too eager in his contact with the press. Therein lay the source of

the trouble that was to show a marked effect upon The Shadow's plans. Had Weston been slower in making

his statement, it would not have appeared in the early edition. Hence patrons of the Casino Havanola would

As it chanced, however, a buzz began to hover about the Casino Havanola, shortly after The Shadow had

departed. The stir spread through the lower floor. It reached the dining rooms above. At last it filtered through

There, the news spread again. Half a hundred wealthy customers suspended play. The Casino Havanola was

through, according to report. Until the rumor was settled, no one cared about the spinning roulette wheels.

Duke Hydon appeared. The bearded manager came from a tiny office beyond the gaming tables. He waved

his arms and called for silence. Commotion ceased. Duke waved to an attendant; the man brought a stack of

"Ladies and gentlemen," announced Duke, "I regret to announce that the Casino Havanola will soon be

closed. At the same time, I take pleasure in announcing that it will continue business for two nights more.

Therefore, I suggest that all patrons take advantage of the remaining opportunity.

"I can assure you that the police will not interfere tonight; nor on the coming nights. The commissioner has

said that we must close. We have agreed. The commissioner is satisfied, and pleased because of our good

"I have just talked to the commissioner on the telephone," he stated. "He said that he was pleased because I

accepted his decision. Of course" Duke paused to chortle dryly "our friend, the commissioner, has not

More laughter. Duke finished his announcement. His final words were significant.

"As for other interference," he declared, "such as other establishments have experienced, you need fear

nothing. We are quite prepared to handle all intruders. Your valuables are safe when you come here."

Duke ordered the attendant to distribute the newspapers among the customers. Players scanned the headlines,

then threw the journals aside. Wheels resumed their spinning. Currency flooded the tables. Women who wore

FEW persons noted the two men who strolled into Duke Hydon's tiny upstairs office. The customers took

them for other players, since they were attired in wellfitting evening clothes. But the conference that

"Hello, Kidder; hello, Brad." Duke nodded to each man in turn. "Sit down. I want to talk to you. You know,

"He may be," replied Duke. "Perhaps he was afraid to crack this place. He may have passed word to the

"Not likely," put in Brad. "You can't tell me that The Shadow would be showing any favors to the commish.

"You never can tell about The Shadow," observed Duke. "It was on his account that I brought you fellows in

from Chicago. Kidder Dagland and Brad Stuggart. You two always did work together. Keeping up a swell

"A good racket, in the old days," remarked Kidder. "A guy needed an alibi out in Chi. It didn't count for

much, either, unless two people backed him on it. That was our specialty, all right."

"Look at these," he said. "List of people here tonight. All about them how they became acquainted with the

place. That's one reason I brought you fellows in here you and those other torpedoes who are working as

"All right," returned Duke. "Tell me who's phony. I think that some stoolie has muscled his way into the

"Not much chance of that," observed Brad. "I'd have spotted a phony the first time he showed up."

Duke stopped. Someone was at the door. It proved to be the gaming tables banker.

"One fellow going out, Duke," he informed. "The house owes him two hundred bucks. Says to keep it until

Duke turned to Kidder and Brad. "It's just a hunch," he admitted, "but maybe it's a good one. You two cut

down the secret stairway to the lower office. Then come upstairs again by the outer stairway and spot this

Kidder and Brad nodded. The former pressed a sidewall light switch, with quick up and down clicks. A

panel slid open, to show a spiral staircase. The pair descended, closing the panel behind them. Duke turned to

"Stall him for a few minutes," he stated. "Maybe he wants an I O U, so he can have evidence against us. Tell

him we don't give them. Put his name in the book and have him wait while you bring it to me for an O.K."

IN the gaming room, Harry was awaiting the banker's return. Chips were used, within certain limits, at the

Casino Havanola. Harry had turned in his supply; he had asked that they be credited to his name. He had

done this with a purpose; namely, to find an excuse for visiting Duke Hydon in the office.

When the banker arrived to state the arrangements, Harry caught a glimpse of Duke. The manager was

standing in the open doorway of the little office. Harry could see an empty room beyond. He decided to drop

"Very well," he said, when the banker had explained. "Put my name in the book. Your word will be all right."

