WIZARD OF CRIME........................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. LUCK OF A SORT ...........................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. FLAME OF DEATH.......................................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. CRIME MOVES AHEAD ..............................................................................................9

CHAPTER IV. BLASTED EVIDENCE...............................................................................................12

CHAPTER V. CRIME'S LINKS ...........................................................................................................15

CHAPTER VI. THE BARREN TRAIL................................................................................................19

CHAPTER VII. CRIME'S ULTIMATUM ............................................................................................22

CHAPTER VIII. AT THE COBALT CLUB .........................................................................................25

CHAPTER IX. DEATH STRIKES AGAIN.........................................................................................29

CHAPTER X. BEHIND THE SCENES ................................................................................................32

CHAPTER XI. CRIME'S NEW THREAT ............................................................................................35

CHAPTER XII. THE PROPOSITION ..................................................................................................38

CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW'S RETURN.....................................................................................41

CHAPTER XIV. THE MISSING SWAG.............................................................................................44

CHAPTER XV. RALPH HEARS HALF ..............................................................................................48

CHAPTER XVI. CRIME'S HEADQUARTERS..................................................................................50

CHAPTER XVII. RALPH'S MISSION................................................................................................55

CHAPTER XVIII. THE VICTORY DINNER ......................................................................................58

CHAPTER XIX. THE NEEDED LINK ................................................................................................62

CHAPTER XX. CRIME'S LAST STAND ............................................................................................66

IT was five o'clock, the end of a very gloomy afternoon. Ralph Atgood took a long, final look at the rows of

empty desks in the large office of the defunct Art Imprint Corp. They had been vacant for a month, those

desks, and to Ralph, who had come here daily to clean up leftover business, the place had the aspect of a

All of Ralph's fellow workers were gone; some, fortunately, to new jobs. But Ralph, though he had been

given an extra month of work at half salary, was the hardest hit of the lot. All his hopes and ambitions had

been tied up with Art Imprint. As secretary to the president, old Mr. Carruthers, Ralph had actually looked

Until the fatal day when Carruthers, tempted by a large offer from a rival concern, had sold out his entire

business. He had sailed for Europe, to spend his remaining years on the Riviera, and in place of a junior

partnership, Carruthers had given Ralph a very lovely letter, recommending him to all the world at large.

So far, the letter of recommendation had produced no offers that Ralph could not have obtained without it.

Jobs were open, yes; but none that Ralph could afford to take without giving up the greatest hope of all: his

The phone bell was ringing, but Ralph left without answering it. He knew that it was probably Alicia, calling

up to insist that she would marry him whether he had a job or not. But that simply wouldn't do. Alicia's father

was wealthy, and would class Ralph as a fortune hunter unless Ralph had an actual job as good as the one

Money, of course, would help. Ralph was thinking in such terms as he stalked along the rainswept street

toward the subway. He had saved some cash, and if he only had a thousand dollars more, he could go into

business on his own, which ought to satisfy old Carter J. Weylan. Alicia's father had started his huge

patentmedicine business on a small amount of capital; perhaps Ralph could get somewhere with art prints.

He couldn't risk it, though, without that added thousand dollars. Ralph had gone over the figures often enough

AT the change booth in the subway, Ralph's thoughts switched suddenly from dollars to nickels. The shift

came when a drunk bumped into him and sent a handful of change scattering from Ralph's fist. Mumbling

apologies, the fellow tried to help Ralph pick up the rolling coins, but barely managed to hang on to a nickel

His money gathered, Ralph grinned and started the staggery man through the turnstile ahead of him. The

stumblebum managed to keep his footing going down the steps, where Ralph grabbed him, near the track

Reeling into the crowded car along with Ralph, the drunk clamped a hand upon the young man's shoulder.

Thrusting a puffy, bearded face close to Ralph's, the drunk gave a blearyeyed stare and announced:

Acknowledging the approval, Ralph listened to the drunk repeat it. The fellow tried to get confidential, but

his conversation invariably failed, until the express was nearing Fortysecond Street. That was when the

drunk managed to get an envelope out of his pocket. It was a long envelope, and quite thick; Ralph noticed

"D'liver it for me, will you, good guy?" the blearyeyed man pitched, as the train stopped "an' don't tell

'em I was drunk. Wouldn't like to hear it." He shook his head sadly. "No, R. G. wouldn't like to hear that Jerry

"I wouldn't hurt R. G., no sir, I wouldn't! He's a good guy, like you. So take this to him" the drunk pushed

the envelope into Ralph's hands "before his office closes. This is where I gotta get off."

With a sudden stagger, the fellow went through the door just before it slid shut. A few seconds later, the

With a shrug, Ralph glanced at the envelope; noting that it was unsealed, he lifted the flap to see what it

contained. Only the rattle of the subway train drowned the exclamation that came to Ralph's lips.

Looking about, Ralph saw that no one was noticing him. Shifting the envelope close to the door, he lifted the

flap farther. He was right; the green that he had seen inside was currency, and he hadn't been mistaken about

They were hundreddollar bills, twenty in all. Twice the sum that Ralph Atgood so badly wanted, placed in

his hands by a drunken stranger who would probably forget him for delivery to a man named R. G. Dean,

WHILE Ralph Atgood was making his astonishing discovery, the drunk who had left the train at

Fortysecond Street was performing in a singular fashion of his own. Instead of boarding a local train, he

discarded his reeling gait, hurried up the steps to the street and hopped into the first cab that he saw. In a

voice no longer thick, he told the driver to take him to the Harmon Building only a few blocks east.

Arrived there, the man unlocked the door of an office that bore the number 310; beneath it, the rather cryptic

Inside the office, the exdrunk hung his battered hat and shabby overcoat in the closet. Peeling off coat, vest,

and ragged necktie, he stepped into an alcove where there was a mirror and a washstand. He began to shave,

smoothly but rapidly, and when he had sleeked his hair and eyebrows, he bore but little resemblance to the

Instead of keeping his chin shoved forward and lower lip outthrust, the sleek man let both return to normal.

For a finishing touch, he put on a lavish necktie, fancy vest, and wellfitted frock coat. His long face quite

Someone tried the door, found it locked; stepping from the desk, the sleek man opened the door and looked

into the hallway. He was confronted by a very earnestlooking young chap, who happened to be the man that

The man in the office gave no sign of recognition. His eyes, feigning query, noted that Ralph was quite

"No. I am Frederick Glenny" the sleek man's tone was a purred contrast to the thick speech he has used a

while before "but I manage Mr. Dean's transactions when he is absent. Step right in, Mr. "

Ralph supplied his name, and handed Glenny the envelope. Even before he opened it, Glenny shook his head.

"From Jerry Vorden," he said. "One of the inventors that Mr. Dean has helped. When he collects royalties,

Jerry insists on paying us half, to show his gratitude. Of course, we use the money to assist others who are

The facts interested Ralph. Apparently, R. G. Dean was a philanthropist who helped worthy persons, and

used the term "Representative" to make them feel more independent. The way Glenny tossed the money into

When Glenny asked how Ralph had happened to bring the money, the young man told his story, softening the

"That explains much," declared Glenny. "Sometimes Jerry has said that he sent us the money, but could not

remember how or when. Not having received it, we assumed that he had actually spent it. Since we regard the

"From what you tell me, it is obvious that he gave those sums to strangers, who simply kept the money.

Which proves" Glenny's eyes fixed steadily on Ralph "that you are a singularly honest person. Might I

For reply, Ralph produced the letter that old Carruthers had given him. It was phrased in such glowing terms

that other readers had probably discounted it. But the recommendation seemed to make a strong impression

upon Frederick Glenny, which did not surprise Ralph at all, considering his prompt delivery of Jerry's two

"I can use a man of your caliber," declared Glenny, promptly. "It happens that I am going out of town and

will need someone to take care of correspondence, delivery of important packages, and such matters."

"No. I am closing the office. Only Mr. Dean or myself could handle the curiosity seekers and halfcrazed

inventors who sometimes come here. You can attend to matters from your own address, coming here once a

From a chain that carried the office key, Glenny drew off one that opened the mailbox. Ralph's expression

became troubled; he was beginning to think that the job would pay very little, when Glenny smiled and

AMAZEMENT swept Ralph. The amount was much more than he had received on his former job, with all its

"They are important services," returned Glenny. "You will be intrusted with sums far greater than the money

you brought here today" he gestured toward the desk drawer "and you will also have access to very

confidential information. In fact, your job is so important to us that Mr. Dean doubted that I could possibly

"This letter from your former employer, together with my testimony regarding your integrity, will satisfy Mr.

Dean. Your job has already begun. Give me your address and telephone number, so that I can contact you

While Ralph was writing out the information, Glenny produced a stack of bank books and various lists. He

handed them to Ralph and added a check book, thumbing its pages. Ralph saw that all the checks bore the

"This illustrates what I said," stated Glenny. "I am trusting you to fill in those checks, to the proper persons

and for the exact amounts, whenever you are notified. As for your own salary, you can draw it each week by

When Ralph had pocketed those important items, Glenny produced an envelope that was stamped and sealed.

It was addressed to George Thurver, ChemLab Co., White Meadows, New Jersey. Tapping the envelope,

"Mail this as soon as you leave here. It is highly important that it should reach Thurver by tomorrow. The

With that admonition, Glenny bowed Ralph from the office. As soon as the clang of an elevator door

occurred, Glenny stepped back into the office, picked up the telephone and dialed a number. Recognizing the

"Congratulate me, chief... Yeah, I pulled the Diogenes stuff and got the honest man we were after. It worked

just like we thought it would... About the dough? Of course, he thought a hundred a week was a lot.

"But when I trusted him with the signed checks, he began to feel important... I told him about the letter, too,

and that impressed him... Yeah, I'm packing everything, and I'll be out of here in half an hour... See you later,

Posting the Thurver letter at the nearest mailbox, Ralph Atgood, at that minute, was feeling quite as

impressed as Glenny had stated. He was elated, too, by the good fortune that had come his way.

Ralph Atgood had struck luck. But had he overheard the telephone conversation that followed his departure,

he would have realized that it was luck of a sort that would bring him future trouble!

THE ChemLab Co. stood on the Jersey Meadows, a collection of squatly buildings, with a tall one in the

center. From the top floor of the central structure, the windows offered a view across the Meadows, revealing

But Eugene Bristow, president of ChemLab, was not interested in viewing Manhattan. He had forgotten the

city of New York the moment that he had left it this morning. Until midafternoon, he had been watching

one of the squatly buildings, listening to the slow, intermittent throb of machinery.

The slow motion, as well as the pauses in between, made Bristow chafe. Tall and pompous, he suddenly

forgot his usual dignity to shake his fist at the window, while he stormed at three startled secretaries:

"Do you know what's happening down there? We're losing a thousand dollars a day, that's what! Just because

The secretaries nodded, dumbly and pathetically, while Bristow paced the floor. Facing them again, in calmer

"I have decided to suppress the facts no longer," he declared. "You all know why we enlarged this plant, and

began to build others. It was because we developed Fibrolast, the best of all materials for finishing the

He picked up a flat object from his desk, it looked like a slab of thin marble. Bristow waved the fiber square,

"Lighter than aluminum!" he exclaimed. "Pliable as rubber, as strong as steel! Stained any color or pattern

that you want it. Partition a room with Fibrolast and you have the equivalent of wallpaper. This sample is

better than any imitation marble on the market, and can be turned out at half the price provided we get

"That's the trouble. The fiber goes through a chemical bath, and is finished under machine pressure. Our first

experiments were entirely successful, but when we sped production on Fibrolast we found out what we didn't

"The machine pressure produces heat; and the finishing formula won't stand it. Sooner or later, one of the

chemicals ignites. That's what caused those fires down in the Fibrolast Division. Unless Thurver finds out

Bristow was pounding the desk with his fist. The thumps were echoed by a knock at the door. A secretary

answered; two workmen pushed in a wheeled table loaded with bottles, test tubes, and other chemical

Following the table came a worried looking man with high, bald head. He was George Thurver, chief chemist

SOLEMNLY, Thurver began to measure off various colored liquids from different bottles, which were

marked with letters, each representing a solution used in the ChemLab secret formula. He poured them all

"This represents average heat," began Thurver, "gauged to the present speed of the machinery "

He paused, gave worried glances toward the secretaries. Bristow told him to go right ahead.

Carefully, he increased the flame of the burner. Bristow drew away. Thurver made a gesture.

"Don't worry," he insisted. "This is not a superheat. It's merely the same demonstration that I gave you in the

As Thurver finished, there was a mild puff from the beaker. Bubbling liquid formed a jet of flame, which was

"How does that help us?" demanded Bristow. "It's what happened before the very thing we are trying to

prevent. Gad, Thurver, do you know what will happen if you can't correct this fault?

"We'll have to buy the formula the Experimento Co. offered us. Bah! Those hijackers! They own nothing but

a formula, no better than ours ought to be. But they want to hold us up for half a mill "

"They want too much money," he declared. "But we'll have to pay it, if this doesn't work out."

Thurver was pouring ingredients into a fresh beaker. He apparently hadn't noticed the slip, wherein Bristow

had almost said "half a million dollars." The ChemLab formula, developed in its own plant, had cost the

The formula was mixed. Picking up an extra bottle, Thurver added a small quantity of liquid from it.

"Solution K," he stated; "It has no effect upon the other chemicals, except as a cooling agent. Watch, while I

He repeated his former experiment. Under the high flame of the Bunsen burner, the mixture occasionally

bubbled and emitted smoke, but there was no flame. Bristow, his elbows propped upon the desk, watched the

"Do you have enough of this new solution?" he demanded. "A sufficient quantity to use in the plant?"

"It might be better to wait," suggested Thurver, "until I have made longer tests "

"You've been experimenting for five weeks," snapped Bristow. "That's long enough, Thurver."

WITHIN half an hour, Bristow received word that all was ready in the Fibrolast Division. Descending from

his tower office, Bristow joined the chief chemist on a platform high above the huge pressure machines.

Great wheels started. Masses of brownish shoddy were shredded through machines that shoved the raw

product into a vat. Rendered pulpy by the liquid, the stuff came dripping along rollers, to pass beneath the

Dipped again, it was pressed farther. Past intervening machines, Bristow could see the final process that sent

the sheets of Fibrolast into great stacks that were wheeled away by busy workmen. It was Bristow who

Half deaf to things that Thurver shouted in his ear, Bristow was nodding and shaking his head at random.

Gleefully, the president of ChemLab was seeing a longwaited order turned out in record time. The vats

were bubbling, but workers were ignoring them. Already accustomed to wisps of fading smoke instead of

Thurver was shouting, warningly, in Bristow's ear, when a sudden thing happened.

With a fury volcanic, a whole vat ignited. As scorched workers yelled, another vat burst into flame. Great

licking tongues were flinging out to ignite the remaining baths, which responded instantly. The pulpy fiber

Men, like machines, were enveloped in an acrid smoke that carried to all corners of the great floor. Bristow,

Thurver, others near them, were staggering for the open air, their faces buried in their coats. Men at the

stacking racks were getting into a corner exit, but those near the center of the floor were doomed.

Loud clangs told that the company firefighting apparatus was on hand. The smokeeaters who worked for

ChemLab were always ready, with gas masks handy. They knew how to fight conflagrations that occurred

in the Fibrolast division. Though up against a bigger job than ever, they handled it.

By the time Eugene Bristow had been helped, choking, to his office, he was able to look down and see only

great billows of smoke where titanic gushes of flame had been. The machines had been saved; but the men

Bristow could see a score of them on stretchers, handled by gasmasked rescuers. Flametortured victims

were being taken to the emergency hospital; from some of them, Bristow could hear agonized shrieks. A few,

LATER, Bristow found Thurver brooding in the laboratory. The chief chemist spoke mournfully.

"Evaporation must have caused it," he said. "The puffs were the deterioration of Solution K. I tried to tell

"I asked for time to make further experiments," interrupted Thurver, almost accusingly. "You should have

given it. There was a chance that the new solution might not work; and it finally didn't. You'll have to buy up

"I m going to see Ray Parringer," he declared. "As a consulting chemist, he is the best. He is reliable, and his

"I'm taking it to him," declared Bristow, grimly, "so he can test it thoroughly with fresh ingredients."

When Bristow had gone, Thurver still sat mournfully at his bench, but his eyes were darting side glances

toward his assistants. When they had left, Thurver reached quickly for the telephone and gave a New York

number. Like Glenny the day before, Thurver recognized the voice that responded.

"The works went, chief," informed Thurver, in a low tone, "like I said it would... Sure! Bristow fell for my

bluff. He thought I had something that would help... Our solutions? No, he doesn't suspect them. He's too

"He's going to Parringer, though, like we thought... Yes, taking him the formula. To have him test it on his

own... All right, chief. I know you can spike it... Leave this end of it to me. When I take my vacation, I won't

His call finished, Thurver took another darting glance around him. Finding himself alone, he drew an

envelope from his pocket. It was the one that Ralph Atgood had mailed the afternoon before.

George Thurver had already opened the envelope, but he wanted another gloating look at its contents. He

That slip was a check for twentyfive thousand dollars, made out to cash and signed by R. G. Dean.

As late as dusk, the flamestreaked walls of the ChemLab plant were visible from the Skyway, the great

motor highway that stretches across the Jersey Meadows, carrying traffic to and from Manhattan.

A passenger in a large limousine noted the vague outlines of those ghostlike buildings. There was a keen

flash to the eyes that peered from the viewer's hawklike face; a whispered laugh escaped his thin, straight

Tuning the dial of the limousine's radio, the hawkish passenger listened intently to new accounts of the

The passenger in the limousine was named Lamont Cranston. He was riding into Manhattan to have dinner at

the Cobalt Club with his friend Ralph Weston, New York's police commissioner. But Cranston was already

Usually, Commissioner Weston insisted upon talking about crime. Cranston enjoyed the topic, when it

related to events of importance. But he didn't care to listen while Weston reviewed a hodgepodge of trifling

The ChemLab tragedy came under the head of real crime in Cranston's opinion. There had been smaller

fires at the plant; this afternoon's holocaust linked with them. True, Cranston was probably the only crime

At night, when crime was on the move, Lamont Cranston frequently changed from a placid clubman of

leisurely manner to a weird, blackcloaked being whose actions were swift and devastating to persons who

wallowed in evil deeds. Actually, this personage, who posed as Lamont Cranston, was The Shadow!

There was a real Lamont Cranston, but he was usually out of the country on biggame hunts or travels to

Arriving at the Cobalt Club, Cranston took a simple but direct step toward crime's trail. He called up the hotel

where Eugene Bristow lived and asked to talk to the president of the ChemLab Co. It seemed that Mr.

