VOICE OF DEATH ............................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. PATH TO CRIME............................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. FROM THE DARK.........................................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. CRIME'S HALFHOUR ................................................................................................9

CHAPTER IV. HALF PAST EIGHT ....................................................................................................12

CHAPTER V. THE LAW'S TRAIL ......................................................................................................15

CHAPTER VI. CRIME'S SNARE........................................................................................................19

CHAPTER VII. TRAILS IN THE NIGHT...........................................................................................22

CHAPTER VIII. CRIME'S RETURN ...................................................................................................26

CHAPTER IX. THE LAW DECIDES..................................................................................................31

CHAPTER X. THE HIDEAWAY......................................................................................................35

CHAPTER XI. HANDS IN THE DARK ..............................................................................................39

CHAPTER XII. CASH IN ADVANCE................................................................................................42

CHAPTER XIII. THE DOUBLE RIDDLE ...........................................................................................46

CHAPTER XIV. TRAILS CONVERGE..............................................................................................49

CHAPTER XV. DIVIDED BATTLE ....................................................................................................53

CHAPTER XVI. THE SHADOW'S VISIT ...........................................................................................57

CHAPTER XVII. MESSAGE OF DARKNESS ...................................................................................61

CHAPTER XVIII. THE VOICE FROM THE PAST ............................................................................65

CHAPTER XIX. CRIME IN DUPLICATE..........................................................................................69

CHAPTER XX. WITNESSED MURDER ............................................................................................72

CHAPTER XXI. WHERE CRIME FAILED........................................................................................75

The man in the phone booth was talking very earnestly, and in emphatic fashion. He was a young man,

handsome in a roughmolded way, with his blunt profile and bulldog jaw. A fighter, too, of the hottempered

variety, as evidenced by the stretch of reddish hair at the side of his tilted hat.

His words passed unheard by persons who were waiting impatiently outside the drugstore telephone booth,

but they were witnesses to the young man's change of manner. As his conversation became more abrupt, his

Concluding his talk, he slammed the receiver on its hook, slashed open the door of the booth, and shouldered

Stopping at the cigar counter, the redhaired chap thwacked down a half dollar and demanded two packs of

cigarettes. The clerk didn't ask the brand; he knew them. Providing the cigarettes, the clerk tried to make

"Yeah?" Lycombe's fist came up as it scooped the change. "What's nice about it?"

The clerk was shrinking away as he made the apology; he seemed to fear that the fist was meant for his jaw.

But Lycombe simply pocketed the change, turned on his heel and strode from the store.

"Nice fellow," observed another customer, to the clerk. "Does he get that way often?"

"Ever hear of Ted Lycombe? The bigtime polo player? That's him. You wouldn't think he was a society guy,

though. The way he's been acting lately" the clerk shook his head "you'd think he was out to murder

Outside the store, Ted Lycombe had cooled a bit. It wasn't that his angry mood had changed; he was merely

taking pains to suppress the visible signs. This street was close to the financial district, where Ted had many

friends. He was deciding that it would be good policy to behave affably, should he meet up with

Ted wasn't anxious for such meetings, however. Pausing to light a cigarette, he glanced in both directions, to

make sure that no one noticed him when he stepped into a parked coupe. Once in the car, Ted sidelonged a

There was a contrast between Ted and the driver; yet, in a sense, they matched each other. Griff was sallow,

crafty of eye, straight of lip. He had a smooth surface quite the opposite of Ted's irked expression. But in

actual hardness, Griff was Ted's equal. As fighters, they were two of a kind, from opposite walks of life.

Ted Lycombe was known for his twofisted tactics among society's upper crust. Griff Conlad bore a similar

reputation in the underworld. Where Ted had gained fame by throwing punches against aristocratic jaws,

Griff was noted for his skill at tossing slugs from a .38 revolver at persons who lacked refinement.

Just how much each admired the other's tactics was a question that only time would prove. It was apparent,

however, that in their brief acquaintance the two had come to see many things from a very similar viewpoint.

IT was Griff who opened conversation, as he piloted the coupe into traffic and chose an uptown direction.

"How did you make out with Gern?" queried Griff. "Did he hand you the same stall?"

"Did you tell him" Griff's tone was hardening "that it would be too late, then?"

Griff noted that Ted's tone had eased. But a side glance showed that his companion's chiseled face had lost

"In my opinion," affirmed Ted, bluntly, "Sherwood Gern is a firstrate swindler. The mining stock that I

bought from him was too sure a bet not to come through. The only answer is that Gern is holding back on the

"Twentyfive grand is a lot of potatoes," he said. "Plenty of guys have lammed for that much dough."

"I'm counting on you to see that Gern stays in town," reminded Ted. "But I'll give him the week he says he

Ted nodded. There was a merciless expression on his lips, the sort of smile that Griff liked to see. In Griff's

opinion, Ted had the making of a big shot in the realm of crime. He was willing, too, to bet that Ted

All he needed was the first step; with that redhot disposition of his, Ted would go a long way. Griff was

counting on it, for he could foresee great profits to himself, through his acquaintance with Ted, should the

Such a decision wasn't likely with a man like Ted, if he had a lot to lose. But matters were shaping definitely

"I've got to have money," insisted Ted, abruptly, "to pay off Frank Barstead. There's a chap who would take a

blue ribbon at a rat show! I've found out why he loaned me the five thousand that I needed to carry me over."

"That's it," nodded Ted. "As soon as he had my signed note, he let me know that he was interested in Marian

"Barstead is due for a haymaker, all right. But I'd rather give it to him after I pay up. Unless "

A sharp glint came to Ted's eyes; his lips showed more than contempt for Barstead. Then, in his blunt

"Let me out of here at the corner. I'll walk over to Barstead's place. You drive to the bookie's and find out

WALKING a few twisted blocks, Ted Lycombe came to an old house that had been converted into an

apartment building. It was a relic of Manhattan common to this section of Greenwich Village.

High steps ran above the entrance to a tea room. The steps ended in a vestibule, where four push buttons had

Two of those, the firstfloor apartments, were blank. They had been occupied by artists, whose ideas of

backrent payments had not satisfied new owners of the building. The buttons that signified the secondfloor

Pressing both buttons, Ted waited. He knew that the automatic door was probably out of order. His

assumption proved correct, when the door was opened by a frail young man with tired face, who gave a

Ted returned the smile. The fellow was Archie Freer, one of Barstead's set. Ted had once threatened Archie

with a needed poke on the chin, which had worried the chap ever since. Inquiring if Barstead happened to be

"But he doesn't want to see me?" interrupted Ted. "Come along, Archie, and see the fun."

They reached Winrow's apartment, the rear one at the end of a long hallway on the second floor. Frank

Barstead, swarthy and darkhaired, met Ted with a scowl that turned into a rather nasty smile. He swung to a

"Go right ahead, Winrow," ordered Barstead. "I'd like to see the pictures, with the sound effects. I'll be

Guy Winrow went ahead. His apartment was something of a studio, cluttered with movie projectors,

phonographs and radio cabinets, along with filing cabinets, boxes, and a variety of junk. It resembled a

broadcasting studio more than anything else, inasmuch as Winrow was a radio technician.

"Well, how about it, Ted?" queried Barstead, coldly. "That note is due tomorrow. Are you prepared to lift it?"

"I've had enough of Gern's promises," broke in Barstead, angrily. "I'm giving you a last chance! I want my

He shoved a fist in front of Barstead's face. Winrow, turning from a recording machine, saw the gesture and

sprang in between. Ted thrust him aside, spilling an armful of records that the fellow carried. Barstead

"No?" queried Ted, "I happen to know more than you think. Marian says that you're backing Winrow in some

crackpot radio deal. She thinks you're bighearted. Just part of the buildup, I suppose, so you can blast me

"You brought her into it. On a cash basis. You were willing to take a chance on five thousand dollars, if you

FISTS clenched, Barstead heard the accusation; then he strode from the room. Archie hurried out ahead of

His own fists tightening, Ted gave an ugly laugh; then relaxed. Cooling, he helped Winrow gather up the big

"I'm sorry, too," assured Winrow, "if I've made trouble for you. When Frank offered me financial aid, I didn't

"He doesn't. Frank's got cash to burn. Say, Winrow" he slapped the pale man on the back "mind if I use

Winrow had no objections. Ted called Marian, arranged to meet her at eight o'clock that evening. While Ted

Coming out through the long hall, Ted stopped; looking through the open door, he faced Barstead, who

"I'll see you later, Frank," suggested Ted. "When we're both in a better mood, we can talk this over."

"Only money talks," retorted Barstead. "Bring the cash, and I'll return your note. I'll be here until eight thirty

Leaving Archie and Winrow as a background, Barstead stepped forward and slammed the door in Ted's face.

Dusk was gathering when Ted reached the street. His face was wrinkled in thought.

Ted Lycombe liked risks. He was considering a path to crime, but in a light that made it a game.

Crime, Ted Lycombe was to learn, could prove a far greater problem than his present one, when it was

pinned upon a person. Before this night was ended, he would find that such a path promised a oneway

AT a quarter of eight, a cab swung into a side street in the Seventies and stopped at a secluded hotel called

the Wessex. The man who alighted was tall, of imposing build and manner. His face was broad and florid, a

Along with dignity, however, he possessed shrewdness, evidenced by the way he glanced along the street as

he paid the cab driver. The florid man was noting a lowbuilt sedan, that had pulled into the same street and

parked across the way. It was odd that such a car should be haunting this secluded neighborhood.

A cab came into sight, stopped in the hack stand that fronted the Wessex. Its driver lolled back, to await a

customer. The florid man eyed the cab suspiciously, as he had the sedan; then, satisfied that it was empty, he

Men were crouched in the sedan across the way. The one behind the wheel was Griff Conlad. His reason for

being in this vicinity was simple. The man who had gone into the Hotel Wessex was Sherwood Gern. Griff

"Slide out, Peeper," undertoned Griff, to a little man beside him. "Get across and take a gander into the lobby.

Spot Gern, and watch where he goes. And steer wide of that hack that just pulled in. Don't let the jockey lamp

Like Gern, Griff took it for granted that the cab was empty. He was wrong. It contained a passenger that even

Mysterious fighter who battled crime, The Shadow was always on the lookout for undercover evil. He had

agents who patrolled the underworld; they brought him facts that never reached the grapevine, that

So well did The Shadow keep tabs on such developments that crooks seldom realized how early he had

learned their game. They usually took it that The Shadow's arrival on scenes of crime was a matter of sheer

Recently, Griff had begun to assemble a small, handpicked mob. The men he selected were taciturn, like

himself. With connections of their own, they formed a nucleus that could be built into a powerful

Learning of the mob's existence, The Shadow had undertaken to observe its development. This evening, he

had followed the crooks, and had already learned their present motive. Griff and his mob were trailing a man

When it came to such tactics, The Shadow was far ahead of specialists like Peeper. While the little man was

giving the cab a wide berth, a door opened on the curb side. Into a stretch of darkness, just short of the lights

from the lobby, glided a blackcloaked shape that seemed immediately swallowed by the dingy walls of the

Gliding under the grimy shelter, The Shadow followed the wall as effectually as a creeping cloud of smoke.

Like a puff dispersed by a gust of wind, he was gone when the lights of a passing car happened to sweep

along the sidewalk. The Shadow had picked a darkened passage beyond the side wall of the Wessex.

Surprisingly soon, the cloaked investigator was entering a littleused doorway on the rear street. From an

alcove past the elevators, he was surveying the lobby of the Wessex from a far better viewpoint than any that

The lobby was gloomy, almost deserted. Gern was seated in a corner, unobtrusively smoking a cigar; a clerk

was drowsing behind the desk. An operator was standing patiently in the elevator.

The Shadow noticed that Gern glanced occasionally in that direction. There were intervals, though, when the

OBVIOUSLY, Gern was waiting for someone to come down to the lobby. His surprise was apparent, when

he heard the clatter of high heels coming in from the front entrance and turned to see a very attractive girl

She was slim and shapely; a pert brunette, whose sparkling blue eyes and serious lips told that she had

The girl stopped at the desk, asked for the key to 816. The sleepy clerk was giving her the key, when Gern

"Good evening, Miss Farris," said the promoter. "You may not remember me. My name is Sherwood Gern."

Turning at the first words, Marian Farris was forming a winsome smile of greeting, when she heard Gern's

name and recognized him. Instantly, her lips straightened. Her eyes were as cold as her tone.

"I should like to talk with you," insisted Gern, in an earnest voice, as he drew a bundle of papers from his

"If you have business with Mr. Lycombe," returned Marian, "I suggest that you discuss it with him."

"But you know how Ted is," argued Gern. "He will never listen to reason, when he telephones me. I cannot

invite him to my office, for fear he will break up the furniture. He wants money "

"I can hardly blame him," put in Marian, icily. "I understand, Mr. Gern, that many persons have lost money

Gern shook his head, as he followed Marian toward the elevator. He began a most persuasive speech.

"Some customers lose on speculations, yes," he declared, "but the stock that Ted bought is good. If you will

only wait, Miss Farris, while I go over the full details and all the correspondence, you can convince Ted for

"I've given you thirty seconds," she declared. "That's all the time I can spare. I'm to meet Ted for dinner, and

I'm likely to be late, since I still have to dress. I shall tell him that I met you. Good evening, Mr. Gern."

The girl entered the elevator; the operator closed the door. Gern gave a shrug; glanced hopelessly at the

grinning clerk. Then, noting that he was near an exit to the rear street, Gern's cautious look returned.

Remembering the suspicious sedan that he had seen out front, he left by the rear way.

Gern didn't see the blackness that glided to the street ahead of him. Reversing his course through the passage,

The Shadow reached the cab in the front street. No one saw him enter, but the driver heard his whisper and

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

was always at his service. With the cloaked passenger on board, Moe acted as though tired of waiting for

fares that did not come. Abandoning the Hotel Wessex as a parking place, he started away.

From the cab window, The Shadow saw Peeper sneak back across the street to tell Griff that Gern had left the

THE SHADOW was prepared to drop from Moe's cab and let it pick up Gern, when the florid man came into

sight. With Moe at the wheel, The Shadow could not only learn exactly where Gern went; he was confident

But Gern had already found a cab; he had stopped one at the corner of the rear street as it came along the

Remaining in Moe's cab, The Shadow told his speedy driver to follow. After a dozen blocks, it became

apparent that Griff had lost the trail, for his sedan did not appear. The Shadow decided to learn Gern's

In her room back at the Wessex, Marian was hastening to keep her date with Ted. Laying fresh clothes upon

the bed, she undressed rapidly and took a hurried shower. Returning, wrapped in a large bath towel, Marian

put on her wrist watch, gave a surprised gasp when she noticed it was almost eight o'clock.

Ted liked her to be punctual; she had been late too often recently. Putting on stockings and shoes, she slid

gracefully into pinkish stepins. She was adjusting flimsy shoulder straps of a long slip, when she heard a

Before Marian could think about screaming, a man was inside the room. He had spotted the girl instantly, was

covering her with a revolver. His eyes were hard, his sallow lips snarly, as he gave a command for silence.

This was Marian's first meeting with Griff Conlad. She started to raise her hands, then clutched at the silken

Griff relieved the embarrassing situation. He had turned to peer around the room, as if looking for another

"Never mind hoisting the mitts. Just stay as you are, and answer questions. Where did that guy Gern go, after

Griff paused beside the window, glanced downward, to make sure there was no roof below. Realizing that

"Since you want to know," he said, "I'll tell you. The guy that sent me was your boy friend, Ted Lycombe!"

THE smoothness of Griff's tone made Marian half believe him. She knew Ted's mistrust of Gern; moreover,

she wasn't surprised that Ted should have a friend like Griff. Ted judged men by their brawn and nerve;

"My name is Griff Conlad," he told Marian, in the frankest tone that he could summon. "You ask Ted about

me; he'll tell you I'm a right guy. He put me on the job, to make sure that Gern don't clear town."

"Then why not look for Gern?" queried Marian, her calm restored. "If you're supposed to watch him "

She broke off. The door was opening again; Peeper's leering face came through the opening. Seeing Marian,

the lookout widened his grin and peered toward Griff, who stepped promptly to the door.

"Outside, Peeper," Griff ordered, "and douse those lights in the hall. Keep the other guys out of sight, until I

While Griff was closing the door, Marian slid her arms into the shoulder straps. She was reaching for other

"Sorry, lady," he said, "but there's no use of getting dressed up, until I find out where you're going."

"He didn't tell me so," returned Griff, pocketing the revolver and lighting a cigarette. "That's why you're

"Good enough," inserted Griff. "Then Ted will call up and find out what's keeping you. I'll help you explain

Deciding that it was best to humor Griff, Marian coiled herself in an armchair and lighted a cigarette of her

"Ted and I see things alike," he said. "We don't like twotimers. Peeper says you weren't talking to Gern

long; maybe you told the guy off, like you ought to. But there's a chance that Gern is the guy you made the

date with. If he is" Griff's tone hardened "you'll be hearing from him instead of Ted."

Marian began to understand. She eyed Griff rather sympathetically. In his crude way, he had merit;

Lighting another cigarette, Marian glanced at her watch, saw that it was nearing quarter past eight. She could

The telephone bell rang. Griff tilted his revolver from his pocket, pointed across the room.

Gladly, Marian obeyed; but she had hardly spoken a hello into the telephone, before her face reddened.

Firming her lips, she tried to brave out the unexpected situation that confronted her.

The voice on the wire belonged neither to Ted Lycombe nor Gern. The speaker was Frank Barstead!

IN a halfdrunken, but persuasive, tone, Barstead was suggesting that he and Marian go out together. He was

tired waiting for some friends, he said, and he could call for Marian in about fifteen minutes. As Barstead

"Sorry, Frank," she said coldly, "but I have a date tonight... Yes, with Ted, of course... That's quite enough,

Marian cut off the rest of Frank's epithets by slamming down the receiver. Then, close to her ear, came

another voice, harder than Barstead's. Griff was putting in his say, his gun raised from his hip.

"Did I call you a twotimer?" queried Griff. "I ought to have said tripletimer! Knowing Gern is bad enough,

but Barstead is even worse. I ought to pump you full of lead, and tell Ted about it afterward."

For a moment, Marian shrank from the cold steel of the gun muzzle that pressed against her midriff. Then,

with a sneer, Griff whipped away the gun and swung about to thrust his free hand forward. Clamping fingers

With a quick wrench, the girl wheeled away, swung her right hand forcibly at Griff's head and launched the

Griff saw the missile coming and dived in the opposite direction. It wasn't his own quickness that saved him;

it was the telephone cord. The wire stopped the heavy instrument, inches short of its mark.

Coming to hands and knees, Griff aimed savagely, as Marian scrambled across the room, giving her first

Then, hard upon both shriek and shot, came the inswinging clatter of the door, accompanied by a sound that

made all others seem puny. It was a laugh, mocking, challenging, that came from the open doorway. Fierce

Only Griff's lips managed to move, as his eyes saw the figure in the doorway a tall intruder cloaked in

black, whose burning eyes, peering from beneath a slouch hat brim, had the same glint as his leveled

Slowly, steadily, the tall rescuer advanced. With each pace that The Shadow made, Griff's smoking gun

jogged downward. Angling across the room as though pivoting on the gun that he kept aimed toward Griff,

The Shadow was coming between the crook and the girl, when Marian gave another scream.

It wasn't a frightened shriek; it was a warning. Unnecessary, for already The Shadow had turned. Still

keeping his gun toward Griff, he had produced another, aiming it toward the doorway. A finger pressed its

The foremost attacker sprawled, his gun leaving his hand as he tried to fire. Others, spreading inward, would

have met the same disaster, if Peeper, in the midst of the throng, hadn't pressed the light switch.

As sudden darkness filled the room, there was the clatter of furniture, the blasting of guns.

