THE YELLOW DOOR......................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. MURDER'S AFTERMATH.............................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. TRIPLE DEATH ..............................................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. THE LAW ENTERS......................................................................................................8

CHAPTER IV. IN CLEVELAND .........................................................................................................12

CHAPTER V. HARRY REPORTS .......................................................................................................16

CHAPTER VI. PATHS IN THE NIGHT ..............................................................................................20

CHAPTER VII. THE MESSENGER....................................................................................................26

CHAPTER VIII. FACTS TO THE LAW ..............................................................................................32

CHAPTER IX. THE SHADOW'S BARGAIN ......................................................................................37

CHAPTER X. DEATH STRIKES TWICE ...........................................................................................42

CHAPTER XI. THE NEXT TEST........................................................................................................46

CHAPTER XII. DOUBLE CAPTURE.................................................................................................50

CHAPTER XIII,. WESTON DECREES ...............................................................................................54

CHAPTER XIV. TABLES TURN........................................................................................................58

CHAPTER XV. DEATH DECREED ....................................................................................................61

CHAPTER XVI. THE GAME CHANGES ...........................................................................................64

CHAPTER XVII. HARRY'S VISITOR................................................................................................68

CHAPTER XVIII. THE UNSEEN TRAIL...........................................................................................72

CHAPTER XIX. THE CITADEL.........................................................................................................75

CHAPTER XX. BEYOND THE DOOR ...............................................................................................79

CHAPTER XXI. THE SETTLEMENT .................................................................................................83

THE Jersey Central local chugged to a stop at the little Fanfield station. A wanfaced man stepped from the

smoker and crossed the gloomy platform of the station. It was night; few passengers came to Fanfield at this

Couplings jolted as the threecar local puffed from the station. The wanfaced man paused by a window of

the dimly lighted waiting room. His features were haggard; they showed that he had lost sleep. His lips were

twitchy; his eyes blinked suspiciously. The man feared that he was being followed.

Someone else had descended from the train. He was sure of it. All during the thirty minute ride from Jersey

City, he had felt that eyes were watching him. He could remember the same impression while crossing by

ferry from Manhattan. Yet when he eyed the entire platform, the jittery man failed to catch sight of a single

There was an old automobile parked in the station driveway. It was an ancient sedan that served as local taxi

from the Fanfield station. The driver was dozing behind the wheel. The nervous man shifted a suitcase that he

was carrying. He approached the taxi, opened the door and entered. He jogged the sleepy driver.

"I know everyone in Fanfield," chuckled the driver. "Soon as I heard your voice, I says to myself: 'That's

He pressed the starter; after a few attempts, the motor rumbled. The car shot away from the station. Dynoth,

jolting in the back seat, looked toward the dim platform. For a moment, he trembled nervously. He was sure

Then Dynoth delivered a tense laugh, that came weakly from his lips. What he had taken for a human shape

was no more than a curious shadow, cast grotesquely by the smudgy station lights.

"COME in from Chicago, Mr. Dynoth?" questioned the driver, pleasantly. "You go out there a lot, don't

"I was in Buffalo," returned Dynoth, a trifle gruffly. "I didn't make Chicago, this trip."

"Thought maybe you knowed that fellow Peter Gildare," remarked the driver. "The one that was murdered

Though the driver did not see it, Dynoth was chewing his lips, cursing the fact that he had ever chosen to

reside in Fanfield. The place was too small a suburb, where a hack driver could know all about every

The cab had stopped by a corner house. It was Dynoth's home, a small but attractive suburban residence.

Dynoth alighted. The cab driver nudged his thumb toward the first floor of the house, where only a few hall

"The missus is out," he informed. "I took her and your daughter over to a bridge party at Mrs. Dorbin's. The

"Here's a half dollar," interrupted Dynoth, tartly, passing the cabby a coin. "Keep the change."

He strode toward the house. The cabby watched him unlock the front door; then he backed the sedan and

The cabby jammed the rickety brake pedal to the floor; then released it. The old sedan whined, jolted and

jerked forward. The driver grunted, shook his head and changed the tone of his mutter as he proceeded on his

"I'd ha' swore that was somebody there, crossing the street by them trees! Them arc lights sure throw funny

INSIDE his home, Dynoth had gone up to the second floor. He had passed through a hallway without turning

on a light. Entering a room, he pressed the light switch. The glow revealed a bedroom that served also as an

The place was stuffy. Dynoth opened a window. He breathed fresh air; then went over by the bed and opened

his suitcase. He began to unpack it, tossing crumpled clothes into a corner of the room.

From downstairs, a clock chimed eight. Dynoth glanced at his watch and noted that it tallied. A few seconds

later, a telephone bell began to ring. There was a telephone on the desk, an extension of the downstairs

A deep, solemn voice drawled a "hello" across the wire. There was a pause, while Dynoth stood rigid. He had

recognized the tone. Lips close to the mouthpiece, he gave a tense reply of three cautious words:

The response satisfied the speaker at the other end of the wire. The slow, deep voice spoke an order:

"It went through," asserted Dynoth, in his same nervous tone. "I I well, I settled the matter according to

the orders you sent me. He he didn't have much to say when I left him. He well, maybe he might have

said something within the next fifteen minutes; but nobody could have come there."

"He knew more than I thought he did," expressed Dynoth. "He must have guessed a lot. But he didn't he

didn't know what I was there for. He didn't figure my part in it. He hadn't talked to anybody before me."

There was a click at the other end of the line. Dynoth clung to the receiver, scarcely realizing that the call had

ended. Then, to his ear, came another click. He listened intently, expecting to hear the voice again. There was

DYNOTH hung up and planted the telephone on the desk. He went to a bureau, ripped open a drawer and

began to remove bundles of clothing, to pile them in his halfemptied suitcase. Glancing at his watch, he saw

that it was seven minutes after eight. Panting, Dynoth hastily opened a small drawer and grabbed up

valuables: studded cuff links, some rings of moderate value, other items that he considered of worth.

Suddenly he paused, to cock his head and listen. Fear showed on Dynoth's face. Strained nerves had

exaggerated his imagination. He fancied that he heard footsteps upon stairs. Steadying, Dynoth grated a

Dynoth had remembered the click that had followed his telephone conversation with the voice. He thought of

the downstairs telephone. Had someone lifted the lower receiver? Was that person already en route upstairs,

Frantically, Dynoth tossed his valuables into the packed bag. He leaped back to the bureau and pawed

through the drawer. He found a revolver and thrust it into a pocket. Diving to the bag, he dug beneath

clothing and produced a small, round bottle. Twisting off the screw cap, Dynoth shook out a large capsule.

He placed it carefully between his front teeth; then closed his lips to conceal it.

Unbroken, the capsule remained in its hidden position while Dynoth buried the bottle and closed the lid of the

suitcase. He tugged straps tight and lifted the suitcase, to plant it on the floor. He glanced at his watch.

Twelve minutes after eight. Dynoth grinned slightly, without disturbing the capsule with his pressing teeth.

Gripping the handle of the suitcase with his left hand, Dynoth thrust his right into his coat pocket, to grasp the

revolver. While he fumbled for the weapon, he turned toward the door of the bedroom. His tightened lips

prevented a gasp; but his smile ended. Rigid, Dynoth faced a being on the threshold.

A SILENT intruder had arrived to confront James Dynoth. Motionless as a statue, silent as a specter, a

cloaked invader stood ready to block escape. The visitor was garbed entirely in black. A cloak covered his

shoulders; thin gloves encased his hands. His head wore a slouch hat, with downturned brim. The only

features visible to Dynoth were burning eyes that shone with a condemning challenge.

From one blackgloved fist projected an automatic pistol, a bulky .45 with looming muzzle that formed a

tunnel of certain doom. Dynoth quavered; the bag thudded as his left hand rose; the revolver turned in his

Everything in Dynoth's manner showed that he recognized the weird personage who confronted him. His

trembles were those of a guilty man; they told that James Dynoth was a murderer. He was marked as the

slayer who had killed Peter Gildare in Chicago. Dynoth was a man schooled in modes of crime. That was

The blackcloaked invader was one who battled men of crime, whose power of vengeance was feared by all

who dealt in evil. He was the scourge of the underworld, the master who moved by night to confront crooks

SILENCE followed The Shadow's advent. A stillness so complete that the ticking of Dynoth's watch was

The murderer knew that his game was known. He realized why the voice had called him across the telephone,

warning that he must be gone within twenty minutes. Dynoth was but an instrument in a scheme of gigantic

crime. Someone more consequential had foreseen that the murderer might be trailed.

Dynoth remembered that shadowy shape by the station platform. He recalled his earlier impression. He had

He knew, certainly, that Dynoth had murdered Gildare. But the chances were that The Shadow had arrived

too late to catch any words of Dynoth's telephone call, particularly that identifying statement: "The Yellow

Ticking seconds were becoming minutes. The Shadow spoke. His words terrified the murderer. There was a

"You slew Gildare," spoke The Shadow. "As he died, he gasped your name. He spoke other words, as well."

Dynoth shuddered. He knew that Gildare could have lived for twenty minutes, in the secluded room where

Dynoth had trapped him. The Shadow had been in Chicago, summoned probably by some news concerning

Gildare's fear of death. Too late to prevent murder, The Shadow had come to New York by air, arriving

before Dynoth. From the time that he had left the Grand Central Terminal, Dynoth had been trailed.

Down to lower Manhattan; across the ferry; out to suburban New Jersey; here to his own home. The Shadow

Dynoth chewed his lips between the teeth that still spread to clench the hidden capsule. The jacket of that pill

was not soluble. The capsule remained firm and intact between the pressure of the murderer's teeth.

THE SHADOW was advancing. His eyes bored Dynoth. The murderer's nerve left him; then returned for a

final spasm. Dynoth bit the capsule. He gulped; his lips opened as he delivered a hopeless gasp.

Only The Shadow could have divined the murderer's action. He knew what Dynoth had done. Fearful lest he

would betray the secret of the Yellow Door, Dynoth had swallowed poison. He had chosen death rather than

The downstairs clock had chimed the quarter hour. It was eighteen minutes after eight when Dynoth gulped

the poison dose. He was counting upon the capsule to remove him from life within the next two minutes.

Dynoth had promised to be gone from these premises by twenty minutes after eight.

"Speak!" hissed The Shadow. His gun muzzle pressed close to Dynoth's eyes. "Tell of the Yellow Door!"

Dynoth was cowering away, his hands pressed to his stomach. He gasped protesting words:

He gulped. He had almost betrayed a name. Quick to gain the advantage, The Shadow pressed that point.

A moment's pause. Dynoth was twisted in agony. The poison had almost accomplished its result. Gasping for

air, the murderer hoped to reach the open window. The Shadow stayed him with a repeated demand.

"Speak for yourself!" hissed the cloaked avenger. "Announce the secret of the Yellow Door!"

Dynoth sagged by the window sill. One hand gripped the ledge. With glassy gaze, the contorted killer met

The Shadow's inflexible gaze. Even with death to save him, Dynoth could not resist The Shadow's pressure.

"The Yellow Door!" he shrieked, hoarsely. "The Yellow Door! It exists! It means "

A TERRIFIC pang seized Dynoth. He choked; he could not complete the sentence. His hand tightened on the

window sill. His body raised rigid; held its position momentarily; then wavered, about to topple. The

To The Shadow, that point of time had no significance. It was something else that made him act with

suddenness. A soft, purring noise had sounded beyond the window, where The Shadow stood almost eye to

eye with the stricken form of Dynoth. The purr was from a halting automobile. The Shadow sensed a danger.

Instantly, he whirled away from the window, across the room toward the open door. From outside came a

ripping clatter, the drill of a machine gun. Dynoth's body jolted straight upward; it came sprawling headlong

to the floor, downed by a stream of bullets. Assassins of the night had come to make sure of the murderer's

departure. They had seen Dynoth framed in the window. They had known that he had disobeyed a command.

The motor rumbled. The murderer's killers were on the verge of flight. The Shadow pressed the light switch.

In total darkness, he sprang toward the window, hurdling Dynoth's collapsed body. Gripping the window

He saw the death car, a lowslung coupe, starting along the side street, rearward from Dynoth's house. Eyes

glinting, The Shadow aimed. The range was short; his firm hand was about to deliver devastating bullets.

Punctured tires; a riddled gas tank such possibilities were certainties to The Shadow.

Assassins who knew the secret of the Yellow Door were at The Shadow's mercy. One second more they

would have been trapped in a crippled coupe. A short time interval; but it was not sufficient.

As The Shadow's finger squeezed the trigger of the .45, a splitting, thunderous blast quaked from below.

With an upheaving roar, the entire house seemed to lift itself from the ground. The window frame shuddered,

Flames of the explosion swept upward from the depths. The boom of The Shadow's gun was puny, lost in the

terrific blast that shook the neighborhood. The flash that tongued, unaimed, from the automatic was no more

than a spark compared with the broad streaks of flame that spread upward, outward, as dynamite shattered

The shudder that followed the explosion was featured by falling ruins, by volumes of smoke that enveloped

the scene of disaster. The Shadow, the only living person in the house, was stunned, shaken, hurled helpless

The lights of the house were instantly extinguished. The room vanished. Dynoth's body was gone. Walls had

heaved outward; the roof had scaled upward; then, as aftereffect, all settled back. Tumbling, pouring, the

fragments of the building collapsed inward to become a smoldering pit wherein dust and smoke mingled to

INSTINCT alone saved The Shadow. Had he been at the door of Dynoth's room, he would have gone down

into the pit, for the floor had split to swallow everything that was actually in the room itself. The Shadow,

Like a mammoth, clutching hand, the sucking intake of returning air had almost swept The Shadow

downward. All that held him was his grip upon the window frame. His gun was gone from his right hand;

instinctively, he clamped that fist along with the left. The window frame had cracked; but it formed a partial

Debris, smashing downward, was deflected. Lighter than the crumbling stone, the woodwork about the

window did not recover from the outward force of the explosion. Instead of rolling inward to the pit where

death was certain, it scaled downward, flopping crazily, to strike the ground just beyond the fringe of the

With it went The Shadow, twisted about, clamped in the broken frame itself. The frame struck on a corner; it

broke apart and sprawled its burden on the turf. Fragments of ruined shutters, masses of splintered shingles

A stone from the falling chimney hurtled freakishly and struck the ground five inches from The Shadow's

head. A chance bounce sent it away from him. That missile was the last threat of death.

For a full five seconds, The Shadow lay motionless; black beneath the night, he showed no sign of life. Then,

slowly, he raised his head and shoulders. He inched forward away from the ruins.

A beam, supported by a chunk of frame, began to quiver. The Shadow could hear a warning rattle. He eased

cautiously; then gave a quick twist and rolled clear, to let a crushing flow of shattered masonry come pouring

The Shadow arose weakly. He sagged; then managed to control himself with a limp. Capable of motion, he

knew that he could depart from the scene of the catastrophe, though his progress would be slow. He had

The murder car was gone. The Shadow had no chance to overtake it, even with a bullet. Triple death had been

delivered to James Dynoth, the killer who had failed to cover up his trail. A zero hour had been set. Dynoth,

Dynoth had himself sought death by poison. Watchers, stationed outside to cover his departure, had delivered

machine gun bullets to make certain of Dynoth's doom. That matter; however, had already been arranged by

some other emissary of crime, who had come and gone beforehand. A huge timebomb had been planted in

Triple death had halted The Shadow's trail. Three courses had been devised to prevent Dynoth from betraying

the crooked master whom he had unquestionably served. Almost miraculously, The Shadow had escaped

from doom. During the final moments of Dynoth's life, The Shadow had gained an extension of his trail.

The Shadow's quest was definite. He must find Ferris Krode, the man named by James Dynoth.

IT was morning in Manhattan. A newspaper bore headlines that told of the explosion in Fanfield, New Jersey.

That newspaper was resting upon the glass top of a mahogany desk. Beyond, windows revealed a panorama

This office held one of the highest locations in lower Manhattan. It was on the fiftyeighth story of a

spirelike tower. It was the private office of Dudley Birklam, president of the World Wide Shipping

Birklam, in person, was seated behind the desk. A tall, bulky man, whose hair bore a grizzled touch, he

possessed features that were rugged and squarejawed. Birklam was in his late fifties; his vigor was that of

half his age. The pounds of his tight fist were emphatic when they reached the glasstopped desk.

Across from Birklam was a broadshouldered, darkvisaged man, whose steady face was adorned with a

heavy mustache. He, also, was wellknown in certain circles. He was Vic Marquette, head of the Department

"It's just as the police commissioner described it," declared the Gman. "I saw Commissioner Weston this

"Of course," rejoined Birklam. "It is liable to carry to any part of the country. It may prove international."

"Exactly," decided Marquette. "Before we proceed further, let me summarize the information just as you have

"Ten days ago," stated Marquette, "you were approached by a man named Ferris Krode. He is medium

"And lips that have an ugly curve," inserted Birklam. "It was their expression that made me mistrust the

"Ugly lips," added Marquette. "Krode, in his talk with you, showed considerable knowledge of the shipping

business. He advised you that it would be a mistake for your company to buy out the PanEuropa line."

"Krode intimated," resumed the Gman, "that any announcement of intended purchase would stir up ill

feeling among the crews aboard PanEuropa vessels. He added that there might be sabotage committed on

those ships as soon as the deal was settled. If that happened, the World Wide Shipping Corporation would

"So great a loss," put in Birklam, "that all advantage gained by the merger would be offset. Our own

company would suffer because shippers would fear that the trouble would spread to the ships already owned

"That much is settled," he asserted. "Tell me: what do you think is behind Krode's game?"

"I have two theories," replied Birklam, "It is either blackmail or a racket. Perhaps, in a sense, the two might

be called one. I think that if I had offered Krode money, he would have changed his tune. But he made no

"By simply stating that my company was not intending to purchase the PanEuropa line. I thanked Krode for

"Both theories are good," mused Marquette. "They are similar, of course. In straight blackmail, Krode would

have simply threatened to produce the trouble himself. In a racket, he would have covered it under the

pretense of giving you protection. He would have claimed the ability to prevent the impending trouble, for a

VIC arose and sauntered over toward the window. He stood looking out toward the bay, studying the toylike

ships that were plodding through the harbor. After a brief contemplation, Marquette turned about and shook

"Some time ago," explained Vic, "there was a case in California, wherein the Golden Oil Co. was advised not

to purchase certain options. The threat was intimated that the new wells would be set on fire. The Golden Oil

"Howard Bostbaum, who headed the directors of Golden Oil, was found murdered. In the confusion which

followed, the options were allowed to ride. They were purchased by an almost defunct corporation, the

"That could not be proven. The man who made the threat to Bostbaum was named Rupert Thurlon. He had no

connection with Amerimex. He has not been heard from since. The Amerimex Co. now rivals Golden Oil.

We have not learned who could have profited most: those who sold the stock when it was low; those who

"Yes. Because he bears the same position in that case that Krode may hold in this one."

Marquette paused while Birklam nodded a slow understanding. Vic spoke again; as he did, he picked up the

"It does," replied Marquette. "There was a murder in Chicago, a few days ago. A man named Peter Gildare

"Gildare had arranged to form a new corporation one that would have dominated the industry. He was

murdered. His plans are finished. Today, we learned that James Dynoth, the man who died in the New Jersey

"Dynoth may have been with Gildare, or he may have been against him," announced the Gman. "Which, we

"I can't quite grasp it," declared the shipping man. "Who could have gained by Gildare's death, and Dynoth's

"The men who control any one of a dozen manufacturing groups," explained Marquette. "Twelve or more

concerns are after supremacy in the radio equipment field. Gildare's entry would have produced mergers.

"I know what you are about to say," declared Vic. "We should watch the other manufacturers and pick the

one that gains the most through the failure of Gildare's plans. That won't work, Mr. Birklam. We are dealing

with some crafty fox, who may let others profit first. He is looking way ahead in this game. Just as he is in

"Yes. Can you tell me what effect may come if you do not purchase the PanEuropa line?"