"That will not be necessary," interposed Harry. "I'll only be gone half an hour."

Harry shook his head. He strolled toward the exit. A watcher opened the sliding door. Harry stepped through

to the cloak room. The Cuban signaled him through. Harry reached the hallway. He continued along the

passage and down the circular stairway. There he stepped into a telephone booth and dialed a number.

Two men spied Harry in the telephone booth. They were Kidder and Brad, coming through from the lower

office. Kidder waved Brad back; then slipped into a vacant booth next to Harry's. He caught the finish of a

"Business resumed..." Harry was evidently describing to Burbank, The Shadow's contact man, the scene in

the gaming room. "Yes, everything will be the same tomorrow... I'm going up again, to collect some money.

"Yes, I can call again in fifteen minutes... Wait." Harry glanced from the telephone booth. "There's a vacant

table right here. If you call me, I can answer promptly... Yes, any time within the next half hour..."

Kidder slid from the booth. He joined Brad and motioned him toward the stairway. They watched Harry

come out and take the table nearest to the telephone booth. Kidder whispered to Brad, who nodded and went

"Duke sent me down," confided Kidder. "He wants to see you about that credit. Could you come up with me

HARRY had noted Kidder in the gaming room, but had supposed the man to be an ordinary patron.

Apparently, Kidder had some connection with the house. Harry was interested in this finding. He followed

Always the one at the right, Harry had learned. There was a door from the left cloak room also; but Harry had

never seen it used. Probably it had been provided only in case large groups of players crowded the gambling

Harry followed Kidder through to the upstairs office. The man opened the door and stood aside to let Harry

enter. The Shadow's agent found Duke at his desk. The manager arose and nodded affably. He spoke in a

"There has been a slight error in calculation, Mr. Vincent. Only a matter of a few dollars; but I thought it best

Two men landed suddenly on Harry's shoulders. The Shadow's agent twisted; punching hard, but uselessly,

he sprawled beneath the combined attack of Kidder and Brad. The second rogue had been waiting outside the

office. He had followed Kidder and they had quietly closed the door. Swift and efficient in their attack, they

Duke bounded forward and plastered a piece of wide adhesive tape across Harry's mouth. Kidder was holding

Harry's legs, while Brad was twisting a strap around the victim's wrists. Three against one, with a surprise at

"I'll get the call downstairs," declared Kidder. "I'll tell you more when I come back."

He went out through the gaming room. Going down the stairs, Kidder heard the ringing of the bell in the

telephone booth. He hurried his descent and answered the call. Though out of breath, Kidder managed to fake

"What about the office?" queried Kidder. "I may get a chance to talk to Duke Hydon "

Kidder made no response. He waited, hoping that a new statement would come over the wire. A dozen

seconds passed; then Kidder heard the click of the receiver. The rogue hung up his own receiver. He had

KIDDER took his time about returning through the front way to the gaming room. He supposed that Duke

expected him back by that route; but he did not want to go in and out at too frequent intervals. It was ten

minutes before he arrived at the tiny office to find Harry Vincent propped in a chair, staring helplessly at

"I talked to the mug at the other end. Learned nothing, except that this guy is off duty until tomorrow night.

Kidder turned to Harry. He snarled as he faced the bound man. There was venom in Kidder's tone.

"You're telling us who you're working for!" he announced. "Who the guy was that you called! Everything

"I'll make you talk! I've handled tougher eggs than you. I'm putting you wise; you'll save yourself a lot of

Harry remained motionless. Kidder moved over to talk with Brad. They buzzed a low conversation, one that

required a full five minutes. With nods and glowers, the two were building up some scheme of torture. A

crafty preliminary, capable of jangling a strong man's nerve. Harry could feel the strain, for he knew himself

"All right," decided Kidder, finally. "Get ready, Brad. We'll hand him the heat treatment, for a starter."

"Not here!" protested Duke. "We've kept him here too long already! It's been twenty minutes since you went

down to get that telephone call, Kidder. We'll have to take him to the lower office."

AS he spoke, Duke arose and went to the wall. He gave the switch its rapid clicks. The panel opened. Duke

motioned to Kidder and Brad. The pair hoisted Harry and lugged him down the spiral staircase.

