ALIBI TRAIL ......................................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I .............................................................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II ............................................................................................................................................4

CHAPTER III..........................................................................................................................................7

CHAPTER IV........................................................................................................................................10

CHAPTER V.........................................................................................................................................14

CHAPTER VI........................................................................................................................................17

CHAPTER VII .......................................................................................................................................21

CHAPTER VIII.....................................................................................................................................25

CHAPTER IX........................................................................................................................................28

CHAPTER X.........................................................................................................................................30

CHAPTER XI........................................................................................................................................33

CHAPTER XII .......................................................................................................................................36

CHAPTER XIII.....................................................................................................................................38

CHAPTER XIV.....................................................................................................................................41

CHAPTER XV......................................................................................................................................44

CHAPTER XVI.....................................................................................................................................47

CHAPTER XVII ....................................................................................................................................51

CHAPTER XVIII ...................................................................................................................................54

CHAPTER XIX.....................................................................................................................................57

CHAPTER XX......................................................................................................................................60

The big private transport tricycled itself into a landing that was rather miraculous considering the thickening

fog that was turning the ground flares into smudge pots. What made it all the tougher was the limited size of

It looked like an emergency landing, but it wasn't. The whole thing was planned and Jerry Reeth knew it.

That was why he was here, waiting by the hangar, and trying to look inconspicuous.

The plane had a good pilot, otherwise he wouldn't have made it, so on the pilot's account, Jerry was pleased at

the nice landing. That was quite a concession on Jerry's part, considering that Brenda Van Dolphe was on the

plane. She was one person toward whom Jerry Reeth extended anything but wishes for a happy landing,

Little clusters of men were starting toward the plane, barely visible in the swirl of the night fog. Jerry hurried

in the same direction, hoping he wouldn't be noticed. Lights indicated the transport's door, and a few people

were stepping out, a muffled girl among them. Unquestionably she was Brenda Van Dolphe, the girl whose

Jerry was a dozen yards short of the plane when the flanking men closed in on him. Then, for the first time,

he realized that they weren't just curious to see the mysterious Miss Van Dolphe. They were wearing

uniforms, representing either state police or some local constabulary, and they were here to form a cordon to

crowd out people like Jerry. A pair of them picked Jerry for a starter and pounced on him.

Instead of waiting for that pair to announce their authority, Jerry asserted his own. He did it with his fists,

placing his punches well. The darkness swallowed the faces and the fog muffled their oaths, but a moment

later another pair of officers was lurching after Jerry. As they grabbed him, he twisted almost free and nearly

The Van Dolphe girl had stopped stockstill. Beside her, Jerry saw a sharpfaced man, probably Cedric

Treat, the secretary who answered all her letters. In the background, a tall imposing man was helping a tubby

lady from the plane and both had turned at the excitement. That didn't interest Jerry; he was concerned with

Brenda Van Dolphe was wearing a coat of ermine, its collar turned up around her face. Above was a Cossack

turban of the same white fur, tilted jauntily over the girl's forehead, just showing her eyes. As Brenda drew

away from Jerry's reach, the men put the grapple on him, hauling him back in turn.

To Jerry, the girl looked aloof rather than startled, but Jerry was wrong. The cry proved it:

It wasn't Jerry who gave the call. A choking arm was too tight about his neck. The shout came from another

direction, given by a man who bulged suddenly from the fog, trying, as Jerry had, to shake off interceptors.

But this man was burdened with a squarish object that he was thrusting forward as though he intended to

Maybe the girl mistook it for a bomb, for she tried to turn away, half tripping over the soggy ground. Her

collar fell away and the lights from the plane showed her face, a very frightened face, which perhaps

enhanced its beauty. It was indeed a beautiful face, because in that moment, Jerry hated the girl for having it.

He'd wanted Brenda Van Dolphe to be ugly and if she'd just been normally goodlooking, Jerry's prejudice

But in that one glance Jerry saw features as finely molded, as perfectly blended, as any he could remember

from anywhere, including stage and screen. As for rendering emotion, the fabulous Brenda had that faculty

too. Her lips and eyes had gone wide, proving that even fright was something she could manage prettily.