Marian could hear The Shadow's laugh, triumphant in the blackness. Darkness made the type of battleground

that The Shadow relished. With Marian's life at stake, the cloaked fighter was using closeup tactics, to keep

Not realizing that The Shadow was trying to clear the room and send the crooks along their way, Marian

Knowing that she could be of no assistance while in the room, the girl came up beside the bed, gathered up

Marian took the stairway downward. The gunshots had not been heard in the lobby; the hotel employees

They gawked as the girl streaked across the lobby, her dress under her arm. But Marian did not stop to tell

them the trouble; nor did she realize the actual scantiness of her costume, until she had reached the front

MARIAN was a half block from the hotel when she halted helplessly, staring at the dress she carried,

At that moment, Moe's cab pulled up beside her; its door swung open. Hearing the matteroffact question:

Naming the corner where she was to meet Ted, Marian stammered that she didn't have her purse with her, but

that the fare would be paid when the cab reached its destination. Moe's nonchalant nod indicated that he took

With the cab as a dressing room, Marian realized that she could be fully attired by the time she met Ted; yet

Marian was thinking of The Shadow; her flight, perhaps, had helped his battle, but to desert him utterly was

out of the question. As the cab swerved the corner, Marian was leaning forward to tell Moe to halt, when she

She saw Griff Conlad bolting from the hotel, carrying a useless gun, with Peeper close at his heels. Behind

The Shadow had routed them; they had left a pair of their tribe upon the field of fray. Moreover the victorious

For Marian, craning from the cab, could see a blackcloaked figure at a window on the third floor of the

hotel. Though the shape was vague against the background of Manhattan's glowing sky, there was nothing

It was a taunt that spurred crooks on their way; a virile mockery that warned them against taxing The

Somehow, the girl felt that she was still under the protection of her blackcloaked rescuer; which, in fact, she

Glancing at her wrist watch, Marian saw that it was half past eight. Crime's halfhour was over, so far as she

was concerned. Twenty minutes more, she would be meeting Ted at the usual corner, telling him the story of

Marian was beginning to wonder just how and why Ted and Griff had come to strike up such a fast

acquaintance. Perhaps she wouldn't have wondered, had she known the real motive behind the friendship. It

didn't occur to Marian that her halfhour delay could have helped crime elsewhere.

Nor did the fact strike Moe. The cabby was glad that The Shadow had doubled back to the Wessex, after

But Moe had never heard of Ted Lycombe, the man who had set Griff to follow Gern, nor of Frank Barstead,

Newly upon the trail, The Shadow had still to learn those names, and others; until he did, he could merely

challenge crime when he encountered it. But behind the parting laugh that Marian had heard were thoughts

Only The Shadow could have divined that he had taken the trail too late to prevent some heinous deed,

WHILE Marian Farris was beginning her cab trip from the Seventies, another cab was stopping in the vicinity

of Eighth Street, not many blocks from the corner where Marian usually met Ted Lycombe.

The cab contained Archie Freer and two friends, who were calling for Frank Barstead at his Greenwich

Winrow answered the downstairs door; for Barstead had made a stooge of Winrow, and usually assigned him

But Guy Winrow was in a nervous state that actually alarmed Archie. The pale man was trembling like a leaf;

"I'm thankful you're here!" he gasped. "Your friends as well as you, Archie. You may all be needed. Come

"Ted Lycombe came here," replied Winrow. "Maybe he's sober, but Frank is drunk. They're at it so hot and

Already savage voices could be heard, coming through Barstead's open transom. Ted had finished some

violent statement and was giving Frank the floor. Barstead's words were loud, but maudlin and incoherent, as

Nerved by the presence of others, Winrow rapped cautiously at the door of Barstead's apartment. Archie's

friends didn't think he was knocking loud enough, but Archie waved them back when they objected.

"It's the only way to handle Frank," informed Archie. "He gets mad and won't open the door at all, if you

Winrow was pounding harder; he paused, rubbing his knuckles, as the listeners heard the argument reach a

"Or you'll blast me to Marian," came Ted's sharp interruption. "If you suppose she "

Ted's pause was accompanied by the scraping of a chair. Hard upon his final word came Barstead's drunken

It was too late; a chair tumbled; then, amid a scuffle, came the stab of two shots, muffled, as if fired from a

There was the thudding of a body; with it a halfshrieked groan that might have come from any dying man's

lips. At that moment, no one could have sworn which was the victim: Ted Lycombe or Frank Barstead.

Pounding violently at a door that he couldn't break, Archie heard a mad scramble in the room. There was a

"He's going out by the balcony!" yelled Archie. "Help me, you fellows! We've got to stop him!"

It was Winrow who yanked a big fire extinguisher from the wall. Archie and another drove all their weight

Staggering into the room, Archie nearly tripped over Barstead's body, which lay between an overturned chair

Across the room wore the wideopen French windows. Outside was the rail of an iron balcony, with only a

short drop to the courtyard below. The murderer's route was obvious; as apparent as the fact that Ted

FOR Barstead was definitely dead, as Archie learned when he stooped above the body. Two bullets had

pierced his chest at close range, accounting for his instant death. Blood stained the victim's shirt front a

Guy Winrow was still standing in the hallway, paler than ever as he gazed at Barstead's body. He was

moaning that he ought to have called the police when he heard Lycombe and Barstead begin their argument.

Cooler than Winrow, Archie suggested that calling the police would still be a good idea.

"Better phone them from your studio," said Archie. "The less we do around here, the better. Don't touch

Winrow hurried away to make the phone call. Archie approached the balcony. Suddenly, he spied something.

It was a cigarette case, tilted between two uprights of the balcony. It glimmered silver against the light from

Barstead's living room, and it had initials on it, though Archie did not stoop close enough to identify them.

"It's Ted's, all right," decided Archie, grimly. "He must have lost it when he cleared the railing. Too bad he

didn't drop the gun, too. But I don't suppose it will matter. We have enough proof against him."

His companions agreed. Their arrival, though too late to save Barstead's life, had at least been timely enough

Ted Lycombe had not known that they were due; nor that Guy Winrow had overheard the earlier portion of

the dispute. Archie's smashing tactics at the door had been loud enough to alarm anyone, which accounted

By now, Winrow was back from the rear studio. He had called the police and given them the address. There

was nothing to do but wait; the law would take over shortly. Archie suggested that they all join Winrow in

He left the room exactly as it was, except for a drink of liquor that he poured from Barstead's bottle into a

The only man who spoke at all was Archie Freer; he gave brief, disjointed sentences, describing Ted's

altercation with Barstead earlier in the afternoon; statements that Guy Winrow corroborated with weak nods.

Barstead's death was a case of coldblooded murder, delivered swiftly and impulsively. Whether or not the

killer believed his crime unwitnessed, was another question. Certain it was that Ted Lycombe, if

apprehended, would deny the deed; for he had no way of knowing that his voice had been recognized through

But crime, unbeknown to Archie and others, went far deeper than the murder of Barstead indicated. Ted

Actually, Frank Barstead had been slain as the result of a premeditated scheme, which paved the way to

newer and bigger crime. Of all who might investigate this murder, only one could pierce the surrounding

THOUGH minutes dragged before the law arrived, the waiting period was actually quite short. First on the

scene were members of a radio patrol; they had scarcely taken over before a more important official

He was Inspector Joe Cardona, ace of the Manhattan force. A stocky, swarthy man, Cardona looked efficient,

and was. His steady eyes took in every detail; his poker face betrayed nothing that was in his mind.

Cardona heard the testimony of the witnesses, while a police surgeon was examining Barstead's body. Facts

in the case fitted like tongues and grooves. Among them, the witnesses remembered everything that they had

heard: Barstead's demand for his money, the mention of Marian, the threat that Lycombe had given and made

Sending the witnesses into Winrow's studio, where they remained under the surveillance of patrolmen,

One bullet, the doctor stated, had drilled Barstead's heart; the other had been close enough to the vital organ

With the physician gone, Cardona checked on every detail. He began with the hallway door; found that it

The door was shattered, but the lock was in good enough condition. It had a little knob that threw a

welloiled bolt within the door itself. Slight pressure of Cardona's fingers sent the catch to its place in a

Whether Lycombe or Barstead had locked the door was a question, but immaterial. Neither had made any

effort to go out through the hall. The important point was that the locked door had kept Archie and the rest

The chairs told it. One chair was skewed back at an angle toward the center of the room. It must have been

Ted's chair, the one that witnesses had heard scrape. The other chair Barstead's was overturned, and

From the position of the body, it was evident that the murderer must have sprung forward and blasted the

victim as the latter rose. Barstead's backward stagger had bowled over the chair, before the gunshots,

The shots, muffled in sound, were in keeping with the surgeon's examination. According to the doctor, the

Cardona noticed the radio cabinet and shrugged. It could scarcely matter if Barstead had been listening to

some program when Ted arrived. Nonetheless, Cardona checked the matter, found that the radio wasn't

Pacing across the room, Joe studied the French windows. They had evidently been closed for a long time, for

the bolt was rusted and the curtains dusty. The balcony rail showed no traces of Ted's hop across it, nor did

the courtyard give evidence of a landing, when Cardona studied the smooth cement with a flashlight.

But there was evidence between the rail posts: the cigarette case that Archie had seen but had forgotten to

mention. Picking it up with a pencil that he inserted between its partly opened halves, Cardona studied the

The case contained some cigarettes, of a brand called Queens, but it showed no fingerprints. Cardona didn't

expect them. He knew that when a cigarette case was put back into a pocket, fingerprints were invariably

smudged or wiped clean. But the initials on this silver case were as good as any prints.

Those initials were "E.J.L."; they stood for Edward Jennings Lycombe, which, Cardona had learned, was

Cardona had already noticed smoked cigarettes in ash trays. The stubs in Ted's tray were Queens; those near

Barstead's chair, a brand called Turkish Harems. Wrapping the cigarette case carefully in a handkerchief,

JOE found the witnesses perched among the junk. The place was certainly a mess, with its old radios and

studio equipment. Winrow also went in for photography, as a motionpicture projector and a hanging screen

Stumbling over wires that ran along the floor, Cardona reached the other side of the room and faced the

Archie began to say something about a cigarette case that he had noticed on the balcony. Cardona silenced

him and repeated the question. It brought headshakes; no one recalled Ted's favorite brand.

Everyone answered. Barstead's brand was Turkish Harems. That, of course, identified Queens as Ted's. But

Cardona was thoroughgoing. Unwrapping the cigarette case, he asked if anyone could identify it. Joe didn't

Winrow remembered that Ted carried a cigarette case. Archie Freer thought he did, but wasn't sure. But when

Cardona let them see the initials, both assumed that the case was Ted's. It was Archie who declared that

Marian Farris would surely know, and that she could also name the brand that Ted smoked.

Cardona stepped to Winrow's telephone, paused there, to look from Archie to Winrow.

"You two said something about an argument this afternoon," recalled Joe. "One between Lycombe and

They agreed that it was. Prompting each other, Winrow and Archie managed to give enough details of the

"Ted had it in for me, but I didn't wholly blame him. He knew that Frank was spending money on my

synchronized projector, and therefore was dunning him for the note. But he got over that idea."

"Because of Marian. Frank wanted to put Ted in a spot where Marian would give Ted the goby and take up

Cardona began to mutter, as he always did when a woman became a paramount issue in any murder case.

Among his mumbles, he used the French phrase "Cherchez la femme," mispronouncing it so badly that

"I haven't gotten far with it," said Winrow, ruefully. "What I'm trying to do is gear up miniature motion

pictures with recorded radio programs, to make them suitable for television broadcasts. Small studios could

"Never mind," interrupted Cardona. "What I want to talk about is this Farris girl. Do you know where she

Dejectedly removing a record that he had placed on a phonograph, Winrow put it back in its box and nodded.

Cardona picked up a telephone book. He didn't need it, for Winrow, removing a film from the movie

"Ted always called Miss Farris from here," he said. "He called her this afternoon and made a date for eight

Cardona decided to call the Wessex on the chance that Marian still was there. She wasn't, but when Cardona

announced who he was, people at the other end gave him plenty of surprising details. Slamming down the

"There was a lot of shooting up at the Wessex!" exclaimed Joe, "The Farris girl was mixed in it. She beat it

out of the hotel wearing half her clothes, or less, and carrying the rest. We've got to find her. If only "

BLACKNESS streaked the floor, creeping in beneath the light. Cardona turned suddenly to the doorway; then

lost his challenging pose. It was only a shadow; the man who cast it was standing in the doorway.

Cardona recognized him as Lamont Cranston, close friend of the police commissioner.

Tall, leisurely of manner, Cranston had calm, masklike features, that formed a hawkish silhouette when

viewed in profile. He had a habit, too, of strolling in upon scenes like this, although his arrivals usually

"Hello, Mr. Cranston," greeted Cardona. "You're looking for Commissioner Weston?"

"I was to meet the commissioner at the Cobalt Club," he said in eventoned fashion, "but a message arrived

requesting him to come here, so I supposed that word might have reached him elsewhere."

"I sent the message," explained Cardona. "But I haven't been able to reach the commissioner anywhere."

Then, partly to impress Cranston, Cardona swung to the witnesses and began a summary of the case. He read

off testimony from his notes, covering the argument of the afternoon, then came to the more detailed matter

Cranston, listening idly, heard four witnesses corroborate the statements that they had already given. He

heard Cardona's own checkup of the murder scene; saw the cigarette case when Joe again displayed it. By

the time Cardona was through, Cranston had a thorough knowledge of the known facts.

Indeed, he could have added some details of his own, when Cardona came to the matter of the gun fray at the

"We've got to find that girl," insisted Cardona, "because she is our one lead to Ted Lycombe. If you don't

know where they were going to meet" Joe was speaking to Winrow "maybe you can tell me where they

"Probably to dinner somewhere," returned Winrow, brightly. "Yes, I think that Ted said something about

"Somewhere in the Village, I guess. At one of the places where I used to go with Frank and Ted, when the

"You know the places, Winrow," he said, "so you're elected to go with me. I'll leave Sergeant Markham in

Cardona looked toward the doorway, to see how Cranston had accepted this simple, but efficient, plan. But

Cranston, to Joe's chagrin, was no longer there. He had spoken to Archie before leaving. He had told Archie

that he was going back to the club, to await his friend, the commissioner, there.

Though he had left a minute previously, Cranston wasn't out of earshot. He had paused in the hallway,

lighting a cigarette, while he overheard Cardona's decision to make the rounds with Winrow.

Joe's words caused Cranston to drop his leisurely manner. His stride was almost swift, as he headed along the

Only once did he slow his gait; that was when he paused to nod to Detective Sergeant Markham, who was on

Outside, Cranston stepped into a waiting limousine. The big car started slowly away. A whispered laugh

sounded from the interior; the repressed mirth denoted the true identity of Lamont Cranston.

As the big car rolled along, The Shadow slid out a secret drawer beneath the rear seat; but he did not produce

garments of black. Instead, he pulled out a flat makeup kit; a tiny light glittered when he lifted the box lid,

Prepared to remold the features that at present were Cranston's, The Shadow paused to reach for the speaking

"Drive through the Village, Stanley," he ordered. "I'm looking for a place to dine. I'll tell you where to drop

Again, a whispered laugh sounded, unheard by Stanley. The laugh of The Shadow, from lips that no longer

MUROTTI'S RESTAURANT was noted for its spaghetti; the excellence of that dish made up for the dingy

surroundings of the place, which was located in a basement near the heart of Greenwich Village.

Though Winrow hadn't recalled it, Ted had mentioned Murotti's when talking to Marina by telephone, that

The two were dining in a little booth, and Ted was indulging in some caustic comments that annoyed Marian,

"I said eight o'clock!" declared Ted, angrily. "But when do you show up? Not until quarter of nine!"

"Don't tell me that you stopped to dress," interrupted Ted. "That rumpled frock of yours looks as if you'd

been wearing it for a week! I thought we'd agreed, Marian, that we'd always meet on time."

"You weren't at the corner, Ted," she reminded, "when I arrived there in the cab. I had to wait quite a while."

"About two minutes," snapped Ted. "I could tell by the cab meter, while we were riding over here. I'd only

gone down the street to telephone you. Say" he had a sudden reminder "what's gone haywire up at the

Wessex? The fellow on the telephone sounded like a police sergeant handing out a third degree. I had to hang

Again Marian smiled; this time, very sweetly. She had found the rift she wanted. At last, Ted might be

"I suppose that the police are at the Wessex," said the girl, reflectively. "They are probably looking for a

"I talked with several of your friends tonight," remarked Marian. "First, there was Sherwood Gern "

"He met me in the Wessex lobby. He wanted to explain why your mining investment was quite safe. I told

"Was Frank Barstead another of my friends, as you term them? Did he stop in at the Wessex, too?"

"No," replied Marian. "Frank telephoned a little while before I left. But regarding your choice of friends "

"Perhaps not," agreed Marian, icily, "but you could make a worse choice, Ted. I suppose you call Griff

Ted's stare went hard. He reached across the table, gripped Marian's arm in a tight clutch.

"He did," returned Marian, "and if he'd come a few minutes sooner, he would have found me in the shower

bath. Griff has an informal way of opening doors with skeleton keys and walking right in on people."

Marian nodded. She related the details of Griff's visit, flushing angrily as she proceeded. But as Marian's ire

increased, Ted's own face relaxed. He was smiling, chuckling, before the girl had completed her story.

"Griff is all right," assured Ted. "Rough and ready, but a good sort. From what you've told me, he proved it.

Biting her lips, Marian managed to stifle her rising temper. Fully calmed, she nodded.

"Yes, he proved it," the girl conceded, "up until Frank's phone call came. After that well, you can judge for

TED listened while Marian related the details of the battle. He accepted her story sympathetically; still, it did

not shake his trust in Griff. Ted felt that both should share the blame for the fray. When Marian expressed

"Blame Frank Barstead, then," he decided. "Trust that rat to do the wrong thing at the right time. His call

made it look bad for you, so Griff acted tough and overdid it. You got excited and threw the telephone. He

had to shoot when you started to yell, just to scare you. Griff probably didn't aim anywhere near you."

When Ted was in a calm mood, he was always logical; convincingly so. If anything, he was apt to be overly

fair in his judgment. Loyalty was his fault; he made such fast friendships that he was naturally ardent in his

Ted's dislike for such men as Gern and Barstead had always seemed logical to Marion; hence she was willing

to follow the opposite track and see the good points in Griff when Ted depicted them. Thinking it over, she

To cap the situation, Ted told Marian some facts about The Shadow facts that he had gleaned from Griff

The Shadow, it seemed, was death on crooks; a good enough way to be, except that The Shadow, despite his

supernatural pose, was as human as anyone else and therefore apt to make mistakes.

Ted doubted that The Shadow had any quarrel with Griff; he had simply been checking up because Griff and

some pals were moving around town. Like Marian, The Shadow had misunderstood the motive behind Griff's

"Nobody can argue with The Shadow," explained Ted, "except with bullets. Griff and his bunch were on the

spot, and took the only way out. From what I've heard, The Shadow is a lot tougher than the police "

An interruption came from the front of the restaurant. The two waiters who worked in Murotti's were arguing

with some men who had entered. They were gesticulating, shouting in Italian; they looked surprised when

The fellow flashed a police badge as he shouldered forward. Beyond him, Ted saw a pallid, excited face, and

At the same time, Winrow shouted Ted's name, then grabbed the stocky man and pointed.

Adroitly, Joe Cardona collared Ted and slashed a handcuff on his wrist. Coming to his feet, Ted struggled

valiantly to escape; but Joe shouldered him against the side of the booth and managed to land the other half of

"You're under arrest, Lycombe," informed Cardona, gruffly. "You'd better come along."

THE word "murder" had an electric effect. The two waiters shrank toward the kitchen, hoping to get out

before they were arrested, too. A few diners reached for their hats and went out to the street.