It was a precipitous trip into lower darkness; and a rough one, for the stairs were narrow. Nor were Harry's

captors gentle. Harry was aching from a dozen jolts when they reached the bottom.

There they waited for Duke. Evidently the manager had made a brief trip into the gaming room, for it took

him a few minutes to arrive. Coming down in the darkness, Duke pressed by the two men and their burden.

"Bring him through," whispered Duke. "Say why did you fellows turn out the light? Wasn't it on when you

"Sure," growled Kidder. "What's more, we didn't turn it off. It must have been one of the head waiters."

"I've ordered them to stay out of here," snarled Duke. "I'll find out who went against my order! I'll "

Duke's speech ended. He had found the light switch and had pressed it. His words were frozen by the sound

of a harsh, gibing laugh. Duke saw his companions staring toward the far wall of the room, with Harry

A shape in black. A fisted form with leveled automatics. A figure that Harry's captors recognized. A sight

Harry Vincent's eyes had filled with hope. Though the laugh, when repeated, was echoless, Harry had no fear.

Rogues were trapped. He was rescued. Such was Harry's swelling thought; then, in an instant, his bubble

The folds of the cloak dropped as the head tossed backward. The sneering laugh changed to a raucous snort.

Duke and his companions stared at a sharpfeatured face. The long chin, the beady eyes those were

features that Duke Hydon recognized when he uttered an elated cry: "Sparkler Meldin!"

A GLEAMING smile flashed from the features of Sparkler Meldin. Gold teeth were glittering in the light.

Then came the sparkle of large gems, as the arrival drew away his black gloves. Last, the huge flash of a

Kidder and Brad gaped. They had heard Duke describe Sparkler; this was the first time they had seen the man

from Havana. Sparkler had few friends, even in New York; and he had none in Chicago. Yet any crook

"What what's the racket, Sparkler?" queried Duke, his voice a stammer. "We thought you were The

"You're not the first who fell for it," snapped back the jewel flasher. "The only trouble is that the racket's

"You saw the early newspapers! You know about the commissioner closing the joint?"

"Sure! But that's not the racket that I mean. I'm talking about this Shadow business. That's what brought me

Duke looked puzzled. Sparkler's laugh was harsh. Narrowed eyes studied Kidder and Brad, also the prisoner

"Kidder Dagland and Brad Stuggart," explained Duke. "A couple of regulars from Chicago. They brought a

bunch of torpedoes with them. I've got the trigger crew working as attendants in the joint. Your Cubans are

"Even you didn't get it, Duke," laughed the sharpfaced visitor. Gemladen hands were placing automatics

"Don't kid me, Sparkler! You were in the Club Torreo the night The Shadow raided it."

"Sure! That was before I muscled in on the racket. The guy that raided the Club Torreo was a phony. I

"The stiff they found in Greenwich Village. The one they identified as George Corbal. I croaked him in his

"No; I had an outfit of my own. Listen, Duke; I figured the fellow was a phony that he was getting by on

The Shadow's rep. I saw a swell opportunity. I started for Havana, but doubled back. Rigged up my own

black outfit; then breezed in on Corbal to see how he'd like it. He thought I was The Shadow."

LIGHT was dawning on Duke. He started to ask a question. Sparkler's rasp intervened. Duke listened.

"I figured that the lid would be coming soon." Gold teeth gleamed in a wise grin. "That it wouldn't be long

before the commissioner clamped down. This place being my joint, the thing to do was make business better

"I've used my hideouts; I've grabbed my swag and stowed it. But the racket was to work entirely on my

"Because I figured I might have to stage a knockoff here. That's why I blew in tonight: thinking that it might

Duke was staring; his bearded face showed anger. It was Kidder who chuckled; his tone showed admiration.

"I get it," he volunteered. "The clamp has been put on, Duke. The Casino Havanola is through. The best bet

"And an alibi for myself," came Sparkler's addition. "Nobody not even you, Duke would have doped it

out that I was passing myself as The Shadow. I came in here through the side door. It's easy to pull a sneak,

when you're tricked out in a black cloak. I intended to go up through the upstairs office. As luck had it, you

"You fooled us, Sparkler," Duke said. "If you want to go up and stage the raid, I'll fix it. Kidder can pass the

"I know what you're going to say, Duke. That it might hurt you. Particularly since the police commissioner is

closing the joint only on suspicion. I thought of that, Duke. It was the one reason I wanted to lay off."