Bristow was not about; that should he return, he would not care to make a statement to anyone. Mr. Bristow's

Hearing all that from a glib secretary, The Shadow made his own comments in the slow, even tone of

It happened that Cranston held stock in the ChemLab Co., and was also a resident of New Jersey. He had

learned, from a confidential source, that Bristow was due for an unpleasant gettogether with the Jersey

authorities, which might be smoothed over if he held a preliminary conference with an influential friend like

The argument brought results. From the anxioustoned secretary, The Shadow learned that Bristow was

already on his way back to New Jersey, but that he was making a short stop and could be reached by calling a

Calling the Caravan number, The Shadow received no answer. He put in a call to Burbank, his contact man,

who checked on Caravan 62347 in a special phone book listed by numbers, instead of names. Burbank

The clue was a pointed one; the fact that Parringer did not answer, gave it an element of mystery. Telling

Burbank to contact another of The Shadow's secret agents, named Harry Vincent, The Shadow strolled from

the Cobalt Club. He was scarcely in his limousine before he dropped the guise of Cranston.

From a secret drawer beneath the big rear seat, The Shadow produced a black cloak, a slouch hat, a pair of

thin gloves, and a brace of automatics. Equipped with such garb and implements, he became The Shadow!

ACTUALLY, the mystery of the unanswered telephone call was a very slight one. It happened that Parringer

hadn't heard the bell ring. His telephone was in a tiny office that adjoined his secondfloor laboratory over an

empty garage. Parringer had chosen a very squalid neighborhood, where the smells from the lab would not

At present, the consulting chemist had a visitor: Eugene Bristow. The ChemLab president had given

Parringer the secret formula and was impatiently watching while the chemist made up the various solutions.

"I can't wait any longer, Parringer. I have an appointment in New Jersey. Check your own findings with

Thurver's report sheet and let me know the result. We are willing to pay your highest consultant fee."

Parringer nodded, blinking, like a wise owl, through a pair of hornrimmed spectacles. But Parringer,

withered and gray, was not as wise as he looked; a fact to which Bristow could testify. For a mere fifty

dollars Parringer's highest fee Bristow hoped to get facts that might save him half a million.

The door at the bottom of the stairs was locked, so Parringer conducted Bristow down to open it. On the way,

"It surprises me that your formula should become inflammable, even under heat. Of course, if some of the

solutions were not precisely right, anything might happen. An overamount of Solution B, for instance "

"Thurver has doublechecked all that," interposed Bristow. "Nevertheless, that may be the trouble. I am

Parringer nodded. Then: "If the formula proves inflammable, it will be impossible to remedy it, Mr. Bristow.

Thurver's addition of a cooling agent, which he called Solution K, could not cure the trouble. Any such

Bristow's car was waiting. Parringer watched it pull away, then locked the door and started upstairs. Halfway

to the top, he heard someone rapping at the door. Thinking that Bristow had returned, he went down and

opened it. Instead of finding Bristow, he faced a very earnest young man who handed him a package.

"My name is Atgood," said the stranger. "I was told to bring you this package. It must have been sent from

Parringer nodded. He decided that the package must contain sample ingredients from the plant. Probably

Thurver had decided to send them, for on the package was the rubberstamped statement: "For Immediate

"Yes," returned Parringer. "He is the president of ChemLab Co. He left only a few minutes ago."

"I never met Mr. Bristow," he explained. "In fact, I never heard of him before. I was told that this package

was so important that it had to he delivered to you alone. That is why I waited until Mr. Bristow had gone. I

The frank statement satisfied Parringer. Ralph went his way, and the chemist returned upstairs. Laying the

package on a shelf, he placed his own mixture over a Bunsen burner and increased the heat. After a few

He had put the burner up to what Thurver described as "superheat" and the mixture did not even bubble.

Parringer's theory was right. The ingredients at the plant were faulty. As a consequence, Parringer's interest

OPENING the package, Parringer found one bottle already mixed, along with smaller bottles, each bearing a

lettered label, including the new Solution K. Deciding to test the faulty formula, Parringer poured some of the

complete mixture into a beaker. Before proceeding, he opened an envelope that was tucked in beside the

What Parringer expected to find was a note from Thurver embellished with a lot of chemical symbols, to help

him in the test. He wasn't surprised that the company chemist should be seeking his cooperation. But

His lean fingers drew out a slip of paper that bore the terse typewritten statement:

Parringer was puzzled by the initials R. G. D., until he unfolded a larger slip that the envelope contained. It

Who Mr. Dean was, Parringer neither knew nor cared. The angry mutters that the owlish man gave were

meant for George Thurver. He saw Thurver not as a man responsible for murder, or a person faithless to his

Thurver had been bribed to fake the ChemLab formula. The master crook behind the game was trying the

same tactics with Parringer. This time, the mysterious Mr. Dean had picked the wrong man. Parringer did not

There was just one duty for Ray Parringer. That was to expose Thurver's fraud and let the law take care of the

rest, including R. G. Dean. The first step was at hand: to test the doped mixture that Thurver had supplied,

then analyze its ingredients. Intent upon that task, Parringer set the beaker with the mixture on a tripod above

The withery chemist had just increased the flame, when blackness stretched across the workbench. Hearing a

He saw a figure in black, with burning eyes that peered from beneath a slouch hat. Those eyes had spied the

Hidden lips voiced a quick order that Parringer did not heed. The Shadow sped for the workbench, to end the

test that the chemist had so unwisely started. From his cramped space behind the bench, Parringer grabbed a

Half diving toward the floor, The Shadow dodged the missile. On hands and knees, he was ready to come up

again, to complete his spring toward the workbench where the brewing mixture had begun to bubble. But The

Shadow did not complete that spring, nor did Parringer hurl the hydrometer jar that he had grabbed as a new

At that moment, the bubbling broth exploded with a roar that could be heard for blocks. With the force of

TNT, it crumpled the walls and roof of the laboratory. Ignited chemicals gushed flames of all colors, while

the tumbling walls engulfed Ray Parringer and the rescuer who had arrived too late to save him.

Crime had moved ahead of The Shadow, and had scored a double gain. Not only was Ray Parringer gone,

into a flaming pit beneath his abolished laboratory; but The Shadow, archfoe of crime, had taken a similar

THERE was a difference in the way they went, The Shadow and Ray Parringer a difference that meant the

On hands and knees, below the level of the workbench, The Shadow escaped the direct force of the blast.

Though he was jarred by a blinding concussion that seemed to buckle his skull and wrench his brain, The

Shadow was still alive when he plunged through the spreading floor of the crashing laboratory.

Parringer's fate was the opposite. Close to the bench where the explosion occurred, and above the level of the

blast, the chemist was killed instantly. Like his equipment and the walls about him, Parringer was blown into

Crime's evidence vanished with the illfated chemist. As for the lone witness to the catastrophe namely,

The Shadow he likewise seemed destined for oblivion, despite the lucky factor that had temporarily

The Shadow's plunge was carrying him into a pit represented by the vacant garage below the laboratory.

After him came tons of tumbling debris bringing masses of flaming wreckage that threatened The Shadow

The fact that The Shadow did survive was due entirely to the mushroom action of the explosion. With the

spread of the upstairs laboratory, lower walls caved under the building weight. Old beams, crashing and

splintering, crisscrossing one another like a pile of jackstraws, received the ruins of the laboratory walls

In the space of a dozen seconds, the twostory building was reduced to a pyramid pile that bulged up from

the ground level. Flames were mounting to form a great pyre, and beneath the very center of that fiery mass

HALF stunned and partly crippled by his impact with the cement floor of the garage, The Shadow was in a

pitiable plight. He was wedged beneath shattered timbers; when he tried to crawl, chunks of crumbled

The flames were rising away from the imprisoned victim. But it would not be many minutes before burning

fragments dropped through to The Shadow's tiny nest, to consume him. The one merciful prospect was the

likelihood that he would be dead before the cremation began. The fire was sucking air from the space below

the pyre. Chances were that The Shadow would die from suffocation, if nothing came to aid him.

Drilling through The Shadow's disjointed thoughts came the crackle of the flames, echoing along with shrieks

and clangs that grew louder every few seconds. Unable to analyze that discordant medley, The Shadow did

Fire engines were on the scene, summoned from a firehouse only a few blocks away. Illuminated by the glare

of the furious flames, firemen were attaching hoses to hydrants close beside the ruins of Parringer's burning

Streams of water brought vicious hisses from the flames. Remaining chemicals exploded with little spurts

like tiny bombs. But the mass of the fire disappeared, changing to clouds of steam. This type of blaze was

Partly recuperated from his daze, The Shadow gained the illusion that he was stranded in a roaring surf,

surrounded by timbers from a wrecked ship. Deluged by water from the fire hose, he revived sufficiently to

All strength was gone from his left shoulder, but he used his right arm to shove the broken beams aside.

Bricks and mortar fell about him, but none struck his head. Drafts of fresh air, sucked in through the debris,

Hauling himself onehanded through a narrow space, The Shadow found his feet. Through kneedeep

rubbish, he stumbled toward the street, reached it with a final stagger and sprawled in front of a pair of

It was a sight of a selfrescued victim that amazed the smokeeaters; not anything unusual about The

Shadow's garb. He was cloaked in black no longer. His hat was gone; only a few straggly remnants of his

cloak clung to his shoulders. Even the evening clothes that he wore beneath were scarcely recognizable as the

Closer scrutiny might have enabled the firemen to identify him as The Shadow, but with the flames subsided,

they lacked the chance to fully view the groggy victim from the pit. Besides, there were others who had seen

The Shadow sprawl upon the sidewalk: men who occupied a sedan that was blocked by the fire engines.

Jumping from their car, they offered to take the crippled victim to a hospital. The firemen helped them put

The Shadow into the sedan. The car was waved through the fire lines; with its horn sounding loudly, it

SLUMPED in the middle of the rear seat, The Shadow could hear the conversation of men on each side of

him, along with the buzz of voices from the front. At first their words were vague, drowned somewhat by the

loud honks of the horn. Then the horn had stopped, the car was gliding smoothly. Voices were plain; eyes

"It's The Shadow, all right!" The man beside the driver was speaking, as he looked back into the rear. "The

The query came from the man on The Shadow's right. The speaker in front gave a cryptic answer.

"Parringer's death was necessary," he said. "That is all that any of us need to know. But it is equally necessary

The man on The Shadow's left entered the discussion. His tone was very matteroffact.

"Then here goes," he announced. "One bullet will settle our friend, The Shadow!"

A gun muzzle poked The Shadow's ribs, close to his heart. Too weak to respond, The Shadow was unable to

"No, no! Don't shoot him. There's a simpler way than that. We'll simply strangle the chap and deliver him at

the hospital. Let them find out who he is, while we testify that he died on the way."

"A good idea!" came the voice from the front seat. "Here pass me that gun, while you fellows settle the

Reluctantly, the man on the left extended his hand toward the front seat. Eyes half opened, The Shadow saw

the revolver's glitter as the man in front reached for it. The Shadow could not make out faces, for his eyes

were still dazzled from the fierce glare of the laboratory explosion; but sight of the gun was enough.

The Shadow had been gathering all his strength for a supreme effort, and this moment was his opportunity.

Mechanically, he shot his own hand forward. It seemed to go of its own accord, impelled solely by his will,

Clamping the gun with a fist that was powerful through sheer instinctive action, The Shadow yanked it away

from the hands of his captors. His lips voiced a quavery laugh, as he rolled his body forward from the seat.

With hissed responses, three captors were upon him: the two men beside him, plus the fellow from the front

WITH all their urge to suppress the recuperating prisoner, the three were too late to stop the toss that The

Shadow's hand gave to the gun. It flipped over, thanks to a move that The Shadow had long practiced, and his

finger found the trigger. He knew that he was firing, for he could see the flashes of the gun and hear its

The Shadow's captors had shoved his gun hand upward. His bullets were merely denting the top of the sedan;

They had hold of his hand and were trying to wrench the gun from it. Yanking his fist away, The Shadow

With a wild grope, The Shadow tried to find the gun, and thought he had it. The thing that he actually gripped

was the door handle. He caught it, just as slugging fists knocked him to the floor. But his hand kept its grip.

The door handle clicked downward. The Shadow's weight, impelled by the shove of hands that were going

for his throat, gave the door an outward swing. With a writhing twist of his right arm and shoulder, The

Shadow turned his pitch into a plunge. Before hands could grip him, he had literally catapulted himself from

He struck the paving head first. The shock brought a flash of imaginary light as vivid as the blast in

Parringer's laboratory. The Shadow had completed his sprawl for freedom, but it had knocked him senseless.

The sedan was stopping, thirty feet ahead. One man was already on the step, gun in hand, ready to settle The

The gun that talked first did not come from the sedan. It spoke from the window of a taxicab that spurted in

from a corner on the sedan's trail. The man on the sedan step dropped back into the car just as a bullet

Shoving the sedan into gear, the frantic driver wheeled it around a corner just ahead, while the spurts of an

automatic, coming closer, beat a tattoo against the sides and fenders of the fleeing car.

One marksman, supplying a timely barrage from the taxi, had driven off The Shadow's captors, who were

The cab stopped beside The Shadow. Two men leaped from it. One was Moe Shrevnitz, the driver, who used

this cab in The Shadow's service as a secret agent. The other was Harry Vincent, ace of The Shadow's agents.

They put The Shadow into the cab. With Moe at the wheel, skimming corners at breakneck speed, and Harry

in the back, ready to meet all comers with his reloaded automatic, the agents were on their way again.

Though stunned and crippled, The Shadow was being carried to safety, from which he could begin a new

campaign against the tribe of enemies whose unknown chief had ordained The Shadow's doom and failed

IT was three days before Lamont Cranston appeared at the swanky Cobalt Club, where he spent so much of

his leisure time. On the afternoon that he arrived there, various members greeted him and expressed their

The news was about that Cranston had cracked up one of his sport planes in making a forced landing, and had

gone to a hospital as a result. Such an accident, like his early return to circulation, was nothing unusual.

Cranston was frequently running into such complications, and getting out of them with very little damage.

Nevertheless, the club members were glad that the latest episode had not been severe, and among those most

ardent in congratulations was Eugene Bristow, president of the ChemLab Co. Bristow had come into the

club to attend a business luncheon, and, although he did not know it, his presence was the reason why

Soon, the two were chatting in a secluded corner of the reading room. Dropping his pompous manner,

"Our formula failed us," declared Bristow, ruefully. "Just as Thurver said it would. He is the chief chemist at

the Plant. I was afraid that Thurver was wrong, so I gave the formula to Parringer, a consulting chemist. You

"I warned Parringer to be careful," insisted Bristow. "It was horrible, Cranston, that tragedy at the plant; but I

never supposed that Parringer would meet with a similar accident! I should have listened to Thurver in the

Though he cared little for Bristow, The Shadow credited the corporation president with being sincere.

Business came first in everything Bristow did, but the man had a certain amount of human sentiment. It was

conceivable, of course, that Bristow might have some reason for ruining his own plant and blowing up

Bristow's repeated mention of Thurver offered a more plausible solution of the mystery. In the casual tone

that suited Cranston, The Shadow inquired what Thurver's present opinions might be.

"Thurver blames me for everything," said Bristow, bitterly. "He was terribly shocked by Parringer's death.

There was nothing I could do but tell Thurver to take a long vacation on full pay, hoping that he would view

"Yes; he left this morning. He won't be back for two months. Yesterday, I completed the purchase of another

formula, offered us by the Experimento Co. It's sheer robbery, Cranston! Paying those Experimento people

half a million dollars, in six installments of a hundred thousand dollars each."

"Yes. To a man named R. G. Dean, who has an office in the Harmon Building. I went there to see him this

"By telephone. He mailed the contracts; I signed them, and mailed him the first payment. The formula arrived

DESPITE his maskfaced expression, The Shadow was in a thoughtful mood. Whatever Thurver's part in the

scheme to milk ChemLab of half a million dollars, it was merely a step to the more important operation

managed by the mysterious Mr. R. G. Dean. Therefore, Thurver's departure on a socalled vacation did not

One detail needed to be settled. Before The Shadow could mention it, Bristow brought up a point of his own.

"I understand that you telephoned me the other night, Cranston," he said. "The call must have come while I

"Not at all," replied The Shadow, in an indifferent tone. "I merely wanted to express my regret over the

"I thought that you might have wanted to be present when I talked to the New Jersey authorities," remarked

Bristow. "But, very oddly, when I went to see them, I found that they did not expect me."

"Of course," added Bristow, "I told no one that you called. I know that my servants are discreet, so I decided

Lamont Cranston bowed his appreciation. Then, calmly, The Shadow brought up his own question:

"We regard it as worthless," returned Bristow, "as well as dangerous. All copies have been destroyed. That

He brought a folded sheet of paper from his wallet. The Shadow glanced at it; then, about to return it, he

Bristow nodded. For answer, The Shadow crumpled the paper and tossed it into a wastebasket. Rising, he

"Sorry to have detained you, Bristow. I know you're anxious to get back to the plant. How about having

dinner with me this evening, here at the club? I'll introduce you to the police commissioner."

With a wry expression, Bristow declined. He wasn't anxious to meet anyone connected with the law. Public

opinion was in agreement with the sentiments expressed by George Thurver: namely, that Bristow's

negligence was responsible for two tragedies and therefore was of a criminal sort.

All the way to his New Jersey factory, Eugene Bristow felt worried. Reaching his tower office, he dismissed

his secretaries and shut himself up alone, like a hiding fugitive. His lawyers had assured him that he was not

criminally liable for anything that had occurred, but Bristow was in a most mistrustful mood.

The Shadow had foreseen that Bristow would be in such a state; and there were reasons why it would prove

to The Shadow's own advantage. But The Shadow also calculated that Bristow's consciousstricken condition

A knock at Bristow's door startled the chemicalplant president. Popping up from his desk, Bristow gulped

the words: "Come in." He was considerably shaken when he saw George Thurver step across the threshold.

"I... I THOUGHT you had left!" exclaimed Bristow. "Is anything wrong, Thurver anything else?"

"Not at all," replied Thurver, in a serious tone. "I just wanted to apologize for some of the things I said, Mr.

The two shook hands. Thurver could feel a tremble of Bristow's fingers. About to leave, the chemist said:

"I meant to ask you about the old formula. Didn't you have an extra copy of it?"

"Why... why, yes!" Bristow fumbled for his wallet; then, as if in recollection. "I destroyed it, Thurver. You

Outside the office door, Thurver paused to listen. He could hear Bristow pacing the floor. When the footsteps

stopped, he knew that Bristow was at the telephone. Working the door slightly open, Thurver heard Bristow

In a worried tone, Bristow was reminding his servant to say nothing of the fact that Mr. Cranston had called

"Call the Cobalt Club, Roger. See if you can get Mr. Cranston there. Tell him I would like to join him at

dinner with the police commissioner... Yes, Cranston will be able to reach me here at the office..."