Only one customer remained; he was a gloomylooking sort, and was leaning on a table in the opposite

booth, his arms folded in front of him. His eyes were sharp as they peered from his broad; sallow face.

In a position where he couldn't well leave, he took an interest in what was going on.

Except for that observer, Ted Lycombe became the coolest person in the place. But there was something in

his manner that frightened Marian. Ted's coldness was actually a white heat. She had seen him stifle his rage

"I guess you've got a right to inquire," returned Cardona. "You didn't wait long enough to make sure. But

Ted turned to Marian; his steady eyes seemed to flash a message. Speaking to Cardona, Ted asked:

"On Thirteenth Street," replied Marian. "We were supposed to meet there at eight o'clock. I was a trifle late

"At half past eight," inserted Cardona, "you were doing a marathon through the lobby of the Wessex Hotel!

From all descriptions, you were dressed for speed, but you needed to travel faster than a subway express, to

He reached for Ted, yanked the prisoner from the booth, to start him toward the door. Marian's lips were set;

she realized that she should have reserved her alibi until sure that it could stand the test. She was loyal to Ted,

One thing was certain: if questioned regarding the fray at the Wessex, Marian would never admit that Griff

She was wondering, though, why Ted's friend had deserted him. She scarcely noticed that the whiteaproned

waiters had come in from the kitchen and were drawing close. Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught a

flash of metal; an instant later, the foremost waiter was prodding Cardona with a gun.

Marian recognized the hardset face above that weapon; the smooth tone that went with it.

"Up with the mitts, copper!" Griff told Cardona. "You can't grab a pal of mine and expect to get away with it!

Griff paused; he nudged Ted toward the rear of the restaurant. Then, in the same oily tone, Griff completed:

" not unless you want another murder, with a guy named Joe Cardona for the victim!"

TAKING Griff's hint, Cardona let his arms rise. Joe had been in tight spots before; he had a professional way

of handling them. Talking to Ted, who was sidling away, Cardona tried to use persuasion that would save the

"You can't get away with it, Lycombe" Cardona was ignoring Griff "because those handcuffs have you

tagged. You'll stand a chance in court, though, on the selfdefense angle. If Barstead started that trouble "

"Nix, copper," interrupted Griff. "One more peep, I'll drill you! Kind of funny, ain't it, pulling that

selfdefense line. You weren't talking that way until I moved in. Sounds to me" Griff turned his head

Cardona gave an appealing look toward Marian. The girl stretched her hands toward Ted, who jostled them

aside with his elbow. From his action, his expression, Marian feared a hotheaded outburst.

The thug with Griff had shifted forward, to plant a gun against Guy Winrow, who was trembling, begging

"Lay off, Chuck," ordered Griff. "Back up along with me, so we can take Ted with us. He won't have to

They were drawing back, their eyes fixed on Cardona and Winrow. With every back step, the range was

increasing, giving leeway to the helpless men, if they wanted to try a break. Ted was behind his protectors; as

The booth looked empty, but it wasn't. From below the table came a form that lunged suddenly toward the

As he came, his hands whipped out his big guns. The size of those automatics should have identified him, but

the intruder left nothing to doubt. From his disguised lips came the same challenge that Griff and his mobbies

In flinging that mirth before he fired, The Shadow acted with design. He wanted to draw opposing guns his

way, to insure the safety of helpless, unarmed men. His method worked; both Griff and Chuck aimed for him.

Timed to the fraction of a second, The Shadow delivered a double blast before the swinging revolvers were

full upon him. The other guns answered; their shots were wide. The Shadow had beaten both crooks to the

Chuck went down before a gun blast, but Griff did not. Instead, The Shadow reeled as though a shot had

clipped him. Then, suddenly, the witnesses saw the reason. Ted Lycombe had supplied it.

Launching between Griff and Chuck, Ted had met The Shadow headon within the angles of the guns.

Slashing with his upraised handcuffs, Ted had jogged the .45 that aimed toward Griff. Ted's attack produced

Cardona was in it an instant later, his own gun drawn. But Joe was hurtled from the fray into the booth that

Marian occupied. It was The Shadow who shoved Cardona; recoiling, the uncloaked fighter grabbed Winrow

There was method in The Shadow's action. The door from the kitchen was swinging wide. Peeper and a batch

of sharpshooters were beginning a rapid fire. Cover was needed, in order to compete with them. In saving

himself and Cardona, along with Marian and Winrow, The Shadow happened to provide a break for Ted and

AS spreading shots whizzed past the selfstyled pals, Griff grabbed Ted and started him out through the rear

Cardona had been wise enough to bring a plainclothes man with him. The fellow was stationed outside

Murotti's; when he heard the shooting, he popped into sight and opened fire down the middle of the

By rights, that officer should have become an easy target for the crooks who opposed him. Instead, his shots

The reason was that crooks were surging forward to get an angle from which they could fire into the booths.

His booth wasn't bulletproof, though the mobbies treated it as such. It was made of flimsy plywood. Gun

muzzles pressed against the back of the booth: The Shadow was blasting bullets through, spraying his fire

Under that hail, the sharpshooters were falling; four of them reliable torpedoes that Peeper had assembled

after leaving the Wessex. They were going down like tenpins, in the improvised alley formed by the

Screened by the flopping gunners, the little man made a faceabout and dived through the kitchen doorway

after Ted and Griff. Mockery followed him a laugh that did not fade. For The Shadow, out from the booth,

Over the writhing bodies of wounded thugs, through the doorway past waiters who lay bound and gagged, out

Cars were pulling away when he reached the curb; guns were ripping from the windows of those

automobiles. Dropping back to shelter, The Shadow elbowed Cardona into cover and answered the leaden

Luck seemed to serve The Shadow when a taxicab swung in from the corner. Like much of The Shadow's

"luck," this was prearranged. The cab was Moe Shrevnitz's; it had been stationed near Murotti's ever since

Moe had reported the name of the restaurant to which he had taken Ted and Marian.

In fact, if The Shadow had not expected the cab, he could never have performed his next feat. Wheeling

suddenly from cover, he jabbed direct hits that reached gunners in a fleeing car. As revolvers blasted to cut

him off from the shelter of the building wall, he gained a new fortress, this time a moving one.

The cab swerved in as if by clockwork. Its speed cut down as its door swung open. With a hooking sweep of

his free arm, The Shadow caught the post between the front door and the rear, spun himself about and landed

Moe's sharp jab against the brake pedal slapped the door shut automatically; then pressure of the accelerator

spurted the cab forward. The Shadow's guns blasted from a window at a crookmanned car ahead.

Coming up from the doorway where The Shadow had shoved him, Joe Cardona was left bewildered by the

The cruising cab had gulped The Shadow like the whale that swallowed Jonah. The comparison wasn't a bad

one. The term "Jonah" meant ill fortune to any crew that was traveling through a storm, and The Shadow was

just such poison to the crew of crooks that rode ahead. They were riding a storm of bullets!

AROUND the corner, The Shadow put one car out of commission. Crooks dived as their vehicle hit the curb;

they were staggering for cover, all that were able. The Shadow left them to Cardona's mercies. With the cab

Griff's mob was greatly amplified. In coming to snatch Ted from the clutches of the law, Griff had foreseen

trouble, with the prospect of The Shadow being in it. He had three cars, altogether; The Shadow had disposed

Driving the first car, with Ted in the seat beside him, Griff was snarling orders to the men in back, telling

them to hold their fire until The Shadow disposed of the car between. Griff was hoping that the gunners in the

Meanwhile, Griff was making the chase a zigzag one. His method brought him good luck that he did not

expect. Police cars came into the chase from an avenue, whining sirens announcing their identity. Not only

Cardona had spread the word that there were three cars in the caravan, before he learned that The Shadow

had wrecked one around the corner. The officers thought that the cab was part of the fleeing procession. In

their ardor to settle part of Griff's mob, they were putting The Shadow on the spot.

With the first spurt of police guns, The Shadow took a quick look from a window, gave a sharp order to Moe.

The capable cabby threw his whole weight on the brake pedal; the cab gyrated in the center of the oneway

The officers thought it was bound for a brick wall, but they hadn't seen the opening that The Shadow pointed

out to Moe. The cab roared through the doorway of a public garage, where surprised attendants dived from its

A closed door blocked a route to the next street, but The Shadow sized the weakness of the barrier in a single

Moe went straight through. The sturdy cab tore the flimsy door to shreds. As Moe swung against traffic on a

oneway street, The Shadow saw what was left of the garage door. It looked like a paper hoop after a circus

Again, The Shadow was on the trail, but the delay had ended the chances of immediate success. Mobsters

were outdistancing the police; it took Moe's cleverest driving to pick up the route when the law lost it. Even

They were speeding along an East Side avenue beneath the shelter of an elevated railway, where steel posts

Holding his aim until he could get a closer range, The Shadow saw the cars dart into a side street. Moe was

about to make the same turn, when glints from basement doorways told The Shadow that the side street was

A prompt order from his chief caused Moe to make a semicircle around an "el" pillar and keep along the

avenue. Guns barked from the doorways, but the bullets missed. Snipers, stationed to cover Griff's flight,

were aiming in front of the swinging cab, expecting it to come right into their barrage.

Instead, the cab was on its way again, and the only shots that took effect were those that a supermarksman

delivered from the cab window, accompanying the fire with a burst of chilling mockery.

The Shadow's aim nicked the foremost of his foemen; his mirth caused the rest to drop away to deeper

They lost their chance to blast the cab. Instead of running the gantlet of their fire, it reached the next street.

There, encountering a dead end, The Shadow told Moe to reverse his course, keeping wide of the ambush.

By then, The Shadow had garbed himself in black, taking cloak and hat from a drawer beneath the rear seat

of the cab, a duplicate of the secret shelf in the limousine. On foot, The Shadow fared in among the

He was scaling the wall of a little culdesac, when he heard the roar of motors. Two cars spurted out from

an alleyway into a street. Griff was at the wheel of one, another crook driving the other.

Otherwise, the cars were empty, for they were plainly visible as they wheeled beneath a street lamp; but

Griff's beckoning hand was bringing followers from lurking spots along the street.

The Shadow stayed his finger against the trigger of an aiming gun. Chances of clipping Griff with a single

shot were slight, for the headman of the mob was on the far side of the car. One bullet would bring battle, and

It was preferable to let him go for a most important reason. Ted Lycombe wasn't with the throng of

departing crooks. Somewhere among this maze of streets must be a hideaway where Griff had stowed his pal.

It suited The Shadow that Ted Lycombe, wanted for murder, should be out of circulation, in a place that he

thought was safe. It was wise, too, to let Griff Conlad believe that the existence of such a hideout was

Returning to the cab, The Shadow gave a sibilant order to Moe. Carrying the cloaked passenger, the cabby

threaded a skillful course through gloomy streets, heading westward, away from the vicinity of the hideout.

A whispered laugh throbbed from The Shadow's lips, as the cab veered toward the outskirts of Greenwich

Ted Lycombe and his hideaway could wait for future investigation by The Shadow. There were other things

In his quest for facts concerning crime, The Shadow was moving along a different trail.

A TINY light was probing between cramping walls of brick, its concentrated ray focused on a level of

cracked cement. Squatty buildings with oldfashioned roofs blocked off the city's glow, as well as the

It seemed forgotten, as much as deserted, this route The Shadow was tracing; but only recently it had echoed

The Shadow was probing the passageway behind the old house in Greenwich Village in which Frank

There was a chance that the murderer's trail might disclose some clues leading to Ted Lycombe; evidence

that the law had overlooked. The search had not been overly thorough, for the law had already completed its

At spots, mud stained the concrete; but footprints were lacking. Ted must have avoided those oozy puddles,

which, while they were not pitfalls, would at least have troubled him. Near Barstead's place, the path was

The gate, however, was low and offered no real obstacle, despite the pickets that topped it. Carefully picking

a space between the spikes, The Shadow vaulted the little gate and came beneath the iron extension of

There, while his twinkling flashlight uncovered no marks upon the dry cement, The Shadow heard sounds

The Shadow heard the grumbling tone of Detective Sergeant Markham, talking to one of his men.

"Looks like we're due for an allnight trick," declared Markham. "Tough, ain't it, Casey?"

"Yeah," gruffed Markham. "He's not coming back. Neither is that guy Winrow, who belongs in the back

apartment. The inspector don't think he would be safe here. A mob nearly rubbed out Winrow, over at

The news surprised Casey, so Markham related what details he had heard. Winrow not only was scared, and

justly so, but the fellow was important as a witness. Quite as important as Archie Freer, according to

Markham. So Guy Winrow was staying at Archie's apartment, which was under guard.

"They're both safe there," explained Markham. "In a few days, the inspector won't have to worry about them.

By then, Ted Lycombe will know that it won't do no good to bump them, like he did with Barstead. The

Jangling some keys, Markham added that he had locked up Winrow's studio for the night.

Moving from beneath the balcony, The Shadow rounded the rear of the building. Finding crevices in the

brick, he worked his way up to a secondfloor window. It gave easily under pressure, and The Shadow

With his flashlight, he picked his way among devices used for sound effects in recording radio scripts.

Reaching a phonograph, The Shadow gave a whispered laugh. He wanted to get through to Barstead's

Picking up some loose disk records, The Shadow tested them under a needle. Those that gave dialogue, he

The sound became loader; The Shadow cut it off. Getting no results, he tried a record with spoken voices,

lifting the needle at intervals, so that the conversation came in garbled snatches. Pausing, with the needle

Markham had heard the sounds and was coming back to find what they were about. As a key scraped in the

lock, The Shadow gathered loose records; instead of moving toward the box where they belonged, he swung

ENTERING, Markham fumbled for the light switch and found it. Casey was behind him; the two began to

look about. With a quick glide, The Shadow eased out from behind a miniature door set in a frame, a device

used in sound effects. He was only a few feet from the real doorway; he gained the exit without detection.

Following the gloomy hallway, The Shadow reached the front and entered Barstead's deserted apartment.

There, he began to reconstruct the details of the murder, very much as Cardona had.

First, The Shadow closed the heavy door, which still swung on its hinges, despite its shattered condition.

Thingloved fingers were touching the latch knob, as The Shadow's other hand stopped the door just short of

Next, The Shadow viewed the positions of the chairs. He crossed to the balcony, studied the rail and

Returning, The Shadow noted chalk marks on the floor: Cardona had made them to indicate the exact

Satisfied with his brief survey, The Shadow turned to Barstead's radio cabinet and thumbed the dials. Had

music started, The Shadow could have used it to draw Markham back to the front apartment. But the radio

Opening the back of the cabinet, The Shadow saw the glowing tubes. Since they weren't burned out, the

trouble with the radio was, so far, unexplained. Stepping across the thick extension cord that connected the

He wanted to examine the wiring of the radio, yet be ready for a prompt departure, should Markham return.

But The Shadow did not come back from the doorway. His keen ears caught the sounds of voices coming

from Winrow's premises. One voice was an oily tone that couldn't belong to Markham or Casey.

Moving along the hallway, The Shadow peered through Winrow's door from an angle. The scene in the

studio had changed. Markham and Casey were still there, but they were standing with lifted hands, covered

An invading mob had trapped the officers. The leader of the gang was Griff Conlad. Behind him stood

leering thugs; in the background, The Shadow saw the top of a ladder at the open window.

"Just a couple of flatfeet," sneered Griff. "What were you doing around those boxes looking for mice?"

"So this is Winrow's joint," continued Griff, "Well, we're going to wreck it for him, the squealer just to

"I'm going into Barstead's apartment," he said. "Maybe I'll find what I want; maybe not. Anyway, I'll smash

Stepping out into the hall, Griff turned in the direction of Barstead's apartment. In that motion, he failed to

see The Shadow. The cloaked watcher was on the side of the doorway that lay opposite to the direction of

Two of Griff's mobbies gestured Markham and Casey to a corner. The others pocketed their revolvers and

looked about. One picked up a croquet mallet and a thick cardboard carton that were used for sound effects.

The other opened a box of records. They were getting ready to ruin the premises when Griff's signal came.

None noticed the shadowy blackness that crept across the floor, followed by a solid figure that was visible but

briefly. Just inside the doorway, The Shadow made a sideward glide; his tall form dwindled immediately, and

THE men with the guns decided that they could help in the wrecking process, when the time came. One

reached for Winrow's movie projector; the other took a fistful of records from a box.

They were keeping their prisoners covered, but rather carelessly. Well enough for ordinary circumstances, but

From the doorway came a whisper a challenging evasive tone that carried a touch of sinister mirth. Its

pitch, though low, was quivering with the very mockery that crooks had heard less than an hour before.

Swinging, they saw patchy blackness on the threshold, an inky blot that swirled beneath the dim glow of a

Wildly, the crooks blasted with their guns, hoping to riddle a figure that they fancied was beyond the open

A door clattered open. Not the door of the room, but the little one that Winrow used for sound effects.

Launching through the gaping frame came a figure in black, rising to tall proportions. Guns thrust ahead of

Stabbing automatics beat wildaiming thugs to the opening shots. With The Shadow's stabs, the gunners

sprawled, their coughing revolvers jouncing from their hands. Markham and Casey were in action, leaping

The movie projector was smashed, records were broken. One crook was slashing at Markham with a croquet

mallet; the other hurled a box at Casey. Had the situation remained otherwise unchanged, The Shadow could

Things in the shape of reserve mobbies, coming from the open window. One man, Peeper, launched in like a

rubber ball. Another popped to the top of the ladder, to take his place. Both had guns and were ready for The

Shadow. But he had picked the window as a possible source of new attack and was on his way to greet them.

Sidestepping, The Shadow clipped the thug on the ladder with one gun, aimed for Peeper with the other.

There was a shriek outside, as the man on the ladder went thudding to the cement below. But Peeper, rolling

Markham and a grappling thug overturned the floor lamp; its fall brought darkness to the room, except for the

In the melee, crooks were at least accomplishing one intention: they were wrecking Winrow's studio as they

flung things about. Then The Shadow was in the middle of it, sledging blows with his automatics, reserving

He fired twice at the door, as Griff came momentarily into sight; but the mob leader was able to duck away.

Reeling figures intervened to alter The Shadow's aim. In the darkness, they might have been the forms of

Fighters grappled with The Shadow; there was a crackle beneath his cloak. Not The Shadow's ribs, but the

From near the window, Peeper saw The Shadow wheel across the dimlit doorway and yelled to the others.

Planting one gun beneath his other elbow, The Shadow grabbed a microphone stand with his free hand. With

it came a wire that tripped one reeling pair. Shoving the mike beneath the feet of the others, The Shadow sent

They were below the level of Peeper's quick shots, and The Shadow, away from the brawl, was clear of those

bullets also. His answering stabs were wide, because his elbow, clamping one gun, disturbed the aim of the

But the shots were enough for Peeper. The little man went headlong through the window, using the ladder as

FROM his inner corner, The Shadow could distinguish friend from foe against the dim doorway. Driving

toward the hall, he settled matters in favor of Markham and Casey, by slugging down the thugs who grappled

with them. Keeping on, The Shadow went through the hallway to Barstead's apartment.

Along the way, he heard smashing sounds. At the doorway, Barstead's radio cabinet blocked his path. Griff

had flung it there, hoping that The Shadow would trip over it. Instead, The Shadow used it as a bulwark, and

Griff's shots splintered the woodwork of the cabinet, but the interior mechanism stopped the bullets.

Dropping from the balcony, the crook dashed along the outlet to the rear street.

Reaching the balcony, The Shadow heard Griff stumbling over the gate and sloshing through mud puddles. A

roar of a motor told that the mobster was away, taking Peeper and other remnants of the defeated mob.

A ropelike object hung from the balcony rail. Examining it, The Shadow found that it was the extension

cord from Barstead's radio. Griff had used it to cling to the outside of the rail, while waiting for The Shadow.