"There is no way to tell," he admitted. "PanEuropa may strengthen. Or it may merge with some line other

than World Wide. If it does merge, it may ruin the company that it joins, instead of helping it. It is like a

"Unless the game is fixed," returned Marquette, "and that's the way with this one. Oil, radio equipment,

shipping they are all alike to the bigshot who is pulling the strings. He can continue his manipulations,

with threats and murders as his standbys, until he is completely covered and the payoff is due. We are

opposed by a master schemer who stands to make a fabulous fortune; with proxies to help him reap the

Birklam rubbed his rugged chin; then tightened his fist and brought it hard against the desk.

"That's just it," agreed Marquette, "and you are the man who can help us do it."

"Yes, I can. But we must wait until Krode comes here again. The scoundrel was too smart to tell me where I

"He will be back don't worry on that score. All I ask is that you don't get jittery, Mr. Birklam."

A SMILE wreathed Birklam's rugged face. The shipping man displayed a confidence that pleased Vic

Marquette. Nevertheless, the Gman decided to add a promise that would keep Birklam free from fear.

"We'll be ready any time you say," declared Vic. "My men will cooperate with the police. You will be

guarded at all hours. For the present, though, that can wait. You handled Krode neatly. He can't possibly

Birklam nodded his accord. Marquette arose; they shook hands and the Department of Justice man went to

"Krode is somewhere in New York. We'll locate him before he starts new trouble. We'll find a way to trap

Ferris Krode was not in New York at the time when Marquette spoke. Krode, at that hour, was in Cleveland.

Nor could Marquette locate the man before he started new trouble. Krode was already engaged in that very

Nor could Marquette be depended upon to trap Krode. There were circumstances that rendered that

impossible. There was only one person who could accomplish that achievement. One who already knew

Krode's whereabouts and who had divined that the wanted man was engaged in new mischief.

SHORTLY after noon that same day, a young man arrived outside the entrance of the Cleveland Union

Terminal. Pausing beneath the heights of the tall Terminal Tower, he looked across the public square and

eyed the incessant streams of curving trolley cars that met at that focal center.

Proceeding afoot, he reached the corner where Euclid Avenue joins the square. Choosing the main

thoroughfare, he walked eastward along Euclid. Though an outoftowner, this young man was familiar with

The young man was Harry Vincent, trusted agent of The Shadow. Keen, cleancut in appearance, Harry had

the ability to use good headwork in a pinch. That was why The Shadow had dispatched him on the important

For the present, The Shadow was out of combat. He had suffered severe wrenches and sprains in his fall from

the dynamited house. Moreover, Krode's trail was likely to prove a double one, demanding work in New

York as well as in Cleveland. The Shadow had therefore ordered Harry to take a late train to the MidWest.

Locating Krode in Cleveland could be much like finding a very small needle in a large haystack. Upon

arrival, Harry had looked up Krode's name in a telephone book, to find what he had previously learned in

New York: that the man was not listed. He had then called "information" and asked for Krode's telephone

He had finally been informed that there was a Krode Advertising Agency in the city; that its telephone had

been installed too late for listing in the present book. It was not, however, registered as an unlisted number.

Harry was familiar with facts supplied by The Shadow. In the case of James Dynoth, the pretended salesman

of radio equipment had made no effort to assume an alias. It was possible that Krode would be quite as

unguarded in his method. The Shadow had sent an agent to the Barwick Apartments in Manhattan. Krode's

name had been on the board in the lobby, He was not listed, however, in the Manhattan telephone book; nor

Harry had therefore gained something of a break in finding a possible Krode as a telephone subscriber in

Cleveland; but he could see the explanation. Posing as an advertising man, Krode had reason to have a

A TURN on a side street brought Harry to an unpretentious office building of ancient architecture. It was the

address he wanted. Entering the dingy lobby, he found Krode's name. The Krode Advertising Agency

Ascending in the elevator, Harry stepped into a long, barren hall. Suite 406 was along the passage. It bore the

name of the advertising agency upon the frosted door. Harry turned the knob and entered. He found himself

in an outer office, stocked with an old desk, three chairs and a quartet of secondhand filing cabinets. He saw

There was a frosted door that bore the word "Private." It swung outward and a man filled the doorway, to eye

Harry and deliver a casual nod. The man was in shirt sleeves and vest; his face was shrewd and pointed. He

A second nod. This time he was more detailed in his survey of the visitor. Harry smiled wisely. He decided

that it was Krode's turn to say something. Harry's policy worked. Krode also used a lowered tone. as he

Harry took a chance with a nod. Krode's lips formed a tight smile of their own. Then the man snapped:

On his own, Harry could never have given a reply. He had, however, come here with instructions from The

Shadow. Harry's chief had ordered him to be ready in a pinch; and The Shadow had given Harry the words to

THE words were magical. Krode motioned Harry into the inner office. It was smaller than the outer room,

and furnished only with an old desk and two chairs. There was a typewriter on the desk; beside it, a sheet of

paper. Krode picked up the sheet; Harry saw that it bore a brief message, in capital letters:

"Just typed it off a few hours ago," he confided. "It came in this morning. That lets you out of a tough

proposition, Mandon. It's better to use a fellow who is on the inside. That is, if you've really got one who's

"Good! You didn't tell him about the Yellow Door?" Krode's tone was an anxious one.

Smiling, Krode picked up the sheet of typewriter paper and crumpled it. He threw the wad into the

wastebasket. Then, as an afterthought, he pulled another wad of paper from his pocket. It was a small sheet,

"The original," explained Krode, taking it for granted that Harry understood. "No need to show it to you. You

Harry's fingers itched to hold the sheet of red paper; but Krode crumpled the wad tighter and thrust it back

"Something must have gone wrong," stated Krode. "He had his chance to get to the Citadel. Everyone has.

"That's right, Mandon. I just mentioned it, though, because Dynoth was the only man you'd worked with,

"It's just luck that you and I never met before, Mandon. It was better, though, that we handled things by

Harry made no comment. He was thinking how lucky it was that Krode had never met Mandon.

Harry was also considering how unlucky it would be if the real Mandon should appear within the next few

minutes. It was quite possible that he would arrive, since Krode had been expecting him. Anticipating such an

"I SPOKE about Dynoth," stated Krode, "because he was your only contact. There are others like you,

Mandon, who have never been through the Yellow Door. That comes when you make your first trip to the

"Dynoth told you all about the Yellow Door, so you rate the same as he did. You've got a job ahead of you

and since you are picking a new man to help you, the best system is to work from this office. You can take

Krode had begun to rummage through the drawers of the old desk. He paused to nudge his thumb toward the

"All dummy stuff out there," he explained. "Those file cabinets are the hokum that goes with the place.

From a drawer, Krode took some sheets of blue paper, which he slipped into a large mailing envelope.

"You have your own paper," he remarked. "Bring it down here. I'm leaving you the typewriter; I have a

He indicated a cardboard box with no top. It was filled with rubber keycaps, the sort that fit over the keys of a

typewriter keyboard, each bearing a letter to correspond with those on the keyboard. Krode drew out a broad,

flat metal box, slightly more than an inch in depth. He opened it, removed a medicine bottle filled with

"I'll need these," he stated, packing them separately into the mailing envelope. "You have your own, of

course. I'll send the message, telling that you are here in my place. You'll hear from me by mail, Mandon."

Krode was ready for departure, much to Harry's elation. He paused long enough to fish out an addressed

envelope from the drawer. He showed it to Harry; the envelope bore the name "Ralph Mandon," with the

"I was going to send you another message," remarked Krode, "but that won't be necessary, since you came

here. Better move from the Adair, Mandon. Use this address entirely. My name will cover you, just as your

"But don't forget the tipoff, in case trouble threatens. Stay aboveboard as long as you can. It's the best

policy. It worked out with Dynoth. The police have an idea that he was on the level, just another unfortunate

"I'll be in New York soon enough to get word from you. But don't bother with a message unless it's

necessary. Above all, don't forget to keep them brief. That's what makes them safe."

Tucking the mailing envelope under his arm, he started for the outer office. Harry followed. When they

"Just time enough," he decided. "I've got to check out at the hotel. So I can't stay longer, Mandon. I wanted to

ask you more about this fellow Jellup; but it's not necessary. You told me enough in those last messages."

Harry nodded. He knew that Jellup must be the man whom Mandon had obtained for some special duty.

"You condensed those messages nicely," commended Krode, "but they were too long. Still, they had to be,

under the circumstances. Just the same, I thought it a good idea to remind you that we want them brief.

"Remember: not a word to Jellup about the Yellow Door. He's not one of us and never will be. If he starts to

get squeamish, shoot the word and we'll rub him out. Otherwise, we'll let him wait a few months and bump

Recalling that he was in a hurry, Krode stepped out into the hall and pulled the door shut behind him. Tense,

Harry listened while Krode's footsteps faded toward the elevator. He remained attentive until he heard the

Ferris Krode had descended. At worst, he could only pass the real Ralph Mandon in the lobby and would not

know that the arrival was coming to his office. Harry had played his game safely. He was in the clear. But

Once, in London, Harry had worked with The Shadow and had seen his chief handle a double role. The

Shadow had twice interviewed one man, but in different characters, thanks to his mastery of disguise. Harry

was not adept at that art; but disguise would not be necessary here in Cleveland. This present case was the

Krode had never met Mandon. Therefore, Krode had taken Harry for Mandon. Conversely, Mandon, when he

With a confident smile, Harry Vincent returned into the inner office, prepared to play a waiting game. He had

gained a key position. Harry was well placed to help The Shadow unravel the mystery of the Yellow Door.

WHILE he waited in Krode's inner office, Harry relieved his tenseness by concentrating upon the facts that

The Yellow Door was tangible. The name itself not only served as a password; but there was an existing

yellow door, through which persons had been privileged to pass. The Yellow Door was at the Citadel,

Krode knew where the Citadel was. So, apparently, did Mandon. The latter, however, had never seen the

Jellup, Mandon's tool, had never heard of the Yellow Door; nor was he to be informed regarding it.

Messages passed between men who knew the secret of the Yellow Door. Those messages were dispatched in

code. Krode had deciphered one, striking it off upon the typewriter that rested on the office desk. The

The coded message that Krode had received had come on redhued paper. Krode, however, sent messages on

blue paper; for he had taken blue sheets from the desk drawer. For some reason, Krode also used a metal box

Typewriters were used by those who knew the secret of the Yellow Door. Krode had left the office machine

for Harry's use. In addition, he had left a set of rubber keycaps, which could have some purpose, even

Harry began to finger the keycaps, which were right at hand in the opened drawer. He counted them; then

compared the total with the keyboard of the typewriter. Harry made an immediate discovery.

The set of keycaps was not complete. One was missing. Checking, Harry found that it was the cap which

bore the figure 4, with the $ mark above it. Harry looked on the floor; in searching, he removed the

While pondering on this discovery, Harry heard the outer door open. He quickly brushed the keycaps from

the desk into their box and closed the drawer. He went to the outer office. When he opened the connecting

door, he saw the visitor and guessed at once that the arrival must be Ralph Mandon.

THE man in the Outer office was about thirty years of age. His face, though well formed, showed smugness.

Mandon was evidently proud of his personal appearance. He was welldressed. He had removed his hat and

above his features, Harry saw dark hair that formed even waves back from the man's high forehead.

Remembering Krode's behavior, Harry followed the same policy. He studied his visitor in quizzical style. The

"Ralph Mandon." Harry repeated the name in speculative manner; then questioned: "What did you want to

Harry responded promptly to Mandon's cautious tone. He motioned the visitor into the inner office. He

looked on the desk; then pretended to remember the wastebasket. From it, he fished the crumpled white paper

"It covers Jellup," said Harry, quietly. "I destroyed the original. There's just one thing, though, Mandon. Your

messages regarding Jellup were pretty well condensed. I want to know more about him."

"You've heard about Dynoth," remarked Harry. "Too bad about him. But he had his chance to get to the

Citadel, like we all have. You rate the same, Mandon, even though you haven't gone through the Yellow

Harry's paraphrase of Krode's former statements was a glib one. It had marked effect on Mandon. The visitor

showed his confidence with a brisk nod. Then he explained the source of his worry.

"I wanted to tell you about Jellup," he began. "I was cagey with him, of course, and that proved wise. Jellup

won't work with us. I found that out when I had lunch with him today. That's why I was delayed in getting

"Sit down," suggested Harry, indicating a chair. "Suppose you tell me the whole story, Mandon. Amplify

Mandon appeared pleased by the suggestion. He took a chair across the desk from Harry.

"OF course, you know how I lost out on that job I was after," stated Mandon. "Henry Adlaw decided to keep

his private secretary and that put me out of luck, even though I rated better than any other applicant. I did

manage to do some work for Adlaw. My first hunch was to sound out Clefter, the chap who kept the

Harry smiled sourly. His expression indicated contempt for any one afflicted with a conscience.

"Adlaw is all set to buy the Saginaw Copper Mines," resumed Mandon. "If he takes them over, he will be

sunk. So he is one fellow that doesn't have to be bumped. We want to keep him alive, which makes it easier

"Adlaw would ruin himself," declared Mandon, emphatically, "if he went ahead with the Saginaw Copper

deal like he planned. But the old boy is just a bit too smart. He's waiting for a confidential report from that

"If it comes in, the report, and says that Saginaw Copper is O.K., Adlaw will grab it like that!" Mandon

snapped his fingers as an indication. "But Smythe won't send in a good report. He'll give Saginaw Copper the

Harry took it that Smythe was the investigator. He ventured a speculative remark:

"We can't," inserted Mandon. "He's likely to be anywhere. Up in Wisconsin, down in West Virginia, maybe

out in Montana. When his report comes in, that dumb cluck Clefter will file it; and the next day old Henry

"That we've got to grab off the real report and shove a dummy in its place. Look" Mandon brought papers

from his pocket "here's everything we need. Hotel stationery from wherever Smythe may be. Exact

duplicates of the questions that Adlaw gave to Smythe to be answered. I copied them from the carbons; did it

"Here's Smythe's handwriting; his signature. Private stationery of big copper men whom Smythe may meet.

Their signatures, too. A couple of hours is all we need to fake anything that Smythe may send. We can make

Saginaw Copper look like a tenmilliondollar buy, instead of a dud. But we've got to have Smythe's own

report to work from, or we'll make some slip. Then old Adlaw will get in touch with Smythe direct."

HARRY understood. Playing the part of Krode to perfection, he studied the blank stationery that Mandon had

"That won't matter," returned Mandon. "They'll be folded if they come in an envelope from Smythe."

"Either one of us could fake the works," declared Mandon. "It's simply a case of waiting for Smythe to send

in his stuff. He'll probably wire, from wherever he is. That will be the tipoff that the reports are on their

way. We want that registered package to reach Adlaw's, where Smythe will sign for it.

"Then the switch. But I can't swing it. I'm through at Adlaw's. I can't go there day by day. We can't have

somebody crack the place every night. It would be a cinch as an inside job. That's why I worked on Jellup."

"Sidney Jellup has social contact at Adlaw's," explained Mandon, remembering Harry's admonition to

amplify previous reports. "He's kept in right with the old man, because Adlaw was a friend of his father's. But

"Jellup played the races and welched to the tune of five grand. The bookies were ready to make it hot for him.

Jellup asked me if I could help him out of the jam inside of the next two weeks. I told him I'd find a way."

"All he'd have to do," growled Mandon, becoming sour in manner, "would be to snag that report when it

comes from Smythe. I told Jellup I wanted him to keep in touch with Adlaw. He guessed that it would have

something to do with the old man. That didn't bother Jellup. He has no love for Adlaw.

"As soon as you gave the word, I intended to tell Jellup what he was to pull at Adlaw's. All I wanted besides,

was your O.K. to sweeten the kitty to more than five grand, so as to keep Jellup happy for a while. It was in

"The one thing I hadn't expected," replied Mandon, angrily. "When he went up to Adlaw's last night, Jellup

caught the old man in a soft mood. Adlaw got in a balmy mood and began gushing about his old departed

friend, Jellup's father. Jellup saw a chance and bawled on the old man's shoulder. Before he left, he touched

"This morning, Jellup paid off the bookies and he's riding on top of the world, with plenty of cash. Worst of

all, he figures he can touch Adlaw for more dough as soon as that bank roll is gone. He wouldn't spring a fast

one on Adlaw, the way things stand at present. So I laughed off the hints I'd given him. Made out that I had

"Yes," replied Mandon. "But he's out of it. We only have Clefter as a bet; and he's too goodygoody. We

HARRY began to drum the desk. Mandon waited, hoping for a suggestion. Picturing himself as Krode, Harry

"Henry Adlaw must be easy to approach," he remarked. "Provided that someone comes through the front

"Which I didn't," expressed Mandon. "I applied for a secretary's job. That put me out as a business man or a

"Suppose," said Harry, "that I contacted Adlaw. Suppose I put on a front, made myself out to be a mine

"The office would have to be dropped," admitted Harry. "Of course, I could handle it on the quiet, but "

"I've got it!" ejaculated Mandon. "Here's the stunt, Krode! Adlaw owns a couple of lake steamers, passenger

boats that he took over when he bought a fleet of whalebacks for hauling copper ore.

"Here's what you can do. Walk in on Adlaw. Tell him you're an advertising man, but with a flare for

promotion. Say that you have dough. Flash it in a quiet way. Talk big about a plan for special lake cruises,

using those steamers of Adlaw's. Get the old man interested in a straight partnership.

"That will hit him. You can find an excuse to call every evening, if only to leave some new data with Clefter.

You can look over that office of Adlaw's there in his home and spot everything that's in it. Clefter always

"That's all I need," agreed Harry. "It ought to be a cinch to pull Smythe's report from the files."

"Sure," nodded Mandon. "You can make the fake one overnight and show up early the next morning. Load

"They're all yours, Krode," he declared. "Would it be all right if I took a trip up to Manitoulin Island? I'm

supposed to be on the loose, not even looking for a job; and some friends asked me to go with them. It would

establish me better if I went. I think you can handle this job better by yourself; but if "

"Take the trip to Manitoulin," interposed Harry. He saw advantage in getting Mandon out of Cleveland. "I'll

HARRY arose. He ushered Mandon to the door. Harry had gained as much information as he could

remember for the present. As soon as Mandon was gone, Harry hurried back to the inner office and began to

pound the typewriter, using plain white paper that he found in a lower drawer of the desk.

Harry reported on Mandon first, putting down every detail of the interview while it was fresh in mind. Then

he reverted to his preliminary conference with Krode. He mentioned all the facts of that first meeting.

Leaving the office, Harry mailed the reports to Rutledge Mann, the contact man through whom they would

Returned to the office, Harry sat down to contemplate the future. He felt somewhat as if poised upon the

crater of a volcano, while continuing in this role of Ferris Krode. He knew that he might encounter

difficulties; that he would be better equipped if he had answers to certain problems, especially the matter of

But Harry was firm in the belief that his problems would soon be solved. The Shadow had a way of ferreting

This, Harry was sure, would apply in the mystery that concerned the Yellow Door.

LATE that afternoon, a specialdelivery messenger brought an airmail letter to an office in the Badger

Building, in New York City. The letter was from Cleveland. It was received by a chubbyfaced, lethargic

This was Rutledge Mann; the wording on the door announced him to be an investment broker. Mann took the

letter to an inner office. He noticed the hour of the postmark. Harry Vincent's report had caught the airmail

Opening the envelope, Mann studied the report, noted its contents and placed the folded papers in another

envelope. Pocketing this, he left the office. When he reached the street, he took a taxicab to Twentythird

There, Mann entered a dilapidated building and ascended a stairway. He stopped at a deserted office, where

Mann deposited the unaddressed envelope in the letter slit below the glass panel. He heard it plop on the

It was dusk at the time of Mann's visit. A flickering gas jet in the dusty hall kept watch over that ancient

office. No one approached the door; no shadowy streaks appeared upon the grimy glass pane. Had there been

a listener, he would not have heard a sound from beyond the closed door. To all appearances, the Jonas office

ONE hour later, a bluish light appeared in a closewalled room distant from Twentythird Street. Beneath

the glow came hands, opening Mann's envelope. The Shadow had visited the Jonas office, unseen and

unheard. He had brought the letter with him to the secret abode that he called his sanctum.

