TREASURE TRAIL...........................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. DEATH DEFERRED ........................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. CRIME'S VICTIM ...........................................................................................................4

CHAPTER III. PAST LINKS ..................................................................................................................8

CHAPTER IV. THE MAN IN THE DARK ..........................................................................................11

CHAPTER V. TASPER TALKS ...........................................................................................................14

CHAPTER VI. WESTON'S BLUNDER ...............................................................................................19

CHAPTER VII. REVEALED BY THE SHADOW ..............................................................................24

CHAPTER VIII. ABOARD THE BARGE...........................................................................................29

CHAPTER IX. GHOSTS FROM THE PAST .......................................................................................34

CHAPTER X. THE LAW INTERVENES ............................................................................................39

CHAPTER XI. THRUSTS AT DUSK..................................................................................................43

CHAPTER XII. THE SHADOW DICTATES......................................................................................47

CHAPTER XIII. FROM THE DEPTHS...............................................................................................52

CHAPTER XIV. THE LIVE GHOST ...................................................................................................56

CHAPTER XV. DEATH'S SILENCE ...................................................................................................60

CHAPTER XVI. TRAIL OF GOLD.....................................................................................................64

CHAPTER XVII. THE SHADOW'S PROOF .......................................................................................68

CHAPTER XVIII. TRAILS TWIST.....................................................................................................73

CHAPTER XIX. THE GOLDEN LURE ...............................................................................................77

THE man who stopped inside the doorway of the Cobalt Club was stubby in build, shabby of attire. His plain

face looked weatherbeaten beneath his grizzled hair. He had taken off his hat awed, perhaps, by luxurious

Strong, squatty fingers clutched the hat against the buttons of a threadbare overcoat. Colorless eyes peered

from the man's flattish face, scanning everywhere, for someone the man expected to see.

That query was the usual opening to get rid of undesired visitors. The grizzled man did not catch its irony.

The statement brought a gape from the attendant. Few members of the Cobalt Club would ever expect so

shabby a visitor as this one, and Lamont Cranston least likely of all. Cranston was a reputed millionaire, who

Recovered from his surprise, the attendant decided that the shabby man was either a crank or a masquerader.

He was ready to dismiss him curtly, when he remembered standing instructions concerning Mr. Cranston.

All visitors who inquired for the millionaire were to be treated cordially. If Mr. Cranston happened to be

absent, they were to be encouraged to remain until he arrived, or could be reached by telephone. The

personnel of the club thought the order to be a whim on Cranston's part. They had never guessed the true

Lamont Cranston was The Shadow. Masterfighter who battled crime, he frequently covered his true identity

under the guise of Cranston. There was always chance of emergency wherein The Shadow might require a

meeting with some unexpected person. Therefore, he had issued the standing order.

"Sorry, sir." The attendant used his most genial tone. "Mr. Cranston has not arrived this evening. You are

The weatherbeaten stranger looked in the directions indicated. He glanced back at the outside door. He

"I have a cab outside. I'd rather ride around a while. I'll be back. I wouldn't disappoint him."

The attendant blinked as he heard the title. He wondered just what kind of a captain Cray could be. Cray saw

"Better make it Skipper Cray. Old Skipper Dan, master of the schooner Hatteras. Mr. Cranston will remember

With a last look around the club lobby, as though doubting the attendant's statement of Cranston's absence,

"Skipper" Cray planked his battered hat on his grizzled brow. Turning, he shuffled toward the outer door.

THERE was one man who had noticed the conversation at the desk. He was a club member of brusque

manner and military appearance, whose shortclipped mustache went well with his broad features. Every one

Among his friends Weston counted Cranston. The commissioner was therefore interested when he saw the

visitor who inquired for the millionaire. Stepping over to the desk, Weston asked:

"Yes, commissioner," replied the attendant. "He claimed that Mr. Cranston would recognize the name."

Weston looked toward the inner rooms. They were deep, gloomy places, almost like caverns. Once in the

As Weston asked himself the question, he decided that he ought to know more about Skipper Cray. Striding

through the outer door, Weston reached the sidewalk and looked along the street. He did not see Cray.

"The squatty man, with gray hair. His face looked weatherbeaten. He came in, holding his hat like a

The doorman pointed to a taxi, some thirty feet along the street. The cab was starting to pull from the curb; its

"He got in that cab, commissioner," said the doorman. "Want me to call him back?"

Weston watched the cab, hoping for a glimpse of Cray. As the commissioner stared, the doorman spoke

Weston looked to see a limousine halting at the club entrance. The doorman sprang to the car door; a tall

figure in evening clothes rose leisurely to step to the curb. Weston saw a hawkish, masklike face. He

Looking along to the cab, Weston saw that it was almost clear. In another ten seconds it would be gone.

Weston wanted to witness the meeting between Cray and Cranston. He saw the chance slipping from him.

As his friend looked toward him, Weston pointed to the cab with one hand; beckoned with the other. Starting

The cab stopped abruptly, its nose toward traffic. It was Weston's turn to halt, an instant later. It was not sight

What Weston did see was a gun muzzle that jabbed through the opened rear window, just behind the cab

WESTON was rooted. Totally astonished, he made himself a perfect target. His white shirt front, his

tuxedoed shoulders were a plain sight against the green cedar trees that lined the wall of the Cobalt Club.

As the cards stood at that moment, New York City was due to have a new police commissioner on the

Fortunately, other eyes had seen the glistening gun muzzle. They were the hawkish eyes of Cranston, whose

gaze had followed the commissioner's dash. While Weston halted, while the murderer in the car poised his

Though he still wore the evening attire of Cranston, he showed the speed that characterized The Shadow.

With whippet speed, he took a diving lunge across the sidewalk, straight for Weston. The commissioner was

With low, hard shoulder lunge, The Shadow sent Weston headlong through the cedars that fronted the Cobalt

Club. Hitting the space beyond, Weston plumped flat behind the wooden, earthfilled boxes at the bottom of

the trees. The crash was a hard one; particularly for Weston's dignity, but it preserved him for the office of

The revolver stabs that came from the cab window sent bullets whistling past the very spot where Weston had

Those slugs did not find the figure of Cranston. The wellclad rescuer was on hands and knees, below the

line of fire. The murderer saw him, dipped his gun to fire low. The aiming weapon veered a trifle. Cranston

was coming to his feet. The gunner expected to clip him as he took a forward step.

Instead the figure of Cranston bounded backward with a twist. Without a glance at the cab, The Shadow had

guessed what the murderer's move would be. The gun spat its deadly bullet. The shot was wide.

Swinging hastily to gain another shot, the marksman was belated. His last bullets sizzled above the deserted

Twice foiled, the man in the cab chose flight. His gun muzzle jabbed the cab driver's neck. The hackie did not

wait to question whether the revolver still held bullets. He had not counted the gun blasts. His only thought

was to obey any orders that came from the rear seat, and trust that he would be allowed to live.

Waiting only until a passing car rolled by, the cabby started his machine out into traffic. Some cars had sped

clear; others were veering to the curb, their drivers frightened by the gunfire. There were shouts from the

The avenue had opened into a zigzag path. The scene was set for the getaway of the cab that had brought

Skipper Cray to the Cobalt Club. A killer's thrusts had failed; but the man himself was on the way to freedom.

COMMISSIONER WESTON, peering through the cedar branches, saw the cab begin its flight. His jarring

fall, the reverberations of the gunfire, had combined to jolt Weston from his dumfounded state. Weston

cursed the fact that he was powerless. He, commander of law in New York, with thousands of men at his call!

The cab was clear, slowing momentarily as the driver yanked the gear to high. That instant gave an opening,

Springing from beyond a parked car, just behind the space that the cab had left, was the figure of Cranston.

Weston was amazed at the swiftness of his leisurely friend. With long, racing bounds, Cranston was gaining

on the cab. His chase ended with a spring that would have done credit to a broad jumper.

Just as the cab whipped into high, Weston saw Cranston land upon the rear bumper. Clutching the spare tire,

Crowding through the cedars, Weston reached the curb to spy Cranston making a swift upward climb that

ended on the cab top. Spread flat, he was above the steel turret top, where bullets could not reach him.

That cab was marked. Wherever it went, traffic cops would see the clinging figure on the top. At any time, he

might make a surprise attack through one of the windows. Weston saw Cranston's hand move to a pocket. He

The murderer had heard the thump upon the top of the cab. He must have recognized that he was menaced by

an armed pursuer, for the cab's course showed that the man within was giving new orders. At the corner, the

Weston saw Cranston take measures of his own. He rolled to the high side of the cab, like a yachtsman

trimming ship. As the cab straightened, there was Cranston, safe on top. That was Weston's last view for a

ON the cross street came an obstacle that the murderer had not expected; with it, opposition that threatened

Fleeing cars from the avenue had partly blocked traffic, enough to halt the cab. They had gone against traffic

on a oneway street; and so had the cab, because the murderer thought a left turn would be tougher for The

There was a space to the left of the tangled cars that were halfway along the cross street; but the hackie could

not take it. Other automobiles were trying to force through that narrow opening.

The cab jolted to a stop. The man inside was helpless. He could not reach the enemy on the cab top. If he

If Weston had been there to witness that scene, he would have credited his friend, Cranston, with sure

While The Shadow awaited the murderer's move, a car managed to thrust through from the opposite

direction. It was a long, dullcolored touring car. Guns bristled from its rear seat. Banked thugs were there,

They heard a wild shout from within the cab. They saw the sprawled figure of Cranston on the top. Their

guns swung. They were the coverup crew, stationed near, to insure the cab's flight.

The Shadow had no chance to meet this opposition. His position gave him no opportunity to shift. He took

the only course that offered. Gunmen howled as they saw his fashionably clad figure roll quickly toward the

right side of the cab top. As revolvers barked and a machine gun ripped, The Shadow was dropping headlong

Crooks could not fire through the cab windows. The man whom they sought to cover was inside. The

murderer, in turn, was too late to guess The Shadow's move. Before he could swing to the window on the

As the touring car whizzed past, the murderer took another course. He shoved open the door on the left;

slammed it shut behind him. Diving among the tangled cars ahead, stooped low as he scurried, he came to a

stalled cab at the very front. He leaped aboard it, jabbed the driver with his gun.

All that was holding up that hackie was a fender, locked with another car. The gun muzzle made him forget

the detaining factor. The cab whipped away, ripping its own fender along with the other. It took the next

The Shadow did not see the murderer's departure; but he heard the door slam. He leaped to the rear of the

stalled cab, to open fire at the touring car. Thugs saw the white shirt front of Cranston's attire; but they missed

their chance to open fire. The fighter whom they took for a highhat meddler was quicker with the trigger.

The Shadow's bullets whined among the hoodlums, clipping the machine gunner and the pal beside him. The

driver stepped on the gas, while the others fired wild, hopeless shots from their departing car.

The Shadow aimed for a rear tire; but could not fire. A sudden veer to the left carried the touring car beyond a

POLICE cars were shrieking their approach along the avenue. The touring car swung left at the corner, to flee

southward on the avenue. The Shadow saw other cars speed after the thuggish crew. Then came a pouring of

cars along the side street. The first was a patrol car, with Commissioner Weston in it.

"Thank Heaven, you're safe!" exclaimed Weston, as he pounded The Shadow's shoulder. "What about the

"He escaped," was Cranston's calm reply. "The gang covered his dash to another cab ahead."

The driver of the cab the murderer had first been in, stumbling from the front seat, heard Cranston's statement

and nodded. The hackie recognized the police commissioner and mumbled his apologies.

"I couldn't do nothin' else, commissioner," he explained. "How it all happened, I don't know. There was an

oldlookin' guy told me to drive him to the Cobalt Club an' wait there. I was kind of dozin' while I waited.

"We understand," interrupted Weston, brusquely. Then, to The Shadow: "I know the identity of the man who

"Yes. But he acted suspiciously at the club. He didn't want to wait there; and no wonder. He would have been

Weston saw a reflective gleam in the eyes of Cranston, as though they were visualizing a face from the past.

"Grizzled hair flat, weatherbeaten face shabby clothes his hat held tight in his hands "

With nods, The Shadow marked each point; then spoke, in the reminiscent tone of Cranston:

There was doubt, and Weston recognized it. Cranston, the judge of men, would not believe Skipper Dan Cray

"There's no doubt about it, Cranston," expressed the commissioner, almost angrily. "I saw Cray myself! The

doorman knew which cab he entered. It was the only cab he could have boarded. This very cab, beside us!

"That's why I shouted to Cray. He fired the shots, as soon as he heard me. Even the driver has identified him.

You may think well of Cray, but you're wrong this time, Cranston. Cray was the man who tried to murder

AS Weston fumed, he saw a new expression on Cranston's face, as though the tall listener was winnowing the

facts as he received them, separating the false from the true. When Weston had finished, he saw his friend

"Sometimes even facts can deceive us," he told Weston, solemnly. "When they do, we know that we have

bridged those facts with false conclusions. I believe you when you say that Skipper Cray came to the Cobalt

"I agree also that the interval was short; so brief that Cray could not have left the cab. But when you infer

from those facts that Cray fired the shots, you are mistaken. Daniel Cray was not the man to deal in murder.

Cranston's hand turned the doorknob. The door came slightly open, toward the curb. Only the hand of

Cranston restrained its swing. Weston saw solemnity upon those hawkish features. The tone from Cranston's

"The man who escaped did more than attempt murder, commissioner. He accomplished it! That was why he

The strong hand swung the cab door wide. A huddled mass tilted from the floor of the cab, lurched outward,

sprawled to form a human shape. It struck the cab step; rolled over and lay face up on the curb.

From between the buttons of a threadbare, bloodstained coat projected the handle of a knife that was thrust

deep to the victim's heart. Above the coat collar stared a face, its colorless eyes glazed with death.

Weston knew that face. He had seen the man, alive, only a dozen minutes ago, in the lobby of the Cobalt

Despite their masklike appearance, the features of Lamont Cranston were grim. The Shadow foresaw a quest

A SWARTHY police officer joined Weston and Cranston in the grillroom of the Cobalt Club. Weston had

chosen that convenient headquarters to conduct his inquiry into the death of Skipper Cray. The arrival was

Acting Inspector Joe Cardona, Weston's ace investigator. Joe knew Cranston; he nodded affably to the

Cardona brought news from outside. The thugmanned touring car had gotten away. Though machine

gunners had failed to bag The Shadow, they had at least accomplished one purpose. Their entry, their cross

trail took pursuing police cars in the wrong direction, allowing Cray's murderer a complete escape.

The arrival of Cardona opened the next stage of the inquiry. The details of Cray's death established, Weston

"He was owner of the schooner Hatteras," replied Cranston. "I took a few cruises on that old fivemaster,

years ago. Cray retired; the Hatteras was junked. After that, I received a few letters from him."

"Sunken treasure." Cranston's elbow was on the table, his chin in his hand, as though he thought the subject

trivial. "Cray believed that he had located an old Spanish galleon, somewhere in the West Indies."

Weston became alert. He pictured Cray the possessor of an important secret; sufficient cause for murder. He

wondered why Cranston had not jumped to the connection. If he had noted his friend's eyes at that moment,

It was The Shadow's purpose to preserve his identity. Emergency had forced him to act with whirlwind speed

that was hardly in keeping with the leisurely manner of Cranston. By returning to his indifferent pose, he was

"Gad, Cranston!" barked Weston. "This is vital! Can't you see that's why they murdered Cray?"

"It might be," came the musing reply of Cranston. "Cray frequently spoke about a treasure chart that he

"No one saw it. Cray wanted to sell it; but his price was too high. He wanted fifty thousand dollars for his

map. That would be a pretty steep initial investment, considering that the galleon lay in fifteen fathoms of

"If there happened to be treasure. Most of those galleons carried gold. But that was something Cray could not

WESTON began to drum the table. He was picturing Cray as he had seen the fellow. Suddenly, Weston

"A man as poor as Cray should have been ready to bargain; to accept a smaller payment, perhaps with a

"Cray's appearance deceived you, commissioner," he told Weston. "The Skipper was well off. He believed

that he had years to live; but he was out of active service. Cash on the nose was Cray's motto. He said that

some day, someone would buy his chart for the full price of fifty thousand. If not, he would leave the treasure

The mention of Cray's relatives awakened Weston to a most important question; one that had increased in

"I don't know," replied Cranston. "He forgot to mention his address in the last letter; and when I wrote to the

old address, my letter was returned. Cray had a friend, though" Cranston's lips showed the semblance of a

smile "a friend named Will Tasper, who had once served as mate on the Hatteras. Tasper, I believe, has a

Weston sent Cardona hopping for a city directory. They consulted it, along with a telephone book. Tasper's

cigar store was listed in the city directory; but the place had no telephone. Weston checked the Third Avenue

"Somewhere in the Nineties," he decided. "Send word to the radio patrol, Cardona."

Cardona had a report within ten minutes. A patrol car had located the cigar store; the place had closed for the

night. From inquiry at a delicatessen, the officers had learned that Will Tasper lived in a little apartment on

They found out something else. Tasper shared the apartment with Cray. The old sea captain was well known

in the neighborhood. Sometimes rarely, though he tended the cigar store while Tasper was away.

The upstairs apartment was dark, like the store. Either Tasper had retired, or he was out somewhere. The

officers in the patrol car were waiting further instructions. Cardona asked Weston if he wanted them to wake

"We'll go there ourselves," declared the commissioner. "Order the patrol car to cruise the block, on lookout

As the inspector left the grillroom, Weston saw Cranston rising. Incredulously, the commissioner exclaimed:

"I have had enough exercise this evening," was the tired reply. "It is late. I am going home, to New Jersey."

"I never met the fellow. He wasn't mate on the Hatteras when I took the schooner cruises. Sorry,

WESTON'S expression was testy, as he watched Cranston stroll upstairs to the lobby. With some friends,

Weston might have remained persistent, even changing his request to a command. That was impossible,

though, in Cranston's case. Weston owed too much to Cranston's previous efforts. He could not insist that his

Outside the Cobalt Club, Lamont Cranston entered his limousine. As the door closed, he spoke an order

through the speaking tube to the chauffeur. Though his tone was leisurely, his instructions proved that his

purpose had changed. He did not order the chauffeur to drive to New Jersey. Instead, he spoke:

At Fortysixth Street and Seventh Avenue, Lamont Cranston alighted from his limousine. He found a

streamlined cab. It was empty; but the flag was up, stating: "Hired." Stepping into the cab, The Shadow gave

an order: a sinister, whispered tone. The driver responded with prompt action. The cab started eastward.

The Shadow was heading for the vicinity of Tasper's tobacco store. He was Cranston no longer. He had

changed his voice; he was altering his attire. Pulling out a cleverly contrived drawer from beneath the cab

seat, The Shadow produced garments of black. A shrouding cloak slipped over his shoulders. He clamped a

The cab had reached an avenue. It was wheeling north. Moe Shrevnitz, The Shadow's driver and, secretly,

one of his agents was the speediest hackie in Manhattan. He would reach Tasper's ahead of Weston's

There was another man, however, whom The Shadow hoped to beat, provided the person had become an

He knew that the murderer's second cab had headed south. Police cars had come from the north. Though the

murderer had outraced them, he must have forced his driver to carry him well toward the tip of Manhattan.

There, he would logically have covered his trail by a subway ride; another cab; any device that would mean

Meanwhile, Joe Cardona had come to the Cobalt Club, arriving there very soon after the excitement. Little

time had been lost finding the lead to Tasper. The Shadow was confident that the time element was in his

favor. Not only because he expected to reach Tasper's sooner than the murderer could; but because he would

That was why The Shadow had purposely stalled events at the Cobalt Club. If Weston and Cardona had made

a hurried start for Tasper's, sight of the commissioner's car would cause the murderer to postpone his visit. If

matters worked the way The Shadow wanted, he and the killer would arrive almost at the same time, with

There was one obstacle: the cruising patrol car. The Shadow expected no difficulty in slipping past it, and he

figured that the killer would not suffer from the handicap. Nevertheless, there was a definite "if" upon which

If the murderer came. There was a chance that he might have other plans. At the same time, there was

something that the murderer wanted; something that would certainly be at Tasper's.

SKIPPER CRAY had always kept the chart in his own quarters, whether aboard ship or ashore. He had never

told The Shadow, nor anyone else, where it was hidden. Undoubtedly, he had altered the method of

concealment from time to time. Cray had not brought the chart to the club. He had carried no large roll of

parchment; he certainly would not have left his most valued possession in the cab.

The chart could only be at Tasper's. Sooner or later, it would be bait to bring the murderer. Tonight, almost

The streamlined cab nosed from a side street, just after the patrol car cruised past. The Shadow spoke a

whispered command. The cab stopped; a cloaked figure alighted and glided into the darkened block where

Through a passageway between two buildings, The Shadow was nearing the open area behind rows of squatty

houses. Blended with blackness, he was seeking secret entry to the tiny apartment that had been the home of

THE SHADOW quickly located the rear door of the tobacco shop. It was locked. The Shadow's testing

pressure told that it was bolted from the inside. Windows beside the door had bars; but they were none too

The Shadow, however, chose another course. It was one that required agility of a sort that few possessed; but

after that, it offered quick entry. He scaled the brick rear wall of the twostory building, came on a line with

The flat roof was only a few feet above. Gripping the edge, The Shadow chinned to the top. He saw

something that looked better than the windows an old, battered skylight near one side of the roof.