"I'd have to take it on the lam because it would expose the gaming tables to the police "

"I know. Two blacklist markers would ruin you. But I knew where you would hop. To Havana. I intended to

give you the whole lowdown when you got into the clear. Well, I can stage a raid if you want it. We'll talk

"Kidder spotted him putting in a phone call making some kind of a report. There was a return call. Kidder

answered it and pulled a bluff. They don't expect to hear from Vincent until tomorrow night."

BRAD wrenched away the tape. Sparkler's face was glaring down at Harry's. A nod followed.

"Sure he was, Sparkler," agreed Duke. "That's why I let him come in here. I thought he was all right."

"It's simple enough. This fellow Vincent knew that it was Corbal. How about it, Vincent? The Shadow

"I'll make him talk," growled Kidder. "That's what we brought him down here for. Come on, Brad "

"Wait!" Gems flashed from a restraining hand. Sparkler's voice was hard. "If Vincent was there to grab

Corbal, he was here to grab me. Don't worry about putting the heat on him. We won't need to."

"Because," came the comment, "if Vincent makes no report tomorrow night, The Shadow will come here

himself. He is liable to come anyway. He's been trailing me all along the line. I was lucky to get away from

"The Shadow knows about this joint of ours, Duke. If he didn't, this stooge of his wouldn't be here. The

Shadow knows a lot; but there's one thing he doesn't know. He hasn't guessed that I'm the fellow who's

"On that account, he'll figure that I'm due here. Since the joint is closing, there are only two chances left.

Tomorrow and the night after. The Shadow will show up tomorrow, figuring that it's the best bet. He may

come here ahead of me; that would be his best bet. Yes, The Shadow will be here and waiting.

"That's when we'll get him. He won't have a chance! We'll put the finger on The Shadow. We'll rub him out!

Everything will be planted on him. We'll get a handshake from the police commissioner, as well as from

every bigshot in New York. It's a perfect setup! I'll be in the upstairs office, covering, while you fellows

HARRY VINCENT repressed a groan, as he heard the rasped arrangement. He had failed The Shadow. On

his account if for nothing else his chief would be sure to enter the trap. Harry's groan was audible; The

"We've found our ticket." The rasp was Sparkler's. "We'll hold this prisoner, and let him talk afterward

when we have bagged The Shadow. Maybe we won't need to hear him then. He's nothing but bait, anyway.

"In here." The bearded man opened a farther panel, to show a small, windowless room that adjoined the spiral

stairway. There was a cot in the closetlike compartment. "It's got a ventilator, so he won't suffocate."

"Cut him loose and stick him in there on the cot. We'll lock the panel from this side."

"He won't. Because I'm parking here for the night. So are you fellows. We'll take turns sleeping on the couch.

"No. I tell you he means nothing. Our job is to be ready all the time, in case The Shadow shows up before we

Bonds were cut. Harry was shoved into the little room. Kidder sprawled the prisoner on the cot. The panel

His case was hopeless, with three men on constant watch outside. The Shadow's plight would be hopeless

EARLY the next evening. Business as usual at the Casino Havanola. Except for one point: Duke Hydon was

allowing no visitors in his downstairs office. Whenever a knock sounded on the door, Duke answered by

stepping out and conducting conversation in the passage. In this manner, he blocked the only direct entrance

Duke had just held a fiveminute conversation with one of the head waiters. The fellow went away; Duke

stepped back into the office and locked the door behind him. He turned to the desk, to see Sparkler Meldin

playing solitaire. Diamonds glittered as fingers turned up cards. Gold teeth gleamed as the sharp features

"Kidder and Brad just went upstairs." Sparkler's thumb nudged toward the panel that hid the spiral stairway.

"They lugged Vincent with them. Going to park him in a corner of the upper office. Bound and gagged."

"It was Kidder's idea, and it sounded like a good one. He said we ought to have Vincent where we could

"Let's go up, Sparkler," he suggested. "We'll use that upper office as headquarters."