Eyes peered from darkness above the edge of the shaded lamp. Keenly, they devoured Harry Vincent's report.

A soft laugh whispered amid the gloom. It was a tone of approval, commending the work that Harry had

Earphones clattered as a hand drew them from the wall. A tiny bulb glowed as a signal that connection had

"Hawkeye to remain on duty and await contact. Relay further reports to Mann's office."

FIFTEEN minutes later, The Shadow appeared in the Badger Building. He was in a guise that he frequently

chose. Clad in tuxedo, carrying a cane, The Shadow had affected a leisurely gait. His features were

distinguished; they formed a firm, molded countenance that was masklike and hawkish in appearance. Sharp

No one would have recognized The Shadow as the cloaked avenger who roved the underworld to hunt down

men of crime. There were those, however, of social caste who would have believed that they recognized him.

The guise which The Shadow had chosen was that of Lamont Cranston, a multimillionaire resident of New

Jersey, member of New York's exclusive Cobalt Club and friend of Police Commissioner Ralph Weston.

Reaching Mann's floor, The Shadow strolled to the investment broker's office. The door showed darkness.

Mann had not returned. The Shadow produced a passkey and unlocked the door. He turned on the lights of

The Shadow had come simply to make a study of Mann's typewriter. It was a standard machine, that was

housed in the stenographer's desk; but it had a feature that interested The Shadow intensely. The typewriter

Tightfitting metal disks, with upper surfaces of rubber. They could hold a clue that Harry Vincent had failed

to guess. In his description of Krode's office, Harry had mentioned keycaps that Krode had left, apparently

as necessary to the typewriter. Those caps, however, had been in a desk drawer; not on the keyboard of the

machine. Moreover, Harry had found a figure key on the floor. This added to The Shadow's assumption that

Fingering Mann's machine, The Shadow removed the caps from the keys. He studied them, rejected all caps

that bore numerals or odd characters. He eyed the keyboard, with its standard three banks of letters:

The standard keyboard was devised for speedy typing. Should the letters be placed in alphabetical

arrangement, they would not serve as well. Nevertheless, it would be a simple matter to pick out letters as

The Shadow began to put the keycaps on the keyboard in alphabetical order. It was a rapid, easy process.

When finished, the lettered keys of the typewriter formed the capped arrangement:

Referring to Harry's report of the decoded message shown him by Krode, The Shadow typed the words

"Employ New Man," using the letters as they appeared upon the keycaps. Because the alphabetical

This, if The Shadow's theory were correct, would have been the coded message as it appeared upon the sheet

of red paper that Krode had crumpled and thrust into his pocket. Had Harry seen that message, The Shadow's

As it was, Harry would have to wait until another message arrived at Krode's office. He could decode it

HARRY had reported that Krode's keycaps had been in the desk drawer. That was natural, since Krode

would not have kept them on the wrong keys of the machine. Rather than rearrange them each time, in their

proper order, he had put them in the desk drawer. This was a proof that The Shadow was following a logical

However, when he had removed the keycaps from Mann's typewriter, The Shadow did not immediately

replace them as they normally belonged. Instead, he laid them on the desk in the order of the actual keyboard:

Q, W, E, R and so on through to M. Whispering each letter of the alphabet, The Shadow picked up each

His first keycap, Q, went on the real A. His next, W, fitted on B. E capped the key marked C; R capped D; T

capped E. The Shadow continued the process until all the keycaps were on the machine.

Eyeing the three coded words: "TDHSGN FTV DQF," The Shadow typed them slowly, picking each letter

according to the keycaps that were in front of him upon the keyboard. When he drew out the sheet of paper,

A simple, effective system. One that required no code list, either written or memorized. Any typewriter

would, itself, serve as a guide. Rubber keycaps would make the processes of inscribing and deciphering into

To send a message, the transmitter had merely to put keycaps on letters in accordance with the alphabet. To

decode a message when received, the recipient simply arranged his keycaps like the keyboard; then planted

Naturally, the code messages would have the weakness of an ordinary cryptogram. They would possess letter

frequency, short words, various duplications. But Krode had told Harry how to offset that trouble, though

Three words, such as "Employ New Man," would not prove sufficient for a cryptogram expert. Those who

knew the secret of the Yellow Door would avoid long messages whenever there was chance that such could

The Shadow began to rearrange the keycaps as he had found them on Mann's typewriter. While he was thus

engaged, the telephone bell rang. The Shadow answered the call. It was Burbank, stating that he had called

the Cobalt Club. A message had been left there for Lamont Cranston. It was from Commissioner Ralph

FINISHING with Mann's typewriter, The Shadow left the office and took a cab to the club. He asked for the

note; he found that it contained a brief request from the commissioner. The Shadow was to meet Weston at

Leaving the club, The Shadow spoke to the doorman, who signaled to a limousine across the street. The car

pulled over. The Shadow entered it and instructed the chauffeur to drive him to the address that had been

given in Weston's note. As Cranston, The Shadow was riding in the millionaire's limousine.

Birklam's home was located up toward the northern tip of Manhattan. Its neighborhood was like a quiet island

in the surging metropolis. Set on a height, it gave a view of the Hudson River, with the myriad lights of the

George Washington Bridge. The house was almost a mansion; but it did not stand alone. There were other

The street in front was quiet, but formed a usual type of thoroughfare. Encroaching upon the oldfashioned

district were several apartment houses. The building boom had reached this outoftheway section, then

had faltered. It would probably be years before the development would be completed. In the meanwhile,

home owners like Birklam would be able to preserve surroundings that savored of a past generation.

The Shadow's chauffeur had trouble locating the exact address, due to deadend streets that stopped short

against the rugged slopes. At last he spied Weston's car, and it served as the final identification of Birklam's

ALIGHTING from the limousine, The Shadow ascended broad stone steps. He rang a bell and was admitted

by a solemnfaced servant. When he gave his name, The Shadow was immediately ushered through a large

The Shadow had expected to find Commissioner Weston; also the grayishhaired man whom he knew must

be Dudley Birklam. But the other occupant of the room was one whose name had not been mentioned. The

As Cranston, The Shadow knew the Gman. But it was The Shadow's part to show surprise at meeting Vic

Vic's entry meant that the government was at work. It also signified that Birklam was somehow concerned.

The Shadow had made an appointment with Weston to discuss the death of James Dynoth. He knew,

The Shadow shook hands with Weston and Marquette. He was introduced to Birklam. Weston promptly

"I was interested, Cranston," he stated, "when you said that you had something to tell me about that Fanfield

The Shadow started to sit down; he stopped abruptly and pressed his hand to his left hip. Though his face

remained inflexible, it was plain that he had received a severe twinge of pain. He let himself down gradually

"Just the result of a slight accident," returned The Shadow, with a faint smile, "I had a bad fall."

Apparently, the pang had ended. Weston saw that his friend was ready to enter the conversation.

"You seem to hold the opinion," declared the commissioner, "that the explosion in New Jersey should be

investigated by the New York police. That fact interested me. What was your reason for making such a

"I know the town of Fanfield," replied The Shadow, quietly. "It is exclusively a New York suburb. Whatever

the reason for the explosion in Dynoth's house, you will find the answer to it in this city."

"Yes; I would wager on it. I would tell you to look for another man who traveled as Dynoth did between

New York and the Middle West. A man who had persuasive methods; who dealt with the heads of big

enterprises. One who has lately called upon men as important as Gildare; men who, like Gildare, have reason

A HUSH followed The Shadow's quiet delivery. Despite the calmness of the easy tone that he had used in

playing the part of Cranston, The Shadow had produced impressive emphasis. The man who broke the hush

"Krode!" exclaimed the shipping man. "Gad, commissioner! The description would do for Ferris Krode!"

Vic Marquette stepped forward. He passed The Shadow a typewritten sheet. The Shadow read it carefully. It

was a report of Marquette's interview with Birklam, amplified by statements from Commissioner Weston.

"We cannot locate Krode," announced Weston. "It may be that he has sublet some apartment. All that we can

do is await his return. We thank you for your excellent deduction, Cranston. It is logical; it shows that we are

"It was nothing, commissioner," smiled The Shadow. "When you progress further with this case, I should like

"You can help us with a present suggestion. You are a man of wealth, like Mr. Birklam. Under his present

"That depends," replied The Shadow, slowly. "If Mr. Birklam were in my situation, I would say no."

"Yes. I refer to my servants. They are reliable. Trustworthy to a man. I would prefer to rely upon them for

Birklam pressed a button on the wall. Ten seconds later, a door opened. A stalwart, welldressed young man

"This is Jefford," he said. "He serves as a social secretary when the family is at home. At present, he is

managing this household. Jefford has been with us for six years. What about the other servants, Jefford?"

Methodically, the young man delivered a list of names; butlers, chef, chauffeurs and other hired men. He

added their terms of service. He mentioned facts about them. Both butlers had served in the World War, one

in a regiment commanded by Birklam's nephew. Only the chef had been in the household less than five years.

With this dismissal, Birklam turned to his visitors. He smiled in confident fashion.

"I feel certain, gentlemen," he declared, "that I have no spies or traitors in this house. If any of my servants

"Nevertheless," stated Birklam, "if police or government men could be introduced here or at my office, I

would welcome their presence. Provided, of course, that they would pose as new servants or employees."

"You should be guarded while here," agreed Weston. "I shall detail a man to that duty."

BRIEF discussion followed. It concerned Krode and the man's potential schemes. The consensus was that

nothing could be learned until Krode appeared again and became more specific. Soon, the conference ended.

The Shadow, silent, strolled out with Weston and Marquette, using his cane to overcome his limp. He had

established facts concerning Ferris Krode; but he had discreetly said nothing regarding his own knowledge.

For The Shadow knew that plans would be spoiled, if the law immediately set watch upon the Barwick

Apartments. Until Krode returned to New York, The Shadow intended to preserve his own vigil at that spot.

Marquette joined another operative in a coupe. Weston stepped aboard his big car. The Shadow entered his

Paths in the night had parted. Weston and Marquette were going their individual ways, thinking but little of

Cranston's possible destination. They would have been mutually amazed had they been told the immediate

The Shadow was en route to the Barwick Apartments, there to relieve the present watcher who awaited the

THE Barwick Apartments were situated upon a side street, near Seventysecond. Oldfashioned and only

half tenanted, the apartment house lacked attendants. It depended on the name board system, with a bell for

The Shadow had previously entered the apartment house. During the afternoon, he had penetrated to Krode's

apartment to find it sparsely furnished and minus clues. Krode's apartment was at the front of the building;

Across the street from the Barwick was a delicatessen store; above it, the deserted rooms of an oldfashioned

vacant house. The Shadow had gained entry there. The second story front room had become the lookout post.

"Hawkeye," a shrewd watcher, was on duty. His job was to note all arrivals at the Barwick; then watch for

lights in Krode's apartment, which was on the fourth floor. By that means, he would have an inkling when

Krode returned. Meanwhile, another factor had been introduced to the game. That was Harry Vincent's

If Hawkeye spotted the right man, his description would tally with Harry's. When The Shadow relieved

The Shadow, like the law, was playing a waiting game. His system included watchfulness. Harry Vincent had

gained a key position. The Shadow did not want to disturb the Cleveland situation. When development

occurred, The Shadow would pass word to the law. But until Krode actually returned to New York, that

would be unwise; for if Krode scented danger, he might return to Cleveland and jeopardize Harry's position

FROM his observation post, Hawkeye was watching the Barwick lobby. A hunched, wizenedfaced man,

Hawkeye had a pallor that showed even in the darkness of the room above the delicatessen. Hawkeye looked

like a denizen of the underworld. That was why he served The Shadow so effectively when he stole through

gangland's domain. Hawkeye had a reputation as a spotter who could note faces half a block away.

So intent was Hawkeye as he watched from darkness that his quick ears did not hear the swish that occurred

beside him. Hawkeye jumped, almost nervously, when he caught the tone of a whispered voice, that delivered

The Shadow had arrived in the gloom of the room. Cloaked in black, he was completely invisible. Hawkeye

darted a sidewise glance, but saw no shape beside him. In a low tone, the little spotter reported that he had

With The Shadow's order, Hawkeye arose from a campstool that he had brought here to place beside the

window. His vigil was ended; yet he was reluctant to leave the post. Almost in vain hope, Hawkeye paused,

standing, to make a last survey of the lighted entry across the street. His eyes saw a moving figure.

There was a sibilant response from The Shadow. His sight was as keen as Hawkeye's. He, too, had seen the

The arrival looked like a tough. His clothes were old and baggy. He had a grimy sweater beneath his worn

jacket. His face was unshaven; his eyes bleary. A visored cap was tilted over his forehead. He darted glances

in both directions along the street, the usual procedure for one of his ilk when anxious to avoid a patrolman.

"Formerly a gobetween," inserted The Shadow, whose knowledge of underworld characters rivaled

Hawkeye grinned in the darkness. He knew of "Weasel's" dilemma. The sneak had served too many

selfstyled bigshots who had encountered unforeseen trouble. No blame had been placed on Weasel; but it

Hawkeye knew why. The Shadow had carved deeply into criminal games. Bigshots and their henchmen had

disappeared in wholesale fashion. The underworld had never learned where they had gone. Rumor had it that

The Shadow was shipping them to parts unknown. That rumor was scarcely credited, for it seemed too

WEASEL HACKLIN, no longer wanted, had been at a loss to place his talents as a gobetween. He had sunk

Tonight, however, Weasel was apparently on some job. His ragged attire looked like a blind. His loafing

attitude was a dodge, to make sure that the coast was clear. Satisfied, Weasel edged into the apartment house

entry. The Shadow and Hawkeye had an angled view that enabled them to see Weasel approach the name

Weasel did not press a button. Instead, he fingered a name card that was fitted into a brass slide. He tugged at

Hawkeye started to speak; then stopped. Words were unnecessary. The Shadow, too, had seen.

The card that Weasel had removed came from beside the exact spot where the call button of Krode's

Weasel was one who served the Yellow Door. He had been delegated to remove the one shred of evidence

that could have led the law to Krode's Manhattan quarters. That done, Weasel was ready to sneak out into

While Hawkeye nodded, The Shadow was gone. Watching from the window, Hawkeye saw Weasel slink

eastward along the side street. Half a minute later, Hawkeye's keen eyes caught a glimpse of gliding

blackness that silhouetted itself upon a lighted space of sidewalk. He knew that The Shadow was on Weasel's

Another half minute; then a taxicab rolled into sight. Hawkeye recognized the vehicle. It was manned by Moe

Shrevnitz, another aid of The Shadow's. Moe's cab was actually The Shadow's property.

There was a telephone in the delicatessen store below. Hawkeye decided to go there at once and put in a call

HEADING eastward, Weasel reached an avenue where the elevated rumbled. He crossed the street, looked

about, but did not see The Shadow. Weasel started up the steps to the northbound platform. At the landing, he

gave another sneaky look and took the crossover bridge to the southbound platform.

Darkness moved from the steps below. The Shadow reached the landing. He placed his right hand over the

solid rail and struck a match. It flickered reddish in the darkness. Moe saw the tiny flare from below. The taxi

driver made a turn in the middle of the street and pointed his cab southward. The Shadow had spotted

One minute later, a southbound elevated train rumbled into the station. Weasel boarded it. Just as the train

was about to start, a blackened figure glided from the fringing darkness of the station and swept across the

open space. The Shadow swung over the locked gate of the train's final platform. In the darkness of the last

Below, Moe's cab was following the train. At each station, Moe waited to watch the descending passengers,

or to spy a flicker from above. Each time, he let the train start ahead; then, driving like a jehu, he overhauled

This continued for a dozen stops. At last, Moe saw Weasel appear and slink away. He, too, had seen the man

near the Barwick and was sure that Weasel was the quarry. A flickering match from the bottom of the

The Shadow followed Weasel on foot, while Moe kept a discreet distance to the rear. Weasel was shambling

eastward, toward the Bowery. The district was disreputable; Weasel seemed at home in his surroundings.

Suddenly, far ahead, Moe saw a signal flicker. He understood. When he reached the spot; he stopped.

Weasel had taken to an alleyway. The Shadow had followed. Halfway down the alley was a single light that

illuminated the sidewalk and the front of a squatty brick building. Moe knew the place. Colloquially, it was

called "Guzzler's Joint"; the term "Guzzler" did not refer to the patrons. The place was simply a dive on the

outskirts of the underworld, maintained by a proprietor of questionable repute whose capacity for food and

Moe caught no new signal from The Shadow. The cabby drove away to report to Burbank; then to return.

THE joint run by Guzzler Rogan was one that formed a meeting place for smallfry thugs. It was one of the

first dives that the police visited when they made a roundup; they usually arrived after the "grapevine" had

Guzzler's, however, had previously been visited by The Shadow, without warning. After that night, several

notorious patrons had never returned. Since then, Guzzler's business had suffered somewhat; but he had

recouped through a novel plan. Guzzler had capitalized on The Shadow's raid. He had made the place safe for

sightseers; and members of the "upper crust" were seen at Guzzler's nightly. They came there to obtain a

That, in turn, had brought back some hardboiled customers who wanted, as they expressed it, to "lamp the

stuffedshirt mugs"; thus, Guzzler frequently viewed an intermingling of social aspirants and wouldbe

bigshots. Guzzler liked the setup. He was living in the hope that The Shadow would stage another entry

The joint consisted of a single large room; therein, a dozen rowdies were congregated at one end, while an

equal number of welldressed visitors occupied the other. The place was below the street level; the

highbrow occupants had reserved tables near the outer door. At the back of the stonewalled basement was

a convenient door that offered access to passages leading to a rear alley; also to upstairs rooms, with exits to

other houses. The door at the back of the room gave the riffraff a quick way out.

It also afforded an entrance, if The Shadow cared to use it. Guzzler, tending a sidewall bar in the middle of

the room, was ever hopeful that The Shadow might some time arrive. Under his portly, jovial exterior,

WHEN Weasel Hacklin entered, he naturally took a position near the rear door. He eyed the faces of

fellowrowdies, saw a few who impressed him, then turned his attention to the respectable visitors. Of the

dozen, four were women; each with a male escort. Away from the throng of eight were four men who wore

Weasel bought a drink, then noted Guzzler. The proprietor was leaning on the bar, his fat arms folded,

surveying the customers with a pleasant grin. To Guzzler, the middle line of the room was like the bars of a

cage; on one side, the monkeys on the other, visitors to the zoo. In comparing the boastful thugs and the

society habitues, Guzzler had never yet decided which were the apes and which the humans. Guzzler was

Arguments or threatening brawls were the occurrences which usually stirred Guzzler from reverie. Tonight, a

different cause was responsible. Glancing toward the rear door, Guzzler became rigid. His double chin

On the threshold stood a cloaked figure, The Shadow. Gloved fists gripped compelling automatics; each .45

was swaying; the two guns were covering the dozen roughs who sat within The Shadow's range. As

As he spoke, The Shadow stepped inward. His righthand gun indicated the direction of the march. He

Cowed smallfry quailed, then rose in obedience. In every thug's thoughts Weasel's included there

existed the same idea. Outside, The Shadow would separate his prisoners. He would take the few he wanted,

and let the others go. It was better to accept that chance than to challenge the sure, quick death that could

Not one hoodlum offered fight; yet a surprise was due. The Shadow had not anticipated it. Some keen

impulse was all that told him when it came. Guzzler, staring at the cloaked figure, saw The Shadow wheel

The four tuxedoed men had come to their feet as one. Each was whipping out a revolver not to aid The

Shadow, but to attack him. Despite their aristocratic appearance, those men were the real desperadoes

But the cloaked invader offset their advantage. As he turned, The Shadow performed a long sidewise

fadeoff past the lineup of rowdies, to a spot on the other edge of the doorway that led to the front street.

Women screamed; their escorts hauled them to the floor, away from the range of fray. Revolver bullets

sizzled past The Shadow. One tuxedoed rat sprawled upon the stone floor. The others dropped to cover,

Wheeling at the front door, The Shadow faced other enemies. These were the hoodlums; their cowed manner

had ended when the fight began. They were yanking revolvers; Weasel was one of the first to produce a gun.