Creeping along the roof, The Shadow reached the skylight. He found it loose; but he handled the weak

fastening carefully, to make no noise. Hardly had he opened the skylight before he heard a purring noise from

the front street. Peering over the roof edge, The Shadow saw the police commissioner's car.

Back to the skylight, The Shadow dropped softly through, lowering the frame just before he took the silent

fall. He was at the end of a tiny hallway that terminated in a closet. This was a good vantage point to retain.

There were sounds from downstairs: hammerings at the door of the cigar store. There was no response; the

police took other measures. Glass tinkled, proving that Weston had ordered Cardona to break in through the

Shuffled footsteps from the cigar store. Men were looking for a stairway. There was a lull as The Shadow

Someone was creeping through this very hallway, coming closer to The Shadow in the darkness. Breath came

with a sharp hiss; then stifled. The prowler's hand groped along the wall and found a doorknob. The Shadow

A faint flurry of air told that the door had opened. In the next interval of silence, The Shadow reached

forward, touched woodwork with his fingers. He felt it slowly ease away. The door was closing; it shut tight,

but with no noise. There was no click from the knob, which was away from The Shadow. He had touched the

Whoever the man in the darkness, he was ready. He had moved into a room; he was holding the door shut and

gripping the knob to prevent its latching. Already, feet were clumping on the stairs. Lights showed beyond

the corner at the other end of the hall. They gave The Shadow a view of the closed door. It was fully shut, as

SILENTLY, The Shadow stepped back to the inner end of the hall and opened the closet door without noise.

He moved into a space where old clothes hung. He copied the move that the other man had made, closing the

door by inches; but The Shadow paused when a tiny crack remained. Through that opening he could still

Lights swung the corner. Flashlights, still coming from the stairs, showed Joe Cardona, with a plainclothes

man beside him. Joe stopped at the first door on his right, knocked and called for Tasper. There was a door on

He came toward the inner end of the hall. There was a door to his right; another to his left. Behind the latter

Following Joe, plainclothes men were opening the doors at which the inspector had knocked. It was obvious

that they would do the same farther along; and they were making plenty of noise about it. Cardona thumped

The door on the left slung open. The hidden man was willing to wait no longer, guessing that he soon would

be found. He came springing out, a crouchy, snarling attacker, aiming a revolver straight for Joe Cardona.

His revolver unready, Joe saw murder in the beady eyes of the snarly, flatnosed man who flung upon him.

The lights of Joe's own squad were giving the attacker his target. In that instant, Cardona thought that he was

Joe never glimpsed the action from the inner end of the hall, only eight feet away.

The moment that the side door trembled for its sudden outward swing, The Shadow flung wide the closet

door. He materialized instantly from the hanging clothes; launched himself, a torrent of blackness, straight for

The side door, flung hard, went by just as The Shadow reached it. His right hand shooting forward, gunless,

The revolver barked, as its muzzle swung toward the ceiling. The bullet hit three feet above Cardona's head

and fifteen inches to his left. Spinning about, The Shadow whirled the crouched man toward the room that he

The fellow hooked the side of the doorway with his heel. His gun went completely from his hand as he

spilled. The Shadow took a dive beyond him, in the hall. The snarly man came up; started for The Shadow

with clawing, murderous fists, hoping to clutch the cloaked neck. Cardona saw The Shadow's left hand

This was Joe's turn to save The Shadow. He aimed for the crouched man as the fellow drove toward The

Shadow. Instantly, The Shadow's gun came up with a sweep not for the attacker, but toward Joe's revolver.

This time, it was Joe's bullet that whistled wide of its human mark. Deflected from its path, Joe's gun sent a

WHEN the crouching man landed on The Shadow, he bounded back as though he had hit a brick wall.

Coming up with a shoulder twist, The Shadow stopped the drive; plunged the man with a strong right arm

heave. The fellow bowled squarely upon Cardona; the two floundered on the floor. Joe's gun was gone from

The squad of detectives saw the strugglers rise. They could not pick Joe from his adversary, well enough for

gunshots. They pitched upon both wrestlers to drag them apart. Flashlights were knocked everywhere in the

Cardona, knowing what his men were about, shouted his identity as he ceased his struggles. The first

flashlight that a detective redeemed was turned upon the ugly, hooknosed face of Joe's attacker.

That glow did not show The Shadow. He had reached his feet beside the closet door. His hands reached to the

door top. He vaulted upward; his soft shoe found the knob. A rising streak of black, The Shadow sped his

As his head and arms went out to the darkness of the roof, The Shadow's foot found the door top; it poised

Detectives heard the bang. One rushed to the closet door and whipped it open, to thrust among the hanging

clothes. When he came out of the closet, puzzled, the dick looked up. The skylight was shut. The detective

shrugged. It was impossible for anyone to have gone by that route. Probably Cardona or the snarly prisoner

Commissioner Weston arrived at the rear of the squad. He saw the prisoner; one look at the ugly face was all

Crouched, the prisoner showed fight as he heard the accusation. Detectives held him tight. Cardona ordered a

search through the rooms along the floor. There was a witness to what followed; one whose closeness

Cardona did not suspect. The Shadow had eased the skylight upward. He was looking down at an angle, into

The ugly faced prisoner muttered something, but changed his expression to a glare when Weston faced him.

The commissioner decided to wait until the search was complete. Detectives were in every room, turning on

more light. Others came up from the store below; all were solemn with their headshakes.

The ugly faced man grimaced blankly. His eyes showed a look that Weston took for anger. The Shadow saw

the face turned into the light, and had a different thought concerning the man's expression.

"So you deny it!" demanded Weston. Then, triumphantly: "Very well! What have you done with Tasper?"

The prisoner's face still held its strained look. The Shadow had identified it as horror, that had stunned the

The repetition of the question brought relief to the prisoner. His glare changed to one of challenge. His thick

"Tasper? You want Will Tasper? Is that who you're lookin' for? I'm Will Tasper!"

"Yeah, I'm Will Tasper," he repeated. "Here, protectin' my own diggin's, like I gotta' right to do. Watchin' out

that I don't get murdered, like you say Dan Cray was. How'd I know you was a bunch of cops?"

The skylight closed softly in its place. A blackclad figure moved across the roof. Obscured against the

blackened wall, The Shadow descended into the unwatched darkness below. Another visitor the expected

murderer had failed to arrive. If such a person had intended to come at all, his plan would be changed, now

Clues, for the present, would depend upon Will Tasper. The Shadow planned a prompt return, to hear the

TWENTY minutes later, Cranston's limousine pulled up in front of Tasper's cigar store. The downstairs was

lighted; heads and shoulders showed through the grimy front window. A policeman on the street stepped

For a moment, the eyes of Cranston showed actual surprise at the fact he was expected. His reply, however,

"The commissioner's waiting for you, sir," informed the bluecoat, nudging toward the building. "He's in the

It was Weston's turn to show amazement, when he saw Cranston enter. Without knowing it, Weston

"Jove, Cranston!" exclaimed the commissioner. "Fifteen minutes ago, I called your home in New Jersey. I left

"I was delayed at the Holland Tunnel," interposed Cranston. "I decided to call New Jersey. I received your

The story satisfied Weston. Briefly, he told his friend of the fray upstairs; then pointed to Tasper, who was

seated in a corner of the little cigar store. If ever a man looked stubborn, Tasper did.

"We can't make him talk," declared Weston. "He won't believe Cray's dead or at least pretends he won't. He

"Aye!" put in Tasper, from his corner. The man's face was sour, his tone surly. "That's what I say, a trick!

Skipper Dan'l Cray was no man that ever needed help from any landlubbers. 'Twarn't his way to go squealin'

"That's why I called you," said Weston to Cranston. "He said he'll talk to friends of Daniel Cray; no one else."

"An' you're no friend to Dan'l," snapped Tasper, glowering at Weston. "Nor to me!"

CRANSTON intervened. He took up the job that Weston wanted. He talked to Tasper, and the mate's beady

eyes opened. The Shadow followed a course that brought results. He spoke as though he doubted that Tasper

had actually known Cray; but made it evident that he Cranston had been on the best of terms with the

Into the quiet speech of Cranston came references to the old Hatteras. Tasper's sour look turned to a grin. He

"I wouldn't 'a' took you for a seafarin' man, matey," he ejaculated. "But you've shipped plenty often, I reckon.

You knowed Dan Cray like you was his own brother! Only" he stammered; then gulped his first sign of

Cranston's nod was the reply that Tasper dreaded. He bowed his head; his shoulders showed a tremor. Soon,

"Dan Cray was hale when he was gone from here tonight," he affirmed. "But he spoke no word of where he

Tasper beckoned toward the stairs. He wanted Cranston to go up; his gesture included Weston and Cardona.

Joe was about to bring along members of the squad, when he saw a shake of Cranston's head. Joe told the

That pleased Tasper. The crouchy man stopped at the counter and donated a box of cigars to the

Upstairs, Tasper indicated the first room on the right. Weston and Cardona had seen it before, but did not

"The furniture from the cabin on the Hatteras." Cranston noted familiar objects. "The corner table and its

benches; the old desk. Yes, there is Cray's medicine chest; and that halflength mirror with the hickory

"Dan was right proud of these, sir. I can see him yet in front of that mirror, givin' his cap its tilt."

"Some items are missing, Tasper. The roundshaped chairs; that oldfashioned bed "

"They're in the room across the hall. That was Cray's bunk room. Mine is next to this. We shared this here

MOTIONING to the benches, Tasper invited his guests to be seated. Leaning across the table, he spoke in a

"It's settled now. We're friends. I'll deny nothin' any longer, since I've spoke with Mr. Cranston. It's truth that

"No. There was an oldish man, though, that I saw one time. He was in a car that drove up, bringin' the cap'n

home from somewhere. Kind of long gray hair, he had. Thick, here at the back. A long face, too a dour one,

"Not very well, sir. He was wearin' a soft felt hat an' an overcoat with a big fur collar. 'Twasn't enough for

him, that collar. He had a big cloth muffler, too, pokin' out from under his long chin."

Sudden recognition gleamed from the eyes of Cranston. Firm lips moved momentarily, but did not speak.

"He looked shrewd enough to be a treasure hunter, that old fellow. That's what Cray said he was, too a

"That was a fortnight ago," mused Tasper. "Funny thing, too. There was a fellow came here the next day, to

ask for Cap'n Cray. Gave me his card; leastwise I thought he did, but I couldn't find it afterward."

"Seems like it was Weed. I couldn't be sure for certain. Mebbe he wanted to sell somethin'; that could 'a' been

all. You see, sir, Cap'n Cray was out a lot. Testin' his land legs, he used to call it. There was no tellin' who he

There was a pause. Tasper had taxed his recollections. Cranston's voice quietly reminded him of his former

"Ah, yes, Mr. Cranston." Tasper nodded emphatically. "It's here, sir; of that I'm sure. I never saw it nobody

did but Cap'n Cray yet it warn't no imaginin' on his part. 'Look for it, Will,' he used to say, while puffin' on

his pipe. Look I did, but never found it. He described it, too a big parchment, of size like this."

Tasper gestured. His hands spread to indicate an imaginary object some two feet wide. Then made an

upanddown motion, spreading again to show a threefoot height. With a sweep of his arm, he indicated the

WESTON and Cardona seized the invitation. They took down the hickoryframed mirror and looked on the

wall in back of it. There was no sign of a chart hanging there. Weston went to the table and began to tap it,

Joe noted that the rear of the mirror was unpapered. He tapped the solid glass itself, scratching the smooth,

Hanging up the mirror, Cardona joined Weston and helped him sound the table. That done, they tapped the

benches. Joe suggested that they tap the table legs, in case one might be hollow and hold the parchment map

rolled inside it. The legs sounded solid; so did the hickory frame of the mirror when Cardona applied his

Cranston's eyes watched the search. They roved toward the medicine chest, which was a bulky affair. Weston

opened the front and pried into empty pigeonholes and drawers. Cardona brought a piece of string and

measured from front to back, to check the dimensions. Inspection proved the back of the chest to be a thin

"Nothing here," decided Weston. "Our search was a thorough one. Do you agree, Cranston?"

"Not quite," replied Cranston "You did not measure the depth of those pigeonholes at the top."

"We measured at the bottom," admitted Weston. He peered into the cabinet, stooping to gain his view. "Jove!

I believe you've uncovered something, Cranston! Those top compartments do look shallow."

Weston began to probe inside the cabinet. He saw Cranston work at the top crossboard on the right. A

spring clicked; Weston hurried around to find Cranston sliding away the top board, to reveal a hidden space

The secret section was divided into small compartments, each less than six inches long. The dividing

partitions made it useless as a hiding place for any object of large dimensions, such as the missing chart.

"A common feature of the medicine chests used on ships," Weston heard Cranston remark. "Sea captains

usually have to put certain drugs where crew members cannot reach them. Too bad the chart is not here,

"Look at this, Cranston!" Pawing through the papers, Weston had found a letter. "It's from Morton Baybrook,

AS Cranston, The Shadow expressed instant surprise. The name of Baybrook was one that he would naturally

recognize. Known widely in financial circles, Baybrook had promoted various new enterprises, always with

If a new type of industry needed development; when special air routes were planned; when unusual

inventions promised results, Baybrook was always ready to father them. His unerring judgment in such

Baybrook's commissions, plus stock shares that he purchased, had mounted steadily. The promoter was a

reputed millionaire. With capital of his own, Baybrook was in a position to increase his wealth through

proper choice of new ventures. His name had become the sterling mark in fields of new investment.

Weston was reading Baybrook's letter. It was addressed to Daniel Cray. The commissioner held the note so

"Dated two days ago," remarked Weston. "Cray must have received it day before yesterday. Do you know

"Nary a word from Dan," returned Tasper, with an emphatic headshake. "There was a letter came yesterday;

Weston rummaged for more letters and found a few from Baybrook. All suggested that Captain Cray call at

the office. Apparently, the purchase of the treasure chart had been a matter of some discussion. Weston asked

Tasper if he had ever seen or heard of Baybrook. Another headshake came from the mate.

"Never once," declared Tasper. "Baybrook? The name is new to me. I can swear to this, commissioner:

"Humph!" Weston studied the letter. "That means he didn't go through with the deal."

"Wrong, commissioner." It was Cranston who spoke. From beneath a little compartment, he produced a flat,

thin book that had escaped Weston's notice. "Here is Daniel Cray's bank book. Look at the list of deposits."

Weston's eyes opened when he saw the figures. All the way down the page were small amounts, until the

very last. That fatal deposit was dated the previous day. The amount stood out conspicuously. On that date,

"Baybrook paid him!" exclaimed Weston. "The chart was bought!" He swung to Tasper: "Maybe you're

Tasper looked perplexed. It was The Shadow who offered the next suggestion, in the quiet style of Cranston:

The idea struck Weston as excellent. He made prompt arrangements for headquarters men to stay on duty,

leaving Tasper with them. The Shadow counted the number of the squad as the men came upstairs. He was

Five minutes later, Weston and Cardona were riding away in the commissioner's car. With them was

Weston's friend, Lamont Cranston. He had sent his limousine back to the Cobalt Club. His thin lips formed

the faintest semblance of a smile. This visit to Morton Baybrook promised real developments. Full facts

Perhaps that smile would have faded, had The Shadow foreseen the events that this evening still held in store.

Behind the murder of Skipper Daniel Cray lay an ominous scheme of evil, its very purpose still hidden from

MORTON BAYBROOK lived in a Park Avenue apartment. The promoter was at home when the visitors

arrived. Ushered into a luxurious living room, they found Baybrook awaiting them.

The promoter was a short, pudgy man with shortclipped mustache and baldish head. He was energetic; and

tonight, all his surplus motion was of a nervous sort. Announcement of the police commissioner's name had

Baybrook knew both Weston and Cranston by sight. He nodded to both, as he thrust out his pudgy hand. The

greeting ended, Baybrook lost no time in giving the question that was in his mind.

"What's happened, commissioner?" he asked, hoarsely. "Is it something that concerns Captain Daniel Cray?"

The Shadow saw Joe Cardona eye Baybrook closely. Schooled in blunt police methods, Joe wanted to

demand why Baybrook asked the question. Fortunately, Cardona decided to let Weston act as spokesman.

"I've been waiting for Cray," he declared. "All last evening, today and tonight. He should surely have arrived

Weston was regarding Baybrook solemnly. The promoter noticed it. He gripped Weston's arm and demanded

The Shadow saw Baybrook's eyes grow beady. They were like little dots, lost between fattish eyelids.

Baybrook's lips twitched; with an effort, he recovered from his nervousness to ask:

"Did you find the " The pudgy man halted abruptly. "Did Cray leave any message for me? Or or anything

Weston's question snapped Baybrook back to normal. For a moment, he stared at the faces of both Weston

"Yes. I mean the treasure chart. I am glad that you have found it. I purchased it from Cray, yesterday."

WESTON shook his head. He motioned Baybrook to a chair and began a brief account that started with

Cray's murder. He told of the subsequent visit to Tasper's; the mate's assurance that the chart was still on the

premises. Weston described the futile search for the chart; and the discovery of the letters and bank book.

The Shadow was watching Baybrook. The promoter's pudgy face showed many flickers of emotion. Sorrow,

worry, hope, doubt all came at different portions of Weston's narrative. When the commissioner was

"I am still at sea," he admitted. "You assure me that the chart has not been stolen, and yet you have not found

"Perhaps not thorough enough," interposed Weston. "We may need to know more about Cray. Perhaps you

"I knew that he had a treasure map," returned Baybrook. "Or claimed to have one. But he may have deceived

me. Perhaps he had reached his dotage. He could have believed that he had such a map; and made Tasper

"Cray had the map." The Shadow supplied the statement in the calm tone of Cranston. "He mentioned it years

ago, when he was younger and more active. What the commissioner would like, Baybrook, is some report

Weston suppressed a pleased smile. Cranston had pressed the very point to which the commissioner had been

"I heard of Cray some time ago," explained Baybrook. "I wrote to him, and invited him to my office. He told

me about the treasure map; assured me that it masked the actual location of the sunken galleon, Isabella. He

"He said that others had offered him less; that, recently, he had been promised shares in the venture, if he

would deliver the map. Cray would not listen. He wanted fifty thousand dollars, cash. That was the way he

"No," answered Baybrook. "I asked him. He said that he always kept such matters confidential."

"TWO days ago," testified the promoter, "I wrote Cray telling him that I would buy the chart. He came to my

office yesterday morning, but he did not bring the chart with him. He wanted to see the cash first. I gave him

Weston looked incredulous. Baybrook smiled and drew a wallet from his pocket. He produced a folded sheet

"Cray signed this agreement," declared Baybrook, "in the presence of witnesses. A promise to deliver the

map locating the lost galleon Isabella; to return the full sum of fifty thousand dollars if he failed to do so."

Weston read the agreement and passed it to Cranston. Cardona looked over Cranston's shoulder to read it.

"I expected Cray here last night," proceeded Baybrook. "He did not come. I supposed that he would visit the

office today. He failed to do so. It struck me that there could be one reason why he did not deliver the chart.

From his wallet, Cray brought a cancelled check. It was for fifty thousand dollars; it bore Baybrook's

"I sent to the bank for this cancelled check," explained Baybrook. "It was brought here after I came home

from the office. I was convinced that Cray would come here tonight; that having both the agreement and the

cancelled check, I would surely receive the treasure chart. Instead, you tell me that he went to the Cobalt

"It looks clear to me, commissioner," affirmed the ace inspector. "Maybe Cray ran into somebody else who

wanted the chart. Maybe he was threatened. He'd naturally be leery about delivering it, if he expected trouble.

"So he went to see Mr. Cranston; probably to ask his advice. Maybe he thought Mr. Cranston would know

Mr. Baybrook. We've got the proof that other people were bothering Cray. Tasper told us about an old guy,

"We can't be too sure of Tasper," decided the commissioner. "He may have bluffed us about the real hiding

Weston looked for Cranston's agreement, but learned nothing from his friend's immobile expression.

Actually, The Shadow did not agree with Weston. He had sized up Tasper, and recognized the mate as

"I shall call headquarters," declared Weston, "and give instructions to Detective Haggerty. He will be a good

man to put in charge of Tasper's tonight. We can make a thorough search there, tomorrow. May I use your

"Certainly, commissioner. It is in the hallway. One of the servants will show it to you."

"Thank you. Meanwhile, Baybrook, you can keep these" Weston returned the agreement and the cancelled

BAYBROOK chatted with Cranston while Weston was gone. Cardona prowled the room glumly, trying to

think of a way to crack the case. When Weston returned, Cardona was prepared to leave. He was surprised

"One question," was Cranston's quiet remark. He turned to Baybrook. "Tell me, Baybrook, just why did you

consider a treasure chart to be a good investment? it seems far more speculative than your usual enterprise."