Leaving the cord and its twisted strands of wire as evidence of Griff's flight, The Shadow took his own path

In place of Ted Lycombe, wanted for murder, Griff Conlad had returned to the scene of crime, to dispose of

clues that the law might add to those already obtained. But Griff's plan of letting mobbies show their spite by

It had given The Shadow more than another victory. It had put him on the trail of further crime. The Shadow

was confident that Ted Lycombe, safe in hiding, would be linked with more deeds than Barstead's murder,

While the law was gathering threads of the past, The Shadow would be looking to the future, making every

IT was late afternoon. Police Commissioner Ralph Weston sat in his spacious office surveying a group of

silent persons, who were listening while Joe Cardona summarized the facts in the murder of Frank Barstead.

Except for Lamont Cranston, who had dropped by to meet the commissioner, the visitors were persons that

Weston had never met before. They were witnesses who would prove useful in the law's case against Ted

One member of the group was hostile: Marian Farris. The girl's eyes flashed angrily, whenever Cardona

referred to Ted as the murderer. When Joe's summary was finished, Marian blurted:

"But no one saw Ted kill Frank. They can't prove that it was anything but selfdefense."

"We are dealing with reliable witnesses, Miss Farris," he said. "Naturally, you wouldn't understand, because

"Griff Conlad," inserted Cardona, when Marian paused. "You had a good look at him down at Murotti's. You

"It might have been Griff," admitted Marian reluctantly. "Still, when I realize how testimony has been used

against Ted, it wouldn't be fair for me to state anything without being quite positive. Surely you must

"I understand, all right," returned Joe. "Your boy friend, Ted Lycombe, wanted you to alibi him. If you'd

reached Thirteenth Street as early as eight thirty, you wouldn't have found him there. So he sent Griff to the

"I feel quite certain, inspector," announced Gern, "that Griff Conlad was on my trail. I saw

suspiciouslooking characters around the Wessex when I stopped there to talk with Miss Farris."

Marian bit her lips. She couldn't repeat Griff's statements that he had been looking for Gern, because that

would conflict with her previous testimony. Out of loyalty to Ted, she had resolved to keep right on denying

Inwardly, the girl felt qualms. She realized, too well, how Cardona's facts fitted. To make sure that Marian

would give Ted a needed alibi, Griff would naturally have concocted another reason for his invasion. Gern

Marian's brain was drumming to the ceaseless tune: "Ted killed Frank. Ted killed Frank " but she couldn't

Ted hadn't wanted her to know that he was going to see Frank for fear that she might interfere. Such was the

Cardona was questioning Gern, asking him about his own transactions with Ted. Gern repeated what he had

"Ted should have given it to Barstead as security," argued Gern. "I can't see why he didn't."

"I'll tell you why!" It was Guy Winrow who spoke. "Frank classed you as a swindler, Gern. You tried to sell

"If I wanted suckers," he said, "Frank Barstead would have been the top man on my list, even if all the rest of

the names began with A. Any man who would back your crazy inventions, Winrow, ought to be your

WINROW jumped to his feet, showing the same spunk as when he had intervened between Ted and Barstead

Cardona shoved Winrow back in his chair, told him to stay there. To equalize things, he reproved Gern.

"No more of that, Gern," warned Cardona. Then, turning to Winrow, the inspector queried: "Barstead was

"You must have found the agreement!" he exclaimed. "Was it in Frank's strong box?"

"Because I arranged it," returned Winrow. "I was fixing his radio one day, and it struck me that there was

Cardona produced a square tin box which Winrow identified as the one in question. From it Joe took a signed

"Griff Conlad would have given plenty for that information," declared Cardona. "He smashed half of

Barstead's apartment looking for this box. He even chucked the radio cabinet in front of the door without

"Here's Lycombe's note for five thousand dollars" Joe displayed the slip of paper as he spoke "and it's

what Griff was after. They knew it was damaging evidence; that's why Lycombe sent Griff to get it. What's

more" Cardona drew bundles of bills from the box "here's seven thousand dollars that those crooks didn't

Marian was on her feet, glaring at the money. Fists clenched tightly, the girl gave her head a defiant toss.

"Since Frank had all that money," announced Marian, "and still wouldn't give Ted another week to pay his

debts, it's my opinion that Frank deserved whatever happened to him. There, commissioner" she turned to

Weston "I've said it! I suppose you'll arrest me for the murder of Frank Barstead!"

There were times when Commissioner Weston was quite tactful; this was one of them.

"Speaking unofficially," he said dryly, "I am inclined to agree with you, Miss Farris."

Then, before the astonished girl could recover her breath, Weston arose from his desk and bowed the visitors

from the office. Cranston went along, stating that he would wait for the commissioner outside.

Guy Winrow left with Archie Freer; the two were accompanied by a plainclothes man, who was serving as

"I thought I ought to wait a few minutes," she said, "so I can apologize to the commissioner and thank him

"The commissioner understands," assured Gern. "As for myself, I am sorry that all this happened. I said last

"I may have been to blame. I insisted on too much time to explain the matter. But I have the mining

correspondence with me" he produced the papers as he mentioned them "and if you will ride with me in a

"What good would the money do?" she asked. "It's too late with Ted wanted for murder."

"He may need a lawyer later on," insisted Gern. "With the proper attorney, Ted's plea of selfdefense might

GRIPPED with a surge of enthusiasm, Marian nodded. She left with Gern, and their departure was observed

Knowing Gern's reputation, or lack of it, The Shadow doubted the man's claim that Ted's money was coming

through. Gern's business deals were shady, though he operated within the law. If the mining stock was like

the other investments that the fellow peddled, there would be a catch in it somewhere.

Naturally, Gern would talk in optimistic fashion; he did that with everyone. In this case, where facts indicated

that one of his swindling schemes had driven a client to commit murder, Gern might actually produce the

cash that he had promised Ted Lycombe. It might cause Gern pain, but he could afford it. He had made

When the commissioner joined him, The Shadow mentioned the matter of Gern while they were riding

"You can take my word for it, Cranston," assured the commissioner, "the stock is good. I went over all the

"I can't understand it myself," admitted Weston with a smile, "unless Gern is worried about his own alibi last

night. He says he went right to the Orchid Club after he left the Wessex. We checked on the matter and found

that he actually was there from about eight fifteen until midnight, but we decided to let Gern worry."

Gern's whereabouts the night before had not disturbed The Shadow. He had personally trailed the fellow to

the Orchid Club and had summoned one of his agents, Harry Vincent, to come there and keep further track.

Harry had reached the club while The Shadow was riding back to the Wessex, and had located Gern

But Weston's argument covering the bonafide stock was not a logical one. Gern had sold the stock to Ted

long before last night, and could not have turned a crooked transaction into a legitimate one to square himself

in an emergency. Sometimes, however, an illogical situation might prove a logical one, if analyzed.

In this case The Shadow could see a logical answer, since it fitted with other circumstances. More facts,

however, would be needed to support it. Meanwhile, Weston was doing his best to interrupt The Shadow's

"Griff Conlad failed utterly last night," chuckled the commissioner. "Even his bluff didn't work."

"Yes," nodded Weston. "First he pried open Winrow's desk, pretending he was looking for something. After

that, Markham reports, he decided to wreck the studio. Such a decision naturally gave him an excuse to wreck

"Griff wanted to cover the fact that he was going to search for Barstead's strong box. He wanted us to find the

apartment wrecked, without letting us realize that anything was missing. But Griff didn't find the strong box;

There was a pause, then Cranston's question: "Just what have you decided to do yourself, commissioner?"

LEANING back, Weston outlined the law's plan. Guy Winrow, of course, would be protected, along with

Archie Freer. It would not be necessary to worry over Sherwood Gern; he wasn't a witness to Ted's murder of

It was highly unlikely that Ted would let Griff trail Gern any longer; last night had ended that policy.

Besides, there was no chance of Gern leaving town at present, which was the thing that Ted had feared.

As for starting an intensive search for Ted Lycombe, the commissioner was against it. He argued that Griff

Conlad would learn of any dragnet methods and get the news to Ted. Nor was a hunt for Griff the answer. If

captured, Griff would claim ignorance of Ted's whereabouts. Hearing nothing more from Griff, Ted would

"Marian Farris is our answer," chuckled Weston in conclusion. "You heard what I said to her, Cranston."

"Yes," replied The Shadow. "She appreciated it. In fact" his tone was the level voice of Cranston "she

"Did she?" Weston thwacked a broad hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's working wonderfully, Cranston!"

Weston did not catch the real significance of that even tone. It meant that Cranston did understand, but had

"We've won the girl's confidence," boasted Weston. "She will never suspect that I have told Inspector

Cardona to watch every move she makes. When she hears from Ted Lycombe" Weston was wagging a

wise finger "as she surely will, she will think it is safe to meet him. With the girl as bait, we shall trap our

They rode the rest of the way in silence. Weston was thoughtless enough to believe that Cranston approved

the unsavory scheme. Actually, The Shadow might have voiced some uncomplimentary comments that

would have terminated the friendship between Lamont Cranston and Commissioner Ralph Weston.

But The Shadow renounced that pleasure. He had learned the course that the law had decided to take; much

though he disliked it, he foresaw its advantage. By all the laws of averages, there would be an interval before

Such a period would serve The Shadow well. It would give him opportunity to trace crime's trail to a finish as

FROM a tiny diamondshaped window in the wall of a cramped room, Ted Lycombe was watching darkness

This wasn't the Manhattan as he had known it with tumultuous traffic, brilliant lights, and gay night spots.

Nor did it resemble the Greenwich Village section, where one sensed life amid the quiet.

Ted's present residence might have been on a rock in the East River, judging by the bleakness of the outdoor

scene. A drizzle was slapping across old roofs, which all looked alike, lowbuilt and dilapidated.

Nevertheless, Ted appreciated his abode. As a snag hideaway, it was well located. The squarish room that

Ted occupied was in an old house on the East Side; a building that had been chopped up into little

Once a mansion, the house had boasted a wide stairway that was no longer used. Ted's room was between

The room had steps leading up and down to blank walls that were not as solid as they looked. Either direction

offered an exit which made the hideout perfect, according to Griff Conlad, who termed it a "twoway

At least, the place was better than a prison cell which would be Ted's next residence, according to the

It wasn't the length of the jail term that bothered Ted; he wouldn't be in prison more than a few months. He

Ted's hand tightened on a gun butt in his hip pocket. His face seemed to darken grimly with the fading light.

The newspapers could talk about the Big House and the hot seat all they wanted. Ted wasn't going to sample

either. He'd shoot his way through any squad of police that tried to take him. If they loaded him with bullets it

Except for Marian. Thoughts of the girl brought a change to Ted's expression. Letting the gun slip back into

his pocket, he clamped his hand upon a telephone that Griff had provided. Then, remembering that Griff had

warned him not to use the phone except in an emergency, Ted pushed the instrument aside.

This was to be his third night in the hideaway. It would be a long night, like the others. At least, it would

bring a visit from Griff to break the monotony. Griff had promised to arrive soon after dark set in.

A flashlight twinkled from the shelter of a roof. Ted counted the blinks, knew that it was Griff's signal. He

answered with a flashlight of his own, signifying that all was clear. Then, fixing a square of black cloth

There was a creak from an opening door below. Creeping footsteps on the old stairs. Griff emerged from the

semidarkness, a roll of damp newspapers under his arm; he tossed them on the cot. He shook his head when

"Nothing new," undertoned Griff. "Don't get the jitters, Ted. They've got to put the pinch on you first. Even

"Just how?" demanded Ted. "With four guys to testify that they heard me plug Frank Barstead, what chance

"Plenty of chance, Ted. Only, I've got to admit you'd be better off if I hadn't run into The Shadow up at the

Wessex. That girl friend of yours would have given you a swell alibi if she'd had the chance."

"I'm just as glad she didn't. I don't want Marian to suffer on my account. I'd like to see her and tell her so."

Griff stroked his chin. His back was toward the lower stairway, blocking off the light. The stairs looked

pitchblack, yet Ted fancied that he could see the darkness stir. Staring hard, he decided that his imagination

"I wouldn't go myself," interrupted Griff. "I'd send Peeper. He can slide in and out of anywhere. Besides, he

"It's likely. That guy Cardona wouldn't miss a trick! But if Peeper spotted any of those headquarters mugs, he

THE idea suited Ted. The next problem was the time and place. Griff said he would talk it over with Peeper

"Why not?" Ted's growl was deepthroated. "Only, what's the use, unless he's got the cash?"

"How about something else?" he queried. "One of those jobs I talked about. The kind I said that you were one

"I'm game for anything," returned Ted steadily. "I've got nothing to lose. But when you mentioned brains,

"I've got a line on something," he whispered. "A honey, if it comes through. Other guys are after it, but I

think we can get in first. I'll let you know when the time's right. It might be tonight; maybe next week; maybe

Griff turned suddenly about. As he did, there was an actual stir in the darkness below. Griff might have

detected it, for his eyes were quick; but he remembered something else that made him turn back to Ted.

"Here's the rest of that dough," said Griff. "I won't need it, Ted. Keep it along with the mazuma that I gave

Ted received the bills that Griff proffered, remarking that he had no special need for cash. But Griff insisted

"If you find you've got to lam," reminded Griff, "you won't have time to stop and cash a check. Guys usually

lam after banking hours" Griff chuckled at his own jest "so it's good stuff to have a bundle of doremi

When Griff descended the steps the darkness was vacant. The sallow crook stepped into a gloomy hall,

looked about, and decided that the way was clear. Moving out through an obscure doorway, Griff was joined

by skulkers who awaited him. Griff never traveled anywhere without a few picked mobbies during times

Another figure was coming out by the same door. Near the sliding wall that formed an entrance to Ted's

hideaway, the intruder was briefly visible. Cloaked in black, he became part of the outside darkness when

The Shadow had found the exact location of Ted's hideaway. Waiting there, he had trailed Griff into the

place. Crouched on the stairs, he had overheard the entire conversation between the pair. Since Ted was fixed

Within a half hour, The Shadow had gained an insight into Griff's own method of avoiding the law. Having

given Ted the use of his hideaway, Griff was keeping on the move. This evening, he stopped at a place where

Apparently, the proprietor had given Griff sole access to some empty rooms over the basement grogshop.

Griff reached his temporary headquarters by unlocking a littleused door in back of the place. He and his few

Gliding away, The Shadow entered the rear of a pool parlor; used a telephone in the darkened back room. He

called his contact man, Burbank, and instructed him to relay orders to certain agents. Confident that Griff

The Shadow's agents moved promptly into Red Mike's. One of those agents, Cliff Marsland, was as

thuggishlooking as any of Griff's motley mob. Another, a wizened little man named Hawkeye, could make

Peeper look like an amateur, when it came to slinking through side streets and back alleys.

Almost as soon as they arrived, these observers noticed that some of Red Mike's customers were easing out

through a rear room, where a stairway led to the floor above. Cliff stayed on watch, while Hawkeye went out

MEANWHILE, The Shadow had reached Ted's hideaway. He was sliding back the panel at the bottom of

Instantly, Ted turned off the light; then The Shadow heard him gruff a laugh. Ted, it seemed, was trying to

Listening through the crack that he had opened, The Shadow heard Ted's end of the conversation.

"Hello, Griff..." Ted's tone showed relief. "I sort of figured it was you... You've got everything fixed already?

"That covers it, Griff," spoke Ted. "Leave the rest to me... Coppers? It will be tough for anybody that tries to

As Ted dropped the receiver on the hook, The Shadow worked past the edge of the partly opened panel. His

tall form obscured the trifling light from the dim hall. Then, with the panel shut behind him, he was moving

The Shadow could hear Ted above. He intended to trap the fellow, to learn just what Ted would do when he

Ready to go the limit, Ted would be quick with the trigger; but not quick enough. Meeting The Shadow in the

Silence filled the squarish room when The Shadow reached it. After a few moments, the blackcloaked

invader produced his flashlight and focused it for a spreading beam. Gun in one hand, flashlight in the other,

The place was empty. Shoving his hand past a corner, The Shadow illuminated the upper half of the stairway,

which left the old landing at a different angle than the steps below. The slanted space was empty.

A whispered laugh filled the deserted hideaway. Ted Lycombe was gone; by some quirk, he had chosen the

upper exit, while The Shadow was ascending from the floor below. Past the turn, Ted's creeping progress had

Finding the telephone, The Shadow extinguished his light. He put in a call to Burbank; received Hawkeye's

relayed report. Like Ted Lycombe, Griff Conlad would soon be on the move, with an accompanying mob.

Silence filled the darkened hideaway as The Shadow made his departure, Ted's path did not matter. The

Whatever Ted's part in tonight's scheme, Griff would be on hand to cover up crime, as he had tried to do at

Barstead's. On this occasion, Griff would find it better policy to be there earlier.

It was The Shadow's plan to do more than follow Griff. Once at the scene, he intended to move in ahead and

THE Drober Building was a narrow, eightstory structure that looked like an architectural antique. In its day,

however, it had been regarded as a monument to its builder, Thomas Drober, founder of the Drober Chain

Though the Drober Chain Stores had floors of offices in a modern uptown skyscraper, the Drober

Corporation still occupied the top floor of the antiquated building. Needing only a few offices, the Drober

Actually, the Drober Corporation was the holding company that controlled the Drober stores and half a dozen

other chains that operated under various names. Such things as antitrust laws, interstate regulations, taxes

restricting the growth of chain organizations, had led to the present arrangement.

A dozen men were gathered in an oakpaneled room, where the smell of varnish told that decorations had

recently been made. Seated at the head of the table was a dryfaced, elderly man who dominated the meeting.

Important though he was, Burman seemed secondary to another presence. Set in the wall behind the

president's chair was a lifesized portrait of old Thomas Drober, founder of the massive enterprise that bore

his name. Painted eyes seemed to scan the group benignly, from a face adorned with bushy brows and ample

Indirect lights threw a glow upon the picture. Whenever the board of directors were confronted by a problem,

they could look at it and wonder what the founder would advise. To them, the portrait was an inspiration; it

This evening marked a monthly meeting of the directors, and Burman was enjoying it. He liked to show big

sheets of figures, with graphs that illustrated the progress of the corporation in terms of profit. But he relished

The president was stacking bundles of currency; each pile of cash was encircled by a printed band telling the

amount that it contained. The total came to exactly one hundred and sixty thousand dollars.

"Tomorrow morning, gentlemen," announced Burman, dryly,. "I plan to buy Criterion Stores and merge them

with one of our New England chains. The price they ask is two hundred thousand dollars, payable in

"Experience has shown me that money talks for itself. I am quite sure" his tone was humorous "that the

owners of Criterion will be impressed when I offer them one hundred and sixty thousand dollars in cash."

By way of demonstration, Burman gathered the bundles of money and thumped them on the table. As if

facing the Criterion group, instead of his own directors, the dryfaced man made a pompous gesture, that

Then, as if his imaginary visitors were shaking their heads, Burman lifted his thin eyebrows and gave a shrug.

Gathering up the bundles of money, he tucked them under one arm, stepped to a safe set in the side wall.

Opening the safe door, he made a half turn, just as he started to put the cash away. The questioning lift of

The directors actually applauded, and started an enthusiastic conversation. It was their unanimous opinion

that Burman's tactics would clinch the sale. Big business needed more men like Howard Burman, who

applied the human element. Burman was right; money would talk with the Criterion people, whose stores

CLOSING the safe door, Burman glanced over his shoulder and smiled at the portrait of Thomas Drober. The

painted eyes of the founder had watched the entire transaction; they had seen Burman open the safe, take out

Canny when he dealt with living men, Burman never kept any secrets from the portrait of the departed

The meeting was over. Burman took a satisfied look at the locked safe. It was a formidable contrivance, of

the latest design. Fixed in the wall like a vault, it was absolutely crookproof. Likewise, foolproof, for any

Last to leave the meeting room, Burman looked back at the portrait and set his lips in a firm line that matched

the expression of the sidewhiskered founder. He pressed two switches; one extinguished the lights

Ringing the elevator bell, the directors waited until the car was brought up by a solemnlooking watchman.