The square object the man was shoving was a camera. He'd caught a threequarter profile of beautiful Brenda

and he couldn't have wanted a better shot. In fact, he wasn't going to get another, for a variety of reasons.

Halfblinded by the flash, but recognizing what it was, the girl had wheeled away and was muffling her face

again. The camera man was getting muffled too, by the local law. The secretary and the big man were

scurrying the girl away, towing along the waddly woman to a limousine that had swung up near the plane.

Those details were lost on Jerry Reeth, who could only see the girl's face, etched like a negative print in the

halfblackness that his eyes, too, had gathered from a straight look at the flash bulb. In fact, Jerry didn't

realize that the girl was gone, so vividly did her afterimage hover before him. But there were other

impressions, vague ones of reeling men, coming directly Jerry's way. Ripping from his captors only to bring

Jerry was mixing it with the pair who had grabbed the photographer. Loose for the moment, he took them by

complete surprise. Then, with Jerry proving himself a clouting menace, everybody took care of him at once.

He went down beneath a pileup that reminded him of a Freshman Bowl Rush. Jerry might have taken a lot

Racing off somewhere in the fog, the photographer reached a car and Jerry, being dragged along in the

pursuit, heard the fellow working on the starter. Then, amid the sudden blaze of flashlights, the local police

found him, seized him, and hauled him from the front seat, camera and all. When he relinquished the camera,

they pounced for it, each cop anxious to claim the prize. They didn't worry about the photographer any

further and he made a quick leap back to his car where he'd just started the motor when they grabbed him.

The car went scooting madly out through an open gate in a direction opposite that taken by the limousine.

Jerry's case was somewhat different. The constabulary marched him over to the hangar where they were

rather surprised when they ushered him into the light. He wasn't the King Kong they expected; in fact, Jerry

was rather handsome, discounting a few scars and a growing black eye, all acquired in the recent fray. He

was handsome in a rugged way, with straight profile and broad chin, but that was logical enough, considering

Before anybody could start asking questions, a big police lieutenant shoved into the hangar and scowled

when he saw what was going on. One of the officers handed him the camera; holding the scowl, the

lieutenant finally brightened and gave the camera to Jerry, putting a question that sounded somewhat like a

In answer, Jerry shook his head and this time the lieutenant really scowled as he looked at the silent cops.

"We were here to keep the field clear," roared the lieutenant. "To keep back a crowd if there was one. Of

course we were supposed to protect the dame if she needed it, but you should have stopped that camera man

before he got to the plane. Since he shot a picture he had a right to it and to his camera, too."

"It was this guy mixed us up, lieutenant," declared the accuser. "We thought he was going to grab the girl. It

The lieutenant glowered at Jerry, came over, whirled him around, gave him a thorough frisk.

"No gun on him," the lieutenant decided. Then, to Jerry: "What you got to say for yourself?"

"Don't blame the officers, lieutenant," returned Jerry, rather blandly. "I imagine I was somewhat intensive."

"On account of my friend," replied Jerry, thinking fast. "I was supposed to draw everybody my way, only I

didn't. I managed a fair job though" Jerry added a grin "because he at least took the picture, though I

suppose all he got was a load of that ermine wrap the Van Dolphe girl was wearing."

The lieutenant made another reversal of expression as he thumbed from the hangar.

"Then give him back his picture box," suggested the lieutenant, sweetly. "Don't add our compliments; just say

we didn't even take it. Since he handed it to us, we naturally kept it for him until we found out how we could

reach him. And now if you'll excuse us, we'll close the field for the night. You'll have just about time to get

Taking the hint Jerry raced for the gate, carrying the camera with him. But on the way to his car, which was

parked outside, that certain elation that he felt began to fade. Though he carried the camera very

conspicuously as well as carefully, Jerry was regarding it as anything but a prize. Its weight as well as its

Once in his car, Jerry made sure. At the risk of spoiling what might be the only photograph of Brenda Van

Dolphe in existence, Jerry opened the camera and found that his hunch was right. This wasn't the box that had

snapped the allimportant shot. The photographer must have dumped that in the back seat of his car, where

It was just an old, very shabby camera, if not a dummy, certainly the next thing to it a decoy. Whoever the

photographer was, he deserved credit. Despite his disappointment, Jerry chuckled. After all, he'd fared well

Maybe the camera man deserved even more credit, or perhaps Jerry Reeth shouldn't have chuckled. Those

DRIVING along a stretch of lonely road wasn't so very lonely when you had Brenda Van Dolphe to think

about. In the glare from the headlights, Jerry Reeth could still picture the girl's face, frozen in halfhorror at

the flash bulb, and he rather regretted that his only souvenir had turned out to be an empty camera.

