THE WASP RETURNS.....................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. THE MAN FROM THE PAST .........................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. THE WASP PREPARES .................................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. THE HOUSE ACROSS THE WAY............................................................................10

CHAPTER IV. THE DOUBLE TRAP ..................................................................................................14

CHAPTER V. IN TWO CAMPS..........................................................................................................17

CHAPTER VI. DEATH MOST SINGULAR.......................................................................................21

CHAPTER VII. LOST TRAILS ............................................................................................................25

CHAPTER VIII. THE WASP DECIDES ..............................................................................................29

CHAPTER IX. THE CHANCE MEETING ..........................................................................................33

CHAPTER X. CROOKS IN THE DARK .............................................................................................37

CHAPTER XI. DEATH ON THE WING.............................................................................................41

CHAPTER XII. MURDER IN ADVANCE ..........................................................................................45

CHAPTER XIII. CRIME HALF DONE...............................................................................................49

CHAPTER XIV. THE FINAL STRIDE ................................................................................................53

CHAPTER XV. THE GREAT SCHEME.............................................................................................58

CHAPTER XVI. THE MAN IN THE BOOTH....................................................................................63

CHAPTER XVII. THE SHOT FROM THE DARK.............................................................................67

CHAPTER XVIII. THE DEATH THREAT.........................................................................................71

CHAPTER XIX. SHADOW VERSUS WASP.....................................................................................74

QUEER visitors often came to the offices of the Amalgamated Export Co., in downtown New York, but there

had been a dearth of them during recent months. With world trade badly disturbed, business had been none

too good for Amalgamated Export. The girl behind the information desk sized up all strangers as creditors,

Hence, she was really surprised by the queer visitor who entered; not only did he seem a figure from the past,

but he was the queerest that the girl had ever seen. It was almost as if all the forgotten customers of

Amalgamated Export had banded together, picked the member of their lot, and sent that one character to

The man was neither tall nor short, neither stout nor angular. He was stoopish, and in the threadbare topcoat

It was odd that he should be wearing a coat at all, for the weather was quite warm; and equally curious,

considering that he classed the temperature as cool, was the fact that his eyes were shielded by a pair of dark

When he took his hat off, he revealed graystreaked hair, plastered outward from a part in the middle. His

bow, though a profound one, came only from his neck, as though his stooped shoulders were too stiff to

move. He was wearing gloves, too, as the girl noticed when he tendered her a card, which read:

The business card told Twingle's story. He was one of many smallfry trading agents scattered over the

globe. Ruined commerce had probably starved him out, like others, so Twingle had boarded a steamer at

Accustomed to very hot weather, he was wearing gloves and topcoat, while the sun goggles were part of his

usual regalia when in the tropics. Maybe be wanted to look at the tall buildings in New York and did not care

Twingle's face, though pinched and drawn, had something of a tan, which fitted with his tropical background.

"I am sure that Mr. Upman will see you," the girl told Twingle. "He is very busy, at present, with the

directors, but I know that he will be free later. I shall take your card in to Mr. Upman right away."

Mention of Upman brought a pleased nod from Twingle. Craig Upman was the president of the Amalgamated

Export Co., and therefore the man that Twingle would particularly want to meet. A sharp glint flashed

through the sun glasses as the girl left her desk and went through a doorway to the inner offices.

As soon as the door closed, Twingle's actions became surprising. Lifting from his chair, the stoopish man

reached the desk with a quick dart. There was a rack on the desk, with compartments arranged for mail and

other communications. One compartment already held a few envelopes, and it was labeled with the word:

Whipping a thin envelope from his pocket, Twingle slipped it into the auditor's box, placing it neatly between

the other letters. Then, back to his chair again, the goggled man resumed his dull and almost stupid pose. He

Soon, an office boy came into the reception room and picked out the envelopes from the racked

As the boy went away, Twingle's lips flickered with a shrewd smile, an expression that the girl did not notice,

for she was busy and had practically forgotten the curious visitor from Central America.

IN a little office, Louis Dore, auditor for Amalgamated Export, was going over typewritten sheets of figures,

Dore was a middleaged man, of efficient manner, but his long, wise features bore a definite trace of worry.

Pencil in hand, he was studying a sheet of figures, debating whether or not he should cross out a certain item.

At last, Dore's face stiffened. The tightness of his lips told that he had come to an important decision. Still

holding the pencil, he reached for the telephone and gave a number. Soon, Dore was speaking:

"Hello... Cobalt Club? I'd like to speak to Commissioner Weston... My name? I'll give it to the police

commissioner personally. Yes, it is very important. Commissioner Weston will understand "

Dore's authoritative tone brought results. He relaxed with a smile, as someone at the other end of the wire

promised to call the police commissioner immediately. He showed a momentary trace of worry when

someone knocked at the office door; then, recognizing that it was only the office boy, Dore called for him to

The boy came in, left the envelopes, and went out again. Putting his pencil in back of his ear, Dore used his

free hand to thumb through the mail that the boy had brought, still holding the telephone receiver with his

Among the envelopes, Dore found the blank one that Twingle had added to the stack. It was sealed, and its

thinness puzzled him. Shifting the telephone, he planted his elbow on the envelope, reached for a paper cutter

A tiny object fluttered to the desk, a transparent thing that many persons might have failed to notice. Not so

The expression which Dore's face registered was not a mere return of worry. His features whitened, as though

their own distortion had forced the blood away from them. The emotion that overwhelmed Louis Dore was

The voice was coming from the telephone; it was a brisk tone, that could only mean Commissioner Weston.

Weston could not have heard the choking tone that followed, for Dore was letting the telephone sink from his

hand. It reached the stand and clattered there, Dore's fingers trembling as they guided it. Then, with wildly

nervous action, Dore brushed the wasp's wing from his desk into a wastebasket and dropped the envelope

There was another knock at the door. Dore wheeled in his swivel chair, his hands half raised, as though he

expected an invader with a gun. He was trying to mouth a protest, a plea to the Wasp, but his voice failed to

reach his lips. Whoever the Wasp might be, it was evident that Dore dreaded him, to the full limit that one

"The directors are in meeting, Mr. Dore. They want you to bring the report sheets."

Dore reached for the papers. His hand touched the pencil, and he flicked it aside as though it were a

poisonous thing. Gathering his reports, he stumbled to the door and opened it, to thrust the sheets into the

"You... you'd better take these, Miss Lane," Dore stammered. "They're... they're all complete... exactly as Mr.

Upman wants them. I'm a bit ill. I've been working too heavily... against doctor's orders. Good day, Miss

The last that the stenographer saw of Dore, he was groping along the hallway toward a door that only the

executives used, a route that enabled him to leave the premises without going through the reception room.

Dore knew too well from what direction the sinister envelope had come, and he was not anxious to meet the

SEATED at a large table in a long conference room, Craig Upman showed some surprise when the

Upman was a brusque, squarejawed man, who never tolerated laxity on the part of his subordinates.

"You may go," he said to the stenographer. "If you see Mr. Dore, tell him we shall not need him. These

"We are still solvent, gentlemen," he declared. "Evidently our business did not suffer so badly at the hand of

Mention of Gannaford caused the directors to exchange troubled looks. To them, the name had ominous

significance. Noting their expressions, Upman let his strong face show a disdainful smile.

"Basil Gannaford," he repeated. "The brain of crime who called himself the Wasp. Many of you knew

Gannaford when he was a business counselor; he was a schemer who gained control of large corporations and

"Fortunately, he was exposed and forced to flee, before he could get a strong hold upon the Amalgamated

The directors began to paw over the sheets of the auditor's reports. Meanwhile, Upman continued:

"We can pay off our creditors at once. The question, then, is whether we should remain in business in the face

of present trade conditions. At any rate, we shall have plenty of funds. None of our debts are very large."

"Except this one," observed a director, handing a sheet to Upman. "We owe fifty thousand dollars to a man

The item to which the director pointed was the very one that Louis Dore had been planning to cross out at the

time he telephoned the police commissioner. Upman stared at the entry, then reached for a card which lay on

"Jeroboam Twingle," he repeated, slowly. "He is waiting in the outside office. Evidently the fellow is a

gogetter, or he could not have run up so large an account. Suppose we send for him and hear what he has to

The directors agreed. Upman sent for Twingle and the stooped man soon appeared, still wearing his topcoat.

There were smiles among the directors when they looked at Twingle, and his wheezy voice fitted his absurd

The man from the tropics merely nodded his thanks when Upman passed him a check for fifty thousand

dollars. Despite his seedy appearance, he seemed to regard the money as a mere trifle. Wheezily, he declared

that he had not come from Central America to collect a debt which so he affirmed had never caused him

the slightest worry. His business in New York concerned the future, not the past.

"I bring you opportunity," he declared. "Central America is the great market of the future, an area of new

development. You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain, by handling exports to the tropics. You own

ships, gentlemen; very well, keep them and use them, for they will certainly be needed.

"I have many contacts" Twingle's eyes were glinting through the dark goggles "both here and in Central

America. I can arrange for the exports, and dispose of them, if you will provide the ships to carry them. If you

Word by word, Twingle was impressing the directors more and more. But there was one man whose interest

slackened and whose doubts increased, as Twingle proceeded with the proposition. He was the squarejawed

man at the head of the table: Craig Upman. Long in the export business, Upman could not bring himself to

THE meeting ended. From his chair, Upman watched the directors leave, still chatting with Twingle, as the

When they were gone, Upman shook his head. The Amalgamated Export Co. had gone through one crisis,

when under the baleful influence of Basil Gannaford; he was afraid that it would encounter another, if the

Gannaford and Twingle so different, so far apart. Such was the point that deceived Craig Upman and made

him overlook the very fact that would have explained his deepfelt suspicions: the fact that Gannaford and

Names did not matter, personalities were a sham, when the master of crime was on the move. The Wasp,

whose mighty brain dealt in twisted schemes of evil, had returned, to resume his outrageous career. Men such

as Craig Upman could never hope to oppose him; nor could the law, itself, defeat so shrewd a supercrook.

In all New York, there was only one living being capable of coping with the Wasp.

VELMA CORL looked at herself in the mirror and gave a blueeyed stare that ended in a wince. Turning,

she brushed back the blond hair that strewed across her eyes and gazed about the tawdry, dimly lighted room.

Then, stepping to the window, she raised the tattered shade and gave a mournful look across the dingy court,

The glare represented the bright lights of Manhattan, and Velma yearned for them. But her prospect of

sampling New York's night life was very slim indeed. So slim, that Velma wondered if she would ever have a

good time again. Perhaps she didn't deserve to have a good time; but arguing the other way around, maybe

she had a right to one. It all resolved to the question: should Velma hate herself, or hate everyone else.

It all went back to the time when Velma had served the Wasp. She'd gone into it much deeper than she had

expected; nevertheless, she had to admit that her eyes had been open all the while. She had been valuable to

the Wasp, and he, in turn, had promised Velma big reward. She had lost out, but Velma couldn't blame the

It had been a mad whirl, that past of Velma's. A whirl of money, excitement, everything that had seemed

worthwhile at the time. It had resulted in a cold awakening, and Velma was paying the price.

Others had paid more: some had died, the rest were in prison, some of them with terms that would run for

life. But maybe they were luckier than Velma, even if she had gone free through lack of solid evidence

The world despised Velma Corl, and she was inclined to share the world's opinion. The fact that she had a job

and a place to live, was due to the kindness of the very persons who could have supplied evidence to convict

They would both have died, with Velma quite responsible, if The Shadow had not saved them. Instead, Keith

and Ruth were married, very happily, and had seen to it that Velma had gotten a new start in life.

Which was all the more reason for Velma to feel as she did at present. It seemed impossible for her to ever

really redeem herself and be worthwhile, and that, in turn, made her wonder if there was any use to try.

Out of the misery which oppressed her, Velma Corl could find only one lifting thought, which gripped her

more and more, even though she strove to shake it off. It was the hope that the Wasp might some time return

The distant glow, and the glitter it represented, made Velma think of the Wasp, and as she recalled the past,

she felt that she could condone his crimes. Hearing a knock at her door, the blonde turned mechanically and

stared at a yellow envelope that someone had pushed beneath the door. Picking up the envelope, Velma

There was no signature to the message. It needed none. The transparent thing that fluttered from the yellow

IMMEDIATELY, Velma Corl was swept by the same emotion that had gripped Louis Dore that afternoon.

But where Dore had represented the Wasp quite secretly, and had kept his past covered, Velma was

deepdyed in the game and bore the Wasp's brand. Hence, her reaction was quite different.

Her panic ended as suddenly as it had begun, and a look of determination settled upon her attractive features.

Tearing the message to shreds, Velma burned the pieces in an ash tray and dropped the wasp's wing into the

miniature blaze. She surveyed herself in the mirror, then dressed in a sophisticated costume she knew would

Arriving by cab at the Belgrade Arms, Velma handed the driver the last dollar she had, then gave the

apartment house a rather dubious look. The name, "Belgrade Arms," implied that the place would be

fashionable, but it looked cheap and antiquated. The elevator was a jerky one, and the thirdfloor hall was

Arriving at H3, Velma found it to be a rear apartment. No one responded to her knock, so she tried the door,

found it unlocked, and stepped into a plainly furnished living room, which was very dim, for it was lighted

Then, as Velma waited, a door opened and the Wasp stepped into sight. Despite herself, Velma shuddered;

when she received the Wasp's extended hand, she recoiled from a stinging sensation. At that, the Wasp spoke,

"I have summoned you and others," declared the Wasp, "to aid me in a new campaign. My first motive will

Velma was staring as she nodded. She expected the Wasp to have the features of Basil Gannaford, which

were mild and elderly and accompanied by a friendly, easy voice. But she remembered that the Wasp had

kept his real identity covered, up to the very last. He preferred to appear in character, as suited his name, the

Wasp, and he was doing so on this occasion. In fact, the Wasp was really himself.

In appearance, he was a human wasp, his body long and very thin, particularly at the waist. His spindly legs

were like an insect's, and he managed his scrawny hands as if they were feelers, rubbing them constantly

His head was large as a wasp's should be. The light blurred his features, though such was hardly necessary,

for the Wasp, in private, made no effort to suppress the devilish gloat which so perfectly depicted his inner

"My first victim," the Wasp continued, "shall be a gentleman who made a great deal of trouble for Basil

Velma remembered Cranston all too well. He was a wealthy friend of the police commissioner, Ralph

Weston, and had been highly instrumental in exposing Gannaford as the Wasp. Cranston was very wealthy,

and had befriended both Keith Ellerton and Ruth Gorham. At times, Velma had believed that Cranston was

really responsible for providing her with a job, and that Ruth had merely served as gobetween.

If so, Cranston was closer to The Shadow than either Keith or Ruth, for it was plain that the hand of The

Shadow controlled everything. Thinking in terms of her own prolonged misery, Velma felt a real surge of

animosity toward Cranston. She was turned so the Wasp could see her face in the light, and a study of her

"You will serve me well," commended the Wasp. "As always, I am ready to reward in advance. This is for

He pressed an envelope in Velma's hand, and from its crinkle, the girl knew that the envelope contained

money. Then, drawing closer and lowering his drone, the Wasp gave specific instructions.

"TOMORROW night," the Wasp said, "you will call Cranston at the Cobalt Club. Tell him that you are in

trouble, but do not mention who you are. Make the call as mysterious as possible. Tell him to come to the

second floor of a certain house and look from the window of the front room. You will find the address in the

"He will not refuse," interposed the Wasp. "What is more" the drone took on a chuckle "he will see

nothing after he looks from that window. There will be a machine gun in the second floor of the house across

the way, ready to write off the debt that Lamont Cranston owes to Basil Gannaford."

Velma swayed slightly. This business of murder in cold blood, planned and announced beforehand, was

Then, Velma caught the glitter of the Wasp's eyes, fixed hard upon her. She steeled herself and gave him a

look of understanding. Desire for revenge was firmly evident in the girl's expression. In a low, harsh voice,

The door of the apartment had hardly closed behind Velma, before there was an answering click from the

Turning, the Wasp motioned to a wiry man who was standing in the inner doorway, ordering him back into

the other room. Joining his companion, the Wasp stepped into better light, making no further effort to conceal

In a way, concealment was unnecessary, for the Wasp was already in disguise. His pinched, drawn face,

topped by plastered hair, was the countenance of Jeroboam Twingle, the personality which the Wasp had

assumed to trick the directors of Amalgamated Export, and their president, Craig Upman.

The Wasp's wiry companion was, himself, a man of unusual appearance. His face was youngish, yet crafty,

and his features seemed as sleek as his glossy black hair. The sleek man would have been recognized by

He was known as Gopher Spenk, and his nickname came from his ability to burrow into hidden places,

particularly bank vaults and the like. But Gopher, finding the law too close upon his trail, had given up his

During the Wasp's previous run of crime, Gopher had not appeared at all, for the simple reason that the Wasp

had been grooming him for the future. Thus, Gopher was the first of his old retinue that the Wasp had

summoned, even before calling Velma, and it was plain that the Wasp intended to use Gopher as his chief

AT present, Gopher felt specially privileged, because he alone knew the Wasp was posing as Jeroboam

Twingle. From the door crack, Gopher had noticed that the Wasp did not show his face to Velma Corl. But

Gopher had gotten a good look at the blond visitor, since Velma's face had been turned toward the light.

"I've seen that dame before," Gopher told the Wasp in an oily tone. "She looks like she could help us in a big

"Because you said we're going to machine gun this guy Cranston. But you told me "

The Wasp intervened with a cackle that went well with the pinched face of Twingle. But his tone, when he

"We shall have the machine gun posted opposite," declared the Wasp. "I expect you to arrange that detail,

"You mean the dame may cross us?" he queried. "That maybe she'll tip off this guy Cranston?"

"She might," conceded the Wasp. "But there is also the possibility that Lamont Cranston has already placed

"You mean he's watching her, huh?" grunted Gopher. "Say if this guy Cranston is so smart, why don't you

let him cool a while? Forget the dame, too, and get on with the big jobs you've talked about. This revenge

The Wasp clapped an approving hand on Gopher's shoulder. The sleek crook gave an involuntary twinge, for

he felt a sharp sting from the Wasp's palm. Gopher wondered if the Wasp carried a special gadget to produce

that result, but his speculations on that point were ended by the Wasp's next statement.

"Revenge is sweet," quoted the Wasp, in droning style, "and therefore it should be reserved for the time when

it can be most enjoyed. I shall reserve revenge for many persons who once opposed me. But revenge is not

my motive for disposing of Lamont Cranston. My statement to Velma was merely a pretext."

The Wasp's hand had relaxed. Gopher felt the sting no longer, as his strange chief leaned closer, to buzz a

confidential whisper. Gopher expected something startling, but his wildest conjecture could not approach the

"Had I told Velma the full truth," spoke the Wasp, "she would never have consented to lure Cranston to his

doom. Nor would your men go through with your orders, Gopher, if you gave the real facts to them. I am

telling you, because, like myself, you will be in a safe place when the death trap springs.

"The elimination of Lamont Cranston is more than important; it is imperative. He happens to be the one man

who might thwart my future plans. If we fail in the first attempt, we must make a new endeavor. I, alone,

have learned Cranston's actual identity, and intend to make use of my knowledge. Lamont Cranston is "

The Wasp paused. His eyes, glittery with venom, were fixed upon those of Gopher Spenk. But the ugliness of

that glare was not meant for Gopher; instead, the Wasp's gaze was distant, as if meant for Cranston, the man

Those evil eyes told the rest. They spelled the name that the Wasp was loath to mention. It was Gopher who

furnished the two words needed to complete the Wasp's defiant statement. The name sprang, in a halfawed

LAMONT CRANSTON was very, very bored. He usually was bored when he listened to the chatter of his

friend, Commissioner Ralph Weston, as they dined in the grillroom of the exclusive Cobalt Club.

If the matter had been Cranston's own choice, he might have crossed Weston from his list of acquaintances,

To begin with, Cranston was not Cranston. He was The Shadow, and the personality of Cranston was one that

he assumed to further his battles against crime. As Lamont Cranston, The Shadow was in an excellent

As Cranston, The Shadow appeared to be a gentleman of leisure. His features, with their hawkish profile,

produced a masklike effect. His face was so immobile that even a mere flicker of his lips could be construed

as a smile. Moreover, Cranston was an expert at being bored, which caused people to keep on boring him, in

In Weston's case, the policy was excellent, for it enabled The Shadow to obtain exclusive facts relating to

recent crime. Brusque, domineering, and sometimes illtempered, Commissioner Weston was always trying

to impress his friend Cranston, and in so doing, frequently let out news that he would have furnished no one

On this particular evening, however, Weston had nothing to tell, and The Shadow, to keep up his pose of

The break came at last. An attendant entered the grillroom, to announce that Mr. Cranston was wanted on the

telephone. Excusing himself, The Shadow strolled up to the foyer, intending to send back word that he had

been called away and could not return to resume his chat with the police commissioner.

The moment that he spoke into the telephone, The Shadow recognized that something important was actually

afoot. His voice, an easy tone that suited Cranston, received a prompt response.

A girl was speaking across the wire eagerly, breathlessly, as though she did not want to be overheard by

"Mr. Cranston!" The girl put the name anxiously. "You must help me, I'm in real danger! A friend told me to

call. A friend we both know... Wait! Someone may be listening... No, it's all right. Take this address, please,

Keenly, The Shadow was seeking to identify the voice he heard. It was disguised, as he could tell by its

forced tone, but the speaker was very artful. She was using her eager manner to make her tone seem natural,

even though it wasn't. Hoping to ease the tension, and thereby get the clue he wanted, The Shadow replied

"I'm writing down the address. Give it slowly; then tell me what the trouble is."