The cloaked warrior jabbed bullets from a lone gun, the one in his right hand. Those shots were sufficient.

Some of the riffraff were unarmed; they dived for the rear doorway and the stampede seized others who

remained. Two cutthroats withered before The Shadow's rapid fire, sending wild shots in return. Weasel was

almost alone; he saw the mad dash and joined it. The inner end of the room was cleared.

Guzzler had dropped behind the bar; he was trying to gain nerve enough to pop up and grip a light switch on

the wall. As he made such an attempt, the proprietor saw the reason why The Shadow had used a single gun

The Shadow was twisting back into the outer doorway, to be ready for the tuxedoed sharpshooters, who were

entrenched behind corner tables that they had overturned. They were to The Shadow's right; hence he had

saved the shells in his lefthand gun. He planned to use the doorway as a shield, reaching past the edge to

THE SHADOW had gained a marked advantage. He lost it as he performed his final maneuver. Guzzler,

peering over the bar, saw The Shadow crumple and pitch inward. No bullet had clipped him. Guzzler could

It was simply that his left leg had failed him. The strain of his twist had been too great.

The tuxedoed foemen saw The Shadow sprawl. They leaped forward, delivering triumphant oaths. Men of

their ilk were the ones who had drilled Dynoth at his window. They saw a chance to finish The Shadow. They

spattered bullets just as The Shadow managed a diving crawl into the doorway. Shouting, the intended killers

Shots spoke suddenly from the outer steps. A new fighter had come from the alleyway, to side with The

Shadow. The first of the tuxedoed trio staggered and dropped his revolver. He clutched a wounded wrist.

Propped against the steps, The Shadow aimed along with the man who had brought the timely aid. Three

tuxedoed killers were caught flatfooted; one weaponless. The fourth already had been eliminated; his pals

Darkness filled the dive. Women's screams replaced the bark of guns. The two unscathed revolverbearers

grabbed their wounded companion and rushed him out through the rear door, taking the path that Weasel had

previously followed. The Shadow boomed blind shots; so did the man beside him. Darkness served the

The Shadow could not follow. Coming to his feet, he found his left leg barely capable of supporting his

The timely arrival was Cliff Marsland, a sharpshooting agent who was always ready in this district. Burbank

had received Moe's call. He had relayed quick orders to Cliff, who had been at a usual post. Cliff had headed

for Guzzler's to be at The Shadow's beck. Hearing gunfire, he had chosen the quickest mode of entry.

The Shadow gave an order. Cliff aided him to the alleyway. From the street beyond, they heard the clatter of

a patrolman's nightstick, beating against the sidewalk. Shrill whistles came from the distance. Leaning

Lights blinked from a taxi. Moe's cab had returned. The Shadow boarded it, with Cliff close after him. A

patrolman began a wild revolver fire from somewhere along the street. Moe jammed the cab in gear. The taxi

Weasel Hacklin had evaded capture. So had three assassins, placed to cover him. The Shadow saw the

connection; but he knew that he had managed to conceal the purpose that had brought him to Guzzler's Joint.

By cowing hoodlums in bulk, he had not revealed the fact that he wanted to capture Weasel alone.

Enemies would not guess that The Shadow had gained a lead to Ferris Krode. Hawkeye's watch upon the

IT was the next afternoon. Newspapers had told their story of a battle near the Bowery. The police had gained

no clue to the identity of a tuxedoclad assassin found on the field of fray. The law did not link the fight at

The Shadow had sent data to Harry Vincent, in Cleveland, posting him upon all that had occurred. Hawkeye

was again on duty opposite the Barwick Apartments. He had a description of Krode, gleaned from Harry's

To Vic Marquette, all trails seemed barren. The leader of the Gmen was pondering over incomplete reports

concerning Gildare and Dynoth. Vic's temporary headquarters consisted of a modest suite in a

mediumpriced hotel; and he was there with another operative when the unexpected came.

News was preceded by a ringing of the telephone bell. Vic's subordinate answered; then announced that

"Joe Cardona!" exclaimed Marquette. "He's Weston's ace. I thought he was out of town."

"He mentioned that he had just returned," supplied the operative. "He says he wants to bring some fellow up

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. The subordinate answered it, to admit a stocky,

swarthyfaced man whose features had a businesslike mold. Marquette greeted Cardona; but he stared

Cardona had brought a man who looked like a hoodlum a rowdy whose face was unshaven, whose eyes

were bleary. The man had a sneaky, furtive look, his clothes, frayed and baggy, did not help his appearance.

The Shadow would have recognized the derelict. Cardona's companion was Weasel Hacklin.

"Get over there," ordered Cardona, motioning Weasel to a chair by the window. Weasel obeyed the gruff

command. Then, to Marquette, Joe added: "The commissioner left word for me to see you when I returned. I

found his message at my office; it had full details of the case. I found that there, too."

By the emphasized "that," Cardona meant Weasel. He indicated the sneak as he spoke. Weasel framed a

"Weasel Hacklin," replied Cardona. "Kind of a gobetween. He has something to spill. He sneaked into my

office along with a stool pigeon and waited there for me. He knows about Krode."

MARQUETTE snapped into action. He turned toward Weasel; then paused to question of Cardona:

Marquette approached Weasel. The gobetween squirmed; before Vic could speak, Weasel put a plea.

"We'll look out for you," interposed Marquette. "Tell us what you know about Krode."

"It ain't much," remarked Weasel, "but it may count a lot. There's other guys mixed in it."

Weasel needed no more prompting. He fished in his pockets for a cigarette. Marquette supplied one; Weasel

"I ain't done nothing," began Weasel. "I ain't in on the racket. I'm telling you straight. The only reason I'm

"Joe's right," he admitted. "I been a gobetween for a lot of bigshots. That's how I got this new job. It come

from a guy I never met before. He said his name was Bracy; and he mentioned a lot of guys I knowed. I ain't

"Here was the gag. I go to a post office over in Hoboken. I get a letter, general delivery. It's got dough in it;

but I ain't to flash the mazuma. I'm to look like I was broke all the time. Along with the dough, there's

envelopes with names and addresses on 'em. I'm to deliver 'em, kind of in person."

"Yeah," he affirmed, "to Dynoth! It was more'n a week ago I took the envelope to him."

"There was another envelope, to a guy named Luke Saschew. He's got sort of a studio, down in Greenwich

Village. Looks like he was an artist. Then there was an envelope to Ferris Krode."

"At the Barwick Apartments," returned Weasel. "But he ain't there now. I think he took it on the lam."

"THERE was some screwy things about the job," Weasel explained. "First, there was one thing I had to say,

"Yeah. The thing I had to say. Only it wasn't just one word. What I says was: 'The Yellow Door'; and when I

"The Yellow Door," mused Marquette. He saw Cardona write the words in a note book. "All right, Weasel.

"Here was something else," declared the squealer. "I took two notes to Krode, at different times, see? One

day he told me to wait. He went into another room, in that apartment of his. I heard him hitting something off

"He keeps me waiting around about two hours, reading a bunch of books and magazines. Looked like he was

waiting for some guy who didn't show up. Then he says he's ready to give me an answer. He walks into the

other room, with me following. He picks a paper off of the window sill and looks at it, like this."

"That's what I figured it was," replied Weasel. "Only I didn't lamp what was on it. All I know is, it was kind

"Note that down," suggested the Gman. "Krode gets messages on red paper." Then, to Weasel: "Could you

"Sure," nodded Weasel, "'if you showed me some hunks of red paper. This one was sort of like pink."

"He sits at the typewriter," explained Weasel. "It's got funny kinds of pads on the letters."

"I guess that's what you'd call them. Then he says he's sending a message back by me. I says I don't know

where to take it. Krode looks kind of surprised; then laughs. Says he wouldn't have kept me waiting around if

"Some other messenger," observed Marquette. "Yes, that fits. Unless he mailed the reply somewhere. We'll

WEASEL was nervous as he extinguished his cigarette butt against the window sill. He moistened his

"It looked soft, see? Hopping over to Hoboken and getting them letters. There was a hundred bucks every

time. Always a century note. Only" he paused and shook his head in worriment "there wasn't a letter

"Plenty!" returned Weasel. "Dynoth had been rubbed out, hadn't he? Why do ya think they blowed up that

house of his? To get rid of him, that's why! He was on the inside; he knowed all about the Yellow Door; but

"I was reading about it in the papers, the day before. Wondering why Dynoth had got his. I found a letter for

me, general delivery, in Hoboken. There was a note for me, along with the century spot. It says this was to be

"There wasn't nothing in the letter to give me the willies, though," he declared. "It had an envelope that I was

to deliver to Saschew, down in the Village. Then I was to go to the Barwick and yank Krode's name outta the

board. That being done, I was to head for Guzzler's Joint and stick there half an hour. After that, I'd be

"I never blabbed on nobody, so I didn't figure these Yellow Door guys was going to put me on the spot. Just

the same, I wasn't taking chances. I wanted to know more about the deal, so I got fooling with that envelope

"I seen the note that was in it. It was done on a typewriter, all in big letters; but the paper wasn't red like

WEASEL paused, while Cardona made the notation that Saschew received message on blue paper. Then

Weasel pulled a torn edge of newspaper from his pocket and handed it to Marquette. Weasel pointed to

"There's what was on it. I copied it off of the blue note, before I stuck it back in the envelope."

Marquette passed the penciled slip to Cardona; then looked toward Weasel and inquired:

"Yeah," returned Weasel. "I says to him: 'The Yellow Door,' and he takes the envelope. Then I hops over to

Weasel produced the evidence and handed it to Marquette. Continuing, the informant stated:

"I rides down on the el and gets to Guzzler's. I'm wise to why I'm sent there. So's somebody can lamp me and

see I ain't being trailed. I'm in there pretty near ten minutes, see? It's all jake; then something happens."

"The fight began," inserted Cardona, to Marquette. "Guzzler says The Shadow moved in there. But that's

"It was The Shadow," corroborated Weasel, solemnly. "He come in and lined up all the regulars that was in

the joint. We was all moving out peaceful until a bunch of stuffedshirt mugs yanks their gats and opens up

"Guzzler testified the same," acknowledged Cardona, "but we weren't ready to believe him.

"It was some of them mugs," he affirmed, "that must have blowed up Dynoth. Honest, Joe, these guys that

know about the Yellow Door ain't staging no regular racket. They ain't depending on gorillas. That's why I

"It was the only joint in town where some high hat torpedoes could be planted. I knowed it as soon as I'd

scrammed. I been laying low in a hideout, ever since then. I been scairt! Plenty scairt!

"Suppose these dudes think I put the jinx on their racket? They'd bump me quick, like they did Dynoth. That's

why I got hold of Pete Cowdy, that I knowed was a stoolie, and had him sneak me into your office, Joe. You

was the only guy I could talk to. I had to blab. I ain't in on the Yellow Door racket. I don't owe them guys

"WE understand," interrupted Marquette. He turned to the Gman by the door: "Cuyler, get out and buy some

sheets of colored paper, red and blue. We're going to let Weasel pick out the right shades.

"Dynoth probably received some other color of paper; that doesn't matter, because he's dead. We'll start

decoding that message. When we crack it, we can frame up two messages of our own. One for Krode, on red

"We'll wait until dusk," decided Marquette. "Then we can check up on Krode and Saschew."

"How about detailing men to cover their places?" queried Cardona. "It would be easy enough to trap them."

"That won't do." Marquette shook his head. "We're already counting on Krode paying another visit to Dudley

"So we won't let Krode or Saschew know they're being watched. If we can crack that code, we'll be able to

send them dummy messages. If we work it right, we may get a lead to the other members of the band. This is

a nationwide game, Cardona. Thurlon, in California, was in it; so was Dynoth; also this fellow Bracy, who

"We'll start at once on the code. Meanwhile, we'll keep Weasel here. As soon as Cuyler gets back with those

sample papers, Weasel can choose the ones he wants. If everything pans out, we can make a smooth move

There was confidence in Marquette's statement. The law had gained facts. Weasel had brought important

clues to aid in solving the mystery of the Yellow Door. Weasel's unexpected entry had given the law facts

The situation was one that promised large results. It also offered possibilities for mistakes that neither

Marquette nor Cardona foresaw. There was one factor that had slipped both investigators.

Commissioner Weston arose from his chair in the lounge room of the Cobalt Club. He glanced at his watch; it

Descending to the grillroom, Weston found his friend seated at a table. Weston joined him and immediately

"Last night, Cranston," declared the commissioner, "I told you that I would keep you posted upon any matters

"A code message," explained Weston. "Apparently a simple cryptogram, yet one that defies solution, for a

"I understand," returned The Shadow. "There are not enough words in the message."

"Precisely," stated Weston. "The experts agree upon that point. Only a shrewd bit of deduction can give us

"Possibly I can," remarked The Shadow, in Cranston's easy tone, "if you give me all the details that concern

"I am not quite at liberty to do so," he expressed "unless I could be positive that such statements would aid

"Suppose I should provide the key to this code. Would you then feel at liberty to speak?"

Weston saw subtlety in the query. He fancied that his friend had struck some thought that concerned the code

"Yes," decided the commissioner. "I am prepared to bargain with you, Cranston. If you can guess the

meaning of that message, I shall be justified in giving you the details concerning how it came into my

THE SHADOW began a visual study of the message. A smile fixed itself upon his thin, masklike lips. The

smile was so faint that Weston did not perceive it. A few minutes passed; then The Shadow questioned:

"Unfortunate," remarked The Shadow. "Any fact concerning the typewriter might aid me."

The Shadow had already translated the message. He was merely leading Weston along a course that would

"There was a typewriter," he declared, "upon which a message was decoded; but our informant did not see

"I do not know. Odd, that we should have forgotten to query our informant. Let me see do portables

frequently have rubber keycaps? Or are those used only by persons who type on large machines?"

The Shadow showed a prompt smile, as he drew a sheet of paper from his pocket. Weston stared, eagerly. He

"Yes," replied The Shadow, "from your mention of keycaps. Let me visualize something, commissioner.

CLOSING his eyes, The Shadow began to write letters in rows on the sheet of paper. He finished his task,

opened his eyes and passed the paper to Weston. The commissioner recognized the rows of letters which

"The keyboard of a typewriter!" exclaimed Weston. "You visualized it, I suppose. You must use a typewriter

"Quite frequently, commissioner. When one mentions letters on a typewriter, a person naturally thinks of the

"Let me ask you a question, commissioner. What other arrangement of letters would occur to any one?"

"Here may be our code," announced The Shadow. "One so simple that it could not be forgotten; for it would

never have to be remembered. A typewritten message, decoded upon a machine that had keycaps, gives us

"Because his problem was to decode. He used another obvious plan. He simply compared the keyboard with

the alphabetical arrangement and put letters in reverse. For instance: he put the Q keycap on the key that

bore the letter A; W on B; E on C. He continued with that process. Thus his transformed keyboard began with

"Yes. Because J on the standard keyboard has the position of Q in the alphabetical arrangement. It is quite

The Shadow proceeded with new rows of letters. Completed, they showed as follows:

"With the keycaps," explained The Shadow, "this process would prove automatic. The user would simply

arrange them like the keyboard. Picking them up in the order Q, W, E, R and so on, he would call them A, B,

"I see," nodded Weston. "Putting each key on the actual letter that he named aloud. Very ingenious,

Cranston; but I still cannot see how you guessed it. Nor can I be sure that this is the correct system."

"Why should typewritten messages be used?" queried The Shadow, "with keycaps ready at the other end?

"Certainly," agreed The Shadow, "but no one would ordinarily use a typewriter to decode a message.

However, commissioner, we have a simple test. Let us apply the system to the coded message that you

"Quite simple," expressed The Shadow. "Merely find each letter on the standard keyboard chart. Look for the

letter in the same position on the alphabetical chart. Transcribe and you have it. If working with a typewriter,

you can decode by arranging the keycaps according to the odd chart that began with J, V, T."

"Then," questioned Weston, eagerly, "to send a message, one would only have to cap the keys in alphabetical

"Jove!" exclaimed Weston. "You have struck it! This is marvelous, Cranston! If "

The commissioner stopped as an attendant approached. Someone was on the telephone, to talk with Mr.

THE call was from Burbank. Hawkeye had reported. He had seen Krode arrive at the Barwick Apartments.

The Shadow gave instructions. Cliff and Moe were to cover; to act if emergencies arose before The Shadow's

The Shadow waited a few minutes for a return call from Burbank. Word came that Cliff had been contacted.

The Shadow went back to the grillroom. Weston was chuckling over the deciphered code. The Shadow sat

"Ah, yes!" Weston produced a folded paper. "Here is Cardona's full report. It concerns an informant named

The Shadow perused the report. It covered the statements that Weasel had made at Marquette's. Completing a

"I have an appointment," he remarked, rising from the table. "But tell me, commissioner, what do you intend

"We shall type two simple messages," stated Weston. "One to Krode, on red paper. The other to Saschew, on

"Weasel will deliver the red message to Krode. Since Saschew expects a new messenger, Marquette will

carry the blue note to him. Both messages will be in code. Marquette, like Weasel, will introduce himself

"The messages will be simple," explained Weston. "They will say to instruct the messenger where to take a

reply. Thus both Krode and Saschew will betray the information that we want, facts concerning others in the

"That will not do," interposed The Shadow. "Refrain from any action, commissioner, until I return from my

"Too late, Cranston," chuckled Weston. "When you went to answer your telephone call, I decided to make a

call of my own. I called Marquette's hotel. Cardona was there with Marquette; and so was their informant,

"By this time" Weston glanced at his watch "both Weasel and Marquette are en route to their respective

destinations; to see Krode and Saschew separately. Weasel has a sealed envelope containing a red paper

The Shadow had become motionless. His eyes took on a serious glitter. Before Weston noticed the change

THE SHADOW strolled away. His pace quickened when he reached the lobby. Outside, he gestured rapidly

to Stanley. The limousine wheeled from across the street. Entering, The Shadow gave a quick, decisive order.

Stanley knew that his master wanted speed to the destination. The chauffeur shot the big car forward. Within

the rear seat, The Shadow seized a satchel and whipped out garments of black. His cloak settled over his

shoulders; automatics clicked as he whisked them beneath the dark folds of cloth.

A fierce, bitter laugh pervaded the interior of the limousine. The Shadow had fared badly in his bargain with

Weston. He had not anticipated that the commissioner would pass along the information until after further

There were more factors to those messages than the mere mention of a password and the delivery of notes in

proper code. One factor, in particular, that The Shadow had suspected but had not mentioned. In prematurely

giving the code to Cardona and Marquette, Commissioner Weston had loosed a boomerang.

Danger threatened the messengers who were calling upon Krode and Saschew. Only The Shadow had divined

the reason. He had struck upon it through Cardona's report, which fitted with a fact that had come from Harry

The Shadow had agents, prepared for emergency. He, personally, was on his way to serve in time of need.

AT the very moment of The Shadow's departure from the Cobalt Club, Hawkeye saw motion at the entry of

the Barwick Apartments. He watched; he recognized the slinking figure that came into view. It was Weasel

Hawkeye guessed that Weasel was on his way to visit Ferris Krode. Lights were shining from Krode's

fourthfloor apartment. Weasel pressed a call button; there must have been a response, for he pushed the

Two minutes later, a cab rolled past Hawkeye's lookout window. Hawkeye saw it swing at the next corner. It

was Moe's taxi, with Cliff aboard. Emergency orders were in operation. There was a back way into the

WHEN Weasel reached the fourth floor, he was clear of all observation. Shaved, supplied with a new

sweater, Weasel looked more presentable than before; but he was still the skulker that he was supposed to be.

Nevertheless, Weasel had recovered from his jitters. His face showed a satisfied grin as he rapped at the door

He had good reason for satisfaction. Weasel was a rat by nature. He had perpetrated crimes in the past; and

murder had been on his calendar. The law had not uncovered his buried crimes. By squaring himself with the

authorities, Weasel had believed that he could completely guarantee his future. That was why he had

The door opened. Krode stood within. He saw Weasel and motioned him into the apartment. When Krode

Krode nodded methodically. He took the envelope that Weasel passed him and motioned the sneak to a chair.