A print of that photograph would be very nice to have, but Jerry would probably be clipping it from a

newspaper soon. The camera man, whoever he was, wouldn't waste time peddling the photo and probably at a

big price. But it wasn't the value of the unique picture of a hitherto unphotographed girl that interested Jerry.

Where money was concerned, his claim on the Van Dolphe estate might run into boxcar figures if he could

Jerry smiled at the thought of boxcars. Just at the moment, the headlights were showing a few on a railway

siding that flanked this old road. As for figures, he was wondering how Brenda's would shape up, without so

many furs. Maybe he'd find out, the next time he met the girl, which Jerry had already decided would be very

soon. There were a couple of questions that Jerry wanted answered and he was tired of dealing through other

people. That was why tonight he had tried to meet Brenda Van Dolphe face to face and in a sense had

The way that face kept haunting him was something he rather liked, though that didn't prove he had begun to

like its owner. On the contrary, the fact that the girl had looks was probably another count against her. Her

good looks would logically add to the conceit and arrogance that Jerry fancied she had inherited from her

Now Jerry was picturing other faces that he had seen along with Brenda's. He'd remember the sharpfaced

man, who was probably Treat, the secretary. The tall, imposing gentleman must have been Judge Jeffrey, the

girl's uncle. He might be all right, because he came from the other side of Brenda's family. The tubby lady

couldn't be anyone but Senora Hidalgo, the duenna who had accompanied Brenda from Colombia.

As for Brenda's cousin, Captain Platt, he wasn't due in New York until tomorrow. That was the factor that

had thrown off the newspaper men, Platt's announcement that he was going to meet his cousin Brenda at La

Guardia Airport the next morning. With the sole exception of the photographer who had come to the obscure

landing field on some lucky tip or chance guess, nobody had known that Brenda Van Dolphe would be

Jerry's grin of selfcongratulation ended in a frown as he suddenly reversed his own finding. In the mirror he

saw the headlights of another car coming closer behind him. It couldn't be the limousine, because it had

turned left ahead. Nor could it be the photographer's car, which had sped off on another road that didn't

connect with this one. On a hunch that the other car might be bringing trouble, Jerry gunned his accelerator.

The coupe, which wasn't too old a model, whipped past the line of sidetracked boxcars and really began to

eat up the narrow road. It was only a mile until the road swung across the tracks of the Long Island Railroad

and took a short stretch to a trunk highway. Once there, Jerry wouldn't have to worry about anybody.

Then came the short rising howl of a siren, like a banshee wail at Jerry's heels.

Maybe they'd decided they wanted the camera after all and a fine time Jerry would have explaining why it

was empty now. Or possibly they were just peeved because Jerry had outtalked them and were goading him

into speeding so they'd have an excuse for arresting him. In either case they'd get another argument and Jerry

Letting his coupe coast so the other car could overtake him, Jerry allowed himself to be forced over to the

side of the road, where he braked to a stop. Meanwhile, the siren had chopped off its brief howl in a manner

that Jerry should have recognized as too polite, but didn't. At least he didn't think of it until men from the

other car were crowding up to his, telling him to get out from behind the wheel.

That was when Jerry realized that the only similarity between this contingent and police was the fact that both

They weren't masked, but Jerry couldn't see their faces because it was too dark. He hoped they were

conscious of the fact, because if they were, it meant they might not decide to shoot. On the contrary, if they

thought Jerry was looking them over, tallying the faces that he couldn't see, they might give the blast and be

So that was it, the camera. But if Jerry gave it, then what? Figuring what this bunch would do was a problem.

It reminded Jerry of the time a squad of krauts had hemmed him on the fringe of the Battle of the Bulge.