The girl spoke slowly, lowering her voice to a definite contralto, disguising the tone still further. She covered

the fact neatly, by ignoring Cranston's request for information and giving him instructions, instead.

"The front room on the second floor," the girl said. "You will find the trouble there. If you look from the

THERE was an emphasis to those final words, expressing an ardor which the girl could not withhold. She

was giving the definite impression that she did not want Cranston to follow the instructions to the letter; that

It couldn't have been an unconscious giveaway on her part, for the emphasis was too evident. Moreover, the

way her voice trailed to its pause was indication that she was listening for Cranston's response, to learn the

The Shadow was speaking quizzically, as though he didn't fully understand. He was testing his unknown

A click of the receiver would have told him that the girl wanted him to find the trouble which she had

mentioned, for she had given him the address and excited his curiosity; therefore, an abrupt ending of the call

Instead, the girl stayed on the line. She seemed to be waiting to make sure that Cranston did understand more

No response. The Shadow tried another tack, still keeping to his pretext of puzzlement.

This time, the girl responded. Her lips must have been very close to the mouthpiece of the telephone, when

Then, sharply, the other receiver descended. With a slight smile, The Shadow hung his own receiver on the

hook. He knew who his caller was: Velma Corl. Only she would have mentioned Ruth Gorham.

She had risked a lot, Velma had, in giving that tipoff, for it went back to Velma herself. But it was the only

way in which Velma could have driven home the point she wanted Cranston to get: that of a pressing danger.

For Ruth Gorham, who at present was absent from New York, had been menaced only by one master of

crime; namely, the Wasp. However dumb Cranston might be and his talk had indicated that he was really

puzzled he would certainly catch the connection, once Ruth's name was mentioned.

Stepping from the telephone booth, The Shadow suppressed his momentary smile. He had anticipated the

Wasp's return, and for that very reason had given Velma Corl all possible leeway. Velma was, in a sense, a

straw in the wind, who would come The Shadow's direction once the Wasp was again upon the wing.

The Shadow had looked forward to the present situation. It was one that called for special strategy, and, as he

Commissioner Weston had come up from the grillroom, and was talking to a stocky, swarthy man who had

just arrived at the Cobalt Club. The newcomer was Inspector Joe Cardona, whose penchant for playing

hunches had made him famous. Strolling over, The Shadow nodded to Cardona, then addressed Weston in

"What do you make of this, commissioner?" The Shadow handed Weston the paper with the written address.

"I received a call from a very serious young lady, who claims she knows a friend of mine. She tells me that

trouble is due at this address, and suggests that I go to the front room on the second floor and look from the

Nodding, Weston began to say something, when Cardona interrupted, by taking the paper and suggesting:

"Suppose I go over there, commissioner, and find out what sort of a frameup this is. My hunch is that it

"Very well, inspector," returned Weston testily. "Another of your hunches, I suppose. I should like to see,

personally, just how they work out. Summon a squad, and I shall go with you. Would you like to come along,

The Shadow shook his head. Remarking that he was leaving the matter in the proper hands, he strolled from

A LIMOUSINE pulled up from across the street; its door opened to receive the fastidious Mr. Cranston. But,

From beneath the rear seat, Cranston had pulled out a specially hidden drawer and was removing garments of

black. A cloak slid across his shoulders; he clamped a slouch hat on his head. Then came a pair of thin black

gloves, and finally a brace of .45 automatics, which slid into holsters beneath the cloak.

Meanwhile, Velma Corl was coming from a corner drugstore not far from the address that she had named

Across her shoulder, Velma looked toward the obscure streets of a darkish neighborhood, the very locale to

which she had summoned Cranston with her phone call. The furrows in her forehead showed worriment, until

Her gaze, however, lacked the cruel gleam that had characterized the Velma of the past; instead, they showed

Velma Corl had profited through the ignominy of the recent months. She had weighed the Wasp's offer of a

gay future and found that she preferred obscurity, rather than pay the price the Wasp demanded. In brief,

It wouldn't do to reveal that fact to the Wasp. To tell The Shadow even if she could find him seemed

another unwise course. Probably The Shadow was an old hand at putting former crooks into the misery which

they deserved, and was used to their whining promises of good behavior, if their lot could be bettered.

Therefore, Velma was determined to act on her own: to match the Wasp's own shrewdness, by copying the

Maybe Velma lacked much that was needed to stage a Shadow scene, but she was certainly not wanting in

courage. Deliberately taking a dimly lighted street, she walked in the direction of the house where the Wasp's

Soon, the building was in sight. It had a normal look, being simply one house in a row, and there was an

inviting light in the lower hall, with a dimmer one from the second floor front. But Velma was quite as

It was dark, apparently empty, but Velma was sure that the blackness of the second floor represented a gaping

window, behind which men were waiting, with a machine gun, trained upon the trap that was meant for

Skirting the block, Velma crept toward the rear of the empty house. She found a door and tried it; the door

was unlocked. From her handbag, Velma produced a cute .22 automatic, a gift which the Wasp had sent her,

With one hand gripping the banister, her bag dangling from the same wrist, Velma clutched the .22 with her

The darkness seemed replete with lurking forms, as though thugs were on guard, but by the time Velma

She paused, worried about the stairs behind her, listening for any creaks that might mean she was cut off. But

It was time to forget such fancies. There was a crack of light from a door ahead, indicating the room where

crooks were really present. Reaching the objective, Velma gave the door a sudden push and made a half

Two men swung from the window, where a drawn shade made a background for their startled faces. They

were thugs of the toughest ilk, indicating that the Wasp had decided to use mobbies on this occasion.

Between them was a machine gun, but it was turned the other way, its muzzle pressed beneath the edge of the

Velma hardened her tone, to match her facial expression. She used the words that she knew would impress

THEY were reaching as Velma spoke, but other hands were reaching, too. Hands that preferred the horizontal

to the vertical; quick grasping fists that shot from the gloom on either side of the doorway.

Two men were springing as they grabbed, one snatching for Velma's gun, the other gripping for her throat,

while their other hands swung in with revolvers that looked like open tunnels, straight for the blonde's startled

Velma lost her gun in the struggle. She found herself swung full about, her arms clamped behind her, with

hands stifling her outcries. She was gripped by a pair of men as thuggish as the two at the window. As for

that first pair, they were now drawing revolvers and stepping close, to sneer at the captured girl.

"We expected you, wise dame," snarled one thug, speaking for the rest. "Gopher told us to be on the lookout

for a doll who'd try to pull a double cross. He said you were to get what's coming to you!"

Defiantly, Velma writhed in the grasp of her two captors. She was baiting them to use their guns, madly

hoping that the roar of their revolvers would echo through the neighborhood and bring police to the scene.

For once, her own life did not seem to matter; now that her game was discovered by the Wasp, she was

determined, at least, to save Lamont Cranston, the victim whose life the evil master really wanted.

Her effort was without avail. Gopher Spenk, instructed by the Wasp, had told his thugs how to deal with

Velma, should she arrive here. Instead of pressing their gun triggers, the first two crooks approached the pair

who were suppressing Velma's struggle. Each raised a revolver, anxious to be the first to land a crushing,

Those poised bludgeons spelled a coming doom that no human power, it seemed, could revoke. In fact, the

intervention which arrived was definitely something that had a more than human touch.

It arrived in the form of a strange, sinister laugh, a challenge that carried a note of sardonic warning, telling

wouldbe murderers that those death strokes, if they gave them, would be the last.

Creeping in as if from nowhere, that mirth was recognized by the mobsters who heard it. Poised guns

remained so, as if the hands that gripped them had been suddenly paralyzed. Even the fingers that clutched

Velma were imbued with a sudden numbness; and the girl, herself, was frozen by that forbidding laugh.

It linked to the past which Velma had repudiated, spelling disaster to the cause which her captors represented

VELMA was the first to see The Shadow. She was faced toward the direction from which he came, the door

by which Velma herself had entered the snare. But crooks did not expect him from that source.

The Shadow's weird mirth was deceiving. In tone, as well as purpose, it betokened the unexpected. The two

thugs with the raised revolvers sprang toward the window, mistaking a chance flutter of the shade for a figure

outside. The other pair, still clutching Velma, were fighting to drag her to a corner, so that they could use her

It was Velma who pointed out The Shadow, though she did not intend to do so. First to recover from her

startlement, she was wrenching as her captors dragged her. Her dress gave under gripping hands, and she

The sound of ripping cloth was drowned by Velma's glad cry of welcome, as she lurched for the door, the

They saw The Shadow in the center of the room as he sidestepped Velma, who was tripping over her

tattered skirt. The two men in the corner lunged for their foe; as they grappled with him, the other pair

Velma, rolling across the floor, came to her hands and knees, a very bedraggled figure, and became a

The Shadow was a whirling mass of blackness, a living tornado spinning amid a motley mess of thuggish

humanity. Steel was clashing steel, as he swung a gun to bash aside the revolvers that were slugging for his

head. His other hand was warding off aiming weapons, gripping gun wrists and twisting them, to send men

This couldn't keep on. Sooner or later, guns would have to shoot. The sooner the better, considering Velma's

plan of giving the alarm, for she was still thinking in terms of Cranston as a prospective victim, not

Suddenly, The Shadow went into reverse. Velma gave a horrified gasp, for his backward spin brought a new

surge of the combined thugs. Guns spoke, muffled, as the onrush reached The Shadow.

In the massed sprawl that followed, Velma thought that the cloaked fighter had surely met his finish. Instead,

The Shadow came through the tangle of bodies like a black moth emerging from a living cocoon.

The first muffled shots had been his, delivered against his pressing foemen. Guns had replied only from the

Two had taken The Shadow's bullets pointblank. Of the others, one was wounded, but still struggling, while

the second was fighting blindly, half dazed by a backhand swing which The Shadow had landed against the

fellow's skull. Clutching The Shadow, trying to grip his gun, they reeled with him, along the wall toward the

Springing to aid, Velma grabbed the dazed man as The Shadow flung him aside. At that moment, The

Shadow was turned the other way, to deal with the wounded thug. Clutching for the door, the crook's hand

As the room was plunged into darkness, Velma heard the thud of the sagged crook, followed by a strange,

Perhaps The Shadow thought that Velma had fled. A horrible impression gripped the girl. There was every

reason why The Shadow might suppose that this trap had been meant for him, and that she had been the bait!

CROUCHED in darkness above the dazed crook who had floundered, groaning, on the floor, Velma was

He did, but it was not the sort that encouraged her. He simply gave a laugh in low, whispered style, and to

Velma, that mirth had a very ominous note. The Shadow, it seemed, still had a score to settle, perhaps with

Actually, The Shadow was thinking of Velma, but only in terms of the tipoff that she had given earlier. Like

the girl, The Shadow had come to the house across the way. But the setup of this room meant more to The

Shadow than it did to Velma. Odd, The Shadow thought, that crooks had planted a machinegun nest in a

At present, the room was dark, but it had been illuminated when The Shadow entered, and the lowered

window shade nullified the value of the machine gun, since the window could not be used for lookout

Stepping to the window, The Shadow raised the shade, which altered nothing, since the room was now dark.

But the view that The Shadow now obtained was highly important. He saw the house where Cranston was

expected in the lighted front room on the second floor. More than that, he saw cars parked on the other side of

the street. The police had arrived, just too late to overhear the muffled gunfire in the machinegun nest.

Two men, Commissioner Weston and Inspector Cardona, had already gone up the steps to the lighted house,

and the door was closing behind them. Officers were waiting on the street, confidently expecting them to

return. But the chances that Weston and Cardona would return had suddenly grown slender.

By this time, they had reached the stairs to the second floor; another quarter minute would find them in the

room to which Cranston had been summoned by a mysterious phone call. That room, seemingly innocent in

Quickly, the cloaked battler seized upon the machine gun. Tugging at its trigger, he unleashed a hail of lead

at the lighted windows opposite. The rattle of the gun, its repeated spurts of flame, sent police scurrying for

cover. Then, when they realized that the shots were not meant for them, they opened fire at the machine gun

Still crouched, Velma heard bullets whining past The Shadow and couldn't understand why the cloaked

fighter was sticking with the machine gun. Indeed, Velma had no idea why The Shadow was using the

weapon at all. But The Shadow held grimly to his work, until he saw the right thing happen.

The front door of the lighted house shot open, two men poked their faces into sight, then seeing that the

machine gun fire was riddling the floor above them, they made a mad duck for safety, away from the house

Those two men were Weston and Cardona. The Shadow's business with the machine gun had brought them

The comparison struck The Shadow as an apt one, as he left the machine gun, its purpose served, and

dropped to the floor to avoid the police bullets which were beginning to find his own range. Weston and

Cardona reminded him of hornets, but their nest had been taken over by the Wasp.

Proof came, amid the fire of police guns from the street. It came with a sound that rendered those guns puny.

A blast shook the house where Cranston might have gone, a huge explosion that burst from the second floor.

The front room split apart as though The Shadow's machinegun fire had touched off a multitude of bombs.

There was one great rip of flame; then, while echoes were roaring along the street, a volume of smoke poured

The thing was the result of a time bomb, set off when Weston and Cardona entered the front door. That blast

had been meant for The Shadow when he reached the destination to which the Wasp, through Velma, had

AGAIN, Velma heard The Shadow's laugh. It left her quivering, as she realized that even if she had stopped

the machinegunners, the act would not have been sufficient. The Wasp had tricked her with his talk about

But Velma doubted that The Shadow would listen to such an explanation. If he knew all about her call to

Cranston, he would think that her tipoff was merely another feature of a crooked, insidious game.

Reasoning thus, Velma decided that flight was her only course. Starting for the door, she tore herself away

from grasping hands. The stunned thug had recuperated, and the wounded crook at the door was also blindly

Getting free, Velma heard The Shadow's laugh as she reached the stairs, and didn't realize that it was meant

Police were storming in through the front of the house. Finding brief shelter near the back door, Velma saw

A pair of maddened men pitched into the glare; they were the survivors of the machinegun crew, fleeing

from The Shadow. Foolishly, they aimed at the lights below, and were met by riddling bullets that brought

Then the officers were charging upward, firing at a figure that was dodging for a window. The fugitive was

The Shadow, mistaken for a crook, and Velma, to her horror, realized that she was much to blame!

Out through the rear door, the girl fled toward the next street. She paused to look back to the house, where

Pointing her reclaimed gun, Velma fired a few wild shots that made the officer duck out of sight. From the

Again, Velma was seized by the conviction that her act had been misunderstood. The Shadow had spotted her

shooting at police, and would naturally regard that as a final proof that she was fighting against the law.

Others heard The Shadow's laugh, and spotted Velma, too, as she made a mad dash for the rear street. Gopher

Spenk and a few reserves had come up in a car to look for survivors. Velma couldn't escape their notice. As

she neared the car, two men leaped out to seize her and haul her into the rear seat with them.

Then the car was away, with Gopher speeding it to safety, while Velma, hearing congratulations from the

It was all so logical. Like The Shadow, Gopher and his men had seen Velma open fire at the police.

The trailing tone of The Shadow's laugh was a mockery that boded future ill for servers of the Wasp, and

NEVER had a day seemed so miserable to Velma Corl. Though it was only afternoon, the sky gave the

semblance of dusk, for clouds were heavy and rain threatened. The outside gloom was appropriate, for it

She was in a little apartment at the Belgrade Arms, one which connected with the Wasp's own abode. Gopher

Spenk had brought her here, and the Wasp had introduced her to his sleek lieutenant, though it had hardly

been necessary, since, by that time, Velma and Gopher had reached a friendly basis.

She wished that the Wasp had introduced himself under whatever name he now used instead of Basil

Gannaford. But the Wasp hadn't, and the fact worried Velma. Evidently, he still mistrusted her. Nevertheless,

Velma had told a good story, and stuck to it. She claimed that she had called from the drugstore near the

address she gave Cranston, simply because he might have heard her give the pay station number to the

operator, and would be more impressed if he identified the call with that vicinity. She had stayed around, she

said, to see what happened, and when she heard shooting from the house across the way, she figured The

Velma was out to get The Shadow. She declared the fact with a show of determination. It was a good

argument, because Gopher supported it. The Wasp, his ugly face contorted in the dim light of his living room,

had listened as though impressed, and had decided that Velma should remain at the Belgrade Arms in order to

How far Velma's bluff had really impressed the Wasp, was something that Velma could not answer. She

knew that the Wasp, at present, was in conference with Gopher, and she could only hope that she was not the

In the room where be conferred with Gopher, the Wasp was reclining in an easychair, blandly gazing from

the window, where he studied the hovering storm clouds. His face had the drawn expression of Jeroboam

Twingle, but the eyes, which their owner so carefully shielded when in public, were definitely the Wasp's.

The glitter of those eyes worried Gopher, who was doing most of the talking. Nevertheless, Gopher kept on.

"We've lost three days, now, chief," insisted Gopher. "If this guy Cranston is The Shadow, we ought to take

another whack at him. I've got plenty of gunzels on call, and they don't know that Cranston is The Shadow."

"You forget one thing, Gopher," chided the Wasp, his tone more Twingle's than his own. "Another failure,

"We made one try," reminded Gopher, "and the boys are still ready. What if we did lose four lugs? You can

"We were fortunate," declared the Wasp, "because The Shadow did not reveal his actual identity. Should

anyone else learn that he is Cranston, the news will spread and men who now cost a dime a dozen will not be

"But The Shadow won't let out that he is Cranston," argued Gopher. "If he did, he'd be giving away the best

The Wasp shook his head. In stoopish fashion, he arose and approached the window, to note a few raindrops

"The Shadow may do anything," he stated, "if he is sure that I have returned, and also decides that a heroic

measure is necessary to thwart me. We have baited him once and failed to trap him. Unless we find a perfect

"With our cooperation." The Wasp turned, to leer at Gopher. "I have just decided to go ahead with my own

plans for the present. I have made myself much liked by the directors of the Amalgamated Export Co."

GOPHER didn't like the shifting of the subject; nevertheless, he considered it sound policy to give an

"They are ready to handle exports to Central America," continued the Wasp. "Unfortunately, the president of

the company, Craig Upman, is unalterably opposed to the policy. I sometimes think" the Wasp leaned

"Because he is scrupulous," interposed the Wasp. "The debt was on the books, but Upman is wondering about

the books, particularly because Louis Dore, the auditor, has gone on what is termed an extended vacation."

"He is waiting to learn my full intentions," the Wasp replied. "So Badler informs me. Badler is Upman's

private secretary, and happens to be another of my workers, like Dore. It is too bad that Dore became auditor"

the Wasp drone took on a harshness "when Badler was much better suited for the job, at least from my

"Dore; yes." The Wasp's eyes showed their full cunning. "Also Upman. He is the sort of man who saves for a

rainy day. So do I, Gopher." The Wasp paused, and reached for his dark goggles; then added, in a Twingle

chuckle: "It is about to rain today, Gopher. That is why I prefer to consider Upman's case, rather than The

Gopher gave an odd squint toward the Wasp, who had put on the glasses and was going into his part of

Twingle. He watched the Wasp open a wardrobe closet and take out a new raincoat of lighttan shade, with

But the Wasp did not put on the raincoat; he simply glanced at the window again, noted that the drizzle had

"Later, I shall give thought to The Shadow," wheezed the Wasp, remembering that he was Twingle. "But for

the present, it is Upman. Ah, how simply and mysteriously I can accomplish things. When I think of how you

"Of course," agreed the Wasp. "It was good policy to use gang methods with Cranston. His death would

probably reveal that he is The Shadow. In that case, it would be attributed to an underworld attack, and the

In shambling style, the Wasp went out into the living room, beckoning Gopher along. He wanted his

lieutenant to look down the hall and make sure that no one observed the departure of Jeroboam Twingle.

When Gopher returned, nodding that the way was clear, the Wasp paused, to remark in a wheezy whisper:

"About those four men, Gopher. It is too bad that none remained to tell us exactly what happened when they

met The Shadow. Perhaps they could have given us facts concerning The Shadow or others."

The Wasp smiled at Gopher's puzzled query. Clapping his hand on the lieutenant's shoulder, he delivered a

"Drop in to see Velma, Gopher. Assure her that no harm can come to her while she is under my protection.

AT the offices of Amalgamated Export, Jeroboam Twingle was ushered in to see Craig Upman. Placing his

raincoat over a chair arm, the Wasp advanced with extended hand, which Upman received cordially.

Quite casually, Upman announced that the directors were due for a late session and that he would like

Twingle to join them. With a show of frankness, the Wasp leaned across Upman's desk and settled his chin in

"I know that you are opposed to my proposition, Mr. Upman," he said wheezily. "In all fairness, I ask you to

allow me one privilege. Give me a full hearing, until I have thoroughly stated my case."

"Fair enough," agreed Upman, with a smile. "I should like to have the reactions of the directors."

"Then you would not object if I dined with some of them tonight and answered all their questions?"