They arrived in the upper office, to find Harry Vincent tied up in the corner. Duke motioned Sparkler to the

"Yes," he admitted. "My part is a rather tough one. The others are outside; you are stationed here. Which

means that I have to keep moving in between. I wonder just where I'll be when The Shadow shows up."

A knock at the door. Kidder's voice. Duke called the man into the room. The buzz of conversing players, the

clatter of the gaming room both were audible during the short interval when the door was open.

"A hot tip, Duke!" informed Kidder. "Joe Cardona just dropped in! He's having a dinner in one of the

"Humph! Just snooping around, so they can rub it in. Well, they don't matter. We expect the police in

anyway, after the fireworks are over. All I'm wondering is, who tipped them off to come here."

JOE CARDONA was wondering on that very point himself. Dining in one of the secondstory rooms, the

acting inspector was thinking over a telephone call that he had received at headquarters. The voice had been

Cardona happened to know that the philanthropist was out of town. Yet Cardona had not forgotten the night

when he had dashed off to save a man named Swedley, when he should have been looking out for Jothan. J.

M. Swedley's first name had proven to be James, a fact which had irked Cardona somewhat.

Swedley Jothan, however, had been rescued by The Shadow; and he had delivered a message that he had

received directly from the sleuth in black. Jothan's story had clicked with both Cardona and Weston. It had

restored the commissioner's confidence for a while. Only Cardona and Weston had heard the true description

So tonight, though Cardona was puzzled by the telephone call from Jothan, he had no question regarding the

authority behind it. He was confident that he had received a message from The Shadow. His speculation

No word to Weston. Cardona had promised that to the man who talked like Swedley Jothan. Instructions to

be followed to the letter. Cardona had accepted them. He could remember the terse statements:

"Casino Havanola upstairs dining room cloak rooms at the end of hallway investigate as soon as both

Cardona had seen the Cubans when he had strolled down the hall to look at the shimmering fountain. From

where he was at present seated, Joe could see almost to the end of the hall. He had noted several persons

Joe signaled to a plainclothes man at another table. The fellow nodded. He sauntered into the hallway and

strolled toward the fountain. Soon he returned. A shake of his head was indication that neither Cuban had left

Five minutes followed. A stooped man with gray beard passed along the hallway, leaning on a

bamboowalking stick. The man was wearing hat and overcoat, and he was carrying a satchel. Cardona

wondered if he would return from the cloak room. Joe watched; then saw a whitejacketed Cuban come

This was not astonishing. Obviously, two were on duty at the cloak rooms, so that one could go on errands

whenever necessary. Nevertheless, Cardona was particularly interested in the activities of the Cubans. Seeing

FINISHING a plate of spaghetti, the acting inspector arose and strolled along the hall. He stopped at the

fountain. He looked to the right. There was no Cuban behind the window of the cloak room. A quick glance

Quickly, Cardona thrust his head through the open window on the right. No sign of a hiding Cuban. Going to

the other window, Cardona craned his neck. He spied something white upon the floor. He yanked open the

He found the Cuban, bound and gagged in a corner. The man's eyes were closed. The white that Cardona had

spotted was part of the fellow's jacket. Cardona saw a satchel in the corner. He yanked it open; within he saw

the gray mass of a false beard; with it the bamboo cane, crushed in telescopic fashion to a mere sixinch

Beside Cardona was an end wall panel, cleared of coats and hats. Joe pressed his hand against the woodwork.

The panel yielded; it slid sidewise into the wall. Fingers sliding to his pocket, Cardona gripped the butt of his

Cardona was looking into a lighted room, a gambling hall halffilled with welldressed patrons. Standing at

a central spot was a figure cloaked in black a menacing intruder who slowly gestured with a brace of

automatics. Silenced customers were backing to the walls; attendants likewise. Tables lay clear to view,

With sidelong glance, Cardona noted another door in this same wall. Its guard was standing with upraised

arms. Apparently the cloak room on the right had served as the only regular entrance. That was why this

intruder had chosen the cloak room on the left. He had been the stooping, bearded man. His satchel had