While they'd been figuring whether to take him to the rear or load him with some bullets, Jerry had taken off

Maybe he could do the same right now, or its equivalent. For Jerry could hear the wheezing, heavyplodding

chug of a Long Island freight coming along the track beside the road. Coolly, but in a tone that didn't seem

They let him turn and reach into the car. They hadn't much to lose since three of them were prodding Jerry

with gun muzzles and if he'd come around with a revolver of his own, it would have been the last thing he

did. And Jerry was deliberate too, not just to prove he was only reaching for the camera, but to give the

It was a singular scene with the giant eye of the locomotive flooding down the track, yet not quite including

the halted cars in the fringe of its widened glare. Unfortunate perhaps, otherwise the locomotive crew might

Easing into the scene was another car, its headlights out, its motor smothered by the approaching roar and

clatter of the train. Its driver was bringing it into line with the halted ears, but to the right of Jerry's where

A closing door announced that someone was alighting from the ghost car, but the noise of the door was also

muffled by the freight train's clatter. A stealthy figure was moving forward, totally unsuspected in the

If Jerry had stalled a short while longer, he wouldn't have had to spring a surprise of his own on the men who

pressed him with their guns. But Jerry was already well advanced with his own plan.

Carrying the camera in his hands, Jerry was bringing it around to the front of the car so he could show it in

"I guess you want the plate," Jerry was saying. "Anyway, you're welcome to it, camera and all. Here's the

Around the front of the car, Jerry turned and flung the camera into the first face he saw. Then, with a twisting

dart, he loped across in front of the lights and made a mad dash straight toward the railroad track. He hoped

they'd think he'd ducked around on the other side of the car; if so, he'd have all the time he needed.

The gunners thought he'd done just that. In hot pursuit, they all took the wrong direction. But the ruse never

could have worked the way Jerry intended, and for a simple reason he had overlooked. In making that mad

rush across the track, Jerry was thinking only of the locomotive, not its searchlight.

Jerry was beating the locomotive and with plenty to spare as he hurtled across in front of its approaching

pilot, but the giant glare picked him out and made him a vivid target. Those pursuers, if capable at all with

Good fortune prevented them from taking that opportunity; good fortune in the form of an unexpected fighter

who met Jerry's enemies in a powerful surge, as one man shouted to the others and pointed the way that Jerry

had gone. With a fierce, challenging laugh that even the locomotive's roar could not drown, that lone battler

hurled himself into the thick of the gunners, sledging down their aiming hands with strokes from a brace of

They knew that laugh, these men of crime; they recognized the cloaked figure that materialized as it plunged

SEEN from the road, Jerry Reeth's figure was diving headlong, as though flayed by the bullets that were

represented by the spurts of enemy guns. An instant later, that figure was blotted from sight by an intervening

The gun barks were faintly audible to Jerry, though they seemed very distant amid the clangor of the

locomotive. And bullets were really distant, for not one shot was fired in Jerry's direction. The dive that Jerry

took was merely policy. Hitting the cinders on the far side of the track seemed the proper business, so Jerry

Back by the automobiles, another sound had supplanted the spasmodic gun bursts. That sound was a strident

laugh, mocking and triumphant, The Shadow's answer to the fighters who had turned their guns his way

instead of Jerry's, only to have their aiming muzzles knocked high and wide. Slashing as he whirled, The

Shadow was like a miniature cyclone, flinging his adversaries as he clouted them, finally whipping off into

Fantastically, The Shadow's laugh blended into a titanic burst that caught the exact key of the mirth's

The whistle of the freight locomotive had picked up The Shadow's laugh to give it that amazing magnitude.

The great steel clodhopper was blowing for the grade crossing, less than a mile ahead. But in the few seconds

that it took them to realize what the huge blare was, the stickup men didn't wait to argue.