"Not at all. As president of this company, it is my duty to further any beneficial plan. The more you have to

The Wasp relaxed, as though quite satisfied. But he did not fail to notice the assured expression on Upman's

squarejawed face. Things were breaking as Upman wanted them. He was anxious for Twingle to show his

"Come with me, Mr. Twingle," suggested Upman, rising. "I shall give you every encouragement when we

True to his promise, Upman gave Twingle an excellent sendoff. There was sarcasm in Upman's eye, but not

in his voice, as he told the directors that he wanted them to consider fully all that Twingle had to say. Only

the Wasp detected the subtlety behind Upman's manner. The more that Twingle had to say, the more Upman

Upman had the smug smile of a person who was giving a rival plenty of rope, and inviting him to tie his own

noose and try it. For the present, he was actually favoring Twingle, which was exactly what the Wasp

Remarking that he had much to say, the Wasp suggested that some of the directors dine with him. Nearly all

accepted his invitation, whereupon he bowed and announced that he would meet them after the conference

Shrewdly, Upman watched the stoopish man rise; then, with a bland smile, the president ushered him out.

Twingle left by the route which he had entered, through Upman's office. When he reached the outer reception

room, Twingle remembered his raincoat and asked the office boy to get it from the rack in Mr. Upman's

Raincoats would be needed that afternoon, for the downpour was terrific by the time the directors had

In his office, Upman fished for umbrellas and distributed them among the directors. Looking for his raincoat,

he found it on a chair and put it on. Coming out through the reception room, he shook hands cordially with

"They are yours, Twingle," said Upman, with a parting smile. "Make the most of them. If this idea of yours

comes up to specifications, I'm for it one hundred percent! By the way" he turned to the girl at the reception

"Well, he deserves a vacation," decided Upman. "He did a good job with those figures. Straightening out a lot

Upman had turned, while speaking, so that his gaze was fixed on the Wasp. His smile returning, the

squarejawed man waved a brownsleeved arm in parting gesture and turned toward the outer door. The

directors saw the genial, almost thankful smile that Jeroboam Twingle gave in return.

What they did not see was the glint of the Wasp's eyes through the darklensed glasses that Jeroboam

Twingle regarded as necessary, even when the sun was absent. Those eyes, by the very sharpness of their

glitter, might have told that the Wasp was bidding Craig Upman a permanent farewell!

POLICE COMMISSIONER WESTON was in a most disturbed mood. It wasn't because of the rain that

poured about the windows of the Cobalt Club, for the weather, in Weston's opinion, could never hamper law

The storm that bothered Weston was one he had personally created. He was trying to reject something that he

considered obvious, and was calling upon two others to aid him: his friend, Lamont Cranston, and Inspector

"The Shadow could not have meant those shots for us, the other night," argued Weston. Then, bluntly: "Or

"My hunch is that he was warning us," returned Cardona, catching Weston's gaze. Then, shifting toward

"About The Shadow?" queried Cranston, coolly. "I think that the commissioner is right. The Shadow has

"I never said that, Cranston!" the commissioner shouted, pounding the table in his anger. "I said that the facts

put The Shadow in a doubtful light. But I also declared that we must look far beyond the mere facts, and "

"And play hunches?" interposed Cranston. "That would be the only other course, commissioner... What do

As Cranston turned in his direction, Cardona thought that he saw a faint trace of a smile on the lips of the

commissioner's friend. In his turn, Joe grinned, which did not please Weston at all.

"Hunches!" Weston snorted. "Bah! Let us begin all over. The first fact is that you received a phone call,

"From a lady," added Cranston, a bit wearily, "who did not give her name. Unfortunately, there is no way of

"Some calls can," snapped Weston, still in an argumentative mood. "Sometimes very simply. The other day,

for instance, I received an anonymous call, but it happened that the switchboard operator at the other end

"Amalgamated Export?" he queried. "It wasn't Louis Dore who called you, was it?"

"The call was from the auditor's office," returned Weston, "and the switchboard operator apologized, saying

"It must have been Dore!" exclaimed Cardona. "He's the auditor at Amalgamated Export. He didn't make a

mistake; he merely changed his mind. Instead of telling you what was worrying him, he cleared out!"

Volubly, Cardona gave further details. One of Joe's regular duties was checking with the Bureau of Missing

Persons on names that seemed important. According to Cardona, Craig Upman, president of Amalgamated

Upman wasn't sure that Dore had actually disappeared; therefore, he had made the request privately. It could

be that Dore had taken a vacation which was due him, without leaving word where he had gone.

WHILE Cardona talked, The Shadow was calculating keenly. The name of Amalgamated Export gave him a

different link. The company was one of the many which had at one time or another received business advice

from Basil Gannaford, otherwise the Wasp. The connection was only a remote one, but enough to indicate

that the Wasp was resuming his old system of advancing crime through control of business enterprises.

Dore's disappearance, as detailed by Cardona, was ominous enough, but the added mention of Upman roused

So much, that The Shadow was about to cast aside his indifferent pose and give a flash of the more active

"We must contact Upman at once," exclaimed the commissioner. "This may be more than a coincidence.

Dore called me in the afternoon; the girl made her call in the evening. She and Dore may be involved in the

"But Dore called you, commissioner," objected Cardona, "while the girl called Mr. Cranston and asked him

"But I went instead," interjected Weston, "as the plotters probably foresaw. The call to Cranston was merely

The facts were very wide, as The Shadow could have testified, but he wasn't anxious to renew a debate with

Weston. The Shadow wanted action on the Upman matter, and was careful not to forestall it! When Weston

arose and started upstairs to telephone, The Shadow followed him, along with Joe Cardona.

First, Weston called the Amalgamated Export Co., only to learn that Craig Upman had left a half hour before

and was on his way to his Long Island home. Calling the house, the commissioner talked to a servant named

Hubert and learned that Upman had not yet arrived home. Hubert couldn't state when his master would arrive.

Sometimes Upman came by train. If he missed a train, he often took the subway. On rainy nights, such as

this, he occasionally rode home in a taxicab direct from his office. Hubert was promising to call the Cobalt

Club and inform the commissioner as soon as Mr. Upman arrived, when Weston suddenly interrupted.

"Tell Mr. Upman that I am on my way out to his home," he said abruptly. "Inform him that the matter is

Clanking the telephone receiver, Weston turned to beckon to Cardona and Cranston; but only Cardona was

standing by. After looking about for his missing friend, Weston strode out through the foyer and summoned

his official car. He asked the doorman if he had seen Cranston, and the attendant nodded.

"Mr. Cranston went home, commissioner," said the doorman. "He said that the weather was too inclement for

RIDING in the official car, neither Weston nor Cardona guessed that a limousine was traveling ahead, with a

full fiveminute start. That would have surprised them, in itself; but they would have been totally amazed,

Never having connected Cranston with The Shadow, neither Weston nor Cardona would have believed that

Often, they had attributed The Shadow with obtaining secret information on occasions when they,

This was one of those occasions, and seldom had The Shadow acted with such rapidity. For The Shadow,

sensing the hand of the Wasp, was bound upon a mission more vital than the law supposed.

The Shadow knew that the sting of the Wasp was death; that any moment might mean tragedy if the Wasp

From the front window of Upman's Long Island residence, Hubert was watching anxiously through the

increasing rain. Hubert was an old and loyal servant, who had observed his master's anxiety during the past

few days. The call from the police commissioner had increased Hubert's qualms, for it was his first inkling

Street lights formed misty spheres of glow amid the trees along the avenue where Upman lived. Hubert could

see the sidewalk hazily, and he watched intently for his master's figure. At last, he caught a patch of light

The man striding in from the corner was Upman, wearing the raincoat that he always kept at his office. He

had obviously taken the train, for he was coming from the direction of the station.

The downpour was becoming torrential, which explained Upman's haste. Once beneath the trees, he found

shelter from their thick boughs, and slackened his pace. He was gone from one misty range of light, and

Hubert watched, expecting him to step into the next; then, the gasp that came from the servant's lips was one

Upman came into the light, but not with his former stride. He was turned half about, staggering, as he groped

The thing was like a pantomime, as Hubert saw it. He couldn't, for the moment, believe that it was real.

Whatever the thing that Upman had encountered, it must be part of the rainsmeared blackness, for Hubert

Zigzagging backward, away from the light, he turned a frantic face, grotesque even at Hubert's distance,

while his hands, tearing madly at his throat, actually seemed to be fighting the clutch of invisible claws!

Dashing out through a hallway, Hubert yelled wildly for other servants to join him. They came, two brawny

men, who followed old Hubert's tottering route to the front door. They could not see Upman when they

reached the outside steps, for a hedge hid him from this level. But Hubert was howling that their master was

Meanwhile, Upman's struggle was continuing. He had reeled against the hedge, then across the sidewalk,

where he stumbled from the curb. Coming to hands and knees, he was using every ounce of fading strength to

break the grip that throttled him. He was in darkness now, but he was giving feeble, chokey cries that could

A rescuer was on the way, ahead of Hubert and the servants, but coming from the opposite direction. He was

a creature of blackness, much like the very shape that Hubert had imagined as Upman's assailant; but his

mission was to save Upman's life, not to take it. The arrival was The Shadow, on the scene at last after a

Skiddy streets had lengthened The Shadow's trip perhaps a minute; Upman's hurry from the station had added

a few seconds more, since it had brought him farther from The Shadow's range of rescue. Those seconds were

Before The Shadow could reach Upman's sagging form, the victim's struggle ended. Falling forward, Upman

struck the curb, bounded sideward and rolled over. His face turned upward into the rain, as though seeking,

The Shadow reached the fallen figure. Upman's hands were still clasped to his throat. As The Shadow drew

them away, the neck strap of the raincoat fell loose, its button snapped off. Beneath, The Shadow saw the

Upman had been done to death almost in The Shadow's presence, yet his murderer was vanished, nowhere on

IT was death most singular; the strangest, perhaps, that The Shadow had ever witnessed. Invisible death, so

impossible at first sight that even The Shadow was looking for some human killer, who might still be within

So were others: Hubert and the two servants from the house. They saw Upman's supine form upon the curb,

and looked toward the blackness just beyond it. They saw that blackness swirl, take on the vague shape of a

figure cloaked in black, the very sort that answered the description of the mysterious assailant who had been

Three loyal men lunged forward as one: Hubert in the center, his brawny companions coming from the

flanks, all intent upon overwhelming the person responsible for Upman's death. But instead of finding a

Too late to save Upman, The Shadow, by his very attempt at rescue, had rendered himself the object of an

HUBERT'S eyes had earlier witnessed the beginning of Upman's struggle against an unseen assailant. Now,

Upman's eyes, glassy in death, were the only ones that were fixed upon another struggle, quite as

extraordinary. Dead eyes, that could not see but were as good as any that might have viewed the fray.

For Hubert and his fellow servants might as well have struggled with nothingness, as the opponent they did

They clutched The Shadow as they reached him, but the folds of his black cloak evaporated from their

fingers. Dropping low as he whirled, The Shadow caught one servant by the knees, gave him an upward

Hubert, a bit late in the attack, managed to stumble past the hurtling servant and grab for the spot where The

Twisting still lower, almost skimming the ground with his shoulders, The Shadow caught Hubert's ankle with

a deft clutch. The form that Hubert gripped was solid enough, but it wasn't the assailant he wanted. The

others, hearing his shout, came up from hands and knees, to find Hubert clutching a tree.

A sound made all three turn. The noise was like a crackle; they saw the hedge wavering. The Shadow had cut

a swath right through it and the hedge was closing again, to blot his course. His departure was timely, for the

hedge was glowing in a glare that would have revealed The Shadow, had he remained.

The brilliant lights gleamed from a big car that was wheeling in from the corner. The car was Weston's.

With Joe Cardona at his side, Weston reached the excited group that he saw near the curb. Hubert and the

others pointed to Upman's body, then to the hedge. All three tried to tell their story at once, and Weston

Placing the servants under Cardona's command, he sent them scouring the neighborhood, while he hurried

As with all manhunts, Weston hoped that this one would be shortlived, for the surest way to trap a fugitive

was to get him before he cleared the vicinity of his crime. As he finished another call, this one to

headquarters, Weston thought that his hope was realized, for he heard the sound of a car outside the house

But the arrival who met Weston at the front door happened to be none other than his friend Lamont Cranston,

"I thought you might need me, commissioner," said Cranston, with a calmness that irked Weston. "After all,

there were two phone calls, Dore's and the one the girl made. Upman may know something about the girl.

Weston noticed his friend's halfpuzzled pause. Cranston was looking about, as though expecting to see

Upman. Then, at sound of voices, Cranston turned. A procession was coming up the walk, headed by Joe

Cardona. Hubert and the other servants were bringing Upman's body into the house. Cranston turned a

Within the next half hour, Hubert's story had been told, and fully checked with the testimony of the other

servants, while a police surgeon, examining Upman's body, attributed the man's death to strangulation at the

It was Cardona's task to reconstruct some details of the actual crime, and Joe did so, in glum fashion.

He pointed out that the killer had left no fingerprints on Upman's throat, due to the neck strap of the raincoat,

which had been buttoned close to Upman's chin. Apparently, Upman had managed to tug the button off, but

he hadn't been able to release the strap, because the strangler was still pressing it. The fact accounted for the

Somewhat speculatively, Cardona suggested that the slayer might also have worn gloves, as a sure means of

avoiding identification through fingerprints; but Joe was immediately sorry that he had voiced that theory.

Noting the way that Commissioner Weston scowled, Cardona immediately thought of a possible suspect.

DETAIL for detail, even to the gloves, The Shadow fitted the hazy description of an assailant who could

merge with darkness as if he belonged to it. This, coupled to The Shadow's actions of the other night,

Sheer reason told Cardona that The Shadow had, and logically, Joe should have agreed with opinions that

Weston had been voicing earlier at the Cobalt Club. But Cardona could not forget Cranston's remarks

concerning hunches. This case looked bad for The Shadow; but so had others, in the past. Cardona wanted

Joe caught a look from Cranston. It was quizzical, that flash, but somehow it gave the police inspector an

"What about this fellow Dore?" demanded Cardona, abruptly, putting his question to Weston. "Upman was

suspicious of him. Maybe it was Dore who planned this thing. At any rate, he's a man we ought to find. It's

"Yes, Dore must be found," decided Weston. "We shall announce the matter of his disappearance, and swear

out a warrant for his arrest. Meanwhile, we must learn all that we can about the man."

Hubert had never met Dore, but the old servant knew several persons who had. They were directors of

Calling their homes, the commissioner learned that all were dining out with a gentleman named Jeroboam

Mention of the latter fact was interesting to The Shadow. In Cranston's way, he became more helpful than

ever, and volunteered to go along when Weston looked up the directors. Riding into town to the restaurant

where the dinner was being held, Weston kept chatting about Dore; but The Shadow's mind was all on

The dinner was over when they reached the restaurant, but they found the directors chatting among

themselves. When Weston introduced himself and told of Upman's death, great consternation resulted, and it

all looked genuine. So genuine that The Shadow, as he gazed about the group, was quite sure that Twingle

"Twingle will be sorry to hear this," declared an elderly director. "He thought the world of Upman. Well, it is

"I'm glad that Twingle took that early train for Chicago," observed another. "It spares him several hours of

sadness. However, he will be shocked tomorrow, when he learns of Upman's death. To think that while we

There was more to the remark than the speaker realized. The point escaped everyone, except The Shadow. He

knew why Twingle had dined with the directors. It was the perfect way of creating an alibi in the matter of

The Shadow no longer doubted that the man who called himself Jeroboam Twingle was actually the Wasp.

He was sure, too, that Twingle's friendship with Upman had been exaggerated. Furthermore, with Upman

eliminated, it was a certainty that the Wasp's scheme involving Amalgamated Export would operate

automatically. It was the Wasp's way to pave the route ahead before committing so drastic a crime as murder.

WHEN Weston returned to Upman's, to pick up Cardona, The Shadow went along. They found the police

inspector making tests with a piece of rope, on the theory that a noose, and not pressing fingers, had been

Weston agreed that it was a good point, especially as he had questioned the directors regarding Dore and had

There were various exhibits lying in Upman's living room, among them the dead man's collar, a low one, of

size fifteen. It bore no marks of the struggle, for it had been below the level of Upman's throat. The Shadow

He turned to Upman's soaked raincoat, which was hanging over a chair, and ran the rope around the

neckband, which measured approximately twelve inches when The Shadow checked it with a ruler.

Cardona pointed out that the noose could have been a fairly long one, equipped with a small piece of wood,

"If the killer could have kept a grip with either hand," affirmed Cardona, "it would have been enough. Dore

While Cardona was checking other details with Weston, The Shadow noted a few items on his own. One was

the name of the clothing shop that had supplied Upman's raincoat. It was a wellstyled coat, of a kind

difficult to duplicate. When he rode back to the Cobalt Club, where he had sent his limousine, The Shadow

He referred to it, after he said good night to Commissioner Weston. In the phone book, he found the home

address of the clothingstore proprietor. Calling that number, The Shadow was greeted by a sleepy voice.

At first, the tailor wasn't interested in talking business outside of shop, but when he heard Cranston's name,

Cranston, it happened, was interested in raincoats, and the one he described was exactly like Upman's. The

tailor remembered that style well. It had been a stock item, some months ago, but he had recently sold one to

"It is probably the one I saw," remarked The Shadow. "The purchaser was Mr. Jeroboam Twingle."

"He didn't give his name," returned the tailor, "but I remember where he lived, because I went there myself.

"That's Twingle," assured The Shadow. "He liked the coat immensely, though he told me he had to have it

"Only the collar," said the tailor. "But the fault wasn't mine. He wanted a different size, and sent it to a tailor

who botched it. Fortunately, Mr. Twingle found a similar material, so I was able to make the correct

Leaving the Cobalt Club, Lamont Cranston became The Shadow. His destination was the Belgrade Arms, and

he entered the rear of the squatty apartment building with the aid of a tiny flashlight.

Instead of trying the door of H3, The Shadow took an outside route from a hallway window, working along a

ledge so narrow that only the soft tips of special shoes could give him the proper foothold. His gloved

fingers, pressed against bricks, literally worked their way along the wall above.

For a definite reason, The Shadow was picking the most inaccessible window as the proper route to the

Wasp's premises. Knowing the way of the Wasp, he suspected that other means of entry might be traps.

Within, The Shadow probed the apartment with his flashlight. It was empty, and so was one that adjoined it;

empty at least of tenants, though the place was furnished. Lowered shades in the living room were invitations

for The Shadow to turn on one of the table lamps, or press the switch that controlled the ceiling bulbs; but he

His inspection gave him no clue to the Wasp. As Jeroboam Twingle, the cunning crime master had definitely

THE light switch by the door finally captured The Shadow's full attention. His flashlight showed that it was

marked "Off"; but it was tilted upward. Not that switches of that type could not be upward when they were

off; The Shadow was simply impressed by the fact that such a switch should be in the Wasp's apartment. It

Taking a tiny spool of thread, The Shadow looped the end around the light switch. He carried the spool to the

window that he had entered; dropping the spool to the ground, he followed, working his way down the wall

On the ground, he found the spool and gave the strong thread a careful tug. He heard the result, when it

Not that The Shadow's ears, keen though they were, could have caught a tiny click from three stories below.

It wasn't a tiny click that came. The result was a firstclass blast that must have blown the living room apart,

judging from the flying of furniture that accompanied the shower of shattered window glass.

A vivid flash accompanied the explosion, and a pouring of thick smoke followed. The blast was much like

the one of the other night, when The Shadow had halted Weston and Cardona from the brink of destruction.

Then, as excited shouts arose from other apartments, The Shadow moved away with a whispered laugh.

The Wasp had left a trail that he knew The Shadow alone would follow, but he had made it a trail with a dead

end. Beyond that, the trail was lost. What would do for the Wasp, could do for The Shadow. The Wasp had

The Shadow's trail, as far as Cranston. The proper policy was to cut off the trail at that point.

This was the time for Lamont Cranston to disappear. His friends, Commissioner Weston included, would

think that he had gone on some distant excursion to the Amazon, or elsewhere as Cranston often did when

But the Wasp could presume otherwise. He might very well believe that Lamont Cranston, otherwise The

Two lost trails: one, the trail of The Shadow; the other, the trail of the Wasp. But in that exchange, The

Shadow had gained at least a temporary advantage. He would still be seeking the trail of the Wasp, while that

evil foe, sure that the snare had succeeded, would no longer concern himself with The Shadow's trail.

LEON ELGARD was a youngish man, who smiled pleasantly whenever he walked through the lobby of the

His erect posture and the fancy overcoat he wore were combining factors toward his youthful appearance. His

shocky hair had streaks of gray, however, which marked him as a man of middle age. But Leon Elgard

seldom wore a hat, for he seemed to feel that his graying hair gave him a dignity.

Elgard's pose required effort, particularly on this warm afternoon when an overcoat was a burden. Reaching

his suite on the top floor of the hotel, he staged a near collapse. When he let the coat fall from his shoulders,

his body seemed to wither, but his sagging stopped as he slumped his bent body into a chair.

Stretching there, Elgard's figure took on a waspish appearance, which the overcoat, plus the forced

There was another man in the room: Gopher Spenk. He shook his head in admiration.

"Anything can be managed," interposed the Wasp, in his droning tone, "if sufficient effort is given to the task.

But this business of being Elgard is a trial. I hope to be finished with it shortly."