Descending to the ground floor, they waited again, while the watchman unbarred a gate and let them out to

Two private detectives were outside. Burman always hired them for meeting nights. This neighborhood was

no longer as prosperous as it had been when Thomas Drober erected the building that bore his name. Sneak

thieves were apt to steal anything out of fancy automobiles that parked in this vicinity.

Looking along the street, Burman noticed no more than the usual quota of shamblers. As soon as he and the

directors were in their cars, he beckoned to the detectives and told them they would no longer be needed.

Burman would have regretted that decision, had he remained in the vicinity a short while longer.

As soon as the cars had rolled from sight, lurkers appeared. They stationed themselves at convenient posts in

and around the Drober Building. Chief among those arrivals was Griff Conlad, who moved to an alley

"Ten fifteen," undertoned Griff smoothly, to two men beside him. "Ted should have been inside two hours

"Yeah, and before the watchman locked the gate," added Griff. "He didn't close up until after the directors got

"Yeah, and a good one," returned Griff. "That's one reason why we're here, to take out the watchman and any

Eyes on the darkened doorway, Griff wasn't watching the corner of the Drober Building. He didn't see the

blackened shape that glided in from nowhere and melted against the darkness of the wall. Just past the corner

of the building, The Shadow began an upward climb, finding finger grips and toe holds.

His ascent was safe as far as the second floor. Above that, he would be visible, for the nextdoor roof was

low and the city's glow made a background beyond it. But second floor suited The Shadow, for the present.

Clinging to a window ledge, he jimmied the sash in silent fashion and slid into a darkened office.

From then on, The Shadow took a stairway to the top floor, passing many offices, some of them vacant, for

On the top floor, The Shadow reached the entrance to the offices of the Drober Corporation. With a guarded

Scratches showed that the frame surrounding the glass pane had been pried loose. Extinguishing the light,

The Shadow pressed the frame; it gave, just far enough for him to press his hand through and reach the latch

Entering, The Shadow closed the door as silently as he had opened it. He didn't need his light to continue on

his course. Sounds guided him; they came from an inner office. An intruder was moving about, working in

THROUGH the doorway, The Shadow groped ahead; his fingertips contacted a chair, then a long table. The

Shadow's probe was noiseless; nevertheless, a flashlight suddenly moved in his direction. Before its owner

The light swung to the side wall, brought an ebony glisten from the black front of the big safe. Then the glow

There was cool calculation in that survey; the sort of deliberate procedure that characterized Ted Lycombe,

when he wasn't in a headstrong mood. Remembering Ted's statement that he was "ready for anything," The

But guesswork was not proof. The Shadow wanted visual evidence, of an absolute sort, before identifying

The light turned downward. It showed a battered felt hat, inverted on the floor. In the hat lay a handkerchief,

knotted to form a mask. A hand plucked the handkerchief from the hat; the light remained steady for a scant

In that brief interval, The Shadow saw something that the sharp glare revealed; a detail that would not have

The hat had once contained initials, pasted inside the top. Those letters had been removed. but their outline

still remained, in lightbrown against dark. In his brief glimpse, The Shadow saw the traces of the letters

"E.J.L." As with the cigarette case dropped at Barstead's, they identified Ted Lycombe as the owner of the

Then the light was gone. A crinkly sound came from the darkness, caused by something other than the soft

handkerchief mask. The thing was explained when the light appeared again; this time, the flash propped

Into the glowing circle came hands that were fully visible, yet clouded by a thin, filmy substance that gave

them a yellowed hue. As he watched deft fingers turn the combination, The Shadow heard a repetition of the

Whatever evidence the law might gain to pin this present crime upon Ted Lycombe, The Shadow knew that

SELDOM did The Shadow witness robberies. He usually ended them before they were complete. But this

Crinkly fingers did not hesitate with the combination. They turned with a swiftness that would have surprised

In fact, had Burman been there to watch the moving hand, he would have been dumfounded. He might even

have believed that the painted lips of old Thomas Drober had whispered the combination to the marauder; for

Knowing something of the Drober Corporation and the men who formed its directors, The Shadow, himself,

was very much intrigued, particularly when the safe came open after the crinkling fingers had made their first

There had been no guesswork on the burglar's part, nor was he in any doubt as to the swag he wanted.

Pushing aside boxes and papers that might have interested the average thief, the masked marauder came out

with bundles of currency, that he counted rapidly in the light, then stacked into four even piles.

A hand picked up the light, swung it from the safe. The glow fixed on a stack of packages in a corner. With

stealthy stride, the crook obtained a package, unwrapped it, and flung a batch of printed business reports upon

the floor. Returning to the safe, he used the wrapping paper to inclose the stacks of currency.

Again, the light was propped against the hat, so that the hands could tie a string around the bundle, which

Sensing that the light would be coming in his own direction, The Shadow made a careful trip around the long

table, to the corner that the crook had left. From that position, he watched further operations.

At odd moments, The Shadow glimpsed the masked face, along with the hands; saw eyes glisten through slits

Remembering that Ted Lycombe had a broad, strong jaw, The Shadow wasn't surprised that the crook was

Twice, the light swung toward the directors' table. On the first trip, a hand lifted the package of money and

placed it on the table. The next time, it brought a heavy satchel and laid it beside the package.

Since the bag was large enough to take the money, it was obvious that it must have other contents; items

necessary to this crime. Yet the outer door had been opened very easily, needing no instrument larger than a

While the mobster was turning back to close the safe, The Shadow moved from the corner and reached the

table. He heard the safe thump shut, caught the crinkle of cellophane as the crook removed his gloves. The

Through the slits of the mask, keen eyes studied the package and the satchel on the table, noted that their

angles were slightly changed. Ted Lycombe had boasted that he could be cool in a pinch; this was a test of

the very sort that Ted had meant. The Shadow watched to see how the masked marauder handled it.

AN instant later, the light was sweeping toward The Shadow's corner. Into its path came a revolver, ready to

Without waiting to draw an automatic, The Shadow drove into the light, hurling a missile ahead of him: one

The Shadow wanted to take this lone adversary alive and unhurt, a living trophy for the law. He had flung the

package toward the crook's gun hand; ducking it, the masked foe fired wide. An instant later, The Shadow

They reeled across the room, and sprawled when they struck the wall. Hearing the revolver clatter away, The

Shadow relaxed his grip, to pull an automatic and press it against his adversary. He was drawing the gun,

It was a hard, bashing blow, that drove The Shadow's slouch hat down over his eyes. He heard a splitting

sound about his ears, felt something encase his shoulders. Reeling away, he managed to get his gun around a

A revolver was answering with hurried shots. The crook had found his lost gun and was making for the door,

carrying his bundle and satchel with him. The door slammed as The Shadow reached it; with a blackgloved

The thing that girded The Shadow was the portrait of old Thomas Drober. High in the wall was the deepset,

oblong niche from which the safecracker had taken it. Evidently he had left the painting on the floor,

Meeting The Shadow's head, the thin canvas had punctured, the frame had gone down over the cloaked

Yanking the ruined portrait over his head, The Shadow flung it aside. Picking up the bundle that he had

He expected more battle when he reached the ground floor; chances were that the combat would begin in full

light. No better shield could be had than a bundle of wrapped paper sheets, if bullets came The Shadow's

As he neared the floor below, The Shadow heard a door slam with a force that broke its glass panel. The

masked crook had stopped at an office, losing some of the ground that he had gained. But he was still far

On the ground floor, the watchman heard the noise of the descent, the shots that accompanied it. Drawing a

gun, he started toward the stairs. He saw a masked man reach the second floor, carrying a satchel in his left

hand, a large, wrapped bundle under his right arm. Before the watchman could fire, the crook began to shoot

The watchman ducked out toward the gate. Handicapped by the bundle, the crook hadn't been able to clip

him. Shots came from the gate itself; the watchman made a frantic dive into an office doorway. But the

Griff was shooting the lock from the gate. Shoving the jointed barrier to one side, he yelled:

The gritty watchman leaped out to block the crook with the mask. The satchel swung in his direction; he

ducked as he fired. Then guns were blasting in earnest from the open gate. It would have been sure death for

A WEIRD laugh issued from the stairs. With it, a cloaked form lunged forward, bounding from the bottom

The Shadow's form was like a living arrow, his outthrust gun the metal tip. The big .45 was streaking deadly

flame from its ample muzzle, tonguing shots for the murderous mobbies who had opened fire on the

Insurging crooks sprawled. The masked fugitive dived between them, to reach the sidewalk. He lost his hat as

he went, and was lucky that his head did not stay in it. The Shadow's next shot nipped the hat, flipped it to a

Griff had gone, too. He and his masked pal were in a car when The Shadow reached the sidewalk. The arrival

of The Shadow was a signal for shots from various spots across the street. Even with the shielding bundle

beneath his cloak, The Shadow could not risk a fray in the open against ambushed crooks.

Dropping back into shelter, he poked his gun past the gate edge and picked off gunmen who were rising for

better aim, thinking that they had The Shadow on the run. A few such incidents were enough for the

Griff had told them to cover the getaway. The car was gone. Ducking from their doorways, the sharpshooters

made for alleys, to reach their cars. Their flight was none too soon. Police cars were quick to cover any

When the rescued watchman crawled out to greet arriving officers, he told a story that they wouldn't have

The watchman kept confusing them with his tale of a masked fighter and a cloaked one. It took them a while

"The fellow in the cloak was after the guy with the mask," explained the watchman, finally, "and it was the

masked guy that got away with the bundle and the suitcase. Only, he pretty near didn't get away!"

Stepping to the corner of the lobby, the watchman picked up a brown hat, that had a bullet hole through it.

"The guy with the mask was wearing this," affirmed the watchman. "You see how close the other fellow

Since the masked crook had gotten clear, the officers looked for the "other fellow" instead. He was gone, too.

In fact, by that time The Shadow was a few miles away, riding in Moe's cab. Moe had been waiting in

another street; but on this occasion, he had been parked around the wrong corner.

Moe hadn't been able to risk running the crossfire, while The Shadow was shooting it out with Griff's trigger

men. By the time the enemy had been routed, Moe was too late to carry The Shadow along Griff's trail.

The cabby expected The Shadow to start for the neighborhood of Ted's hideout; instead, his chief ordered

him to drive uptown. The thing puzzled Moe, because he could not remember any time when The Shadow

Maybe The Shadow had some reason behind it. There were times, Moe knew, when he let fellows like Ted

Lycombe dwell in what they thought was security, so that he could surprise them later. But this case was

Crooks had done a job, and had departed with a firstclass haul. So, at least, Moe thought, for he had seen a

It happened that Moe had not seen the package that The Shadow carried beneath his cloak. It was resting on

the rear seat beside the cloaked passenger. The Shadow was bending over it; still wearing his thin gloves, he

was carefully addressing the package to Howard Burman, president of the Drober Corporation.

The package, itself, was the reason for the soft laugh that The Shadow uttered. It was a tight package, but its

wrinkles told that it was a trifle smaller than the others in the corner of the Drober office. They merely

THE SHADOW'S ruse had worked. In moving from the corner of the office, he had brought an ordinary

bundle and switched it for the one on the table. He had turned the satchel at an angle, so that the masked

When they came to divide the profits, partners in crime would find themselves losers. Through battle and

flight, they had saved their hides, and nothing more. Crime had been nullified before the fray began.

The Shadow required suitable guarantees before he allowed crooks leeway. In this case, he had taken cash in

THE morning newspapers carried extensive accounts of robbery and battle, which did not please the directors

of the Drober Corporation. They liked their holding company to stay out of the limelight; they didn't like to

admit that the stolen funds were for the purchase of another group of chain stores.

By afternoon, however, the directors were smiling again. Howard Burman was particularly pleased, when he

Inspector Cardona was holding a conference with the commissioner, and another man was present. Weston

started to introduce him to Burman; ordinarily, the name of Lamont Cranston would have impressed the

But Burman had no time for introductions. He thudded a suitcase on the desk; opened it, to dump the contents

"The stolen funds!" exclaimed Burman. "They came back to us this afternoon, by parcel post!"

Both Weston and Cardona stared with incredible eyes. Then, while the commissioner was pawing the money,

Burman's name and address were inscribed in scrawling letters; it would be difficult to identify the sender of

the package. There was a humorous touch in the words "Printed Matter," which appeared in a corner of the

From all reports, crooks had made away with the money, blocking off The Shadow's pursuit. Cardona

couldn't figure any way in which The Shadow could have recovered the swag; it seemed, therefore, that Ted

"Or softheaded," corrected Cardona. "Still, it doesn't make sense, commissioner. "Griff Conlad surely

Theories didn't interest Burman; nor was he in a merciful mood. Putting his case bluntly, he was willing that

the law should take credit for the recovery of the funds, but in return for that favor, he expected the prompt

"We know the man we want," assured Weston. "He already has a murder charge against him, and we are

taking the proper methods to apprehend him. I can assure you that we will apprehend Ted Lycombe very

shortly. Meanwhile, Mr. Burman, I recommend that you place these funds in a safedeposit vault."

Only Cranston noticed Cardona's wince, when Weston mentioned Ted. Joe didn't like the plan of reaching

Ted through Marian. So far, it hadn't brought results, but the commissioner had insisted that Cardona keep on

To convince Burman that the law was on the job, Weston called for Cardona to summarize the evidence.

"We've traced Lycombe's part pretty clearly," declared Cardona. "He got into an office on the floor below

yours, Mr. Burman; that's where he waited, until you and the directors left. He was careful when he broke

into your premises, and be did a neat job opening the safe. He didn't leave a single fingerprint.

"But he made a slip when he took the money. He dropped this" Cardona displayed a band that had come

from a stack of money "and we found it on the floor outside the safe. You don't need a microscope to see

"They've got to be," interposed Cardona, grimly. "Frankly, Mr. Burman, we don't have Lycombe's prints. He

is new to crime, and they hadn't been recorded. But when we get Ted Lycombe, we'll print him and compare

"I said they had to be," insisted Cardona. "We picked up Lycombe's hat, and identified it by traces of initials

that showed up plainly under the ultraviolet test. Since Lycombe was the masked man, these fingerprints

"What's more, the watchman heard someone yell the name 'Ted,' and we're pretty sure that it was Griff who

hollered. The crooks that we captured won't talk, but they were all fellows who know Griff Conlad."

CARDONA did not add that nearly every crook in town knew Griff. It was ticklish business, dealing with a

Cardona was examining the package that had contained the money, hoping that it would show prints, too. But

even under the portable violetray projector that Weston kept in the office, the paper showed an absolute

"I shall leave the riddle of the money to you, commissioner," declared Burman, in a pompous tone. "And let

me remind you of another. We still have to learn how Ted Lycombe discovered the combination of the safe,

"We shall look into that," promised Weston. "Our methods are thorough, Mr. Burman "

"Not as thorough as they might be," inserted Burman, as he rose from his chair. "I consider it an oversight

that you do not have fingerprints of Ted Lycombe. Any man who might possibly be concerned in crime

Commissioner Weston suppressed his indignation. He didn't want trouble from an important man like

Burman. While Weston was thinking of some way to deflate Burman's haughty attitude, Cranston came to the

"Why... why" Burman was purpling "why, of course not! What right have you to ask?"

"You said that you alone knew the combination of the safe," he told Burman. "I should think that you would

be quite grateful to Commissioner Weston, because he has placed the burden on Ted Lycombe. Otherwise,

Burman's purple turned to pallor. He was really scared, as he insisted that he had been with some of the other

directors for a full hour after the meeting. He wanted his listeners to believe his alibi, and he thrust his hands

"They're clean!" he insisted in a quavering tone. "I assure you of it. Take my fingerprints, commissioner "

Catching a nod from Cranston, Weston beckoned to Cardona, who gravely took impressions of Burman's

fingers and compared the prints with those on the money band that had been found near the safe.

Burman gave a sigh of huge relief when Cardona announced that the prints did not match. He was still

"Many thanks, Cranston," chuckled Weston. "You took the wind out of that bag in fine style! We can go

about our business with no further argument from Burman. But speaking of business, let's get down to it."

By business, Weston meant the two riddles that perplexed them. He and Cardona thrashed out the matter of

the money. They could not find a satisfactory explanation covering its return. All the while, The Shadow

listened silently; the masklike face of Cranston showed no change of expression.

The Shadow could have answered the first riddle, had he chosen. But he saw no reason to do so. Only one

point was important. The money had been returned and, therefore, crime was nullified.

But the second riddle was a different matter. The Shadow could vouch that it was a real one. Burman had put

the question very plainly: how had the crooks learned the combination of the safe? Only Burman knew it; he

AS Weston and Cardona debated the problem, The Shadow's eyes took on a distant gaze. He was picturing a

scene that he had not witnessed, but one that he could properly visualize, for he knew well the place in

He was thinking of the office where the directors had met, with its long table, flanked by men on either side,

Burman seated at the head. Above Burman, The Shadow visualized the portrait of old Thomas Drober,

The Shadow remembered that portrait well. He could recall the crackle of its canvas when it had smashed

him in the darkness. Odd that The Shadow's foeman should have used the painting as a weapon; yet not odd,

considering that the masked burglar had previously removed the picture from the wall.

The real question was: Why had the painting been removed at all? The answer, once obtained, would explain

Had Commissioner Weston and Inspector Cardona been less ardent in their discussion of the riddle, they

might have heard the faint whisper of a laugh that came from the lips of Lamont Cranston.

MARIAN FARRIS stood by the window of her hotel room, watching the twinkle of lights as they appeared

in the gathering dusk. The thing seemed magical, as if some invisible hand had begun to dot the skyscape

Usually, the scene intrigued Marian; but this evening, she ignored the lights and studied the darkness below.

Last night, outside the hotel, she had met Peeper. Posing as a furtive panhandler, the little man had told her

how and where she could meet Ted Lycombe. But detectives had been about; they hadn't recognized Peeper

Tonight, the girl intended to dodge them. It was dark enough to start. Marian stepped to the door and opened

it. Instantly, she heard creaky footsteps sneaking down the hall. No wonder they called detectives

But ridicule didn't help Marian's cause; she realized, quite hopelessly, that she would be trailed from the very

Very well, she wouldn't leave. It was only seven o'clock, but she'd go to bed and stay there. Cardona's

bloodhound could pace the hall all night. Slamming the door to tell the detective that she knew he was about,

Marian undressed, flinging her clothes everywhere as she stamped about the room.

When she came to her shoes, she kicked them against the door as an added token of defiance. In looking for a

nightgown, she yanked open all the bureau drawers and slashed them shut again, making all the noise she

Instead, she put on the nightie and hurled herself into bed, so violently that a couple of bed slats rattled to the

The only sounds that Marian stifled were her sobs. She was crying, from anger as much as disappointment,

when the telephone bell began to ring. Popping her head up from the pillows, she sat rigid, almost afraid to

If so, the call would surely be overheard, for Marian knew that there was another detective in the lobby,

watching the switchboard. Yet there was nothing to do but answer the telephone, so Marian picked up the

It was Archie Freer. He and Guy Winrow were having dinner at the Mayberry Grill and hoped that Marian

could join them. At first, the girl declined, but Archie, as usual, was insistent. Finally struck with an idea,

Gathering together her scattered clothes, Marian dressed rapidly. She left the hotel and took a cab, which was

promptly trailed by another one, that had a detective as a passenger. But Marian did not care. She felt that

At the Mayberry Grill, Marian found a glumfaced man dining with Archie and Winrow. They introduced

him as Terry, their bodyguard from headquarters. Marian gave Terry a pleasant smile; then, glancing toward

Archie saw Marian's expression, and seemed puzzled. Winrow shrank back in his chair, ready to dive under

the table. Terry gave a gruff laugh, as he saw a blocky man outside the window. He recognized the fellow's

"He's looking out for you, Miss Farris," explained Terry, tactfully. "Inspector Cardona decided that you

"Why, how exciting!" exclaimed Marian. "Why don't you invite him in to dine with us, Mr. Terry?"