Cardona's gun stopped halfway to levelness. For an instant, Joe had been ready to cover the cloaked intruder;

to shoot him down before he had a chance. He thought that he had trapped the third Shadow. Then realization

This was no impostor! This was The Shadow! It fitted with that telephone call that had come in Jothan's

voice: " cloak rooms at the end of hallway investigate as soon as both Cubans have left " Remembered

The Shadow had predicted what had happened; he had relied upon Cardona's keenness to spot the game, once

the lead had been given. This must be The Shadow, revealing a hidden gambling den. Holding everyone at

Cardona dared not leave. He foresaw hazards for The Shadow. It was better to wait for the squad to come

here. Cardona knew that his men might arrive any moment, since he had not returned to the dining room.

Hence Cardona waited, drawing back into the cloak room, ready to warn his followers for silence, until they

could spring a sudden entry. By that plan, he could shift others through the opposite cloak room.

ACROSS the gambling hall stood Duke Hydon. He was just outside the tiny office. Duke could not see

Cardona, for the cloaked invader stood directly between him and the exit to the cloak room. Duke's hands

"It's The Shadow he's got the lead too quick for Kidder and Brad but they'll jump to it if they get the

"Edge over, Duke!" came a whispered rasp through the crack of the office door. The barrier was slightly ajar;

Duke could catch Sparkler Meldin's harsh tone. "I've got him covered! That's it stick right where you are.

"Let him have it!" mouthed Duke. "Drop him, Sparkler! You've got the range. Drill him, quick "

"Not yet. Wait until he moves forward. Closer to the tables. We're framing him, Duke. We want it to look like

Sparkler's whisper ended. The cloaked invader was advancing toward the very center of the room, straight to

a table where stacks of money lay. A gibe came from lips that were masked by upturned folds of cloth. The

Duke noted, however, that some were reluctant to yield their ground. Kidder Brad torpedoes

DUKE broke off. An attendant, close beside another, had edged over to hide his right arm behind his pal's left

shoulder. The moving man was one of the torpedoes. His raised arm was dipping down. It snapped upward as

The cloaked invader wheeled. Furiously, he aimed and pressed the trigger of a .45. The torpedo's shot had

sizzled wide. The first bullet from the automatic clipped the fellow's shoulder.

People along the walls were rolling to the safety of the floor when Duke gasped the words. Others, however,

still retained their feet: men who were spread about in a semicircle. Kidder and Brad had posted their

marksmen for just such a job as this. Half a dozen revolvers were flashing; muzzles jabbed simultaneous

A big gun roared from beside Duke Hydon's ear. Its aim was perfect. Duke had expected such a shot from

Sparkler. Yet the blast was unnecessary. Already other sharpshooters had done their work. Springing from

every side, they had riddled their lone foe. A cloaked form was sprawling forward. Killers had loosed the

Automatics clattered from loosening fists. The blackclad fighter rolled grotesquely, then lay motionless,

Duke, leaping, forward, spied the upturned face. The cry that Duke emitted was one that came convulsively

ONCE again, Duke had recognized a face that had been hidden by a hat brim. The same face that he had seen

last night: Sparkler Meldin's. Only a moment ago, Sparkler had been in the office, whispering harshly to

Duke. Yet here was Sparkler, riddled with slugs, dead upon the floor of the gaming room! It was incredible!

impossible! yet Duke could not stop to reason. Nor could Kidder and Brad. They, too, were staring at that

upturned, bloodstreaked countenance. They saw the widespread lips, the gleaming gold teeth that glittered

with a frozen leer. The cloak had fallen away; a diamond stickpin flashed from Sparkler's collar. Gloved

The name crowded three startled brains. Then came an answer to the riddle. A taunt that left no doubt

concerning the identity of the dead man on the floor. The laugh that swept to startled ears was proof that

The office door had swung wide open. From the space within had stepped a cloaked and shrouded figure. A

being in black, whose mirth rang out defiant challenge, whose vivid laughter swept to high crescendo; then

The Shadow not Sparkler Meldin had come to the Casino Havanola last night. Made up to look like

Sparkler, The Shadow himself had planned a successful trap. His mesh had snared a murderer. The Shadow

Ready with huge automatics, The Shadow was prepared to deal with foemen. Gunbearing crooks were faced

BOLDLY, The Shadow had stepped forth to deal with danger. He was faced by men who had a zest for

blood. The same guns that had downed the interloper were still in ready fists. Kidder, Brad, and their squad

The odds were better in their favor. They had started from scratch with the false Shadow; but their weapons

were already drawn when they faced the real. Revolvers sprang to action; fingers were quick on hairtriggers.