Reaching for some letters, the Wasp began to thumb them with a scrawny hand. Gopher stepped forward to

"Twingle correspondence," remarked the Wasp. "Everything is going well at Amalgamated Export. But I

"No fault of yours, Gopher," he said. "I simply feel that it is expedient for you to leave here and stay at the

"Not good enough for the work I have in mind. This is only temporary, Gopher." Rising, the Wasp clapped a

stingless hand upon his lieutenant's shoulder. "Once we have disposed of all obstacles, particularly the human

The promise pleased Gopher, since it seemed to include him. He was further pleased when he saw the Wasp

go to the filing drawer, put away the Twingle correspondence and bring out some brightly printed stock

"These were a good investment," buzzed the Wasp. "They are shares in Planet Aircraft, made out to Leon

Elgard. Like all such companies, Planet Aircraft is undergoing a remarkable expansion. I understand that they

intend to deliver one thousand fighting planes to the government within the next year. I think it is time that

Rising, the Wasp forced back his shoulders, as he slid into his overcoat. He was resuming the appearance of

Leon Elgard; but, before leaving the hotel room, he said to Gopher in a confidential buzz:

"Drop around to the Hotel Maxime and talk to Velma. Learn her reactions to recent matters, and report, when

THE Hotel Maxime was not far from the Imperator. Arriving there, Gopher found Velma at a writing desk in

the corner of a small lobby. There were others in the lobby, and Velma, turning at Gopher's voice, was sure

It meant what Velma suspected: that some of Gopher's men were constantly on watch; but that was logical

Unfortunately, it also meant that Velma could not move on her own without creating suspicion. She couldn't

risk trying to reach The Shadow, even if she found out how to find him. Even worse, Velma doubted that it

Velma remembered how the Wasp had ordered her to leave the Belgrade Arms, a few nights before, and had

delegated Gopher to accompany her. The next day, she had read of an explosion in an apartment there. It

might have been another death thrust against Cranston, but his name had not appeared in the newspapers;

Velma had also read of the strange death of Craig Upman, and the mysterious disappearance of Louis Dore,

wanted by the police in connection with the murder. She believed that the sting of the Wasp lay behind those

circumstances, and felt a share of the guilt, because she had been unable to prevent them. Velma realized that

she was quite helpless while under the Wasp's socalled protection; nevertheless, she could not forgive her

Gopher's present visit seemed a mere matter of routine. He chatted in a low, confidential tone, assuring

Velma that the Wasp's schemes were working well; and she forced a pleased smile when she heard the news.

Then, noting a telephone close at hand, Gopher referred to a little address book, to find a telephone number.

Perhaps it was Velma's studied lack of curiosity that won Gopher's confidence; at any rate, noting that she

seemed completely disinterested in the address book, he turned the page toward her.

"My pet hideaway," he said. "But nobody would ever find it from this number. This is the number of a

warehouse, and the hideaway is under the basement. But we go in from an old house in the back street. The

An idea was springing to Velma's mind while Gopher was in the booth making his call, but she was

"So long, blondie," Gopher said. "I'm going over to see the crew. Maybe I'll be back this evening to tell you

JUST as Gopher declared, the Wasp was swinging something big, but he was doing it in a very conservative

way. At that moment, the Wasp was calling on Roy Fayle, the general manager of Planet Aircraft.

It happened that the Wasp was being well received, for he was posing as Leon Elgard, a substantial

The aircraft plant was an old one, situated on the New Jersey Meadows, and Fayle's office was on the top

floor. Fayle, himself, was a big, domineering man, with the air of a petty king. He was constantly pressing

buttons, and making brief, pointed telephone calls to various departments in the plant; but between times, he

noted his visitor. Fayle saw a disappointed look on the youngish face of Elgard.

"Don't be misled, Mr. Elgard," chuckled Fayle. "This plant doesn't give an idea of how we have expanded.

We have opened several new divisions, all located in more strategic spots, mostly in the Middle West. It

would never do to manufacture planes in so open a location as this meadow. We only build commercial craft

"Here are some of the new plants." Fayle spread a batch of photographs on the desk. "It keeps me busy,

making the rounds, but I have to keep a finger on everything. By the way, this may interest you, too." He

drew a smaller picture from the lot. "It is my own test laboratory, which I have installed in my home."

The picture showed a squarish room which had no windows, and was obviously located in a cellar. It

contained various items of laboratory equipment, but most conspicuous was a smallsized motor, mounted on

"The very latest device," stated Fayle, "for extinguishing blazing motors. Carbon dioxide gas, applied full

blast, rapidly smothers the flames. A remarkable process, yet simple enough, and the result is most

"Yes." Fayle smiled at his visitor's incredulous tone. "Formed by the carbon dioxide. If you come out to my

home this weekend, Mr. Elgard, I can give you a demonstration. No, not this weekend" he shook his head

"because I won't have the new tanks until Monday night. But come anyway. I would like to have you meet

The Wasp accepted Fayle's invitation; then sat back to ease his straining shoulders, while the general

manager went over a list of equipment needed in the various factories. Finally, Fayle picked up the telephone,

called the purchasing department and requested that Mr. Rains come to the office. Then, relaxing, he swung

"James Rains is our purchasing agent," said Fayle. "A very capable chap, Rains, with an important and

exacting job. I have to check on all his purchases, for even a slight error might cost us thousands of dollars.

"Does he purchase finished products?" queried the Wasp in Elgard's tone, "or just the raw materials?"

"Everything," replied Fayle, "from spark plugs to parachutes. Yes, we even need parachutes, because each

Fayle noted that Elgard looked quite surprised. The general manager smiled, as he often did, at the ignorance

of the stockholders. But Fayle did not realize that Elgard's surprised look was a sham. The Wasp was quite

It happened that the Wasp had been thinking in terms of parachutes even before Fayle mentioned them. He

Not so very long ago, the Wasp, then known as Basil Gannaford, had been contemplating a scheme of

reorganizing Planet Aircraft, a project which had been halted when The Shadow forced the Wasp to flight.

JAMES RAINS arrived, and Roy Fayle promptly introduced him to Leon Elgard. Instead of shaking hands,

the Wasp drew a card from his pocket and extended it, with gloved hand, to the purchasing agent.

The action brought another smile from Fayle, for Elgard had given him, too, a card by way of introduction.

But the card that Rains received was different. It bore the name "Leon Elgard," and something else.

If Rains had not been a man of shrewdness and reserve, as his longish, pointed face portrayed, he would have

given away the shock which struck him when he saw the added feature of the calling card. As it was, Rains

paled, but his smile of greeting toward Elgard, the quick nod that he gave, were enough to cover up his brief

Fayle saw no real change in Rains' demeanor, but the Wasp did. He knew that fear was behind Rains' flickery

change of expression, and it was the emotion that the Wasp expected Rains to show.

The thing that Rains saw on the calling card was a wasp's wing, neatly glued by one tip.

Rains checked over his figures with Fayle. When that was done, he turned to the Wasp, making a slight back

The Wasp's nod told that Rains would. As soon as the purchasing agent had left, the Wasp decided to make

his own departure, which he did, after repeating his acceptance of Fayle's invitation to call at the latter's

It was only a quarter hour later, when James Rains received a telephone call in his office. The first thing that

the purchasing agent did was close the door; then, bracing himself, he answered the droned voice that came

across the wire. The thing that the Wasp had to say made Rains turn paler than before.

Rains' gasped words were halted by an interrupting drone across the wire. Immediately, Rains changed his

"It could be done," he admitted, "but not with twenty thousand! Why, a thousand is all we require. I might

double the order, but... Yes, I could order the parachutes from twenty different companies... No, none would

know anything about the others... But still I'm helpless, on account of Fayle...

"You talked with him today. You saw how he acted... Yes, Fayle has his finger on everything, my department

included... What's that? Is Fayle the only obstacle?... Yes, certainly. Of course. If I had full control of

Rains' voice cut off. Again, the Wasp's drone was making strong interruption. Its buzz was insidious, its

words the sort that drove home to Rains, like a note of absolute judgment, their assurance such that Rains

"You may proceed," declared the Wasp. "Roy Fayle will no longer be an obstacle."

The call ended. Rains sat slumped at his desk, staring blankly at the wall. His mind was repeating those last

droned words, and amid his clouded thoughts he was wondering what measures the Wasp intended.

The answer loomed, a startling thing, epitomized in a single word, which Rains repeated aloud:

IT was black in The Shadow's sanctum, that strange, hidden room somewhere in Manhattan; but outdoors, the

sun was shining, for it was only midafternoon. Daylight never penetrated to the thickly curtained room which

The Shadow called his own, but it was here that much light was shed upon darkish things; namely, the ways

For The Shadow's files and records, prized archives to which he made constant reference, were quartered in

the sanctum, where he could study them at leisure, under a bluish light which cast reflected rays upon a

Yesterday, the Wasp had visited the Planet Aircraft Co.; today, The Shadow was delving into data that

concerned the Wasp. As yet, The Shadow was still a step behind, but he was planning to make up the loss.

On his table were lists of companies with which Basil Gannaford, otherwise the Wasp, had been associated.

They were many, and they afforded a variety of possibilities, but all summed up to one point.

The ink faded, as was the way with the secret ink The Shadow used. But the thought, itself, had not been

For some reason, the Wasp, posing as Jeroboam Twingle, needed to use Amalgamated Export. It followed,

therefore, that he intended to make shipments through that company, with Central America as their logical

destination. So far, The Shadow hadn't an idea as to the nature of those shipments, but he had a way of

Meanwhile, he was looking for a tieup between the Wasp and known criminals. Papers, police reports and

Selecting certain ones, The Shadow assembled them. A low laugh whispered through the sanctum. The

Shadow was sure that among his selected list of known crooks, he would find the one who was serving as the

It was more than a guess; it was a sound assumption. Among the dozen selections was a record sheet

referring to Gopher Spenk, with a rogues' gallery portrait of that longmissing specialist in crime.

Later that afternoon, a quiet, selfpossessed stranger called at the offices of Amalgamated Export. His name

was Kent Allard and he asked to see Chester Thorber, the chairman of the board. Very shortly, The Shadow

was shown into the conference room where the directors met, where he was greeted by Chester Thorber.

It happened that Thorber had met The Shadow before; but that had been when The Shadow was Lamont

Cranston, not Kent Allard. Though Allard had something of Cranston's physiognomy, his face was different

in important respects. Allard's face was gaunt; his manner, too, was quite a contrast to Cranston's. Instead of

"I'm interested in your business," he told Thorber, "because I've heard that you intend to handle exports to

Thorber, an elderly man not used to such abruptness, gave Allard a look of surprise; then smiled and

"I suppose the news has leaked out," he finally said. "Well, it would have to become known, considering that

we have already negotiated for steamships to handle our new trade. I suppose your information came from

"It did," returned The Shadow, picking up the cue immediately. "I'm always interested in anything concerning

THORBER gave an understanding nod. He remembered Allard by name and reputation. Some years before,

Kent Allard had landed in Guatemala while on a flight to South America, and there had become the white

chief of an Indian tribe. His fame as an aviator had dwindled somewhat since his return, but it was still in

"I need a job," declared The Shadow, in the frank style of Allard. "You can give me one, Mr. Thorber. You

are bound to have some exports which will require special and rapid transportation. I would like to fly them

"An excellent suggestion," agreed Thorber. "But that is something I must take up with our Central American

representative, Jeroboam Twingle. Suppose I call Badler." He pressed a buzzer; then added, in a sad tone:

"Badler was confidential secretary to our late president, Craig Upman. Poor Upman! I suppose you read

The Shadow was more interested in Badler, but did not say so. He let Thorber ramble along about Upman,

but he was watching for Badler's arrival. When the man arrived, The Shadow analyzed him on the instant.

Badler was smug and sneaky, though he tried to cover both disqualifications by an air of efficiency. To The

Shadow, Badler was the very sort of man that the Wasp would be apt to subsidize.

Thorber explained the proposition that Allard had made, and Badler accepted it without comment. When

Thorber suggested that it be relayed to Twingle, Badler declared that he would send a letter that afternoon.

When the smug secretary left the conference room, The Shadow arose, shook hands with Thorber and

In the passage to the conference room, The Shadow moved from door to door, until he heard a subdued voice

beyond one. Easing the door open, he peered through the crack and spotted Badler finishing a telephone call.

It was too late to catch any of the conversation, but that did not matter. The Shadow remembered another call

that had come from Amalgamated Export, the one that Louis Dore had made to Commissioner Weston.

Silently shutting Badler's door, The Shadow continued to the reception room. In Allard's style, he stopped at

the information desk and asked for the number that Badler had just called, stating that he did so at the request

of Mr. Thorber. The girl learned the number from the switchboard operator, and gave it to The Shadow.

In a drugstore phone booth a block from the Amalgamated Export Co., Kent Allard called a number of his

own. In the whispered tone of The Shadow, he spoke to a man named Burbank and asked for a checkup of

Burbank was The Shadow's contact man, and could always give rapid information on telephone numbers,

because he had a special directory at hand; one listed by numbers, instead of names. Burbank furnished The

The result came at dusk. Then, riding in a taxicab, The Shadow passed an old loft building and circled to the

next block, where he observed some dilapidated houses, particularly an empty one. A low, subdued laugh

sounded within the cab. The Shadow had obtained proof of a conjecture that followed his trip to

This neighborhood was so suited for a hideaway that it could harbor only one man in the list of experts who

From the rear seat, The Shadow gave instructions to the cab driver. The cab slid toward the curb and stopped

The cab pulled away, leaving The Shadow in the blackened shelter of the empty house. There was no

question that his orders would be followed to the letter. The cab driver was Moe Shrevnitz, one of the

speediest hackies in New York, who had long been in The Shadow's employ. The man that Moe was to bring

Tonight's enterprise was ticklish. The Shadow was after bigger game than Gopher Spenk. He wanted to get a

direct lead to the Wasp, to strike at that superman of crime before the Wasp could move too far ahead.

THE house that The Shadow entered was both dark and deserted. His flashlight cut a tiny swath from room to

room, until, on the second floor, he found a telephone that bore the number of the one that Badler had called.

For certain, The Shadow knew that the call had been answered, which was curious in a way, for the telephone

had not been used for weeks. The proof was evident because a spider's web stretched from the mouthpiece to

Tracing back along the telephone wire, The Shadow began a series of taps along the floor and the wall. He

found a loose board and raised it, to find proof of a different sort of tapping. The telephone wire had been

tapped; the connecting wire ran downward and toward the rear of the house. The Shadow, therefore, made a

It did not take him long to find the continuation of the wire. It went through a coal bin at the back of the

cellar, and a group of boards swung outward when The Shadow tested them. Beyond, he found a narrow

passage, leading toward the loft building on the next street. The passage dipped, with a flight of steps,

Five minutes later, The Shadow was in a squarish, stonewalled room that had two doors. One was the route

by which The Shadow had entered, while the other led farther into these underground preserves. There was a

Boldly, The Shadow pulled the lamp cord, confident that this hideaway would not be trapped. He was right;

the lamp proved quite normal. Seating himself at the desk, The Shadow began to go through papers which

Among those papers were letters addressed to Jeroboam Twingle, proving the connection between Gopher

Taking an envelope, The Shadow treated it with the liquid contents of a bottle that he brought from his vest

pocket. The flap of the envelope was peeling, very neatly, when The Shadow was conscious of a creeping

His face was already half turned in the light. It must have been visible to anyone coming in from the outside

passage. Nevertheless, The Shadow was quite calm. He bent over the envelope, sliding the little bottle back

To all appearances, he was sealing the envelope, instead of opening it. But the ruse did not suffice. Sounds of

The Shadow's hands were fully in sight, and quite weaponless, when the muzzle of a gun pressed cold against

The Shadow knew that tone, for it was not disguised. It was the voice of Velma Corl. The girl who had

actually aided The Shadow in defiance of the Wasp, was again an active worker in the game, ready to prove

This time, however, the situation was in reverse. Velma was voicing a threat of sudden death, as her tone

ONCE before, The Shadow's life had been dependent upon the whim of Velma's trigger finger. Since the

Wasp's return, Velma had shown an urge to side with justice, but that had nothing to do with her ability. At

present, she meant what she said. She was ready to drill The Shadow if he made a single move.

With a grunt, The Shadow let himself relax, giving the impression that he had accepted his plight. He felt a

slight easing of the pressing gun muzzle, and made the most of it. With the speed that only he could

command, The Shadow whipped about, carrying his neck clear of the pressing gun. Only for an instant was

Velma caught off guard, but her nerve did not vanish with the lapse. Instead, she jabbed the gun forward

The Shadow's hand was swifter. In his turnabout, performed with such alacrity, his fist had plucked the lamp

from the table. He couldn't possibly have grabbed Velma's gun wrist in time to stop the shot, for his fingers

would have needed to make a splitsecond probe. The lamp eliminated the split second.

It struck Velma's arm, a target that it could not miss, and drove away her gun as she fired. The shot spurted a

The lamp left The Shadow's hand, but it did not crash. He had carried it full around, and as he dropped it, the

cord stretched across the desk and held the lamp dangling some inches from the floor.

But The Shadow, completing his sweep, was away before Velma recovered from the jolt that he had given

her. Instead of making for the outer door, he dived through the inner one, that led deeper into Gopher's

Partly blotted, the light from the lamp did not show where The Shadow had gone; not, at least, to Velma.

However, a new arrival observed The Shadow's dive. The man who spied it was Harry Vincent, The

Shadow's agent. He stopped short on the outer threshold, halted by blank amazement.

Harry had spotted Velma's arrival at the house in the back street, and had trailed her through, to the

hideaway. He had seen The Shadow escape her shot, and knew, from the speed with which the thing was

accomplished, that only The Shadow could have performed the feat. But Harry hadn't seen The Shadow as he

The man that Harry saw in whirlwind flight answered the description of Gopher Spenk!

Then, as Harry made a quick dart for a corner behind Velma's back, he knew what it was all about. The

Shadow had not come here cloaked. Such action would have been a bad mistake, since The Shadow was

For the benefit of any thugs who might spot him in the hideaway, The Shadow had come disguised as

The fact explained Velma's own action. She was still on the side of justice. She had come here for the same

reason as The Shadow: to find Gopher and demand a showdown. She wanted to reach the Wasp, too, through

Gopher, and the very thing that had rendered The Shadow immune to others had put him in a plight with

FOOTSTEPS were pounding in from the passage that came from the empty house. Harry knew what they

meant. Some of Gopher's thugs had arrived and had heard Velma's shot. It was Velma's dilemma that

bothered Harry, rather than his own. He thought of the quickest course to get Velma away from this office of

Springing to the task, Harry lunged forward and grabbed the blonde as she was turning toward the outer door.

Handling Velma wasn't as easy as Harry thought it would be, for she was still seeking Gopher. Taking Harry

for one of the thugs that the hideaway harbored, Velma jabbed her gun in his direction; but Harry was

Then the thugs were piling into sight, shouting for Velma to hang on to Harry; for, in this neartragedy of

errors, they saw that he was not one of their lot, and supposed that the girl had uncovered him as a chance

The thugs aimed for Harry. Only bullets could have stopped them and bullets came. A gun tongued from

the darkness past the inner door; the shots were The Shadow's. Crooks turned to aim for the unseen foe,

leaving Harry to Velma; but they were dealing with a superfoe. The Shadow's gun stabs felled the aiming pair

Unable to control Velma, Harry did the next best thing. He gave a kick at the hanging lamp and sent it

smashing against the wall. Flinging Velma to the safety of a corner, Harry was heading for the outer door,

when a hand caught him in the darkness. The grip was The Shadow's; he was hauling his agent along the

A dodging battle followed. The hideaway was a labyrinth of passages, and The Shadow was picking them

Evidently there was an outlet through the loft building and the thugs thought that their enemies were finding

it, for, of a sudden, Harry found himself back at the cellar of the old house, with The Shadow urging him

Much though he would have liked to stay, it wasn't Harry's policy to disobey the orders of his chief. He went

plunging through the cellar, while The Shadow kept up the fight against returning thugs, who, by this time,

Then, shoving out through a cellar window, Harry heard a scraping noise behind him. A street lamp gave him

a look back through the window, and Harry was elated. He saw the face that The Shadow wore, the face of

A hand reached up for a lift, and Harry gave it. He could still hear crooks below, shooting in the dark, and

was pleased to know that The Shadow had so easily slipped them. Harry was starting for Moe's cab, when his

companion gripped his arm and started him in the other direction. Good policy on The Shadow's part,

Meanwhile, Velma had profited by the darkness, too. She had reached the cellar of the old house and had

found the stairway. Gunfire ceased, but men were scrambling through the darkness of the cellar, and that

She thought she was entirely in the clear, when a quick figure sped across her path. A hand plucked her gun

One hand had her arms behind her, another was clapped across her mouth. Unable to shout for help, Velma

Then, struggling helplessly, she was shoved into a cab and was being carried away, when a laugh stirred the

darkness. She had heard that low, weird laugh before; but on this occasion, it was stranger than she could

VELMA sank back, limp, unable to believe her senses. Then, as she quivered with unbelievable fear, she

This was The Shadow, not Gopher. He was explaining how and why he had reached the hideaway, and

The girl panted out her story, giving the details as best she could. She found that it wasn't necessary to make

excuses for the other night, when she had tried to intervene in Cranston's behalf. The Shadow fully

What he now wanted was information regarding the Wasp, and Velma, unfortunately, was unable to supply

Meanwhile, the cab was circling the block, to pick up finally the trail of cars that were leaving the vicinity of

the warehouse. The Shadow leaned forward to hold a brief discussion with the driver; then, as they sped

"You mistook me for Gopher," he declared. "Unfortunately, one of my own men has done just the opposite.