Thurver waited awhile, having pulled the door tight shut. He could still hear Bristow pacing up and down, but

there was no ring of the telephone bell. Evidently Cranston was not at the Cobalt Club. With a shrewd smile,

The place was empty except for Thurver's bags, which were packed and bulging. Making a phone call of his

own, Thurver talked to his hidden chief, told him all that he had heard. His final remarks were emphatic.

"It looks like Cranston is The Shadow!" said Thurver. "Maybe he has that copy of the formula... Yes, I'm all

packed. I'll be on my way in five minutes... If you want to get at The Shadow, you'll find him at the Cobalt

THERE was a sequel to Thurver's call. It came one hour later, when Ralph Atgood heard a ring at the door of

his apartment. A messenger was there, to deliver a square wooden box addressed to Ralph, but bearing no

Opening the box, Ralph found a cardboard container inside it. Tucked under the flap of the carton was an

Finding Shawnwood's address in the telephone book, Ralph left the apartment carrying the small but heavy

carton. He reached an old brownstone house on the West Side, and delivered the box to the servant who

Ralph practically forgot the box as soon as he delivered it, for he had a date that evening with Alicia Weylan.

It was just another bit of routine duty, Ralph thought, in behalf of his benefactor, R. G. Dean. Certain phases

of his present job had begun to worry Ralph; but the delivery of a package was so trifling, that his confidence

Oddly, that package was destined for a career that would have horrified Ralph, had he guessed its purpose.

But Ralph, as yet, had no idea of the purposes that lay behind the ways of R. G. Dean.

Only The Shadow had found crime's links; he, alone, could forge them into a connected chain. But crooks, in

their turn, had gained a link to The Shadow. When the master investigator moved, crime's chief would be

IN a windowless room where black walls glistened, The Shadow was testing the original formula used by the

ChemLab Co. He was getting results identical with those obtained by Ray Parringer. Even under superheat,

This room, with its tiled walls, was The Shadow's own laboratory. It adjoined his sanctum, the hidden spot

from which he contacted his loyal agents when they aided him in tracking down crime.

From his experiments, The Shadow had proven the fact that he suspected: namely, that George Thurver had

deliberately doctored the chemicals used at the ChemLab plant. No possible harm could have come to Ray

Parringer with the latter using a copy of the formula as supplied by Eugene Bristow.

For The Shadow was using one of Bristow's own copies the last one in existence. On the laboratory bench

lay the crumpled sheet of paper that The Shadow, as Cranston, had tossed into a wastebasket at the Cobalt

Club. The Shadow had recovered the discarded document soon after Bristow had left for the factory.

One experiment concluded, The Shadow began another. He wanted an answer to the riddle of tragedy at the

ChemLab plant, as well as the matter of Parringer's death. It did not take him long to settle his problem.

By slightly changing the quantities of certain solutions, The Shadow brewed a mixture that bubbled under

heat, then emitted puffs of flame. Taking a very small amount, he added a few drops from a bottle marked

Within a few seconds, there was a sharp explosion that shattered the test tube containing the mixture. The

blast was strong enough to shake the laboratory bench, but other chemicals were too distant to be ignited.

On a tiny scale, The Shadow had duplicated the explosion that wrecked Parringer's laboratory. Extinguishing

the burner, he used a large black cloth to mop up the remains of the experiment.

The flash of light, though small, had produced a blinding effect upon The Shadow's eyes, which proved that

he had not entirely recuperated from the terrific experience at Parringer's. His left arm, too, seemed to ache,

Resting in a corner of the laboratory, The Shadow let his thoughts drift back to that horrendous night. He

could remember everything perfectly, up until the roar that had shaken the building clear to its foundations.

Fire water voices gunshots: all formed an imperfect progression. Of all those, The Shadow was most

anxious to recall the voices; but there his recollection failed him. They were threads to crime, those voices;

had The Shadow remembered them clearly, he could hope to someday identify their owners. But the threads

Unfortunately, neither Harry Vincent nor Moe Shrevnitz had been able to spot the number of the fugitive

sedan. They had noticed a car pull away from the scene of the explosion, had heard firemen speak of "a guy

that was being taken to the hospital." Guessing that it was The Shadow who was on his way to the hospital,

They had taken The Shadow to a small private hospital managed by Dr. Rupert Sayre, who knew The

Shadow as Lamont Cranston. After three delirious nights, The Shadow had recovered from a brain

concussion and had talked things over with Sayre. The physician had provided one definite fact, to which

The Shadow's captors could not possibly have identified him as Lamont Cranston. His face, smeared with

blood, grime, and streaks of black from charred timbers, was such that no one could recognize it. Therefore,

The Shadow had felt confident that his Cranston personality would remain unknown unless Bristow

In talking with Bristow this afternoon, The Shadow had spiked that prospect. Thus he felt himself immune

from any backhanded attacks by crooks who served the unknown Mr. Dean. Lacking knowledge of

Thurver's snoopy tactics, The Shadow was therefore lulled into a faulty security that was to warp his future

MOVING into the sanctum, The Shadow pressed a switch upon the wall. A tiny light glowed; a voice came

To Burbank, his contact man, The Shadow gave instructions for various agents. They were to post themselves

in the neighborhood of the Harmon Building while The Shadow investigated the Dean office.

The Shadow was banking on the probability that his master foe would consider the Dean alias sufficient

protection. Such a theory was plausible, as the Dean transactions were definitely legal. Even Bristow, who

was handing over half a million dollars in sizable payments, did not have any intention of trying to brand the

Dusk was heavy when The Shadow, cloaked in a new outfit of black, glided toward the Harmon Building. He

saw a young man sauntering along the street; a taxicab was parked a few yards away. Harry Vincent and Moe

Pausing near a corner of the building, The Shadow saw another man alight from an arriving cab, which

promptly pulled away. The man was wearing a Tuxedo, and seemed in quite a hurry to reach some office in

A tiny red sparkle came from a flashlight in The Shadow's hand. Harry spied the glimmer and stopped short.

It was a signal, to halt him. The Shadow was closer to the building entrance, and intended to take up the trail.

Harry failed to see The Shadow glide through the doorway. The lobby lights were dim and The Shadow had a

remarkable ability to keep close to the shelter of gloomy side walls. But, as he entered, The Shadow flashed

another signal. He had shifted the lens; this time, the blink was green, and The Shadow repeated it.

Such a series of green flashes meant for Harry to keep on the move. Resuming his stroll, the agent walked

Since the Tuxedoed man had come by cab, he would probably take one when he left. Since Moe's cab was

already parked near the Harmon Building, it would be eligible to receive the Tuxedoed passenger. The

Inside the building, The Shadow glimpsed the face above the Tuxedo. He noted that the man was an

earnestlooking fellow, lighthaired and with a rather wellshaped profile. In age, he was probably well into

The Shadow was gaining his first view of Ralph Atgood, the sincere emissary who served R. G. Dean. His

scrutiny, however, was brief, for The Shadow preferred to learn if this hasty visitor was going to the upstairs

It was after six o'clock, and only one elevator was in operation. While Ralph waited for it, The Shadow

ascended a stairway that stood closer to the building entrance. Finding the Dean office by the number that he

had noted on the lobby board, The Shadow was watching from an extension of the hallway when Ralph

The cloaked observer saw the young man unlock the mailbox outside the office door. Finding no letters in it,

Ralph went his way, while The Shadow blinked a message from the hallway window. Flashing from the folds

Its muffled beam was noted by Moe, watching from the cab directly below the window. Moe read the brief

coded message. He was ready when Ralph arrived on the street. The young man rode away, a passenger in

That trail proved shorter than either The Shadow or Moe expected. It was not only short, but blind. Under

orders to make his visits to the Dean office inconspicuous, Ralph left the cab near a subway station. Moe was

about to discard his taxi driver's cap and follow him, when another fare stepped into the cab.

It happened to be Frederick Glenny, covering Ralph's trail without the latter's knowledge. Moe could not

desert his cab while he had a passenger. Taking Glenny for a chance customer, the cabby never suspected that

the fellow was in the game. He drove Glenny to Times Square, and there reported to Burbank, stating that he

WHILE Moe was muffling a second choice quite as good as the one that he had lost, The Shadow descended

to the ground floor of the office building. Something about the locked office signified new danger. The best

In an area behind the building, the flashlight gave green blinks, then red. The Shadow was joined by a

This was Hawkeye, another of The Shadow's agents. Burbank had posted him behind the building, and

Hawkeye reported that no hostile watchers were about. Leaving Hawkeye on guard, The Shadow began an

Scaling the brick wall, with its cornices and window ledges, was an easy matter for The Shadow. Hand over

hand, he ascended the darkened surface, gaining toe holds as he went. Lost even from Hawkeye's sharp view,

The Shadow reached the window that he wanted. It was latched, but he worked a thin strip of metal between

Inside the office, The Shadow probed the place with his thinrayed flashlight. Empty filing cases and vacant

desk drawers supplied no clues whatever. It was apparent that everything of any consequence had been

In hope of some slight clue, The Shadow decided to examine the office more thoroughly. He lowered the

window shades, then stabbed his flashlight through pitchdarkness. The ray focused on a squatty metal desk

The switch was at the bottom of the lamp. Extinguishing the flashlight, The Shadow reached out to light the

lamp and thus illuminate the office completely. The instant that his fingers pressed the switch, he heard a

muffled click from deep within the lamp base. The light came on, but at the same moment something sliced

The Shadow whipped his hand away as the thin object struck his gloved hand, close to the palm. For an

instant, he thought that a knife had been ejected from the lamp, but as he clenched his fist and looked along

Something crinkled in The Shadow's palm. Opening his fist, he saw a white card. It was the thing from the

lamp, and it had slithered squarely into The Shadow's quickformed fist before he had been able to whisk his

hand from the danger zone. As he eyed the card in the lamplight, The Shadow phrased a whispered laugh.

There was no mockery in that tone. Rather, it carried a note of hidden understanding. The Shadow knew that

he was dealing with a superfoe whose tricky ways were so numerous and varied that the crafty criminal could

pass up opportunities for murder, to show his contempt for those who tried to balk him.

The strip of pasteboard in The Shadow's hand was an engraved calling card that bore the name: R. G. DEAN.

THERE was nothing trivial about the souvenir that The Shadow had so unexpectedly received. On the

contrary, that innocentlooking card spelled danger in large letters, the way The Shadow read it.

Behind the alias of R. G. Dean lay the crafty brain of an insidious plotter, who had already demonstrated his

murderous technique when he wrecked the ChemLab plant and ruined Parringer's laboratory.

Death came to those who tried to block the unknown killer whose purpose was to obtain great wealth through

seemingly legal methods detached from his deeds of crime. The Shadow had been lucky to escape such doom

The lamp on the office table could have projected a poisoned needle as easily as it had shot out the calling

card. The reason why it had merely been used to deliver a warning was quite obvious to The Shadow. The

conniving Mr. Dean did not want dead bodies lying around an office that he used for legitimate purposes; that

Here, The Shadow stood on safe ground within the enemy's territory. But he did not deceive himself with the

notion that he had made headway. This office belonged to the socalled R. G. Dean, but it was obviously a

place where the supercrook never came in person. The Shadow had an idea that the master criminal was at

The hunch was right. It was proven while The Shadow still stood staring at the card. The telephone bell began

to ring. Apparently, the telephone was connected to the lamp, and the operation of the latter had flashed a

signal across the wire. The call was meant for The Shadow. He lifted the receiver, but did not speak.

A chuckly voice reached The Shadow's ear; he recognized that the chortle meant more than mere mirth. It

was the speaker's effective way of disguising his usual tone, so that The Shadow would not be able to identify

"Hello, Shadow!" clucked the speaker. "We know all about you. We do not fear you. But you will have

There was a pause, during which the chortle was replaced by the mechanical sounds of a poor connection,

"I am giving you an opportunity for life," resumed the chuckly voice. "Remove your hat and cloak. Carry

them over one arm, and tie a white handkerchief about the other. If you display that token of complete truce,

as guarantee that you will no longer annoy me, you may walk out free and unmolested. Otherwise "

The voice paused. The silence, broken only by rasping sounds from the receiver, was more ominous than any

spoken word. Finally, came the click of the receiver being hung up. The wire went dead. It symbolized what

would happen to The Shadow, if he did not heed the warning of the unknown foe who had voiced the

CALMLY, The Shadow extinguished the office light. Moving to the window, he began his precarious

descent. At the ground level, he summoned Hawkeye with varicolored blinks of the flashlight and told the

Danger was due, and The Shadow intended to meet it alone. In the darkness, he made a careful analysis of the

Evidently the dangerous Mr. Dean had miscalculated on one important point. He supposed that The Shadow

had entered the office by picking the door lock, and would go out by the same route. There was no menace

here behind the office building, for Hawkeye, competent as well as stealthy, would have spotted some trace

The front street was the danger zone. The Shadow made a circuit in that direction. Avoiding the front

entrance of the office building, he picked a blackened stretch between two street lamps and glided across the

There was another building opposite; its dark entrance commanded a perfect view of the Harmon Building.

Approaching the doorway, The Shadow drew an automatic. He had lost one brace of guns in the ruins below

Parringer's laboratory and intended to keep a firm grip on the ones he carried tonight. Creeping close, holding

to the darkness, The Shadow could hear the tense breathing of a man who occupied the doorway. With a swift

A warning bell clanged, actuated by a strip of metal in a crack of the sidewalk. The man in the doorway flung

himself about, made an inward dive, just in time to escape a slugging swing from The Shadow's heavy gun.

The building door was of the revolving type, divided into four sections. The man landed in one, whirling the

Half into the revolving door, The Shadow spun about diving back to the sidewalk just as the traveling

partition skimmed his shoulder. He had whisked himself from a trap just in time. The fleeing man was a

From the closed section of the door came a muffled puff; a cloud of white steam filled the interior. The

locking door had automatically released that jet. Even the protecting folds of The Shadow's cloak could not

have saved him from a scalding death, had he been trapped within the revolving door.

AGAINST the whiteness of the steam, The Shadow's cloaked form was plainly visible. Guns barked from a

spot across the street well past the Harmon Building. Dropping behind the partial protection of a lighting

standard, The Shadow answered the longrange fire. He saw two men jump into a parked coupe. The car

Moe's cab was not around, but another taxi was cruising through the street. The Shadow knew that its arrival

was a mere coincidence; that the driver could not be a member of the crooked band. There was no way in

Furthermore, the cab was halting with a shriek of brakes. The driver was anxious to turn about and buck

traffic on the oneway street to get away from a district where guns were cutting loose. The Shadow did not

Springing into the cab, the cloaked fighter ordered the widemouthed cabby to pursue the coupe and

emphasized the order with a flourish of a .45 automatic. The cab took up the chase, with The Shadow leaning

The fleeing car was zigzagging as if crippled. Nearing the avenue, it skidded. Something had struck the

street; an object that had dropped from the coupe, to spread an oily substance from curb to curb.

The Shadow saw the thing strike. As the cab's front wheels hit the oil, he shoved a gloved hand through to the

driver's seat. Giving the steering wheel a hard yank. The Shadow whipped the cab over the curb, up to the

As the fuse struck, the oily stuff ignited. The whole street broke loose with liquid fire. The coupe outraced

that roaring flame, carrying away another pair of decoys. Cars parked along the curb were withered; their

gasoline tanks burst with sharp explosions that literally twisted their steel frames.

That sight told what would have happened to the taxicab, or any other pursuing car that contained The

Shadow, had it continued along the street. By wrenching the cab to the sidewalk, The Shadow had jolted it

The cab thudded a building wall, but its occupants were safe from harm. Leaving the stupefied driver staring

at the fading fire, The Shadow cut through between two buildings to the next street, in the direction toward

which the coupe had turned. Coming out from shelter, with guns drawn, he saw the fleeing car speed by.

Opening fire, The Shadow employed his usual method of dropping back to cover as he loosed the shots. It

was well that he did so, instead of springing to the middle of the street. where the average marksman would

A new lurker had seen The Shadow's lunge; not expecting the fadeaway that followed, the crook released

the third of the Deanlaid devices. There was a manhole in the center of the street. It lifted thirty feet in air,

Ripped asphalt spread, dropping like hail into the mouth of the alley that formed The Shadow's present

shelter. From darkness came a mocking laugh: The Shadow's answer to departing bombers. Then, reversing

IN a quiet area several blocks away, The Shadow reappeared as Cranston. He was carrying his cloak and hat

across his left arm, but there was no sign of a white handkerchief around his right. Entering a limousine, he

lighted a cigarette, then spoke calmly through the speaking tube to the chauffeur.

"Drive through Central Park, Stanley," was Cranston's order. "It is too early to go to the club. I shall tell you

While the limousine rolled placidly through Manhattan streets, The Shadow gave deliberate thought to the

devastating events that had occurred in such rapid fashion. Those three thrusts by a scientific killer would

scarcely be classed as accidents when the law heard about them. Nevertheless, they would carry elements of

A broken steam pipe opening into a revolving door; a flood of fire that had come and gone without a trace, a

blasted mass of paving that might have been caused by a faulty gas line underneath the street none of those

could be linked to a quiet inconspicuous office in the Harmon Building, where the name of R. G. Dean

The search for the master crook would remain The Shadow's problem. The question was, would the hidden

foe again find The Shadow first? Evidently, the selfstyled Mr. Dean knew more about The Shadow than the

For perhaps the first time in his career, The Shadow faced a future that offered nothing but uncertainty of a

most precarious sort. His only policy was to be prepared for another thrust, that might come any time and

THOUGH the chaos near the Harmon Building attracted a flock of police cars and fire engines, it did not

interest a stocky swarthyfaced man who rode past the scene in a taxicab some ten minutes after the

Ordinarily, that cab rider would have stopped off to see what it was all about, for he was a police inspector

and had a reputation for being around soon after things happened. But Joe Cardona hadn't time to investigate

As Cardona alighted in front of the Cobalt Club, he saw an elderly man step from an oldfashioned

limousine. The man was grayhaired, with whiskers to match, and he carried a cane in one hand and a heavy

squareshaped bundle under the other arm. Cardona approached him, with the query:

The whiskered man gave Cardona a sharp but troubled look; then seeing the badge that the inspector

"You must be Inspector Cardona," said Shawnwood, in a wheezy tone. "The commissioner said that he had

"That's right," returned Joe. "It looks like we're both late, Mr. Shawnwood. Which helps me a lot, because the

commissioner gets sore sometimes, if I don't show up as soon as he expects. Let's go in and see him

They entered the Cobalt Club, were informed that Commissioner Weston was in the grillroom, which rather

surprised Joe Cardona because he knew that the room in question was being redecorated. They descended the

steep stairs that led down to the grillroom, Cardona carrying the heavy package while Shawnwood used the

Cardona had heard correctly. The grillroom was under a course of reconstruction. Tables were stacked in

corners, with chairs surmounting them. There were ladders and planks along one wall, where some artist had

But the inner corner of the room was still in use. A table had been laid there especially for Commissioner

Weston. A waiter was peering in from a door that led to the kitchen, to see if the commissioner was ready for

A broadfaced man, with shortclipped military mustache, Ralph Weston was brisk in everything he did. He

shook hands with Cyrus Shawnwood, told Joe Cardona to put the package on the table, then invited both to

"Yes, they are," snapped Weston. "They're ruining it! Look at those murals, Cardona, and those rubber plants

over in the alcove. When they get through with their messing, the place will look like a tropical garden!"