"It is," admitted Baybrook. "In fact, a year ago I would not have given it thought. Treasurehunting, though,

has become an exact science in the last twelve months. Let me show you my promotion material, Cranston."

Baybrook opened a table drawer; brought out a large portfolio. Spreading it, he showed stacks of newspaper

clippings, with report sheets of technical experts. All concerned the activities of Professor Glidden Prumbull,

"That is going on right here in New York City," declared Baybrook. "The Grenadier sank in the East River,

nearly two hundred years ago, carrying several millions in gold. Prumbull was hired to locate the frigate and

"He has been successful. According to these latest accounts, the Grenadier can be raised at any time. The

The listeners were familiar with facts concerning the Grenadier; but Baybrook's clippings covered additional

details. Among them was a short newspaper account stating that the raising of the frigate would be a feature

of the coming international exposition. It happened that the exposition grounds extended to the forgotten

channel near Hell Gate where the Grenadier lay among rocks six fathoms under water.

"Millions in treasure aboard that vessel," remarked Baybrook. "Yet the salvagers are willing to leave it there

while they reap mere thousands from their exhibit. After all, though; the bottom of the East River makes a

"Prumbull's success has shown me that sunken treasures can be raised. I intend to promote a corporation to

salvage the Isabella. Stock in such an enterprise will be bought speedily, thanks to the publicity attending the

Weston was about to speak when he saw Cranston reach for the folder of clippings. The commissioner's

"An interesting personality," came Cranston's quiet tone. "Either a genius or an eccentric. Observe that mass

of gray hair; those spectacles tipped forward. Cold weather does not suit the professor. He wears both a fur

Point by point, Cranston was driving home a reminder. Cardona was the first to catch it.

"That's the fellow!" ejaculated Joe. "The old man that Tasper mentioned! The one in the car outside the cigar

"Jove, Cardona!" put in Weston. "You've struck it! Prumbull would have a purpose in meeting Cray. He

might want that chart. Go out to the hall telephone, Cardona. Call up Prumbull."

"Say you're from the Waterways Commission; that you want to know about soundings along that channel.

CARDONA was back in five minutes, with the information that Prumbull lived on Long Island. Joe had

talked with Prumbull's daughter; the professor was attending a lecture and would not be home until late.

"We'll leave matters until tomorrow," decided Weston. "We shall call on Prumbull in the morning, taking

"Suppose, though," proposed Baybrook, anxiously, "that something should happen to Professor Prumbull. If

"We shall handle all possibilities," interrupted Weston, with a tightlipped smile. "That is the law's business.

If Professor Prumbull happens to possess Cray's chart, the worst move he could make would be to leave the

"I meant no accusation against Prumbull, commissioner. I feared that he might be in danger."

"Hardly so," declared Weston. "The chart is your property, Baybrook, not Prumbull's. Fortunately, you are

The visitors departed, ushered out by two of Baybrook's servants. They entered Weston's car; the

commissioner ordered the chauffeur to take them to the Cobalt Club. On the way, Cranston was silent. He

preferred to hear Weston's comments and opinions, along with Cardona's. Later, as The Shadow, he could act

upon his own. In view of Professor Prumbull's absence, however, no action promised for tonight.

To The Shadow, one point was vital; the presence of a police squad at Tasper's meant that all was safe there.

Cray's hidden chart would remain untouched, while the law remained in charge there. The Shadow, therefore,

was considering the facts learned at Baybrook's, when Cardona made a remark to Weston.

"I think I'll go up to Tasper's," decided Joe. "Maybe Haggerty's got something to tell me."

Instantly, the features of Lamont Cranston became alert. Weston had made some change regarding Tasper's;

"I am not so sure of Tasper," mused Weston, slowly. "So I ordered Haggerty to remove the squad. If Tasper

intends some secret move, he will attempt it. Haggerty and two other detectives will be keeping watch,

however. They are outside, covering Tasper's from across the street. That is why it is unwise to go there,

THERE was no objection from Cardona, as the big car stopped at the Cobalt Club. Apparently, Joe thought

Tasper would not leave that cigar store; but there was one man who might seek opportunity to enter, since the

police squad was gone. That man was the murderer of Cray, the killer whom The Shadow had previously

On that occasion, the murderer had been too late. His chance had come again; and he would be shrewd

enough to know that there might be outside watchers representing the law. The odds favored the murderer

There was only one way to offset Weston's blunder; that was for The Shadow to make a prompt trip to

Tasper's, as he had before. Though he affected his leisurely manner, to complete the part of Cranston, The

His limousine was waiting there. Almost before Weston and Cardona realized it, Lamont Cranston was in his

own car. The big machine pulled away, supposedly bound for New Jersey. Once around the corner, the

In Cranston's tone, The Shadow gave an address near Tasper's store and ordered the chauffeur to hurry. As

the speaking tube dropped from The Shadow's left hand, his right was reaching for a bag upon the floor.

Black garments rustled. Lips whispered a grim laugh, heard only by the mysterious being who uttered the

tone. That laugh was solemn. The Shadow was embarking upon a serious quest; one that promised an actual

When Cray's murderer arrived at Tasper's, he would come with more than one purpose. Not only would he

seek the treasure chart that Cray had legitimately sold to Baybrook. The murderer would also be prepared to

dispose of a man who might remember too much. That unfortunate man was Will Tasper.

Weston's blunder was Tasper's death warrant. The Shadow was racing against time, to save a fresh victim

ALL lay silent in the darkness behind Tasper's cigar store. The Shadow reached that destination without

difficulty, for Haggerty and the two dicks were watching the front of the place. They felt sure that Tasper

would give himself away if he came downstairs. The possibility of someone entering the cigar store had not

Testing the back door, The Shadow found it bolted. The window bars were in place. It would take a full five

minutes for anyone to remove them; and putting them back, from inside the window, would be overdifficult.

The Shadow chose his former route. He reached the roof; took a peek to the street. Haggerty and the

headquarters men were where they belonged. The Shadow went to the skylight; made a descent as silent as

The Shadow had undertaken a double purpose. Not only was he ready to prepare a trap for a murderer; he had

a chance to be active while he waited. The Shadow was prepared to resume the search for Cray's treasure

chart. He had watched Weston and Cardona make their futile hunt; hence The Shadow had eliminated much

In fact, he had gained a distinct impression of where the chart might be found. The Shadow had seen the

possibility of a most ingenious hiding place, large enough to hold the precious map.

The doubtful factor in the present expedition was Tasper. The Shadow wanted to operate without disturbing

the old mate. It was likely that Tasper would prove to be a light sleeper. That meant noiseless work on The

Ghostlike, the cloaked visitant moved through the blackness of the hallway. Stopping outside Tasper's closed

door, The Shadow listened. He heard heavy breathing, punctuated by an occasional, satisfied snore. Tasper

That was why The Shadow did not enter Tasper's room. Instead, he moved past the closed door and followed

along the hall to the little parlor that contained Cray's furniture. Softly, The Shadow opened that door; eased

Immediately, The Shadow recognized that matters were not right. The room was pitchblack; the front

shades had been lowered. The Shadow could see no reason why Tasper should have drawn them. It would

certainly be unwise for Tasper to hunt for the missing chart after the law had gone.

No one was in the room; The Shadow could sense that from the silence. Yet the drawn shades indicated a

Gliding toward the windows, The Shadow reached the front corner at the left; he placed his hand upon the

knob of a connecting door that led into Tasper's room. The Shadow listened; he noted the absence of a sound

The Shadow's hand turned the doorknob. Pressure told him that the door was locked. His fingers reached

below the knob, found no key there. The key had been on this side of the door when The Shadow had

This new find, coupled with Tasper's silence, added definite menace to the situation.

The Shadow chose the quickest route to Tasper's room. He crossed the parlor and glided out through the hall,

leaving the door open behind him. He reached Tasper's door, found it unlocked. As he moved inward, The

Shadow heard a slight sound from across the room. The noise resembled the gentle closing of a door.

Dull light from the street outlined the interior of Tasper's room. The mate was lying silent in a narrow bed

against the wall. The Shadow approached; he flicked the rays of a tiny flashlight upon Tasper's face. The

THE glimmer of The Shadow's flashlight reached the bed covers. They were stained with blood fresh gore

that oozed from Tasper's bare, tattooed chest. Projecting from above the dead man's heart was a knife handle,

Cray's murderer had dirked another victim. As swiftly, as skillfully as he had knifed the old sea captain, he

had done the same with Tasper. That killer knew how to thrust a long, sharp point straight to the heart.

The killer must have arrived at least a dozen minutes ago. He had entered through a rear window; unbolted

the back door, to go out and replace the loosened window bars. He had come through the back door again,

bolting it. Upstairs to the parlor; there, the murderer had lowered the shades to begin his search.

Hearing Tasper's breathing, the murderer had gone into the bedroom. He had locked the connecting door,

intending to do the same with the door to the hall. That would have kept Tasper a prisoner; but the murderer,

The knifethrust must have come immediately after The Shadow had left the hallway door, to enter the

parlor. Tasper's snores had drowned any sounds that would have told The Shadow of the murderer's presence.

With Tasper dead, the killer had unlocked the door that led into the parlor. He had gone through there again,

to resume his search for the treasure chart. That was proof that the murderer had gained no inkling of The

Double vengeance spurred The Shadow, as he moved toward the connecting door. His actions were

perfection in their ease and silence. Finding the door unlocked, The Shadow drew it toward himself so

smoothly that no one could have detected the move at more than a fivefoot distance.

Edging into the silent parlor, The Shadow crouched ready with his automatic, listening for any move that

might betray the murderer. Seconds passed; the silence continued. The Shadow heard a slight squeak from

The Shadow had left that door open, in his roundabout trip. The murderer had noticed it, while The Shadow

was viewing Tasper's body. Knowing that someone else was present in the tiny apartment, the killer was

The Shadow moved from his corner. Whether the killer heard a slight swish, or merely timed the move, the

result was the same. The murderer countered in fashion of his own. There was a fumbling sound from the

The murderer made that move, his arm thrust through the halfopened door. Not only did the gleam reveal

The Shadow; it gave the killer a chance for an instantaneous move. As his left hand whipped out through the

From the darkness of the hallway the killer's fist dispatched a gleaming knife, that whirred straight for The

Shadow's path. That hurl was as straight, as deadly in intent, as any revolver shot. It was meant for The

THE unseen killer made one error of judgment. He mistook The Shadow's sweeping surge for a straight drive

toward the door. He was not familiar with The Shadow's theory; that a curved line could often prove the best

The Shadow was whirling as he came, swinging for the shelter on his own side of the door. The knife

skimmed simultaneously with The Shadow's twist. The sharp point and tapering blade cleaved through a fold

of cloak sleeve. Like an arrow, the knife reached the corner that The Shadow had left. It quivered as it drove

Before the murderer could make another move, The Shadow had reached the cover of the hallway door. He

yanked it inward; took a long, hard plunge for the killer, just as the man dived for the darkness of the

Odds were momentarily with The Shadow. The murderer changed matters with a surprise move. His dive

looked like mad flight; enough so to partly bluff The Shadow. Instead of departure, the killer wanted fight.

The crouchy jump ended in a surprising halt. The killer spun about with remarkable speed, just as The

Shadow overtook him. He jabbed a gun hand upward to meet the lashing sledge of The Shadow's

downwardswinging arm. The Shadow's gunweighted fist met the revolver that his foeman had so swiftly

Weapons clanged. The killer grappled. The Shadow was locked with a squirmy fighter who seemed skilled at

every form of combat. The murderer fought viciously; he gave ground toward the inner end of the hall, but

Guessing the murderer's intent, The Shadow sprang a surprise of his own. He pressed hard; gained a solid

grip. With a wrench, he twisted back toward the parlor doorway, taking his opponent completely off balance.

Speed was the way to keep his foeman helpless. The Shadow whirled the squirming fighter straight along the

hall toward the outer end. They wheeled past the open doorway, never stopping in the light. The killer's gun

went clattering. He was plunging headlong, his hands outstretched ahead of him, completely at the mercy of

The Shadow did not use his gun hand; for his elbow was crooked about the killer's neck, while his other hand

had a belt grip at the man's hip. A sledging stroke, however, would be unnecessary. The Shadow had a

He was lunging his helpless adversary straight for the darkened stairs that led down to the cigar store. The

killer was due for a deserved plunge that promised to leave him stunned; in proper shape for delivery to the

Help came to The Shadow's luckless enemy. It was a chance break, better than any that the murderer could

THE SHADOW stopped short at the head of the stairs. His arms sped onward; his hands dropped, releasing

the bewildered killer. Launched into space, the murderer was twisting as he clawed the air. As his plunge

Flashlights glimmered; two went sailing as the diving murderer landed squarely upon Haggerty and the two

men from the street. They had seen the parlor lights, reflected through Tasper's window because of the

Haggerty managed to twist aside as the murderer bowled the detectives to the bottom of the stairs. Turning

his flashlight upward, Haggerty saw The Shadow. The headquarters man reasoned that the cloaked fighter

was an enemy; that the man who had been pitched down the stairs was Tasper. With a shout Haggerty leaped

Twisting back into the hallway, The Shadow grappled with Haggerty, expecting to hold him while the men

below fell upon the murderer. Instead, the detectives made the same mistake as Haggerty. They came dashing

Instead, the murderer was ready for his getaway. He was shaken, but his plunge had been broken by the

detectives. He had a sure, swift route to escape, through the front door of the cigar store.

The Shadow recognized what had happened, as the dicks came dashing upward. He slung Haggerty to one

side; tenaciously, the fellow managed a delaying grip until the others arrived. A few moments later, The

Shadow was mixing it with a determined trio that tried to shove him toward the lighted parlor.

Flinging away his automatic, The Shadow gave a demonstration of swift jujutsu holds. One grappler took a

long spill that carried him clear to the inner end of the hallway. When he came out of it, the detective sat

against the wall, holding his head between his hands, waiting for the building to stop its revolutions.

A half minute later, the second detective took a flying dive for The Shadow, who was backed against a closed

door on the far side of the hall. The Shadow twisted away, clinging to the doorknob, turning it with his

clutch. The detective rammed the door shoulderfirst; The Shadow's hand released. The door banked inward;

Haggerty was aiming a revolver from the doorway of the lighted parlor. The Shadow lunged; hurled Haggerty

backward and plucked away his gun. As Haggerty came up from hands and knees, The Shadow faked a

slugging motion with the revolver. Haggerty dived; The Shadow slung the revolver above the fellow's head.

The gun sailed across the room. It crashed the big hickoryframed mirror that hung between the windows.

Haggerty heard a strange, chilling laugh from the hallway. Though mirthless, the tone had weird significance.

The doorway was empty; The Shadow had gone. Haggerty heard the laugh trail from below.

REALIZING that he had blundered in battling The Shadow, Haggerty stood puzzled. At last he heard

footsteps from the stairs; then a shout that he recognized. A few seconds later, Haggerty was at the doorway

of the parlor, meeting Joe Cardona. Despite Weston's order to the contrary, the ace detective had risked a

Haggerty started to gulp what news he knew. His statements were disconnected, ending with the puzzled

"When The Shadow slung my own gun at my head, I couldn't figure it. Look, Joe; he missed me, but he

Haggerty broke off. Cardona had begun to stare and it was Haggerty's turn to blink. Both were looking at

the mirror; its shattered front revealed a feature that only The Shadow had suspected.

The mirror was made of double glass: two thin mirrors with a space between. Thus its front showed a

reflecting surface; its back a silvered surface, painted over. When Cardona had seen that mirror previously, he

The depth of a mirror was something that could not be gauged by ordinary observation. That was why the

secret of the double glass had proven so effective. Broken, the front of the mirror revealed something more

Between the shattered sections of the glass was a sheet of thick parchment, almost the size of the mirror itself.

Odd chunks of glass held it in place, like a picture in a frame. Upon the parchment were heavyinked lines

The Shadow had uncovered the missing treasure chart. Though too late to prevent Tasper's death, The

Shadow had accomplished an important result. The price that had produced murder was no longer hidden.

Killers could seek Cray's precious chart no longer. The Shadow had given it to the law.

AT noon the next day, the police Commissioner's car left the Cobalt Club carrying three passengers: Weston,

Cardona and Cranston. The first stop was to be on Park Avenue, to pick up Morton Baybrook. On the way,

The morning newspapers had carried news of Cray's murder; the afternoon sheets had gained the added

details of Tasper's death. Weston reviewed matters for Cranston's benefit, including some points that had

"The Shadow nearly halted the murderer," declared Weston. "Unfortunately, Haggerty blundered. He thought

that the killer was Tasper. We managed, however, to keep mention of The Shadow from the newspaper

Cranston's lips showed the semblance of a smile. Much though the police relied upon The Shadow, it was

always their policy to take credit for themselves. That did not disturb The Shadow; in fact, he preferred the

In battling crime, The Shadow chose to shroud himself in mystery. Criminals feared an enemy whom they

could not reach; one whose very existence was often denied. Crooks invariably knew or guessed what lay

"I gave the treasure chart to Baybrook this morning," resumed Weston. "It is in a bank vault, where no one

can touch it. Baybrook is the rightful owner; the receipt and the cancelled check are proof of that fact. The

"The treasure chart can stir up crime no longer. A murderer wanted it, because he knew that he could use it to

hunt the treasure secretly. Once the chart came into the light, secrecy was rendered impossible. Cardona has

seen it; I have seen it. So has Baybrook, and his bankers. Anyone of us could name the approximate location

"Hence, if the chart were to be stolen, the murderer could never use it. He would give himself away by going

after the treasure. Baybrook is safe; his death would be useless to the murderer. The killer's game is ended! It

Although Weston gave emphasis to his final sentence, The Shadow knew that it carried no weight. The police

had failed to gather a single clue from either murder. Fingerprints had been absent from knife handles; also

from the gun that the killer had dropped at Tasper's. The murderer had evidently used collodion on his

It was seldom that crooks could prepare themselves against the fingerprint emergency; but this murderer had

been forced to take precautions. Planning knifethrusts for both victims, with a third blade ready for The

THE big car stopped at Baybrook's. The promoter joined the party, and displayed real zest. Weston had

telephoned him regarding the trip, and Baybrook had gladly consented to go along. The purpose of the

The limousine crossed an East River bridge, then turned northward. Baybrook paused in conversation, to

"He does," declared Weston. "But he is not at home. I sent two detectives there, this morning. Prumbull and

"Of course! Naturally, Prumbull would be working there. I suppose he drives in every day."

"He rides in by motor boat. His home is near the Sound and the water route is more direct."

Soon the limousine reached the fringe of the new exposition grounds, where buildings were well in progress.

The structure of a halfcompleted "skyride" towered as a skeleton landmark. Off to the left glistened the

The car pulled up to a small wharf, where two headquarters men were waiting with a little motor boat. They

pointed to a barge anchored offshore. The arrivals boarded the motor boat; it chugged out toward the barge.

The eyes of Cranston were keen, as they surveyed the barge. It was a long, flat vessel; but it was topped with

several wellbuilt cabins. On the shore side of the barge was a huge metal pipe that extended down into the

The job of raising the old frigate was one of modern engineering. Through the airfilled metal pipe, men had

gone to the interior of the sunken ship. There, they had inserted airtight containers, connected by small pipes

All the machinery was on the barge. Once pumps began their work, water would be drawn from the metal

chambers; filling with air, they would rise, bringing the frigate with them. With timbers badly rotted by time,

the Grenadier would leak water like a sieve. The intended process had been widely publicized by the

WHEN the motor boat reached the barge, it almost fouled a trim speed boat anchored there. The little craft

bore the name Flyaway; it was the boat that Prumbull used to travel back and forth from the salvage barge to

A tall, stoopy man appeared upon the barge deck to shout at the arrivals. The Shadow recognized him

instantly as Glidden Prumbull, with shocky hair and spectacles. The professor was wearing his furcollared

With Prumbull was a girl who was probably his daughter. She tried to quiet the professor while he shook his

fist toward the little motor boat. Husky crew members assembled to grin; one chucked a ladder over the side.

Weston was the first to climb aboard the barge. The barge crew lost their grins when they heard who he was.

"I am the police commissioner," said Weston to Prumbull. "These gentlemen are with me."