The Shadow had swung forward, whirling as he came. He feinted to the left. His trigger squeezes answered

Kidder Dagland, as he fired one faulty shot, received a bullet in the wrist. His gun slipped from his fingers.

Brad Stuggart, leaping forward as he thrust his gun, was stopped by a second winging shot. Brad spun about

Crooks were backing as they fired. Though desperate, the torpedoes wanted to avoid The Shadow's aim.

Their one chance to find the whirling target depended upon Duke Hydon. The bearded man was in The

Shadow's course. Barehanded, Duke was springing in to stop the cloaked fighter's elusive drive.

A blackgloved fist swung sidewise to gain aim at a distant foe. Well calculated, that maneuver. The hand

stopped short as it encountered Duke's jaw. The bearded man went floundering backward.

The Shadow boomed an instantaneous shot toward a diving gunner. The bullet missed its mark by a scant

Henchmen had lost their nerve. They were ready to drop their guns and cry for mercy. Kidder and Brad were

downed; the remaining crooks had no leadership. Guns were about to drop from yielding hands when The

Shadow's swift work ceased. Staring crooks saw gloved hands thrust smoking automatics out of sight.

Then came the reason. Hurtling men were bounding in from the cloak room entrances. Savagely, they fell

upon the thugs and bore them to the floor, wrenching their guns away. Struggling crooks tried to break free.

They were bowled against roulette tables. Boards were overturned; wheels went clattering, rolling; cash and

Cardona and his squad had broken in upon the scene. The Shadow had deliberately spared the defeated

rowdies that the law might have its opportunity. Duke made a wild grab for a lost revolver, while Kidder and

Brad staggered about, looking for an avenue that would offer a getaway. All acted hopelessly; detectives

Startled players were rising from along the walls, freed from the menace of conflict. They had witnessed two

swift frays; they were watching a third, its finish a foregone conclusion. Beaten crooks were in the hands of

JOE CARDONA saw The Shadow above the body of Sparkler Meldin. The ace watched The Shadow rip

away the bloodstained cloak that covered the impostor's form. The Shadow's hand plucked up the hat that lay

A solemn laugh was audible, as The Shadow held these trophies high. It was his denouncement of the

murderer who had played the imitation game. A final reminder that the third Shadow, like the second, had

Two murderers had died in false attire. There would be no more. With a last laugh, The Shadow swung about

and strode into the little office. His chilling mirth gained a sudden muffle, as the door swung shut behind him.

Harry Vincent was standing by the desk, holding an automatic. Harry had been released by The Shadow; the

agent had backed his chief. All the while that The Shadow had battled, Harry had been just within the

Seconds only had marked The Shadow's fight. Kidder Brad Duke all had staggered in swift procession.

Harry, aiming for thugs, had stopped when The Shadow had ceased fire. Harry, too, had seen the invading

The Shadow tossed a black bundle to Harry. It was Sparkler Meldin's cloak, slouch hat and gloves rolled

tightly within it. Followed by his agent, The Shadow led the way down the spiral staircase. They reached the

Crowds were making for the front exit of the night club. Confusion had swept the Casino Havanola. The

Shadow took a pathway to the left. Close behind him, Harry followed, through a doorway to the street.

Moe's cab was parked there, waiting. Harry boarded it in response to a hissed order. He looked about for The

Swallowed in the darkness of the thoroughfare, The Shadow had chosen his own course. The lingering

echoes of a whispered laugh: those were the only reminders of the victor's presence. The cab rolled away,

with Harry its lone passenger. Through Harry's brain was running the solution of strange events.