Krode stepped into the next room. Weasel heard the click of a typewriter. After that, a pause.

Soon, Krode appeared from the next room. He sauntered out, hands in his pockets, and eyed Weasel casually.

A smile produced itself on Krode's lips. Weasel sat untroubled; he had seen that twisted leer before. It was

"Come in the other room," suggested Krode. "I have something important to tell you."

Weasel nodded as he arose. He walked past Krode toward the inner room. He was at the doorway when a

sudden suspicion made him stop and turn around. Weasel saw what was coming; but he spied it too late.

Krode had whipped one hand from his coat pocket. In that hand he had a revolver. As Weasel started a hoarse

scream, Krode fired pointblank. Five shots boomed in quick succession, the stream of bullets riddled

HOLDING his revolver, Krode broadened his evil grin. Stepping over Weasel's body, he seized a small

package that lay on a table in the inner room. With quick step, Krode headed for the doorway to the hall.

Hearing a sound beyond the door, the killer paused. He waited for a few seconds, then yanked the door open

and sprang out into the hall. His move was a smart one. Krode was in time to spy a man peering from a

It was Cliff Marsland. The Shadow's agent had arrived just after Krode's shots. From the hall, Cliff had heard

Krode's approach. He had backed toward the corner, to await the killer. Krode's yank of the door had come

Krode fired. His single bullet tore plaster from the corner of the wall. Cliff dropped from sight, not knowing

that Krode had fired the only bullet left in his gun. Krode knew his own predicament. He made a sudden dart

in the opposite direction. Cliff heard the man's footsteps and bounded into view just as Krode took to a fire

Cliff pursued. Dashing down the tower, he roared shots every time he glimpsed Krode. Weasel's murderer

had gained too good a start. He reached the ground and sped through a cement passageway to the rear street.

When Cliff reached the next thoroughfare, he saw Krode leaping aboard a taxi, flourishing his empty revolver

Cliff's shots did not stay the cab as it sped for a corner. The range was too great. Krode had made his

Cliff gained satisfaction, however, when he saw another cab wheel out from the corner and shoot away close

behind the fleeing taxi. Moe was taking up the trail. Cliff's cue was to depart from this vicinity. He did so in a

Already, whistles were blaring from the front street. Whining sirens answered from a radio patrol. Joe

Cardona had followed Weasel close to the Barwick Apartments. The ace had heard the first muffled shots;

FOUR minutes later, Cardona stood viewing Weasel's outstretched body. Joe felt no regret over Weasel's

demise. He had guessed that the sneak had cooperated with the law only to avoid penalty for a thuggish past.

What concerned Cardona was why Weasel had been killed. The ace entered the inner room in hope of finding

There, Cardona saw a suitcase; also a portable typewriter that Krode had left behind him in his dash.

Keycaps were missing; so were other items, such as the red paper message and its decoded copy.

Cardona stood puzzled. He could not understand what had gone wrong. Nevertheless, he was seized with

sudden alarm, brought by the knowledge that something was not right. Cardona hastened to a telephone in the

outer room. He called Marquette's hotel and was connected with the Gman's suite. Cuyler answered.

Cardona hung up. For a moment, he was stunned. He had hoped to forestall Marquette from the trip.

Calculating the distance from Marquette's hotel to Greenwich Village, he realized that the government man

In vain hope of preventing another murder, Cardona sped a call to headquarters. He had realized that some

menace hovered over any person who might carry a false message to those who held the secret of the Yellow

TIMED almost to the exact minute of Cardona's headquarters call, Vic Marquette had entered a studio

building in Greenwich Village. Ascending wide, bare stairs, Marquette stopped in front of a broad door where

Marquette rapped. He waited a half minute, then knocked again. The door opened; a tall, bigchested man

stared from within the studio. The man looked like an artist, for he was attired in smock and beret; but his

The artist nodded. He motioned Vic into the studio and closed the door. Saschew was holding brush and

palette; he went back to a halffinished portrait that stood on an easel in the corner. About to proceed with

Saschew laid aside his brush and palette. He reached out his hand; Marquette produced the envelope. About

"I was not here," remarked Saschew. "I had not expected you until tomorrow. There was no reason to count

Saschew drew the blue sheet of paper from the envelope. He unfolded it, glanced at the typewritten lines;

then motioned to a chair. Marquette sat down. Saschew walked behind a screen, in a corner of the room.

Marquette listened intently; soon he heard the click of a typewriter. He guessed that Saschew had put

keycaps on the machine, to decode the message. Half a minute passed; Marquette heard a trickling sound,

Another interval; the typewriter clicked again. Saschew reappeared, carrying a sealed envelope. He passed it

Saschew stopped. He had wagged his left hand toward the door, while his right was pressed against

Marquette's shoulder. That pressure had lessened; noting Saschew's face, Marquette gained a sudden inkling

of danger. He sprang away; as he turned about, he saw a leveled revolver in Saschew's right hand. The artist

had pulled the weapon from his smock; he had been about to jab the muzzle against Vic's ribs.

MARQUETTE had no chance to draw a weapon of his own. With a violent surge, he drove squarely upon

Saschew lost his aim; for a moment, the odds were even. Then the artist clutched Marquette's throat with his

big left hand. More powerful than the Gman, he bent Vic backward toward the floor.

Gasping, Marquette lost his grip. Saschew, snarling, hunched his huge shoulders upward and jammed his

Another instant and Vic Marquette would have suffered the same fate as Weasel Hacklin. Here, in this

secluded studio, Saschew was about to prove himself as evil a murderer as Krode. On this occasion, however,

The door of the studio swung inward. Before Saschew could either finish Marquette or drop him to meet a

new invader, an automatic blasted from the door. A zinging bullet found the one spot that surely prevented

A faltering hand dropped its revolver. Fingers loosened from Vic Marquette's throat. Stepping free as

Saschew's body thudded the floor, Marquette managed to stop his choking and look to see his rescuer. He

The Shadow had entered the studio. Clad in black, his eyes ablaze, the master sleuth had arrived in time. The

Shadow had not gone to Krode's; he had left that work to his agents. Weasel's life had been unimportant;

One timely bullet from a straightaimed .45 had curtailed the vicious work of Luke Saschew. Another

The Shadow saw the screen in the corner. He strode to it and hauled the screen aside. He beckoned to

Marquette; when the Gman arrived, The Shadow pointed to a wash basin, wherein lay Vic's blue paper

message. There was liquid in the basin; it had come from a small bottle that was standing by a spigot.

The Shadow whispered a laugh of understanding; then turned the spigot. Water filled the basin. The Shadow

stopped the flow; peeling a glove from one hand, he removed the stopper and drew out the soaked blue paper.

He wadded it and tossed it in a basket. About to speak to Marquette, he paused. The Shadow had heard a

"Men from headquarters," he informed Marquette. "Say nothing. Await my arrival at your hotel."

There was a low skylight in a slanted, darkened corner of the studio. The Shadow moved swiftly in that

direction. He opened the skylight and gained the darkness of the roof. He was gone when the first of the

The Shadow had departed, leaving Vic Marquette to take credit for the elimination of a wouldbe murderer.

TWENTYFOUR hours had passed since The Shadow had checked the second step in double doom. The law

had gained no trail to Ferris Krode; nor had any clues been found at Luke Saschew's. The police had learned

only that Saschew, while a mere dabbler in art, had possessed some excellent social contacts. That marked

him as a man who could have been used in schemes involving the seizure of wealth.

Cardona had arrived at the studio to investigate with Marquette. They had found the wadded blue paper in the

wastebasket. Cardona had wondered why it was watersoaked; Marquette had offered no explanation. The

Shadow had taken the little bottle from which the paper had first been moistened.

Coolly, Marquette had taken credit for victory in the fight with Saschew. The Gman understood that The

Shadow had reason for keeping free of the matter. It was better that those who backed the cause of the

Yellow Door should remain in ignorance of The Shadow's definite entry into the case.

Marquette had expected to hear from The Shadow. No contact had been made. Tonight, Marquette had an

appointment at Dudley Birklam's. He went to it alone, leaving Cuyler at the hotel to forward word of any

When he reached Birklam's, Marquette was not surprised to find both Commissioner Weston and Inspector

Cardona. Nor was he puzzled by the presence of Lamont Cranston. Marquette knew the part that the

Detail by detail, Commissioner Weston was recounting all that had occurred, in so far as he knew the facts.

The story began with Weasel Hacklin's confession. It followed with Cranston's solution of the code. Then

"No one saw Weasel die," Weston told Birklam. "We thought that it was safe to send him there alone.

Marquette went alone, also. Fortunately, he was able to cope with Saschew, while Weasel failed against

"Too bad," observed Birklam, in a discouraged tone. "It would have served us well could we have captured

"If I had nabbed Saschew," put in Marquette, in a rueful tone, "it would have helped. But there was only one

"What I'd like to know," growled the ace, "is how those messages happened to go sour. Krode knew Weasel

"Not necessarily," inserted Weston. "Mr. Birklam has given us the answer. Weasel had received orders to act

as a messenger no longer. If Krode is the bigshot behind the Yellow Door, he would naturally have known

"An excellent deduction, commissioner!" exclaimed Birklam. "One that escaped me completely when I

"That would cover it," conceded Cardona, "but only so far as Weasel was concerned. Let's figure that Krode

was playing it smart. Sending messages for delivery that Weasel picked up and including himself as one of

the persons, just so he could check. But how does that cover Marquette's case? We know that Saschew

"MAYBE it was the message," suggested Marquette. "I heard Saschew decode it. He didn't make trouble

"I think the message would have passed muster," declared Weston. "To my mind, it is more likely that

Weasel made a slip. He should have sent the blue message to Krode; and the red one to Saschew."

"Weasel wouldn't have slipped on that," objected Cardona. "He was too sure of himself."

"Saschew accepted the blue message," reminded Marquette. "It wasn't until after he had gone behind the

"Let us consider another factor," he remarked. "I refer to the shades of the colored papers. As I understand it,

"Scarcely a sure plan," added The Shadow, "especially if the recipients had previous messages in their

"Saschew must have soaked that message in water," he argued. "We found it wadded and damp in the

"Perhaps the usual paper bore a watermark," he suggested. "Saschew could have placed the new message in

"That answers it!" exclaimed Weston. "That was the test that Saschew used. Shall I tell you why?" He looked

about triumphantly. "Because we found no other paper in Saschew's studio. He could not have made a

"These are true processes of deduction," he affirmed. "Step by step, you gentlemen have gained the logical

"Mr. Cranston should become a professional criminologist," he stated. "As a crime hunter, he ranks with the

"Thank you, Mr. Birklam," remarked The Shadow, with a quiet smile. "Let me return the compliment by

adding that you have also aided in our efforts to reach the final answer to the problem."

"Regarding the future," announced Marquette, abruptly, "we can no longer count upon a visit on the part of

Krode. He will not come to see you, Mr. Birklam. He knows that the law is on his trail."

"Is it possible," asked Birklam, anxiously, "that he supposes me to be responsible for his present difficulties?"

"Quite possible," stated Marquette. "That is why you need a real guard here. I am stationing two of my men,

in addition to your servants. Cardona will have four plainclothes men available."

"That makes me a rather expensive taxpayer," said Birklam, with a nervous attempt at a laugh. "Do you think

"It will keep him away from here," returned Marquette, emphatically, "and that's all we want! We'll get

Krode, wherever he is! He is a new public enemy! Tomorrow will mark the beginning of a nationwide

"You shall have our cooperation in New York," promised Weston. "We shall consider the case to be yours,

"Thanks, commissioner. I'm taking the one step that is needed. We are dealing with a ring of swindlers, who

have used murder as their bludgeon. When we throw light on this case, we'll hear from other persons like Mr.

"Maybe we'll get another slant, too. We may get to the bottom of this business about the Yellow Door.

THE conference had ended. Visitors departed. Cardona accompanied Weston in the latter's car. The Shadow

entered Cranston's limousine and Stanley drove the big car away. Marquette remained at the door of

Birklam's residence long enough to give assurance to the shipping man, promising that the house would be

As he started the motor, the Gman thought that he heard a sound from the door on the right. He thought

nothing more of it until he passed a street lamp. Glancing to the right, Vic was puzzled when blackness

blotted his view. He thought the oddity was caused by something outside; he nearly lost his grip on the wheel

The master of the night had been outside of Birklam's, to enter Vic's car unseen and unheard. Marquette never

once connected The Shadow's arrival with Cranston's departure. He did not guess that the occupant of the

limousine had donned black garments and dropped off without his chauffeur's knowledge.

"I waited for you," gulped Vic. "At the hotel all day. I thought that you would come there."

"There was a trail to follow," returned The Shadow, in a low, emphatic tone. "One that was begun last night.

"Krode was followed," explained The Shadow. "He went to a hotel, but checked out promptly. Today he was

"I have prepared a new message," declared The Shadow. "It is one that Krode will receive without suspicion.

A gloved hand came from the darkness. Fumbling, Vic received an envelope that crinkled as he fingered it.

Driving onward, staring steadily ahead, Marquette pondered on new dangers that might lie ahead. Memory

Without a word, Marquette thrust the envelope into his inside pocket. He had reached an avenue. He pressed

his foot hard upon the accelerator. He headed southward, speedily and with determination.

Suppressed tones of eerie mirth sounded within the coupe. The Shadow's laugh was one that voiced approval.

Vic Marquette delivered the question in a cautious tone, as he stood in the hallway outside a door marked

518. Ferris Krode, in shirt sleeves, was quick to eye the questioner who rapped.

"You're mistaken," he replied. "My name is Krull. If you will go down to the desk, perhaps they can tell you

Marquette gave the password in the same undertone that he had used before. Krode glanced along the

hallway and motioned Vic into the room. Before he closed the door, Krode took another look outside.

He saw nothing that denoted the presence of any spy. There was a window, with a fire escape beyond it. That

window was open, but Krode could see the glimmer of a metal rail. He went into the room and closed the

The Gman overcame the uneasiness that he felt. There was another room to the rear of this one; the two

formed a suite. Looking through the opened connecting doorway, Marquette could see a window. Like the

Marquette wondered if Krode had an aid stationed in the adjoining room. He decided that he was safe for the

present. He released the stubnosed revolver that was in his coat pocket; in its stead, he drew out the

envelope that The Shadow had given him. Marquette had wisely put the message with his gun.

Krode received the envelope and briskly motioned Marquette to a chair. He tore the envelope as he walked

through the connecting doorway. Marquette caught a flash of the paper within. It was blue in color.

Vic remembered the theory that had been advanced: that Weasel had made a mistake about the colors. That

theory had been rejected at Birklam's; but The Shadow had evidently accepted it. He had sent Krode a blue

A typewriter clicked from the other room. Then there was a pause while Krode moved about, out of

Marquette's sight. Suddenly the man returned to view. Marquette arose; his hand fidgeted at his pocket. He

half expected Krode to act in Saschew's fashion. Instead, Krode was smiling in as friendly a fashion as was

MARQUETTE was looking straight beyond Krode, through the next room to the window. He saw motion

there; blackness swung in from the night. The Gman saw a living shape materialize. He sighted a fist that

Turning toward the outer door, Marquette paused, slid his right hand into his pocket, which was away from

Krode, and whipped out the stubby revolver. He had Krode covered before the man realized what was due.

Krode's arms came up. For a moment, the man's face was vicious. Marquette expected the murderer to spring

upon him. It was a sudden hiss that ended Krode's thought of fight. Hands still raised, the prisoner turned

Between two guns, Krode was totally helpless. A sour look of resignment registered on his features.

The Shadow stepped into the outer room and beckoned with his .45, as he had done that night at Guzzler's.

With Marquette jabbing his gun against the prisoner's ribs, Krode was marched into the inner room. There,

The Shadow entered while Marquette was frisking Krode. The Gman relieved the prisoner of a revolver. A

word from The Shadow caused Marquette to turn toward the table where the typewriter rested.

Open on the table was a flat tin box, of watertight construction. Beside it was a bottle; some of the contents

had been poured into the box. Bathed in the liquid was a note which Marquette knew must be the one that he

Krode spoke grouchily from his chair as he saw Marquette eye the transformed message, which bore the

"So you wised to it at last?" he growled: "Fluked it last night; and doped it out since. No wait a minute!" He

looked toward The Shadow. "I'll bet you had it all along! It was the cops and the Gmen who muffed the

"You sent that doublecrosser Weasel to trap me, didn't you?" This question was addressed to Marquette.

"He brought a red message; because he'd seen a paper once that I'd let the sun dry on the window sill. I was

wise as soon as I saw Weasel's note. I typed it off, though, to see what phony message he'd brought. Then I

"You made out better with Saschew. He expected a blue note, like I did, and I suppose he got one. When it

Marquette had remembered the bottle at Saschew's. He sniffed the contents of Krode's bottle.

"It's hydrochloric acid," snorted Krode. "They call it 'spirit of salts.' You get it at any drug store. Our

messages all come through on blue litmus paper. It changes to red when you soak it in acid."

MARQUETTE had recognized the litmus. A whispered laugh came from The Shadow. Harry's report had

given him an inkling of this scheme. Harry had seen only a red message one which Krode had tested and

dried. Reading Cardona's report on Weasel, The Shadow had noted mention of Krode's red paper, which

Weasel had seen hours after delivery; also of Saschew's blue message, which Weasel had examined before

Those clues had confirmed The Shadow's belief. But they had come after Weasel and Marquette had already

"I might have known The Shadow was in this," grunted Krode. Boldly, he eyed the blackclad avenger.

"Well, you're the bird who polishes off the murderers; and I suppose I'm in for it because I bumped that rat,

"Except that this fellow looks like a Gman." Krode was staring toward Marquette. "I guess he's due to get

me for a trophy, so that he can make me talk. I'm satisfied. I'm ready to go along with him."

Marquette looked toward The Shadow. He expected an order to remove Krode. A whispered voice

Krode glowered; about to speak, he silenced when The Shadow stepped in his direction. Minutes ticked

slowly by; the scene remained unchanged. At last, there came a cautious rap from the hallway door. The

Going through to the outer door, The Shadow opened it an inch. He spoke in a voice that imitated Krode's:

The Shadow stepped back, drawing the door with him. A man clad in tuxedo entered; he was pulling an

envelope from his pocket. The Shadow shoved the door shut. When the man turned in his direction, he

KRODE'S anxiety to depart had told The Shadow that the crook expected a bona fide messenger. The

Shadow had remained to trap the arrival. He found a revolver in the messenger's pocket and took it along

While Marquette covered the pair, The Shadow removed his gloves. Opening the envelope, he read the

Krode's typewriter had the keycaps on it, in position for decoding. Picking the keys, The Shadow decoded:

That done, he dropped the blue sheet into the acid bath. Instantly, it changed to a reddish hue. The Shadow

arose and faced the prisoners. He covered them while Marquette studied the message. Then The Shadow gave

"Notify the commissioner. Arrange a private quiz at his apartment. Have him send Cardona here to join you."

The suggestion pleased Marquette. He put in a call to the commissioner's apartment and was referred to the

Cobalt Club. Gaining a connection there, he told a brief story of the capture. As Vic put it, he had simply

The Shadow had noted recognition between Krode and the captured messenger. A scowl from Bracy proved

that The Shadow's conjecture of identity was correct. Speaking over the telephone, the Gman added that the

That done, Marquette asked Weston to send Cardona to the Hotel Catlin. He added the suggestion that the

A dozen minutes after the telephone call, there was a sharp rap at the outer door. The Shadow motioned;

Marquette marched the prisoners into the outer room. The Shadow closed the adjoining door; but Krode and

Bracy, looking back, saw a gun muzzle covering them through the crack. They made no attempt at a break

while Marquette was opening the door. Cardona entered with three plainclothes men.

The Shadow's gun was gone from the connecting door. Marquette entered the inner room while Cardona and

his squad were putting handcuffs on the prisoners. Marquette packed up the portable typewriter, the keycaps

and the bottle of acid. He also brought along the watertight box and the litmus paper notes.