Instead of firing wild shots into the darkness beyond the range of the headlights, on the chance of picking off

The Shadow, the halfdazed thugs flung themselves back into their own car. The motor was still running and

the man who landed behind the wheel lost no time in yanking the gear shift and gunning the car into a mad

The crookmanned car shot itself right out of The Shadow's reach. He hadn't tarried in the darkness, flanking

the glow from the headlights. He'd rounded the halted car intending to come up from behind it and attack the

baffled gunners from their own bailiwick. If they'd waited only a few seconds longer, they'd have been

As it was, they were away, before The Shadow could quite clutch the handle of the door that had slammed

behind the last of them. They were shooting from the windows, hoping to dissuade The Shadow if he tried to

clip them from the flank, for they hadn't the slightest notion that he was actually behind them.

Right then, The Shadow might have stopped the flight with wellplanted bullets into the tires or gastank of

the fugitive car, but he had a better plan. Jerry was safe; of that The Shadow had made certain with a passing

glance at the moment of Jerry's dive beyond the intervening locomotive. More important than waylaying

Such thugs, if and when they talked, seldom could tell much of value, for they were usually hired assassins,

obtained through intermediaries. But if The Shadow could tail them, learn more about them and their

The Shadow slid into his own car and started an immediate pursuit. Again, his was a ghost car with no

betraying lights, for the road was straight and he was guided by the mighty glare from the locomotive

searchlight, well ahead. Once more, the whistle blared for the crossing, which was visible now as the

Despite the warning, the car with its load of crooks was speeding even faster, intent upon beating the iron

monster to the goal. Rather than remain on The Shadow's side of the tracks, the fugitive gang preferred to risk

a tangle with a locomotive. It looked like they were going to receive just that when their car veered for the

grade crossing, but the driver must have managed an extra spurt despite the swerve.

For the car was gone and an instant later, the locomotive was blanketing the crossover. Next, The Shadow's

chase was ended by a long line of rattling, swaying cars, a half a mile of them, which gave the crooks a

Braking his car near the crossing, The Shadow turned it around and went back to look for Jerry Reeth, the

FINDING Jerry Reeth was out of the question, even for The Shadow. Jerry hadn't let that line of freight cars

go to waste. On his feet, running full speed with the train, he'd hooked a ladder and clambered on board a

boxcar. It wasn't until the freight train reached a station five miles ahead that Jerry again put himself into

Though a trifle bedraggled, Jerry made a reasonably normal appearance as a passenger on a local train that

rolled into Manhattan on an electric line of the Long Island Railroad. By the time he alighted at Pennsylvania

It might seem odd, a band of crooks hijacking a car just to deprive a camera man of a single photographic

plate. But if Brenda Van Dolphe was worth so many million dollars, an exclusive picture of such a girl was

The real photographer had scooted out of the air field without declaring himself, whereas Jerry had made an

open departure carrying a camera. So they had picked on Jerry. Such was Jerry's opinion as he came up the

escalator, but as he walked eastward from Penn Station, he began to analyze the question.

That notion made Jerry laugh. Nobody except Simon Severidge could have told them about a certain young

man named Jerry Reeth. As for Severidge, he was the biggest closemouth that Jerry had ever met. Maybe

that was what he should be, considering that Severidge was the attorney for the Van Dolphe Estate.

In his few interviews with Severidge, Jerry hadn't gotten anything out of him and therefore didn't like the man

at all. Not liking Severidge, Jerry was willing to concede that the lawyer might have hired thugs to do a little

work on the side. It might be part of Severidge's job to hire a few strongarm characters to make sure that

nobody took any pictures of Brenda Van Dolphe. That brought Jerry right back to his original idea.

Nevertheless, he intended to ask Gonzales about it. After all, it was Gonzales who had insisted that Jerry held

a fair claim on the Van Dolphe Estate, or a sizable portion of it. It was through that insistence of Senor

In addition, Gonzales had furnished Jerry with assorted items of information, all pertinent to Jerry's claim. It

was also Gonzales who had helped Jerry check on data regarding Brenda Van Dolphe and her relatives, as

well as when the girl would arrive in New York and why. In fact, right now, Gonzales would be waiting in

Jerry's pocketsized apartment to learn how successfully Jerry had crashed the gate at the air field and

Maybe Gonzales would have a good answer for some of the details that now bothered Jerry. The very thought

quickened Jerry's pace and he lost no time in bringing out his key as he entered the old house where he lived

Unlocking the door of the apartment, Jerry found the light switch and pressed it. He was rather surprised,

somewhat disappointed, not to find the place already lighted, with Gonzales awaiting his return. Maybe the

Apparently, Jerry's guesses were off tonight. At least the last one was, as he learned when he turned from the

door. Jerry's gaze froze instantly as he saw what was lying on the floor, squarely in the middle of the

The thing was a body and there was no doubt that it was thoroughly dead. The evidence to that effect was the

knife handle that projected from the dead man's chest. Jerry recognized it as his favorite hunting knife, a

brutal, longbladed affair that he had brought from Canada and had kept in his trunk.