When Saunders drifted past again, Terry beckoned. He received negative headshakes at first, but finally

Saunders entered and was introduced. He caught on to the "bodyguard" business as soon as Terry repeated

MARIAN was the life of the party. She encouraged the headquarters men to tell of their experiences in

upholding law and order; they responded so fluently that Marian had finished her dessert while they were still

Archie and Winrow were listening, too, but the detectives were matching yarns to win the favor of the

brownhaired girl whose wide blue eyes and lovely lips seemed to be drinking in everything they said.

Neither Terry nor Saunders realized the real thoughts behind the babydoll expression that Marian was

Marian knew that she had won the confidence of the two detectives; that they would trust her within reason,

despite Cardona's orders. Her present problem was to find a satisfactory excuse that would enable her to leave

Opportunity came suddenly. A surprised voice spoke from beside the table; Marian turned to see Sherwood

Gern. Attired in evening clothes, the florid promoter was smoothing his hair, as he chortled a greeting.

"Well, well!" exclaimed Germ "Fancy meeting all of you here! Sort of an oldhome day, isn't it? Why don't

The idea suited Archie, but Winrow began a protest. He didn't like night clubs; his face paled at the very

mention. They were places where mobsters went, he argued, and maybe it wouldn't be safe. But Archie

"We'll have Terry with us," he reminded, "and Saunders, too. You can get back to your gadgets later,

Winrow. I'm tired of watching you fool with them. I've got an extra tux over at the apartment; one that would

Mention of the tuxedoes fitted with the plan that Marian was rapidly forming. Glancing at her darkgray

"I'll have to go back to the hotel and change to an evening gown. But it won't take me very long." She turned

to Gern and asked, hopefully: "Are you going uptown, to your apartment, Mr. Gern?"

"Then you can drop me off at the Wessex," decided Marian. "I'll wait there for all of you. I hope the night

club won't be too noisy, because" she was looking at Terry and Saunders "I want to hear more of your

As Marian was leaving with Gern, the two detectives exchanged undertoned comments. It was Saunders

"D'you think I need to trail her? Morgan is stationed outside the Wessex. He'll see her sure, when she gets

"Give him a call while she's on the way," advised Terry. "That ought to cover it."

Saunders nodded. "This bodyguard bluff is a good dodge," he said. "It makes it a cinch for me. It would be

RIDING in the cab with Gern, Marian kept looking out through the rear window, to see if another car was

following. Gern noticed the action; his face showed concern when Marian turned to gaze at him. In her most

"I do," returned Gern. "This new crime of his has made me even more regretful. If he had only told me how

"You still think that you would pay him the full amount? As soon as the money comes through?"

"Of course! It is Ted's money. What he has done cannot alter my own obligation. What is more, I shall have

Marian gripped Gern's arm, took another look back through the window. Then, in a low tone, she confided:

"I can reach Ted. I am going to see him tonight, and I can arrange to meet him again. If you will have the

"It will be ready, in cash, at my apartment. I can give it to you tomorrow night, or any time after that."

They were approaching a corner, where Marian saw another cab parked in front of a small night club. She

told the driver to stop; then, turning to Gern, she said that she would be at the Hotel Wessex, later. With that,

The cabby in front of the night club argued that he was expecting other passengers, but when Marian flaunted

a fivedollar bill he decided to take her as a fare. Soon, Marian was on her way again, bound to a different

Up ahead, keen eyes were peering from the rear window of a cab that had paced Marian all the way from the

Mayberry Grill, and had waited around the next corner while she made her transfer.

The Shadow liked that system of following trails. With Moe Shrevnitz as his driver, he could always depend

upon quick trips around a block when the car that he was watching turned off from a street. Picking up the

trail again, Moe would stay in back awhile; then pass the other car and use the original system.

Meanwhile, Sherwood Gern continued his own trip home. He lived in an apartment house, where he had an

Reaching the penthouse, Gern poured himself a drink and lighted a cigar. His eyes narrowed as he gazed out

into the darkness. Gern was thinking over the possible consequences of Marian's meeting with Ted.

He was wondering, too, how soon he ought to start over to the Wessex, when a knock at the door announced

Opening the door, Gern blinked as he faced Inspector Joe Cardona. The case was the reverse of the time

when Griff Conlad had called on Marian, demanding to know where Gern was. Cardona was here to ask Gern

"IS Miss Farris here?" demanded Joe. "Or did she stop off somewhere along the line? Don't tell me you left

"She left my cab," admitted Gern, "outside a little night club called the Place Elite. I think she intended to

"What you think," snapped Cardona, "is your business and your business seems to be minding other

people's! It didn't occur to you, did it, that we might be watching the Farris girl, so as to get a lead on

"But I was trying to help you, inspector!" he declared. "I told Marian that I'll have money for Ted tomorrow

night. She said she would arrange to take it to him. I pretended I that I felt friendly toward Ted, but that was

It was Cardona's turn to stare. He wound up with a grin, and clamped his hand on Gern's shoulder.

"Good enough," decided Cardona. "I'll see you later, Gern. Only, I've got to make a stab at finding the girl

right now. It's only one chance in a million, but I'll have to go through with it, to square things when I report

Leaving Gern's, Cardona made a speedy trip to the Place Elite. Inside the club, he found a stifffaced

"Maybe she took Schuley's hack," volunteered the bouncer. "He always hangs around here, because he knows

a lot of the customers. Maybe" the bouncer peered from the door "maybe that's Schuley coming back

The cab was Schuley's. Sight of Cardona's badge awoke the cabby's recollections. Schuley not only nodded,

when Cardona described Marian; he remembered exactly where he had taken her. Throwing a suspicious

"Never mind telling me where you took her," he snapped. "Get me there, and make it swift."

While the cab was cavorting around a corner, Joe Cardona grabbed the hand strap and settled back with a

satisfied grin. He had played the chance in a million and had picked a winner. He was confident that the

reunion between Ted and Marian would be a prolonged one; that he would be clamping handcuffs on a

Two trails had met those of Ted and Marian. Cardona was adding a third: his own. He didn't stop to figure

that there might be a fourth: The Shadow's. Often, in the past, Joe Cardona had learned how important The

He should have recognized that he would need the cloaked fighter's aid upon the present expedition.

THE Five Spot Cafe was an enigma. Whether it had a good reputation or a bad one was an unanswered

question. Located near the East Side, it drew considerable trade from the business area around it; but there

were times when noisy and unruly patrons drifted in from the borders of the underworld. Often there was

Underlying the trouble was a game called Cheerio. It was played with dice, at eating tables, and was regarded

as an innocent pastime, until the stakes became too high. Then the participants were ushered to a back room,

When that occurred, the tougher element muscled in. With proper persuasion, Cheerio was forgotten, and a

Recently, the Five Spot had been running on good behavior. The stolid barkeeper shook his head whenever

respectable customers asked about the rear room. Meanwhile, thuggish patrons sat glumly by, warming their

Only a few really knew why the rear room was closed tonight. It had been reserved for a very special

customer, whose presence, if known, would have caused a rapid exodus among the patrons. The man in the

rear room was Ted Lycombe; this was the place where Griff Conlad had arranged the meeting with Marian

Ted wasn't eating tonight. He was drinking, pouring his liquor straight, from a halfemptied bottle. He was

surly, argumentative, as he faced Marian across a table. When the girl rose as if to leave, Ted gave a

"Going, huh?" he demanded. "Well, don't forget to use the back door. Unless you prefer the window" he

gestured over his shoulder "which is the route I'll have to take, if any coppers show up."

Marian shook her head, as if she didn't understand. Thickly, Ted tried to explain.

"They call me a murderer," he argued. "because a bunch of heels like Freer, Winrow and those other guys

"Intend to kill him?" Ted's attempt at a smile was more like a leer. "Say how are they going to prove I did

"I'll tell 'em I sold it to Frank," retorted Ted. "One night when I needed five bucks bad."

He poured himself another drink. Tilting his gaze, he saw Marian shake her head. Before she could speak,

"Don't talk about that Drober job. They can't pin it on me. Do they think I'd be sap enough to leave my

Shoving his glass aside, Ted rose. His anger seemed to lift with him. He shoved his brawny hands forward,

"Dough!" he repeated. "If I could get hold of Sherwood Gern, I'd wring my money out of him! If I'd been

"So Gern thinks," assured Marian. "He has promised me the money, Ted, so I can bring it to you."

"In cash, Ted," the girl replied. "He will have it at his apartment from tomorrow afternoon on."

"Then Griff and I can lam!" In his enthusiasm, Ted seemed quite sober. "He's a real pal, Griff is. They've got

him all wrong, like they have me. You get the money, Marian. Griff will send Peeper to tell you where to

STARING steadily as he spoke, Ted looked beyond the girl. The door of the room was opening, so cautiously

Then, as the door took an inward jolt, Ted sprang to his feet. Whipping a gun from his pocket, he shifted, to

Ted, in his turn, was covered by a revolver a Police Positive, gripped by Joe Cardona. The inspector's

swarthy features were pokerfaced, as he met the gaze of the squarejawed man that he had come to get.

"Take it easy, Lycombe," advised Cardona. "'We don't want Miss Farris to get hurt. Why don't you do like

Cardona was playing a hunch, calculating that Marian had made such suggestions, which, in fact, she had,

early in her talk with Ted. But Joe's words produced a curious effect upon Ted's drinkbefuddled brain. Ted

"So you're playing stoolie," Ted snarled. "Just a sweet little pigeon, doing the decoy act! Your friend the

With a quick grab, Ted caught Marian's gray dress, yanked her straight toward him. Her mad wrench ripped

the dress from neck to waist: but Ted's swift hand clamped her shoulder. With the girl as a helpless shield,

Ted aimed for Cardona. Already through the doorway, Joe was diving for a corner.

Ted's gun was spitting leaden hail that would have reached Cardona, except for Marian's valiant struggle.

Two shots were all that the girl could manage to divert; her face tilted up, she saw the gun poke just above

Ted had clamped her arms behind her; the girl could only shut her eyes and groan.

Before Ted could press the trigger, Marian was jolted half across the room. She heard the gun blast; Ted's

Eyes opened, Marian saw that he was sprawling, too. Springing toward Ted was the figure that had bowled

Marian recognized the blackcloaked fighter who had launched in from the open window to save Cardona's

Half on his feet, Ted was making a frenzied grapple against the formidable foe. The Shadow shoved Ted

toward the open door; as they thumped the wall, both their hands seemed to claw the light switch. The room

Marian managed to block Cardona when he drove for the door. She was helped by the fact that Joe missed the

opening by a few feet. Stopped by the wall, he heard her pleas. She was begging him to let The Shadow

Answering that he'd do his best, Cardona pulled a flashlight and pointed it toward the passage. Rising,

Marion stumbled in the tangle of her ruined dress; kicking away the torn garment, she followed Cardona's

Ted had broken free of The Shadow and was diving out into the rear alley, spurred by the fierce mockery of

the cloaked avenger's laugh. Hard upon the mirth came gun stabs that Marian thought meant death for Ted,

until she realized that the spurts were directed toward the front of the passage.

Guns answered, interspersed with howls. The Shadow was shooting toward the front room of the cafe, where

mobbies, mixing with the regular customers, had sprung up to battle their archfoe, The Shadow. But they had

framed themselves as targets, in the light, the moment that they yanked open the door to the rear passage.

UNSCATHED, The Shadow was driving forward to settle that nest of dangerous foemen. His only course

Cardona made for the rear exit; moving a few steps forward, Marian gazed in utter fascination at the fight in

Men with guns were sprawling across tables; one was rolling over the bar, writhing as he went. Others didn't

stop to use the front door, which was already crowded; they smashed the plateglass windows with their guns

The door was clear when The Shadow reached it, for he dropped one gunner who had wheeled to fire back at

him. Clearing the toppling thug, The Shadow reached the sidewalk. Two guns were spurting; both were The

Then the cloaked fighter was gone in pursuit of fleeing stragglers. The echoes of his gunshots faded; the only

sound that followed was the trailing echo of a weird laugh, its taunt triumphant.

Marian realized, then, that she had heard shots from out back, as well. Though puny in comparison with The

Shadow's gunnery, they could have been important. Turning, Marian shrank suddenly away from a

It was Joe Cardona. Reaching Marian, he spoke gruffly, but his hand was gentle as he touched the girl's

huddled shoulder, which bore deep scratches from the clutch of Ted's clawing fingers. Cardona's sympathy

"Ted got away," he told Marian. "Griff was waiting for him, in a car. Maybe you're glad; maybe you aren't.

Anyway, kid, I don't blame you for coming here. I should have shown up sooner. Go get your dress, and I'll

No one was waiting at the hotel. Cardona had phoned ahead to cancel Gern's party. Reaching her room,

Marian was genuinely glad to see her bed, for she was very bedraggled and unhappy. Undressing wearily in

the darkness near the window, she stared at distant lights; they blurred before her tearfilled gaze.

For long minutes Marian stood there, her hand pressed to an aching shoulder that carried pangs which seemed

to reach her heart. She was thinking of Ted, the true Ted that she had formerly known, wishing that he could

Off amid the distant lights, the man of Marian's wish was showing himself in his new form, as he paced the

confines of his tiny hideaway. Ted Lycombe was talking to an audience of one: Griff Conlad.

"I told you I'd shoot my way out if they tried to take me," declared Ted. "They've branded me a murderer, so

I'll live up to my reputation. It took two of them to save Cardona. I'd have gotten him if it hadn't been for

"Cardona doesn't count," returned Griff. "It's tough you didn't croak The Shadow."

Pacing past the cot, Ted slashed his hand at a stack of newspapers, scattering them across the floor. Griff

"I never trust dames," spoke Griff. "I got it out of my system. But every guy has to wise up to himself."

"I'm not sure that Marian doublecrossed me," retorted Ted, hotly. "She stood by both of us before. Maybe

"The money that Gern owes me. He'll have it up at his place tomorrow, so she can bring it to me."

"Twentyfive G's!" exclaimed Griff. "Say we can pay off Peeper and the rest of 'em, and still lam with a

Griff ended it by retorting that while Marian might be trusted, Gern certainly couldn't be. In his opinion, the

money was bait and nothing more. Gern wasn't a bighearted guy who could hand over cash that he had a

"I've got it!" he exclaimed. "That dough is yours, Ted. You know the lay of Gern's joint, so you're the guy to

"Before he hands it to Marian," agreed Ted, with a prompt nod. "It will be a cinch, Griff! A sweet idea, unless

"Don't worry about The Shadow. I'll cover with the mob. It will be easier, though, if Gern is down in his

"He's likely to be, if we move early. Put Peeper on the job, Griff, to tip us off."

Below, a sliding door was moving shut. It closed tight, noiselessly, under the pressure of blackgloved

fingers. Outside the entrance to the hideaway, a blackcloaked figure moved stealthily from the dim light.

Long on the trail, The Shadow had gained the thing he sought; a clue to coming crime!

SHERWOOD GERN kept regular office hours, from nine until five. It gave his business tone, which helped

considerably in the sort of transactions that he handled. He liked to create a good impression upon the persons

that he termed "clients," though they were commonly labeled "suckers," in the trade.

His office was in the apartment building where he lived, for two reasons: first, because the address was a

good one; again, he was able to take special visitors up to his apartment and dazzle them with its splendor.

Gern often chuckled over that one. Impressed by the lavish style in which Gern lived, the customers thought

that by dealing with him, they would make money, too. Whereas, common sense should have told them that

Gern's living expenses were too great for him to share his profits with anyone else.

But common sense seemed something that nobody wanted; probably because it was too cheap.

Near closing time on this particular afternoon, Gern came from his inner office to meet an unexpected visitor.

The caller was Lamont Cranston, and Gern greeted him cordially, yet with marked reserve.

Cranston's name was one that Gern had carefully eliminated from all sucker lists. Though wealthy enough to

Rather than have Cranston discuss business matters, Gern invited the visitor up to the penthouse. They rode

twelve stories in an elevator, and when they reached Gern's living room, the promoter promptly suggested

cigars and drinks. Cranston being favorably inclined, Gern felt that he had cleared one hurdle.

First, Gern opened wide doors, to show a square terrace that offered a threesided promenade. The fourth

Returning through the living room, Gern led the way along a hallway, with rooms on both sides. They came

to a room that was furnished with desk and filing cabinet, along with a couch and chairs. The room had

"I call it the strong room," laughed Gern. "The previous tenant put the bars in. But I keep no valuables here."

Gern stopped; his teeth made a biting motion against his tongue. Then, angry because he had made the slip,

"I happen to have twentyfive thousand dollars here, at present. It is money belonging to Ted Lycombe. I

can't send it to his former address, so I am keeping it until he has a future one: the death house at Sing Sing."

Cranston's lips showed a flickering smile, that was reflected in a mirror hanging above the couch. They

walked back to the living room; all the way, Gern's eyes were narrowslitted. He was trying to analyze the

"I'm glad that Lycombe's money came through," declared Cranston, when they were seated in the living

"Because it impressed Commissioner Weston," answered The Shadow, retaining his even tone. "He had the

"Frankly, Mr. Cranston ," he stated, "I deal in speculative investments. The commissioner may not like it;

neither may you. But I find it a pleasant business, and a legitimate one. If my clients want to take long

"Quite true, Mr. Gern." Cranston's lips wreathed a smoke ring toward the ceiling. "But I am interested in

"Through Frank Barstead," replied Gern. "Barstead did not like me, but Lycombe did. In return, I liked him.

He wanted a sureshot buy that would double his money. So I sold him Amalgamated Mines because I had

THE telephone was ringing. Gern gave an annoyed shrug, answered it. After that, his whole conversation

consisted of yeses and noes, which he uttered in irregular fashion, finally finishing with a "Yes!"

"A pretty close guess," he said. "It was Guy Winrow. He's a pest, that fellow! He wants me to start a stock

company and promote some of his punk inventions. He's coming here, in an hour. I suppose I'll have to talk

The Shadow could have asked why the poorness of Winrow's inventions mattered. Most of the things that

Gern promoted were no good, anyway. But it was better to tone down the rest of the interview. The Shadow

During the next half hour, the two talked of other matters. Then, remembering that Gern expected Winrow,

The Shadow made his departure. In Cranston's best style, he gave Gern a compliment.

"Since we are friends," he told the promoter, "I would appreciate your advice on certain investments. You

Leaving the apartment building, The Shadow entered his limousine and rode around the block. When he

stepped from the car, he was no longer Cranston. Instead, he was a figure cloaked in black, apparently

But The Shadow did not enter Gern's apartment house. He chose the building next door. Going in by a

basement entrance, he stopped at a freight elevator, which was loaded with boxes.

The operator had gone off duty: the boxes had been delivered after he left. Running the elevator to the

The fellow's back was toward the light; since the elevator was dark, it was impossible to distinguish his

features. When he helped The Shadow carry the boxes to an open apartment, the bulky objects came in front

of the man's face. Since the apartment was dark, too, the features of this silent companion remained as

His companion was Burbank, his technical expert. The less people who saw Burbank, the better. In a sense,

Burbank was the mainspring of the machinery that The Shadow used in his warfare against crime.