SECLUDED in a corner, The Shadow waited while Marquette extinguished the lights of the inner room.

From darkness, The Shadow heard the tramp of feet as the prisoners were taken out into the hall. When the

outer door had closed, The Shadow delivered a parting taunt, repressed to a whisper that could not be heard

Deduction and strategy had served The Shadow in his capture of two men who could reveal the secret of the

Yellow Door. As Lamont Cranston, he would receive a note at the Cobalt Club, asking him to be present at

Weston's quiz. The Shadow had turned the case over to the law; but he still planned to aid.

The Shadow's laugh prophesied final victory before this night was gone. Usually, The Shadow's predictions

The Shadow had done well to rely upon Vic Marquette. He was to learn that he should have left the case to

the Gman alone. The coming quiz should have been scheduled for Marquette's hotel suite; not for Weston's

Once more, trouble was due because The Shadow had placed reliance in the police commissioner.

COMMISSIONER WESTON'S apartment had one room fitted as an office. It was because of that room that

The Shadow had ordered Marquette to cooperate with the commissioner. The Shadow had visualized a

Marquette, too, had expected good results through the visit to Weston's. When the Gman and Cardona

reached Weston's with the prisoners, Vic supposed that they would be promptly ushered into the little office.

Puzzled, Marquette looked to Cardona for an explanation. The inspector shrugged his shoulders. He, like Vic,

Weston eyed the sullen prisoners. Briskly, he asked which was Krode and which was Bracy. When informed,

Weston nodded wisely, as though he had guessed it at first sight. Stepping to a closet, the commissioner

Marquette was stunned. He remembered The Shadow's explicit orders that the quiz should be held at

"The quiz should be held here," he began. "Nothing can be gained by a trip to Birklam's."

"I told you the contents of the message Bracy brought," he reminded. "Remember that, commissioner? When

"It did," affirmed Marquette. "It shows that this band of crooks is wise to something; that Krode is to renew

"Enough!" snapped Weston. "It is unwise to mention facts in front of these prisoners. We must refrain from

"That is different, Marquette. The message that Krode received shows that he is conversant with the facts."

MARQUETTE shook his head. His interpretation of the message was that it indicated ignorance on the part

of Krode and Bracy. Still stubborn in his effort to follow The Shadow's instructions, Marquette raised final

"These men are my prisoners," he declared, gruffly. "They are to be quizzed here!"

"They were your prisoners," inserted Weston, in an icy tone, "but you turned them over to Inspector Cardona.

" 'Buts' are unnecessary. You asked me to assume authority. I am taking it. There is nothing unreasonable in

my decision to take the prisoners to Birklam's. Particularly since I have already notified him that we have

"Certainly; I talked to his secretary, that young chap Jefford. He told me that Mr. Birklam had retired. When I

"Yes. He is anxiously awaiting our arrival. Come, Marquette! Do not remain stubborn. We have posted

guards about Birklam's mansion. Our men have reported that his servants are as trustworthy as he said. Our

Marquette could think of no new objections. He realized that further argument would produce the one result

that he wished to avoid: friction with the local authorities. Gruffly, he announced his willingness to abide by

the commissioner's wish. No harm could come from it, Marquette decided. He could explain his course to

THE party made its exit. As they were placing the prisoners aboard a police car, Marquette spoke to Weston.

"What about your friend Cranston?" he questioned. "He should be present before the quiz is ended. He might

"I left word for Cranston at the Cobalt Club," replied Weston, "telling him to come here."

"He will learn that when he arrives here. There is no time to send a new message to the club. I did not call

Birklam until after I had come back to my apartment; hence I left him the word to meet me here."

Marquette realized that Cranston's arrival would be delayed considerably by the detour to Weston's

apartment; but he failed to see any evil consequence that might arise. He decided that another argument

would be poor policy. Marquette boarded the commissioner's car. Cardona was in another machine; he and

IT was fully fifteen minutes later when The Shadow arrived at the Cobalt Club. Entering in leisurely fashion,

he was stopped by the doorman, who gave him the commissioner's note. Garbed as Cranston, The Shadow

Without haste, The Shadow strolled forth and entered his limousine. He ordered Stanley to take him to

Weston's apartment. As Cranston, The Shadow had no need to be present for the preliminary quiz. He wanted

Then would be The Shadow's opportunity to insert additional questions. Building upon what Weston and

Marquette had accomplished, he could play a lesser part, yet at the same time get at the facts that were most

Between Krode and Bracy, The Shadow was confident that the mystery of the Yellow Door would break. He

had already seen hidden facts; certain occurrences tonight had tabbed with his theories. Even as Cranston,

The Shadow was in a position to confront Krode and Bracy with questions that would alarm them.

One or the other might break. Whatever the power of the Yellow Door, it was certain that its adherents did

not trust themselves beyond a certain point. Dynoth's suicide or murder, whichever it had been was proof

The limousine stopped at Weston's. The Shadow alighted. He went up to the commissioner's apartment,

"Hardly, sir," the man replied. "The commissioner has gone elsewhere. He told me to inform you, Mr.

There was a sudden glitter of The Shadow's eyes. The gleam faded. Adhering to the calm tone of Cranston,

"Certainly, Mr. Cranston," returned the servant. "Step right into the Commissioner's office."

The Shadow entered the office where the quiz should have been held. He closed the door. Picking up the desk

telephone, he dialed a number: Birklam's. There was no response. The Shadow's lips showed a cold, fixed

HALF an hour. The Shadow calculated that Weston and the prisoner had already arrived at Birklam's. Backed

by Cardona and Marquette, with Gmen and plainclothes men on duty, the situation had the earmarks of a

strong one. Offsetting that was a fact that The Shadow had recognized when he had called Birklam's.

Deviltry was afoot; for Weston had staged the one blunder that The Shadow had deemed unlikely. The

Shadow had foreseen that Weston might notify Birklam, even though Marquette, by telephone, had

emphasized that he wanted the quiz to be held at the commissioner's apartment office.

The Shadow, however, had not believed that Weston would remove the quiz to Birklam's. He had counted

upon Marquette to prevent such folly, if the pinch came. Moreover, the message at the Cobalt Club had lulled

The Shadow. Had it said "Birklam's," The Shadow could have gone directly there, arriving soon enough to

Instead, the message had requested Cranston's presence at the commissioner's. Valuable time had been lost

through the unnecessary detour. The Shadow had new need for speed a need as great as that which had

The Shadow had penetrated deeply into the case of the Yellow Door. The message brought by Bracy, telling

Krode to cover Birklam, was one that had spelled an insidious menace. The Shadow had averted trouble;

Others who served the Yellow Door would rally tonight to aid their captured comrades. Escape would be

possible for Krode and Bracy, once they had reached Birklam's. Death would threaten all who opposed the

Despite the lulling presence of police and Gmen, the clipping of the telephone wires had cut off Birklam's

The suggestion came from Ferris Krode, as the man smiled in ugly fashion. Krode was seated in a big chair,

in a corner of Dudley Birklam's library. His remark referred to Bracy as well as himself. Bracy was seated

Commissioner Weston heeded the request. He saw that Krode and Bracy were helpless in their corner. With

Weston were Marquette, Cardona and the three plainclothes men. Birklam was also present. More than that,

Birklam's servants were amplified by a Gman and a headquarters detective. Outside, half a dozen police and

Cardona complied. Krode and Bracy rubbed their chafed wrists. Weston concentrated on Krode.

"All right." Krode shrugged his shoulders in resignment. "First of all, I'm not the bigshot in this racket. If I

Krode paused as someone rapped at the door. Birklam called for entry. Jefford appeared; the

"Of course!" exclaimed Birklam. Then, to Weston: "After you telephoned, Jefford suggested to me that he

"We can use him," nodded Weston, noting that Cardona had been scribbling with poor speed. "Sit down,

"I'M not the bigshot," repeated the prisoner. "That's plain enough. Bracy brought me a message that came

"The bigshot?" returned Krode. "I don't know. He's got a brain, that's all. He made it worth while to work

Had The Shadow been present, playing the part of Cranston, he would have challenged the statement.

"Why did you call on Birklam at his office?" quizzed the commissioner. "What was your game, Krode?"

"I can't answer that one," returned Krode. "I was following orders. I'm willing to guess that it was a buildup

"I don't like to admit that, commissioner. I was told to sound out Birklam regarding the PanEuropa line; to

tell him that there might be trouble if the World Wide bought those ships. When Birklam told me that he

Krode paused suddenly. He had made a bad slip. He had admitted return contact with the bigshot. Marquette

"Yet you don't know the bigshot," gibed Weston. "How do you fit those conflicts of statement, Krode?"

"I prepared a message on blue litmus," he explained. "I gave it to a special messenger one who carried word

Krode's eyes showed a momentary restlessness, which Joe Cardona spotted. Instead of snapping a question to

BRACY was caught off guard. His lips quavered as he tried to stammer a denial. The action was sufficient.

Bracy had given himself away. Weston nodded his approbation of Cardona's smart trick.

"We'll hear from you, Bracy," announced Weston. "Take down everything he says, Jefford."

"Glade Bracy," stated the prisoner. "I I wasn't deep in this, commissioner. I was only a messenger "

Bracy quailed. He looked askingly toward Krode and saw a sneer on the other prisoner's face. Suddenly,

"You've got to protect me!" he declared. "Like I suppose you promised to protect Weasel. I'll tell you about

the Yellow Door. It's a society, a group of those who have who have been through the Yellow Door. I saw

"You've got to save me to keep me from them! If they take me to the Citadel, I'll suffer torment! That's

where the Yellow Door is. At the Citadel. That's where the members go when they run into trouble. Thurlon

"The bigshot has made millions," he declared, "but he's kept it under cover. He's after more. Thurlon

handled that Amerimex oil deal; he had to murder Bostbaum to do it. Dynoth swung another job, in Chicago.

"Krode is the man who is busy at present. Saschew was all ready to start on his own. There are others,

though, men who have covered their tracks completely. They are at the Citadel; they'll go out again, on new

"That's something we're not supposed to know," declared the informant. "That's why none of the members

will talk. They've been through the Yellow Door. They know what it means. If they can't name the bigshot,

they know they will never be safe. That's why they'd rather die than take the risk of torture.

"But I'm talking; and it's because I've made a guess. One that fits with what's happened. I'll take a chance on

it, to show you that I'm through with the Yellow Door. You won't have to look far for the bigshot! You've

BRACY was staring at the group. Their eyes immediately centered upon Krode, as the second prisoner

delivered an angry snarl. Bracy's voice broke suddenly; his eyes bulged, as he tried to gasp a warning. Then

They had forgotten Jefford. Birklam's secretary had dropped his note book. From his pocket, he had produced

"No moves!" snapped Jefford. "I'll finish the lot of you! I'm the bigshot that Bracy talked about! Put up your

Jefford was taking a long chance in his move. He was dealing with fearless men. Marquette and Cardona

were spaced apart; they were not the sort to be cowed by a single foeman, even though his position was

strong. Nor was Weston; particularly when he knew that two plainclothes men offered additional strength.

For the moment, the odds were five against one. Five without guns handy; but all were willing to take the

With one accord, Marquette and Cardona came to their feet; Weston was on the go a fraction of a second

The move finished hopes of battle. The door swung open, as Jefford leaped toward it. Revolvers bristled from

the hallway. Behind the leveled guns were the glowering faces of Birklam's six servants. The intention of

There was a shout of evil glee from Krode; a terrified shriek from Bracy. Dudley Birklam added a groan, as

he observed the treachery of his trusted servants. Jefford delivered a vicious laugh as he saw Marquette and

The trap had closed. The power of the Yellow Door had been invoked, with Jefford as the evil instigator.

Jefford snapped the order to Krode. Willingly, the prisoner came forward from his chair. Wearing his evil

Jefford's new order was given to Bracy. The informant gaped; Jefford gave him new urge.

"We still can use you at the Citadel," said Jefford. "You talked too much; but we'll let it pass."

"I was bluffing," he asserted. "I thought it would help out. I knew you'd be ready."

"Sure," acknowledged Jefford. "I got it, Bracy. They were going to find out anyway. You stalled before

Bracy became more confident upon receiving this approval. He found the guns carried by the two

"You wanted information," declared Jefford, facing the new prisoners, "and you received some. I can give

you more. The Yellow Door was my idea. It began while I was working here. I saw what could be done by

"Birklam can tell you that I have taken frequent vacations. During those periods I established the Citadel and

swore in workers who gave allegiance to the Yellow Door. I had money of my own; a legacy that Birklam did

"Nor did Birklam know that in my six years here, I subsidized his servants. One by one, they became

members of the Yellow Door. Tonight, working together, they overpowered your two watchers separately.

"Bracy told you the facts," resumed the selfstyled master of the Yellow Door. "Bostbaum and Gildare tried

to block my schemes. They were murdered because of their meddlesome tactics. They were but a few among

many. Others have died; some have lived; but always I have gained what I sought.

"Wealth! That was my desire. By preventing certain mergers; by encouraging others, I have gained control of

industries, so effectively that no one can trace my schemes. My work, in a sense, has just begun. Other deals,

"The one involving PanEuropa presented a difficult test. I foresaw trouble when I sent Krode to treat with

Birklam. But my own position, here in Birklam's home, enabled me to keep a watch upon developments. You

JEFFORD signaled two of the servants. They approached and conducted the plainclothes men out into the

hall. Jefford's next words were concentrated upon the four who remained: Weston and Birklam; Marquette

They formed two separate pairs, and Jefford apparently planned to deal with them accordingly. He spoke to

"I shall take both of you to the Citadel," he announced. "You, commissioner, shall serve me as a hostage, so

that the law will not attempt too strong an action. You, Birklam, will be held in order to complete the

transaction that I require. The World Wide Shipping Corporation will not buy the PanEuropa line while you

"We shall leave here in your car, commissioner. You, Birklam and myself will go out by the front door,

accompanied by one of these servants. I warn you: there must be no resistance. Two men will be covering us

with rifles. It will mean death for you and members of the cordon, if you cause any trouble."

"You two will remain here," he added, "to be bound and gagged with the other prisoners. That will take place,

however, after I have left with my two companions. During our stroll to the commissioner's car, you will be

The intent was plain. Marquette and Cardona were to be held at the point of death as another guarantee that

AN order from Jefford. The prisoners were marched out into the hall. The two servants who had taken away

the plainclothes men appeared with rifles. Jefford stationed them at tiny windows on each side of the front

door. From these loopholes, the two servants could cover the passage to Weston's car.

There were three other servants. Jefford placed them under Krode's command. Bracy remained with Krode.

The servants stood guarding Marquette and Cardona. Krode and Bracy chose positions near the center of the

"Cover efficiently," instructed Jefford. "Afterward, Krode, the servants will show you an exit through the

cellar. All of you can leave with ease. The cordon will be guarding a deserted house, except" Jefford

He motioned Weston and Birklam to the front door. The servant who was with him opened it. Weston and

Birklam stepped out through the doorway; immediately Jefford and the servant followed, closing the door as

Krode and Bracy sprang to the front door, ready to yank it open in case there should be trouble outside. They

were awaiting reports from the two riflemen who peered through the little windows. Krode decided that he

might need another man at the door. He signaled; one of the three servants left his post beside Marquette and

Seconds seemed endless to Vic and Joe. Hands half raised, they waited; hearing no disturbance, they knew

that Weston and Birklam must have submitted peacefully to Jefford's urge. Both could picture the

commissioner and the shipping man, passing the cordon without difficulty, recognized by guardians of the

They could also visualize Jefford and the servant with him, posing as two additional passengers for Weston's

car. What irked the two inside prisoners was the fact that their particular dilemma prevented Weston from

The guarding servants paid no attention to Cardona's mumbles. Marquette took an opportunity to whisper in

THE words hit home. Cardona could foresee crooks in their getaway through the cellar. He pictured himself

and Marquette, helpless below, ready fodder for guns that could not be heard from those depths. Jefford had

said that members of the cordon would find their companions of the law; but he had not specified whether

Probably Krode, who now held sway, would spare four prisoners already bound and gagged in the cellar; but

Cardona could not feel any guarantee that the murderer would do more than that. Joe was certain that he and

Vic were doomed. It would be better to act at this moment, to receive death when the crackle of guns could

warn the cordon that all was not well. That would give Weston and Birklam a chance to break from Jefford.

"Hold it!" Marquette's whisper was barely audible. Then, after a momentary pause: "Go!"

Marquette had been staring toward a curtain on the far side of the hall. He had seen the drapery rustle. He had

withheld Cardona until the curtain moved again this time, with a definite swish. Banking on a wild hope,

Simultaneously, Vic and Joe each wheeled upon a guarding servant. The two menials were spaced five feet

apart; neither expected the surge that came. With equal skill, Marquette and Cardona each grabbed for an

enemy's gun hand. They hurled their foemen backward, wrists shoved upward, as the servants fired.

A bullet skimmed Marquette's ear and whistled to the ceiling. Cardona felt a tingle from his left shoulder as a

slug singed his flesh. Grappling fiercely, the two tried to wrest the weapons from their adversaries. Tumult

Krode spun about with an oath. It was his job to end that fray while the riflemen kept their guard at the

windows. Bracy and the odd servant swung along with Krode, prepared to jab quick shots that would finish

The curtain at the side of the hall had swept away. From a darkened, deserted room, a menacing figure had

stepped into view. The breeze from an opened window stirred a black cloak that enshrouded hidden

shoulders. Brilliant eyes sparkled from beneath a hat brim. Gloved fists aimed huge automatics.

The Shadow had arrived at Birklam's. He had slipped through the law's outer cordons. He had entered the

house through a window of the unused room. He had reached the curtain just after the front door had closed.

More than that, he had seen the Gman stare in his direction. The rustle of the curtain had been The Shadow's

signal. As he had hoped, The Shadow had seen Marquette pass the word to Cardona. The double leap had

cleared the way for action. The Shadow had divined why riflemen were at the loopholes. He had wanted

The Shadow had gained his wish. Marquette and Cardona were battling on equal terms with the men whom

they had grabbed. One against five, The Shadow was prepared to battle Krode, Bracy and the trio with them.

A sinister laugh was The Shadow's challenge. Weird amid the echoes of discharged guns, that sardonic mirth

Death had been decreed by men of evil. The Shadow was prepared to deliver it to those who supported the

IN facing Krode and Bracy, The Shadow covered two men whom he had met before. He had cowed the pair

on this very night. They knew The Shadow's prowess. They feared the blackclad entrant. That factor had

Krode, as commander of the crooks who had remained, found it his part to open conflict. Quick with his aim,

he fired at The Shadow. Krode's hand lacked the surety that it had shown when he had poured bullets into

Krode was not a sure shot. The Shadow knew that from the evidence in Weasel's death: five bullets used at

close range. Bracy and the servant were the unknown factors. The Shadow ignored Krode to aim for them.

The Shadow's shots came simultaneously. One automatic blasted a message that flattened the aiming servant.

The other gun dispatched a bullet that missed Bracy by a scant quarterinch. Bracy had dived suddenly as

Bracy's direction had deceived The Shadow. The man had leaped toward Krode. Swinging his gun about, he

aimed for the man whose commands he was supposed to obey. The reason for his action was the one point

There was no evidence to tell of the partial confession that Bracy had made. Seeing him with Krode, The

Shadow had naturally taken Bracy to be an enemy in full standing with his tribe. Bracy, however, had only

halftrusted Jefford's promise of amnesty. He had pretended to accept it when he had seen the tables turn

The Shadow's arrival had terrorized Bracy; with it, the turncoat had seen a chance to escape the vengeance of

the Yellow Door. By attacking Krode, he was fighting with The Shadow. Through such a course, there was a

chance for safety. Bracy was ever ready to join the side that offered the best prospects.

Bracy's shift hastened the happening that The Shadow wanted. He had expected to draw the riflemen from the

windows. He knew that quick fight would cause Krode to call them. Attacked by Bracy, Krode raised a wild

shout for quick aid. Hearing it, the servants at the windows were swift to forget their other duty. They spun

By so doing, they saved themselves from bullets in the back. Forgetting Krode, The Shadow opened against

these foemen. His pistols spat swift bullets. One marksman crumpled, while he aimed. The other dodged

behind Krode and Bracy; he grabbed the doorknob, turned it and made a dive for the outside.