The voice croaked from the center of the room, near the ceiling. Looking up, Cardona saw a large cage that

contained a fairsized parrot. Weston was glaring at the greenplumed bird, and the parrot slanted its head to

"Look at the fool bird," grumbled Weston. "Some member gave it to the club, and they finally decided to put

it down here. Having a parrot to begin with, they gained the notion that they ought to have a tropical

grillroom. I tell you, inspector" Weston's tone rose to an indignant pitch "everyone around here has gone

Weston reached for his own cane, as if he intended to march over and smash the cage. The parrot fluttered its

feathers, walked up the side of the cage, under the top, and down the other side. All during that acrobatic

Weston finally subsided and laid aside his cane, but the parrot kept on walking, muttering the same words as

though it liked them and was keeping them for future reference: "Crazy... crazy... crazy "

"Let us get to the matter at hand," declared Weston, his brisk voice drowning the parrot's mutters. "I'm sorry

that Cranston has not yet arrived, as I think this would interest him. However, I left word for him to come

"As I told you over the telephone, inspector" Weston had turned to Cardona "Mr. Shawnwood has

received some sort of a threat. That is why I suggested that he come here and give us all the details. Very

Shawnwood drew a small bundle of papers from his pocket, unfolded them and placed them on the square

"Some months ago," he wheezed, "I was approached by a chemist named Isaac Loman. A very eccentric

fellow, Loman, but apparently sincere in everything he said. He was working on a process to extract motor

"I've heard that sort of stuff before," grunted Cardona. "All those ideas are whacky! They just don't work. The

"Very possibly he was," admitted Shawnwood, stroking his bearded chin. "At the same time, his process

"Twenty thousand dollars," replied Shawnwood. "Here is the contract, all signed. Also a receipt for the first

"That's tough," put in Cardona. "If my hunch is right, Mr. Shawnwood, you can kiss that cash goodby!"

Shawnwood's eyes showed surprise, as though the possibility had never occurred to him. In the momentary

The rest was a trail of squawks, which included some muttered profanity. The parrot had caught another glare

from Weston and saw the commissioner's hand going toward the cane. Then Weston suddenly relaxed, a

All evening, the parrot had been picking up everything that Weston said. It had begun that process when the

commissioner had first talked to the waiter. This time, the bird had decided to mimic Cardona, instead.

"Perhaps the five thousand dollars is lost," declared Shawnwood, "but I am wealthy enough to charge it off to

HE showed them a letter signed by Isaac Loman. It stated that the inventor had decided to deal through a

Evidently acting on the representative's advice, Loman stated in the letter that twenty thousand dollars was

not enough. He wanted ten times the amount: namely, two hundred thousand dollars. Shawnwood was to

"The man must really have something!" exclaimed Weston. "Nevertheless, his proposition is outrageous.

"You must ignore this letter, Mr. Shawnwood," continued the commissioner, with an angry side glance at the

interrupting parrot. "Leave the matter in our hands. When we have located Loman, you can demand the return

of your five thousand dollars, or delivery of the process which you bought from him."

Shawnwood sat back, pleased. Gradually, the happy look left his face. He shook his head in a troubled

"I have heard from the representative that Loman mentions," whispered Shawnwood, hoarsely. "He talked to

me over the telephone, but did not give his name. He asked me if I would return the contract. I said no."

"No." Shawnwood shook his gray head. "I don't know where Loman is, and I have no idea who this socalled

representative may be. I suppose that if I offered to settle, they would let me know how to reach them."

Weston pondered; then asked: "About this representative what did his voice sound like?"

"It was a croak!" Shawnwood's tone was awed. "He chuckled while he talked, almost like" the bearded man

paused, then pointed to the bird cage in the middle of the room "almost like that parrot!"

The parrot did not seem to relish the reference. For the first lime, it remained quite silent, tilting its head from

side to side as though waiting to hear more before voicing an opinion. Again, Weston started to smile, then

The elderly man reached for the square cardboard box and opened it with trembling hands. Cardona helped

"This was delivered at my house today," declared Shawnwood. "A young man left it, and said that it came

Neither Weston nor Cardona expressed surprise at the statement. They, too, were puzzled by the squarish

machine. Its whole top was a large metal cylinder, at the front of which were six little windows, each

Below the cylinder, and in front of it, was a keyboard consisting of six rounded metal buttons which bore no

"There you are," wheezed Shawnwood. "What the contrivance is for, why it was sent to me " He shrugged;

Neither could Weston nor Cardona. They sat there staring puzzled at the machine, their expressions as blank

as Shawnwood's. In fact, all three looked as dumb as the beadyeyed parrot which peered through the wires

IT was Joe Cardona who offered the first suggestion regarding the curious machine that had been delivered to

"I wonder what happens," mused the inspector, half aloud, "if you press any of these buttons."

"I can tell you that much," volunteered Shawnwood. "We tried it this afternoon, my guests and myself, while

He pressed the buttons one by one. Each stayed down, until the sixth was pressed. There was a whir inside

the machine, produced by the revolutions of inner cylinders. The buttons sprang up automatically, but there

Finally, the spinning wheels clicked to a stop. The letters showed, but in different order. They formed a

jumble that spelled no word at all: ERNGDA. Cardona started to press the buttons again, but Weston stopped

him. The commissioner pulled out a pencil and a sheet of paper torn from a notebook.

"We must write down all those combinations," he said. "Perhaps the letters will produce a coded message."

"Sometimes words appear," wheezed Shawnwood, as he took the paper and pencil. "Shall I list them in a

With Cardona manipulating the buttons, Shawnwood wrote down every new combination when the wheels

Weston peered across the table. Shawnwood was right. The six letters formed the word: RANGED.

"List it in a special column," said the commissioner. "Press the buttons, Cardona "

Stopping suddenly, the commissioner looked about in surprise. He heard the whirring noise begin before

Cardona had time to start the wheels. Grinning, Joe pointed to the parrot cage. The polly was imitating the

The wheels resumed their spinning under the pressure of the buttons. New combinations appeared, always

showing the same six letters, differently arranged with occasional repeats. At last another word appeared:

Cardona waited while Shawnwood listed the word in both columns. The parrot, meanwhile, kept up a

constant whir whenever the machine stopped. The result was a continuous sound, with the machine and the

Quite interested, Weston began to keep a word list of his own on a separate sheet of paper, but when no more

words appeared, the commissioner began to regard the process as foolish. The parrot's echoes were annoying

him, and he was about ready to call off the silly game, when the machine clicked a new word into sight:

Weston regarded the new word as highly important. So did Shawnwood. They both added it to their lists of

words, then Shawnwood began to count down the entire column of combinations, to find out at what number

Distracted by the parrot's imitations of the whirs, Shawnwood lost count, until the polly finally decided to

wait in patient silence, like Joe Cardona, who was resting his thumb and fingers loosely on the buttons.

Footfalls were sounding from the boxlike marble staircase leading down into the grillroom, when

Cardona's fingers tightened on the buttons just as Weston, looking toward the stairway, recognized the person

There was a shrill squawk from the parrot. It forgot the whir to render a new imitation.

AT that moment, Cardona pressed the buttons, starling a new spin of the lettered wheels. This time, however,

the machine acted in a most rapid and unexpected fashion. As the rotary motion sped up, the whole top of the

Lettered wheels were ripped to fragments, as the machine released a solid inner cylinder and scaled it almost

to the ceiling. The cylindrical projectile was made of some transparent substance that contained a greenish

liquid. As large as a tomato can, it was traveling like a bomb shot from a mortar. It's long arc was carrying

There wasn't a chance for The Shadow to dive into the grillroom or take to the stairway. Neither course

would take him far enough from the spot where the bomb was due to strike. But The Shadow supplied a

All eyes were toward the scaling cylinder. None saw Cranston's hand whip upward from the coattail pocket

of his full dress suit. There was a gun in that quick fist, and The Shadow pressed the trigger of the big

The roar from the .45 sounded like an explosion from the bomb, for the bullet met the cylindrical object at the

highest point of its flight: near the ceiling at the very center of the large grillroom.

From the smashing cylinder came a fountain of greenish liquid, that turned instantly into a spray of thickish

vapor. Through that cloud, which filled the center of the room, it was impossible for the men at the table to

In fact, they did not wait to look for him through the greenish haze. Cardona was shoving Weston with one

hand, dragging Shawnwood with the other, getting them through the door to the kitchen. The Shadow, full

about, was bounding quickly up the stairway, dropping his automatic into his coattail pocket as he went.

All were beyond the range of the gas cloud. The greenish vapor settled rapidly, becoming nothing more than

dampness on the grillroom floor. Cardona, peering gingerly from the kitchen, sniffed the air and found it

As they returned to the grillroom, the three saw Lamont Cranston strolling down the stairs. He joined them

and was introduced to Shawnwood. While Weston was relating all that had happened, Shawnwood

"If that gas was deadly," he expressed, "it would have killed all of us myself and my friends this

afternoon! We were toying with the machine in my study a very small room, where none of us could have

"There is still a question," declared Weston, "as to whether or not the chemical compound formed a deadly

"The gas was deadly," came Cranston's calm reply. "So deadly, commissioner, that it actually took a victim.

He pointed to the parrot cage. Weston gaped. The greenhued bird was rigid in its cage, fixed to its perch. Its

beak was wide, frozen in the midst of an undelivered squawk. The bird's eyes were like solid bits of glass.

COMMISSIONER WESTON went to get his cane. Returning, he poked the cane tip through the cage wires.

Not only did the stick fail to budge the rigid parrot; the metal ferrule clicked when it struck the bird's wing.

"The parrot is more than dead!" voiced Weston, in an awed tone. "It is petrified; turned to a thing of stone! If

"The Cobalt Club would have had a human statue," interposed The Shadow, with a slight smile, "instead of a

petrified bird. It was very fortunate, commissioner, that the bomb exploded in midair and never reached the

"You were lucky, too," he told the bearded man. "If you and your friends had kept on tinkering with that

Gesturing to the corner table. The Shadow coolly suggested that they have dinner while they talked over the

mystery. All during the meal they kept up a steady discussion, but arrived nowhere.

Whether the death machine had come from the missing chemist, Isaac Loman, or from his socalled

representative, was still an open question. There was the possibility, as Weston suggested, that some third

The point that all seemed to overlook, was the fact that doom could have originally been intended not for

Cyrus Shawnwood, but for Lamont Cranston. Only The Shadow held that theory, and he did not express it.

The last to leave the grillroom. The Shadow picked up a piece of paper that had fluttered to the floor. It was

Weston's list of words, all formed from the same letters on the spinning wheels. At the bottom was the word

that the machine had registered just before it had cracked apart and flung the whirling bombshell.

Transposing the letters, The Shadow made his addition to the list; but he inscribed a name, not a word. It was

Danger and R. G. Dean: the two were the same, so far as The Shadow was concerned. From this time on, The

Shadow's own ways could have to be as fully camouflaged as those of the supercrook that he sought to foil.

LAMONT CRANSTON did not return to his New Jersey home that night. Instead, he stopped off at Newark

Airport and took a plane bound for Miami. Next morning, the newspapers announced that Cranston had gone

That story was arranged by Burbank, the contact man, in accordance with orders that The Shadow gave him

over the telephone before leaving Newark. Actually, Burbank knew that The Shadow would return within a

In view of his various experiences, The Shadow had decided that this was one campaign wherein direct

tactics would not work; at least, not until after he had made further progress. He was dealing with a very

crafty enemy, whose chief ability lay in creating blind trails and using his hirelings as decoys.

It was highly probable that none of the men who had tried to assassinate The Shadow had any idea who their

evil chief really was. Even the man who had delivered the death machine to Shawnwood was probably in the

dark. There would be no advantage in meeting up with human tools who could testify only that they worked

It would be a blind quest, and during it there was always the chance that one of Dean's death devices would

succeed. Even The Shadow, intrepid though he was, considered it mere folly to risk his neck for nothing.

Besides, he felt a responsibility for innocent bystanders. The Shadow rather regretted the loss of the talkative

For the present, The Shadow's agents were better placed than himself, when it came to ferreting out facts

regarding R. G. Dean. The fact that The Shadow had been identified as Cranston, was a very good reason for

him to leave town. It would give crooks the impression that they were unwatched.

The newspapers did not heavily stress the matter of Cranston's departure. Globetrotting was his hobby; he

frequently made excursions to places like the Amazon jungle. Moreover, no one supposed that the death

From the facts that were given to the newspapers, it seemed that Cyrus Shawnwood was the man endangered.

The police were looking for a crazed inventor named Isaac Loman, supposedly the master hand behind the

death plot. Nor did anyone connect the matter of the death machine with tragedy at the ChemLab Co., only

That was past history, much to the relish of Eugene Bristow, the ChemLab president.

PRESENT attention was centered upon Cyrus Shawnwood. His threestory brownstone house was under

police protection. A crowd of reporters went to see him, the morning after the neartragedy at the Cobalt

Club, and he showed them the little study where he had first tinkered with the death machine, in the presence

Photographs of the little room appeared in the evening newspapers, together with Shawnwood's statements.

Other pictures showed officers on duty in front of the brownstone mansion, and a few cameramen took shots

Among the scribes who visited Shawnwood was Clyde Burke, who worked for the New York Classic. He not

only made a carbon copy of all the notes he took, he also obtained a complete set of photographs, including a

distant picture of Shawnwood's highfronted mansion, and sent the duplicate material to an investment and

Both Clyde Burke and Mann were agents of The Shadow. Between them, they were seeing to it that their

chief received full details. At present, there was only one person, other than Lamont Cranston, who might

logically be considered as listed for death. The man in question was Cyrus Shawnwood.

By his own admission, Shawnwood had ignored the demands of a master criminal. True, he was under police

protection, and his persecutor was supposed to be a crazy inventor who could be handled easily, if he ever

came from hiding. But The Shadow's agents, like their chief, knew that the missing Isaac Loman might be

Some mighty plotter, a man of chemical as well as criminal ability, was seeking wealth and power. Even the

name that he used R. G. Dean was one that he could drop forever, if he encountered complications. The

shakedown of the ChemLab Co., the threat directed against Shawnwood, were merely preliminary events in

Those very thoughts occurred to Ralph Atgood when he read the evening newspaper in the living room of his

little apartment. Ralph's notions were somewhat hazy, for he still felt that he was indebted to R. G. Dean; but

Weighing many factors, Ralph decided that they did not balance. Things that he had previously regarded as

accidental, such as the fire at the ChemLab plant, began to take on an ominous meaning when linked to last

If the police wanted Isaac Loman, they would also want Ralph Atgood, should they learn that he had

It suddenly struck Ralph that his story, frankly told, might get a hearing. Ready and willing to confess his part

to the police, he reached for the telephone. He had the receiver off the hook and was dialing the operator,

"HELLO, Atgood!" purred the sleek man. "Go right ahead. Don't let me interrupt you."

Glenny exhibited a key in the palm of his hand. Ralph recognized it as a passkey that fitted all the apartments

"The janitor gave it to me," said Glenny. "He's a friend of mine. I have a great many friends, Atgood. I'd like

Seated in a large armchair, Glenny gave a sad smile, as though the implication hurt him. Then:

"You're all wrong, Atgood," he said, solemnly. "But I don't feel angry. You are honest, and that is what really

counts. I know you're worried and I want you to tell me why. Ask all the questions that you want, and I'll

The proposition was fair enough to suit Ralph. He asked first about the trouble at the ChemLab Co.

"Thurver?" Glenny seemed shocked. "Why, he's the finest fellow in the world! You know that letter I gave

"It contained a letter from Mr. Dean," glibbed Glenny, "telling him that the ChemLab formula was

dangerous, that it should not be used. Thurver did his best to prevent what happened, but Bristow, the

There was cunning logic to Glenny's explanation, considering the criticism that Bristow had received from

the newspapers. Half convinced that Glenny was right Ralph shot another question:

"What about the package that I delivered to Ray Parringer? It came from the ChemLab plant didn't it?"

"Of course!" returned Glenny. "Thurver sent it, at Mr. Dean's request. It was an improved formula, not as

"Because Bristow was insisting that Parringer work with the original. He didn't care what happened to

Parringer; all he wanted to do was save money. There was a note in the package that you delivered to

Parringer, warning him that the old formula was dangerous. But Parringer evidently did not heed it."

Again, Glenny had completely reversed the facts very smoothly and logically. Ralph felt himself mistaken

"Yesterday," said Ralph, slowly, "I delivered a package to Cyrus Shawnwood. It contained a death machine

"So it did," interposed Glenny soberly. "But you certainly cannot think that Mr. Dean or I knew what the

"It came originally from Isaac Loman," corrected Glenny. "You'd better read those newspapers that I see on

the table. Listen, Atgood: do you remember what I told you the first time we met? How Mr. Dean is often

"Isaac Loman is one of them," stated Glenny, "but we didn't know it. We thought that the package contained

a model of the machine that he designed for his motorfuel process; that he was sending it to Shawnwood for

Glenny's story sounded reasonable. Ralph decided to ask one question more. He wanted to know why Mr.

Dean was demanding such large sums from persons like Bristow and Shawnwood. It happened that Ralph

had deposited Bristow's hundred thousand dollars in various banks, the sum having been sent in small checks,

"The ChemLab Co. needed that new formula," declared Glenny. "It was worth what they paid for it. As for

Shawnwood, he fleeced Loman, buying that fuel process for twenty thousand dollars. That's why Loman

became vengeful. The thing preyed on his mind. As I told you before, Atgood, Mr. Dean has only one

Ralph didn't catch the double meaning to Glenny's final remark. His conscience cleared. Ralph thrust forth his

hand and Glenny received it in a warm grip. Turning to the telephone, Ralph called Alicia Weylan and

Behind Ralph's back, Frederick Glenny was indulging in a smile. He knew that his visit had been timely and

worth while. Though Ralph Atgood was behind the scenes where he could see crime in the raw he was still a

Frederick Glenny could picture new uses for Ralph Atgood in the very near future.