"You could be the governor," snapped Prumbull, in a harsh, high tone. "Still you would have no right to foul

Prumbull glared while the headquarters men passed a line to the barge crew. Once the motor boat was

hitched, safely away from the Flyaway, the professor's challenge ended. Abruptly, he shook hands with

Prumbull looked over his spectacles, puzzled when he heard Weston's request. At last, the professor gave a

curt nod. He led the way to a cabin. Weston motioned for his companions to follow. Dorothy decided to

The cabin looked like a combination office and bedroom. There was a dilapidated desk in one corner, strewn

with papers. Chairs were old and rickety. There was an unmade cot at one side of the cabin; at its end, a small

washstand. Dorothy drew a spread over the cot to tidy its appearance. She closed the door of a closet, where

"The night engineer uses the office as a bunk room," apologized the girl. "I think we have chairs enough,

The pleasantness of the girl's tone offset her father's raspy manner. With the casual gaze of Cranston, The

Shadow classed Dorothy Prumbull as an unusual person. She was attractive a blonde, who would have

looked well in free clothes. Instead, she was attired in rough tweed skirt, old leather jacket and lowheeled

Plainly, Dorothy had given up social life in order to encourage her father with his work. She was the outdoor

type of girl, and seemed to enjoy it aboard the barge. At the same time, her prompt efforts to make the place

The Shadow was convinced of two things concerning Dorothy. First, that if Professor Prumbull had engaged

in any shady business, his daughter did not know about it. Second, that if her father should encounter trouble

PROFESSOR PRUMBULL had opened a door at the inner end of the cabin. It showed a stairway leading

"This leads to the air shaft. It forms the entrance by which we reach the sunken frigate, Grenadier. When I go

below, to the bottom of the channel, I superintend the lowering of the airtight compartments. Each weighs

"Pardon me, professor," inserted Weston. "We did not come to hear a discourse on salvaging operations."

The professor blinked curiously as though he could not understand why a visitor had any other purpose.

The look that came over Prumbull's face was far different than the expression that Baybrook had shown the

night before. The professor's dryish lips tightened; his eyes showed a glare above their spectacles. His voice

"Formerly captain of the schooner Hatteras," replied Weston. "He was murdered last night."

Weston produced a copy of the evening newspaper; handed it to Prumbull with the query:

The professor read the headings that concerned the recovery of the treasure chart. His eyes showed light.

"This tells of a man named Tasper," remarked Prumbull. "You spoke of a Captain Cray."

"They lived together." Weston produced a morning newspaper that was folded in his pocket. "Cray was

murdered first as this account will tell you. Don't you read the newspapers, professor?"

"Never!" snapped Prumbull. "Ask my daughter. She will tell you the same. Humph! Cray. What makes you

"You were seen by Tasper, in a car outside of the cigar store. Cray was with you."

Even as Weston spoke, Prumbull's manner changed. From a testy challenger, the professor became a shrewd,

"I knew Cray," he declared, emphatically. "I denied it because I promised Cray I would tell no one that I had

"Not exactly." Prumbull gave a slight headshake. "I wanted Cray to come here and see what I had

accomplished in salvaging the Grenadier. I believed that he would then agree to go partners with me in an

"My own. I shall be paid one hundred thousand dollars when this work is complete. Enough to finance the

"No. He refused any terms but his own." Prumbull's tone was testy again. "As a result, I dropped my offer

PRUMBULL spoke as though he considered the matter closed. He left Weston puzzled. At last, the

"Do you have any letters?" he asked. "Or any other notations given you by Cray? Did he say anything about

"I never corresponded with Cray," snapped Prumbull. "I stopped at the cigar store once, and found him alone

there. I had seen his name mentioned in a nautical journal, the only magazine that I ever read. We met a few

"Perhaps Cray may have come here in your absence," he suggested. "I should like to ask your crew members

Prumbull put the offer in a tone that indicated indifference. He listened listlessly while Weston introduced

Cardona; and spoke of Cranston as a friend of Cray's. Prumbull's eyes shone, however, when he learned that

"I should like to raise the Isabella for you," he told Baybrook, "Any time you wish, I can show you how I

Weston started out on deck. Since Baybrook followed, Prumbull went along, hoping for another talk with the

promoter. The Shadow was last. He paused to let Dorothy go out ahead of him. The girl smiled, with the

Dorothy stood at a distance while Weston and Cardona quizzed the crew members. Prumbull was with

Baybrook, repeating his offers to show him more about the salvaging operations. Baybrook was nodding; but

Dorothy could hear each crew member give his name to Cardona. She was conscious, suddenly, that someone

was near her. She looked about, to see Lamont Cranston. He, too, was listening intently as he heard the

A CHANGE had come over Dorothy from the moment that she had heard her father admit that he had known

Daniel Cray. She sensed that one visitor Cranston had observed her emotion, and understood the reason.

Dorothy had regarded her father's conflicting statements as deceit; for the moment, it had shaken her loyalty.

As Weston completed his questioning of the crew, Dorothy turned to The Shadow. In a frank tone, the girl

"You must pardon my father, Mr. Cranston. He makes mistakes, especially when he does not ask my advice.

He never told me about this man they call Captain Cray. I was shocked to hear father deny his own statement;

Dorothy was reassured by the quiet smile that came from Cranston. She felt that at least one of the visitors

was a friend. She was willing, therefore, to answer promptly, when she heard the quiet question:

"Why, yes," responded Dorothy. Then, with a smile: "My father was right when he intimated that they knew

"I had forgotten him. He is hardly a member of the crew. He spends most of the day ashore. He is not here at

The features of Lamont Cranston did not display the slightest change of expression. Weston and Cardona had

reached the motor boat; Baybrook was drawing away from Prumbull, in order to follow. With a bow,

Riding shoreward in the motor boat, The Shadow listened to grumbles from Weston and Cardona. They felt

that they had drawn a blank with Professor Prumbull. They did not see the smile upon the lips of Lamont

In his short stay on the barge, The Shadow had located the one clue he wanted; the whereabouts of the man

Curtin Weed, night engineer of the salvage barge, would soon come under The Shadow's observation. This

NIGHT had come to Manhattan; but whether light or darkness ruled outside, all would have been the same in

the blackwalled room where The Shadow was at the present. That room was a chamber of absolute gloom

when The Shadow was absent. When he came there, it glowed with bluish light; but only in a single corner.

The room was The Shadow's sanctum, its location known to the mysterious master of darkness alone. Upon a

polished table, beneath the focused rays of the shaded blue light, long fingers handled clippings and

Fingers inscribed notations in bluish ink upon white paper. The ink dried; faded into nothingness. Only the

blank sheet remained, ready for more notes. That was the way The Shadow reviewed the past and mapped the

future. His written words were like registered thoughts, retained only in his own brain after he had completed

The Shadow's analysis of events was a direct one. Cray had negotiated with Baybrook and had completed the

sale of the treasure chart. In so doing, he had certainly disappointed one possible customer: Professor Glidden

Guided by some mistrust or doubt, Cray had sought The Shadow and had been murdered. The killer had

come to Tasper's; had done another murder there, in a vain effort to locate the missing chart. Professor

Prumbull, interviewed, had disclaimed any present interest in the chart. Police investigation had halted at that

The Shadow had carried his own quest further. He knew that Curtin Weed, night engineer aboard the salvage

barge, was a man who had also sought out Cray. That meant that Weed, too, could have known about the

Last night, The Shadow as Cranston had left Morton Baybrook at the latter's apartment. At that exact

time, Professor Prumbull had supposedly been attending a lecture in New York. Curtin Weed, according to

the requirements of his job, should have been aboard the salvage barge. Those were not absolute alibis.

Intrigue and menace surrounded the matter of Cray's treasure chart which, in turn, concerned the sunken

galleon, the Isabella. Among The Shadow's clippings were old, yellowed leaves that mentioned the lost

Compared to those clippings, however, were huge masses of fresher ones, all pertaining to a different ship,

the Grenadier. It was known positively that the Grenadier had carried at least five million dollars in gold

Why should a mastercrook one who would not stop at murder prefer the Isabella over the Grenadier?

The question had no logical answer. To The Shadow thinking of criminals, not treasure hunters the

reverse seemed the likely case. A supercrook would choose the known treasure aboard the Grenadier rather

Morton Baybrook had remarked, last night, that the bottom of the East River made an excellent vault for

millions in gold. That had been true for nearly two hundred years. Prumbull's submarine operations had

suddenly altered the situation. As proof, The Shadow brought clippings from the pile.

Those newspaper accounts, months old, told how the diving shaft had reached the sunken Grenadier. There,

Prumbull and others had actually viewed the sheathed iron door of the frigate's treasure room.

Another clipping described the hold of the salvage barge. There, diving suits were always in readiness, in

case of some emergency. Sometimes leaks might spring in the air shaft. Divers would be called upon to make

Clad in a diver's suit, a man could descend the air shaft, and continue after he reached the bottom. Mere yards

would bring such a venturer to the actual strong room of the Grenadier. Such an expedition could produce

The bluish light went out. A whispered laugh chilled the sanctum. It marked The Shadow's departure on a

THE East River lay dark that evening. The glow of Manhattan did not reach the waters of the isolated

channel that marked the location of the Grenadier. Lights from the exposition ground, where night work was

in progress, were hemmed in by the high surrounding fence. The hulk of the salvage barge formed a

A few lights glimmered from stumpy masts above the barge. They were incandescents that gained their

electricity from the small power plant aboard the barge. There were also dimmer lights, marking the windows

of the office building at one end of the barge; and a sort of forecastle at the other end.

A man was seated at the office desk. He was of blocky build, rugged of face; yet his countenance looked

unhealthy. The lips above his heavy jaw showed a restless twitch. His eyes, deep in their sockets, looked

The man turned nervously when he heard footsteps outside the cabin. He saw a longfaced crew member

"Just thought I heard a boat scrape, Mr. Weed," drawled the longfaced man. "Guessed mebbe you had

"I'll call you when I need you," snapped Weed. "That will be soon enough, Shaw. I'm making inspection in

"They're coming tonight for the empty oil cylinders," reminded Shaw. "The boat's due 'most any time."

Soon after Shaw departed, a streak of blackness edged in along the office floor. Weed did not observe it. He

was going over papers at the desk. The black patch would have made him jittery, had he noticed it. So would

The Shadow had arrived aboard the salvage barge. He was gaining his first view of Curtin Weed.

A tugboat steamed close by the barge. There was a noticeable thump from outside. Weed arose and came

The Shadow, withdrawn in the darkness, saw them open a hatch and descend a ladder into the central hold.

Big empty cylinders came out; they were rolled into a scow, drawn by the tug. The men grumbled at the

"You've no cause to complain," The Shadow heard Weed tell them. "You had plenty of ashcans to hoist out,

before I took over this trick. Using oil instead of coal has cut your work in half."

WHILE the last cylinders were rolling aboard the scow, Weed announced that he was making inspection. He

told the men to remain on deck until he returned. One of the crew Shaw went with Weed into the office

There, Weed unlocked the door that led to the front hold. The Shadow saw both men descend the steps.

Others were still busy at the scow. The Shadow glided into the office and took Weed's route. The front hold

was deserted when he reached it. The Shadow saw the opening of the vertical air shaft. Both Weed and Shaw

Between the front hold and the center hold was a heavy metal door, fastened with big locks. The Shadow

remembered that Weed had jingled a large chain of keys. As night engineer, Weed was entrusted with

The front hold held diving suits and pumps, along with other equipment for repair work. The barge, itself,

was an old dilapidated vessel; but no money had been spared in equipping it with all necessary apparatus.

Ringing footsteps echoed from the metal shaft. Weed had taken his look at the sunken Grenadier; he was

The Shadow headed for the stairs to the cabin. He was through the office, out to the dimness of the deck,

when the men arrived. Weed dismissed Shaw and locked the door to the front hold.

Long minutes passed. Weed was back at his desk, on lone duty, for the crew had gone to the forecastle. The

Shadow waited; some time before, he had detected a trifling sound, like the scrape of the boat that he had

The girl did not see The Shadow. Weed, however, caught the sounds of Dorothy's approach. He looked about

quickly; appeared surprised when he saw the girl. Dorothy stepped in to talk to him. The Shadow, drawing

"YOUR father is not here, Miss Prumbull," said Weed. "He stopped last night, on his way to the lecture "

"I know," interrupted Dorothy, her tone a soft one. "I left father at home, asleep. I came to talk to you, Mr.

"I know it," acknowledged Weed, watching Dorothy as she sat down beside the desk. "Shaw told me."

"Something about that sea captain who was murdered. Cray was his name. It appears your father knew him

Weed swung back to the desk, as though the matter had been settled. Dorothy leaned forward; spoke

"Matters have gone wrong on this barge," she said. "I heard it said that you don't like your job, Mr. Weed.

Weed sat reluctant; at last, he faced the girl. His rugged face showed strain. He chewed his lips for a few

"I wasn't the first man to hold this trick as night engineer. There were three ahead of me. Do you know what

"I understood that they gave up their jobs," replied Dorothy. "That is what my father told me."

"They quit, all right," asserted Weed. "But nobody knows why, or what became of them. First there was a

fellow named Cuyler. He disappeared like that." Weed snapped his fingers. "A day man named Linthrop took

"It looked like nobody could be had to take the job; but a fellow named Borick happened along. I remember

Borick, because I took on a day job while he was on the night shift. I was new, right then. That's why I

"Your father talked me into taking the night shift. Since then, I've heard the crew doing a lot of talking.

Cuyler, Linthrop, Borick why did they quit? That's always the question and nobody knows the answer!"

Weed buried his head in his hands. The Shadow noted Dorothy's expression. The girl appeared to have more

nerve than Weed, for her look showed contempt. In fact, Dorothy thought that Weed might be faking. She

"Nothing." Weed raised his head to make the admission, "That's just it, though. Somehow, I keep thinking of

what I've heard. I've gotten so I hate this night shift! Look" Weed pointed to the clock "it's half past ten.

The crew's turned in. Anybody, anything could come aboard, between now and four in the morning. That's

when I wake the early members of the crew, and turn in for a cat nap of my own. They're long, unholy hours,

"Always, I keep thinking of my early evening inspection trip; and the next one I've got to make, at four, when

I wake up the crew. It's cold, chilly like a trip into the grave going down that big pipe. It haunts me, all

"Ghosts from the Grenadier?" Dorothy smiled as she shook her head. "Never, Mr. Weed. That ship sank two

"Ghosts from the past three months," retorted Weed. "Cuyler's ghost; Linthrop's; Borick's "

"Forget them." Dorothy's tone was steady, rebuking, as she rose. "I came here to talk seriously, Mr. Weed;

not to listen to meaningless words. The whole trouble is plain. Those other men went through the same strain

that you have undergone. They were ashamed to admit that they were scared. That was why they walked out

"Perhaps they did," admitted Weed, sheepishly. "I've got to quit being jittery. Maybe you could suggest a

"I can," spoke Dorothy, from the door. "Walk out like the others did. A night engineer can always be

THE SHADOW withdrew as the girl went past. He saw Weed, staring angrily, fuming as he chewed his lips.

The man either thought that he had said too much, or not enough. Something was rankling him, as he sat

The Shadow moved to the side of the barge. He heard the scrape of Dorothy's speed boat; listened a while,

until a motor throbbed from somewhere along the channel. The girl was starting back home. The Shadow

stepped to a small rowboat; he drifted shoreward and rowed toward the little dock, a hundred yards below.

He avoided splashes with his oars until he was distant from the barge. He silenced his stroke again, as he

neared the dock. Despite the river tide, The Shadow eased the boat noiselessly along the dock edge, to a short

Stealing to a spot beside the nearby road, The Shadow entered a hidden coupe. He started the motor; shoved

the car into gear as he snapped on the lights. As he took to the road, men came dashing up from the dock. The

Shadow whizzed past a parked touring car. A watcher opened a wild fire after the coupe.

The shots went wide. Back from the coupe floated The Shadow's trailing laugh. He was past a curve, driving

southward toward the road that led into Manhattan. Crooks had missed their chance for battle; they were the

Whoever had sent them here knew that The Shadow might be a visitor to the salvage barge. A supercrook had

made another thrust, having thugs on detail, where he for some reason of his own could not be at this

hour. The Shadow had outwitted the hoodlums instead of battling them. Thereby, he had outguessed the

Those thugs would be bolder in the future. The mastercrook would use them again, thinking that The

Shadow feared them. On that coming occasion, The Shadow might learn something useful; the thugs,

Tonight, their presence signified only that they were watching the salvage barge. That merely proved The

Shadow's theory, that the sunken wreck of the Grenadier had been concerned in crime.

Later, The Shadow reached his sanctum. His hands plied through clippings, beneath the blue light. He found

obscure references that he wanted. He made a list of sources that might bring new information. He inscribed

Plucking earphones from the wall, The Shadow listened for a quiet voice, that announced:

The Shadow gave instructions. Burbank, his contact man, was to pass the orders to other of The Shadow's

secret agents. With the orders, The Shadow repeated three names those of the forgotten night engineers. In

gleaning facts regarding the salvage operations on the Grenadier, agents were to constantly seek data that

"Ghosts from the past." That was the term that Weed had applied to the men who had held the night job

before him. The Shadow intended to invoke those ghosts. Dead or alive, those three would figure in the next

TWO days had followed The Shadow's visit to the salvage barge. It was late afternoon, and a dreary day

outside. As usual, darkness reigned in The Shadow's sanctum, except for that lighted corner that denoted The

Reports were abundant. Agents had done real work. Harry Vincent, who could pose as a member of any

profession, had visited the salvage barge by day, applying for a technical job as engineer. Clyde Burke,

reporter for the New York Classic, had checked up the addresses of the three ghosts.

While Rutledge Mann, an investment broker, had learned facts in financial circles, Cliff Marsland, an agent

The salvage corporation was a large company, too heavily interwoven with officials for anyone man to have a

dominant part in the raising of the Grenadier. The company expected to distribute its gain among hosts of

small stockholders. It had contracted with Prumbull for the flat price of one hundred thousand dollars, based

on a prospective threeyear operation. That fitted with Prumbull's own statement.

Prumbull had already received advances totalling seventy thousand dollars; and had probably salted it away.

The rest would be due the day the Grenadier was raised; but the professor would probably be paid in advance,

since the corporation itself was holding back the gala day, on account of the World's Fair.

Though one hundred thousand dollars might be considered big money, there were rumors that Prumbull had

wanted double the sum. That was logical, since this was no ordinary salvage job. It was one that promised

The Shadow, himself, had witnessed Prumbull's eager efforts to make a deal with Baybrook, on the raising of

the Isabella. That was proof that the professor wanted more than his hundred thousand dollars.

The corporation paid all the employees. It had books and other records; from them, Mann gained the full

names of the three ghosts. Those names lay before The Shadow, in their right progression:

To the list, The Shadow had added another pair of names; ones that even Weed had not mentioned. They

They were but two of many who had come and gone from the job; but they had something in common with

the three night engineers. Neither Myden nor Jenrow could be traced after they had quit the salvage barge.

Clyde Burke checked the days when all five had last been seen. He talked with people who knew them.

Cliff Marsland, working in the underworld, came through with one important fact. A crook named "Slugs"

Jenrow had been bumped off, a few months before. Slugs, it appeared, had doublecrossed some members of

From that, The Shadow drew a definite answer. Jenrow had been a crook, stationed aboard the salvage barge.

Cliff was looking for old pals of Jenrow hoodlums who might spill a few facts about the thug. Such

THERE were numerous other facts; some might prove useful later. Meanwhile, The Shadow preferred to

The Shadow recognized that the murders of Cray and Tasper had been forced, through some complication

arising with the treasure chart. So far as the Grenadier operation was concerned, all would be quiet there,

The present night engineer had certainly taken over a job that had given trouble in the past; but he had held it

longer than any of his predecessors. Records showed that a night engineer had not been necessary until after

Cuyler, first to handle the shift, had lasted only three weeks. Linthrop, his successor, had held the job for two

weeks. Borick had stayed on for nearly a month. Weed had taken over three months ago and was still there.

Apparently, the jinx was ended. Why, then, had Weed become jittery? The Shadow saw a reason that Weed

had not mentioned to Dorothy. In fact, Weed had deliberately tried to deceive the girl on one point. He had

pretended that he had never heard of Captain Daniel Cray until after the police had visited the barge.

Facts as indicated by Tasper's testimony told that Weed had not only heard of Cray, but had made a

definite effort to meet the old sailor. Weed thought that he had covered that detail. Therefore, the fellow was

There was irony connected with the situation. The law had heard of Weed; but had not discovered that a man

of that name was night engineer aboard the barge. Professor Prumbull knew Weed; but had not learned that

The Shadow held the key position, and he was watching Weed through "Hawkeye," a clever spotter.

Hawkeye spent his nights in a shack just off the exposition grounds and trailed Weed into town in the

morning. He watched the Twentyfifth Street rooming house where Weed lived. In the afternoon, he

Hawkeye had reported definitely that Weed had not been followed by spies from the underworld; and

Hawkeye, familiar with almost every vicious face in the badlands, was not a man to be mistaken.

A tiny light glimmered from the sanctum wall. The Shadow reached for earphones, expecting a report from

Hawkeye, on the chance that Weed had made an early trip to the barge. Instead, Burbank's steady voice

The reporter was at police headquarters. Joe Cardona had just received a call from Commissioner Weston.

Instructions were for Joe to meet his chief at the Cobalt Club. Something was hot.

The earphones went to the wall. The sanctum light was blotted with a twist of The Shadow's fingers. Silence

reigned in the darkened room. The Shadow was on his way to intercept the meeting.