WITH whirlwind speed, The Shadow followed, revolving as he headed for the door. Marquette had gained

his antagonist's revolver. A muffled report spelled the crook's doom. The Shadow saw Marquette's foeman

keeling toward the floor. The Shadow also saw Cardona, reeling backward from a vicious punch. Joe's enemy

The Shadow fired two quick shots from the doorway. Cardona's attacker sagged. Leaving the field to

Marquette and Cardona, The Shadow continued in pursuit of the servant who had fled. Guns barked as The

The man with the rifle had run squarely into the cordon. A deluge of bullets sent him sprawling to the

sidewalk. From the curb, a shout was raised. Weston had leaped for Jefford, grabbing at the gun that the

Birklam was already in the commissioner's car, covered by the man who had gone along with Jefford. The

Shadow turned to open longrange fire; so did Gmen and police who formed the aroused cordon. Jefford

sprang for safety, into the front seat of Weston's car. The commissioner's chauffeur came tumbling to the

Instantly, the car shot away. Jefford was driving, seeking flight, with Birklam a prisoner in the rear seat.

Weston was shaking his fist from the curb. The Shadow fired along with cordon members, as the car wheeled

past the corner. Luck was with Jefford. The range was long; The Shadow's shots gained no result. The men

Pursuers boarded cars to take up mad pursuit. The Shadow stepped to darkness beside the front steps as other

men from the cordon headed into the house. Two grappling figures reeled suddenly into view. Krode and

Bracy were still locked in their struggle. Neither Marquette nor Cardona had found a chance to break them.

A flashing shot came muffled from between the strugglers. One man sagged floorward. It was Bracy.

Crawling, groping, he tried to find the door, while Krode faced the inrush of two Gmen and a trio of

detectives. Revolvers rattled their fire with the clatter of a machine gun. Riddled with bullets, Krode fell

Staccato shots told that two wounded crooks had opened fire from the floor of the hall. To save themselves,

the men from the invading cordon were forced to drill those stubborn survivors. A last burst of gunfire

BRACY had reached the front steps. Sprawling downward, he rolled upon his back. His glazed eyes saw The

Shadow. Mortally wounded, Bracy tried to cough last facts that might bring ruin to the Yellow Door.

A spasm ended the information that Bracy sought to give. Dying lips twitched; apparently, Bracy thought that

he was forming words, for there was a break in sequence when he again made himself coherent.

"To the Citadel," he muttered. "If if in danger. Weldon's farm near Newburgh. Go alone alone "

A last cough racked Bracy's crumpled form. Fingers loosened their slim grip upon the steps. The man's dead

body slipped from the spot where it lay and rolled crazily to the bottom of the steps. Commissioner Weston,

coming from farther down the street, stopped to view and recognize the body of Bracy.

Standing in a place of darkness, The Shadow waited until Weston had entered the house. Unobserved, The

Shadow glided toward the corner where he had ordered Stanley to park. Wisely, he had placed the limousine

out of sight. It was too late to pursue the commissioner's car. That was up to the half dozen men of the outside

cordon. They had followed in other machines; Weston's dethroned chauffeur had gone with them.

The Shadow reached the limousine, entered it and ordered Stanley to drive to the Cobalt Club. A few blocks

from Birklam's, he saw cars returning from the chase. Jefford had managed somehow to make a getaway,

IT was an hour later when Commissioner Weston stopped at the club to find his friend Cranston there. In a

secluded corner of the lobby, Weston queried why Cranston had not come to Birklam's. The Shadow

expressed annoyance, in Cranston's style. He remarked that when he had not found Weston at his apartment,

"It was fortunate that you did not come to Birklam's," declared Weston. "That chap Jefford turned out to be

the ringleader of a criminal band called the Yellow Door. He abducted Birklam and carried him away in my

"He fled in your car?" queried The Shadow, in feigned surprise. "How has he managed to stay at large? I

"He staged a cute trick," returned Weston. "Jefford must know those deadend streets like a book. He led the

pursuing cars down a blind thoroughfare; doubled back, somehow, through a driveway and took a shortcut to

"Yes. By the time we were able to spread the alarm, he had made a complete getaway. The men who chased

"The telephone wires were cut at Birklam's. By the time we found another telephone, Jefford had crossed the

"None whatever. Krode killed Bracy, the man whom we hoped would turn informant. Krode himself was

slain, along with all but one of Birklam's servants. The odd man escaped with Jefford. They were all a lot of

traitors; that is why Birklam never learned it. One honest man would have spoiled their game; unfortunately,

Dejectedly, Weston departed. His last statement was one that explained his new dilemma. Weston muttered

The Shadow's lips showed a smile when Weston had gone. The Shadow held the clue that the commissioner

wanted. He had gained it from Bracy's dying words, that way to reach the Citadel. Brief statements, that must

The farm could not be the Citadel. The Shadow recognized that it must serve a different purpose. It was a

place where a member of the Yellow Door would find protection; where he would contact a coverup crew

that would take action against any trailers or pursuers. Discreetly, The Shadow had avoided mention of these

Not only had The Shadow seen the error of allowing Weston too much leeway; he recognized also that the

town of Newburgh was outside of Weston's bailiwick. There was one man qualified to aid The Shadow in the

game that was to come one upon whose cooperation The Shadow could depend. The Shadow strolled from

SEATED in the living room of his hotel suite, Vic Marquette was the picture of dejection. He and Joe

Cardona had departed, with mutual congratulations over their escape from death. After that, Marquette had

No one knew better than he that the game had changed. Members of the Yellow Door had been eliminated;

but they represented a mere portion of the desperate band. Krode and Bracy were dead; they alone could have

shown the route to the Citadel. Jefford had taken Birklam there; at the Citadel, the bigshot of crime would

be free to concoct new modes of evil, to complete the schemes that had already been begun.

The opening of the door did not arouse Marquette. He thought that it was Cuyler entering the suite. A

whispered greeting brought Marquette to sudden attention. Looking up, the Gman saw The Shadow. Facing

The Shadow spoke. With every sentence, Marquette nodded. His own eyes shone with eagerness. The

Shadow was stating facts that awoke new confidence within Vic Marquette. With the facts came orders,

FIVE o'clock the next afternoon found Harry Vincent, in Cleveland, seated in the inner office of the Krode

Advertising Agency. Copies of the Cleveland evening newspapers were on the desk. Harry scanned them

The newspapers told of battle in New York; the death of a crook named Ferris Krode. Harry wondered just

how soon someone in Cleveland might connect the name of the dead swindler with that of the advertising

Harry felt some security in the fact that he was playing the part of Ralph Mandon; that, however, would not

apply should Mandon return from his trip to Manitoulin Island. In such an event, Harry had intended to swing

back to his part of Ferris Krode; that would now be inadvisable, since Krode was dead.

A message had come in today a blue paper, in an airmail letter postmarked Jersey City. Harry had been

puzzled by the blue paper; nevertheless, he had decoded the message according to The Shadow's system. The

The message was certainly intended for Mandon, since crooks knew that Krode was dead. Krode had

probably passed the word that Mandon was running the advertising office in Cleveland. The letter had been

mailed from Jersey City at about midnight. Because of this letter, Harry had made a telephone call to

It was time to close the office. No word yet from The Shadow. Harry could not escape worriment; for he

knew the widespread power of the Yellow Door, even though the facts concerning the society had been kept

from the public. There had been no message from The Shadow, to give the details of last night's battle at

Birklam's; but the news of the shipping man's abduction was sufficient to let Harry guess the basic facts.

Harry realized that he might be under observation. As Mandon, not yet initiated into the rites of the Yellow

Door, Harry might be an object of mistrust. Harry had resolved to use caution when he left the office.

IT was time to go. Harry went out through the suite and opened the outside door. He heard shuffling footsteps

in the corridor. With a quick glance, Harry eyed a stooped old man, who was hobbling with a cane. The

fellow had grimy, shortclipped whiskers; eyes that squinted from above leathery cheeks.

The old man was a peddler, the sort that Harry had seen previously in this building. He was selling lead

pencils, which he carried in a clawlike fist. Pitifully, the peddler approached Harry with his wares, thrust the

Harry reached in his pocket and produced a quarter dollar, intending to buy some pencils. The old man's chin

The words electrified Harry. With a slight nod, he reopened the door of the office and motioned the old man

inward. He dropped the twentyfivecent piece into his coat pocket; the move enabled him to grip an

The old man had straightened when Harry closed the door. He produced no envelope; instead, he ragged

away his whiskers. Harry stared in amazement as he saw a face that was smoothshaven except for a dark

mustache. He recognized the square, darkish features. Harry delivered a whispered exclamation:

The Gman nodded. He and Harry had worked together in the past. Vic knew Harry to be an agent of The

Shadow. Quietly, he suggested that they occupy the inner office. When they had passed the connecting door,

Marquette produced a sealed envelope. Harry opened it to read a message from The Shadow, in ink that faded

Marquette nodded. He saw the blue paper message on Harry's desk; the decoded copy with it. The Gman

"We'd better give it the acid test," decided Marquette. He pulled a bottle from a ragged pocket. "Here we

Folding the blue message, Marquette dropped it into a wide, shallow ash tray and poured liquid upon it.

"Litmus paper!" exclaimed Harry. "We used to use it in chemical tests. Acid turns it red; an alkali solution

"HOW am I to get to the Citadel?" queried The Shadow's agent. "I'm supposed to know where it is; but I

don't. We can't get hold of Mandon; I haven't heard from him since he went to Manitoulin Island.

"There is a way to get to the Citadel," explained Marquette. "A fellow named Bracy told your chief. You go

to Weldon's farm, near Newburgh on the Hudson. It's an emergency measure, Vincent."

"Apparently. You're the man who can play the game and find the Citadel that belongs to the Yellow Door."

"There probably is a yellow door there. But the Yellow Door is also the name of the society. Only a few of

the members know the identity of the bigshot who runs the Yellow Door. As Mandon, your game is to play

"Just that. We'll take a train East tonight. Before we reach Beacon across the river from Newburgh we'll

have new orders. Somehow, The Shadow has figured out a way to locate the Citadel through your trip there.

"I came by train last night," said the Gman. "I knew that you'd be here until five o'clock. I had business that

took up part of the afternoon. When I came here, I used the peddler's disguise, just to shake off any members

"The coast was clear," stated Marquette. "But the easiest way to get in here was to say 'The Yellow Door';

that fixed it so that I didn't have to identify myself in the corridor. I wanted to keep up the whisker game until

"I'm ready to go ahead as Mandon," declared Harry. "Nobody in the Yellow Door knows me. Dynoth was

Mandon's only contact. Still, I shall probably be called upon to properly establish my identity."

"Your chief told me that," returned Marquette. "That's why I couldn't get here sooner, Vincent. I went to get

Harry stared as Marquette produced a sheaf of folded letters and other documents. Understanding came to

"I WENT out to see old Henry Adlaw," stated Marquette. "As a government operative, I gave him enough

facts to make him understand the plot against him and to assure him that we needed his cooperation. He gave

"Yes. They came in yesterday. Smythe reported that Saginaw Copper was a lemon. Adlaw does not intend to

"Yes. You can tell any story that you want when you get to the Citadel. You will have the evidence to back it:

Harry's exclamation displayed his admiration for a device which he knew was of The Shadow's creation. He

realized how definitely the bona fide report would establish him as Mandon when he reached the Citadel. He

Through the Gman, The Shadow had gained quick possession of the papers that would be Harry's passport,

proof that Harry, as Mandon, had completed a required job. Vic's visit to Adlaw had also insured the copper

"I had to travel over beyond the High Level Bridge," he told Harry. "Adlaw lives in Lakewood and his house

is a long way out. He gave me an interview quick enough, though, when I arrived there.

"His secretary, Clefter, knows that I am a government man, because I told him. But Clefter is reliable,

"I'll hobble out," declared Marquette, "I won't see you until tomorrow, Vincent. I'm taking the New York

Limited, at two o'clock in the morning. It gets to Beacon along about two tomorrow afternoon.

"You take the same train. Sometime after we leave Albany, you can meet me on the train. Bedroom B, Car

AGAIN disguised, Marquette shambled through the outer office. Harry opened the door; the pretended

peddler hobbled toward the stairway. The corridor was deserted; Harry's path lay clear.

Methodically, The Shadow's agent packed a few belongings, including the typewriter keycaps and the

transformed message that had come today. He scraped the name from the glass panel of the door; pored

through the filing cabinets and destroyed the few papers that bore the name of Krode.

Instructions from The Shadow had told Harry to remove any clues, in case some later visitor would check

over the premises. As Mandon, Harry would naturally cover his trail. His final tasks completed, Harry left the

Walking west on Euclid Avenue, Harry chose an arcade that led through to Superior Avenue. He was bound

for a restaurant where he would eat his last dinner in Cleveland. Tonight, to Harry, meant the beginning of a

The coming mission promised danger. That was an element that Harry had often faced in the service of The

THE New York Limited was speeding southward from Albany. Harry Vincent was seated by a window of the

dining car, enjoying lunch as he watched the passing panorama of the Hudson River.

The train was nearly two hours late; it would not reach Beacon until nearly four o'clock. Harry was one

passenger who was pleased because the Limited was not on time. He had not wanted to reach the Weldon

Vic Marquette had just finished lunch. Without displaying any recognition of Harry, he had departed the

diner. Concluding his own meal, Harry walked forward. He reached a sleeper that carried the name Hyacinth.

In the window beside the narrow interior passage were cardboard squares that bore the number L69.

Harry pressed the button beside the door of Bedroom B. The door opened; Harry stepped in with Vic

"This came on at Albany," informed Marquette, pointing to a suitcase that lay on the wide, couchlike seat. "I

Harry opened the suitcase; he found an envelope, in it a message. While he was reading word from The

"We've got to trail you after you make contact. But it will be a tough job, Vincent."

"Why?" questioned Harry. He was wearing a smile, as the message faded. "That shouldn't be difficult, Vic."

"The old system is to tag a car," explained Marquette. "To keep radio calls coming in to headquarters. Let

new patrol cars report when they see the wanted machine go past. But there are disadvantages. The crooks

may pick up some of those shortwave signals themselves. What's more, they're apt to spot patrol cars.

"It's all right, maybe, when a manhunt is on. But this isn't a manhunt. You're supposed to be Mandon, shaking

off any one that's after you. The better you shake them, the more chance you'll have of getting to the Citadel.

"So I don't suppose we'll cover. But how will we know where you are when you get there? How will you

know, if these pals of Mandon's take you all over the map? They can lose you, Vincent."

Standing the suitcase upright, he pried at the bottom. A flap lifted; Marquette stared at a cavity beneath. He

The apparatus consisted of a coil, a tube, with several drycell batteries. Packed with it, ready for attachment,

"I don't get it," grunted Marquette. "You can't send with that outfit. You'll have no chance to rig up an aerial."

"I don't need to," returned Harry, still smiling. "I have my instructions. I will attach these batteries before we

reach Beacon. When I close the flap, I can gum the paper lining of the suitcase over it. There won't be a trace

"I'll fix it in my own compartment, Vic. Don't worry about my part. When you get off at Beacon, you will

find a coupe with the license number 40S2G7. Take it and follow the only local taxi that has a green

"You'll arrive at an old house on the Hudson," added Harry. "Go in and ask for Burbank. He is the man who

boarded this train at Albany, to leave the suitcase. Your instructions were in the message, Vic."

Marquette nodded; he jotted down the license number; also the name Burbank. Harry left the bedroom,

CLOUDS prophesied an early dusk, when the Limited hauled into Beacon. Harry Vincent was carrying the

new suitcase. He had left an old one on the train, after transferring his belongings to the special bag. Harry

chose a random taxi. He told the driver to take him across the river to Newburgh.

As he rode away, Harry saw the taxi with the green stoplight. He caught sight of a passenger boarding it.

The man's back was turned; Harry did not see his face. But he knew that the chap was Burbank. Harry also

Harry's taxi took the ferry to Newburgh; the driver informed the passenger that he would have to pay for the

round trip. They caught a boat that was about to leave. Seven minutes after its departure from Beacon, the

As they rolled westward along Second Street, Harry mentioned that he wanted to ride out to the Weldon

farm. The driver scratched his head; then stopped to make inquiry at a garage. He came back with the

Twenty minutes later, the puzzled taxi driver was stopped at a sign post, trying to figure the route to the farm.

A long, white building showed in the dusk of a hillside. Harry supposed that it might be the farm. He made

no comment, however; for he saw a long sedan that was moving slowly from a side lane.

"This is the place," announced Harry, pulling money from his pocket. "Let me off here."

Two minutes more; Harry was standing in the road. The taxi was heading back to Newburgh; the sedan was

nosing in Harry's direction. Harry turned about as the car stopped. A gruffvoiced driver queried:

"Yes," replied Harry, lifting his suitcase to the running board. "I want to find the Weldon farm."

Harry looked toward the hazy farmhouse as he spoke. There was no yellow door to be seen; but his question

"I'm Chuck Lawston. Maybe Dynoth mentioned me to you. We thought maybe you were Mandon. Any one

"No," replied Harry; "but I was afraid of a jam out in Cleveland. That's why I headed here."

"Sure. Instead of going straight to the Citadel. Good stuff, Mandon! Hop aboard."

Harry entered the front seat of the sedan. There were two other men in back; Lawston did not introduce them.

Instead, the driver began a circuitous course. Settling dusk made it impossible for Harry to guess the

HARRY had tossed his suitcase into the rear seat. Flickers of guarded flashlights made him guess that the

men in back were examining the contents. Harry smiled to himself. All that they would find were the

Along a curving road, Harry noted that Lawston was picking out the lights of other cars. Somewhere, they

would meet a coverup crew. Harry remembered his conversation with Marquette. Ordinary measures of

trailing would ruin this expedition. The men of the Yellow Door had means of making sure that they were

Harry, however, was confident. He leaned back in the seat and let darkness cover his smile. The inspection of

the suitcase had ended. The men in back had not guessed that it contained a sealed apparatus. Just before

Beacon, Harry had attached the drycell batteries. He had no need to worry whither he was being carried.

THE answer to this remarkable situation was to be found in an upstairs room of a deserted mansion that

overlooked the Hudson, some miles from the town of Beacon. To that house, Vic Marquette had followed the

taxi with the green stoplight. He had seen a man enter the building; he had watched the taxi leave.

Approaching, Marquette had knocked at the front door. A huge, broadsmiling African had admitted him.

The man was Jericho, a resident of Harlem whom The Shadow employed for certain tasks. Jericho had been

placed in charge of this old, empty house. When Marquette asked for Burbank, the African bowed and

In the room that Marquette had entered, a lone man was seated at a table in the corner. There was a vacant

chair beside him. Marquette sat down; but his position did not enable him to glimpse the man's face. He

In a glow of light lay a map, marked off into tiny squares. At one spot was a large red dot, which represented

the location of this house. At another spot, in New Jersey, was a green dot. Though Marquette did not guess

In front of Burbank was an apparatus that Marquette recognized as a radio direction finder. It was evidently

set to locate a certain radio beam of a specified short wave length. As Marquette watched, he heard a

Burbank placed a ruled edge straight from the green dot in the direction that The Shadow had mentioned. He

drew a line along it; at the same time, he checked by his own direction finder and spoke methodically:

Turning a metal ruler so that it ran from the red dot, Burbank drew a line of his own. It crossed The Shadow's

line at a spot on a secondclass highway. Marquette watched Burbank pencil the road in blue, up to that

The radio beam came from the apparatus in Harry Vincent's suitcase. Using direction finders at two distant

points, The Shadow and Burbank were separately gaining their compass readings. Through established

telephonic communication, they were passing their individual findings back and forth.

Each had a map, set according to the compass beside it. Each was limited to the simple discovery of a straight

line to whatever place Harry's bag might be. But wherever The Shadow's direction line crossed Burbank's, the

New directions were coming from The Shadow. Burbank was methodically repeating his own new readings.