As contact man, he kept in touch with all the active agents; there were times when he actually ran things,

Tonight was one of those rare occasions when Burbank was needed on active duty. Nevertheless, the human

cogwheel had connected up a switchboard and had a shortwave radio set handy, so that he could continue

After a glance at the switchboard, Burbank helped The Shadow unpack the boxes that had come up in the

While Burbank was setting up a squarish cabinet, The Shadow unrolled a thin cable and let it down from the

window. Below lay the terrace of Gern's penthouse; the wire offered an easy way to reach it.

But the wire also was to serve another purpose, as was evident when The Shadow tucked a roundshaped

A WHISPER brought Burbank to the window. The Shadow pointed to the penthouse. Gern was still there,

but he was turning off the lights, proof that he was going downstairs to his office.

At last, only a single light remained. It showed from the frosted window of Gern's strong room. The bars

Burbank understood the reason for the soft laugh that followed. The Shadow hoped that Gern might forget

that light. The promoter had left it on when he closed the strong room earlier. It would prove helpful to The

For Gern's penthouse, dark save for a single light, was the place where crime was due to strike. Easier to be

reached than the office of the Drober Corporation, yet quite as important to the crooks who had planned this

The same skillful system that had been used to learn the combination of the Drober safe, might well be

Not that crooks would have trouble getting Gern's money from the strongroom desk. There was another, and

very important reason why neat spy work was needed. Crooks expected The Shadow. They credited him with

knowing that they intended an advance theft of the cash, before Gern gave the money to Marian.

The Shadow had made no secret of the fact that he was trying to move ahead of crime, instead of following

close behind it. Their loss of the Drober funds had taught crooks that they would have to eliminate The

Shadow, to make the future secure for their coming misdeeds. Gern's penthouse was to be the scene of more

It was to be a battleground whereon The Shadow was to meet solid opposition from Griff and his mob, when

Pointing straight downward, The Shadow indicated a square of reflected light that had appeared on a cement

The glow was from the window of Gern's inner office. It indicated that the promoter had arrived downstairs.

Swinging from the window, The Shadow descended the hanging cable hand over hand, until he was just

above the level of the penthouse terrace. Burbank saw him press his feet against the wall of the building, give

Like a human pendulum, The Shadow swung across the space between the buildings and cleared the terrace

rail. His feet hooked the parapet, preventing his return. Vague in the darkness, The Shadow was entirely

obscured when he dropped beyond the rail. But Burbank could feel the cable go taut, as The Shadow attached

Then The Shadow was creeping forward, uncoiling more wire as he went, bound upon one of the most daring

DOWN in his office, Sherwood Gern was shaking hands with two visitors. One was the pastyfaced

inventor, Guy Winrow. The other was Inspector Joe Cardona. During the handshakes, Gern caught a gesture

"Go into my inner office, Winrow," suggested Gern, brusquely. "I shall be with you in a few minutes."

As soon as the door had closed, Gern turned to Cardona with a questioning air. Joe let his usually emotionless

"I came along, instead of Terry," said the inspector. "He's having dinner with Archie Freer and Marian Farris.

"It gives me an excuse to be here when the others come over to get Winrow. When I leave, you can give the

girl the money. I'll pick up her trail and stick close. Believe me" Cardona was emphatic "I'll look out for

The plan pleased Gern. He asked Cardona to wait while he finished with Winrow. Joe said there was no

hurry; the others would not arrive for an hour. Gern gave a hopeless gesture, then decided that he could put

"He sent some of his crazy gadgets here," said Gern. "He'll probably want to explain them. So I'll have to

Seated in Gern's outer office, Cardona was blithely ignorant of what went on outdoors. His arrival had been

It reached the top floor of the apartment house, by way of the fire tower. Ted Lycombe and Griff Conlad had

already reached that vantage point. They were ready to crack into the penthouse.

Ted was unusually cool. The impatience that he showed was not due to nervousness. It was of a calculating

"Unless Gern comes up unexpectedly," returned Griff, "and brings Cardona with him."

"They won't hinder the job," Ted argued. "I've told you how I feel about both of them, the way they've given

"They can hurt the getaway, though," snapped Griff. "So sit tight, until I get a flash from Peeper. He's down

Had Ted Lycombe been able to see through the penthouse wall, he might have lost his urge for collecting the

cash that he regarded as his property. Already, an invader was moving across Gern's living room, through the

The door of the room was unlocked, for Gern simply used it as an upstairs office. Nonetheless, The Shadow

It was a singular sight, that figure moving through a lighted room, considering The Shadow's preference for

Then, the scene offered a double spectacle. Two Shadows were in the room, as the cloaked fighter passed the

mirror near the couch. The figures turned back to back when The Shadow moved toward Gern's desk, to look

OUTSIDE, Griff was nudging Ted, telling him that the signal had come. Reaching the penthouse door, Griff

Handling locks was Griff's specialty, as he had proven when he removed the handcuffs that Ted had once

Griff's mob was a strong one. Half a dozen hardfaced thugs followed into Gern's living room. Light from

outside showed the scene, though quite dimly. Ted promptly picked the passage leading to the strong room.

"Gern must have left the lights on," whispered Ted. "Unless he came back up here."

Ted was reaching for his gun. Griff stopped him. There was a crinkle, as Griff handed over a pair of

Ted slipped one glove on his left hand. Remarking that he wouldn't need the other, he thrust it into his pocket.

Gun drawn, Ted advanced to the strong room, while Griff and the others covered from the front of the hall.

His gloved hand on the door, he turned the knob; then twisted through the opening, showing his gun ahead of

In his sweeping motion with the gun, Ted thought that he had covered the entire room. He was wrong. As he

shifted past the halfopened door, a cloaked arm sped under his. Before he could press the gun trigger, Ted's

Using Ted's arm as a lever, The Shadow whipped him into a tremendous somersault, that carried him clear

Ted landed with a crash. At the same instant, The Shadow recoiled from a stooped position, wheeled back to

the door and pressed the light switch. All the lights went out except one above the mirror. The Shadow

Instantly, Griff's yell sounded from the hallway. It was a fiercethroated cry that stood for death:

It was a perfect trap, that strong room. Griff and his crew of firstclass triggermen had all the opportunity

they needed to eliminate their superfoe. They were ready to blast the whole place with their bullets, allowing

Griff was letting the others go first, to take the brunt of it. They were starting forward as he yelled, taking it

Up to that moment, however, they had neither seen The Shadow, nor heard his laugh. They had heard a crash,

So did Burbank. He had been watching the lighted window. Darkness was the message that Burbank awaited.

Charging crooks heard the laugh of The Shadow a swelling tone of mockery that ridiculed their drive.

Reverberating through the penthouse, it carried a tone of doom. Its very source was proof that The Shadow

The laugh didn't come from the strong room. It was from the living room behind them. Whatever had

happened in the strong room must have been a hoax. In charging in that direction, they were putting

THEY still had a chance for life. For once, they thought, The Shadow had laughed too soon. Wheeling in a

mass, the crooks drove back toward the living room, bowling Griff ahead of them. Guns broke loose in a

Then, out of its own dwindle, the laugh rose again. It wasn't one laugh; it was two. The false mirth had ended;

The Shadow's real challenge was again behind the crooks. It was coming from the strong room, and The

Shadow was approaching with it. His guns were talking thunder through the long, lowvaulted hall.

All the advantage that crooks wanted now belonged to The Shadow; with more besides. They were spread

around the living room, clutching halfemptied guns, aiming in the wrong direction.

The slight light was sufficient to make them easy targets: whereas, by stopping short of the hallway entrance,

He eliminated that hazard with his opening fire; by raking the space in question. Realizing that his cooped

pals did not have a chance, Griff made a grab for the door leading out to the terrace and shouted for flight in

Three of Griff's six followed. Diving for the darkness of the parapet, they stabbed shots too late to get The

Shadow, as he whirled from the open doorway and took shelter of his own. Guns were barking wildly, when

Peeper had arrived with the reserves. The Shadow greeted them with bullets, as they spread. His shots were

hard to trace, for he was always on the move, but Griff saw a chance to corner him.

At Griff's shout, desperate killers sprang from half a dozen spots, driving in upon The Shadow, as they had

But that corner wasn't a boxedup strong room. The Shadow was across the parapet, clinging outside it,

Shots sounded from the windows of an apartment in the building next door. The Shadow's agents were on the

job, firing at Burbank's order. Marksmen in their own right, they were helping their chief suppress the last

Gunfire was supplanted by a sudden silence. As crooks crawled blindly to shelter, a blackcloaked shape

moved along the parapet. Reaching the taut cable, The Shadow gave a sibilant whisper. It was answered from

While his own men watched for signs of motion on the terrace, The Shadow climbed the cable. As the angle

brought him to the wall of the next building, he swung his feet against it and sped his upward progress.

His guns beneath his cloak, he was depending upon his agents to pick off any surviving snipers. No motion

By the time The Shadow had reached those higher windows, lights appeared in the penthouse. Inspector

Cardona stepped out to the terrace, followed by two uniformed patrolmen. Behind the trio were the

The arrivals had stumbled over crippled mobsters in the living room; they saw more when they viewed the

terrace, which caught the light from the open door. It wasn't the sight of the vanquished mob that puzzled

They heard the answer to that riddle a strange, vague laugh, its source uncertain, that was like an echo of

the battle cry that had gone before. It could have come from anywhere, even from the heart of night itself,

Others took that tone to be The Shadow's final triumph; but not Joe Cardona. It wasn't The Shadow's way to

Crime's reign was not yet finished. The Shadow's hand was to play its part in strange deeds yet to come!

COMMISSIONER WESTON took his official duties very seriously; so seriously, that he was willing to let

business interfere with all pleasures except eating. Dining alone at the Cobalt Club, he was annoyed,

It was Inspector Cardona on the wire, and when Weston heard what Joe had to say, he actually forgot his

The law had won a signal triumph. Crooks had been stopped cold while attempting burglary in Gern's

Best of all, the thing that made Weston eager to reach the scene was the fact that Ted Lycombe had been

captured. His supporting mob literally shot away, the wanted murderer had been found, halfstunned and

Cardona had said something about The Shadow, attributing the cleanup to the mysterious fighter. Weston

was grumbling over that point, when his official car pulled up at Gern's apartment, the Kingwood Arms.

It was too easy to credit things to The Shadow. Every time crooks fought among themselves and produced a

shambles in their own ranks, the rumor went around that The Shadow had delivered another stroke against

It was a tall order, even for so selfsatisfied a gentleman as Weston. The commissioner had to concede that

there was a fighter who called himself The Shadow. In fact, Weston had met such a personage, on more than

But Weston still argued that the socalled Shadow might be anyone, perhaps half a dozen people, who took

Commissioner Weston felt that he would like to meet The Shadow and ask him a few pertinent questions.

Uniformed officers stood outside the Kingwood Arms; they saluted the commissioner when he arrived. But

when Weston entered the apartment building, he was pushed aside by other men, who did not recognize his

They were hospital interns, carrying stretchers from the elevator to ambulances which Weston had seen

outside. Moving back to let the parade pass, Weston eyed the figures on the stretchers, saw their thuggish

Some were staring with widebulging eyes, clawing with weak hands, as though trying to drive away some

shadowy shape that kept looming into their field of vision. Others were gabbling incoherently in frantic tones.

One wildeyed thug came up to his elbows, looked straight past the commissioner and shrieked:

Collapsing, the crook lay drooping from his stretcher, his limp hands trailing the floor. Weston shifted

uneasily; drew back to a corner, near an inner doorway. He hadn't liked the piercing focus of the dying man's

Maybe the others were victims of their own imaginations; but that crook had seen something. Perhaps he had

heard something, too, for as the last stretcher passed from the elevator, Weston thought that he heard a

mirthless laugh whisper through the narrow hallway, like a knell, delivered from invisible lips.

Then, before Weston could step forward, something prodded him between the shoulders. Sensing the rounded

A HAND gripped Weston's shaking elbow, swung him full about, through a doorway into darkness. With his

He realized that he was in Gern's suite of groundfloor offices. He was being conducted through an outer

room, into the Stygian depths of an inner office. Weston remembered the place, because he had once called to

As he recalled it, Gern kept the inner office tightly locked. That the door was open proved that The Shadow's

Jerked backward, Weston found himself seated in a swivel chair; his hands, grabbing instinctively, were

clamped upon a desk edge. He could still feel the prodding barrel at his back; he began to sputter indignantly.

The Shadow was real enough, but he had no right to be using a gun as a means of intimidating anyone who

"Have you seen your friend Cranston lately?" inquired The Shadow, in a low tone that made Weston shudder.

"Cranston wasn't at the club," gulped Weston. "I don't know where he has been all day."

"He was here, not long ago. I chanced to see him, upstairs in Gern's penthouse."

The Shadow's words were literally true. He was referring to the time when, as Cranston, he had first glanced

"He talked of buying stock from Gern," he told Weston, still using the sepulchral tone. "I would advise you to

Such conversation lessened Weston's dread. He began a fuming protest regarding his present plight.

"I have business here," he began. "Inspector Cardona is starting to quiz Ted Lycombe. I must witness the

Again, The Shadow interrupted with stern sibilance that made the commissioner quail. Reaching to the desk

in front of Weston, a gloved hand pressed a switch. A light appeared, but it did not flood the room. The glow

Weston saw moving blurs upon the screen, heard sounds that reminded him of voices. The picture became

clearer, the tones understandable. Wholly fascinated, Weston was leaning forward, staring, when a gloved

Pressure removed itself from Weston's back; a moment later, The Shadow was placing a large fountain pen

"I no longer need this," spoke The Shadow, his tone a low chuckle. "You can use it to take notes,

It dawned on Weston that he hadn't been feeling the muzzle of an automatic in the middle of his back. The

Shadow had taken him under complete control by nudging him with the big end of the fountain pen, which

But Commissioner Weston was no longer in a resentful mood. He was muttering thanks to The Shadow for

having brought him here. He heard his cloaked friend move away, but Weston remained at the desk, no

MEANWHILE, in Gern's strong room, Joe Cardona was grilling Ted Lycombe. Cardona had faced Ted

toward the couch mirror, and replaced the shattered bulb with a fresh one. He wanted Ted to keep staring at a

Still somewhat groggy, Ted was slow responding to the grilling. Slumped pitifully in his chair, he tried to

He saw Sherwood Gern, glowering with pompous indignation. Beyond was Guy Winrow, his pale features

strained to an expression of real hate. Archie Freer, usually jocular, was glaring at Ted as if remembering the

One face, alone, showed sympathy. Marian Farris was present, her lovely features strained with sorrow.

Behind that sadness lay a touch of pity, that was almost sympathy. But Ted had no chance to catch Marian's

"We've got the goods on you, Lycombe!" asserted Cardona, flapping a bundle of money in front of Ted's

"It's actually my money!" he retorted, hotly. "A man has a right to take what belongs to him!"

"Whatever I do is unlawful," gritted Ted. "With you hounding me, how did you expect me to collect what

For answer, Cardona pulled a cellophane glove from Ted's left hand, yanked another one from the prisoner's

pocket. Grabbing Ted's hands, he drove their fingers into a smudgy substance, pressed them promptly against

Comparing the prints with a photostat that he had handy, Cardona showed a perfect match with the

"A smart idea, those gloves," scoffed Joe, "but you slipped, Lycombe, when you were bundling that cash at

the Drober Chain office. You had one glove off just long enough to leave your prints on a paper band that

Ted stared, his lips failing him. The glare of the light was taking its effect. He seemed bewildered.

"We've settled that case without argument," decided Cardona, "but now we'll get to the start of things, the

murder of Frank Barstead. You used a .38 for that job, Lycombe, and the slugs we found in Barstead match

"They came from this gun" Joe dangled Ted's revolver, which he had found lying on the floor "and we

won't have to wait for a firearm identification. Because" the inspector's chin was thrusting close to Ted's

He pointed to the handle of the weapon, indicating a missing chunk from its walnut grip. He rubbed his finger

"You can't use a gun for a sledge hammer," reminded Cardona, "without expecting it to show. I got a good

look at this daisy, down at the Five Spot Cafe. It's yours, right enough, Lycombe!"

"Call it my gun!" retorted Ted. "I didn't plug you with it, did I? You were ready to take a shot at me "

"Maybe I was," interjected Cardona, "But what about Frank Barstead, the night you murdered him?"

Gripping the chair arms, Ted shoved himself half to his feet. His voice was hoarse, as he shouted:

"Leave Barstead out of it! I don't know anything about him, except that he was a rat! I didn't want to kill him;

TED's sentence ended when Cardona shoved him violently back into the chair. Swinging the incriminating

gun right in front of Ted's blinking eyes, Cardona voiced his solid accusation in a tone that told all argument

"But you did kill Barstead!" The words were as cold as the gun steel. "Four witnesses heard you argue with

him; two of them are right here, to remind you of everything you said. They heard the shots when you fired

them, Lycombe. Shots that Barstead didn't have a chance to stop except with his heart. It was murder,

Cardona paused. Dramatically he waited, giving all a chance to break the silence. Not a person moved, nor

Then, from outside that singularly quiet room came the throb of a strange laugh. It was The Shadow's tone,

but its mirth did not rise. Instead, the weird mockery changed to words, uttered in a sibilant tone.

It was a thing of the present, that chilling throb; but listeners were to learn, from its own words, that The

BEFORE The Shadow's words were fully audible, Ted Lycombe gulped a recollection. It was something that

he remembered from those dazed moments when he had been lying, half paralyzed, on the floor of this very

"The Shadow pulled that trick before!" expressed Ted. "He was here but he was out there, too! That's where

Cardona yanked the door wider. The living room was lighted; two officers on duty there were puzzled by the

sound. They could hear The Shadow, but they couldn't see him. The thing scared them.

Meanwhile, The Shadow's tone was delivering impressive words, slowly spoken, with the weird emphasis

"I am speaking from the past," announced The Shadow, "to disclose a source of crime. Its story is a strange

There was a jarring crackle, as one of the officers pulled a roundish instrument up from behind a radiator in

the living room. Cardona recognized that the device was a loudspeaker. He saw a wire attached to it.

The wire ran out through a window to the terrace, but where it led wasn't important at the moment. Cardona

didn't want the voice cut off. He yelled for the officer to set the loudspeaker on the window sill above the

That done, the crackle ended. The Shadow's tone was coming from a record, that Burbank had placed on a

Burbank had used a different record, a while before; one that provided a perfect imitation of The Shadow's

challenging laugh! Small wonder that crooks had swung in the wrong direction, to meet their invisible foe!

"Let us return to a night of murder," spoke The Shadow's tone. "The place is the apartment where Frank

Cardona heard a shriek behind him. It was uttered by Guy Winrow. The palefaced man was shouting: "No!

No!" as if the very mention of that terrible experience harrowed him. Striding across the room, Cardona

By then, the pause had ended; through the hallway came the sound of voices other than The Shadow's, tones

Two voices were raised in argument, breaking into disjointed accents. The voices of Ted Lycombe and Frank

"That's what we heard through the transom! Listen they're arguing about the money, and Marian Farris "

TED was on his feet, straining away from Cardona's hard clutch. Grabbing at Archie, Ted was trying to make

"It was earlier than that, Archie," expostulated Ted. "Those are things that Frank and I said that afternoon.

Ted's own voice was interrupting him, as it came along the hall from the throat of the loudspeaker. Ted

heard himself uttering a threat to Frank, a distorted threat, pieced from words that he had spoken on an earlier

The voices ended. In their place came scuffling sounds; the muffled report of a gun, which was repeated.

Next, a thud, an incoherent groan. Finally, the rattle of a bolt, the slash of an opening door.

Cardona flung Ted back in his chair, then shot a look at Winrow, who was huddled on the couch. Swinging to

Archie, Cardona shook him, to get rid of the stupefied look on the fellow's face.

"Was that what you heard?" demanded Cardona. "The time when Barstead was murdered?"

"I wonder how The Shadow got hold of that," mused Cardona. "He wouldn't have let Barstead get killed."