TWENTY minutes later, Lamont Cranston alighted from his limousine in front of the Cobalt Club. As he

strolled to the entrance, he saw Cardona standing just inside the door. Cranston paused for a leisurely

"An easy guess, Mr. Cranston," chuckled Cardona. "The only reason I'd be here would be to meet the

commissioner. He's due any minute, and maybe" Cardona looked about warily, to make sure that no one

else was near "maybe he's got some new dope on the Cray case. He was up to see Baybrook. Called me

Cranston looked ready to stroll away. Cardona urged him to remain, sure that Weston would be glad to see

Such was the case when the commissioner arrived, a few minutes later. His car was outside; seeing Cranston,

he wanted him to come along with Cardona. In the car, they found Baybrook. Weston gave the chauffeur an

The number was the house where Curtin Weed lived; the very place that Hawkeye was covering for The

"Baybrook had a caller this afternoon," announced Weston briskly, as the car rolled along. "He had a servant

telephone my office, because he thought I would like to know it. The caller was Professor Prumbull."

Cardona became alert. Cranston, lounging in the cushions of the rear seat, gave a casual query:

"More talk about working for you, Baybrook? When you're ready to raise the Isabella?"

"That was it," answered Baybrook. "The professor said that he could supply equipment; and could also hire a

trained crew. I told him that we would consider the matter later. We were at the door when Commissioner

"I made it look like a chance visit," put in Weston. "Prumbull did not know that Baybrook had sent word to

me. You know our policy with Prumbull. We're feeling things out, not letting him think that we might

"That's why I joined in the conversation. Prumbull finished with the mention that there was one man on

whom he could not depend. That was the night engineer. The fellow is reliable enough; but he doesn't like the

job. Prumbull happened to give the man's name. What do you suppose it was, Cranston?"

Cranston's expression indicated that he could not even make a guess. Weston announced triumphantly:

"Precisely," declared Weston. "I asked Prumbull where Weed lived, and he gave me the address. Weed

doesn't go on duty for an hour. We still have a chance to reach him before he goes to work."

"He left for the salvage barge," replied Weston. "It was good policy to let him return there. We shall question

"He will suppose that Weed decided to quit the job. Weed practically said that he might do so."

THE limousine slowed, turning into Twentyfifth Street. It rolled along the oneway thoroughfare, the

chauffeur looking for house numbers on the right. Cranston lowered a window at his left elbow; extended his

Long fingers moved, giving an upanddown signal. Cranston's keen eyes saw the hunched figure of

Hawkeye, shambling past a doorway. The spotter caught the signal; gave an upward nudge of his own hand

The response meant that Weed was still at home. Absence of any other gesture signified that all was clear. It

would be The Shadow's part, as Cranston, to sit quietly by while the law opened its negotiations with Curtin

The Shadow would continue that part, unless circumstances demanded otherwise. There was always the

chance that issues might develop, particularly in a case like this one. Matters were deeper than the law

supposed. Behind the deaths of Cray and Tasper lay past circumstances involving the Grenadier.

The Shadow remembered those five men who had disappeared. Beneath his calm, surface guise of Cranston,

he was linking events; considering whether chance, alone, had caused Professor Prumbull to mention the

The Shadow suspected hidden motive. His assumptions of that sort were usually correct. This easy approach

to Weed's shabby residence could be the harbinger of swift events. Despite the calmness of the scene, and

The Shadow's readiness was fortunate. Within the next five minutes, his skill was due to meet a heavy test.

The Shadow's alertness was the one factor that would allow a chance against formidable odds.

WESTON'S limousine stopped a few doors before the house that bore Weed's number. Joe Cardona stepped

out to the curb and lowered the folding seat that he had used. Baybrook was at the right side of the car. He

Rather than wait alone in the car, Cranston followed. The four stood beside the limousine, beneath the

gathering dusk of the dreary day. Weston pointed to high steps, leading up to the old house that bore the

"Inquire for Weed," said the commissioner to Cardona. "Bring him down here, inspector."

As Weston spoke, a cab wheeled up. Passing the halted limousine, the taxi stopped directly in front of Weed's

house. The driver craned to observe the number that showed against the light from a glass pane above the

Cardona decided to question the hackie. He held a short conversation with the man; came back to report to

"Good," decided Weston. "Wait on the house steps, inspector. The first person to come out will be Weed."

Cardona did as directed; but he had a long wait. The cab horn tooted intermittently; still, Weed did not

"I wonder if the fellow saw us," he remarked to Cranston and Baybrook. "He may have looked out a front

window. If there's a back door to that house, Weed might decide to use it. I think I'll send Cardona around

"Wait." Cranston spoke quietly, as he gripped Weston's arm. "Watch the front door. I saw it start to open."

Weston gazed; noted that Cranston was right. The door moved again; boldly, this time. Out stepped a blocky

man, whose figure was framed against the dull light of the entry. Cranston's keen eyes recognized the arrival

as Weed. The other observers simply guessed that this was the man they expected.

Weston moved forward; Cranston and Baybrook followed. They were all near the bottom of the steps, close

For a moment, the night engineer halted, one step above his questioner. He looked as though he intended to

dive back into the house; but Cardona was close enough to grab him. Weed's hollowed eyes stared toward the

"I'm from police headquarters," announced Cardona, deciding it was time to end Weed's doubts. "We want to

"How do you happen to know my name?" Weed snapped the question, "Who told you where I lived?"

CARDONA started to draw back his coat, to flash his badge. He was wary all the time, his right hand ready

for a grab, if Weed tried a duckout. Cardona, though, had missed a guess. If Weed had raised a hand to start

a punch, Joe would have stopped it; but Weed, figuring that very attempt, did not have to give a telltale move.

His position, one step higher than Cardona's, gave Weed an advantage that Joe did not recognize. Weed's left

fist clenched suddenly at his hip. It delivered a sharp, upward jab that went no higher than the man's own

That blow was high enough to find Cardona's jaw. The quick clip lifted the ace clear off his feet, sent him

As Cardona rolled, Weed followed his punch with a downward leap. He sprang across Cardona and made a

bound for the cab. His right hand flashed into view, bringing a revolver. He did not stop to aim at Cardona;

Weed brandished the revolver toward the cab driver; he shouted for the fellow to start away. The cabby had

no other choice. As the door slammed, he felt Weed's revolver jab his neck. The cab started.

Weston, meanwhile, was grabbing for a revolver. It came from his pocket; the gun caught the cloth and

slipped from the commissioner's fingers. Weston saw Cranston make a quick stoop to get the weapon. It was

a deft move, for he took it almost as it hit the sidewalk. Weston shouted to his friend:

With Weston's outcry came a sharp whistle from across the street. It was a signal from Hawkeye; understood

only by The Shadow. Weston gaped in startlement as he witnessed Cranston's actions.

Revolver in hand, the tall clubman turned to push Cardona beneath the high steps of the old house. Weston,

jumping forward to halt the foolishness, was met with a straightarm shove that toppled him in Joe's

Cardona had taken a new tumble, down four steps to a basement entrance. Weston, floundering, fell with

him. Both rolled to the bottom. As they raised their heads, they saw why Cranston had delivered such speedy

Weed's cab had gained its start; but another car had arrived. It was a touring car, roaring in from behind the

limousine. A spotlight glared toward the house steps. A thuggish coverup crew had arrived. A machine gun

WESTON and Cardona were out of harm's way. Cranston was beside the house steps, ready with the

revolver; he could have dived for cover when he fired. There was another man, however, to be considered.

Caught on the middle of the sidewalk, Baybrook was facing the street. Instead of diving back to the house

front, he made a start for the protection of Weston's limousine. He had twenty feet to go before he reached it.

Baybrook had one chance to make it. That chance depended upon the actions of the machine gunner. If the

thug with the "typewriter" was overdetermined to get Cranston, he might swing the gun muzzle past

Baybrook before beginning fire. After all, Cranston was armed, and Baybrook was not.

The Shadow did not leave matters to chance. Warned by Hawkeye's signal, he was far more ready for the

emergency than anyone supposed. Weston and Cardona gaped as they saw the bold move that Cranston took.

With one bound, the tall clubman overtook Baybrook; caught him with a lefthand grip before he had gone

more than five feet toward the limousine. As Baybrook spun about, too startled to realize what had happened,

Cranston hauled him straight back for the cover of the basement opening on the other side of the high steps.

At that instant, all seemed ended. The muzzle of the machine gun covered Cranston and Baybrook. They

could not have reached the shelter that Cranston had chosen. They would be a double target for the spraying

Baybrook saw it. Frantically, he tried to dive for the new shelter. Cranston's grip still held him; and with

apparent purpose. The tall fighter was steadying to aim across Baybrook's arm. That hid the fact that

Cardona saw strategy in the move. It was the sort that would make a machinegunner delay his trigger,

thinking that his targets were sure ones. The Shadow's method worked; the machine gun did not speak

instantly from the slowing death car. The muzzle lingered for a scant second; then came an unexpected stab

A welltimed bullet sank the machine gunner to the car floor. Cardona saw Cranston twist, to send Baybrook

stumbling down to the basement. From beside the high steps, Cranston aimed again; jabbed a sharp shot for

A howl told that Cranston's bullet had clipped the second foeman. The driver of the death car pressed his

accelerator. The car roared away, as members of its crew managed to get the machine gun into action. With a

THE barrage was belated. Weston and Cardona had dropped to cover. So had Baybrook. Cranston was

stabbing shots over the edge of the high stone steps. He was out of the machine gun's path; his slugs were

Another revolver was barking from across the street. Hawkeye had joined the action. He, too, had steps for

cover. Hurtling down to the street, the rear of the touring car was peppered with halting shots. It slewed at the

corner; climbed the curb, clear to the house fronts. Thugs went diving from the opposite side of the car.

Cardona's spot had been a bad one from which to fire. Joe's turn came when the gunmen abandoned their car.

He leaped out from cover and dashed for the corner, firing on the way. When he reached the touring car, Joe

The remaining hoodlums had fled, taking their wounded comrade with them. When Weston's limousine came

up, bringing Cranston and Baybrook with the commissioner, Joe made a dejected report. There were plenty of

As for Weed, his cab was far out of sight. The night engineer had made a complete getaway. Patrol cars

arrived; they brought no report of the missing cab. Police began to scour the neighborhood for hoodlums; but

to no avail. There were too many subway stations and available taxicabs in this neighborhood.

When Weston came back to his limousine, after directing the man hunt, he found Cranston there with

"Great work, Cranston! Your aid was as timely as it was at the Cobalt Club. I am only sorry that you did not

Cranston considered. Weston puzzled over the expression that his friend displayed. Baybrook, too, was

"The circumstances are different, commissioner. When Cray was slain, you had proof that murder had

actually been committed. The killer tried to drop you when he fled. Tonight, Weed committed no murder.

Weston grumbled in admission that Cranston's finding was correct. He came back to the matter of the

"What proof have you that the thugs were with Weed?" he questioned, quietly. "Their car was taking the

"A long guess, Cranston," objected Weston. "I admit that it could be a possibility. Nevertheless, the fact

Cranston's lips showed a smile. The Shadow had already decided to convey his own knowledge to the law,

"Weed was dissatisfied with his job," reminded Cranston. "Perhaps he feared something."

"Based on Weed's flight. The man could have doubted that Cardona was actually a police inspector."

"Weed did make a wild bolt for it," put in Baybrook. "He was certainly scared of something, commissioner."

"Or putting up a bluff," declared Weston. "But how can we find out? Weed is gone; we can't question him

"You might visit Professor Prumbull," suggested Cranston. "Maybe the answer will be found on the salvage

Another nod of agreement came from Baybrook. The promoter saw Cranston's logic. So did Weston; the

commissioner bellowed for Cardona, and announced that they would make an immediate start to visit

Cranston's smile was steady. With the knowledge that he had previously gained, The Shadow was confident

that he could subtly press matters to the proper issue, when the party reached the salvage barge.

Thrusts at dusk had failed against The Shadow. The game had shifted; The Shadow was ready to direct it as

PROFESSOR PRUMBULL was aboard the barge when the delegation arrived. He met the visitors at the

door of the office cabin and stared in perplexed fashion over his spectacles. Before Weston could announce

"About that night engineer, commissioner," remarked the professor. "Weed has not come on duty this

evening. I intended to have a talk with him. Perhaps he is merely delayed; but "

"I don't think you can expect Weed," interjected Weston, crisply. "We went to see him a short while ago. He

The professor looked astounded. His amazement increased when Weston gave the details of the fray on

"Mr. Cranston furnished a suggestion," interposed Weston. "He wants me to ask you just why Weed intended

Again, the quiz was coming to a standstill. Prumbull turned from Weston, to eye Cranston. The professor's

expression was apologetic as if he would explain, if he only could. Cranston's keen gaze went beyond the

The girl showed her former expression frankness, plus determination to say nothing against her father. With

Weston ready to end the quiz, Cranston suddenly put questions. They were addressed to Prumbull; but the

The professor laughed, as though he thought the matter trivial. He shook his head, with the reply: "There may

PRUMBULL smiled shrewdly at Cranston's request. The professor knew nothing of Dorothy's night visit to

the barge. He thought that his daughter was acquainted only with the day personnel. Hence Prumbull nodded,

"Yes," declared the girl, emphatically. "The first night engineer was Cuyler. He left in a few weeks. So did

the next man Linthrop. Borick, the third, lasted less than a month. Finally, Weed "

"They were unreliable," snapped the professor, answering for his daughter. "They were like Weed. Dorothy, I

"They disappeared," informed Dorothy, steadily. "That was why Weed claimed to be afraid. He spoke of

"I am puzzled because Dorothy has learned these facts," snapped Prumbull, suddenly. "Yes, I admit that the

three left suddenly. But why" his voice rose in challenge "why should I have reported it to the police?

Those men left the barge before they disappeared. The crew can testify to that."

"Yes. Two men left so suddenly that their departure caused comment among the crew. One was named

Cardona was making notes of the names. Weston looked to Cranston, expecting advice from his friend. It

"Apparently there is mystery here," emphasized Cranston. "This barge should be watched. The people aboard

"I shall station men aboard," agreed Weston. "I shall also supply a guard for Professor Prumbull. It will be a

long duty, of course; for the Grenadier will not be raised until the exposition opens."

"The old frigate can be raised earlier," reminded Cranston. "As police commissioner, you have authority to

order it. I believe" he eyed Prumbull "that the Grenadier could be raised within three days."

The proposal brought enthusiastic comment from both Weston and Baybrook. Prumbull raised an angry

"Raising the Grenadier is my task," stormed the professor. "I shall allow no interference! My plans must not

"Father!" exclaimed Dorothy. "It should not matter to you. At one time, you objected to the delay."

"I intended to take my time during the next few weeks," declared Prumbull. "With everything arranged, I

"It would be better to be here yourself. You have said frequently that you could raise the Grenadier within

Prumbull subsided. He noted questioning looks from all around him. Apologetically, he explained himself.

"I am hasty," admitted Prumbull. "All these discussions perturb me. I say things that I do not mean. After all,

WESTON made prompt arrangements. He told Cardona to go ashore in the motor boat and summon four

headquarters men who were there. Two were to stay on the barge; the other pair to accompany Prumbull and

Prumbull winced at the final order. Possibly he regarded the headquarters men as spies, holding him under

"Weed is a fugitive, professor. He may hold a grudge against you or your daughter. Your protection is

Mention of Weed caused Prumbull to mutter something about putting a crew member on duty in place of the

night engineer. The professor stepped from the office; walked across the darkened deck. They saw him start

Weston and Baybrook went forward, to find lanterns on the deck. They would need them to guide Cardona's

return trip in the motor boat. There had been difficulty in the former arrival at the barge.

Cranston and Dorothy stood at the entrance to the office cabin. The girl spoke in friendly tone; her words

"You have settled a great deal, Mr. Cranston," she declared. "Whether Weed was right or wrong, he knew

something. He talked about ghosts as if they were real. Ghosts of the men who held the job before him. I shall

"I thought you would," returned Cranston. "That was why I questioned you, Miss Prumbull. In the future "

Dorothy shrieked an interruption. The cry was not necessary. The Shadow had not only seen the girl's sudden

change of expression; he had sensed a scuffling motion somewhere in the darkness toward the other end of

Cranston's quick hand gave a shove against Dorothy's shoulder; the push spilled the girl to the bottom of the

cabin door. With a twist, The Shadow recoiled; his arm, extending, served to jolt him away in the opposite

direction. The double move was instantaneous; it had to be, for delay would have brought death.

Cleaving from the darkness, a knife whirred squarely through the space where the two had stood. The long

point of the blade splintered the edge of the door frame. The knife clattered into the cabin.

THAT throw had been intended for The Shadow. It was a token from the murderer who had failed to deliver

death on a previous occasion. Whether or not the killer had identified Cranston as The Shadow was a

question. It was quite likely that he simply regarded Cranston as a menace in his own right.

It was impossible to locate the source from which the blade had come. Bounding from the splintered door

frame, the knife itself could not tell its exact direction. The Shadow knew that Dorothy had spied it high in

It was plain, only, that the knife had been hurled from darkness near the other end of the barge; that the hand

that tossed it was expert even at so great a range. Cranston's hand drew a revolver, as his eyes sought to

pierce the darkness. There were sounds from up ahead. Dorothy's shout had been heard.

Professor Prumbull came bounding suddenly from the forecastle. Baybrook dashed in from the side, where he

had been watching for the police boat. Weston shouted from farther along, bawling for lights. Dorothy spoke

Reaching the forecastle, Cranston was joined by Prumbull and Baybrook. The professor shouted to scour the

deck with the light; Baybrook cried that he was sure he had heard a boat bump the side. Cranston satisfied

both. He turned on the floodlight, sent its rays along the deck, then out to the water between the barge and the

The stretch of channel was a narrow one, above the rocks that held the sunken Grenadier. Boats did not

ordinarily use that route; they preferred to come from the dock, a hundred yards below. The searchlight,

A rowboat was completing the scant yardage. Arms gave a tidal stroke; the boat crackled among rocks. Over

the bow went a scrambling figure, to dive beyond a cluster of rocks and dried bushes. Even Cranston's quick

That blocky figure was familiar. So was the half savage, half hunted face that showed over a lowered

shoulder. The man was gone, picking a way through the fence of the exposition grounds; but he had been

CARDONA and his men came scrambling aboard the barge, too late to be of use. Weed was ashore; they

were on board. That settled the matter. From a distance came the sound of a starter; the harsh grind of a car in

gear. Roads led everywhere from the exposition lot. Weed was away to another flight.

"Weed wanted to murder you, Cranston," declared Weston, solemnly. "That settles our question. The crew

"Miss Prumbull was standing with me," reminded The Shadow. "The knife could have been meant for her. I

would suggest, commissioner, that you double the guard to protect Miss Prumbull and her father."

Professor Prumbull offered no objection. His face showed a shrewd smile. He seemed satisfied that suspicion

rested upon him no longer; Weed's visit to the barge came as a vindication of the old professor.

Cardona remained aboard the barge, to take full charge there. As Weston and his other companions were

"Weed's guilt is proven. He must have watched Prumbull during the day. That was how he learned of the

professor's negotiations with Cray. Weed wanted to keep Prumbull from gaining the treasure chart. He

"I am not so sure of that, commissioner," objected Baybrook. "Did you notice the smirk on Prumbull's face,

when you put the blame on Weed? Perhaps Weed only came to see what was going on aboard the barge.

Considering the matter, Weston decided that Baybrook was right. Weed might actually fear Prumbull; if so,

Weed was a dupe, not a murderer. Those gunmen on Twentyfifth Street could have been sent to rub out

Weed. Despite those possibilities, Weston was unready to entirely throw over his own theory regarding

Oddly, Lamont Cranston offered no comment. There was a good reason for his silence. He had accomplished

all that he required, when he had practically dictated Weston's order for the immediate raising of the

The Shadow was willing to await the day when the old frigate would emerge above the channel waters. The

clues that would come to light on that occasion were the ones that The Shadow wanted. New evidence would

Mystery that lay aboard the salvage barge came from a source far below. Dorothy Prumbull had spoken

jestingly, perhaps of ghosts from the old Grenadier. In a sense, those specters might be more real than

Dorothy supposed. Moreover, they could bring testimony of affairs more recent than two hundred years ago.

The Shadow had arranged to lay those ghosts. That done, it would be his turn to move against the murderer.

When The Shadow chose to name the killer, the man's full crimes would stand undenied.

IF the Grenadier had been an ordinary sort of ship, Police Commissioner Weston would not have honored its

raising with his presence. Weston's response to Cranston's suggestion had at first been no more than an

official order to the salvage company, stating that the frigate must be raised at once.

That, Weston decided, would end operations on the barge. Trouble would be gone from the remote river

channel. But, as days went by, it developed that much more lay at stake. The name of the Grenadier smashed

Gold was the reason. Millions of it, aboard the Grenadier. The public had almost forgotten the old frigate,

during the slow progress of the salvage operations. With the great day almost at hand, apathy was ended.