Marquette watched Burbank repeat his process on the map, finally moving the blue line further along the

road; then left at a crossing, on to another highway. Vic knew that The Shadow was employing the same

Minute by minute, mile by mile, The Shadow and Burbank were tracing the car that was manned by members

of the Yellow Door. The unseen trail was being followed to the lair where crooks possessed their unknown

Harry Vincent knew that they were near the Citadel, by the direct course that the car had taken. Until the

present, Lawston had changed from one road to another, threading a mazelike course that had totally baffled

At last, the driver was keeping to one road; the headlights showed a highpicketed iron fence alongside. The

road was a dirt one, lonely amid its enshrouding trees; but beyond the fence was open ground.

Harry was sure that the fence encircled the premises of the Citadel. His surmise proved correct when the car

Harry could not guess which of three states boasted this hidden retreat. It might be New York, New Jersey, or

Pennsylvania. He knew only that they had not crossed the Hudson River; but whether they had ridden south,

He knew that Lawston's deceptive route had been carried through to shake off any followers; but it had

A narrowbeamed searchlight shone from a high spot in the darkness. It bathed the standing car in a circle of

"They're on the job in the control room," stated the driver. "They knew when we crossed the signal wire. It

The sedan had been identified. The big gates were swinging open. Lawston spoke again as he drove forward.

"We got the red signal one night when I was on duty," he added. "Gave the whole fence full voltage when we

saw it. Turned out to be a deer that must have been scratching his antlers on the fence."

From these remarks, Harry made definite conjectures. The searchlight had come from some lookout post that

served also as control room. Hidden wires along the road would bring a blue signal when a car approached.

Anything touching the iron fence would produce red. The fence must be fitted with powerful wires, ready to

HARRY heard the gates clang shut behind the sedan. The searchlight was extinguished. A full moon,

struggling to pierce the clouded sky, gave Harry a brief glimpse of a squarewalled house some sixty yards

ahead. The structure was two stories tall and flatroofed; but at the front, Harry saw a squareshaped

structure that reminded him of a conning tower. It projected upward, like a chimney, above the roof.

The fading glimpse was ended. Harry knew that he had spied the control room of which Lawston had spoken.

Harry put the query as Lawston swung into a driveway beside the house. The headlights showed a bulky door

"When we see the red light?" questioned Lawston. "Sure! What if we do knock off some guy once in a while?

The guys that sneak around these woods are the kind that are never missed. We get the green lights once in a

Lawston jolted the car into a lighted garage; as he applied the brakes, he added:

"But we let the green lights ride. They're for emergency only. We can't take a chance and blow up half the

Harry's new guess was that hidden mines lay all about the outside terrain. Green lights would give a warning

that persons were on their way toward the fence. In an emergency, dynamite would blast invaders skyward

All depended upon that control room that topped the Citadel. Of all spots in this squarewalled building, it

Men were alighting from the sedan. Harry copied their example. He started to follow Lawston toward an

He returned to the car and fished out the bag. Carrying it, he followed the others through the door and up a

flight of steps. They reached a large hall on the ground floor. There, Harry was approached by a man with

"Hello, Mandon," greeted this fellow, as he caught a nod from Lawston. "I'm Jefford. Come along, I'll give

He conducted Harry to a corner of the ground floor and opened a door. Harry stepped into a small bedroom

"It worked," replied Harry. "I used Jellup to get old Adlaw's papers. He pulled the stunt last night."

"Yes. I had your message, but I didn't head here because I knew that Smythe's report was due."

"Yes right after dinner last night. I found a chance to go to Adlaw's myself and plant the phonies."

JEFFORD congratulated Harry with a hearty clap on the back. Harry knew that the man had heard Krode's

story and supposed that the plan had gone through as originally arranged. Suddenly, however, Jefford showed

Harry knew that Jefford's allusion concerned the fact that Harry had come by way of Newburgh. Harry had a

"There was a fellow on the train who looked like a Gman. He came aboard at Albany."

"There were some papers in Krode's flies," chanced Harry, "that told about an advertising account in

"So Marquette went to Albany. Then it was just luck that he boarded your train."

"That's what I figured afterward," declared Harry. "I was coming into New York. When I saw the fellow, I

"Then he wasn't trailing you. Well, Mandon, you worked it right. We're all here at last except those who took

"Come upstairs when you're ready," he said. "We'll all be in the dining room. The meeting comes afterward.

Harry motioned for Jefford to remain a moment. Unfastening the suitcase, Harry produced Adlaw's papers.

Jefford smiled, well pleased. He took the papers and departed. As soon as the man's footsteps had faded,

Harry became busy. He opened the suitcase, ripped the bottom lining and attached the special sending key to

MILES away, Burbank was seated in the old house on the Hudson, his finger on the map, while Vic

"Practically no change in the last ten minutes," declared Burbank. "It looks like the Citadel."

"Square K52," remarked Marquette, looking over Burbank's shoulder. "West of Nyack, inside the New

"Less than forty miles from New York," asserted Burbank, methodically, "and about the same distance from

"Instructions!" spoke The Shadow. "Connect Marquette with his hotel in New York. Have him detail his men

to surround Sector M in Square K52. Marquette is to join them after contact call from the store at crossroads

The Shadow had decided that Harry was at the Citadel. He was planning a move for Marquette and the

Gmen. Burbank produced a map that showed K52 in detail. Sector M represented the area where the

Burbank pulled a plug from a small switchboard at his side. He inserted it elsewhere; made a methodical call.

"Hello, Cuyler," announced Vic. "We've got a lead on the Yellow Door. I want you to start out with the

squad, full strength, to a place in New Jersey. Form a cordon, but hold back until I join you. When "

Marquette paused. He noted that Burbank seemed to be having trouble with the radio beam. It was breaking;

IN the top room of Lamont Cranston's New Jersey mansion, The Shadow, too, was noting the interruption of

the beam. Seated at a table, The Shadow was jotting dots and dashes on a sheet of paper. His laugh was a

whispered one that denoted new satisfaction. Harry Vincent was corroborating the fact that he was at the

By simple manipulation of the attached key, Harry was breaking the current provided by the drycell

batteries. Each pressure temporarily disturbed the beam; thereby, Harry was flashing a codeword message.

The message ended. To facts gained from Lawston, Harry had added that the members of the Yellow Door

would soon assemble on the second floor; that there, after a dinner, Harry, as Mandon, would be taken to the

meeting room. Therein, he would see the Yellow Door itself, upon the second floor of the Citadel.

The Shadow pressed a switch to signal Burbank by telephone. Connection came; Burbank had cut off the

New York Gmen in order that he and Marquette might hear The Shadow's order. The Shadow repeated terse

facts that Burbank, too, had heard from Harry. To these, he added comment of his own.

"Citadel fence electrified," announced The Shadow. "Terrain mined. Close approach unsafe. Keep clear of

Sector M in Square K52. Await twodot, onedash, threedot signal from Citadel control room. Then close

The Shadow pulled the plug to end connection. Burbank was free to switch Marquette to the New York call.

In his secluded room, The Shadow arose and extinguished the light by the direction finder. A swish sounded

in the darkness. Cloaked, The Shadow was prepared for prompt departure from the house that he occupied as

The unseen trail had worked. The Shadow had learned the Citadel's location, though Harry himself could not

guess where he was. Harry, however, had managed to cooperate well, while he played the part of Mandon.

Through his interruption of the beam, Harry had radioed important facts. From those, The Shadow's keen

brain had devised a way to deal promptly with the band that called itself the Yellow Door.

DINNER had ended at the Citadel. It had been a prompt meal and a rather brief one. Harry Vincent estimated

that less than an hour had passed since he had dispatched word through his process with the sending key.

Harry had used a spare strip of gummed paper to reline the bottom of the suitcase. He knew that the hidden

device would again escape detection, if the bag should be examined in his absence.

However, as Ralph Mandon, Harry had no cause for worry while with the members of the Yellow Door.

Twenty strong, they had received him with enthusiasm about the huge dining table where Jefford had

Harry's exploit had been heralded by Jefford. He was a hero among the crooks, for they credited him with the

completion of Ferris Krode's unfinished task. Henry Adlaw, as purchaser of Saginaw Copper, would be

ruined. Enterprises which the Yellow Door held by proxy would gain more than two million dollars through

As dinner ended, two of the diners ascended a spiral stairway in a hall outside the dining room. Harry knew

that they were going to the control room. While he chatted with Rupert Thurlon, a slyfaced rogue whom

Harry knew to be the murderer of Howard Bostbaum, Harry saw two men descend from the stairway, and

Obviously, the members of the Yellow Door took their turn in twoman shifts. Never empty, the control

room tower was the vital spot of the Citadel. Harry itched to pay a visit to that spot above. He curbed the

urge, for he knew that he was to be taken elsewhere. As Mandon, Harry was to pass through the Yellow

JEFFORD led the way to a large meeting room across the hall from the dining room. The members entered;

Harry saw a luxurious room completely furnished in rich purple. Velvet curtains hung from the walls on all

sides. The thickly tufted carpet was of the same royal hue. Even the chairs were covered with a purple plush.

There was little ceremony when the meeting began. Jefford began to speak; his remarks were addressed to

Harry. It was taken for granted that the newcomer knew about the Yellow Door and had long looked forward

to the privilege of passing through that honored barrier. One interruption came, however, soon after Jefford

It was the tingling of a tiny bell, located somewhere behind a curtain. When he heard the muffled sound,

Jefford turned to Thurlon and told him to visit the control room. When Thurlon went out, two others

Jefford continued his talk. Light was mellow in this purplewalled room, for the illumination came from high

up near the ceiling, from bulbs nestled in niches behind the tops of curtains. Harry could feel a hypnotic

effect from his surroundings; he scarcely caught the import of Jefford's words, until the man's voice rang out:

"And to you, our fellow member, comes the privilege of passing beyond the Yellow Door, there to declare

your allegiance to golden walls that hear; to jeweled panels whose gems are seeing eyes!"

Stepping to the far wall, Jefford drew a hanging cord. Curtains spread; the light showed a door of brilliant

yellow. Its color was rendered vivid by the opposite contrast of the purple curtains.

Jefford placed his hand upon a panel of the door. To Harry, he said a single word:

Before Jefford could spring the hidden catch that controlled the Yellow Door, a shout came from the front

end of the meeting room. Thurlon had returned with his companions. With them was a new arrival. Despite

FROZEN, Harry could make no move. The odds were twenty to one against him. Thurlon approached

Jefford; the two held conference. Jefford motioned to Mandon, then to Harry. He brought the two together.

Harry met Mandon's challenging gaze; he saw an expression of puzzlement come over the other man's face.

"We have two claimants to membership," he announced, in a dry, hard tone. "One whom we have accepted as

Ralph Mandon, who came here by our emergency route. The other, who claims to be Ralph Mandon, who

Jefford turned to Harry. He put the question: "What lies beyond the Yellow Door?"

"Golden walls that hear," replied Harry, calmly, "and jeweled eyes with gems that see."

In that instant, Harry knew that his game was ended. He felt no chill. He was ready to meet whatever torture

these rogues might offer. No men seized him; such an act was unnecessary, considering the hopeless odds

"He claimed to be Ferris Krode," he stated. "When I read in the newspapers that Krode was dead, I ended my

Jefford threw a glare toward Harry. There was evil in his gaze; for Jefford could see Harry as the instigator of

the trouble that had come to the Yellow Door. While Jefford glared, the muffled bell tingled. Jefford gave no

order. Thurlon and two others left to visit the control room and learn the cause of the new summons.

"You passed as Krode," accused Jefford, harshly. "That, perhaps, explains Krode's death. You are our enemy

A tremendous clangor reverberated through the room. Curtains vibrated with the sound of a huge alarm bell.

Jefford spun about to face the outer door. It was half opened; from the hallway came the roar of guns.

Thurlon's voice raised a loud shriek. In screaming tone, the man pronounced a name:

IN a flash, Harry understood. The Shadow had arrived by autogiro. Soaring above the roof of the Citadel, he

had managed a silent descent from the night. Watchers in the control room had heard the thud when the ship

struck the roof. Not realizing the full menace, they had first pressed the summons bell.

The Shadow had invaded. Smashing through a lookout window, he had downed the control room guards with

shots. One had managed to sound the huge alarm; that was all. The Shadow had reached the spiral stairway.

Descending, he had encountered Thurlon and the murderer's two companions. Two of them had felt the

Harry whipped an automatic from his pocket, ready to do battle in the meeting room. Mandon saw the move;

he flung himself upon The Shadow's agent. In that moment, Harry could have been overwhelmed by force of

The door of the meeting room was flung wide. A fierce, sardonic laugh quivered the purple walls, replacing

the clangor of the alarm. The Shadow was on the threshold, his ready automatics bulging from his fists.

Jefford shouted. A horde surged forward, whipping guns to view. The Shadow did not stay to face such

impossible odds. He would have been a target for fifteen guns. Instead, he whirled away. He was gone when

revolvers began to bark. Jefford and the crooks drove forth to overtake their lone foe.

The Shadow's withdrawal was not flight. It was strategy. He was leaping back to the spiral stairway, dashing

upward to the control room, while bullets clanged the rail. The Shadow reached the top unscathed; the control

Jefford shouted to his men; they dived to other rooms, to return with ovalshaped bombs. The members of

Automatics thrust their muzzles into view. Echoing shots sent bombers scattering from the foot of the spiral

stairs. Crooks rallied; Harry, still struggling with Mandon, could hear their evil shouts. Then, before men of

Smoke poured up the stairway from the ground floor. From it emerged Vic Marquette and a massed throng of

Gmen, armed with Tommy guns and submachine guns. The Shadow's laugh rose strident from the heights

UPON his capture of the control room, The Shadow had paused above the forms of two sagging foemen to

blink the dotdash signal with the searchlight. That had told Marquette that Sector M was clear. Covering the

Marquette's sturdy squad had overhurled the useless picket fence. Reaching the Citadel, they had blasted the

A bomber poised to fling a "pineapple" down the stairway. Swinging from the control room, The Shadow

sped a bullet to the bomber's hand. The missive exploded; the bomber and two crooks beside him were

blasted to destruction. Wildly, others hurled themselves down against the Gmen, only to wither, sprawl and

The rest scattered, most of them away from the meeting room. A few Jefford and Thurlon with them

sprang into that apartment where Harry fought alone with Mandon. The Shadow bounded down the spiral

Harry had gained his chance. His right hand free, he crippled Mandon with a bullet; then turned to open

hectic fire as Jefford and the others entered. Harry winged Thurlon. Jefford replied; but his shots were wide.

Jefford went sprawling as he turned to meet the cloaked battler. Harry had gained a timely shot. Three others

sprang upon The Shadow. Arms swung; guns spoke. Harry fired his last shots at one man who came hurtling

sidewise from the fray. Then the group sprawled and lay still. The Shadow crawled free from the bodies of

Harry was beside his chief. Vaguely, he heard gunfire outside the meeting room, where the Gmen were

scattering after fleeing crooks. As Harry stooped to raise The Shadow, another man arrived. It was Vic

A splotch of blood showed upon The Shadow's forehead. In all the hail of bullets, he had outguessed his

foemen. It was a glancing gun blow that had half stunned him; already he was recovering from the blow.

A grating sound ended Vic's sentence. He and Harry stared toward the Yellow Door. The barrier had opened.

Beyond, they saw a room with golden walls, a tiny space from which gemstudded panels glittered.

A man stood in the doorway, holding a leveled revolver. A flood of golden light showed his graytinged hair,

and revealed the venomous sneer of tightened lips. This man was a foeman and Marquette recognized him.

That thought shot home to Vic Marquette; and Harry Vincent grasped it. Helpless, their guns away, the two

supported the limp body of The Shadow, whose gunless hands dangled around their necks.

Marquette to The Shadow's left; Harry to his right; at their very feet a crook's revolver that they could not

reach. Outside were Gmen, rounding up scattered members of the Yellow Door. Yet there was no aid, here

"Birklam!" The Shadow's eyes were closed; his lips, barely visible below the slouch hat, muttered dazed

Birklam caught the utterance. He stepped closer, his revolver tight within his fist.

"Birklam told of Krode," mumbled The Shadow, "to cover his own game. He sent Krode to Cleveland

claimed he did not know where to find him in New York. Birklam pretended to be a victim like the rest

Birklam indulged in a malicious grin. He relished these mutterings from The Shadow.

"Conference with Birklam," added The Shadow, his head tilted forward. "Tried to mislead us. About the

paper. After that, word to Krode. Through Bracy. 'Cover Birklam' meant to stay away."

"Jefford not at conferences only Birklam knew servants would not have turned traitors too many men at

one spot not needed Bracy knew Birklam was the bigshot Jefford acted to prevent Bracy giving name.

Dead weight pulled Harry and Vic downward. Half stooped, they let The Shadow rest upon the floor. He

toppled forward, his black cloak spread like a wide, inky blot. Harry glanced at Marquette and caught a nod.

They must bluff; make Birklam think The Shadow dead. Later, The Shadow would revive from his senseless

If Birklam fired bullets to down Harry and Marquette, he might attract the Gmen. In that case, there was a

chance that the master crook would not linger to pump bullets into The Shadow's form. Harry and Marquette

"You have heard facts," sneered Birklam. He was shifting his revolver from man to man; and all the while he

saw the outer door, beyond which tumult was distant. "Maudlin facts, but actual ones. I am the master of the

"Brass walls that look like gold. Glass that shines with the glitter of gems. Bah! There is no value beyond the

Yellow Door. I have lost nothing. I shall leave here, by my hidden route. I shall be found by your own men,

Marquette. Rescued, I shall be ready to build another group, greater than the Yellow Door.

"You two will die! Do not suppose that your childish effort to save The Shadow will avail. In that spot where

he lies senseless, he will receive bullets to insure his death. But your doom comes first. You die together!"

Stepping back, his revolver still moving, Birklam jerked his left hand to his pocket and brought a second

weapon into view. Crouching, he aimed the guns simultaneously one straight for Harry, the other toward

Vic. A gloating chuckle sounded like an order to a firing squad. Birklam was playing the part of commander

There was a pressure close by Harry's elbow; a quick motion as an arm swept forward, upward. The folds of

The Shadow's cloak whipped from the floor, impelled by a hand that came with trip hammer speed. A

Birklam saw the motion. Viciously, he jabbed both guns downward, toward the rising head and shoulders of

The Shadow. Birklam was a moment late. A gloved finger pressed the revolver trigger before the master of

the Yellow Door had finished his aim. Half muffled by the folds of the cloak, the revolver blasted its

Birklam jolted, hit. He reeled sidewise, beyond Vic Marquette, there to rally and take aim as The Shadow

rose. The cloaked fighter, though slow in body motion was quick with the revolver that he had taken from the

Marquette had pulled his own gun with The Shadow's shot; Harry was staging the same maneuver. The

Gman gained the lead. He ripped rapid bullets from the nearest range. A hail of slugs found Birklam's body.

As the master of the Yellow Door went toppling, The Shadow's aim followed downward, to be ready if

THE SHADOW tossed the revolver to the floor, beside the body of the crook who had owned it. He picked

up his automatics, which lay some space away and placed them beneath his cloak. The Shadow spoke an

Vic Marquette had charge of the field of battle. The Department of Justice man stood pondering over The

Shadow's strategy. Recovered from a stunning gun blow, The Shadow had seen Birklam gain control.

Mumbled words, uttered as in delirium: those had been The Shadow's strategy. They had held Birklam intent;

they had made the leering foeman chortle as he heard his own devices revealed. Birklam had believed The

Slumped, The Shadow had covered the useful revolver that Harry and Marquette had wanted. Choosing the

vital moment, he had used it. With one quickaimed shot, The Shadow had vanquished the master of the

GMEN had completed their roundup when Vic Marquette joined them. The law stood victorious. Outside

the Citadel, surviving crooks were huddled in a captive band. As Marquette surveyed these remnants of the

Yellow Door, he heard a thrumming from above. Against the dim white of the moonclouded sky, Vic saw

Whirling blades were visible as the ship continued upward. Clouds thickened; tree boughs added blackness.