THREE days later, The Shadow was back in New York. He had gone to Havana from Miami, and had stayed

there long enough to ship a nice assortment of parrots and macaws to the Cobalt Club, as ornaments for the

Then, on the day when Lamont Cranston had ostensibly boarded a plane for South America, The Shadow had

His stay in Cuba had been by no means uneventful. The Shadow had run into several street brawls, and twice

bombs had exploded in his hotel. The first blast took place in the lobby, just after The Shadow had left it. The

On the latter occasion, The Shadow had time to yank a sleepyeyed elevator operator to safety just before the

car was wrecked. Both explosions were attributed to the activities of some revolutionary faction, of which

there were many in Havana. No one, except The Shadow himself, blamed the incidents on the fact that

Evidently the elusive supercrook who called himself R. G. Dean, was pulling the proper strings from New

York. He was also spending a lump of his illgotten funds, bribing the Cuban troublemakers to go after

Cranston. But such payments made very little dent on the coffers of R. G. Dean Co., as The Shadow learned

During their chief's absence, The Shadow's agents had been busy and had gotten good results. Three of them

One worker was Rutledge Mann. As an insurance and investment broker, he was able to feel the pulse of

many important chemical corporations. The second was Clyde Burke; the reporter followed the leads that

Mann gave him. The third was Harry Vincent; properly tipped off by Clyde, he made the acquaintance of the

proper key men in those business concerns and learned further facts from them in their offguard moments,

which usually came around three o'clock in the morning, while they were at Manhattan night clubs.

It was quite apparent that R. G. Dean was twisting the Achilles heel of the entire chemical industry. He was

not loosing murder, as he had done in the ChemLab case, but that was simply because he did not find it

New facts had eluded the law because the law did not interfere in legitimate business transactions, the sort of

thing in which the Dean combination specialized. As instances, the master crook was shaking down a huge

dye corporation, a twentyfivemilliondollar outfit, by the simple expedient of threatening to put a cheaper

He had tied up the business of a waxproducts company, another big concern, by cutting off their supply of a

Again, R. G. Dean was the gentleman who advised the Sololight Corporation that they would be wise to use a

newly developed chemical compound in place of phosphorous, because the latter was too dangerous a

It happened that Sololight was using a harmless brand of phosphorous; nevertheless, the company had to

listen to the argument. They knew that if a whispering campaign began, denouncing their product as

ALL these companies were paying tribute in one way or another to R. G. Dean, and could actually do nothing

The fact that Dean's prices were always multiplied by ten did not make his deals illegal. Furthermore, they

The letters they received came from different cities, instructing them to send checks promptly to other towns,

as specified. All such checks went through different banks, never the same one twice. In fact, R. G. Dean

seemed to be somewhat of a myth, except that he always cashed his checks. Finding him was about as easy as

Behind all this lay hidden factors. Frederick Glenny was handling the Dean correspondence, performing that

duty while on the move. Instead of mailing checks into the old office, he sent them directly to Ralph Atgood's

In his turn, Ralph, the dupe, was opening new bank accounts in the name of R. G. Dean, and closing old ones,

It was a firstclass arrangement, that kept the crooked game several jumps ahead of anyone who might try to

trace it, and the racket was bringing in thousands of dollars daily. During the week that followed, new

concerns were drawn into the vortex, always too late for The Shadow to block the swindle.

Through other agents besides the three who were reporting on the financial situation, The Shadow was

checking on the underworld to see if R. G. Dean had a strongarm crew in readiness. The Shadow had not

forgotten his hectic battle with three armed fighters in a sedan, that night when he had crawled from the

But neither Cliff Marsland, the agent who buddied with bigshots in the underworld, nor Hawkeye, the crafty

spotter who could trail anything larger than a flea, were able to supply The Shadow with an ounce of

information. The Deanowned mobbies, whoever they were, had extremely fine talent at staying under cover.

Meanwhile, police were still guarding Cyrus Shawnwood and hunting for Isaac Loman. They were managing

to protect Shawnwood well enough, but finding Loman was another matter. It was almost as bad as looking

for an invisible needle in an imaginary haystack, according to the reports that reached The Shadow.

IT was the last night of a disappointing week, when The Shadow got the break that he had been positive

would come. He was in his sanctum, going over stacks of reports and clippings supplied by Rutledge Mann,

Carter J. Weylan, manufacturer of a patent medicine called Renovo, had postponed an expansion program

which his company had announced only a few days before. Patent medicines came under the general head of

chemical products, and while there was no indication that Weylan had been victimized, the case indicated

On The Shadow's table, apart from the data supplied by Rutledge Mann, lay an engraved invitation that had

been mailed to Lamont Cranston, requesting his presence to a farewell party being given for Weylan's

daughter, Alicia, who was leaving on a Mediterranean cruise. The party was scheduled for tonight.

In fact, the party had already begun, but that did not matter. Checking on a clipping from a society page that

accompanied a report from Harry Vincent, The Shadow noted that his most capable agent was a guest at the

In making the rounds of the night clubs, Harry had become acquainted with members of the set that included

Alicia Weylan. Rather than lose such contacts, he had accepted the invitation to the Weylan party.

Specifically, The Shadow was interested in matters that concerned Carter J. Weylan, rather than the farewell

party. But the latter was a sure wedge by which Weylan could be reached. Properly pumped, by someone as

important as Lamont Cranston, the millionaire manufacturer might unfold a tale of woe regarding R. G. Dean

This, of all nights, was the right one for Lamont Cranston to make a surprise reappearance, explaining that he

had called off his trip to the Amazon country. The Shadow promptly decided upon such a course.

The only hitch was the fact that Weylan's house was quite a distance out on Long Island, though within the

limits of New York City. The minutes that The Shadow would require in getting there might prove of vital

importance. It was fortunate, therefore that Harry Vincent was already at the Weylan home. He could

Reaching for the earphones, The Shadow spoke to Burbank and instructed him to contact Harry. A few

moments later, The Shadow's fingers plucked a switch that extinguished the bluish glow which filled the

sanctum. From the thick blackness that followed came the tone of a whispered laugh, sinister and prophetic.

The Shadow's period of inactivity was ended. He was on the move again. The situation was the sort that

promised real results. The Shadow was seldom wrong when he played a hunch like this. Tonight, The

Shadow hoped for a solid trail that would lead him to the supercrook who masqueraded under the title of R.

One fact, perhaps, had been forgotten by The Shadow. To everyone, The Shadow included, the manufactured

UNTIL the telephone call came from Burbank, Harry Vincent was only slightly interested in the evening

party at the home of Carter J. Weylan. Though it was quite a fashionable affair, Harry considered it to be a

mere waste of time that he could otherwise have spent with persons who might offer chance clues to crime.

The word that Burbank relayed from The Shadow promptly changed the situation. Immediately, Harry began

to look for suspicious characters in the Weylan homestead, hoping that he would spot some. But the scene

There were some twenty guests at the place with men slightly in the majority. Harry knew all of them, and

they constituted an exclusive crowd. Alicia Weylan was very popular; and she was one young lady who

avoided fortune hunters. Her friends were blue bloods, men who came from old and solid families. In a brief

checkup of noses, Harry assured himself that there wasn't a phony in the entire lot.

One guest was not listed in the social register, but Harry automatically gave him a clean slate. He was a

young man named Ralph Atgood who was supposed to be engaged to Alicia Weylan. Ralph wasn't wealthy,

as the other guests were reputed to be, but everyone liked him and spoke well of him.

Harry had met Ralph previously and had sized him up as a good sort. The chap had a certain sincerity that

was a recommendation in itself. Furthermore, he stood high in the estimation of Alicia's father. Harry had

seen Ralph chatting with Carter Weylan earlier in the evening, and there was every indication that Weylan

That, in itself, gave Ralph a high rating. If any man had a right to brag about his ability at judging human

The patentmedicine king owed his success to his policy of always picking the right people as his friends and

business associates. Weylan was not only friendly toward Ralph; he had offered the young man a job and a

good one. Ralph, so Harry had learned, had declined the offer for the present, which indicated that he was

Just by way of checkup, Harry stepped over to chat with Montague Fitzcroft, the most aristocratic of the

A polo player and steeplechase rider, Fitzcroft was lounging in a corner of the Weylan ballroom, looking

rather bored as he watched half a dozen couples dancing to the music of a sevenpiece orchestra.

Fitzcroft puffed his cigarette through a long holder, drew the latter from his lips and inquired in a drawly, but

"The announcement of the engagement," replied Harry, "between Alicia and this chap Atgood. I thought it

"Not yet," returned Fitzcroft. "Percy Caulden was asking Alicia about it this evening. They were childhood

sweethearts you know Percy and Alicia. She told Percy that the engagement would not be announced until

Harry looked toward the dance floor. Ralph was dancing with Alicia, and they made a very handsome pair:

Ralph seriousfaced and wellgroomed, from his evening clothes to his light curly hair; Alicia a dreamy

"A likable chap, Atgood," remarked Harry. "Where did Alicia meet him at Palm Beach?

"No, here in town," replied Fitzcroft, supplying a fresh cigarette to his elongated holder. "He's not in the set,

"He's the junior partner in a large printing concern," replied Fitzcroft, repeating what he had heard a month

before the last polo matches. "That's why Carter Weylan thinks so much of him. The old gentleman likes

Satisfied that Ralph came up to specifications, Harry strolled away to look over some of the Weylan servants.

He soon decided that they were old family retainers who had been chosen because of honesty and merit by

It began to look as though everything was perfect in the Weylan household, when Harry walked squarely into

Harry had circled from the ballroom through a short hallway that offered a roundabout route to an inclosed

veranda, when he neared a short side passage. From beyond a door that stood a trifle ajar, Harry could hear

Stepping into the little passage, Harry came close enough to hear what the speakers said. He was also able to

The room was Weylan's den; the parentmedicine king was seated beyond a small table, talking to a very

scrawny, stoopshouldered man who perched on the edge of his chair grinning with big teeth at everything

Indignation was plain on Weylan's large, strongjawed features. His dark eyes, set below bushy brows, were

"I'VE heard about your company, Gruble," stormed Weylan. "I wouldn't give you thirty cents for all the stock

you've got! So you're the great Glade Gruble, inventor of Gruble's Health Tonic. Bah! What is the stuff, but a

"It has special ingredients," returned Gruble. "I told you that before, Mr. Weylan."

"Yes, and so did a fellow who called himself Dean," returned Weylan, "when he called me up a while ago.

He said I ought to buy your fifthrate concoction for the price you asked, a quarter million dollars.

"The only thing that impressed me" Weylan thwacked a big hand on the table "was Dean's claim that the

price would be doubled if I didn't buy right away. That's why I consented to talk to you."

Gruble nodded. Leaning back in his chair, he tightened his grin, cocked his head and asked shrewdly:

"What about the money? Do you have it here? You will remember that I said I would give the details of the

"In case I wanted to buy," nodded Weylan. "Yes, Gruble, I brought the quarter million, in cash and negotiable

He brought bundles of currency and bonds from a table drawer, stacked them into two big piles. He let

Gruble get a good look at the stacks, then planked one hand upon them. Weylan's other fist was big enough to

Scrawnyface shot a look toward the door of the den. He did not notice that it was ajar, for the doorway was

"To begin with," Gruble told Weylan, in a cackly tone, "you manufacture a patent medicine called Renovo."

"And a very good medicine," assured Weylan. "Nothing like that licorice tonic of yours, Gruble!"

"I happen to know what goes into Renovo," said Gruble, "and it has one important ingredient that will mix

"Mix the two together," returned Gruble, "in equal proportions and you will have dope, Mr. Weylan! Not a

very good brand of dope, but people won't be particular, because they will get it cheap.

"Once the fact becomes known, dope addicts will give up smoking marijuana and go after stronger narcotics.

Every drugstore in the country will be supplying them with a liquid opiate that will soothe them and give

WEYLAN was on his feet, shaking one fist while he kept the other hand clamped upon his precious stacks of

"I'll have your health tonic banned!" he blurted. "There won't be a bottle of it sold anywhere in the United

"Nor a bottle of Renovo," added Gruble, wisely. "Your idea can work two ways, Mr. Weylan."

Slowly, Weylan subsided. From his chair he put both hands upon the bundles and started to push them toward

Gruble. The scrawny man was bringing out contracts ready for Weylan to sign, as a completion of the deal.

Gruble's signature was already on the documents, And then, suddenly, Weylan remarked:

"Of course!" chuckled the scrawny tool. "I figured you had guessed that already."

"Right again! But you'll never find out who he really is. Only a few people know. I happen to be one of them,

As he spoke, Weylan drew back his stacks of money and securities. He waved away the papers that Gruble

was about to hand him. Pointing to a picture just above the table, Weylan commented:

"There's a microphone behind there, Gruble. It's wired to a room upstairs. Inspector Cardona, of the New

York police, is up there. So is a Federal agent named Vic Marquette. They have other witnesses, including a

"You'll talk about Dean, Gruble, because you have already talked yourself into a blackmail charge! That

Weylan was reaching into the table drawer for a gun. Before he could get it, Gruble gave a snarl and sprang

from his chair, drawing a revolver of his own. He was leaping sideways toward the door, to be out of

Aiming as he went, Gruble was all set to deliver quick murder. Harry Vincent was the man who blocked it,

with a long dive into the den. He bowled Gruble to the floor; as the scrawny man frantically tugged the gun

With a pleased shout, Carter Weylan hurried forward to help Harry suppress the straggling crook. At that

CRIME wasn't through for the night. It had just begun. When darkness blanketed Weylan's study, Harry

The scrawny man knew it, too, for he gave a frenzied wriggle that carried him from Harry's clutch. Gruble's

gun hit the floor for Harry heard it thud. But Harry was anxious to stop the fellow's getaway, and so was

In fact, Weylan was ahead of Harry when they started after Gruble in the pitchdarkness, for Harry had

stumbled over the crook's gun and paused to pick it up. Their chances of overtaking Gruble were large,

The window of the den was shattered with a terrific smash. Men with flashlights bounded through, their faces

masked with handkerchiefs. Weylan gave a yell as he saw one of them grab for the money and the bonds. He

Again Harry made a flying tackle. This time, Weylan was his target. He bowled the millionaire to the floor,

just as guns began to blast. Those bullets whined above the level where Harry and Weylan lay sprawled.

More flashlights appeared, from the passage outside the door. Shoving Weylan behind a table that kept him

clear of the fire from the window, Harry began to shoot at the new invaders. They dropped back before he

The revolver failed to fire. Harry had forgotten the few shots that Gruble had fired before his flight. But the

mobsters who had invaded Weylan's den were on their way. Those who had smashed through the window left

Turning back, Harry found Weylan at the table where the millionaire had talked with Gruble. His revolver in

one hand, Weylan was snapping a cigar lighter with the other. A flame appeared; it showed the table blank!

Armed thugs had grabbed the quarter million dollars that Gruble had been too frantic to take. With a groan,

Carter Weylan sagged into his big chair. Recognizing Harry as a friend, he let The Shadow's agent pluck the

"Stay here," Harry told him. "I'll go after them. You're safe, since they got what they came for."

USING the window as his exit, Harry leaped out upon a darkened lawn, where the spurts of guns provided a

Crooks were shooting at an upstairs window, where Cardona, Marquette and others were firing back. The

invasion of the den had been too sudden for the men of the law to get downstairs. With flashlights, they had

seen Gruble coming from a side door; then the fire of the protecting mob had forced the men upstairs to drop

There was battle on the lawn, however. It was provided by the guests at Alicia's party. Sportsmen all, those

active young blades had accepted crime's challenge. From along the side lawn, Harry could hear the cultured

An automobile, swinging in from the driveway, threw its headlights toward the house wall. It showed one

man in evening clothes, who shouted: "Cheerio!" and grabbed up a revolver that he saw lying on the grass.

The glare revealed another of the house guests staggering back from a corner of the mansion, where a

crouched opponent was diving from sight. In his hand, the society man held a handkerchief mask that he had

Then the lights revealed Gruble darting catercornered across the lawn, There were cries of "Tallyho!" as men

in mussedup evening clothes started after the scrawny crook. A few were using captured revolvers, but not

Weylan's guests were better hands at shooting quail and deer than they were at bagging human quarry.

Accustomed to shotguns and rifles, they didn't seem to have the touch required with pistols.

There was another fighter, however, who was entering the chase, which by this time was too far advanced for

Harry Vincent to get into it. The new man in the game was dressed in evening clothes, the required uniform

He could have worn a slouch hat and a black cloak, had he chosen, but he left those garments behind him,

under the seat of his limousine. It was The Shadow's big car that had rolled into the driveway. As Lamont

Cranston, he was leaping out, armed with a handy automatic, to cut off Gruble's flight.

The blackmailer was away from the glow of the headlights, but his destination was an obvious one. He was

making for an opening in the hedge, which The Shadow had seen and was able to find for himself.

Ahead of the other welldressed pursuers, The Shadow went through that gap a few seconds after Gruble. He

saw the scrawny man yank open the door of a waiting sedan that was parked with dim lights, its motor

There was a huddled figure in the driver's seat; for that reason, The Shadow dodged around the back of the

car and came in from the door on the other side. As he did, others arrived, and they were not merely pursuers.

Revolvers began to blast; The Shadow could hear raucous shouts along with the sporting cries of Weylan's

Battle had started here about the car. Gruble, suddenly confronted by The Shadow coming in from the other

side, started out through his own door, screaming as he went. He had heard a fierce whisper in his ear; it was

GUNS roared. If their bullets were intended for The Shadow, they proved useless. They found Gruble

Men flung themselves into the rear of the sedan, slugging as they came. One lucky stroke glanced from the

side of The Shadow's head. Groggily, he slashed an automatic at his attacker. The man dived outward.

The car door slammed. The sedan was in motion, starting down the hill. The Shadow could hear yells behind

it; from their tone, the indications were that mobsters had scattered, leaving the field to Weylan's polished

The Shadow repressed a low laugh, as he blinked his flashlight along the floor of the car.

In the thick darkness under overhanging trees in back of the hedge, it had been impossible to tell friend from

foe, except by the actions of the various fighters. Even those deeds had been a poor index, for mistakes were

The Shadow, however, had managed a neat piece of strategy. Instead of remaining in the middle of a useless

brawl, he had managed to get into this car, which was speeding down the slope carrying away a very

Flicking his flashlight on Gruble's toothy mouth, The Shadow saw that the scrawny man was dead. His

flattened pockets, outspread coat, showed that he carried nothing on him. Though The Shadow had not yet

learned Gruble's identity, he classed him as an important cog in the crime machine.