First came reports from police aboard the barge, stating that crowds were flocking to the shore; that it was

almost impossible to keep curious boats away. Weston ordered more men on duty. The salvage corporation

put up a fence on the extension of the exposition grounds and made prompt efforts to collect admissions.

The public tore down the fence. It went up again, protected by a score of policemen supplied by the

commissioner. Turnstiles clicked merrily. Crowds grew larger and larger. Weston was forced to send out a

All this annoyed Professor Prumbull and delayed his work; at least, so he claimed. It was not until the fourth

day that the hull of the Grenadier actually thrust above the surface, to reveal a mass of rotted timbers, with

At midafternoon, Commissioner Weston boarded the barge, accompanied by Cranston and Baybrook. Joe

Cardona was in charge, talking things over with officials from the salvage company. Weston assured the

There were twenty officers aboard the barge; hundreds along the shore. Police boats were drawn up in the

channel. A powerful, modern tug was waiting to receive the treasure from the Grenadier; the gold would

Escorted by police boats, the tug was to travel to the foot of Manhattan Island, where an armored truck

awaited the gold on a dock protected by an army of police. From there, the route would lead to the Federal

No criminal band could possibly muster enough strength to attack that modern caravan. As Weston outlined

every detail, he saw pleased smiles replace the worried looks of the corporation officials.

THE Grenadier formed an odd sight, looming high out of water, supported by the massive air tanks. Professor

Prumbull announced that he had been elevating the frigate slowly, to avoid any troublesome tilt. The sides of

the old relic gaped with holes; but the thick timbers were stronger than the ruined decks.

From the side of the barge, Prumbull pointed out a strong portion of the frigate.

"That marks the strong room," he declared. "The interior must certainly be reinforced with sheets of metal,

like the door. That portion of the ship was not only the strongest, it also escaped the rocks."

Weston remembered that Baybrook had once remarked that the bottom of the East River was a fine

safedeposit vault. Prumbull's statements were proving that very fact. The professor seemed to show

enthusiasm over the accomplishment of his task. Salvage officials, crowding about him, were already making

One observer, however, detected nervousness in Prumbull's manner. That viewer was Lamont Cranston.

Standing with Weston, Cranston watched the professor. Someone stepped up beside him; a woman's voice

Turning, Cranston faced Dorothy Prumbull. The girl drew him aside, and confided:

"Father is not quite himself today. I fear that the strain will be too much. Will you help me to look out for

"He has. Day and night. The crowds on the shore have irritated him. The police always close at hand

have made him feel cramped. Time and again, he has said that he was ready to give the work up, and let

"His worst spell was this morning, after the hull was actually in sight. He stopped operations and told me that

he intended to go home. Everything was at a standstill for half an hour. Then he resumed; but he made me

Turning, Dorothy pointed to the side of the barge. The Shadow saw the Flyaway; the speed boat was held by

"We shall go in the Flyaway," said Dorothy. "I would like you to come with us, Mr. Cranston."

HIS agreement given, Cranston turned to watch a gangplank go from the barge to the old frigate. Crew

members tested it; plainclothes men followed them on board the Grenadier. A ladder was put down through

There was something eerie in the scene. Delay had held the boarding of the Grenadier until late afternoon; the

crowds along the shore were almost obscured by the gathering dusk. Lights were beginning to glimmer from

police boats, for the channel, too, was dark. Daylight persisted, however, upon the deck of the barge and the

Word was shouted that the path was safe. Commissioner Weston started aboard the frigate; looked back, to

motion to Cranston and Baybrook. They crossed the gangplank; officials followed, inviting Professor

The old man smiled; shook his head wearily. Cranston saw this action, and looked toward Dorothy. The girl

Heavy insulated wires were passed through the deck of the Grenadier. The lower passage was flooded with

electric illumination, a contrast to the candlelight that the frigate had known in its prime, two centuries

before. Footing was bad along the slimy deck below, where men from the barge had put broad boards to

Cranston and Baybrook joined Weston in front of the old strong room. There, they viewed the sheathed door;

it was nailed shut. Shaw was one of the crew who had come from the barge. He explained matters to Weston.

"That's the way the old prof found her," said Shaw. "Nailed tight shut, commissioner. Guess that was the way

"Did you go down the tube?" asked Weston. "Could the strong room be viewed from the bottom?"

"It could," declared Shaw. "Right close, too. A diver could've got to it easy. We was itching, all of us, to get

Weston motioned the salvage officials closer. Watching from the background, Cranston saw Shaw and

another crew member rip at the strongroom door. Timbers eased out smoothly; rotted chunks dropped away.

"Kind of leaky," grunted Shaw, "Just as well, though, or the place would be full of water. Most of it's trickled

More boards eased. The sheathing metal began to bend downward. Shaw let the sheeting drop; rusted

portions broke. A gap yawned, where planking should have been. Two crew members gave a final rip.

"A cinch," confirmed Shaw. "Easier than we ever thought it would be. We're ready for the lights,

Two detectives stepped up, bringing a spotlight on a heavy extension cord. They hung it on a rusted hook just

above the strongroom door. The glare filled the treasure room; men crowded forward, expecting to see the

THE strong room was devoid of treasure. Empty, overturned coffers were strewn against its walls. Those

were unimportant, compared with the objects that covered the center of the floor. There, in ghastly postures,

They were the puffed bodies of murdered men; not skeletons from the crew of the Grenadier, but cadavers

that still bore flesh. Upturned faces seemed to cry for recognition. It was given, in the horrified voice of

"And Linthrop" a second crew member was pointing to another body "yes, it's Linthrop!"

"The third one's Myden!" came the word. "He wasn't night engineer. He he was one of the barge crew! Like

Men were shuddering away from the terrible sight. Small wonder, for decomposition had set in upon those

corpses. The salty channel water had preserved them only enough for scant recognition. The salvage officials

started for the upper air. Crew members followed them. Palefaced detectives trailed.

Only three remained. Commissioner Weston was frozen, held by the horrifying sight. Through his brain ran

the true meaning of these crimes. Some mastercrook had used the air shaft to reach the strong room of the

Grenadier. Aided by a diver, he had removed the gold. Certain men aboard the barge had interfered. This

Baybrook, close to Weston, was staring with a look of horror. He was gulping his own impressions: thoughts

"They took the treasure" Baybrook's words were gasps "someone did he wanted Cray's chart to go

"And murder was no obstacle," gritted Weston. "You're right, Baybrook. It was Weed or else "

Weston looked upward, toward the deck. He was thinking of Professor Prumbull, waiting on the barge.

Weston shot another glance at the treasure room, with its trio of corpses. That was enough. He groped for the

His eyes viewed the bodies. They burned with the fire of The Shadow's gaze. Though The Shadow had

expected this sight, its grim reality gave him urge for immediate vengeance. A certain factor caused him to

There were three bodies; no more. The Shadow had allowed for four eliminating Jenrow, the crook who

had been taken for a ride. Horrified observers had identified Cuyler, Linthrop and Myden. The fourth man,

conspicuously absent, was Ambrose Borick, the night engineer who had preceded Weed.

There was significance in that absence. It meant much to The Shadow. It fitted with a trend of theory that he

had already started. Not the bodies that were present, but the one that was missing, furnished a proof that The

HALF a minute later, Lamont Cranston appeared at the top of the ladder, coming to the frigate's deck. His

keen eyes were already intent, for shouts had sounded while he was making the upward trip. Cranston saw

Already, Shaw had reached the barge. Sickly of countenance, the fellow was gulping what he had seen below.

The word was going about. Professor Prumbull heard it; stared sharply across at Weston. The commissioner

The order ended as Weston's foot crashed through a rotted timber; buried to one knee, Weston waved

"Tell Cardona!" stormed Weston. "Don't let Prumbull get away! He knows about that gold those terrible

Baybrook saw Cardona pressing toward Prumbull. Joe had heard the shout. So, for that matter, had the

professor. Weston's order, not to let him get away, acted like an electric spark. In a flash, Prumbull's

Before Dorothy could stop him, Prumbull shoved wildly through a throng. He grabbed the neck of a blocking

plainclothes man; pitched the fellow against Cardona. Tearing loose from other hands, the professor made

loping strides across the barge deck; he cleared the rail with a long vault and landed in the Flyaway.

The speed boat responded to the first press of the starter. Prumbull whipped the tying rope clear with a single

motion. The Flyaway churned the current; sped like a whippet off between the police boats. The swift craft

was whizzing away in the clear when Cardona arrived to fire vain shots from the side of the barge.

Cardona's action gave the police boats the first inkling that there was trouble. With sirens shrieking, they

started to the chase as useless an effort as Cardona's gunfire. The Flyaway had cut through a side channel,

off toward Long Island Sound. Searchlights from the police boats failed to spot Prumbull's craft.

On the deck of the Grenadier; Cranston watched Baybrook haul Weston from the hole. Firm lips formed the

semblance of a smile; from them, almost inaudible, whispered the laugh of The Shadow.

That tone was mirthless. It betokened ill for the murderer, whose identity The Shadow knew. Flight like

The innocent seldom could travel beyond The Shadow's protection. The guilty could never outreach the

THE next day's newspapers carried headlines that told of New York's most prodigious crime. There was

something colossal about the fivemilliondollar robbery of the sunken Grenadier, and the wholesale murder

Insidious, too, was the fact that while the public had scarcely followed the salvage operations, prolonged for

so many months, the evil had been secretly under way. The strong room of the sunken frigate had indeed

proved a perfect vault; but it had hidden evidence of crime instead of expected treasure.

There was no longer any mystery about how the crime had been accomplished. The setup was both simple

and effective. At nights, a diver had gone down the air shaft; equipped with diving helmet, he had penetrated

The treasure had been hidden in the ashes that had been taken away from the salvage barge, and reclaimed

afterward. Probably a special crew had managed the scow that took away the ashes. Whatever the exact case,

the police were at a loss. The only real credit that they could take was that of ordering the immediate raising

Questioned on that point, Commissioner Weston had naturally stated that he had suspected something might

be wrong. He did not add that the original suggestion had come from his friend, Lamont Cranston. Weston

The obvious method of the crime did not, however, produce the facts that the public wanted. Two questions

were in every mind: Who was the murderous supercrook; and where was the gold that he had stolen?

To find the murderer was most important. With that accomplished, the treasure might be recovered.

Therefore, the law was seeking news of two men: Curtin Weed and Glidden Prumbull. The case against each

The night engineer had taken over a post that nobody wanted. He could easily have designed the deaths of his

predecessors: Cuyler, Linthrop and Borick. Once on the job, Weed would have had access to the air shaft and

the strong room. At nights, he could have removed the treasure piecemeal, unmolested.

Weed, incidentally, had changed over from coalburning to oil equipment, a few weeks after he had become

Against Professor Prumbull lay equal evidence. There were frequent times, particularly in the early evening,

when he had been alone in the office cabin. He could easily have gone after the treasure himself. His reason

They were the only men who, through some chance, could have guessed that something was wrong below.

Granting that Prumbull was the murderer, Weed's nervousness and flight would be explained. Weed could

Whoever was guilty had needed an accomplice. The police, at least, had decided who the accomplice was.

They had linked up the crooked crew member, Frank Jenrow. They had learned that he was Slugs Jenrow, the

thug who had gone for a ride a few weeks after Weed had taken over the night engineer job.

Jenrow's part accounted for the murder of the other crew member, George Myden. Probably, Myden had

found out something about Jenrow, and had reported his suspicions to Weed or Prumbull, whichever was the

Weed would have quit as night engineer, when the rising of the Grenadier began. It was recalled, too, that

Professor Prumbull had intended to start on vacation as soon as the hoisting of the frigate was under way.

The question of the treasure afforded a point on which all theorists agreed. The gold must still be somewhere

in New York. The masterthief could not have risked shipping it elsewhere, until after he had been clear to

go with it. The raising of the Grenadier had been too prompt to allow either of the suspects to take the swag

Police were checking every truck that went in and out of the city. They were watching all water shipments.

The law believed that the murderer was cooped somewhere in the city, biding his time and expecting a long

REVIEWING these facts and theories, The Shadow agreed with the most definite ones. That was not

surprising, for he had reconstructed the removal of the gold prior to his suggestion that the Grenadier be

raised. He also accepted the likelihood that the gold was still in New York, with the murderer waiting for the

There was one point, however, upon which The Shadow concentrated, as he went over clippings in his

sanctum. It was something that the police had almost ignored; yet it had impressed The Shadow from the

That was absence of one victim: Ambrose Borick, the third man to have held the post of night engineer.

The police explained the missing corpse with the theory that Borick had been murdered ashore; hence there

had been too much risk to stow his body in the Grenadier. That did not impress The Shadow. Murder had

The Shadow had his own theory concerning Borick. He was working on it, as reports from agents testified.

Every one of The Shadow's aids was searching for traces of a lone man: Ambrose Borick.

The search was easier than before. It was being conducted in the underworld, where talk was buzzing among

the riffraff. In scumland, as much as anywhere, the astounding robbery of the Grenadier was fresh news. The

name of Ambrose Borick was known along with others. It naturally came into discussions.

Evening had arrived. The Shadow was awaiting reports from agents. If no new ones came, he intended to

scour the underworld himself, following leads of his own. Yet The Shadow believed that such a process

would not be necessary. At the final minute of his vigil, he looked toward the wall. A soft laugh whispered

It was Burbank, reporting news from Cliff Marsland. At the Black Ship, a notorious gangland dive, Cliff had

heard a smallfry crook called "Clicker" Haggy talking big about things he knew. Clicker had claimed past

acquaintance with a man named Ambrose Borick. Other toughs had given him the laugh; one had brought

Clicker another drink, on the strength of springing a good gag. Clicker was still at the Black Ship, deep in his

The Shadow extinguished the blue light. He crossed the darkened sanctum; opened the drawer of a huge,

metal filing cabinet. He found the record of Clicker Haggy; learned that the hoodlum was of little account,

Clicker, however, did have many acquaintances, although Borick was not listed among them. The Shadow

noted the names of Clicker's former pals; and chose one. He looked up the other man's record. It suited.

Drawers slid from the filing cabinet as The Shadow drew them. Each locked automatically at a different spot.

They formed a flight of steps leading to the top of the cabinet, just below the ceiling.

The light showed The Shadow's cloaked figure as it moved swiftly upward, following the improvised steel

steps. Hands pressed the ceiling; a panel slid back. Hardly had The Shadow gone through the secret exit

before the panel closed noiselessly. The drawers of the filing cabinet were soundless, as they glided into

closed position. The light extinguished in the same automatic fashion, producing total darkness.

THE Black Ship was a spot where many mobbies thronged. Frequently, the place was crowded; hence when

Clicker Haggy heard a chair slide on the opposite side of his table, he scarcely looked up from his maudlin

stupor. Clicker had drunk so much that the room was going around in circles. He simply gained a blurred

The question made Clicker look up again. He tried to focus on the face opposite him, but could not recognize

it. This mug was tough enough, though, to suit Clicker. So was the raspy voice. Clicker nodded.

"I'm Kip Logo." The speaker shoved a hand across the table. "Usta be a good pal of Noggy Rastion, before he

Clicker remembered the lamented "Noggy"; he had also heard mention of "Kip" Logo. Nevertheless, he

"Say, mug, where d'ya get that stuff? Noggy usta tell me you was a regular! If you think you can pull wise

"It ain't that, Kip." Clicker steadied enough to whine his defense. "They was razzin' me, a while ago, thass all.

"About me havin' knowed that bird Borick that was workin' on the shipraisin' job."

"What if you did know Borick?" he questioned. "There ain't nothing goofy about it, is there?"

Clicker grinned. He was glad to meet someone who lacked what his other pals thought was a sense of humor.

"Guess it ain't funny, after all," decided Clicker. "All I was goin' to tell 'em was that Borick usta hang out

over the Ace High hock shop. There's a guy livin' up there now, an' maybe he's usin' the joint for a hideout. I

seen him sneak out, a coupla times, along about ten o'clock, headin' for a lunch wagon."

Sustained talk made Clicker bleary. Dizzily, he flopped his head to his elbow and sprawled across the table.

Kip Logo shrugged, and arose. He strolled from the Black Ship and walked a few blocks, where he looked

When that car pulled away, its driver was a shrouded blot of blackness. The Shadow had finished with the

BACK at the Black Ship, the throng increased. A toughfaced waiter shook Clicker; asked him if he wanted

Two new customers were growling that they wanted a table. The waiter motioned to a pal. Together, they

hauled Clicker from the table; pitched him through a side door to the alley, amid Bronx cheers from

When Clicker came to his senses, something was pounding hard against the soles of his shoes. Clicker

grunted; sniffed the cold outside air. It revived him a change from the tobaccotinged atmosphere of the

Black Ship. A big hand hauled Clicker to his feet. The hoodlum stared into the stern face of a husky

"It's you, huh?" jeered the copper. "This is the time I'm running you in, Clicker! I been looking for drunks

along this beat. They been looking for a chance to ask you some questions over at the station house."

If there was anything Clicker dreaded, it was a trip beyond the green lights of the police station. He knew

why he was taking this one, as the patrolman shoved him along. There was a shortage of stool pigeons.

Clicker was the sort of smallfry who would fill the bill. Cops had ways of persuading whining hoodlums to

A few days for drunkenness, and Clicker would come out a fullfledged stool pigeon. Worst of all, to make

him stick to his new calling, he would be made to squawk something for a starter. Clicker knew plenty that he

didn't want to tell, for his own safety. As his head cleared, he began to wonder what bluff he could hand the

The name of Borick thrummed through Clicker's befuddled brain. That was it: Borick! Good enough for a

bluff, if the bulls would listen. Mumbling to himself as he stumbled along, Clicker began to cook up a story

Clicker's tale was to contain more truth than he supposed. That truth was to produce a strange sequence of

events, concerning a personage whose very name would have closed Clicker's lips. The Shadow.

Tonight, The Shadow had uncovered a living ghost. He was watching for Ambrose Borick, a man that the law

thought dead. The Shadow intended, this time, to gain results before the police could interfere.

The chance arrest of Clicker Haggy was destined to close The Shadow's long sought trail.

AT nine o'clock, the hour of Clicker's arrest, a conference was going on at the house of Morton Baybrook.

Present were Commissioner Ralph Weston and Inspector Joe Cardona. With them, they had brought Dorothy

"We have told Miss Prumbull everything," declared Weston. "Still, she will not tell us what she knows. We

"Yes," replied Weston. "Apparently, she doubts the details as we have given them."

Baybrook turned to Dorothy. His expression was serious, yet kindly. It formed a distinct contrast to Weston's

"I bought the treasure chart from Cray," asserted Baybrook. "I knew, from the man's attitude and words, that

he had talked of it to others. Cray certainly feared that someone intended to steal the chart."

Dorothy gave Baybrook a grateful look. The girl's attractive face showed its determination, as she turned to

"Do you see?" demanded Dorothy. "Mr. Baybrook supports what I have claimed. My father never threatened

"We never claimed that," blustered Weston. "Tasper described a man who resembled your father. Professor

"Weed was mentioned also. Tasper knew his name. You forget, too, that Weed threw the knife at Mr.

"No one saw who threw the knife. Professor Prumbull could have tossed it, as easily as Weed. We must be

"One moment, commissioner," interrupted Baybrook. He turned to Dorothy. "Are they trying to learn where

"Yes," acknowledged Dorothy, grateful for Baybrook's intercession. "I have told them I am not able to tell."

"Which may mean," put in Cardona, "that you won't tell. Not that you can't tell."

"You are asking too much, commissioner," declared Baybrook. "You say you wish to be impartial; yet you

are putting the burden on Prumbull. You must not forget that Weed is still at large. Why not postpone this

DOROTHY expressed relief. She looked hopefully toward Baybrook. The promoter smiled; but seemed at

loss. He was willing to act as arbiter between Dorothy and the law; but a solution seemed difficult. At last,

"Suppose you make this agreement," suggested Baybrook. "While reasonable doubt exists as to the

professor's guilt, no questions are to be asked of Miss Prumbull. If new evidence establishes his guilt, Miss

Weston pondered. The arrangement sounded fair, although Weston was reluctant to allow it. Baybrook turned

"I agree," she declared, firmly. "If you prove my father guilty, I shall do everything in my power to bring him

The prompt statement made Weston believe that Dorothy knew something. He was considering her arrest, on

the ground of obstructing justice. At the same time, he saw advantage in letting her return, unquestioned, to

the hotel where she had lived since her father's flight. At last, Weston chose a middle course.

"I shall reserve decision," he declared, "until tomorrow. You may return to your hotel, Miss Prumbull; but we

Weston saw a servant enter, with some announcement. Halting, the commissioner waited to hear what the

man had to say. The servant announced that Inspector Cardona was wanted on the telephone. While Joe was

"We shall expect," he told Dorothy, "that you will remain in your hotel, subject to call. That is all."

Before Dorothy could express her thanks to the friendly promoter, Cardona came bounding into the room. Joe

"He's not dead," returned Cardona. "A stoolie held at a precinct station just told that he saw Borick sneaking

out of an old hideout, over a hock shop. Maybe the fellow was scared, like Weed was." Joe happened to see

"I I should like to go to my hotel," stammered Dorothy. "You promised that, commissioner."