"You have listened to a recording," came The Shadow's tone, "prepared by Guy Winrow, prior to the murder

of Frank Barstead. You will now hear portions of the original records, from which Winrow prepared his

Again, the voices of Ted and Frank. They were engaged in their original, and actual, dispute, the one of the

afternoon. As their words finished, a string of sound effects began: gunshots, rattles of doors, plus other

Ted Lycombe took a long spring from his chair. He laid his hands around Winrow's throat, whipped the pale

man upright from the couch. Ted was saying something about rats; that choking them was the proper process,

Marian threw herself into the struggle. She grabbed at Ted's hands, fought to get them away from Winrow's

neck. But Ted wouldn't listen to her pleas, even though she begged him to let Winrow confess the guilt that

Tossing Ted's gun to a chair in the corner, Cardona shoved himself between the strugglers. Marian sank back

Ted's hands were loosening their hold; angrily, he pulled back one fist to take a punch at Cardona. The

Ted's ample jaw withstood Cardona's knuckles, but the punch carried him clear of Winrow. Staggering back,

Ted swayed in the grasp of the two officers who had come in from the living room. Massaging his hand,

"That's what Lycombe needed. Maybe he'll keep his head, after this. Any guy that doesn't, only makes

Ted heard the words and subsided. He understood what Cardona meant. Ted had proven himself a sucker and

a firstclass one. Blamed for a crime he didn't commit, he had behaved in the very form that crooks expected.

Cardona was concentrating upon Winrow, using the same tactics that he had employed earlier with Ted.

"You must have used Barstead's radio to fake that stuff," challenged Cardona, remembering the scene in the

Winrow was protesting that the radio was out of order; but Ted, remembering the completeness of Winrow's

"Winrow had the whole rig in his own place," Ted told Cardona. "A microphone and everything. He could

TED had struck the truth. Timed to his statement, a laugh came from the hallway. The Shadow's voice had

finished; the final tone of his recorded mirth had chanced to come at a timely moment.

The laugh was designed for Winrow; for The Shadow knew that by this time, the real murderer would be

Rising in its mockery, the laugh reached the top of its crescendo, broke into shivering echoes that seemed to

cling to the very walls. Winrow's resistance broke completely. His confession poured from his pasty,

"I killed Frank," he admitted. "I recorded lots of arguments between Frank and Ted, but the best one came

that afternoon. I dubbed in sound effects, to make it strong. I used the mallet and the carton for the muffled

"I piped it through, the way Ted said. I had a bunch of wires in the extension cord to Frank's radio. The tubes

were all right; so was the loudspeaker. The trouble was in the dial connection; I gummed it, so that Frank

"I was in there, talking to Frank, when Archie and the rest arrived. I shot Frank twice" Winrow gave two

nervous jerks "while he was starting to the door. I moved the chairs and opened the door to the balcony. I

Winrow's statement ended with a choke. The fellow shrank back to the couch. Cardona turned to Archie

"It fits," declared Archie. "The others will say the same. We must have been ringing for three or four minutes,

before Winrow showed up to let us in. Right now, he's acting like he did then. But his nerve came back when

"It should have," put in Ted, savagely. "From then on, he was a master of ceremonies, letting you hear a

Cardona was pumping Winrow further. Marian heard the whiny murderer admit that the cigarette case was

one that Ted had sold to Frank. When Cardona pointed to the chair in the corner, where Ted's gun lay,

"You killed Barstead with that gun," accused Cardona. "Then" Joe had a sudden hunch "you left it in

Winrow started a nod, then became frantic with his denials. His face showed utter terror, as he shrieked that

Cardona didn't believe that lie. He could understand why Winrow was trying to cover Griff. The mob leader

was missing from among the crew that The Shadow had demolished on the terrace. Winrow was afraid that

"If you clear the room," said Gern, "you can probably make Winrow talk. The fellow is scared stiff, for fear

Interrupting with a nod, Cardona motioned the others out to the hall. Marian and Archie went first, followed

by the two patrolmen. Cardona went along, as far as the door, dragging Winrow with him, while Gern stood

Turning, Cardona motioned to Ted, who rose from a chair, scarcely realizing that he was free. Even when the

blame was placed on Winrow, Ted had remained a prisoner, in a sense. He had been punched by Cardona,

grabbed by a pair of officers. It didn't seem sensible for Ted to find himself squared with the law.

From the door, Cardona grinned. The feud with Ted was over; crime was through. So, at least, Cardona

supposed; but circumstances fooled him. Crime wasn't finished; there was more to come. Things hadn't

One man alone was to blame: Joe Cardona. Unwittingly, the police inspector had set a scene for crime!

CARDONA had guessed wrong about Guy Winrow. The pale man had spunk of a sort, though he hadn't

displayed it under accusation. If Winrow had been the jellyfish that Cardona considered him to be, he never

Gern had analyzed the fellow better than Cardona. He had claimed that Winrow would talk, after the room

was cleared; but Winrow did more than talk. He suddenly showed action, that fitted with his own confession.

Perhaps it was the fading of footsteps along the hallway; possibly some other factor that made Winrow

believe the field was clear enough for action. Whatever the reason, he saw his opportunity and took it.

Cardona was turned toward Ted; the grip on Winrow's shoulder had relaxed. With a snarl, the pastyfaced

killer gave a forceful wrench; clear of Cardona's clutch, he dived across the room.

Gern sprang to stop him, only to be lashed aside by Winrow's flaying arm. Catching an oath from Cardona,

Ted took it as an order and launched after the diving murderer. All saw Winrow's objective; the death gun

Pulling his own revolver, Cardona aimed. He sidestepped in front of the doorway, where the pounding of

But Cardona didn't fire. Winrow had failed to get the gun. Ted was making a lower swoop to grab it, when

The gun bounded along the floor, with Ted after it. Winrow was wheeling toward the door, hoping to slash

Ted with the chair, when Gern reached the killer, lunging with all his weight. They hit the door together; it

Joe took the door right on the chin, as hard a thump as the punch that he had given Ted a while before. Lifted

from his feet, Cardona landed in the arms of the two patrolmen who were hurrying in to aid him.

But Joe wasn't knocked out. Amid the spinning sensation that came with his sag, he heard the sounds that

There was a splintering smash, which told that Winrow had flung the chair. A snarl; a triumphant one, that

only the murderer could have uttered. Then, in the midst of Winrow's maddened glee, Cardona heard a

Winrow's triumph died with a rattling sound. Something thudded the floor. Cardona drove forward, grabbed

at the handle of the door. It was tugged inward before he could grip it. Gern had crawled to the door on hands

Two forms were on the floor. Ted Lycombe was prone amid the wreckage of the chair, pressing one hand to

his head. His other hand was clutching for the revolver that lay close by it. Smoke was curling from the death

Winrow was the evidence. He lay groaning, his hand pressed to his breast. Bloodstains showed that the bullet

had taken him in the chest. The selfadmitted murderer was dying, very much as he had deserved.

Cardona bent above Winrow, began to ply him with questions. Joe was demanding the truth about Griff, and

anything that went with it. Winrow tried his best to talk, but his words meant little. His pasty lips were

All that Winrow could do was raise one hand, as if to point; but the effort was too much. His arm flattened,

THE officers picked Ted up and put him on the couch. Cardona pocketed the death gun and stared at Ted's

Marian had come in from the hall; observing Ted's inert form, the girl started toward the couch. When

"You can't call it murder!" exclaimed Gern. "Why, Ted shot Winrow in selfdefense. I saw Winrow strike

Cardona lowered his arm to let Marian go by. Still, he didn't like the look of things. The law had plenty

against Ted Lycombe, if it wanted to press the case. Maybe Ted's methods were nothing but mistakes, but he

This one struck Cardona as just too much. Winrow was the one man who could have cleared Ted entirely, by

giving all facts regarding Griff Conlad. But Ted had shot Winrow, instead of waiting for others to suppress

The possible answer struck Cardona very forcibly. Ted could have decided that Winrow had told enough; that

There was still the crime at the Drober Corporation office. Winrow had played no part in it. He had been

under police guard all the time. As for the attempted robbery here at Gern's, Ted had been caught with the

"Suppose that they were both crooked," declared Joe. "Ted Lycombe and Guy Winrow. In that case, it

As Cardona finished his statement, another voice spoke, from the doorway. It was a crisp tone, that said:

They turned, to see Ralph Weston. The police commissioner was holding a gun. Cardona couldn't see the

need for the weapon, since Ted was lying helpless. But Weston kept the gun trained across the room.

"It was murder," repeated Weston. "Witnessed murder. I saw the crime myself, inspector. I want you to arrest

There were times when Cardona believed that Weston lived in a little world of his own, listening to the

warble of the cuckoo birds. But he hadn't expected the commissioner to go clean off his nut at a time like this.

It was impossible for Weston to have witnessed Winrow's death, for the commissioner hadn't been in the

penthouse at the time, let alone the strong room. But since the commissioner held a gun, and looked as

Pulling a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, the inspector stepped toward the couch.

"Come back here," chided Weston. "I didn't refer to Lycombe. I told you to arrest the murderer!"

Cardona turned, amazed. He saw the actual direction of Weston's gun. It was pointed straight for Sherwood

TWO seconds later, Cardona realized that the commissioner was not crazy, never had been.

Gern was wheeling away, his hands upraised. Half about, he was viewing his own florid face in the mirror

above the couch. Weston's sharp chuckle must have told Gern that the game was up.

"Don't put them on me!" Gern gestured toward the handcuffs. "I'll talk, if you'll only treat me right."

Cardona had drawn his gun, along with the handcuffs. He stopped Gern with the muzzle; the florid man

sagged to a chair. Weston motioned for Cardona to put away the handcuffs. Joe did, but he kept Gern

The way things were shaping up, Cardona wished he had six hands, with a gun in each. Guessing who was

which had become a problem that made him suspect everyone in the place. But Commissioner Weston

Stepping to the wall, Weston removed the big mirror from beneath the glowing light.

The mirror, Cardona saw instantly, was a sheet of semitransparent glass. Behind it was a squarish object that

looked like a silvered screen. Its background had supplied the reflection for the mirror.

Hanging to the level of the couch back, the false mirror's wide frame had hidden a wire.

"Winrow's invention," explained Weston. Then, turning about: "What did he call the device, Gern?"

"An excellent name for it," returned Weston. "It is something like a dictograph, Cardona, but with a

television attachment. We shall find a use for it ourselves, later on. It carries pictures, as well as sound, and I

"Do you mean" Cardona was astounded "that you were a witness to everything that happened here?"

"I said that before," reminded Weston, dryly. "I saw several interesting things, inspector. It was Gern who

actually slammed the door shut; Gern, again, who grabbed up the gun while Winrow was striking Lycombe

with the chair. Gern fired the death shot and dropped the gun beside Lycombe's hand, before opening the

Weston turned toward Gern, as he spoke. The florid man look the accusation stolidly. But his look changed

"While you have been hearing the voice of The Shadow," declared Weston, "I have been talking with that

gentleman, in person. Before you start your confession, Gern, I shall ask you to read these notes."

He passed Gern three sheets of inked notations. The Shadow had made them on the pad downstairs. Gern's

face rivaled the paper in whiteness, as his fingers let the sheets flutter to the floor. Until then, Gern had not

Head of the crooked game, Sherwood Gern had considered his own position secure. It was no longer so. The

THE facts that dripped from Gern's ashen lips were concise and simple; as simple as they had been difficult

to prove. It was Weston who punctuated them occasionally with certain explanations concerning The

While Gern talked, Ted Lycombe propped himself upon the couch, to hear the remarkable story.

Coolly, Gern admitted himself to be a crook but one of a deeper dye than the law supposed. He had used

his shady stock transactions to cover more vicious crimes, in which he had used Griff Conlad as his

In trying to sell fraudulent stock to Frank Barstead, Gern had learned that Barstead was backing Winrow in

some new invention, which the two were keeping a close secret. It wasn't one of the gadgets with which

Winrow fiddled when other persons were around. It was obviously something much better.

Ignoring Barstead, Gern had approached Winrow, with the best of bait. He had offered to back the mysterious

invention, sight unseen, on a far bigger scale than Barstead could. Winrow had listened. Most inventors did.

Gern had learned about the teletector. He recognized its possibilities in crime. With its aid, crooks could look

Scenting a crooked streak in Winrow, he had told the inventor of its possibilities, offered him a half share in

Knowing what Winrow's invention was, Frank would have the key to crime when it began. The conspirators

Between them, Gern and Winrow planned the synthetic crime. Needing a dupe, they picked Ted Lycombe. At

By selling Ted surefire stock, Gern saw to it that delayed returns would put Ted out of funds and force him

to borrow from Frank. When Gern paused at that point, Weston supplied an interjection.

"I said it was illogical," declared the commissioner, adding: "But The Shadow saw logic in it. Go on, Gern."

"Ted was getting down and out," continued Gern. "I told Griff to get hold of him and do some missionary

"No. He told Griff to watch me. When the right night came, I went to the Wessex to talk with Marian. I had

"Exactly what The Shadow said," was the commissioner's comment. "He saw through your game, Gern. But

"It didn't matter," inserted Gern. "Griff was on hand, supposed to be tailing me. So he delayed Marian

The commissioner smiled. Gern's statements fell right in line with The Shadow's deductions.

GERN proceeded. When accused of crime he hadn't committed, Ted had behaved in his usual hotheaded

With Ted safely in the hideaway, Griff had raided Winrow's place to smash the telltale records and pick up

the death gun that Winrow had left in his desk. Griff had ruined Barstead's radio cabinet, but had left the

money in it. Winrow knew about the cash, felt that its discovery would protect him.

It hadn't with The Shadow. Having removed the incriminating records before the rest were broken, The

Shadow recognized Winrow's full part. But his discovery of the teletector was another thing. It went with the

"We used the teletector to pull the Drober job," admitted Gern. "I had it planted behind old Drober's picture,

and I was in an office below. I saw Burman open the combination. When I went up, I packed the teletector

"I planted a money band from some cash that Griff had given Ted, when he slipped him Winrow's gun for

future use. The band had Ted's fingerprints on it. But The Shadow queered the job. He messed things again,

Cardona remembered that night. He glanced toward Ted and shook his head. No wonder Ted had shown a

killer's tendencies on that occasion. But, at present, Ted was taking things quite calmly.

He was rubbing his jaw, as he listened to Gern. Perhaps he still felt the punch that Cardona had given him.

"We had to get The Shadow!" stormed Gern, suddenly. "The best way was to bring him here. This room was

the trap we wanted. I rigged the teletector so that Winrow and I could watch when The Shadow entered. I

"We figured Ted would give The Shadow a battle, and that Griff and his gunners would finish both of them.

We didn't want The Shadow, and we didn't need Ted. Even when The Shadow chucked Ted across the desk, I

thought Griff had a chance to win. It was the phony laugh that ruined it from out there!"

Halfway up from his chair, Gern stabbed a finger toward the hallway, indicating the living room beyond.

Taking the chair with him, Gern made a backhand swing that almost telescoped Cardona's gun arm. As Joe's

A side swing of the chair staggered Weston when the commissioner tried to draw his gun. One of the

patrolmen fired, but Gern chucked the chair at him, forcing him to lose his aim. By the time the second

Pursuit began. It stopped at the door. Gern had reached the living room; and he wasn't alone. Two ghosts

from the past were there to aid him; solid ghosts, still very much alive: Griff and Peeper. One of Griff's arms

The two had duplicated The Shadow's stunt of rolling across the parapet of the terrace, where they had

remained, safely hidden, until they wondered what was going on inside. They had chosen the right time to

"Stay back," rasped Griff, in no mood for smooth words. "If you don't, we'll let you have it!"

Then, as Cardona blocked those behind him and thrust them back into the strong room, Griff turned to Gern.

"We've been using your phone," chuckled Griff. "I'll pay you the nickel later. You know those extra

torpedoes I told you about? They're on their way here. We'll wait for them, so they can cover the getaway.

FROM behind Griff came a whispered laugh, a sinister chuckle that outvied the crook's ugly laugh.

Gern gave a startled exclamation; but Peeper swung full about. Griff kept covering the hallway; as the laugh

"Don't fall for that stuff! It's only the loudspeaker. Nobody fools me twice the same way not even The

The whispered mirth faded. With its echoes, Griff heard something thud beside him. Looking down, he saw

Peeper. The little crook lay stunned. His charge toward the loudspeaker on the window sill had ended in a

Whipping about, Griff backed suddenly away, as if expecting the amplifier to deliver a few hundred thousand

volts. He knew what had dropped Peeper: the hard sledge of a heavy gun, swung at the moment of the

Griff was blasting as he turned; but his gun didn't talk alone. The burst of a .45 chimed with the barks of the

.38 that Griff held. A dagger of flame pierced Griff before he could get in a straightaimed shot.

Sagging, Griff sprawled at the feet of the cloaked fighter who had fooled him twice. He had heard The

During that double settlement, Gern had seen The Shadow. Desperately, Gern snatched up Peeper's revolver

and made for the main door. He wanted to reach the fire tower ahead of The Shadow's shots. The chance he

took was like one that Cardona had once taken: about one in a million. But Gern was lucky, like Cardona.

Guns were blazing from the doorway as Gern neared it; he dived through while The Shadow was firing at the

tonguing targets. Griff's new supply of coverup men had arrived, a half dozen of them. Like others, they

As he fired, the cloaked fighter wheeled out to the terrace. Crooks, following, saw him roll across a parapet,

to escape the glow from the living room. Flinging after him, they were met with bullets that wilted their

Along with The Shadow's fire, his agents were shooting from the window next door. Cardona and the two

patrolmen had reached the penthouse living room and were adding their efforts to the cause.

Out of the sixman mob, only one crook reached the rail. Taking bullets as he shoved his shoulders over it,

The Shadow watched the tumbling thug dwindle. He heard Cardona yell for the officers to follow him in

pursuit of Gern. Remaining where he was, The Shadow awaited an opportunity in which the odds were

A tiny car spun into sight below. Its speed told who the driver was. Sherwood Gern was making his getaway.

His automatic propped against the roof edge, The Shadow sighted on a traffic light at the corner just ahead.

As the car veered past the light, its left side was toward The Shadow. Pressing the trigger, The Shadow

triggered a single shot, at a downward angle. His target was the window beside the driver's seat. He scored a

The car lurched catercornered, ricocheted from a swerving truck and smashed a building wall head on.

Guided by a wounded driver, the automobile did not slacken speed. The hood telescoped through the

Out from a gap that had once been a door came a staggering figure, that flattened as its hand began to shoot a

useless gun. Other revolvers were talking from the sidewalk; but Cardona's fire was unneeded, although well

Gern was as good as dead when he rolled from the bashed car. The Shadow's timely shot had sent the master

RETURNING through the front door of the apartment house, Cardona found Weston awaiting him. The

commissioner beckoned the inspector into Gern's groundfloor office, to show him the receiving end of the

On the screen, Cardona saw the interior of the strong room. He saw two persons, heard their subdued voices.

They were standing near the door: Ted Lycombe and Marian Farris. Soberly, Ted was explaining things that

he thought Marian had not fully understood. He was telling her that he had teamed up with Griff only to

watch Gern; that all his talk of anything resembling crime had been his idea of collecting the money that was

"I was a fool," conceded Ted. "A terrible fool to listen to Griff at all! The blacker things got, the worse I

Ted's eyes met Marian's. Her gaze told him that he was still a fool, to be talking at all. His arms tightened

On the screen below, two witnesses saw the kiss that followed, and might have heard it, too, if another sound

From somewhere, probably the terrace, the teletector picked up the tone of a distant laugh and brought it to

the listeners in the groundfloor office. Both Weston and Cardona could sense the thought behind that mirth.

It was The Shadow's triumph, a parting laugh that sent its trailing echoes to the scene where crime had failed!