Possibly Gruble's usefulness had ended tonight. Those shots that had killed him might have been ordered by

the master criminal. Whatever the present schemes of R. G. Dean Co., there was one man close at hand who

The Shadow was thinking of the driver who was operating this rapidly moving car.

Rising, The Shadow pushed his automatic over the top of the front seat. He wondered, momentarily, why the

driver had not turned on the bright lights; for the lane, though straight and rutted, was quite steep and showed

The question was answered when The Shadow pressed his gun point against what seemed to be the driver's

neck. A highcollar coat slumped downward, a shabby felt hat rolled to the floor. The car was driverless; the

figure at the wheel was nothing but a dummy, that fell apart under pressure of The Shadow's gun!

Some crook had released the hand brake, to let the sedan roll down hill under its own momentum. It wasn't in

gear, it was in neutral. This car was slated for destruction, and Gruble whether alive or head was suppose

to go with it. The same applied to any chance passenger who might have joined Gruble for the ride.

The Shadow was such a passenger. By the dashlight, he saw the object that had propped up the fake driver. It

was a thing shaped like a big pineapple. Still keeping to the deep ruts of the straight lane, the sedan was doing

close to forty, and ahead, something gray was looming into the dull glare of the dim lights!

HEADLONG, The Shadow dove across the car. His hand, shooting ahead of him, slashed the door handle

downward with a single sweep. As on a previous night, The Shadow took a reckless, breakneck dive out into

Shoulder first, The Shadow hit the ground beside the lane, rolled over three times and bumped his head

against a chunk of rock. With that forceful blow came a fierce blast of light, a huge roar that seemed to burst

Those were not illusions, caused by the thump that knocked The Shadow senseless. The swaying sedan had

reached the end of the lane, only thirty yards ahead. The gray mass that it struck was a stone wall. The crash

The blast was the explosion of a huge bomb, that ripped the halted car to shreds, dismembering Gruble's body

and destroying all traces of the dummy figure at the wheel. Another of the death devices designed by R. G.

More narrowly than ever before, The Shadow had escaped the fate that the master crook had so often tried to

THREE men reached the stretch where The Shadow lay unconscious. One was Harry Vincent; with him were

Joe Cardona and Vic Marquette, the Fed. It was Cardona who spoke the identity of the welldressed fighter,

"Lamont Cranston!" he exclaimed. "I thought he'd gone to South America! Say the commissioner will be

upset when he hears about this. Unless" Cardona did not intend his afterthought to be humorous "unless

the commissioner is still sore about Cranston shipping all those squawking birds to the club."

"He took it on the shoulder, though," observed Marquette. "It looks like it was dislocated. We'd better get him

Some of the house guests had arrived. Cardona detailed them to carry Cranston up to the mansion. Harry

Vincent guided them with a flashlight, keeping close watch to see that no one jarred the injured shoulder.

Near the head of the lane, they found a waiting limousine. It was Cranston's car, Stanley, the chauffeur, had

driven it across the lawn and through the hedge. They put The Shadow into the rear seat, and two of the

It was Harry who spoke later to the chauffeur, just as Stanley was about to drive away. Harry undertoned the

Stanley nodded. He wasn't one of The Shadow's agents, but he knew Harry to be a close friend of Cranston.

Furthermore, Stanley was familiar with some of Cranston's eccentricities. He knew that his employer had a

habit of poking into strange and troublesome places; that when he needed a physician's services he always

Thus, with Stanley's assistance, Harry had seen to it that The Shadow would not meet with any new

It was quite clear to Harry that the bombladen sedan had been partly a trap for The Shadow, should he

appear upon the scene tonight. The big brain who had baited that snare would certainly make allowance for

If so, the Long Island hospital would be watched, in case Lamont Cranston happened to be sent there. Any

The master crook's mobbies had demonstrated that they were clever. Not only had they grabbed Weylan's pile

of wealth; to a man, the tribe had vanished after the running fight from the house to the hedge.

In battling the thugs, Weylan's guests had taken some trophies in the way of handkerchief masks, flashlights

and guns. By picking up lost revolvers, they had been able to continue the pursuit, harrying the mobbies all

Crooks had made a complete getaway in the blackness. A complete search of the grounds around Weylan's

house failed to reveal any hiding of crippled thugs who might have been deserted by their scattering pals. Nor

was there any trace of a single dollar or bond that had belonged to Carter Weylan.

RETURNING from an inspection of the blasted car, Cardona and Marquette joined in the fruitless search for

men and money. It was Cardona who expressed the opinion that the swag might have been in the sedan with

Gruble; but Marquette thought it unlikely, for he felt that they would have found some traces of it.

Carter Weylan took his loss philosophically, on the ground that he would no longer have the money if he had

paid it over to Gruble, the agent for R. G. Dean. He felt that he had exposed the master crook's racket, and

While police and servants searched the house, on the chance that the bundles had been stowed there by the

hurried crooks, Weylan went around congratulating the party guests, thanking them for the timely aid that

Such chaps as Fitzcroft and Caulden were nursing scratches, black eyes, and swollen jaws, while a few had

received minor flesh wounds that needed attention. But there had been no serious casualties among them.

Weylan was particularly anxious to learn who had rescued him from murder at the hands of Gruble, but no

one took credit for the deed. Harry Vincent felt it good policy to minimize the part that he had played in

Harry was still worried over the matter of the vanished mob; he felt that a few lurkers might still be dodging

around Weylan's spacious premises. Some might even be bold enough to eavesdrop near the house, in which

Among those who received Weylan's congratulations was Ralph Atgood. He was using Harry's policy of

keeping silent, for two reasons. First, Ralph was learning things that utterly destroyed his confidence in the

beneficent Mr. Dean; again, he had played no part in the fray wherein the other guests had routed the

Ralph had been dancing with Alicia when the lights went out. They were the only couple on the floor, for the

dance had just begun. Thinking the thing a joke, they had kept on dancing, until gunfire alarmed them. By

He felt very conspicuous in his unmussed evening clothes, while most of the other guests were smoothing

grassstained coat lapels and pinning up torn swallowtails. Alicia seemed to understand Ralph's thoughts, for

"I was to blame," she said. "The others were out on the veranda, or strolling somewhere, when the trouble

"I'd like to have gotten into it," returned Ralph, grimly. "Somebody should have been able to recover a part of

"Dad will get it back," assured Alicia. "The police have searched the house, but they are out looking through

Alicia's hope was shortlived, for Cardona and Marquette soon returned, stating that the cars had been

inspected and that no cash had been found. They said that the guests were free to leave, so the party began to

"I'm going on board the boat tonight," said the girl. "Dad thinks it would be best. So you can drive me to the

RALPH was quite pleased by the opportunity. Alicia had the servants carry her luggage out to his coupe.

Most of the guests were waiting to say goodby to Alicia; some of them helped the servants put the trunk and

Harry Vincent arrived from the house just as Ralph's car pulled away. Since the rest of the guests were

departing, Harry decided that it was time for him to leave. He had many details that he wanted to report to

Riding into Manhattan, Ralph was discussing that perplexing subject with Alicia.

"From the lists your father had," he told the girl, "the cash and the bonds would have made a stack a foot and

"I know you trust the servants," said Ralph. "but I was looking them over, just the same, to see if their

pockets bulged. They didn't. They were as smoothfitting as the dress suits that the rest of us were wearing."

"Not quite so rumpled, though," laughed Alicia. "Did you see Percy Caulden? He looked as if he had been

Ralph dropped the subject immediately, remembering that his clothes were the only ones that had not been

partly ruined. They reached the pier and he said goodby to Alicia at the gangplank, then started to drive

Wondering what to do about the Dean question, Ralph decided to wait until the morning, in the hope that

Weylan's lost wealth might be recovered. He became a bit shaky at the thought that some shift of chance

Then came the satisfying thought that he had been treated like the other guests, had been accepted as equally

honest. He was glad that the police had searched his car, along with the others that had been standing out

Perhaps, as matters stood, Ralph would be able to learn more about the Dean organization and therefore

Leaving the car in front of the apartment house, Ralph bundled up a light topcoat that lay on the shelf behind

the seat. He hadn't worn the coat tonight because the weather was too warm. From the way it had been

mussed, he decided that the detectives must have looked through it while searching the car.

It was not until he entered his apartment that Ralph began to realize how heavy the coat was. Shaking it, he

found that the pockets were weighted. Looking for the reason, Ralph fished in a pocket; his fingers felt the

He was right. Weylan's pile of wealth made a big bundle, even when divided into three packets, two in the

side pockets of the coat, the third in the inside pocket. Ralph's topcoat was literally stuffed with cash and

Ralph Atgood stifled a groan. Confronted by new mystery, he realized that he was deeper in crime than he

RALPH ATGOOD had long ago conceded that his true story, if told to the police, would be considered

flimsy. He had thought, at times, of confiding it to some person who would not doubt his sincerity, such as

Carter Weylan. In fact while chatting with Alicia's father earlier this evening, Ralph had felt that Weylan

He had decided to wait until after Alicia's party was over, and therewith had made a great mistake. He

realized, too late, that if he had told Weylan about the Dean business before Gruble's arrival, it would have

helped. But crime's new stroke, delivered in Weylan's own home, had changed all that.

Right at present, Ralph's first course would be to visit Weylan and return the stolen funds. Naturally, Weylan

would be glad to regain the quarter million, but he would want to know how Ralph had recovered it. That was

Even Ralph, present possessor of the missing wealth, was unable to guess how it had reached his car. The

quick disappearance of the mob that had invaded Weylan's house was a trivial mystery compared to this one.

The crooks could have been lucky enough to scatter and get to cars hidden some distance from Weylan's

estate. But how, or why, any of them would have doubled back, to plant the boodle in Ralph's coupe, was

Maybe Weylan and the police would not consider it such. They might jump to the simple idea that Ralph was

more than a dupe; that he was an important cog in the Dean organization. They would presume that Ralph,

thinking the swag too hot, was trying to ease himself out of the game by restoring the funds and pretending

They would want to know a lot about R. G. Dean, and when Ralph failed to tell it they would discredit his

dupe story altogether. Thinking that prospect over, Ralph could picture himself undergoing a grilling at the

They'd give him a goingover, until he cracked. But Ralph had often wondered what happened to chaps who

Mopping the sweat from his forehead, Ralph wished that he was actually guilty, instead of innocent. Then, at

least, he could give himself up, tell all, and take his proper punishment without going through an undeserved

Sight of the valuable bundles belonging to Weylan brought Ralph back to his original idea: that of returning

the money to its owner as soon as possible. Out of a new flood of hopeless ideas came one that struck him

She would believe whatever Ralph told her. If he talked to her, and gave her the recovered funds, she would

willingly return the property to her father. She was the sort, too, who would never tell where the recovered

wealth had come from, until Weylan had cooled enough to listen to a reasonable story. At least, Weylan

IT was easy enough to reach Alicia. The cruise ship had an extensive telephone system, connected with an

outside wire. Calling the pier, Ralph gave the number of Alicia's stateroom and received a sleepyvoiced

When he told the girl that he wanted to meet her, she replied that she had already undressed and gone to bed.

It was plain that she wondered why Ralph didn't tell her everything he wanted to say during this telephone

Ralph felt that he couldn't mention the money. He was afraid that Alicia would get excited and telephone her

father. He said that he would drive down to the pier, would be there by the time that she was dressed. So

Hardly had Ralph ended the phone call before a suave voice spoke behind him. He knew that voice, but had

supposed that Frederick Glenny was out of town. Turning, Ralph found the sleekhaired man covering him

"So you want to talk to your girl friend?" purred Glenny. "I don't think that would be a good idea, Atgood.

"Not at all!" Glenny picked up the telephone. "Weylan agreed to a deal, and then tried to welsh on it. That

Very deftly, Glenny was dialing a number, using his left hand. His right hand, gripping the telephone, also

"Don't forget," added Glenny, as he tucked the telephone receiver between his shoulder and his ear. "that you

are on our pay roll. It was a neat idea, wasn't it, putting the swag in your charge? Anyway, you're working for

A clicking sound interrupted from the telephone. Glenny began to talk, and Ralph knew that he was holding

conversation with his chief. But Glenny's voice was very low, his lips close to the mouthpiece. Ralph didn't

hear enough to know what Glenny was telling over the wire. When the call was finished, Ralph asked

"You'll find out," Glenny told him. "So just sit tight awhile. You'll hear the rest soon enough."

Ralph never suspected that Alicia was to learn the other half of the situation sooner than he did. Nor did the

QUITE tired out by the evening's excitement, Alicia did not relish the idea of getting dressed again. She had

changed her clothes after the party and had found it a lot of bother. She was rather piqued that she had

promised to meet Ralph at the pier entrance, until a bright idea occurred to her.

She didn't have to bother getting dressed. The nightie that she wore was a rather elaborate one, with a broad,

After sliding her feet into a pair of evening slippers, Alicia put on a light coat that had a fur collar, which she

Looking at herself in a fulllength mirror, she was quite pleased with the effect. She seemed fully attired,

except for stockings, and her lack of hosiery would not be noticeable under the dim lights of the pier.

Alicia spent a while fixing her hair and putting on some makeup. Then she strolled out to the deck, passed

While Alicia was waiting for Ralph's car to appear, an oldfashioned cab drew up beside her. The driver, a

blockybuilt man with squarish, bluntfeatured face, looked toward the girl as he alighted from the cab. He

"Mr. Atgood sent me," he said. "His car is broken down. He said to bring you to see him."

Alicia took two steps forward; then, in terrified suspicion, she turned about to run back toward the boat. The

fake taxi driver clamped a solid hand on her shoulder and twisted her toward the cab. With a quick wriggle of

her arms, Alicia slid completely out of her furcollared coat, leaving it in the man's hand.

Instead of screaming, she took the first route that offered. Alicia leaped into the cab intending to yank open

the door on the other side. She thought she would be safely away before the pretended cab driver could get

There was another man in the rear of the cab, a chunky individual who might have been the phony driver's

twin. With one hand, he caught the girl's throat, stifling the shriek that she at last attempted to give. With his

The blocky driver tossed the coat into the rear of the cab. His equally chunky pal draped it over the

nightgowned girl, who had slumped deep in the seat. Not a word passed between the pair as the driver took

his place behind the wheel. These mechanicalminded men were trained to treat all tasks as simple;

The ancient cab rolled away from the pier carrying Alicia Weylan to an unknown destination, where a master

FOR more than an hour, Ralph Atgood had been glumly waiting under the cover of a gun, wondering what

was going to happen next. He had begun to think that Frederick Glenny, with his smooth, indifferent manner,

Smacks across the jaw, or wallops from a rubber hose, would have been tame compared to this tormenting

period of silence. At intervals, Ralph was almost ready to jump the gun that covered him, not caring whether

Glenny wasn't entirely inactive. At times, he toyed with the swag that had come from Weylan's, hefting it

with one hand, while he kept the gun pointed with the other. At times, he would light a fresh cigarette with a

Ralph was free to smoke, which he did; but Glenny did not let him talk or leave his chair. A gesture of

Glenny's gun, the snap of the fellow's dark eyes, were the elements that always made Ralph subside when he

He knew that Glenny had overheard his talk with Alicia. Therefore Glenny, in his turn, knew that Ralph had

not mentioned his possession of the missing funds. On that account, Ralph reasoned, Alicia was in no danger

provided, of course, that she did not come here to the apartment when Ralph failed to meet her at the dock.

Ralph hoped that Alicia wouldn't come, and believed that he could bank on it. The idea of a meeting was his

own, and he hadn't overstressed it. If she called up, Glenny would probably give Ralph a chance to dissuade

her from leaving the ship, by saying that the matter was unimportant. That, Ralph finally decided, was why

In his confidence that Alicia would remain unharmed, Ralph managed to forget his own dilemma.

The prolonged period ended when the phone bell rang. Ralph had waited for that jangle so long, that he

started to spring from his chair. Glenny thrust him back with a shove of the gun muzzle.

"That won't be your girl friend," purred the crook. "She has given you up as a bad bet, long before this. Sit

Glenny was right. With the receiver tucked to his ear, he held a brief conversation, during which Ralph could

"You aren't so badly off, Atgood," he said. "The chief is willing to make allowances because you are new to

"Who else?" laughed Glenny. "Of course, that isn't his actual name, but I wouldn't advise you to ask him his

The way Glenny put the word like made it sound very much a command. Ralph nodded his willingness to call

The phrase repeated itself through Ralph's brain. Some of those minutes still remained. Maybe the best way

to use them would be to start a battle with Glenny. Ralph had thought of that off and on, but his concern for

Of course, there was merit in visiting R. G. Dean, whoever he might be, and finding out more about him. It

would help Ralph when he talked to the police as he still hoped to do sometime. But he questioned whether

Glenny actually intended to take him to see the bigshot. Maybe this little excursion was intended as a

"Call your garage," suggested Glenny. "Tell them to come over and get your car. It's been standing out front

Ralph made the call, thereby wasting another of his precious minutes. He looked inquiringly toward the door:

They were starting out from the apartment. Ralph first and this looked like the right time for a break. Ralph

knew that Glenny wouldn't leave a few hundred thousand dollars lying loose. He decided to start things as

Opening the apartment door, Ralph took one slow step toward the hall, then swung about. Glenny was at the

couch, hooking the stacks of currency and bonds under one arm. His gun was out of aim; with a savage lunge

Ralph made for the fellow. Glenny must have expected the move, for he dropped away but did not fire.

Then, as Ralph tried to sidestep the swinging muzzle of the gun, a pair of men pounced in from the hallway

and caught him, one from each side. His arms wrenched behind him. Ralph stared left and right at two

"The chief's main helpers," introduced Glenny, with a smirk. "They usually stay around his lab, but once in a

while he sends them out. All right" this was to the blockfaced pair "take him along!"

Going down in the automatic elevator, Ralph could feel the grip of powerful hands on each of his arms. On

the street, one man released him, to step into a cab, but Glenny took over duty on that side, with his gun. He

Between Glenny and one blocky captor Ralph was blindfolded, while the other fellow took the wheel. Then

began a twisty ride through so many streets that Ralph had no idea how far they traveled

He struck upon an idea, though, soon after the cab started. He began to count turns left or right, as the vehicle

made them. He wasn't trying to keep his sense of direction; he could figure out the points of the compass

The task was comparatively simple, for Ralph was used to keeping strings of figures in his head and had

something of a system that he used for it. He noticed that nearly all of the intervals were short ones, which

WHEN the cab stopped, Ralph was repeating the string of numbers to himself; they came mostly in ones and

twos. He found himself in a pitchblack alleyway, where his captors took him through a creaky doorway and

down a flight of steps. Then came what seemed a passage in a cellar, a fairly long one.