It wasn't exactly cricket for someone to take Jerry's own knife and kill a man with it, particularly when the

victim was a friend of Jerry's, about the only friend he had in New York. For the thing that harrowed Jerry

more than the actual sight of the dead man, was the identity of that victim on the floor.

A darkish face looked up into the light, recognizable despite the unnatural glare of its glassy eyes. It was the

A CURIOUS sense of contrast swept over Jerry Reeth. Now that he viewed this scene, it seemed the direct

opposite of the way things should have happened. Not much more than an hour ago, it might have been

How did it link with the episode on the Long Island road? Could somebody have murdered Gonzales thinking

These questions and more were filling Jerry's brain until they became a whirl that revolved itself into a solid

desire for selfpreservation. Maybe Jerry's own recent escape from death had stiffened him, but he didn't feel

a great regret over Gonzales. The fellow was an adventurer, the sort who thrived on enemies as much as

friends. It could be that someone had settled an old grudge, using Jerry's apartment as a conveniently isolated

Hardheaded, Jerry began to put his own case first. The knife was incriminating evidence, so the best plan

was to dispose of it. Coolly, Jerry approached the body and stooped to grip the knife handle. His hand moved

mechanically, spreading for a sudden clutch; then froze as it was, when a cool voice spoke from behind him:

Coming to his feet, Jerry wheeled with hands halfclosed, not knowing what to do with them. He was facing

a man whose face, though young, bore the mold of experience. It was a goodlooking face, but in a practical

sort of way and its steady features were the sort that promoted confidence. Nevertheless, the owner of that

face was taking no chances with Jerry. To back his statement, the man displayed a solid automatic, which was

Brief hesitation convinced Jerry that he could lose nothing by admitting fact. He nodded.

"Why not ask him?" put in Jerry. "Or if it's a question of names, what's yours?"

"He called himself Gonzales," snapped Jerry, prompted by a slight nudge from the automatic. "Anyway, I

"I know that," said Vincent. "He's been dead too long. You couldn't have arrived here soon enough to murder

That statement startled Jerry, but he was quick to cover the fact. Eyes narrowed, fists tightened against his

coat front, Jerry tried to figure the answer. How Vincent knew so much was a question, but a chunk of it must

be guesswork. Nobody could have seen Jerry hop that Long Island freight, but somebody might have

Certainly not this chap Vincent. He couldn't have gotten here faster than Jerry. Somebody must have relayed

the word of the episode on the highroad; but that in turn produced a variety of possibilities.

Maybe the thugs had phoned some chum to intercept Jerry when he arrived here; but Vincent didn't look the

sort who would be deputized by such a crew. Conversely, the Long Island police might have come across

Jerry's abandoned car and notified Manhattan headquarters to check on the owner; but, again, Vincent didn't

That left only one solution and a very sketchy one. Something had scattered those thugs back on the

highroad; Jerry knew it from having seen their car do a scooting flight across the path of the locomotive at the

grade crossing. Though Jerry hadn't seen The Shadow, he recognized that somebody potent must have been

involved. From that, Jerry analyzed that Vincent must be some emissary representing his unknown rescuer.

Perhaps Vincent was checking the notions that ran through Jerry's mind. Was he waiting for Jerry to add

them up or was something else to happen? The answer came when the telephone bell began to jangle from

beside a table in the corner. Jerry made an involuntary motion in that direction and Vincent gave a slight nod.

Then, before Jerry could reach the phone, Vincent's hand was stopping him with the gun, but only briefly.

What Harry Vincent did, was take a handkerchief from his pocket, drape it over the table phone.