"Naturally, he will be in danger," continued The Shadow, "as soon as the fact is discovered. I want you to

"It is simple enough," interposed The Shadow. "It has to happen eventually, so the sooner it occurs, the

better. If you are concerned in the matter, you will establish yourself with Gopher, and retain the confidence

"Gopher thinks that I am dead," declared The Shadow. "Your escape will convince him further. Tell him that

you ran into some men who used to work for The Shadow, and that another of that group is with him. Leave

Velma nodded. The Shadow spoke to Moe, who spurted the cab ahead. As the other cars neared a traffic light

and slackened, not realizing that the cab was on their trail, Moe wheeled up beside them. At that moment,

Taking the cue, the girl sprang out into the street and darted for the nearest car, shouting, for Gopher's

It was Harry who interrupted, by making a dive of his own from the rear door of a car. He had long since

recognized his mistake, and was looking for an out. Sight of Moe's cab told him that The Shadow had

Before crooks could train their guns on Harry, he was in the cab. Shots came from its window, wild ones that

could never have been credited to The Shadow. The cab wheeled the corner, as if seeking flight of its own,

Then Velma was jerked into Gopher's car, where she heard Gopher the actual Gopher this time growling

Velma told her story. It proved convincing, for the very reason that The Shadow had stated. Passing the Hotel

Maxime, Gopher ordered a stop to let Velma off. Leaning out, he confided to the girl:

Entering the hotel, Velma sat down in the lobby and relaxed. For the first time, she realized that her fists had

been tightly clenched from the moment when she had left The Shadow's cab. She wondered why, until she

opened her left hand. In it, she found a crumpled paper that The Shadow had thrust into her grasp.

The paper bore a telephone number. Velma read it over and over; as she did, the writing began to fade.

Staring at the blank paper, Velma gradually realized that the number must be one through which she could

She repeated the number half aloud, determined to remember it. Soon, she hoped, she would have important

SUCH a prospect was a promising one. Having stowed his crew in a new hideaway, and making sure he

was not followed, Gopher Spenk called on the Wasp, at the Hotel Imperator. He found the pretended Mr.

"Agents of The Shadow!" sneered the Wasp. "Bah! I expected some trouble from them. Not trouble for

"Easily enough," interrupted the Wasp. "They must have traced Badler's call, this afternoon. The Shadow

always has used agents, and they naturally would have been snooping around the Amalgamated Export

"I doubt it. They probably were watching him. But we won't take any chances with Allard. If he gets that

The Wasp shook his big head. He wasn't posing as Elgard; he was himself thinbodied, waspish to the

extreme, as he rose from his chair and paced the floor. When the Wasp spoke again, his drone was insidious.

"I shall dispose of Allard," he declared. "He fits perfectly into my present scheme. Your job will be to watch

"You mean Velma?" queried Gopher, in surprise. "She's O.K., chief. I was the guy who told her where the

hideaway was. She wouldn't have gone there, if she hadn't seen The Shadow's bunch snooping around the

Gopher was repeating part of the story that The Shadow had suggested to Velma. It made a favorable

impression upon the Wasp. Gopher explained further that his own men had followed Velma, and called him

"Get Velma to another hotel," he said. "If The Shadow's agents spot her again, dispose of them. Meanwhile,

she will serve us as a buffer. I shall need you, Gopher, and a small picked crew, for a very special task."

The Wasp waved his hand in dismissal, and Gopher, turning away, could hear the sneer that tinged the

monstrous crook's ugly drone. Like Rains, that afternoon, Gopher gained the distinct impression that the

Well could the Wasp be confident of success, not knowing that Kent Allard, another prospective victim, was

IT was pleasant on the sun porch of Roy Fayle's suburban home. Leon Elgard seemed to enjoy the sunny

Elgard was relaxed in a big chair near a hammock, his shoulders resting well back. The Wasp had found that

The sun was settling past the trees that lined Fayle's lawn, and the host suggested that his guests drop their

talk of business and take a stroll in the garden. Only Elgard declined; he was too comfortable in his

He seemed half asleep as the others left the porch, but he was watching them with his lazy eyes. The moment

First, he relaxed fully, by practically doubling his body in the chair. Then, his head tilting above shoulders

that had suddenly become spindly, he listened for a sound that he heard outside the screen.

Not the heavy drone of a human voice, the sort that the Wasp himself used. This was the buzz of an actual

Quickly, the Wasp unfastened the hinged frame and pulled it inward, as an invitation for his namesake to visit

With a swoop of his own, the Wasp brought out an insect spray gun from beneath the wicker table and gave

his buzzing friend a series of blasts. It took repeated efforts to down the big insect, but the winged visitor

The Wasp darted a look toward the open screen, as his ears detected another buzz. He spied a second wasp on

Intent upon his prey, the Wasp waited until the insect lifted itself again; then, leaning over the sill, he

Hearing footsteps, the Wasp slid the screen shut, shoved the spray gun beneath the table, and was back in his

The servant's name was Patrick, and he served Fayle both as butler and chauffeur. At present, his job was to

collect empty glasses that guests had left on the porch. Patrick noted the odor of insect spray in the air, but

supposed that Fayle must have used the sprayer before leaving for the garden. Thinking that Elgard was

Immediately, the Wasp began to dissect one insect and vivisect another. One wasp was dead, the other still

alive, as he pulled the wings from their bodies. Those wings were precious to the Wasp. They were the

When the group came back to the porch, the Wasp accepted Fayle's invitation to join them and pay a visit to

THE laboratory looked very much as it had in the photograph, except that some of the lesser equipment had

One detail had not been shown in the picture; namely, that the door had a spring which automatically closed

it. Evidently, Fayle didn't want to be disturbed when making his tests, a fact which pleased the Wasp.

Fayle started the little motor running, and pressed a lever that opened the exhaust pipe. Flames spurted, but

"That's to start the fire," he explained. "Surrounded with a miniature fuselage" he was picking up the

threefoot length of a model airplane "it produces quite a blaze. That's when we cut in with carbon dioxide

He pointed to the empty tanks as he spoke, and the Wasp gave them a casual survey. The other guests were

not particularly interested, for they had visited the laboratory before. As the group left, one man remarked

that the tests were all right, but so far, they hadn't helped the sales of commercial planes on which Planet

Fayle's answer was that Planet was at present geared for turning out military planes, but he admitted that it

would be wise to publicize the motor tests among others than stockholders in the company.

The discussion continued, helped much by occasional queries and suggestions from the newcomer, Elgard.

The Wasp was very artful when it came to extending a topic of general conversation. In fact, none of the

group remembered that he was having much to say, but it was actually the Wasp who furnished Fayle with

"If we could sign up some noted aviator," said Fayle, "and let him give public demonstrations of the

"We could hire him as a consultant," observed another. "Of course, the average stunt flyer wouldn't do."

"It would be better," remarked the Wasp, "to obtain a man noted for some solid achievement."

Fayle began to suggest names, always with someone raising an objection, largely because most noted fliers

It was inevitable that Fayle should come to the name of Kent Allard, and when he did, there were no

dissenters. The only question was whether Fayle could locate Allard and induce him to come from retirement.

The Wasp smiled secretly when he heard that point. He knew that Allard was already out of retirement, and,

for some reason, mixing into things that weren't his concern. When he left Fayle's house, after dinner, he had

Fayle intended to go through with the Allard proposition in a big way, with as much fanfare as possible; and

best of all Fayle had impressed everyone with the thought that contacting Allard had been the general

HOW efficiently Roy Fayle could act was demonstrated the next morning, when Kent Allard received a

Fayle wasted no time with the proposition. He wanted Allard as a consultant for the aircraft company. When

he heard that Allard was already negotiating with Amalgamated Export on another proposition, Fayle said

"We must look forward to commercial orders," declared Fayle, over the telephone, "after the rush of military

contracts is completed. If you are flying ships to Central America and have them equipped with our

extinguishers, it will add to our prestige. Suppose you call at my home tomorrow, Mr. Allard, and let me

In Allard's style, The Shadow agreed, and also said that he would welcome any publicity that Fayle might

give the coming test. Then, the call ended, The Shadow paced the hotel suite where he lived as Allard, and

gazed reflectively from the window, as though piercing some veil that hid the future.

Two pairs of eyes were watching him. They belonged to men who looked like squatty statues of bronze. They

were Indians from Guatemala, members of the Xinca tribe which Allard had once ruled. The Shadow could

But The Shadow was not expecting any immediate danger. He was visualizing a thrust to come; one that

would certainly be as subtle as the murder of Craig Upman, since the hand of the Wasp would be behind it.

Still, The Shadow did not pride himself as being the Wasp's chief target. He was quite sure that the Wasp did

It was far more plausible that the Wasp wanted first to eliminate Roy Fayle, who held the same status with

Planet Aircraft that Craig Upman had enjoyed with Amalgamated Export. Always efficient, the Wasp,

annoyed by Allard's entry into the game, had decided to get rid of him along with Fayle.

The Shadow's theory fitted the facts. The Wasp did intend to dispose of two human victims, just as he had

For the present, The Shadow had merely to bide his time. He foresaw that the stroke would come tomorrow,

Believing The Shadow to be dead, the Wasp would no longer adopt extreme measures to cover up his trail.

Clues would then be many, when The Shadow closed in upon the master crook. They would be needed, too,

It happened that the Wasp was already making his next step. He was no longer at the Hotel Imperator. He had

given up the troublesome pose of Elgard. The Wasp was installed in a small, neatly furnished apartment,

where he was quite himself again as he conferred with his lieutenant, Gopher Spenk.

"Rains will handle things at Planet Aircraft," declared the Wasp. "As fast as the parachutes come in, he will

ship them out again. You will help, Gopher, by going into the trucking business and taking the goods to a

Gopher's expression reflected disappointment. He still had hopes of becoming a gentleman of crime.

"The work is worth the stake," assured the Wasp. "This evening, you will have some preliminary practice. I

feel quite sure" he glanced at his watch, then at the telephone "that we shall receive a call quite shortly,

THE Wasp's prophecy was a sound one. Drew Hembroke, a consulting chemist of some repute, was at

present in his office. Hembroke worked for the Labcraft Corporation, which was located on Long Island, and

many problems were referred to his department. None, however, could have been more important than the

He was studying a letter that he had received that day. The envelope had been marked "personal," and the

letter itself was simply a telephone number, done on a typewriter. What bothered Hembroke was another item

Hembroke wasn't as worried as other of the Wasp's workers had been. In fact, from the way he mopped his

high brow, the chemist seemed relieved at hearing from his longabsent chief. Reaching for the telephone,

Hembroke called the number. When he heard a responding drone, he lowered his voice to a confidential

"I've been worried," began Hembroke. "Yes. We must get busy right away. We've got too much of that

Aurezole preparation... Certainly, I've kept it off the records. That's what makes it troublesome "

Hembroke broke off suddenly. The Wasp had dropped the subject under discussion and was bringing up

"But I can't!" he exclaimed. "It's not in my department... Yes, it would be easy enough. But, chief, I've got

this other matter to handle... Yes, tomorrow will be soon enough on the Aurezole. You'll be here? Good!"

The Wasp was still talking away from the Aurezole, whatever it happened to be. He was talking about the

thing that was out of Hembroke's department, but which the chemist had admitted would be easy. After a few

"All right," he declared. "I'll rig the tanks. I can't get started, though, until after five o'clock... How long will it

take? Not more than an hour, once I'm alone in the lab... Yes, you can send a truck here, but put some boxes

on it, so the watchman will think it's a delivery. I'll handle him from then on."

Back in his new apartment, the Wasp laid the telephone aside and leered toward Gopher. Then, in his gloating

Gopher, promptly sensing that the ultimate result would be murder, was sufficiently intrigued to forget his

"Your work tonight, Gopher, will bring death tomorrow. Double death to Fayle and Allard, two men who

would be apt to hinder us. By the time they are dead, I shall be moving toward the next goal, with traces of

The Wasp's confidence was marked in every word; it should have been, considering the neatness of his

schemes. But the Wasp might have lacked that confidence had he known that The Shadow, superfoe to crime,

IT was evening and Commissioner Weston was at the Cobalt Club, glumly studying reports that Inspector

Cardona had supplied. The police were still working on the Upman tragedy, and the bulk of Cardona's report

sheets concerned the missing auditor, Louis Dore. Cardona had tracked down at least a dozen leads to Dore,

"I'm following a few more tonight," assured Cardona. "Leave this business to me, commissioner, and I'll

promise results. A fellow like Dore can't just disappear like a bullfrog hopping into a puddle. I'm sure he's

"He probably is," conceded Weston, "if he really had a hand in Upman's death. Anybody who could fade out

Cardona understood what that "Only" meant. Commissioner Weston was still thinking in terms of The

Shadow, as the only living being who could have staged so startling an attack and as mysterious a fadeout as

the episodes concerned in Upman's death. In fact, Cardona couldn't get The Shadow off his own mind, and

Joe's hunch was that The Shadow might have had a reasonable purpose in going after Upman, and that Dore

might provide the answer. But it would be stretching things a long way to presume that Upman was crooked

"Too bad Mr. Cranston isn't here," observed Cardona, by way of interrupting Weston. "He might help us

"What would such things have to do with Dore?" snapped Weston. "Just because he was the auditor for an

"Still" the commissioner gave a ruminating stare "I'd like to know where Cranston is. This is a fine time

"Even Kent Allard is around again." As he spoke, the commissioner tossed an evening newspaper in

Cardona's direction. On the front page, Joe saw Allard's picture, and began to read the story that went with it.

He was interested to learn that Allard was going to fly planes for Amalgamated Export, in connection with

their new steamship service to Central America, but it didn't strike Joe as offering any new lead to Dore.

Besides, the news about the planned air route was dwindled by the report that Allard was to become

The account mentioned that tomorrow Kent Allard would confer with Planet's general manager, Roy Fayle,

and witness a test of the flameextinguishing device that Planet Aircraft was installing on all its motors.

Tossing the newspaper aside, Cardona set forth on his new hunt for Louis Dore. He still was thinking of

Cranston, wishing that the commissioner's friend had been present to look over the list of leads.

In fact, The Shadow would have liked to see that list; but he didn't consider it good policy to call on Weston

in the guise of Allard. Thus, it happened that The Shadow was biding his time in his hotel instead.

NEVERTHELESS, The Shadow was expecting certain results. He had received a call from Burbank, relaying

The girl had moved to another hotel; she still didn't know where the Wasp was located. But she had

overheard Gopher phoning a man whom he called by the picturesque name of Congo. It had something to do

with Congo bringing a truck over from Long Island, to a crossroads in Westchester County, outside New

The Shadow had delegated Harry Vincent to be on the lookout for such a truck, and Harry was already posted

in a coupe at a filling station near the crossroads. From his vantage point, he was checking all trucks that

Things began to break suddenly for Harry, as he watched. He saw a truck pull up and park beyond the service

station and suspected it as being Congo's, until a pair of uniformed police stepped from it. They were

evidently taking over duty at the crossing, where traffic was fairly reckless. Harry watched them begin a

A truck came lumbering along a road at a speed that did not suit the cops. They halted it, made the driver pull

over beside the other truck. They took him into the filling station with them, evidently to make a call to local

The driver must have squared himself somehow, for he came out ten minutes later and returned to his truck.

As he backed out to the road, Harry saw the load that the truck carried. It consisted of cylindrical tanks.

The carbon dioxide gas, for delivery at Fayle's! Remembering the first truck, Harry looked for it and saw it

starting off in another direction, with the officers clambering into it. The ruse suddenly explained itself.

This was the truck that Congo had brought from Long Island! The cops were phonies, members of Gopher's

crew! They had halted the other truck in order to do something with its load, which had been out of Harry's

Getting to the telephone himself, Harry put in a call to Burbank. The report was relayed to Allard's apartment.

There, The Shadow must have formed his own conclusions regarding what Harry had witnessed, for his tone

Then, with cloak and hat folded across his arm, The Shadow motioned to the faithful Xincas, ordering them

to make sure that the way was clear. Still guised as Allard, but with his black attire in readiness, The Shadow

USUALLY, Roy Fayle was at home in the evenings, and he had purposely made a point of being on hand

tonight. He wanted to make sure that the carbondioxide tanks were delivered, because of the important test

Fayle's house was not far from the crossroads where Harry had witnessed the dirty work. Ten minutes after

Harry had reported to The Shadow, Fayle was watching the unloading of the tanks.

The truck had brought them from the storage house where Fayle kept his usual supply. The truckers

apologized for being late, saying they had run into trouble with some argumentative police. Fayle signed the

receipt for the tanks and locked the door of his cellar laboratory. He had hardly reached the first floor before

"Show him to the porch," exclaimed Fayle. "I am glad he came this evening, instead of waiting until

Soon, Fayle and his visitor were shaking hands on the porch. Allard was somewhat different than Fayle

expected him to be, but Fayle was not surprised. He knew that aviators grew older, like other people, but that

the public expected them to always look the same, hence the newspapers preferred photographs showing

In the pictures printed in the evening newspapers, Kent Allard had looked comparatively young, and Fayle

knew that the portrait must have been taken at least ten years before. Allard, as Fayle now saw him, could be

properly described as middleaged. But he had the poise that Fayle expected. His features were long, wise of

"This early visit may surprise you," the caller began. "I know that you did not expect me until tomorrow, but

"Whatever it is," returned Fayle, with a smile, "it can wait. I have just completed arrangements for the motor

"You can handle that assignment any way you want, Mr. Allard. It will not interfere with your duties as

consultant with Planet Aircraft. Again, let me remind you that I must first have your opinion on the new

flame extinguisher, before we discuss others details. Come with me, Mr. Allard."

There was a firmness in Fayle's tone, but he expected further objection from Allard, because his visitor

impressed him as a man of positive inclinations. But apparently Allard had come to the conclusion that it was

The two men started down to the cellar, and on the way, Fayle stopped Patrick. He told the servant not to

bother him for the next fifteen minutes, the maximum time required for the motor test.

The admonition was hardly necessary with Patrick, because the servant was familiar with Fayle's usual

routine during demonstrations of the flame extinguisher. In fact, Patrick was a highly reliable servant, as

So reliable, that his testimony was to prove valuable later, when he would be called upon to give it.

Patrick saw Fayle and his companion go into the cellar room. He waited at the door, in case either Fayle or

Allard might remember anything else that was wanted. Patrick saw Fayle step to the motor; he observed that

Then the door swung shut and latched itself. Patrick was sure of that, for he tested the knob to make sure that

it was really locked, so that Fayle could not be disturbed by any of the other servants.

While Patrick was trying the door knob, he heard the motor start. Fayle was tuning it for the test.

Methodically, Patrick turned and went upstairs, noting the clock when he reached the living room.

DOWN in the laboratory, Fayle let the motor run for a few minutes, then opened the control in the exhaust

pipe. Sweeping flames caught the miniature fuselage attached to the motor, and began to spread.

Fayle pressed the nozzle of the first tank in the row, and clouds of vapor sprayed the flames. The fire fought

"Watch it, Allard," he declaimed, above the snort of the motor and the hiss of the gas. "I'm trying to conserve

the carbon dioxide, but if the fire spreads, I can always stop it with an increase of pressure."

The flames were still spurting when the first tank was exhausted. Fayle pressed the nozzle of the next tank

and opened it wider than the other. Not only did the cloud of gas increase; streaks of ice were forming on the

motor itself. Fayle beckoned his companion forward, to witness the result. Smeared by the gas, the fire was

Upstairs, Patrick was going about his duties, expecting Fayle to return when the test was finished. The

servant heard the doorbell ring, and answered it. A stocky man stood outside; his face showed swarthy in the

"Downstairs," replied Patrick. Then, as the stocky man started to thrust through: "But he must not be

The stocky man flashed a badge and introduced himself as Inspector Cardona, of the New York police.

Looking at the clock, Patrick noted that twenty minutes had passed, and promptly showed Cardona to the

"It's all right, now," assured Patrick. "I know that Mr. Fayle has finished demonstrating the test for Mr.

"I knew Allard was due here," returned Cardona. "Has anyone else called within the last half hour?"

They reached the door of the laboratory, where Patrick knocked. Though all was silent within, there was no

response. Patrick knocked again, but by that time, Cardona was looking about the cellar in search of

The thing that Cardona wanted was an ax; one was standing in a corner, near a pile of kindling. Getting the

Patrick began a protest, but Cardona wouldn't listen. Grimly, Joe hacked at the door and slashed a wide gash

in it. Together, he and Patrick peered through the opening. What they saw transfixed them.

Two figures lay crazily sprawled in front of the low table that supported the silent motor. The light was dim

along the floor level, yet sufficient to show their faces. One look was enough for both Cardona and Patrick.

The distortion registered upon the features of the sprawled men could mean but one thing: death.

Such was the result of Roy Fayle's urge to demonstrate to Kent Allard his burning motor test in advance of

the time scheduled. Double death, the sequel designed by the Wasp, had followed in the wake of Fayle's

Tragic enough, the sight of those two figures on the floor, the men whom Patrick identified as Fayle and

Allard. But Cardona would have regarded it a catastrophe, rather than a tragedy, had he known that Kent

STEPPING back from the door, Cardona ordered Patrick to hurry upstairs and phone for a physician. Though

Joe was sure that both victims were dead, he wanted to handle the case in thorough style. Patrick hastened

Patrick called Fayle's own physician. While finishing the call, the servant thought that he heard the rumble of

a car outdoors. Reaching the front door, he saw only the car that Cardona had driven. Patrick failed to see the

Still suspicious, Patrick listened for crunches from the gravel of the driveway, but heard none. He could hear

the thuds of Cardona's ax from the cellar, followed by splintering sounds which told that the door was being

Staring out into the darkness, Patrick noted blackish streaks that moved, but decided they came from the

boughs of wavering trees. Turning, Patrick hurried down cellar to rejoin Cardona.