The walk ended at a blank wall, which Ralph could feel in the darkness. Glenny was feeling along that wail,

evidently seeking a hidden catch, for something clicked and Ralph was pushed into a darkened elevator. His

blindfold was off by this time, for Glenny had decided that the prisoner did not need it in the darkness.

As the elevator moved slowly, silently upward, Ralph heard Glenny's purred tone in his ear:

"Keep cool, Atgood. We're treating you all right. This is the way we bring everybody who comes to see the

How high the elevator traveled, Ralph was not sure, but he calculated it as about half a dozen floors. He had

fixed the numbers in his mind, for positive reference, by the time they reached the top.

The door slid back; Ralph found himself in a large rectangular room which was windowless and had a very

The whole place was pervaded by a greenish glow that gave the scene a ghoulish touch. All about were

oddshaped tanks, small vats, large beakers, coils of hollow glass tubes, and other items of chemical

Under Ralph's feet was a steel floor; his feet made metallic clicks as he walked. In one place, only a short

way from the elevator, which was at the rear of the laboratory, Ralph thought that he noted the clink of loose

Ghastly colors showed from bubbling liquids that Ralph saw in enormous test tubes. He realized that their

hues were due to the greenish glow, for when he looked at Glenny's face beside him, he could not recognize

it. His chunky acquaintances looked odd, too. Their features were nothing but square green blurs.

At the front of the lab, Ralph saw a man waiting to receive them. From his chuckly welcome, that came in a

He heard Glenny's prompting whisper: "Mr. Dean." Ralph bowed, muttered a greeting, then tried to make out

Like the others, the mysterious Mr. Dean had a visage that was merely a mass of green, but Ralph noted that

it formed a long oval and that it was very large. He was thereby acquainted with one fact regarding the master

R. G., as Glenny addressed him, had a head far out of proportion to his body; probably one big enough to

contain his giant brain. Gauging that head again. Ralph decided that R. G. could be classed as deformed. That

The master criminal was speaking. His forced tone, though unnatural, was persuasive.

"You are welcome here," he chortled. "All are welcome who serve me. Like others, you understand that my

transactions are legitimate. You are paid well to aid me, and later, you will receive a great reward if you

"My plans are many. Soon" there was confidence in the rising cackle "I shall control the entire chemical

industry! My wealth shall mount to millions, and far beyond, until no one can hope to compete with me!"

Ralph nodded. Dean seemed pleased for he gave a chuckle. Then, his tone lowered to a cluck, he added:

"We did not fail tonight. Look" he spread the bundle of cash and bonds, as Glenny passed them to him

Ralph noted that the crisp sheaves seemed pale, their green printing merging with the glow of the laboratory.

He heard Glenny buzz something to the master crook. Then came the chuckly voice.

"Glenny says that you can be fully trusted in the future. He has suggested that I show you our latest

experiment, with what I term my sleep gas, something that will prove a boon to humanity."

IT was Glenny who conducted Ralph to a coffinshaped object in the corner of the laboratory. Ralph saw that

the device was fitted with gas pipes that led from a large tank. Glenny drew aside a roller cloth that covered

Through a sheet of thick glass, Ralph saw what he mistook for a waxwork imitation of a woman's figure, so

perfectly was it molded. Resting peacefully in the satinlined box, the lifesized form had the slightly olive

Glenny pressed a switch; tiny white lights shone within the glasstopped casket. Ralph's eyes moved toward

"She is asleep," purred Glenny, "and will remain so for days or weeks. There is nothing harmful about the

"She will die from lack of air in the coffin!" The croak came from the crime chief. "But I prefer that she

"That depends on you," added Glenny, in Ralph's ear. "We still need you in our business, Atgood."

Ralph was tense. He still believed that the figure might be a waxwork imitation. As he watched, he saw blue

eyes open, then close again. He noticed a slight rise and fall of the figure's breast, which indicated a slow, but

Glenny rolled the cloth top over the oblong box. He produced a flashlight, turned its rays upon a table near

the box. A slipper fell to the steel floor, as Glenny lifted a furnecked coat from the table.

Glenny let the coat drop back with the other objects on the table. Extinguishing the flashlight, he turned to his

The master crook's chortle followed them across the laboratory to the elevator. Ralph caught its final cackle

as the door slid shut. Riding back to his apartment in the taxi, blindfolded and under guard, Ralph fancied that

EARLY the next afternoon, Lamont Cranston paid an unexpected visit to the Cobalt Club. He timed his

arrival there to meet Commissioner Weston, who had just finished lunch and was coming from the newly

Weston was so pleased to see his friend that he actually forgot that Cranston was responsible for the flock of

manycolored tropical birds that were squawking among the potted palms and rubber plants, making the

"Folks have been inquiring about you, Cranston," announced the commissioner. "I told them that we had

received a message stating that you were not seriously injured. But we've been wondering what hospital you

The Shadow explained that he had not gone to a hospital at all. His chauffeur had taken Cranston to his

personal physician. The Shadow did not state the doctor's name; he merely assured the commissioner that he,

Cranston, had suffered nothing more than painful bruises, slight cuts, and a badly wrenched shoulder.

There were some messages waiting for Cranston at the club. The Shadow read one, passed it along to the

"You're quite a hero, Cranston," he said. "So are the rest of those chaps who helped scatter that mob at

Weylan's. One of them, young Fitzcroft, called me and asked if it would be all right for them to throw a

"I said yes, if they would accept police protection. Otherwise, there might be some reprisals from the

underworld. But Fitzcroft did not set the time. He said that they would postpone the victory party until you

"I shall call Fitzcroft later," he told Weston, "and suggest that the affair be held this evening, if convenient.

Before Weston could say anything more, his friend Cranston waved him a farewell and strolled from the club.

The commissioner wondered why Cranston wasn't staying longer at the Cobalt Club.

He did not know that Cranston regarded both his home and the club as very unhealthy places to stay, for

When The Shadow left the club, he ignored his limousine and stepped into a cab, instead. It was Moe's cab.

Soon, it was whisking through many streets, on a very roundabout route, calculated to throw all followers off

While The Shadow was anxious to check on the law's progress since last night, he preferred to get his

information from indirect sources, rather than through Commissioner Weston. It was safer to be out of sight,

while planning a campaign against a master crook whose chemical wizardry enabled him to throw the

REACHING his sanctum, where blackness reigned by day as well as night, The Shadow turned on the bluish

light and opened a bundle of report sheets that he had picked up on the way. While spreading the paper, he

In Cranston's s leisurely tone, The Shadow accepted the invitation to the victory dinner. Fitzcroft decided to

hold it at eight o'clock that evening, and said that he would get in touch with Percy Caulden and the others.

Later, he would call the Cobalt Club and leave a message for Cranston, stating where the affair would take

With that matter settled, The Shadow began to study the reports, which were chiefly from Rutledge Mann and

Clyde Burke. While Mann had been checking on the business angles. Clyde had covered the law's

The present affairs of R. G. Dean, unlimited and unincorporated, constituted one of the most interesting cases

Federal agents, like the New York police, were looking for a man who called himself R. G. Dean. They had

raided an office which had that name on the door, but had found nothing there but furniture.

Questioning Eugene Bristow, president of the ChemLab Co., along with the heads of other chemical

enterprises that looked like logical targets for crime, the authorities had learned that several of them were

paying tribute to the crime head. All the victims detailed the ways in which they had been shaken down, but

They had received phone calls, all of them, and a chuckly voice had told them to postpone further payments

until later. The master crook was obviously covering up his tracks, for the present. He could afford to do so.

He was already a million dollars to the good, hence had plenty of money to support his hidden organization.

Later on, the mysterious Mr. Dean would get at his victims again. By that time, if the law had failed to get

results, they would be willing to pay tribute secretly. Their businesses, lifeblood to persons like Bristow,

The law was trying to check on bank accounts in the name of R. G. Dean. By the time the investigation had

gotten that far, all such accounts had been closed. The banks had made payments on checks this very

morning. The crime wizard's funds had been transferred to his own secret coffers.

Balked at every turn, the law was forced back to its starting point. A nationwide hunt was under way for a

maniac named Isaac Loman, who had tried to murder old Cyrus Shawnwood. The police guard had been

doubled at Shawnwood's home, and the bearded man who had defied the racket was living in fear and

Shawnwood had refused further interviews to reporters, except by telephone, fearing that some pretended

scribe might be an assassin in disguise. So far, however, Shawnwood had been protected, even though the

law had failed to find any trail to Loman, the man whose name was definitely linked to crime.

The only optimist was Carter J. Weylan. The Renovo manufacturer was confident that he would get his

money back eventually. He was pleased, too, because he had sent his only child, Alicia, on a cruise to the

Weylan felt sure, in his quiet way, that his daughter was safe from harm. He argued too, that he had nothing

to fear, because he had met the full demands of R. G. Dean. It wasn't likely that crooks would bother Weylan,

From Marsland and Hawkeye, The Shadow received barren reports. They had scoured the underworld all

night, seeking some trace of the vanished mob that had battled the blueblooded guests at Weylan's. But the

Somehow they had slipped into hideaways without leaving a ripple. Usually, The Shadow's agents could

gain inklings of such occurrences; on this occasion, they were quite as nonplused as the police.

AGAIN, The Shadow was waiting for another break. He was content to play a waiting game because of the

He was sure that crooks still regarded him as their most potent foe; that the wizard who pulled the strings of

crime would soon attempt another thrust at Lamont Cranston, otherwise The Shadow. There was always a

chance that such an effort might boomerang back to the master crook who made it.

Nevertheless, The Shadow was not inviting such attempts, though he was on the lookout for them. The

previous Deandesigned thrusts had been anything but boomerangs. In fact, The Shadow wondered just what

type of instrument the wizard of crime would use, should he try to deliver death again.

There, Ralph was seated dopily in a chair, two halffilled bottles and an empty glass beside him. He did not

realize that Frederick Glenny had entered the apartment, until he felt a hand shake his shoulder. Moodily,

"Snap out of it, old man," said Glenny. "When I told you to mix Renovo with Gruble's Tonic, I didn't expect

Muttering something about "trying to forget," Ralph reached for the bottles. He started to fill the glass,

pouring from a bottle in each hand as the easiest way to make the proportions equal. Glenny stopped him.

"Better let the stuff wear off," he said. "It won't take more than an hour. The chief may need you later."

"Almost anything." Glenny's quick eye was roving the room. He noted that Ralph's telephone book lay open

"I got a call from Monty Fitzcroft," he mumbled. "Wants me to come to a dinner tonight. Told him I'd call

"Red Ribbon Cafe," replied Ralph. "Upstairs. Eight o'clock. Going to be a celebration. Everybody will be

Ralph nodded to Glenny's question. The sleek man stepped to the telephone, smiling as he went. Ralph knew

that Glenny was calling the chief, but he didn't care. Then Glenny was back again, shaking Ralph more

"This is a great break for you!" insisted Glenny. "The chief is going to give you a chance to get your girl

"Here's the story," purred Glenny. "There's just one man the chief really wants to get. That's Cranston. You'd

"Get rid of Cranston, then," said Glenny. "Go to that dinner, take this with you" he produced a .32 revolver

"Call it that, if you like," returned Glenny. "But there is a better way to look at it. Somebody is going to die:

Ralph's teeth were set tight, his eyes bulging wide, when Glenny hauled him to his feet.

"Take a shower," Glenny advised him, "and get togged up for the party. I'll fix things at the Red Ribbon. It

will be easy enough to have someone yank the lights, even if the police happen to be around. When the glims

A night ago, Ralph would have used the revolver on Glenny, had the sleek mobster thrust such a weapon in

his hand. But that was before Ralph had learned of Alicia's plight. Receiving the gun, Ralph steadied himself

and walked to a closet, where he put the revolver in the coattail pocket of his evening clothes.

"Good luck!" purred Glenny, from the door. "Remember, Atgood when the lights go out."

Out in the hallway, Frederick Glenny indulged in a very ugly grin. He was thinking of facts that Ralph

Atgood did not know, and probably would never guess. Again Glenny, chief lieutenant who served crime's

The rest of crime's sequence would be revealed tonight, when Ralph Atgood would acquire fame as the

THE victory dinner was at its height. As guest of honor, Lamont Cranston was the center of the scene. The

celebration was making history as one of the social events of the season, considering the caliber of the

It was Montague Fitzcroft who suggested that the event be made an annual institution, one of those reunions

that would last through the years, until someone in the far future, perhaps the next century, one lone member

of the group would open an aged bottle of wine and drink to the health of his departed friends.

The motion was ably seconded by Percy Caulden, and received a chorus of cultured ayes from the remaining

All during the dinner, the eyes of Lamont Cranston had been observing Ralph. The Shadow had recognized

him as the young man who had come to look for mail at the Dean office the evening when a series of thrusts

Ralph in his turn, was watching Cranston so steadily, at times, that The Shadow would have suspected that

something was preying on the young man's mind, even without that clue from the past.

In fact, Ralph's peculiar mood was so apparent that Harry Vincent seated near him, had been puzzled by his

manner and had begun to keep close watch on him before receiving a signal from The Shadow.

Harry had not seen Ralph's face that night when the dupe had entered the Harmon Building. At first. Harry

had an idea that Ralph was uneasy because he was something of an outsider among the swanky social group

that included Fitzcroft and Caulden. But Harry's position was the same and he did not feel ill at ease.

Then came The Shadow's signals. He gave them with his eyes, whenever he gazed toward Harry. The

changes of Cranston's glances, with the slight tilts of his head, spelled the letters of a visual code:

Harry looked. He could see Ralph's coat tail, tucked on the side of the chair. He noted the occasional creep of

Ralph's fingers, saw the bulge of some object in the coattail pocket. Harry's head nodded as he looked

Again Harry nodded. He was on the same side of the table as Ralph, in a position to handle the matter

capably. While he waited for the crisis Harry began to reason matters, and they shaped rather clearly in his

This dinner was protected by the police. Some were downstairs others at the very portals of the banquet

room. It would be useless for any mob to attack the Red Ribbon Cafe. Even if such a crew broke through the

police cordon they would have to deal with Fitzcroft, Caulden, and the other socialites who had shown

The only way to strike at The Shadow on such occasion would be through a single assassin. The master crook

WHILE he chatted in the leisurely, pleasant style of Cranston, The Shadow was wondering why Ralph was

willing to take so long a chance. Unless he knew a great deal about the socalled R. G. Dean, Ralph would

not be willing to serve the crime wizard by attempting a murder on an occasion such as this.

Steadily The Shadow watched Ralph. The scrutiny made the young man nervous. His eyes shifted away.

Noting him with sidelong gaze, The Shadow saw Ralph glance toward the ceiling light. That was the

One light switch controlled all the illumination. It was in a corner near the banquet table at a spot where no

waiter could wedge through to reach it. Furthermore, the waiters were picked men who had been thoroughly

investigated by the police before any were allowed to serve at this important dinner.

Unless some crooks had been detailed to fix the master switch in the cellar of the restaurant, it would be a

difficult job to extinguish those lights. The thing had been done at Weylan's, but it was an easy matter there.

Unquestionably, Ralph was in a desperate mood. The Shadow could tell that from the restless twitches of

Ralph's face. But that did not apply to the master crook who had somehow induced Ralph to play a murderer's

What if the lights did go out, giving Ralph a chance to try some gunplay? He would be overwhelmed by

Cranston's friends Fitzcroft, Caulden and the other society men. They wouldn't kill him; they would take

him alive. A man who knew much about the Dean business would be a prisoner, who might be forced to talk.

The Shadow's train of thought came to an distant halt. He was on the wrong track. The master behind this

game of murder could not afford to let Ralph live after attempting a kill. Gruble hadn't been given a chance to

Tracing back to the battle on Weylan's lawn, The Shadow considered the mystery of the vanished mob. An

Letting his eyes close, The Shadow projected himself back further to the ride that he had taken with a squad

Voices came to mind. Voices that The Shadow had been unable to recall but which came plainly to him at

this moment, not as echoes from the past but as actual sounds about this very table. Opening his eyes, The

Not one of the jolly throng realized that their guest of honor had solved crime's subtle secret.

The wizard who manipulated crime had been too crafty to hire a horde from the underworld. He had chosen

his followers, not from the rogues' gallery but from the social register. Fitzcroft, Caulden, a dozen more who

belonged to their exclusive set were the highpriced thugs who worked for R. G. Dean!

Four of them had grabbed The Shadow outside Parringer's. They had acted like mobbies, but they had talked

like gentlemen. They had served again as decoys and bombsetters, the night that The Shadow had dodged a

succession of traps outside the Harmon Building. Their neatest trick however, was the one that they had

One man had slipped down to the cellar to put out the lights. A few others had sneaked outside, to put on

masks and start the mob attack. The rest had posed as what they were supposed to be: society men attending a

They had carried that faked fray across the lawn, each man playing whichever part he chose. Some had

remembered to give raucous battle shouts, the sort that went with the part of mobsmen. No wonder they had

come back bringing captured guns and masks. Those articles had belonged to them from the start!

Tonight, they were going to let Ralph Atgood do the dirty work. But they wouldn't merely suppress him

afterward. They would kill him and testify, one and all, that he had gone berserk. They would claim that

Ralph had jumped up and turned off the lights, though The Shadow knew exactly who was to perform that

If Ralph failed to make the kill, these chaps would do it on their own. They could still put the blame on

Ralph. The only way to clear with these wellgroomed rats who had sold their birthright, was to make them

SIGHTING a waiter, The Shadow called for champagne, which brought plaudits from his pretended friends.

When the waiter suggested two bottles they heard Cranston order a magnum, which produced more acclaim.

In the midst of the hilarity that followed, The Shadow flashed quick looks to Harry Vincent, giving him the

The magnum arrived. It was a huge twoquart bottle that stood as high as The Shadow's shoulder when the

When The Shadow nodded, the waiter poured the champagne finishing with Cranston's glass. Rising, The

Shadow raised his glass with his right hand, his left elbow grazing the now emptied magnum.

All others rose with the guest of honor. Ralph Atgood was holding his glass in his left hand. He let his right

hand go to the coattail pocket where he had the gun. Harry Vincent shifted in from Ralph's right, ready for a

This was the logical time for the stroke to come. In the act of sipping champagne while standing, Lamont

Cranston would be a perfect target, even when the lights were gone. Ralph sensed that the lights would

blacken the moment that the glass reached Cranston's lips. But The Shadow planned to force that action

Smiling as he looked toward the faces all about him The Shadow spoke in Cranston's even fashion.

"I propose a toast" there was a trace of mockery in that level tone "to a man who is not with us. One

whose cleverness is great but not great enough to prevent us from knowing one another as we really are."