Jerry liked the precaution. It meant that Harry didn't want Jerry to implant his fingerprints over any others

that might be on the phone. Stepping back, Harry waited blandly, as though expecting Jerry to be properly

It was impressive enough, though it wasn't the voice Harry expected. He could catch its tones as Jerry

"Get going, Reeth," it said. "You've got about ten minutes before they get there. You don't want trouble with

That was all. As Jerry planted the phone back on its stand, he stared at Harry and noted that the other man's

"So you have ten minutes," was Harry's comment. "In that case you can spare a few. Only don't waste them.

"All right," decided Jerry, suddenly. "The more you know, the less reason you'll see for me to be covering up.

"I see you know some facts already," acknowledged Jerry. "That makes it all the better. Since you've heard of

my father, you'll probably remember that he was framed for some phony mine promotions by his partner, a

Harry gave a noncommittal nod, which at least was a concession. Jerry's use of the word "framed" was a

matter of opinion, since technically, his father had been convicted of the fake promotion scheme which Jerry

"Anyway, they were partners," continued Jerry, as though allowing for Harry's doubt. "When Van Dolphe

sold out the Mexican holdings, half of what he made belonged to my father. Van Dolphe went to Colombia

and took up mining platinum instead of silver. That's how he made the millions that now belong to his

"And therefore," supplied Harry, "you assume that half the Van Dolphe fortune should be yours."

"Only it wasn't a fraud!" interjected Jerry. "That silver mine in Mexico can be made to pay. Van Dolphe was

With the query, Harry nudged toward the body of Gonzales and Jerry nodded in reply.

"He told me a lot, Gonzales did," avowed Jerry, "and I think most of it was reliable. There are two men who

own most of the stock in the old Quetzal Silver Mine. They bought it cheap on speculation and then regretted

it. But they'd be glad enough if somebody came in with them, bringing enough cash to finance a new

"And you'd like to furnish the cash," conjectured Harry, "at the expense of the Van Dolphe Estate."

"But to get the cash, you'd have to prove your father's innocence by making the Quetzal Mine pay."

"That's the trouble," nodded Jerry. "To get the cash first, I have to prove one claim ahead of the other.

However" Jerry's face tightened grimly "I think I can find some way to manage it."

"You've had a pretty bad setback," observed Harry coolly, "considering that Gonzales was your only key."

Had Harry Vincent emphasized that final word, "key"? Instinctively Jerry Reeth gave his new friend a sharp,

suspicious look, as though wondering if the term "friend" actually applied to him. Whether Harry caught the

"About the Van Dolphe money," Harry reminded. "You say you might collect some of it. Have you tried?"

"Of course," replied Jerry. "For one thing, I've seen Simon Severidge. He's the attorney for the Van Dolphe

"No," admitted Jerry, "but if you ever met Severidge, you'd know why. He's as cold as they come. He'd be

The very statement made Jerry think. What if Vincent happened to be working for Severidge? This was a new

notion and a disturbing one. It seemed to link with Gonzales lying dead on the floor; next, Jerry was thinking

it might connect with the encounter beside the Long Island tracks. His own appraisal of Severidge was

Again, Harry brought Jerry back to the immediate subject and deftly, both with cool tone and gun gesture.

"I wrote to Brenda Van Dolphe," Jerry was speaking mechanically. "All I received were some letters from a

The smile that took over Jerry's lips didn't flicker there. It was an inward smile. He wasn't to be caught by a

"You ran into some trouble on the road," returned Harry. "It was over a camera, wasn't it?"

"A dummy camera." Jerry's laugh sounded forced, but it was genuine. "Some photographer shoved it on me. I

guess he took a shot of beautiful Brenda and switched cameras so he could get away with the plate."

"In all that fog? Not a chance. I was way back, hoping Brenda would come along, but she must have gone the

other direction. Instead, the fellow with the camera came running at me and gave me the thing. Next, I was

Cannily, Jerry had woven false threads into the true fabric of his story. He wasn't letting this chap Vincent

know that he'd even gotten a look at Brenda Van Dolphe. From now on, Jerry wasn't trusting anybody but

"Ten minutes," declared Jerry, abruptly. "That's what the fellow said over the phone." He gestured to the

instrument, which was still draped with Harry's handkerchief. "Time's about up. Suppose we get going."