The inspector had disposed of the door, except for a twofoot strip at the floor. Stepping over that remnant of

a barrier, Cardona advanced toward the bodies. Patrick followed, and both were starting to lean forward to

Cardona was sure that Patrick had gripped his arm, while the servant thought that the inspector had done the

same to him. Momentarily, their looks were baffled; then, swinging about, they faced a new arrival a tall

man, whose face was gaunt and solemn. To Patrick, the thing was a surprise; to Cardona, it smacked of the

For Cardona recognized the man who had joined the group; not merely because he had recently seen his

photograph, but because he had met him a few times in the past. By every right, the newcomer was a ghost,

Blankly, Cardona stared at the famous aviator, then looked to the dead form that lay beside Fayle's. Again,

"I would be careful, inspector," he said, solemnly. "Those men have died from carbon monoxide. There may

Too late to save Fayle and another victim, The Shadow had at least arrived in time to prevent Cardona and

Patrick from falling prey to the snare that had snuffed out the lives of two men. Realizing the service,

It was Patrick's turn to blink. Then it dawned on the servant that the visitor who had gone downstairs with

Fayle had merely introduced himself as Allard, but had offered no proof of his identity. He began to blurt that

"What a dub I am, sometimes," gruffed Joe. "Do you know why I came here?" He swung from Allard to

Patrick and back again. "I'll tell you why," Cardona added. "I came here to look for Louis Dore, the man

"I found Dore's trail this evening, I located his room at a hotel. He'd written an address on a pad, and I could

feel it on the next sheet. The name was Roy Fayle, and this was the address. That's why I came here. What's

more" Joe swung to Patrick "that's why I asked you if any one showed up, besides Allard.

"Take a look at that fellow." Cardona pointed to the body beside Fayle's, then produced a photograph.

"Compare him with this picture. I couldn't see him close enough from the door, and even now, the

The Shadow's eyes were steadily fixed on Dore's face. The Shadow was already forming definite conclusions,

"No wonder Dore gave the wrong name!" exclaimed the servant. "He knew that Mr. Allard was expected

here, because it was mentioned in the newspaper. He wanted to talk to Mr. Fayle, and that was the easiest

"The easiest way to try another murder," asserted Cardona. "Maybe he wanted to get rid of Fayle the way he

did Upman. Unless" Joe shook his head "unless this thing was accidental. We'll have to look into it."

LOOK into it, Cardona did, for the next two hours. During that interval, Commissioner Weston arrived,

bringing police surgeons who conferred with Fayle's physician and the local police authorities. They came to

the conclusion that Cardona had last suggested; namely, that the double death was accidental.

The whole case was very logical. Fayle must have run the motor too long, before he began the test of

extinguishing its flames. As a result, the exhaust had emitted a considerable amount of carbon monoxide, the

deadly gas responsible for so many fatalities, particularly in closed garages, which the windowless room

Heavier than air, carbon monoxide would naturally settle along the floor; being odorless as well as poisonous,

Fayle and Dore had done exactly that. Their deaths could be attributed to misadventure. It wasn't logical to

suppose that Dore had tried to murder Fayle; if he had, he would have made sure that he did not succumb in

Patrick's testimony eliminated that point. He declared that Dore's actions had been reasonably normal.

Furthermore, according to Patrick, the motor test had been performed as usual, except that it had gone

overtime, which was to be expected, considering that Fayle thought his visitor was Allard, a man who wanted

The only person who was unimpressed happened to be Kent Allard himself. Leaving Fayle's house, The

Reaching the car that he had parked far down the drive, The Shadow slid into his customary attire of black.

Driving to the crossroads, he picked up Harry Vincent, who had returned there because of a call that The

Riding into Manhattan, Harry heard The Shadow's own theories on the matter of double death, which

"The test should have been more rapid than usual," The Shadow analyzed, "since Fayle wanted to prove the

efficiency of the carbondioxide gas. We can attribute Fayle's death to the previous affair at the crossroads

Harry agreed, his tone quite subdued. He felt that he was in part responsible, through negligence, for Fayle's

"Dore was to blame," declared The Shadow. "He was one of the Wasp's dupes. He was sharp enough to

recognize that Fayle was threatened, like Upman, but he did not realize that the murder thrust was

prearranged, to occur during the test in Fayle's cellar. Dore's purpose in visiting Fayle was to seek an

"The fact that Dore once tried to reach Commissioner Weston proves that he wanted to expose the Wasp's

connection with Amalgamated Export. Unfortunately, the Wasp arrived about that time, and his return

frightened Dore and drove the fellow into hiding. Dore's entry into the affair tonight was unforeseen by

myself, but we must also remember" regret was dwindling from The Shadow's tone "that it was

They drove along in silence. Harry was considering the logic of The Shadow's statements. It was quite

apparent that Dore, in visiting Fayle, had been trying to square his past, so far as the law was concerned, and

had used the Allard introduction as a preliminary measure, only to hesitate about declaring his real identity

More important, however, was the tracing of the truck that Congo had brought to the crossroads to meet the

Things had gone as Gopher wanted them, despite the fact that Harry had been on the ground. That, in turn,

meant that the Wasp's commands had been obeyed in full, and were now something of the past, with no

Harry was reluctantly conceding the Wasp to be fully successful, when he heard The Shadow's whispered

"It was crime half done," declared The Shadow. "Dore's death means nothing to the Wasp, otherwise he

would have disposed of Dore, himself. Fayle is dead, but the Wasp will be disappointed. He will not be

satisfied until he disposes of the second victim who was scheduled for destruction."

It was not necessary for The Shadow to add the name Kent Allard. Harry understood.

"The Wasp will try again," The Shadow continued. "Opportunity always comes to those who place

themselves in its path. I shall follow that policy, and leave the rest to the Wasp."

It was a daring scheme, but a sound one. More than before, the Wasp would be anxious to eliminate Allard,

even though he might not guess that his prospective victim was actually The Shadow.

Deliberately, The Shadow would make himself a target for such an attempt, as the swiftest, surest way of

LATER, long after The Shadow and Harry had gone their separate ways, the proof of the theory was

There, the Wasp, huddled in a big chair, was listening to radio reports of accidental death in Westchester

County. His great chin tucked in a V formed by his scrawny hand, the Wasp turned his ugly eyes toward

"So Allard did not die!" mouthed the Wasp, his drone made harsh by a raspish sneer. "That fool Dore is to

blame! He meddled further than I supposed he would. However" the Wasp gave his spindly shoulders a

"But our work is only half complete. Until we dispose of Allard, and thereby keep him out of our affairs, we

cannot be sure of success. But" the Wasp's eyes took on a shrewd gleam "we shall find a way to handle

"You will not," interposed the Wasp. "You will check on him, that is all. Learn where he lives, find out his

habits, and report everything to me. When the time comes, I shall choose my own method of eliminating him,

"There need be no hurry. Allard can learn nothing for the present. The further we advance our schemes, the

better. If we find a way to handle Allard in the meantime, good enough. If not, I shall take special measures

Rising from his chair, the Wasp unlimbered, to display himself at his most grotesque worst. In the dim,

evasive light of the apartment, he was a creature whose very appearance filled Gopher with fear.

The lieutenant shrank away as the Wasp pressed a hand upon his shoulder. But there was no sting in the

"Stay at the hideaway," the Wasp ordered. "If the new one proves unsafe, move to another. I have my ways

of keeping ahead of the law, and I expect you to use your own methods, Gopher. To some degree, we must

operate independently. I shall call you when I need you; in the meantime, keep your eye on Velma Corl."

There was something in the Wasp's drone that spoke of lurking suspicions. Gopher detected it, and began to

wonder about Velma. Then the Wasp's mood took a sudden change, perhaps because he did not care to

"Velma can be useful," the Wasp declared. "When I need her, I shall tell you. Until then, be careful that she

No detail, it seemed could escape the Wasp. None, except that tonight, the half failure of his death thrust

DREW HEMBROKE had a visitor. It wasn't unusual for the chief consultant at Labcraft to receive special

customers; but this one happened to be more than special. His name was Hiram Flogert, and he was the chief

purchaser of a product called Aurezole, which Labcraft had included in their line a year or so before.

Aurezole happened to be a great headache to Drew Hembroke, but that was a small matter compared to the

fact that Hiram Flogert had actually stopped in to see him at the Labcraft plant. To others, Flogert might be

just a smalltime mine operator from Nevada, but Hembroke knew his real identity.

Usually, Hembroke was a man of real reserve; today, his blunt face was laden with fear. The chemist's eyes

were giving quick, nervous darts at the man who sat on the other side of his desk.

Hembroke saw a stoopish man wearing an alpaca coat and kid gloves, whose eyes were owlish in round

A clever trick, those glasses; quite as clever as the sun goggles the Wasp had worn when posing as Twingle.

They gave the eyes of Flogert a surprised look, thereby nullifying the sharp, evil glint that would normally

In fact, if it hadn't been for the wasp's wing that "Flogert" had sent in with his calling card, Hembroke would

Hembroke remembered the Wasp when the latter had been known as Basil Gannaford. There was practically

Alone with Hembroke, the Wasp spoke in the low drone that proved who he really was. His references, too,

were to the past. As Gannaford, he had fixed things very definitely for the Labcraft Corporation, putting the

concern in a financial hole from which it had not yet recovered. In that hole, the erstwhile Mr. Gannaford had

"It was foresight on my part," spoke the Wasp in a satisfied buzz, "when I created the imaginary character of

Hiram Flogert and made him the owner of a nonexistent mine in Nevada. We needed Flogert in order to have

an excuse for Aurezole, the special preparation used in working lowgrade ore. As I recall it, Hembroke,

"The stuff has put me in a bad jam," he declared. "If anyone analyzed it, they would find that it is chiefly a

concentrate of nitric acid. It does the work it's supposed to do, but no better than other products, which are

"I am thinking of another use for Aurezole," interposed the Wasp, with a chuckle. "That is why I had you

"That's just the trouble!" exclaimed Hembroke. "I'm on the spot, with all those faked shipments. Unless I can

"You can dispose of it quite easily," returned the Wasp. "You will sell it to the Central American Mining

Association, and ship it immediately through the Amalgamated Export Co. Here is the address of the

Hembroke's expression of relief was followed by a headshake, as he buried his chin deep in his

"It's too late," he said, in a hollow tone. "I shall need a month, at least, to account for this properly, by faking

Central American payments to look as though they came from Flogert. I've been carrying the load too long. If

"Because of Loring Truke," replied Hembroke. "He is the receiver who has taken over Labcraft, along with a

"This week," added Hembroke, "Truke will begin taking an account of stock. He will have accountants go

over all the books. Truke will recognize your hand in back of Aurezole, and will look into the subject. We

HEMBROKE halted, abruptly. He had seen the venomous gleam in the Wasp's eyes, displaying itself despite

the magnifying glasses. Then came the positive drone, that ominous tone the Wasp used on occasions when

"You have named Loring Truke," the Wasp declared. "That is enough. I shall take care of Truke."

Hembroke's words were a fearful stammer. Rising, the Wasp pressed a hand upon Hembroke's shoulder. The

"Why worry about Truke?" queried the Wasp. "The death of Roy Fayle seems to be easy on your conscience,

With that, the Wasp turned to make his departure, leaning on a cane that went with his role of Flogert. At the

door, he turned, giving a shrewd glance across his shoulder. He saw Hembroke riveted at the desk; but

already, the man's stare was producing a slow smile that Hembroke could not repress.

Hembroke was viewing the future as the Wasp had pictured it, and it pleased him. The Wasp, too, was

Perhaps it was his experience with Hembroke that made the Wasp even more direct in style, when he made

his next important stop that afternoon. He called at the Hoboken branch of the Rainbow Paint Co., another

The Wasp did not bother to change the Flogert disguise. He retained it, spectacles and all, but gave a different

name. He called himself Willard Grom, and asked to see Matthew Telf, head of the sales department.

Telf was very busy, the Wasp learned, and would not be able to see him. Nevertheless, the Wasp sent in a

Attached to that card was a transparent thing too insignificant to attract ordinary notice. It was a wasp's wing,

a souvenir of the Wasp's visit to Fayle's house. The card brought rapid results. A few minutes later, the Wasp

was ushered into Telf's office, to find a pudgy man behind the desk, still fingering the card.

One look at Telf and the Wasp, always a good judge of individuals, was confident that his choice of this

"I hoped you'd come," he undertoned, as soon as he had closed the door. "I'm in a bad jam over that varnish

we've been manufacturing, the item we advertised as Spargo. I've got to sell some of it to account for making

up so much, but it's brought so many complaints that there hasn't been a sale in months."

"Spargo was an excellent product," droned the Wasp, in a reproving style. "I cannot account for your failure

"It was excellent," Telf returned, "until we put more glycerin into it, to suit the specifications that you

wanted. The glycerin hadn't caused any trouble until then, but the new proportion ruined Spargo for all time."

"Of course. Because I expected you to unload it. But then everything went wide open. You headed off

The Wasp leaned forward to clap Telf's shoulder, but his touch had only a brief sensation of a sting. Telf

"During my absence," spoke the Wasp, "I have learned of an excellent use for Spargo. It is the very sort of

varnish required in certain tropical countries, notably in Central America. A concern called Oceanic

"Ship your stock of Spargo to this warehouse" the Wasp wrote it for Telf "and consign it to the

Amalgamated Export Co. for immediate shipment. Make the price as high as you deem necessary. Oceanic

Telf gave his chin a slow rub, then shook his head in jerky manner, his first trace of nervousness since the

"Thirty days won't do," he stated. "I doubt that even ten would be enough. The transaction itself will come

under question, after our new experimental department orders a test of Spargo, along with other slowselling

"Yes. It has just been instituted. You put the Rainbow Paint Co. right on the rocks when you were Basil

Telf's fattish eyes blinked. He did not know of the Wasp's previous chat with Hembroke. It was simply a

supposition on the Wasp's part that the Rainbow Paint Co. had followed the example of the Labcraft

Corporation and called in Loring Truke to straighten out the financial problems caused by Basil Gannaford.

Telf's blink was followed by a nod, proving that the Wasp was right. Rising in cramped style, the Wasp

"My attention has already been called to Loring Truke," he told Telf. "You may rest assured that one man

TWO hurdles were to be cleared in one stride the final one, so far as the Wasp was concerned. He felt that

he had encountered real luck, in finding that Loring Truke was the obstacle in both cases.

The Wasp had expected difficulty at both Labcraft and Rainbow, and had presumed that he would be faced

by a double problem if mere murders could be defined as problems, in the Wasp's vocabulary.

There had never been more than one real problem in all the Wasp's career, and that hazard was one which he

considered to be gone forever: the obstacle of The Shadow. But it happened that The Shadow was still in the

game, and that his ability at deduction was not only equal, but superior, to the Wasp's.

In his hotel, The Shadow was going over sheaves of papers, all confidential reports regarding companies

which Basil Gannaford had once managed. Affairs at Amalgamated Export and Planet Aircraft, with the

deaths of such key men as Craig Upman and Roy Fayle, were proof enough to The Shadow that the Wasp

The Shadow was still Kent Allard. He was sticking to the part, in hope that it would produce results in the

form of another death thrust. He was not making visits to his sanctum, because he wanted to keep all of

Allard's actions well accounted for; but it had been easy to get the company reports delivered, and they were

One name stood out on The Shadow's list: that of Loring Truke. The man, a financial wizard in his own right,

but one who used his ability properly, was certainly due for trouble from the Wasp. Labcraft and Rainbow

were but two of several companies that had asked Truke to straighten out the tangles caused by Basil

Leaving the hotel Kent Allard walked a few blocks, emphasizing a slight limp which made him easy to

notice. He wanted the Wasp's watchers to keep him under surveillance, should any of them be about.

He reached one of the many entrances to Grand Central Station and stopped to pick up an evening newspaper

from a stand. He also paused to glance at a large magazine rack that fronted the newsstand near the inner end.

Just beyond the magazine rack, which was a high one, stood a row of about a dozen telephone booths.

Stepping into the first booth, The Shadow waited until he saw the man at the newsstand come out and

A green cover attracted The Shadow's eye, as he looked through the window of the phone booth. The Shadow

The voice that he used was Lamont Cranston's, though his guise was Allard's. He introduced himself to the

speaker at the other end and received a warm greeting. The call finished, The Shadow came from the booth

and limped back toward the hotel. On the way, his disguised lips phrased the whisper of a laugh.

The Shadow had talked to Loring Truke. As Cranston, he had promised confidential aid in the matter of

certain companies. The receiver had welcomed it, for he knew that Lamont Cranston had been instrumental in

As an upshot of that conversation, Loring Truke had agreed to hire a man recommended by Lamont Cranston,

to serve as his private secretary during the next few weeks. By that agreement, Truke unwittingly was to

The man recommended by The Shadow was his own agent, Harry Vincent, whose long experience in The

Shadow's service would make him the most capable bodyguard that Truke could have outside of The Shadow

The Shadow's hope was to supply a stroke that would defeat the Wasp's final stride!

THREE days of work with Loring Truke had proven a real experience for Harry Vincent. Though competent

to hold a job as private secretary, Harry had begun to wonder about his own merits. Never had he met a man

Outwardly, Truke looked frail and tired, but he was a bundle of nervous energy that overcame all physical

problems. Twenty hours a day was Truke's idea of a good working period, and Harry couldn't keep up to the

There were intervals when Truke insisted that his new secretary take a rest, and Harry had to abide by the

Truke had other secretaries in reserve; he usually kept four of them on the go, he said, but was doing with

three at present. Truke meant it as a compliment, indicating that Harry was as good as any two men, but The

What troubled Harry was the fact that at certain times Truke might hear from people or take up certain

matters while Harry himself was not on hand. To offset that problem, Harry saw to it that his rest periods

On this evening, Harry was writing out a report of his own, when Truke came into the little office that formed

a part of his apartment. Truke wanted his medicine, which consisted of a tablespoon dose from a bottle which

Harry knew that the medicine could be poisonous, though not in the quantity which Truke was supposed to

take. So Harry had made it one of his duties to keep the medicine under lock, and check on the times when

Truke filled a glass with water from a decanter and emptied the spoonful of medicine into the glass. While

stirring the concoction, he eyed Harry in quick, birdlike fashion, which was one of Truke's mannerisms.

"Not much," returned Harry. He didn't deem it necessary to mention that his only work for the present was

that of completing a report to The Shadow. "Is there anything you want, Mr. Truke?"

"I'd like you to be on hand when the visitors come. I am expecting Commissioner Weston, among them. You

know, Vincent, my study of the companies that Basil Gannaford once controlled may reach the point where

legal action is necessary. I thought it best to discuss such features with the commissioner beforehand."

"Cranston still wants everyone to think that he is absent from New York," Truke declared. "Just why, I do not

know, but I fancy that we shall learn later. So I am depending upon your discretion, Vincent."

Putting the medicine bottle back on its shelf, Truke went from the little office. Harry completed his report,

and called Burbank, to give him the details verbatim. Personally, Harry was not pleased with his own report;

it seemed largely composed of trivialities. Among the items that it listed were the following:

First, Truke had been approached by a salesman from a private detective agency offering special

investigation service in connection with bankrupt companies. The salesman's name was Alvern, but the price

Another item was that Truke had discharged one of his chauffeurs, a man named Kellam, for using a car

without permission. A final sample on Harry's list was the fact that the electric refrigerator in Truke's

apartment had been blowing its fuses, and no electrician had been able to fix it. So a new refrigerator had

As for people regularly in Truke's employ, all satisfied Harry as to their integrity, with the exception of

Kellam, who was no longer around. Of Truke's servants, the most important was Blackburn, the butler, and

his loyalty to Truke was a thing of many years' standing. If a threat from the Wasp should be hanging over

Loring Truke, it certainly could not involve Blackburn; of that Harry was certain.

COULD Harry have viewed a specific room elsewhere in New York, his surety of Truke's safety would have

suffered a rude jolt. That room happened to be the living room of the apartment where the Wasp had his

There, the Wasp was receiving a visitor, and no longer did the Wasp keep up a forced pose. He had dropped

Nevertheless, even as the Wasp, he was not displaying the venomous, evil manner so suited to his notorious

character. The Wasp was seated in the light, and was somewhat relaxed. His face, wearing a slight smile, was

almost kindly, though a keen observer could note the shrewdness through the natural mask. It happened that

The visitor's name was Mayo Adrich. He was a tall man, very blunt of features, his cheeks almost jowlish. He

had a habit of closing his eyes to narrow slits, something which he normally avoided, for it showed him to be

shrewder than people supposed. But Adrich was quite willing to display that trait in the presence of the Wasp.

"Well, Gannaford," spoke Adrich, in an oily tone, "I am sure, at last, that you have returned. But I would not

have believed it, had I not come here to see you. It seemed to me that your best policy, once you had gone,

The Wasp tilted his great head. As Gannaford, it was usually his habit to sit at a desk in order to hide his

"Before I left," the Wasp droned, "we had begun certain negotiations, Adrich. I should like to resume them."

"You are a Napoleon of crime," he told the Wasp, "but you met your Waterloo when you encountered The

"Napoleon was first banished to Elba," reminded Gannaford. "He came back from there; to meet his

Waterloo. But if he had won at Waterloo, there would never have been a St. Helena. It happens, Adrich, that I

The Wasp related those details, and along with his tale of how he had eliminated Cranston, he described some

of his other exploits. Adrich showed admiration when he heard of the murders that the Wasp had committed

in the cases of Upman and Fayle. But he was quite as interested in the business transactions that the Wasp

As the Wasp finished his account, there was a cautious knock from an inner door. Recognizing it to be

Gopher's, the Wasp ordered his lieutenant to enter. Obliging, Gopher closed the door behind him, and made a

"Velma is on the way up," said Gopher. "I told her to come up by the back route. She's being covered by the

The Wasp nodded, approvingly. He was playing it safe with Velma, keeping her under surveillance as well as

protection. On this, the blonde's first visit to his new headquarters, the Wasp was confident that Velma could

not contact any remaining agents of The Shadow, either willingly or unwillingly.