Strained expressions showed on the faces of the listeners. The Shadow broke the tension, as he uttered:

THERE was a fierce shout from Fitzcroft, the leader of the giltedged mob. Caulden yanked the light switch;

before Ralph could get his revolver from his pocket, Harry Vincent floored him with a punch and wrested the

Men were springing for The Shadow, thinking that they could reach him before he had a chance to ward them

off. They thought that he was unarmed and defenseless at the moment the lights went out. They had forgotten

The Shadow caught the massive twoquart bottle by the neck and swung it like an Indian club. It battered

past the hands that grabbed for him, found jaws and skulls beyond. Clearing a wide circle, he voiced a

sinister, challenging laugh that seemed a part of the very darkness that filled the room.

He was fading backward as he delivered that mockery. Guns blasted for the spot where he had been. The

Shadow answered with shots from an automatic that he whipped from beneath his tail coat. He was picking

out foemen by the spurts of their guns, and Harry was doing the same with Ralph's revolver.

The terrific tumult brought smashes from the door. Under the glare of police flashlights, de luxe crooks went

mad, knowing that their game was up. Some were sprawled, others were staggery, but the rest made a drive

for the doorway, preferring to rush a headquarters squad rather than risk further chances with The Shadow.

As he wheeled to a small doorway, The Shadow flayed those crooks with bullets. They were flattening

Sidestepping, The Shadow flashed a red gleam with his tiny flashlight; it changed to green as a pair of

Catching the signal, Harry dragged Ralph from underneath the banquet table. Groggily, Ralph stumbled

ahead, for he was anxious to get away. The Shadow caught him from the other side, helped Harry hustle the

A detective found the light switch, pulled it. In the glare that filled the room, a dozen police found themselves

winners over a crew of the same size. No fight was left in the bedraggled, wounded men whose uniforms

The Shadow had found the vanished mob, conquered its members, and left the roundup to the law. From a

stairway beyond the little doorway, headquarters men heard the weird, trailing tone of a parting laugh.

The victory dinner had ended with an actual triumph, instead of the murder that society mobsters had planned

RALPH ATGOOD found himself riding in a taxicab, staring into glowing eyes that seemed to burn him with

their intensity. He was listening to a whispered voice one that put questions in the tone of commands.

He wondered what had happened to Lamont Cranston. This being wasn't Cranston. He was some superhuman

sort of creature, who wore a black cloak and a slouch hat that obscured his face, except for those amazing

Ralph was feeling the forceful power that only The Shadow could apply. The whispered voice was telling

him to talk, and Ralph responded. He felt as though he had come into the province of an impartial judge, who

Coming rapidly to the events at Weylan's, Ralph told how he had found the money in his own possession

after the robbery. He heard The Shadow's understanding laugh, and it seemed to clear up the mystery.

Fitzcroft and his stuffedshirt crew were the ones who had taken the swag. They had hidden it, by the simple

Those small packets hadn't shown under their evening clothes. Strolling outside so they could bid Alicia

goodby, they had stuffed Ralph's topcoat with the stolen goods after the police had searched the car.

Eagerly continuing with his story, Ralph told of his visit to crime's headquarters, how he had met the wizard

of crime in person, under the glare of the bewildering green light that filled the lowceilinged laboratory. He

described Alicia's plight; how he had agreed to murder Cranston, in order to save her life.

The Shadow spoke. His words were an acceptance of Ralph's story. From that tone, Ralph understood that he

had been released from blame for his misguided actions. In return, The Shadow stipulated that Ralph was to

aid in an immediate search for the master criminal to which Ralph willingly agreed.

He described the man, as much as he could. Oddly, the only important point the enormous size of the crime

wizard's oval head was the very clue that The Shadow wanted. Ralph heard the whisper of a laugh, then the

"You spoke of the route you followed, blindfolded; how you remembered the number of turns."

Ralph fumbled in his vest pocket, brought out a slip of paper upon which he had dejectedly jotted that data,

after returning to his apartment. The Shadow's gloved hand passed the list to Harry Vincent, who sat on the

other side of Ralph. For the first time, Ralph realized that there was another passenger in the car.

Giving the driver the address of Ralph's apartment, The Shadow spread a map of Manhattan and studied it

Tracing a course, The Shadow checked it. His laugh was sibilant. Fitting Ralph's clues to a trail he had in

BEGINNING the route from Ralph's apartment, the cab eventually pulled up into an alleyway that Moe

Shrevnitz found by cruising along the street. The Shadow alighted, Harry and Ralph with him; he sent Moe

Finding the doorway that Ralph remembered, The Shadow used his flashlight on the steep stone stairs, then

Probing a loose board, The Shadow slid it aside and found a button that controlled the lift. He brought the

elevator down to the subbasement level and left the button uncovered, so that others would notice it when

Tonight, Ralph judged from the slow motion of the elevator that the trip to the top of the shaft was not more

than four or five stories. When the elevator stopped, The Shadow began to slide the door open, very slowly.

A greenish glow reached it from the laboratory, then was blocked by The Shadow's form.

Ralph heard The Shadow whisper something to Harry Vincent. The door, never more than a quarter open,

began to close again. Harry had his finger on the control, ready to start the car down to the basement.

In the darkness, Harry told him that The Shadow believed their arrival was suspected; that it would be better

Before Ralph could offer a protest, Harry pressed the button. The elevator gave a slight jolt, then stopped.

Before Harry could find a way to make it move again, the door slid wide, operated from the other side. This

The elevator was bathed in greenish light; the visitors found themselves covered by a pair of guns, held by

Harry's hands lifted; so did Ralph's. As they stepped forward, Ralph looked for The Shadow, wondering what

the blackcloaked fighter was doing in this emergency. To his surprise, he saw no sign of the blackclad

Marched toward the front of the laboratory, the prisoners were greeted by two men that Ralph could

recognize by their voices. One was the master crook, who used his chortling tone; the other, Glenny, who

"So you have returned," chuckled the chief of crime, "and brought a witness with you to testify, I suppose,

"Clever stuff, Atgood," added Glenny, in his smoothest manner, "finding your way here. Who is this chap

Ralph introduced Harry, stammering as he did. He realized that the pair were ridiculing them. By this time,

the pretended Mr. Dean had probably learned that matters had not worked out well at the Red Ribbon Cafe.

Probably his informant was Glenny, who could easily have been in the vicinity of the cafe.

Then came snarled words from the man with the enormous head. The master crook had discarded his chortle.

He was ready, apparently, to reveal his true identity to these helpless prisoners.

Ralph and Harry saw a scrawny, greendyed hand reach out and press a switch. The greenish glow dwindled,

Under the changing illumination, the man with the great head seemed to undergo a magical transformation.

The size of his head was dwindling, although another outline curved beneath it. Two ovals, a smaller and a

The prisoners saw a grayhaired man, whose grizzled heard formed a large curve beneath his chin. It was

Harry who recognized that face, from a description that he had previously been given. Harry exclaimed the

BOWING, Shawnwood acknowledged his own name. Then, in a wheezy tone that carried an ugly note of

"You were fools, to let The Shadow send you here to test my trap! But I could hardly expect fools to serve

any one other than a fool! At last, The Shadow's wandering brain has grasped the facts that he should have

"There never was an Isaac Loman," he announced. "I sent that death machine to myself, through you,

Atgood, and I arranged the Loman correspondence myself. For weeks, the police have been looking for a

"By passing myself as one of my own victims. I was able to meet the police commissioner, at the Cobalt

Club. I halted the action of the death machine, when it showed the word 'danger,' until Cranston arrived. Then

The cleverness of that scheme made Shawnwood laugh again, until he remembered that the flying bomb had

not killed The Shadow. From that, he recalled that all his other methods of assassination had likewise failed.

"Tonight," he spat, "The Shadow learned one fact that enabled him to guess another. He found out that my

mob was imaginary. That made him think about Loman. He probably decided that Loman was a myth, also."

There was more to it than Shawnwood realized. On top of the possibility regarding Loman's nonexistence,

The Shadow had listened to Ralph's description of a supercrook with a giant head. Ralph's details had been

clouded because of the laboratory's greenish glow. Discounting that, The Shadow had found a simple answer.

The great head that Ralph described was obviously the combination of a face and a beard. Ralph had

remembered that the head seemed longfaced and narrow. Such a description fitted the probable appearance

Knowing the location of Shawnwood's brownstone house, The Shadow had checked a route to it in terms of

the turns that Ralph remembered. With that finishing touch, he decided that the alleyway entrance must be in

Otherwise, Shawnwood's hidden servitors could not go in and out, because the police were on guard all about

"How do you like my laboratory," sneered Shawnwood to the prisoners, "now that you are viewing it in

brighter light? This is the attic of my house; a fourth floor, that no one suspected, not even The Shadow.

"It is where I conduct experiments in every branch of chemistry, so that I can replace outmoded methods with

new ones. As you have learned, I never sell a process for a trivial sum, as most chemists do.

"No, I am the representative" he chuckled over the word "of poor, forgotten men, who have never

received their proper due. Using their names mythical ones, like Loman; or those of mere tools, like Gruble

The wizard of crime was moving forward, raising his clenched fists to the level of his shaggy beard. He thrust

"I dispose of fools!" he told them. "That rule applies to you! But first, particularly for your benefit, Atgood, I

He swung about, shoved a scrawny finger toward the high, oblong box, like a sarcophagus, in the corner.

Ralph's own fist tightened. He knew that Shawnwood's words were Alicia's death warrant.

"Go there, Glenny!" ordered Shawnwood. "Turn off the flow of gas. We shall let Atgood watch the girl die

the slow death of suffocation! It will be a merciful end" Shawnwood's tone was a gloat "compared with

GLENNY reached the coffinshaped box. Ralph wanted to start after him, but one of the chunky assistants

prodded him with a gun point. Harry spoke, telling his companion to wait and watch. Harry hadn't lost

"It's off already!" exclaimed Glenny, as he tried to change the gas flow. "Perhaps the girl is dead!"

He was reaching for the cloth that topped the great box, when the oblong object started to tilt forward. Glenny

sprang back; the side of the box hit the floor. The cloth covering fell away, and with it came the glass top.

Before the astonished eyes of Shawnwood, and the equally amazed prisoners, lay the open interior of the

Then, above the edge of the overturned box came a head topped by a slouch hat. On either side of a pair of

burning eyes looked the mouths of automatics, covering the chunky men who held Harry and Ralph captive.

Lips that were vaguely visible voiced a weird, outlandish laugh that seemed to creep to every corner of the

SHAWNWOOD'S chunky assistants took up The Shadow's challenge. Swinging their guns away from Harry

and Ralph, they aimed for the head above the casket. They didn't fire as most crooks did, when facing The

The chunky men did not fire at all. Trained to act with exactness, they were overlong about it. The Shadow's

guns spurted fire, before the thick fingers of his opponents found time to pull their triggers.

Reeling, the pair sank slowly to the floor, each carrying a bullet in his chest. The Shadow swung his guns for

Shawnwood and Glenny. The next shots that he fired were ineffective. Neither the crime wizard nor his

lieutenant had lost an instant in getting to cover, which was easy in the laboratory.

Shawnwood's bearded face disappeared beyond a metal cabinet; Glenny took a dive behind a squatty steel

vat. As Shawnwood moved, he grabbed the light switch with his scrawny hand. White glare began to change

The Shadow was out from cover. Cloakless, he was weaving a swift course in and out among the chemical

equipment, trying to get new angles of fire at Shawnwood and Glenny, who answered back with guns of their

Harry understood the reason for The Shadow's move. He wanted Harry and Ralph to get to the cover that he

There, they found a human bundle in the corner. It was Alicia Weylan, still asleep, wrapped in The Shadow's

cloak, the collar folded over her blond head like a cowl. Lifting the girl, the two men waited for a signal from

He was fighting a grim battle under the greenish glare, that had regained its full intensity. Shifting from one

shelter to another, he kept up the duel against a pair of desperate foemen. Beakers were smashing; glass coils

broke to bits as bullets struck them. The air became pungent with the reek of many chemicals.

Ralph, watching The Shadow's amazing zigzag course, realized what had happened at the elevator. The

Shadow had shifted through the partly open door, to take a gliding course along the laboratory wall. He had

allowed Harry and Ralph to be trapped, only that he might have time to reach the big box and open it.

The Shadow had shut off the sleep gas; he had worked the casket open, from the hinges at the back. By

draping his cloak over Alicia, he had managed to remove her while Shawnwood and his companions were

Alicia was rescued; the prisoners were free. The Shadow was waging battle in the heart of enemy territory.

That seemed a real problem, even for The Shadow, considering that Shawnwood had locked the elevator on

The Shadow was near the elevator at present; he was gesturing for the others to join him. It was time, for

fumes were filling the laboratory. Chemicals were puffing, beginning blazes that might develop into a huge

KEEPING to shelter, Harry and Ralph brought Alicia along the wall, dodging jets of fire and smoke that

came from pools of chemicals. They were near the elevator, when they heard a shout from Shawnwood.

He had made a dive from one shelter to another. He was behind a large wheeled tank, a squatty cylinder that

Shawnwood shoved the thing in front of him, until he reached Glenny's shelter. The lieutenant joined him;

from behind their tank, they took potshots at The Shadow. The tank had a conical top that made it look like a

massive skyrocket. Shawnwood suddenly poked the cap and knocked it from the tank.

Then the wheeled thing was rolling along the steel floor, and Shawnwood and Glenny were gone, beyond a

steel door that dropped behind them. They reappeared, a few seconds later, upon a little balcony that

Shawnwood's grinning teeth were visible, despite the fact that his face and beard were scarcely more than a

great green glow. He was carrying a small control box attached to a wire that ran to the big tank on the lower

floor. The tank, itself, had rolled partly beneath the balcony, where it had only a foot to spare.

It was obvious that the tank was filled with a high explosive, that would go off the moment Shawnwood

pressed the switch. But he did not intend to perform that action until he and Glenny were safe. The lieutenant

Once on the roof, the pair could stretch their wire to another house. From that remote spot, Shawnwood

planned to use the control and wreck the laboratory, with its trapped victims. Evidently the elevator was out

of commission to stay, for Shawnwood's glee denoted that the exit would not serve The Shadow or the

Calmly, The Shadow dropped to the floor near the elevator and began a probe with his fingers. Shawnwood's

glee ended. The Shadow had found what he wanted. The portion of the floor where Ralph had noticed loose

rivets, on his previous visit, was a concealed trapdoor that led down to the floor below.

The Shadow knew that the connection must exist, otherwise Shawnwood would have no access to his

laboratory, for the elevator went down inside the wall, to the subbasement. Working with his quick discovery,

Glenny, meanwhile, was having trouble with the outlet to the roof. Shawnwood, screeching for him to hurry,

Below, they saw Joe Cardona and a pair of excited detectives. The police inspector had come to visit

Shawnwood, just in time to learn that gunfire had started somewhere in the top of the house.

A blackcloaked figure came through the trap. Cardona thought it was The Shadow. He and his men caught

the falling form, expecting a heavier weight than they received. The loosening cloak dropped half away,

leaving Cardona amazed by the sight of Alicia's blond head resting on his shoulder, with a slender arm

Harry and Ralph landed in quick succession and yelled for Cardona and the others to head downstairs. They

thought that The Shadow was following them, for he had ordered them to make a rapid departure. But The

STILL in the laboratory, he could see Shawnwood helping Glenny to crack their exit open. On the other side

of the bulletproof mesh, they were safe from gunfire. Given a few moments more, they would be on their

way to permanent security, where Shawnwood's evil brain could hatch out new schemes of crime, which

The Shadow did not allow those needed moments. Clutching the raised trapdoor in the steel floor with one

hand, he reached to the nearest bench, stuffed cotton wadding into a burning beaker and tossed the

With the same move, The Shadow dropped through the trap, pulling the hinged door after him. The beaker

was still in midair, as the steelsheeted barrier clanged in place. The flames were igniting the wadding, as the

beaker skimmed the edge of the cylindrical tank and dropped into the explosive contents.

The squatty tank ripped apart in a titanic blast. It lifted the steelmeshed balcony, and took the entire roof

along with it. People who saw that explosion said that the top of Shawnwood's house opened like an

Two figures went skyward with that mighty eruption, but they were lost among the many fragments of

Shawnwood's laboratory equipment. As he had planned, Cyrus Shawnwood took Frederick Glenny with him

on a long, long trip, beyond The Shadow's future reach. But the destination was not the one that the wizard of

Cyrus Shawnwood, the chemical genius who fumed his wizardry to schemes of crime, had found his own

Thanks to the steel floor of the laboratory, the shock did not destroy the house below it. The Shadow had

calculated that the main portion of the building would resist the explosion. Nevertheless, he had ordered

They were all outside, watching the flames gorge the ruined housetop, when The Shadow made his own

THOUGH Cyrus Shawnwood had paid his followers well, as Fitzcroft, Caulden, and other later admitted, the

master crook had stowed away the major portion of his profits for the future that he never realized.

His bank accounts were closed, but Ralph Atgood supplied a list of safedeposit boxes, which were opened

The recovered funds were restored to the proper owners. Weylan's cash and securities were identified by the

lists that he supplied, and Joe Cardona went out to Long Island to deliver the quarter million. Joe made the

trip in an armored car, and finished his rough ride by stopping at the Cobalt Club, to report to Commissioner

Cardona found the commissioner in the grillroom, talking with Lamont Cranston amid the interrupting

squawks of parrots and macaws. Planking a package on the table, Cardona announced that he had checked

"They're going to be married," said Joe. "Young Atgood and Weylan's daughter. He's a tricky guy, getting a

"Miss Weylan was wearing this," said Cardona, "when she was rescued. She says she doesn't need it any

longer, because she has a more extensive wardrobe. So she suggested that I return it to The Shadow."

"I said you would, commissioner," returned Cardona. "I told Miss Weylan that you were going to meet The

Shadow on the City Hall steps and that you'd give him his cloak, along with the passkey to the city. The

Weston was still chuckling after Cardona left. The chortles were being echoed from a dozen cages when

"You keep the cloak, Cranston," said the commissioner. "Put it in that trophy room of yours. Just as a

memento of the time when Inspector Cardona found a blonde inside it instead of The Shadow!"

While Cranston was wrapping the cloak in its package, the commissioner had another thought and expressed

"Cyrus Shawnwood was very crafty," he said soberly. "I think he was a bit gone" Weston tapped his

forehead "up here. Do you remember that time when he let that gas bomb loose, right here in the

The Shadow nodded. Weston leaned across the table and spoke in a confiding tone too low for the listening

"Shawnwood tried to kill you!" asserted Weston. "I know it sounds fantastic Cranston but I actually believe

that Shawnwood was crazy enough" Weston paused to shake his head "just crazy enough to think that