Weston looked as though he would like to take back his promise. Baybrook intervened with the statement:

IT was half past nine when Hawkeye sneaked around a corner to reach the front of the Ace High pawnshop.

From a darkened spot across the street, The Shadow was watching the second floor, which showed no light.

Hawkeye could not even find The Shadow in the darkness; but he whispered words that he knew his chief

"A big car just parked on the next street. Looked like the police commissioner's "

A sibilant whisper ordered silence. Around the corner came a figure recognized by both The Shadow and

Hawkeye. It was Joe Cardona, coming alone to call on Ambrose Borick. Cardona stopped at the door that led

upstairs. He found it locked; but the fastening was crude. Cardona decided to manhandle it.

In watching the pawnshop near the corner, The Shadow had planned according to facts learned from Clicker

Haggy. Chances were that the man whose window opened above the threeball sign would prove to be

Borick. Since Clicker had seen him doing a sneak on recent nights, Borick might be due again at ten o'clock.

Therefore, The Shadow had chosen to ignore the maze of alleyways located behind the pawnshop. They

offered routes of exit; but with Borick unsuspicious, they would not be used. Rather than station agents at

Cardona's arrival jolted matters badly. If Borick happened to be on hairtrigger edge, he might hear Joe's

entry and take to the rear. Rather than overload Hawkeye with too much ground to cover, The Shadow

preferred to count on Cardona taking a long while with the lock. That would give Hawkeye a chance to

A lowtoned order. Hawkeye slid away, leaving The Shadow to watch Cardona's progress. For a minute or

more, Joe fumbled; then luck happened his way. The lock gave suddenly, under a twist of a skeleton key that

The Shadow's only course was to follow. Joe left the door unlocked; he was scarcely at the top of a darkened

stairway before The Shadow arrived at the bottom. Yet Cardona detected no sounds of The Shadow's entry.

Muffling his footsteps, Cardona followed a hallway on the second floor. He saw a tiny streak of light along

Cardona was immediately rewarded, when he heard a key turn in the lock. The door moved inward; Cardona

THE move was timely. Whipping out his gun as he hit the door shoulderfirst, Cardona drove through,

bowling a man clear across the room. The fellow sprawled in crouched position, proof that he had been

peering out to the hall when Joe surprised him. He was wearing hat and coat; but his hat fell off as he came to

Cardona saw a sallow, longnosed face. Beady eyes blinked from beneath a forehead that was topped with

"Get up, Borick." Cardona kept the fellow covered, while using his free hand to close the door and turn the

Joe nudged his head toward a stack of journals that stood on a rickety table. He let his eyes rove farther. This

was the middle room of a little apartment. Its windows opened on a tiny court, which told why no light

showed outside to the street. A door led to the front room; another to a rear room.

Cardona stepped inward from the hallway door. Since he had locked it, he forgot about it. Since Weston was

not along, Cardona decided to ask questions in his own way. Joe's system was to accuse prisoners; make them

Theoretically, the law considered persons innocent until proven guilty; but that stuff belonged to the

"We're wise to the whole works, Borick," growled Cardona. "We've nabbed Weed; and got the professor, too.

Both of them have spilled their stories; and so we've landed the killer. Better come clean."

Even in his wildest hunch, Cardona would not have implicated Borick in crime. He was sure that the fellow

was hiding out through fear. Such a witness, however, would talk only through dread. By making Borick

think he had been accused of something, Joe expected an outpouring of denial. He had claimed that both

Weed and Prumbull were prisoners, so that Borick would no longer dread whichever man he thought had

Hence, Cardona's bluff produced the most startling result that Joe had ever experienced. Borick's nerves were

ragged. The fellow fell for everything. He sagged toward a chair near the front of the room; raised his hands

"I didn't help with the murders!. I swear it! He did those jobs alone! I helped stow the bodies, yes because

Cardona stared, goggleeyed. There was a slight sound behind him; Joe never heard it. He was in no

condition to remember the forgotten hallway door. Borick's confession had left Joe as numbed as if he had

"He can't lie about me!" continued Borick. "I've got papers he gave me they're in the back bedroom along

with some of the gold. Old British coins, with the head of King George on them! Proof they came off the

CARDONA came to himself. This was his chance to make Borick name the murderer. He could settle the

question between Prumbull and Weed. Wisely, Cardona came back to his bluffing tactics.

"I'll give you a break, Borick," gruffed Joe. "We've nabbed the bigshot; but he's trying to deny what he first

told us. It's not in the records yet; and what we want is a firstclass witness. You state his name, so I can

testify later that I got it from you. That puts you on the side of the law. Get it?"

Borick swallowed the words with an eager nod. His mouth was open like a trout's, gobbling the bait. He

craned forward; licked his dried lips. Just as if witnesses were present, he uttered:

The door at the rear of the room thumped open as Borick spoke. Before Borick could complete his sentence, a

revolver roared its interruption. This time, a murderer had chosen a quicker weapon than a knife, for he

The flame that spurted from the darkened bedroom backed a leadenpellet thrust for Borick's heart. The

bullet clipped the squealer's time of life to a single second. With a jolt, Borick pitched sideways from his

chair; twisted and flattened face upward, his mouth still open in its fishlike fashion.

The State's lone witness was dead. A murderer had plucked his accomplice from the very hands of Joe

Cardona. Again, the law had intervened to block a quest that The Shadow had carried almost to

THE murder of Ambrose Borick was but the first step in a killer's intention. That fact hit Joe Cardona as he

saw the dead man tumble. Wheeling toward the bedroom, Joe saw the gleam of a revolver muzzle through the

partly opened door. He could not see the face of the man in the darkness behind it.

Joe realized only that the crouching killer had marked him for the spot. A second more would mean Joe's

finish. Joe Cardona, ace of the New York police force, had been nabbed off guard. His own gun was lowered,

pointed toward the chair that Borick had occupied. The killer's gun was due to stab the moment that his

In that instant, Cardona heard a sound that duplicated a previous one. Before, the inward jolt of a door had

meant death; this time, it was deliverance. A gibing laugh sounded as the hallway door swung inward.

Instantly, the murderer's gun muzzle swung from Cardona, to cover the outer door. The revolver blazed while

on the move. Its shot was too early; the bullet went wide. With the revolver blast came the roar of The

Shadow's automatic. It was too late, for the murderer was diving deeper into the bedroom as he fired. Joe saw

The murderer was gone; and Joe thought that he alone knew it, for The Shadow was still on the outer

threshold. With a wild spring, Cardona snatched the chase from The Shadow. Without a glance toward his

cloaked rescuer, Cardona barged through to the bedroom. He saw the murderer clambering from a window.

Joe made a grab. The killer ducked a sledge of the ace's gun and started to jab his own revolver toward Joe's

face. The Shadow fired again, from the bedroom door; the shot meant new rescue. Though it failed to get the

killer, it whined so close to the man's ear that he was glad to let Cardona drop.

As Joe spilled away, The Shadow fired again. The killer was swinging safely, along a little roof. Reaching the

window, The Shadow saw him sliding into the rear room of an adjoining house. He was almost through; but

The Shadow drilled two shots with smooth precision, whistling each bullet along the very surface of the outer

Those slugs splintered woodwork; tore through the cloth of the overcoat. There was a rip as the killer wrested

through the window. Fortunately for him, his hip had moved an extra inch inward. The Shadow's bullets

As the killer went through the next house, The Shadow clambered over his own sill, to drop from the little

roof. He knew that the murderer was coming out again, somewhere in a rear alley, for he certainly would

JOE'S first action was to turn on the light in the bedroom. He saw a battered bureau with drawers open, a

suitcase with the top lifted. Both had been rifled; a tin box must have contained the gold that Borick

mentioned; also the damaging papers. The box lay in the suitcase, totally empty.

The murderer had been working smoothly, pocketing the evidence while Joe talked to Borick. Coolly, he had

As Joe raced out through the room where Borick lay, he found another token of smooth work, but of a

different sort. The key of the outer door was turned in the lock. The Shadow had handled it with silent pliers,

The front street was Joe's objective. There, he could summon aid; close a net, perhaps, before the murderer

Of that Joe was confident; and present happenings justified his claims. Stalking through blackness, The

Shadow was intently listening for sounds of the murderer's arrival. The token came. A cellar window grated,

Slowly, The Shadow approached; edging across a little alley, he snapped on a flashlight. The glow showed

The man was crouched, his back toward The Shadow. His left hand was shoved into the bulging pocket of his

coat, above the ragged stretch of torn cloth. His right hand, slightly outward, gave the reflection of a gun.

The murderer bounded, rabbitfashion, the moment that The Shadow's light came. He pounced beyond a

stack of ash cans; with a shift the Shadow could have picked him farther on. An interruption halted The

Once again, the killer had summoned the gunmen that served him. They had come down that rear alley, to

Instantly, The Shadow doused the flash. Changing position, he stabbed shots in return. A moment later, he

did a sideways dive, taking a path through the darkness, along the killer's trail.

Lights blinked from the corner of a short passage. They were squarely in The Shadow's eyes. Plunging upon a

pair of arriving thugs, The Shadow grappled. He pitched one crook along the passage; slugged the other with

a glancing stroke. Spinning around, The Shadow was ready to meet new gunfire. He pumped quick shots in

Weaving here and there, The Shadow took quick effective aim. Gunmen were scattering, almost ready for

retreat, when new shots ripped from a long alleyway. The Shadow's agents had arrived.

Their flashlights showed thugs scattering for every outlet. Thugs were on the run when the agents neared The

THE Shadow had guessed the purpose of the thugs. Tonight, they were deployed, not massed. Their game

was to keep the fight bobbing about the neighborhood, while the killer made his getaway. So far, the game

The Shadow was back, almost at the spot where he had spied the killer coming from the cellar. Gunshots

were barking in distant places. Thugs no longer cared if The Shadow was at the starting point. Their chief had

The Shadow's flashlight glowed. No traces of footprints showed upon the cement that covered the space

behind the houses. There was something, though, that glistened at the very edge of the cellar window. The

The coin was of English mintage. It was old; it carried the head of George I. The date was 1715; the coin was

from the Grenadier. A coin that Borick had filched while helping rob the strong room of the frigate; evidence

The Shadow remembered the killer's bulging pockets. He also recalled those shots along the house wall.

Although The Shadow's bullets had not wounded the supercrook, they punctured the bottom of a pocket

stuffed with gold. The murderer's wrench, perhaps, had added to the tear. The exact cause was unimportant to

In his flight, the killer was literally dripping gold. From the pressure of his hand above, coins squeezed

through the bottom of his pocket. A sweep of The Shadow's flashlight showed another glint of gold, twenty

Police sirens were shrieking from a few blocks away. Gunfire was spasmodic. Crooks were ducking out, their

work finished. The Shadow's agents, too, were spreading; the fray had been as futile as a sham battle.

Speedily, The Shadow was traveling through passages and alleys, picking up coins along the way.

From thirty to forty feet were the longest intervals. The coins showed how cunningly the murderer had

twisted his trail. At certain corners The Shadow spread his light in three directions, positive that one would

show another ancient coin. In each case, he spotted another telltale piece of gold.

Crossing a street; The Shadow followed new passages behind old buildings. They led him at another angle.

He crossed a second street; then a third. The dozenth coin lay in a blind alley. The Shadow knew that the

Moving out to the street, The Shadow started around the block. Nearing a corner, he saw a figure ducking

from view. The Shadow hissed an order; Hawkeye appeared. The Shadow gave him prompt instructions.

Rounding the block, The Shadow found another passage coming out on the side street. It had a telltale coin.

The Shadow had gained ground on the murderer. He found a gold coin in the gutter on the far side of the

street. Another in a space behind a filling station that was closed for the night. The trail led through an empty

JUST as The Shadow reached the sidewalk, a car pulled away and wheeled toward an avenue where an

elevated ran. The car had no lights; the glow from the corner showed it to be a widebuilt coupe of the

The car was across the avenue, out of gun range, before The Shadow could have aimed for it. The lights came

on, too far away to identify the license plate; but The Shadow noted a single taillight, short bumperettes, and

The last gold coin lay at the exact spot where the car had been parked. The Shadow waited, watching other

cars that came along; also taking long looks to see how far the coupe traveled before it turned.

A cab arrived. The Shadow stepped from between two parked cars, to halt it with a sharp signal. It was The

Through Hawkeye, The Shadow had ordered all agents to cruise the streets outside the police cordon.

Hawkeye had contacted the cab first. It had reached The Shadow in time to resume the trail.

The route lay westward. The Shadow picked the exact avenue where the coupe had made its turn. From then

on, it was guesswork; the coupe had gone north, that was all The Shadow had seen. After a dozen blocks, The

The route led through the twisted streets of the Greenwich Village section of the city. Near the corner of an

avenue, The Shadow saw a parked car that looked like the one he wanted. He alighted, moved stealthily into

the parked car. A brief inspection told him that it was probably a stolen machine that the killer had used and

Pulling out the seat, The Shadow gleamed a flashlight beneath. He found two coins of the Georgian era, that

had slipped from the killer's torn pocket. The Shadow kept them. This was one trail that he intended to close

The car was parked conveniently close to an alleyway. The Shadow resumed the trail and found it as twisty

as the first. Oddly, gold coins were fewer, although the murderer had no longer been in haste. The Shadow

found one, in a little patch of mud. He had to explore five short alleyways before he found another, wedged

Moving more slowly, the crook had heard coins clatter as they dripped. He had gone back over the trail, to

gather them up. He must have found some on the floor of the coupe; and thereby supposed that they were all

he had dropped in the stolen car. If he had drawn the seat forward, he would have pulled the two coins with it,

The odd coins that The Shadow had found later were ones that the crook had missed in his hurried search.

Already, The Shadow was well distant from the coupe. One more coin might be all that he needed. It took

The coin was beneath a grating in the sidewalk of a street so narrow that it was scarcely more than an alley.

There was only one way in which the crook could have dropped it there. He had stepped across the grating to

There, The Shadow reached the heavily barred back door of a closed house that was a forgotten relic of the

old village. Three stories high, it had boarded windows that looked as if they had been sealed for many years.

The very obscurity of the house made it seem inconspicuous. Noted closely, it was as formidable as a

Silently, The Shadow moved away in the darkness. The trail of gold was complete. Whether or not a

murderer was within those portals, his treasure was there; and would not soon be removed.

That fact was all The Shadow needed, to prepare his next move against the master of crime.

AT four o'clock the next afternoon, Joe Cardona entered the modest hotel where Dorothy Prumbull was a

guest. He called the girl's room; she arranged to meet him in an obscure parlor that adjoined the lobby. The

moment that she was seated opposite Cardona, Dorothy knew that she was in for an ordeal.

"I'm ready to hear you talk, Miss Prumbull," asserted Joe. "We cracked the goldrobbery case, last night. I've

"This is a bit previous," protested Dorothy. "Commissioner Weston called me this noon, and said that he

"I know that. You're to be at Baybrook's at eight tonight. You worked that, because you figured Baybrook

Triumphantly, Cardona brought an envelope from his pocket. He showed the girl the message it contained. It

was an order from Commissioner Weston, giving Cardona the right to quiz all witnesses at any time he chose.

"Commissioner Weston should not have done this," protested the girl. "He allowed me twentyfour hours."

"Wrong, Miss Prumbull," returned Cardona. "He gave you until today. No exact hour was specified. Before I

come back to my question, there's something I want to tell you. Borick talked last night, before your father

Cardona was trying the same bluff that he had worked with Borick. In fact, it was the success of that bluff

that had caused Weston to accede to Cardona's request for this present quiz. Joe had been surprised at the

result of his former bluff; he was due for another astonishing experience. Dorothy's intuition floored him.

"I see," declared the girl, coldly. "You lied to Borick, to worry him. It worked; so you are trying the same

tactics with me. I am sorry, inspector. I have nothing to say. At eight o'clock tonight I shall speak, if you have

Cardona came to his feet; for a moment, his face showed anger. Then a spreading redness denoted

"All right, Miss Prumbull," he said. "It didn't work. I don't want you to hold a grudge, though. It won't help

"I understand," returned Dorothy. "It all comes under the heading of what you call your duty. I, too, have

"You're a game one, Miss Prumbull. I'll be glad when we see things the same way."

WHEN Cardona had gone, Dorothy sat gazing from the window; her eyes were thoughtful, her lips moved as

though speaking. Suddenly sensing that someone had entered, Dorothy compressed her lips and turned about,

"Cardona's quiz was a short one," remarked Cranston, in his casual tone. "You must have told him a great

"I did," laughed Dorothy, "but not what he expected. But how did you know about it, Mr. Cranston?"

"I met the commissioner at the club. He mentioned the matter. He invited me to join him at Baybrook's,

Cranston's slight smile showed that he accepted Dorothy's question as a jest. To Dorothy came recollections

of her previous meetings with Cranston. She felt an immediate return of the trust that she had experienced.

"I regard you as a friend, Mr. Cranston." The gift spoke seriously. "As good a friend as any whom I have met

"Yes. I am glad that you will both be present tonight, when I will be asked to tell where my father can be

Cranston's eyes met Dorothy's. The girl felt their hypnotic power. She heard lips phrase the statement:

"You will tell because you have no other choice. If your father is innocent, he should not remain hidden. If he

By simple logic, The Shadow had accomplished the result that others failed to gain. The supposition that

Prumbull could be innocent reached Dorothy's sense of loyalty for her father; showed her the fallacy of

The possibility of guilt was one upon which Dorothy had already committed herself. She knew the

importance of a promise. She had given her word to Weston, and her integrity would not permit her to break

Dorothy knew that Cranston had come to help her; that he was thinking of her welfare, no matter what her

father's case might be. Like Baybrook, Cranston took the stand that Dorothy was certainly innocent of all

crime, and should therefore be treated fairly. Recognizing that, the girl preferred to rely entirely upon this

"I shall tell you where my father is," declared the girl, in a low, strained voice. "He is living at the Phoenix

"There is a task for you," he told Dorothy. "A singular one; but it is recommended by a mysterious personage

It struck Dorothy that Cranston meant The Shadow. She had heard mention of a cloaked being who had

"In ten minutes," declared Cranston, "a cab will stop at the side door of this hotel. It will be a streamlined cab

"Meanwhile" Cranston had risen "it would be best to go first to your room, to obtain your hat and coat.

CRANSTON strolled in the direction of the lobby. Gloom was filling the hotel parlor; for windows were few

Dorothy felt as though she had awakened from a dream. Words throbbed through her brain repeated

thoughts that she could not forget. She knew that she must follow Cranston's instructions; but somehow, they

seemed to have come from an unknown source. The whole interview was like a vision; Dorothy almost

The girl went to the lighted lobby. She looked for Cranston, but did not see him. A wiseeyed man watched

her from a corner past the desk. He was a detective, posted by Cardona. Though he saw Dorothy, the dick had

Dorothy went up in the elevator. The detective kept watching to see if she returned. At the end of seven

minutes, the dick's vigil was suddenly broken. A commotion broke out at the front door of the hotel. There

was a crash of glass; the doorman shouted. The detective hopped out to the sidewalk.

The doorman was grabbing a welldressed young man who had just used a brick to shatter the window of a

parked coupe. He was trying to enter the car when the doorman seized him. The detective flashed his badge;

The young man appeared unperturbed. He produced a license card and other papers of identification, to prove

that his name was Harry Vincent and that he was the owner of the coupe. The dick wanted to know why he

"I left the door locked on the inside," explained Harry. "Found myself locked out. The window was cracked; I

The doorman remembered that he had seen a cracked window in the parked coupe. The detective was forced

to admit that it was not a crime for a man to break a window of his own car. He remembered his duty in the

MEANWHILE, an elevator had reached the lobby. Dorothy left it; crossed to the side door. She had just

stepped to the side street when the watchdog detective came in through the front door.

The streamlined cab pulled up as Dorothy arrived. The driver's face was muffled. The moment that Dorothy

was inside the taxi, she looked for the familiar card that bore the driver's name and photograph. There was

none; instead, Dorothy found an envelope projecting from the frame where the card should have been.

She knew that the message must be for her. Opening the envelope, she turned on the dome light, and read a

Dorothy was to leave the cab at a certain corner in Greenwich Village and walk four blocks along a

designated route. She was to study various houses on the way; at the end of the stroll, she would find the

Dusk was thickening in Greenwich Village when the cab reached there. Dorothy was almost ready to

consider the note a hoax. She remembered it perfectly, but decided to read it again. Unfolding the paper, she

It was as if an unseen hand had stretched from nowhere, to obliterate that writing for all time. Dorothy felt an

uncanny chill; her last doubts ended. Leaving the cab, she started along the route that The Shadow had

The sky was still light enough to show the tops of oldfashioned buildings. Dorothy came to a V corner and

took the street to the left. She saw a house set back from the others; it had a heavy front door; its windows

looked as though they had been boarded for years. Because of its odd position, the house evidently had a rear

Dorothy paused to gaze curiously at the old house. She was across the street from it, plainly visible beneath a

light. A car, coasting along the next cross street, made a slight jolt; it pulled up to the curb past the corner.