Instead of dismissing Gopher, the Wasp let the lieutenant remain, because he wanted Gopher as witness to a

Standing near the inner door, Gopher studied both the Wasp and Adrich; he saw that they were of the same

"AT the time you talked of buying certain supplies," the Wasp told Adrich, "you did not mention where they

were to go. I happened to learn that detail during my banishment, as you term it."

"I expected as much," he said. "Yes, our bases happen to be in Central America."

"I thought as much," the Wasp droned. "Tonight, the steamship Tropica, chartered by the Amalgamated

Export Co., is ready to load her cargo for Central America. The cargo will consist of two thousand awnings,

much needed in the tropics; a thousand cases of a mining preparation called Aurezole; and another thousand

"The price for the entire cargo," added the Wasp, "will be one million dollars."

To Gopher, who had handled the assembling of the items named, the price was something that produced

amazement. It was at least five times the value of the cargo, including the cost of shipment, and Gopher

expected Adrich to offer stout objection. Instead, the jowlfaced visitor considered.

"The price is fair enough," decided Adrich, at length, "provided that you can guarantee future shipments. It

will take the Tropica half a dozen trips to convey all the goods that I require."

"At a million dollars a shipment," affirmed the Wasp, "I can guarantee the required deliveries."

Still agog, Gopher did not realize that the door behind him had opened slightly. Nor did the Wasp or his

friend Adrich, who were too concerned with the matter of their coming deal. The face that peered from the

The blonde's blue eyes were very wide, but not in the baby stare that she could fake so easily. Velma was

gripped by a combination of amazement and horror. She had heard enough to understand the purpose behind

the transaction between Gannaford and Adrich. If ever Velma was glad that she had switched to the side of

Whatever her past association with crime, it had been inspired partly through selfpreservation. Velma had

wanted security, and when the Wasp had offered luxury, as well, she had been willing to take both. Formerly,

Velma had always downed her qualms on the basis that the Wasp's game was that of plucking wealth from

Velma had recognized the error of her ways, but simply thwarting the Wasp in new schemes of wealth had

not impressed her as enough, when it came to redeeming her own past. Velma had hoped that she could

perform some really outstanding service that would stand as a true measure of her desire to make amends. At

For the thing that the Wasp was planning with Mayo Adrich represented the maximum of evil. It was a threat

of death to thousands, perhaps millions of American citizens, a terror that might indeed result in the

No more evil pair could be fancied than Gannaford and Adrich. Of the two, the Wasp was the more

Adrich, however, was not to be discounted, for while the Wasp was operating with a skeleton organization

Gopher Spenk and his crew it was equally apparent that Adrich must be backed by a group of workers as

desperate as they were despicable, men who had been waiting for the moment when their leader would need

THE question was pounding through Velma's brain, when she heard Gannaford and Adrich resume their

"The immediate elimination," interposed Adrich. "Truke may prove more troublesome than even Upman or

"Truke's case is already arranged," announced the Wasp. "I have completed the necessary preparations, and

the process will be automatic, as with Upman and Fayle. Tomorrow, the newspapers will carry accounts of

"There is another man who must be eliminated," advised Adrich. "The aviator, Kent Allard."

Velma saw the Wasp's withery shoulders shrug in a manner that defined Allard as unimportant.

"No rush!" interrupted Adrich, indignantly. "Perhaps not so far as your plans are concerned, since his flights

to Central America cannot effect the boat shipments through Amalgamated Exports. But should Allard cross

certain stretches of the jungle and see the landing sites that I have arranged there "

Another shrug from the Wasp was indication that he considered the matter to be Adrich's problem, not his

own. Then, with the indulgent smile of Gannaford, the Wasp made a proposal. Velma, listening, realized that

"I have kept full check on Allard," droned the Wasp, "but it would be unwise for me to use my own men in

an open thrust against him. They are marked, and he is likely to suspect them at too close range. But if you

would be willing to provide the necessary crew, Adrich, I can promise quick results."

"And there is no time like the present," completed the Wasp. "Come with me, Adrich."

They were rising, to come to the room where Velma was, and the Wasp was waving Gopher ahead. Velma

was quick enough to close the door without Gopher noticing it, but she lost the race that followed.

It was her hope to get through the next room, out the back way, and to a telephone, so that she might call

Burbank. But Velma had just managed to cross the room when Gopher appeared. The best that she could do

Then, Gannaford and Adrich were also present. In the gloomier light of this room, Velma saw Gannaford as

the Wasp again, his features distorted in a pleased leer. She couldn't have told which man he was, but for the

The Wasp did not introduce his new companion. He merely laid a stingless hand on Velma's shoulder as he

drew her toward a telephone in the corner. Velma wished that she had noticed that instrument before, as it

"Come, Velma," the Wasp was buzzing. "I want you to call a certain number and leave a message for a

The next words, the telephone number, seemed like a spoken thought that was harassing Velma's own brain.

They were given in the Wasp's drone, yet, to Velma, the effect was so startling as to be incredible.

Wild impressions tormented her, from the idea that this might be a hoax, to the feeling that it was a trick

But with each swing of her finger, she felt more and more that this thing must be a dream; some weird

fantasy, instead of reality. For the number the Wasp had given her to call was the one that she had so often

KENT ALLARD stopped at the newsstand just short of the telephone booths in the passage that led to Grand

Central Terminal. He waited patiently for the news dealer to finish with some work behind the counter. The

man's back was turned; but eventually, he noted Allard with a side glance and spoke in a methodical tone:

It was customary for the man behind the newsstand to receive messages for Allard, though very seldom had

he any to relay. The messages, if there were any, reached The Shadow in the pages of newspapers or

magazines. On this occasion, however, the man gestured toward a telephone behind the counter.

"A lady called," he said. "She wanted you to call back. She gave me the number "

Over his shoulder, the news dealer passed Allard a slip of paper with the number noted on it. The Shadow

thereupon bought a newspaper and tucked it under his arm. But his thumb was folding back a corner, so that

The man behind the counter was Burbank; he had taken over the newsstand as a contact point. Knowing that

Kent Allard asked for messages at that newsstand, workers of the Wasp had reported it to their chief, through

Gopher Spenk. This accounted for the fact that the Wasp had ordered Velma Corl to call the very number

At this very moment, Velma, still at the Wasp's headquarters, was undergoing a horrible mental torture, while

she waited there with Gopher Spenk. She hadn't been able to make any statements other than those ordered

He had told her to have Mr. Allard call back a certain number, which Velma had noted was not the

The most that Velma had been able to do was use her own voice and hope that Burbank would recognize it;

but his tone had given no indication one way or the other. Thus, Velma's anguish was to continue, without

Had she been able to view what was happening at the Grand Central newsstand, she might have realized that

Beneath the pressedback corner of the newspaper, The Shadow was reading a notation from Burbank. It

stated that Velma was the girl who had called and given the message, but that she had been unable to say

From that, The Shadow was able to picture the scene to his own satisfaction. Velma had made a forced call,

at the Wasp's order. The thrust against Kent Allard was due, and it meant more than an attempt against The

The name paramount in The Shadow's mind was that of Loring Truke. Tucked in the newspaper was the

latest report from Harry Vincent. Perhaps, from it, The Shadow could get a further answer. That settled, he

considered his own situation. In Allard's style, The Shadow rapped upon the counter of the newsstand.

Without turning, Burbank dug deep and found the package, to slide it across the counter. Gathering the

package, The Shadow furnished a sample of Allard's limp, as he stepped into the first telephone booth in the

As The Shadow closed the door of the booth, Burbank, as was his wont, came from behind the counter and

The magazines that Burbank handled had red covers, in contrast to the usual green. They meant danger,

ACROSS the way, a man was lounging at a littleused door that led into a drugstore. He was reading a

newspaper and smoking a cigar; the sheets, as well as the puffs of smoke, obscured his face.

The watching man was Mayo Adrich, new partner of the Wasp. He was waiting for Allard to begin the call.

Adrich could no longer see Allard, for the booth was very dark when the door was closed. The Shadow had

increased the darkness of the glass pane, by drawing a cloak from the package that had been at the newsstand.

The blackness turned the glass of the phone booth door into an excellent mirror, in which Burbank was noting

About then, Adrich heard the jangle of a telephone bell not from Allard's booth, but from a similar one

inside the drugstore. He looked toward the inner booth, saw a scrawny hand beckon. The hand belonged to

From the receiver of the Wasp's telephone, Adrich could hear a voice. The Wasp, his hand covering the

"It's Allard, all right! I told you this would work, having him call here. Is he in the phone booth outside?"

"In the first one," undertoned Adrich. "Keep him on the wire, while I bring up the crew."

Out by the newsstand, Burbank was replacing magazines in the big rack. He was just close enough to the first

booth to hear Allard's tone. Then Burbank went back behind his counter, leaving the rest to The Shadow.

Even then, The Shadow was learning something. As he spoke, in Allard's tone, he was greeted by another

voice that was undisguised. Basil Gannaford was replying to The Shadow, using the fierce drone of the

"You have been a fool, Allard!" sneered the Wasp. "Where or how you gained your information from The

Shadow or someone else you knew that you were meddling with the Wasp. Few men have done that and

"I take it that you are the Wasp," responded The Shadow, in the tone of Allard. "May I ask what other name

"None which concern you," buzzed the Wasp. "I am making you a proposition, Allard. Go your way, and

"The choice is yours. But I must have the answer. Do not depend upon The Shadow to aid you. The Shadow

OUTSIDE the line of booths, men were moving closer. They were the cream of Adrich's flock: men long

groomed for duty; secret workers for the foreign masters whose bidding Adrich did. This was to be their

initial deed of murder, and Allard, whatever his answer to the Wasp, was to be their prey!

To all appearances, they were chance passers along this littleused approach to the concourse of the Grand

Central Terminal. Though used much in the daytime, the route was usually deserted in the evening, as it

The only man who might have noticed a surprising influx of strangers was Burbank, and he happened to be

behind the newsstand again, with his back turned, for he was getting ready to close the stand.

They were six in number, these assassins, all receiving signals from the doorway to the drugstore, where

Adrich had returned. His face showed a pleased gleam as he noted the respectable appearance of his tribe.

They were men who favored canes, spats, and derby hats, rather than the usual rough garb of pluguglies.

But when it came to the delivery of death, these killers could be swift, efficient and, best of all, silent. Adrich

Adrich gave the signal. Instantly, the first booth in the long line became the focal point of the six

approachers. Its hinged door was, of course, closed, but not quite enough to illuminate the automatic light in

Evidently, Allard was being cautious; logically enough, since he was at present talking to the Wasp. But

They moved like creatures actuated by clockwork. One slid into the second booth in the line, from which he

could hear the muffled tone of Allard's voice. Another strolled close to the booths, swinging a cane. Others

Of two who remained, one stopped beside the magazine rack, while the other paused at the newsstand itself,

Then, from the midway point, Adrich saw the Wasp wave from the corner of the drugstore, indicating that he

was ready to terminate his telephone conversation with Allard. The Wasp's gesture was an order for

immediate death, which Adrich promptly relayed. Killers spurted to action, with rapid teamwork.

The man at the magazine rack made a quick, sideward stoop and jabbed the point of his cane against the

From across the way, two assassins whipped knives from beneath their coats, sent the blades flying in the

same action. At different heights and angles, those weapons found their mark: the interior of the telephone

Only the speed of knives could have outmatched the next thing that came a small, roundish object, that a

third killer yanked from an overcoat pocket and flung into the dark, but nowopen booth, which had become

an absolute death trap. The bomb broke with a silent puff of smoke, which filled the booth.

Meanwhile, the first man to move had wheeled away, leaving his cane projecting from the sections of the

door. Only the cane, but not the handle. He still gripped the handle, and to it was attached a long rapier that

A handkerchief across his nostrils to cut off any effects of the pungent, overwhelming gas that now clouded

the telephone booth, the man drove forward, his sword ahead of him, to deliver the coup de grace to Allard

At the doorway of the booth the man with the sword stopped short and dropped back, his weapon lowered,

while his eyes stared fixedly into the trap. Others reached his elbows; they, too, were halted with amazement.

Adrich forgot all caution as he dashed up to join them, wondering why they were failing in the next step of

their work. He had ordered them to get Allard's body out of the booth and rush it away; but they seemed to

Except for two knives, their handles projecting from the walls of the booth into a bluish trail of settling

THIS was the first booth in the line: the one into which Adrich had seen Allard go. Allard had been talking to

the Wasp while Adrich still watched. There had been no break in the conversation; could have been none, for

The death thrust had been started while Allard was still on the wire; as absolute proof of that point, Adrich

was hearing the stammered testimony of the man who had sidled into the next booth, who was saying that he

had heard the clatter of Allard's receiver just as the door of the victim's booth had been shoved inward.

Kent Allard was gone from the telephone booth. He had evaporated more speedily than the smoke from the

poisongas bomb. Like his crew of thwarted assassins, Mayo Adrich was dumfounded. The booth was barely

A solid telephone booth, as was proven when Adrich's men pushed their arms into the interior, to tug the

knives from the booth's walls. They did so quakingly, the man with the sword cane standing by, for it gave

They acted as though they expected Allard to materialize as suddenly as he had disappeared. Once they had

their knives again, they turned and darted away. Panic seized the rest; they chose flight, too, and Adrich,

When they reached waiting cabs manned by drivers who belonged to their tribe, the Wasp was awaiting them.

He had taken a look from the drugstore door, to observe the confusion by the phone booths. In stooped

fashion, he sprang into the cab with Adrich, and hushed his new partner's excited stammers with a drone.

The Wasp could not account for Allard's disappearance; otherwise, he would have ordered the assassins back

"Stop somewhere!" buzzed the Wasp. "Some place where I can make a call to Gopher, and send him to

Truke's before Allard gets there. Then we must start for the warehouse and get those shipments off to the

"But Allard has only escaped us," exclaimed Adrich. "Surely, he cannot block our remaining plans."

"You speak of Allard," sneered the Wasp, "as though he were some ordinary adventurer. Does it not occur to

The Wasp's drone halted; his glinting eyes were fixed on Adrich's face. He watched the way his partner's gaze

narrowed, saw the waver that came to Adrich's lips. Then Adrich found his voice, to utter in hollow,

THERE was a reason why the Wasp was urging Adrich to new efforts. It was necessary for Gopher to start to

Truke's; essential, too, that the warehouse be reached. Whatever The Shadow had learned earlier, he had

It didn't strike the Wasp as good policy to mention that detail to Adrich; but the fact was that the Wasp, to

hold Kent Allard on the wire, had done more than utter threats with a false promise of amnesty. To dupe

Allard, the Wasp had vaguely specified the things that would have to be avoided.

He had told Allard to stay away from a man named Loring Truke, and not to interfere with any shipments

planned by the Amalgamated Export Co. As far as he could, the Wasp had exhibited a pretended weakness, to

It had seemed good policy, considering that Kent Allard was slated for instantaneous death at the hands of

competent assassins; but that was before the Wasp had any inkling that Kent Allard was The Shadow!

Skilled though he was at guessing unknown facts, the Wasp had no idea where The Shadow had gone after

performing the trick of the telephone booth. He could only presume that The Shadow had not gone far, a

point which accounted for the Wasp's own desire for departure. But the riddle itself was unsolvable, in the

Yet the answer was simple; so simple, that the Wasp would have fumed had he been on hand to witness The

Shadow's reappearance, not as Allard, but as a being cloaked in black. Yet the very simplicity of the trick was

There were exactly twelve telephone booths in the line that began from Burbank's newsstand. One dozen

booths, all quite ordinary, for they had been standing constant examination during the past few days, when

Gopher Spenk and some of his crew had been using them to make calls. No one, however, the Wasp

It was more correct to say that there had been twelve booths in the line when The Shadow, as Allard, entered

the first one. Immediately after Adrich had sidled into the drugstore to make sure that the Wasp was talking

In his usual methodical style, Burbank had shifted the big magazine rack a few feet to the left, covering the

booth that contained The Shadow; with the same action, he had drawn the door of the next booth almost shut,

Thus there were eleven booths when Adrich returned to beckon his men into the scene. Eleven booths in

sight, but still twelve in the row. It was the first booth, however, that had been eliminated, and from that

Killers had taken the second booth for their target, for they, like Adrich, did not think of checking on the total

number in the row. The trap had proven empty, for the simple reason that it had never been a trap at all.

In the forgotten booth, The Shadow had listened to the furor of their thrust, knowing that it would amount to

Not that The Shadow wanted to avoid a setto with Adrich and the assassins. He simply preferred to

postpone such a fray until a more suitable occasion. The Shadow's thoughts were upon the Wasp, whose

IT was Burbank who informed The Shadow that the way was clear. In his own special style, Burbank had

remained quite inconspicuous during the excitement; his back turned, he apparently hadn't noticed the

If it had come his way, he could have brought The Shadow by simply reaching past the near edge of the

magazine rack and rapping the wall of the forgotten booth; but Burbank hadn't found it necessary.

At present, Burbank was out from in back of the newsstand and was sliding the high magazine rack to the

position where it normally belonged. The act disclosed the vanished telephone booth, and The Shadow with

it, for as soon as the shielding rack was away, The Shadow opened the booth door and stepped into the light.

There, he gripped Burbank's arm and gave him lowtoned orders, referring the while to the report sheet that

"Contact Vincent," instructed The Shadow. "Warn him that Truke may be in danger from "

The Shadow was half back in the booth as two strollers passed the newsstand, but Burbank could still hear

the whispered instructions. Finished with details regarding Truke, The Shadow was out again, giving new

"Stand by for a call from Velma," added The Shadow, "and assure her that all her information will be acted

The strollers had gone by. Like a swirl of blackish smoke, The Shadow reached the outer door of the corridor

and gained the street beyond it. This was around the corner from where Adrich's cabs had parked; hence,

when Moe Shrevnitz pulled up driving The Shadow's own cab he was amazed to learn from his chief that the

Moe felt guilty, though he wasn't to blame. He had obeyed The Shadow's orders: namely, to wait until blinks

of a tiny flashlight signaled him. Moe was pleased, however, when he heard the destination that The Shadow

ordered. The cabby felt that by making a quick trip there, he could redeem himself for not having observed

MEANWHILE, events were developing at Truke's, in a way quite contrary to The Shadow's expectations.

Commissioner Weston and several others had arrived, and Loring Truke was entertaining them in his living

room. Among the guests was Harry Vincent, who had an important rating as Truke's confidential secretary.

The conversation concerned the difficulties of the companies whose records Truke was examining, and when

the receiver mentioned that they had once been Gannafordmanaged, Weston pricked up his attention.

Though the career of the Wasp was supposedly ended and Weston had no idea that the erstwhile Mr.

Gannaford had returned the matter was important, for the police knew that they had never rounded up all of

"So far, I have found nothing," admitted Truke, "but I have been chary in my methods. I have not called

anyone to account for irregularities that may exist in the affairs of such companies as Labcraft or Rainbow

Paint. I would prefer to have some of your detectives available, commissioner, before I do."

"I understand," nodded Weston. "It would enable you to apprehend any suspicious employees before they

"Exactly," returned Truke, with a smile, "and speaking of time" he turned to Harry "reminds me that I

Harry obliged. He stepped to the office door, which was ajar, found the bottle and poured a tablespoonful into

a glass of water. He brought the mixture to Truke, who swallowed it with a grimace, as he always did. Then,

Harry did so, but took a chair near the door. At that moment Blackburn, the butler, entered bringing a

trayload of drinks for Truke and the guests. Much though he trusted Blackburn, Harry watched carefully

while the glasses were taken, and saw definitely that people picked them at random, which meant that no

special glass could have been placed for Truke, who, as host, received the last one on the tray.

In the course of the serving Harry took a glass himself, and immediately swallowed about half his drink. It

wasn't that Harry was thirsty; in fact, he usually did not indulge in mixed drinks at all, but on this occasion he

Knowing the ways of the Wasp, Harry could not doubt that all the glasses might contain a poison. Since some

Instead of dropping dead, Harry felt no illeffects at all; but he was rather embarrassed when Truke gave him

Harry tried to make an excuse, and while he was stammering one, Truke gave a jocular laugh. Clapping his

hand on Harry's shoulder, he remarked that he was only jesting. Then, turning to the others, Truke declared

"Vincent has worked night and day. If any man ever had a right to a letdown, he does. No, no" Truke

waved a hand as Harry started to object "don't say that I have worked just as hard. It isn't work to give

orders, but it is to follow them. Come over here, Vincent, and join us. Why sit in that uncomfortable chair by

"I thought there might be a phone call," replied Harry. "That is why I left the door ajar. I wanted to keep it

open, after I brought your medicine, but you said to close it." "So you sat by," nodded Truke, laughing, "just

in case the telephone bell would ring. Too bad, Vincent, all that effort in vain. I turned off the special switch

Harry joined in the new laugh at his own expense, but he felt some inward qualms. He had an idea that a call

might come from Burbank, and would have been horrified had he known that the contact man had been trying

Harry planned to get to the switch as soon as possible; but meanwhile, noting that all but Truke had finished

With Harry in his new chair, Truke softened the recent laughs by raising his own untouched glass to his lips.