That call from Burbank; the one that Kidder had answered last night, posing as Harry. Well had The Shadow

chosen Burbank, to serve as contact. Burbank had spotted the false notes in Kidder's voice. The contact man

The Shadow had come at once, prepared for a double part. Himself upon the surface, he was masked as

another beneath. The Shadow knew that Sparkler Meldin was passing himself as The Shadow. To beat the

Other points were still bewildering; but Harry knew that he would learn the answers later. Vaguely, he

grasped the clever features of The Shadow's stern campaign to end the menace begun by one imposter and

IT was Joe Cardona who presented many of these details, one night later. Not to Harry Vincent, but to

Commissioner Weston in the police official's private office. Cardona had learned facts; some through men

who had talked, others through straight investigation. He had also followed another tip from The Shadow.

"The Shadow guessed who Meldin was," assured Cardona. "That's why you got those telephone calls,

commissioner. They weren't from the judge and the district attorney's office I've been checking. The

"So Sparkler would come there, as the third Shadow. With the clamps put on, his best chance was a cleanup.

To get jewels, cash best of all, an alibi that would pin things heavy on The Shadow. Nobody would ever

"Yet the whole thing was a setup. Sparkler had his own man in the cloak rooms. He blew in wearing a

phony beard. One Cuban helped him tie up the other; then the first one went away. This to make it look as

though The Shadow had pulled the trick. What's more, Sparkler went through the entrance that nobody was

"He must have figured Sparkler perfectly," returned Cardona. "He knew that Sparkler wasn't going to let

Duke in on it. Sparkler was playing a lone game. What did he care if Duke got into a mess? Sparkler made a

"They weren't in the know. They thought that Kidder and Brad were customers. They didn't guess that the

attendants were yeggs from Chicago. The Cubans never went into the gaming room. They were part of the

"He did. He walked in on Duke one night early. All in black; but when he dropped his cloak, he was

disguised as Sparkler. The Shadow wanted to be on the inside when Sparkler arrived. He picked the surest

way. As Sparkler, he was welcome. What's more, he told Sparkler's own story, as near as I can figure it. Duke

"So did the others. They were so sold that they were sure Sparkler was The Shadow, when he showed up. The

Shadow let them get Sparkler. Handed over the lone wolf to the foxes. I saw it, commissioner. I fell, too. I

was paralyzed when I saw Sparkler drop. I thought he was The Shadow; that I was too slow to save him."

"ON account of the funny beard," stated Joe, "we've traced the places where Sparkler stayed. Always in good

hotels, sticking pretty close to his room. We'd never have landed him in the dragnet. The Shadow had

"I've wired Miami." Cardona paused. He had sent the telegram at The Shadow's telephoned suggestion.

"Asked the police to look through Sparkler's night club there. They found that the manager had been getting

registered packages by mail. They were in a safe. The police opened them. The packages were full of swag.

"The stuff that Corbal swiped; the money that Sparkler grabbed. And the jewels. Sparkler was probably afraid

to ship them to Havana. Miami was a better bet. He would have collected the swag later."

"One point, Cardona," put in Weston, suddenly. "How did you happen to be at the Casino Havanola?"

"I meant to tell you that, commissioner," returned Cardona, cautiously. "It was a telephone call, from

Swedley Jothan. That is, it sounded like Jothan, but since he was out of town, I thought it might be a hoax. I

hopped up to the Casino anyway, with a squad. I was going to call you from there. But the trouble started

"I know it was. He had plenty of chances to make it, right from Duke's office. That's where he was staying,

all along. Duke and the others were up and down, in and out. The Shadow must have called me when he was

THE telephone bell jingled alongside Weston's desk. He picked up the instrument and spoke abruptly.

"Thanks Cranston," remarked the commissioner. "I am glad to receive your congratulations... The details?

You would like to hear them?... Very well... I shall meet you for dinner at the club..."

Weston started to hang up; he paused suddenly. Cardona did not notice the commissioner's rigid gaze. Joe

"I heard The Shadow's laugh," he remarked. "When the raid was on. It was uncanny! Different from the laugh

"Odd." Weston was musing. He pointed to the telephone: "Just as I hung up, I heard a laugh. Strange,

uncanny, distant. I am sure that it came after Cranston had clicked the receiver hook."

Pondering, Commissioner Weston sat solemn as he recalled that fading, chilly tone.

Cardona, eyeing the commissioner, knew that his chief had caught an echo from the past. The same sound