As the girl started toward the corner, four men alighted from the touring car. A fifth, the driver, remained in

the machine, watching his thuggish fellows creep beside the darkened wall. Dorothy turned the corner; the

Their sweep overwhelmed the girl. She was lifted from the sidewalk; her attempted cries were stifled. A

dozen seconds more, she would have been a prisoner in the touring car. It was a hoarse shout from the driver

He had seen what others did not notice. A blackened shape was springing from the opposite corner, whirling

straight for the thugs. Two crooks dropped Dorothy, leaving her to the others; as they pulled revolvers, The

A hand clamped one thug's throat; pitched the fellow headlong. The second rowdy ducked as a fisted gun

stroked in his direction. The crook took the blow on the side of the head; he stumbled upon the step of the

One of the other pair released Dorothy to grab a gun. The girl twisted half free from her last captor. The

Shadow jabbed a gun muzzle for the fellow's eyes. The thug dived into the car, shoving Dorothy from the

The Shadow caught the girl with his free arm; whirling, he carried her to the shelter of a doorway. He was

The respite saved the crooks. Those on the curb were scrambling aboard the touring car. The driver shoved

the car into gear. As they jolted away, crooks started a wild revolver fire. Timed to their hasty shots came the

Though The Shadow had a moving target, he was on firm ground. The stabs of his .45 clipped members of

the aiming crew. Firing from the jouncing automobile, shooting for a halfobscured target, none of the

crooks came within three feet of scoring a hit. The driver whipped the car around a corner, carrying the

BEFORE Dorothy could realize that the fray was ended, the streamlined cab sped up beside the doorway. The

As the taxi wheeled northward, Dorothy caught glimpses of the cloaked being who was riding with her. She

saw eyes that burned from beneath the brim of a slouch hat; at moments, she gained an impression of a

The cab took a side street. The darkness within was absolute. The Shadow spoke whispered words that

"Say nothing of your adventure. Stay at the hotel until half past seven. The police commissioner's limousine

will call for you. After you reach Baybrook's you may speak concerning your father."

The cab was stopping near the corner of Eighth Avenue. The Shadow's gloved finger pointed toward the

window on Dorothy's side. Across the street the girl saw a neon sign, bearing the name of the Phoenix Hotel.

The girl gasped; The Shadow had pointed out the place where she had told Cranston that her father was

As she turned toward The Shadow, Dorothy heard a slight click, like the closing of the cab door. The taxi

rolled forward, came into the glow of the avenue. Dorothy saw vacancy beside her. Silently, mysteriously,

Why had The Shadow wanted Dorothy to visit those streets in Greenwich Village? Why had enemies tried to

Soon, Dorothy would learn the answer to those questions. For the present, only The Shadow knew.

WESTON'S big car called at seventhirty. Dorothy joined the commissioner and Cardona. As they started for

"You left the hotel today," he chided. "That was against our rule, Miss Prumbull."

"No. Tonight, however" Dorothy spoke firmly "I believe that I can tell you where to find my father."

Weston started another question; Dorothy remained silent. The commissioner decided it would be best to say

nothing more until they reached Baybrook's. Dorothy's words sounded like a promise.

Baybrook greeted them in his apartment. Weston asked if Cranston had called; and Dorothy looked about

"Cranston telephoned," informed Baybrook. "He said that he would not be here for the quiz, but to leave

Though Baybrook did not know it, his news was practically a message for Dorothy. It meant that the girl was

to state her father's whereabouts, as she had agreed. Dorothy knew where they would go afterward. That

"Miss Prumbull, I feel that I must extend our agreement. We have not definitely proven your father's guilt.

"I do," admitted Dorothy. "If he is innocent, he should see you. If he is guilty" she shuddered "I must

keep my promise to speak. I hope, though, that you will approach my father tactfully, when I tell you where

Weston was almost floored by the girl's sudden willingness to speak. He lost no time in accepting the terms.

"We shall go there at once!" exclaimed Weston. "You come with us, Baybrook. We should have Cranston

WHEN the group reached the Phoenix Hotel, Cardona sought the house dick and explained matters. He

promptly received a passkey. They went to the sixth floor; the house detective pointed out 618, at the end of

"It's a suite," he whispered. "A small living room, and a bedroom beyond it. The living room connects with

As he worked quietly on the door of 618, Joe pulled a revolver, holding it so Dorothy and the others could

not see it. The ace had a hunch that Professor Prumbull would make trouble. Joe did not intend to take

Though he made some noise with the key, Cardona was unheard. He found the reason when he passed the

door. He was in a tiny entry, with another door at the left. Joe grinned when he saw that it had no lock.

Easing the inner door, Cardona saw a living room, lighted by a ceiling chandelier. Professor Prumbull was

seated at a desk, half crouched. The old man displayed a listening attitude, although he was not watching

Prumbull rose. His hand showed a revolver. Without ceremony, Cardona sprang through from the entry.

Prumbull jumped about; Joe saw his eyes flash. Thinking that Prumbull would shoot to kill, Joe aimed.

Things happened fast. The door from Prumbull's bedroom popped open. A long shape in black surged upon

Cardona before he could pull his gun trigger. As Joe sprawled, he saw that his attacker was The Shadow.

Prumbull let his gun fall. Realizing that The Shadow had made shots unnecessary, Cardona grunted his

thanks. He raised his revolver to keep Prumbull covered. To Joe's surprise, The Shadow made another rapid

Continuing across the room, The Shadow reached the door that connected with Room 616.

Cardona remembered that Prumbull had been watching that door. While Joe wondered what was beyond, The

A man from the other side gave a fierce shout and surged through. A revolver glistened; The Shadow slashed

it with his automatic, knocking the revolver to the floor. There was a momentary grapple; another prisoner

The Shadow wheeled into Room 616; he closed the door behind him. Almost forgetting Prumbull, Cardona

stared gawking at the blocky fellow whom The Shadow had pitched in as added bounty. Eyes blinked from a

Both suspects were in Cardona's hands! One could be deadly, in a pinch. Joe wished that The Shadow had

remained; but that proved unnecessary. Already, aid was arriving. Weston and the house dick had heard the

WHEN Baybrook entered with Dorothy, they found Prumbull and Weed seated in chairs. Cardona was

holding Prumbull; the house dick had Weed covered. Weston, brusque and important, was starting questions.

"Why were you in hiding?" demanded Weston. "Why did you flee from justice in the first place? We want

"I know that," declared Prumbull, dryly, "and I have been waiting for you to obtain them. Can't you see,

commissioner, that all this has been framed against me? I fled through sheer desperation!

"All those last days, when I was raising the Grenadier, I felt that something terrible would follow! I tried to

calm my fears. I could not. When you came upon the frigate's deck, shouting for my arrest, I could stand it no

"I believe him, commissioner," declared the girl. "I called him here, by telephone. He told me all this."

"It is the truth, commissioner," pleaded Prumbull. "If you will listen further "

"Only that Prumbull is guilty," returned Weed, bitterly. "I've been hiding out, too. But I've had a chance to

read the newspapers. I guessed Prumbull's game. He wants to pin it on me. He could have, until one thing

"You found Borick." Weed grinned, triumphant. "You learned enough to know that he was in it. That proved

me innocent; because I wasn't needed. I was the fall guy, who followed Borick on the job."

"Because I wanted to trap Prumbull," returned Weed. "I knew he used to come to this hotel for lunch. I

thought he might be stopping here. Tonight, I took a chance and came here. I'd gotten as far as Room 616,

Baybrook spoke to Weston in an undertone. Dorothy knew that the promoter was giving a suggestion that

"I knew there had been trouble aboard the barge," he said. "I feared Prumbull; I wanted to learn the game in

back of it. Daytimes, I watched him. I saw him meet Cray; they came here to talk business.

"They argued heavily. I figured that Cray was worried. That's why I went to Tasper's and left my card there. I

wanted Cray to get in touch with me. Next thing I knew, he had been murdered; and Tasper, too."

WESTON was impressed. He turned his accusing gaze toward Prumbull. The professor stroked his chin and

The question startled Weston. Almost spontaneously, he started the statement: "That would prove " Weston

was going to add the words: "your guilt"; but he caught himself. Instead, he demanded:

"I do," insisted Prumbull, "or at least" his expression was wise "I think I do. You see, commissioner, I

Weston finally agreed to the request. The two were to go into the bedroom, but leave the door ajar, with

Cardona watching. As soon as Dorothy accompanied her father into the inner room, Joe took up his guard,

The words that passed were inaudible, but Cardona was sure he heard mention of the name "The Shadow"; it

made him remember that The Shadow had been here. Joe wondered how much The Shadow had learned.

Joe asked himself that question, and decided that the professor's shrewdness was that of an insane murderer.

When Prumbull and Dorothy came from the inner room, Joe expected the professor to propose some

crackpot plan. He was not prepared, however, for the absurd suggestion that came.

"My daughter and I must leave here alone," declared Prumbull. "We wish to make sure about the stolen gold.

Calmly, Prumbull. picked up hat and coat and made to start from the suite. So astounded were the listeners

that they watched him go almost to the entry door, Dorothy with him. It was Weston who made the

"Such absurdity!" exclaimed the commissioner. "You want to leave here to begin another flight!"

"I have asserted my innocence," argued Prumbull. "I desire a chance to prove it."

Weston was too outraged to bluster; he simply gestured the two toward their chairs. Standing by the entry

door, Prumbull and Dorothy had their backs toward the light switch. No one saw the blackgloved hand that

The Shadow's fingers pressed the switch. The room was blotted with unexpected darkness. The door jabbed

Weston bellowed for light; Cardona was afraid to shoot, because the commissioner was in the way.

It was Weed who found the switch and turned on the lights. Blinking, like the others, he stared toward the

door. Prumbull and Dorothy were gone. Weed turned pleadingly, as if to prove his innocence. Weston

The entry, too, was empty. The outer door was jammed. So was the connecting door to 616. It took three

minutes to get a door open, while Cardona was jiggling the telephone hook to call the desk. The house dick

Weston roared commands, as Baybrook and Weed finally loosened the outer door. Like a general, he ordered

Again, pursuit of a fugitive had begun. Strangely, this flight had been managed by The Shadow!

ONCE the way was clear, the pursuers dashed for the elevators. Weston saw the house detective stop to pick

up a hallway phone. Sending the man along, Weston took the instrument and made the call to the desk.

Just as an elevator arrived, the commissioner bellowed that Professor Prumbull had been seen in the lobby;

that he had gone outside and had driven away in a cab. Weston shouted for the chase to continue, while he

Connected with an outside wire, Weston handled those details in a few minutes. He thought that he was alone

in the corridor when he started for the elevators. He paused, mildly surprised, at sight of Lamont Cranston,

strolling toward him. Weston's immediate conclusion was that his friend had come up in an elevator. He

Since others were on the trail, Weston took time out to tell Cranston what had happened. Ruefully, the

"They saw Professor Prumbull leave the lobby and drive away. He escaped as cleverly as before."

"Somewhat handicapped, however," remarked Cranston. "This time, his daughter is with him."

Weston did not catch the subtle purpose of the remark. It made him forget Prumbull and think of Dorothy.

"That's odd, Cranston," mused the commissioner. "What could have become of the girl?"

Cranston's eyes roved along the corridor. They noticed one door that was different from the others; it bore no

number, and it was set farther out. He approached the door and opened it. Dorothy slumped limply into view,

WESTON sprang over to help the girl to her feet. Dorothy looked dazed; she spoke weakly as Weston plied

her with questions. At last, she saw Cranston and smiled. She knew that she could talk, since her friend had

"My father pushed me in there," explained Dorothy. "He did not mean to be so rough. He simply wanted to

"You are his accomplice!" stormed Weston. "I am going to arrest you, Miss Prumbull!"

"Perhaps," observed Cranston, calmly, "Miss Prumbull can tell you where her father has gone. She might

"I can," replied Dorothy, seriously. "My father told me where the gold was, when he talked to me. He expects

me to join him; and he is ready to explain everything. But you must be fair, commissioner; come alone with

"Why not start, commissioner? Leave here in a cab and I shall tell Cardona to follow. Miss Prumbull can

Weston remembered Dorothy's previous determination. He was forced, also, to admit that she had played fair

in her former bargain. He agreed. The trio descended in an elevator to find the lobby deserted. The chase had

There was a streamlined cab outside; as Weston boarded it with Dorothy, he saw Cranston signal along the

"There is Cardona at the corner," was Cranston's remark. "You can start, commissioner."

Evidently, Cranston was purposely mistaken; for there was no sign of Cardona after the cab had started away.

Cranston went back into the lobby, wrote a note and left it for the inspector. That done, he picked up a

briefcase from the corner of the lobby. He went outside and hailed a cab for himself.

IN the streamlined cab, Dorothy had spoken an order to the driver, so softly that Weston had not heard it. The

cab nosed southward, passing patrolling police cars. Every one had scattered in the search for Prumbull.

"Today," informed the girl, "my father received a message. He was told where the gold could be found. He

"In a sense. He was ordered to leave, alone. Since you forbade it, he had to choose flight."

Dorothy's eyes were large and sincere as they met Weston's. The girl was positive as she spoke a name:

Weston's confidence came back. He realized that The Shadow had played an active part throughout the

episodes of crime. Though eccentric, Prumbull could hardly have cooked up a bluff involving The Shadow,

for no one knew that Weston actually recognized the existence of the being in black.

At that moment, Weston was ready to trust Dorothy. Before the commissioner could change his mind, the cab

Dorothy conducted Weston to the rear passage that led to an old, boardedup house. In the darkness, the

heavy door was scarcely visible. Weston and the girl were but dimly outlined against the grayish door, as

Though the door looked formidable, Weston tried it. To his surprise, it opened. Using a flashlight, the

commissioner discovered a musty hallway. There was an opened door at the left. The flashlight showed steps

"The gold must be in the cellar," supplied Dorothy. "Let us go down there, commissioner."

Weston might have hesitated, through caution; but the girl's tone was too brave to brook refusal. The

commissioner led the way; they came to the bottom of the steps. Across the cement floor of the cellar,

They went in that direction, through a short, arched passage of solid stone. There were steps at the bottom;

As the flashlight beamed upon the far wall of the lowroofed dungeon, it showed four metal coffers in a row.

Weston forgot everything else as he rushed to the coffers. There lay the stolen millions, bulging from the new

chests that contained them. Weston's fist pawed deep into the metal. Old coins trickled from his fingers;

"Look at the dates!" exclaimed Weston to Dorothy, as she stood behind him. "This is certainly the treasure

Weston let the last coins fall. He doused the flashlight; mumbled that he heard nothing. A moment later, he

fancied that a footstep echoed through the darkness. Before he could locate it, Weston heard a harsh, ugly

Weston had even lost the location of the passage that they had entered. He recognized the direction as he

heard a click. With that sound, light filled the treasure room. Weston saw a different glitter above the

It was Dorothy who recognized the face above the looming gun. With a tone that showed true anguish, the

girl exclaimed the name of the murderer who had at last shown himself in the light:

GAZE hardened, the promoter stared from the step. His pudgy features no longer showed their friendliness.

"Never mind the explanations," he snorted. "I suppose old Prumbull outran his daughter. So you took his

place. Too bad for you, commissioner. As for Prumbull, I shall finish him later!"

Hands lifted, Weston continued to gape. Baybrook enjoyed the commissioner's amazement. He kept moving

his revolver, to hold Dorothy helpless along with Weston. Coldly, Baybrook announced:

"I murdered Cray! After I robbed the Grenadier, with Borick's aid, I needed to plant the goods on Prumbull. I

knew he was negotiating for Cray's chart. So I bought it outright. Cray thought he had enemies. I encouraged

"I did it too well. He suspected something. He decided to seek Cranston and ask advice. I was trailing him; I

took the first chance to kill him. Why not? As the new owner of the treasure chart, with proof that it was

"The chart was missing. There was another opportunity. You telephoned Prumbull from my apartment, to

learn that he was at a lecture. A servant overheard your order, commissioner, when you removed the guard

from Tasper's. I went there; I killed Tasper, to make it appear that a murderer was still seeking the chart that

Baybrook's lips scowled sourly as his voice halted. His pudgy fight fist loosened; his revolver clattered to the

As Baybrook wavered sideward, Weston and Dorothy saw the cause. Pressing Baybrook was a cloaked

captor. The Shadow, stepping silently from the passage, had arrived to press a cold gun muzzle against the

THAT pressure relaxed. Baybrook turned; his eyes were beady, his arms were quivering helplessly as he

faced The Shadow. The killer's lips could no longer utter words. The Shadow supplied the next statement.

"The evidence lay against yourself, Baybrook." The accusation brought sibilant echoes from the stony walls.

"You waited for Cray to come to you, when any man in your position should have gone to him, after

"A murderer, lurking to kill Tasper, would have entered as soon as the police withdrew. Your attack came

long afterward. You arrived there in just about the time required to travel from your apartment after the

Such was the cold analysis of Baybrook's own statements. Impersonally, The Shadow added further facts.

"The proof was positive the night Weed fled," toned The Shadow. "You cleverly drew a statement from

Professor Prumbull, in which he mentioned Weed. You sent men to Weed to follow and murder him,

"There, Cranston seized you, to draw you to cover. While doing so, he faced your machine gunners. Their

fire did not begin. It could not. They recognized the one man whom they were ordered not to injure. That man

Baybrook's lips delivered a wordless snarl. Denial was useless; other facts unnecessary. Dorothy realized that

it was Baybrook who had thrown the knife on the barge. The murderer had reason to get rid of Cranston, who

To Weston came the memory of the night at Baybrook's, when Cardona had received the report concerning

Borick. Until this moment, Weston believed that Dorothy might have called her father from her hotel; or that

Weed had chanced to visit Borick. The simple fact was that Baybrook had started out to deal with Borick the

"Tonight" The Shadow's tone was sinister "I visited Professor Prumbull. I told him that his daughter had

already approached the house where the gold was hidden; that the murderer's coverup crew had tried to

"That was why Prumbull talked alone with Dorothy, so that you, Baybrook, would think that she had told him

that she knew where the treasure lay. Believing that the two had started here, but that their course would be

"You opened the way to this golden snare. You saw two persons enter. You believed that you had trapped the

pair who knew your secret. Instead, you have proven your game of crime in the presence of New York's

AS The Shadow's denunciation ended, a sudden change struck Baybrook's pudgy face. Beady eyes gleamed;

hard lips began a triumphant leer. Baybrook had caught a sound from the cellar passage.

With a nudge of his gun hand, The Shadow left Baybrook to Weston. The commissioner tugged a revolver

from his pocket, to cover the murderer. The Shadow wheeled up the steps; through the passage. His

automatic blazed an unexpected greeting to the gunmen crew that was sneaking through the outer cellar.

Crooks withered under that barrage. They dashed for the floor above, their revolvers unfired, leaving

sprawled men on the way. The Shadow had emptied his first gun; he was stabbing shots with another. He

Amid his own fire, The Shadow had heard puny barks from Weston's revolver. Baybrook had dived for the

commissioner. If he had taken bullets, they failed to stop him. The pair struggled squarely at the foot of the

stone steps. Dorothy was after Baybrook's forgotten gun; but the girl was too late.

With a wrench, Baybrook plucked the revolver from Weston's fist. He juggled it as he twisted away; caught it

The last shot bored along the passage. The bullet found Baybrook's temple in its path. The killer sprawled

sideways as Weston grabbed him. The revolver clattered; the commissioner snatched it. Covering the

Death showed on Baybrook's upturned face. Lead, not gold, was the metal that the murderer had acquired as

OUTSIDE the old house, guns were booming. Agents of The Shadow had closed in upon the fleeing

coverup crew. Thugs were sprawling, scattering. Those who staggered through to neighboring streets fell

into the hands of arriving police. Joe Cardona had picked up Cranston's message at the hotel.

As Dorothy and Weston came from the house, they met Cardona in the glare of flashlights. Weed was with

Joe; together, they heard the details that cleared Prumbull and pinned the crimes on Baybrook. As they started

A coupe had edged past a patrol car; its door opened, and Professor Prumbull sprang forth to greet Dorothy.

Following instructions from The Shadow, the professor had joined Harry Vincent in the latter's coupe. He had

stayed there, away from harm, until The Shadow's final mission was accomplished.

The coupe barely stopped. As it wheeled away, the door swung wide. Harry reached to close it; a springing

figure stopped his move. From the darkness of the sidewalk, The Shadow joined his agent, to depart in

As the coupe swung the corner, a parting token sounded from the open window. Sinister, triumphant mirth

declared the victory over crime. The chilling mockery trailed as the fleet car vanished.

In the near future, "Brothers of Doom" would be the next to meet the fate that was The Shadow's justice.

Although stern and relentless in his war against crime, The Shadow would allow "Brothers of Doom" to take

part in the titanic struggle between mighty barons of steel before he passed final judgment!