WITH those words, Truke froze. He was looking past Harry, toward the door of the living room. Others

turned, in time to hear a sharp voice order them to sit where they were. Turning with the others, Harry saw

Foremost was Gopher Spenk, with a drawn revolver; just behind him were a pair of roughlooking men, who

also sported leveled guns. There were others in the background, and, like Gopher, all wore Tuxedoes.

On this, his first real crash into society, Gopher had decided to go ritzy, since the Wasp had said nothing to

the contrary. Having only mobbies to support him, Gopher had made them put on similar attire; but the effect

was incongruous. Except for Gopher, who was passable in swanky clothes, the crowd looked like a

However, there was nothing funny in their actions. They meant business. Weston, Harry, and others who

stood before the gun muzzles were starting to raise their hands, when Gopher stopped them.

"Don't reach, gentlemen," Gopher growled. "Go right ahead and finish your drinks. We shall not disturb you

Harry should have caught an import behind those words; but, instead, he merely took them for nonchalance

on Gopher's part. Truke must have done the same, for he decided to remain cool on his own. With a slight

shrug, he lifted his halflowered glass, was actually tilting it to his lips, when a sudden crash came from the

Blackness seemed to smash inward with the shattering pane, as though night itself had created a solidified

invader. From the writhing mass of blackness came a fierce, challenging laugh, that brought startled

recognition from Gopher and his mob, even before they saw that mass materialize into a cloaked shape, a gun

Gopher gulped the name as he fell back upon his men, and to Harry, electrified by his chief's arrival, it

seemed a certainty that the words would be Gopher's last. For The Shadow's gun, swinging to aim, let out a

spurt of flame that came with a terrific roar, even while Gopher's trembling hand was striving to retain a grip

That timely shot, had it found Gopher's heart, would have ended all resistance, for mobbies would have

scattered at their leader's fall. But The Shadow's .45 was not aimed at Gopher, nor anyone else in the room.

Instead, its target was the cocktail glass that had just reached the lips of Loring Truke. A tinkle was lost amid

the echoes of the shot, but Truke felt the breeze from the bullet as it fanned his face. There was a spatter of

liquid, as the contents of the goblet were scattered with the shattered bowl. Truke, too amazed to move, was

Again, The Shadow's laugh sounded strange, sinister, the mirth carried a tone of triumph already

A SHOT from the dark had saved the life of Loring Truke; of that, Harry Vincent was certain, despite his

previous convictions that in no wise could there be danger from the drinks that Blackburn had served.

The Shadow did not deviate from battle with crooks to perform an unnecessary action, particularly not when

such delay would give his enemies a needed respite. Besides, The Shadow had observed all from the window,

Gopher's words were springing to Harry's mind. The crook's order to finish the drink must have been a

giveaway to something that The Shadow had already guessed! But such recollections were not deterring

Harry from needed action on his own part. He hadn't been ready for Gopher earlier; he was ready now.

Harry did not wait to see The Shadow wheel across the room in startling, fadeaway fashion. Instead, Harry

made a flying dive for Gopher, flinging his chair ahead of him by way of introduction.

Gopher's gun let out a roar just as the chair reached him, and it was quite possible that it diverted the crook's

Certain it was that Gopher missed his target the spinning thing of black that was The Shadow.

Hard upon that taunt, delivered by The Shadow, came gun bursts from the same source. As he fired, The

Shadow did not perform another fade, as Gopher's crew expected. Instead, he came driving in upon them as

they started to flank off from the doorway. His shots were stabs that reached their marks, in contrast to the

None of those shots reached Gopher. Harry had clutched the leader of the vicious throng and was rolling him

upon the floor. Weston and others were diving in upon the rats who wore Tuxedoes, clutching them as fast as

One gun against half a dozen, but the odds were all on the side of the one. Those first quick shots were all

that counted, for after that The Shadow had as many allies as Gopher had reserves, and Truke's guests were

proving themselves quite confident at taking weapons from the hands of wounded and excited thugs.

Only Gopher managed to struggle free, when Harry was forced to duck a gun slug. Jerking full about, Gopher

aimed pointblank for The Shadow, who was slashing down the crooks who still offered fight. This time,

Harry hooked Gopher by the ankle and yanked him from his feet. It was a quick move, but not fast enough to

At least, not the sort of shot that The Shadow could supply. The cloaked fighter had not forgotten Gopher,

Again, it was possible that Harry's intervention helped, for Gopher's own shot went very wide when his finger

But it was quite likely that The Shadow's bullet, straight to the heart of Gopher's lunging figure, proved more

effective than the tripping measure that Harry introduced. At any rate, the bullet certainly accounted for the

Witnessing the death of their leader, Gopher's mobbies ceased their attempts at resistance.

From the doorway, The Shadow saw the suppressed crooks, gunless in the hands of captors. Some were

coughing, others whining, while Commissioner Weston shouted questions in his official style.

The Shadow, in his turn, delivered a parting laugh that supplemented Weston's loud queries. Mobsters began

How much the crooks knew, or would eventually tell, were still matters of some doubt. If Weston learned

anything, he would certainly call Inspector Cardona and order him to follow whatever trail he could. There

was a chance that Cardona would get the right trail, and that was the reason for The Shadow's haste. He

SOMETIMES, curious cross paths interfered with The Shadow's measures. Such had happened when

Cardona uncovered Dore, and thereby caused the wanted man to head for Fayle's, with a result of double

death. Again, tonight, Cardona had uncovered something without The Shadow's knowledge.

Outside of Truke's apartment house, The Shadow stopped to contact Burbank. He learned that there had been

no further word from Velma; he gave Burbank certain orders, to be relayed to the proper authorities. But The

Shadow did not include Cardona in his calculations, which did not matter, because Burbank could not have

At that particular time, Inspector Joe Cardona was following a stool pigeon's tip regarding a very unsavory

gentleman known as Congo Margan. For a long while, Cardona had held to the hunch that Congo was a

member of Gopher's band, for the simple reason that Congo had done some heavy trucking in the past, at the

With many stoolies under constant questioning, it wasn't surprising that Cardona should have learned that

Congo was haunting the neighborhood of an old warehouse that at present held certain shipments bound for

But Joe's hunch stopped short with Congo. Cardona simply supposed that Gopher wanted to bore into the

warehouse, steal the goods, and have Congo truck them. It never occurred to the ace inspector that Congo

was the man who had trucked the goods into the warehouse, at Gopher's specific command.

Nor did Joe know that this trail led back to the Wasp, who wasn't supposed to be in New York at all, and that

it all linked with the deaths of Upman and Fayle, as well as a death thrust against Truke, who was being

Prowling the vicinity of the warehouse, Cardona and three picked detectives were naturally interested to find

It happened that a warehouse door was open, and that didn't savor of Gopher Spenk, who preferred to enter

places by underground routes. Nevertheless, it was good policy to enter the warehouse, make queries, and

Coming to a large room, Cardona saw workers hoisting crates that bore the name "Spargo" and contained

what looked like varnish cans. He remembered similar crates out in the truck, and was interested to find the

Motioning the detectives to the background, Cardona watched the truckers, but did not see Congo among

them. Then, along with the Spargo crates, he observed others that carried the title "Aurezole."

What Aurezole was, Cardona could not guess, but it came in huge jars, instead of cans.

Walking into the main section of the warehouse, he spotted Congo Margan. The crook, easily identified by a

face that would have fitted a jungle ape, was in charge of sending the crates from the warehouse!

CONGO did not spy Cardona until Joe had brought the detectives forward. It was then too late for Congo to

"Turned smart, haven't you, Congo?" queried Joe, gruffly. "What happened: did Gopher have trouble digging

Congo had nothing whatever to say. Cardona turned to others who were standing near, and their appearance

impressed him. He mistook one, a man with flattish profile and jowlish jaw, to be the owner of the goods that

Congo was taking from the warehouse. He supposed that another, a stoopish man who wore dark glasses and

an alpaca coat and who was leaning upon a stout cane, might be the owner of the warehouse itself.

The third person in the group happened to be a girl, a fact which even more convinced Cardona that these

people had a legitimate reason for being in the warehouse; indeed, at first glance, Cardona thought that she

Then Joe had recollections of that girl. She was a blonde, which didn't render her unique in Cardona's

estimate, but he somehow connected her with a blueeyed baby stare. Had she been giving him that look, Joe

might have remembered that she was Velma Corl, once sought and captured by the law.

But Velma was not staring. Instead, she was slightly behind the two men, gesturing and grimacing, which

It didn't occur to Joe that the girl was trying to flash some signal in his direction. He merely stared in turn,

He gestured toward his male companion, but the latter was already on the move. With one hand, the stoopish

man whipped off the dark glasses; with the other, he sped a revolver from his pocket. The alpaca coat was

thrown back to reveal a thinnish figure, far too small in proportion to the great head that topped its scrawny

With that revealing action, the thinnish man droned the name on which Adrich had hesitated. Completing the

The action, rather than the statement, brought a quick stir from all about. Cardona and the detectives felt the

poking muzzles of guns against their ribs, revolvers produced by workmen who had been carrying out crates

Cardona let his own revolver fall, and the detectives copied his example. Then Joe's numbed arms came

slowly upward, as his equally numbed lips somehow phrased the name which in his mind was synonymous

NEVER had a death threat been more fully conveyed than through the glare of Basil Gannaford, alias the

Wasp. Vicious glints actually spurted from those venomous eyes, once the Wasp had chosen to reveal them.

It was to be short shrift for Cardona and the detectives who had so unwittingly blundered into the domain of

The gunners who held Cardona and his companions helpless were men supplied by Adrich, but they were

taking orders from Congo, who, in Gopher's absence, was serving as the Wasp's lieutenant. One word, when

the Wasp should choose to drone it, would be the signal for slaughter. The Wasp waited, not through pity for

At length, the Wasp chuckled. His tone, at least, was the equivalent of a chuckle, but to the doomed listeners

it was a buzzed threat of death. His eyes were roving the great spaces of the warehouse, and the Wasp was

He was ready, personally, to test it with a single shot, using Cardona as a bullet stopper. He thrust his

revolver toward Joe, at the same time raising his other hand to hold off other fire until he had made the

experiment. Cardona, in his turn, was staring stolidly at the Wasp, but getting nowhere with his gaze.

Joe had forgotten the blonde, whose name had momentarily recurred to him. She was Velma Corl, a worker

for the Wasp, and therefore no longer a clue to the master crook's return, considering that the Wasp had

Her voice came suddenly, at the moment when the Wasp's scrawny finger was tightening on its gun trigger.

The tone was firm, a tribute to Velma's nerve, and quite enough to attract the Wasp's surprised attention.

Velma had withdrawn from the group. She was back again, though still a few paces distant. She was standing

near a stack of crates, and in her hand she was holding a milk bottle that someone had left in a corner. It

wasn't an empty bottle; it contained a greenish fluid, streaked with brown, and the two colors were blending

On the stack of crates rested a can marked "SPARGO," which had its cover removed. Beside it, with the top

"I have mixed these in equal proportions," announced Velma, firmly, eyeing the Wasp as she spoke. "So

mixed, I understand, they produce nitroglycerin. When you shoot Inspector Cardona, I shall throw the

The Wasp gave his shoulders a disdainful shrug, while his lips formed a humoring smile. But when Velma

gave a careless gesture with the bottle, the Wasp was the first to draw back in alarm.

"I knew I was right," said Velma. "Your friend Mr. Adrich is interested in explosives, just as he is in

Coolly, the girl actually waved the bottle toward a huge stack of bundles that were marked as awnings, and

showed stripes of colored cloth through their wrappings. Things began to thrum through Cardona's head; he

"All consigned to the steamship Tropica," declared the girl, "for delivery in Central America, there to be used

by whatever nation Mr. Adrich represents. Whether he plans a local revolution, or an invasion of the United

"But let me remind you" Velma's eyes roved the group of sullen men who surrounded Cardona "that I

shall toss this bottle as soon as a gun is fired. If a shot is aimed at me, so much the better. I shall drop the

ADRICH'S men were backing away, lowering their guns. Triumphantly, Velma watched them retreat, but her

range of gaze was becoming wider and more difficult a fact which the Wasp observed. He made a slight

gesture with his free hand, as he lowered his gun with the other. The Wasp turned to Velma.

"Terms that will be fair for everyone," returned the Wasp. "Adrich and I shall be allowed to go,

emptyhanded, as shall be the case with Inspector Cardona and his men. Live and let live should be your

Velma interrupted, with a halfgasped cry. Men were upon her, in from both sides, reaching to seize the

bottle which she held. The girl made a quick backward step, her arm traveling behind her.

The bottle slipped from her grasp and went across the crates behind her, narrowly missing the far edge. It was

bound for the concrete floor beyond, and in that interval, the Wasp, Adrich, their entire crew, went diving for

Cardona was diving, too, yelling to Velma and the detectives as the bottle disappeared from sight. The blast

was due, its power to be demonstrated. There still seemed a chance of life for all, if they rolled far enough

away; for all, that was, except Velma, who stood horrorstricken, her fingers still plucking feebly for the

Then, instead of an explosion, came a weird, quivering laugh. A slouch hat came up from behind the crate;

Arriving, he had found everyone concentrated upon Velma. The Shadow had taken advantage of that

situation to come in under cover of the crates. As his body lengthened, his hands came into sight. In one, he

was holding an automatic; in the other, the partly filled bottle that Velma had just dropped.

The Shadow had plucked that falling bottle from the air before it could reach the floor. He was keeping it, not

Out from temporary shelter went the Wasp, howling for others to follow. They came, shooting madly in The

Shadow's direction, while his gun thundered in return. Amid that shooting, The Shadow's laugh rose, on a

Crooks were purposely shooting wide, hoping only to drive The Shadow into retreat. They could not afford to

clip him while they were still close to him. The Shadow's position was as safe as Velma's had been, now that

The Shadow's shots were aimed at running targets. He was clipping off mobbies, to get at the Wasp, but the

latter was wisely keeping beyond a screen of human forms. Adrich was following the Wasp's example, and

Congo was smart enough to catch the spirit of the thing. They reached the doorway, with a wake of sprawling

There, the Wasp yelled for men to get The Shadow, since shots were safe from so long a range. His gun

emptied, The Shadow was wheeling away as he reached for a second automatic, but when he saw reserves

arriving from the truck, bringing a bristle of guns, he chose a quicker course to scatter them. He flung the

The bottle was in midair when The Shadow reached the sheltering crates. Velma, Cardona, and the detectives

had already gone to such cover, but, like The Shadow, they did not need it. Guns were no longer talking from

the doorway. With the Wasp in the lead, crooks were diving pellmell for outside safety.

So suddenly did the bottle explode, that it scarcely seemed to strike the wall beside the wide door. The wall

took the bottle, and the bottle took the wall. The warehouse quaked with the force of the blast, proving what a

CLIMBING from behind an overturned crate, Cardona saw The Shadow making for the gaping outlet which

had once been partly a door. Joe yelled for the rest to follow. The detectives hurried along, and Velma joined

them. They heard shooting when they arrived outdoors; saw The Shadow jumping into a cab, to pursue a

As police cars whined up to the curb, Velma found herself in one that was quite different from the rest. It was

a big official car, the property of Commissioner Weston, who had pumped information from some of dead

Weston was demanding to know what had happened, and Cardona, also in the car, was telling him. Joe's

words were sweet to Velma, for they made her the heroine of the occasion, and she was actually receiving

Up ahead, The Shadow was still leading the chase. The trucks were turning many corners, while their

occupants, still plentiful in number, were firing back at The Shadow's cab. He was keeping Moe in leash,

rather than run into a barrage, for The Shadow knew the destination the crooks had chosen.

They were heading for the pier where the Tropica was docked, there to take over the ship, which already had

Something odd was happening in the trucks. Men were dumping the contents of cans and jars, but the hands

that came into sight had a way of jerking back again. What they were doing became obvious to The Shadow.

"Half quantities of those two liquids," explained The Shadow, "will give them a very useful mixture. We can

Reaching forward, The Shadow told the same to Moe, and pointed to a corner. The cab swerved around it just

as a capped can was tossed out from the back of the rear truck. The explosion that came from around the

"Don't worry," The Shadow reassured. "They will keep their distance, after seeing what happened. That blast

Skirting in along the water front, The Shadow saw the trucks arriving at the pier. There was a cab with them,

and he knew that it contained the Wasp and Adrich, for orders were being given from it.

Moreover, other men were coming into sight on foot, dashing toward the dock. They were the Wasp's tools:

Hembroke, Telf, and many of their sort, summoned to leave with him on the Tropica.

The Shadow's cab kept to the shelter of intervening docks, until it was unwise to advance further. Telling

Harry to remain, The Shadow stepped out into darkness and advanced unseen. From his own vantage point,

First, he saw the Tropica, hulked against the pier, with men dashing toward the ship. Other men suddenly

They were Feds, those men upon the ship! Harry suddenly realized the importance of a phone call that The

Shadow had made earlier. A tipoff to the F.B.I. to be ready for Adrich and his tribe, when they tried to take

On shore, the police were coming up. They were prepared to block escape by land. But Harry, through an

opening to the pier, could spy activity on the nearest truck and knew too well what it meant.

Desperate men had manufactured huge quantities of nitroglycerin and were prepared to blast away in either

Worst of all, Harry saw the Wasp's cab getting to the pier unhampered by The Shadow, who seemed lost

somewhere in the darkness. With the Wasp and Adrich to lead them, men of crime would stop at nothing!

SHOTS spurted suddenly from the gloom. Belated shots, Harry thought, from The Shadow's gun. They even

seemed puny, though delivered by The Shadow, for they were aimed at the Wasp's cab, and it was well out

But the bullet found the mark The Shadow wanted: a front tire of the cab. Almost beside a truck, the cab

There was an impact between cab and truck, so jolting that the lighter vehicle tipped the heavier half over.

Objects in the shape of cans and jars flooded from the truck like coal scudding from a chute. The deluge was

There wasn't any cab, nor any truck. All the trucks were gone, so were the men around them. In fact, there

wasn't much of the pier any longer. A half ton of wellmixed explosive was responsible. The stuff went in a

When Harry was conscious that silence had returned, he saw the Tropica, still swashing at her berth. The

Feds were peering from her rail, and police were shakily approaching the land end of the pier, which was all

that remained of it. Then Harry heard a low, grim tone of mirthless laughter as The Shadow, safely back from

The Shadow had returned; but not the Wasp. Their score was settled, and the Wasp never could return. There

was nothing left of Basil Gannaford, nor his partners and allies, from Mayo Adrich down. The Shadow had

let them test their own explosive, instead of reserving it for future crime of a type that often masqueraded

WHEN Lamont Cranston returned from his trip a few days later, he found his friend, Commissioner Weston,

Irked by Cranston's calm indifference to the whole case, Weston finally became confidential, stating that he

had heard from The Shadow personally, in a mysterious message that had cleared many obscure matters.

"The Shadow solved Upman's death," asserted Weston. "We had the evidence we needed, all along; proof

that a man named Jeroboam Twingle was behind the murder. Twingle, it seemed, was the Wasp." Cranston

"The Wasp switched raincoats with Upman," continued the commissioner, actually speaking for The Shadow.

"He matched Upman's with one that had a neckstrap of a highly shrinkable material. Contracting rapidly

from the rain, the strap choked Upman. Later, still shrinking, it snapped the button that held it, thus offsetting

the evidence, except for the fact that the neckstrap proved too small, when measured."

Weston was pleased by the rather surprised tone of Cranston's query. It seemed that Cranston was amazed

both by the ingenious crime method of the Wasp and The Shadow's skill at solving the case.

"No assailant at all," repeated Weston. "The Wasp also arranged the double deaths of Fayle and Dore, and

The Shadow uncovered that system, too. Tanks of carbon dioxide were switched by the Wasp's workers for

"Carbon monoxide can form dry ice, too, but being somewhat combustible, it was poor stuff for the motor

test. All the while that Fayle was using the tank, he was loading the room with a deadly gas, which we later

attributed to the exhaust of the motor itself. Hence we considered those deaths as something accidental."

"Next, commissioner," he said in even tones, "you will be telling me that the Wasp tried to kill Truke, and

"Exactly!" expressed Weston. "The Wasp went to Truke's as a salesman. There, he bribed a disgruntled

chauffeur to put the electric refrigerator out of commission. Truke bought a new ice box and the Wasp

"The ice trays of the new refrigerator were coated with a poisonous ingredient, the same that was found in a

"Then the ice in Truke's drink would have given him an overdose, enough to kill him. But there was not

"That is the answer," interposed Weston, "and had we decided that there was a culprit, we would have

wrongly blamed Truke's secretary, Vincent, whose business it was to see that Truke took only the specified

"We would never have guessed the Wasp's device at all, if The Shadow had not analyzed the case and

suggested the needed clues. Come, come, Cranston!" The commissioner's tone was testy. "If you can't

become enthusiastic, at least show some appreciation for The Shadow. He is really quite a clever chap!"

For once, Commissioner Weston, through his own exuberance, had managed to crack his friend Cranston's

reserve. As Weston stared, he was pleased to see a real smile, more than a flicker, that formed upon the lips

A singular thing, that smile. Though Weston did not guess it, Cranston's expression was equivalent to a

laugh, a strange, triumphant peal of mirth that the commissioner would have recognized.

An unvoiced laugh, symbolizing The Shadow's final victory over his departed foe, the Wasp!