Time wasn't up for Harry, a fact that brought Jerry to a tension pitch. The seconds that passed seemed slow,

yet fast; slow because of the strain, rapid because each was another step to an approaching crisis. During

those moments, Jerry became convinced that the warning across the phone had come from an actual friend;

Two things were explained: first, why Harry had been surprised at the previous call; second, why he had left

his handkerchief on the telephone. Keeping his gun trained on Jerry, Harry picked up the telephone.

Across came a weird, whispered voice that Harry recognized but which Jerry, away from the telephone, could

All Jerry heard was Harry's end of the conversation; terse statements detailing the situation here, mentioning

both the death of Gonzales and Jerry's return. There was a final pause on Harry's part while he received

Then, clamping the telephone back in place, Harry whipped away his handkerchief, draped it over his free

hand in order to turn the door knob. Gesturing Jerry along with his gun, Harry ordered crisply:

A wise decision, one that won Jerry's accord and would have reinstated Harry where Jerry was concerned, but

for the sounds that came from below. They were creeping sounds, accompanied by creaks of the stairs up

Footsteps, a batch of them, representing the menace that the warning voice had promised at the end of the ten

IT was Harry Vincent who acted. The privilege was Harry's, inasmuch as he still held his gun with the

No nudge this time, but a shove of the automatic sent Jerry deeper into the little living room before he

For Harry was busy with other operations. He was closing the door, throwing its latch and finally reaching for

All that with one hand, the hand encumbered by the pocket handkerchief that eliminated any betraying

"Move into the other room, Reeth. Take it easy and don't stumble over Gonzales."

They circled the body, one on either side, and in the thick darkness, Jerry heard Harry's tone ordering him to

hurry along. Purposely stalling, Jerry hoped Harry hadn't guessed it, but couldn't take further chances. Jerry's

If an enemy, Harry wouldn't hesitate to shoot should Jerry trend toward making trouble. As a friend, Harry

Though he had by no means lost his distrust of Harry, Jerry was giving him the benefit of doubt until the men

Again, a locked door proved its inefficiency. Hardly had Harry hooked Jerry forcibly and thrust him into the

inner room, before a key clattered in the outer door and the light from the hallway entered, bringing men with

Instead of closing the door of Jerry's tiny bedroom, Harry left it slightly ajar and allowed Jerry the privilege

There were three arrivals in all. One of them pulled the cord of a lamp while another closed the door. To

Jerry, the group looked more than vaguely familiar. From their actions he felt reasonably certain that they

Dull light combined with pulled down hats to hide the faces of these unsavory gentry. They went around in

stooped fashion like a cross between a bevy of gorillas and a minority of Snow White's little dwarfs. They

What they did was open a large trunk in the corner, dump out what few of Jerry's belongings were still in it,

then gather up Gonzales' body and slump it into the trunk. The trunk received Gonzales in bunched fashion,

Next, they planted the trunk tray back in place, closed the lid and locked it. While one man was shoving the

clamps shut, another attached a baggage check to the trunk handle. Then two of them hoisted the trunk like a

They were efficient too, this trip. As though they had rehearsed the act, they included precautionary tactics.

Always, before taking over a task, one man waited until another had concluded his. The odd man invariably

had a gun and kept himself beyond the trunk at a spot from which he could cover either door and at the same

In their departure, the odd man moved ahead to the hallway door, while looking straight toward the inner

room from which Harry and Jerry watched. At the door, the gunner paused to listen; then drew the door ajar.

He let the trunk carriers pass him; then stepped to the lamp, pulled its cord, and wheeled to the door to

follow. By then, the other pair had reached the stairs with the trunk, which meant that the man with the gun

None of this had escaped Harry's notice, but Jerry hadn't studied the details too closely. Such bold

appropriation of Jerry's own property, plus the wanton handling of Gonzales' body, was the sort of process to

fire anyone's antagonism. That Harry should remain cool, caused a new surge of Jerry's old suspicions.

What the crooks were framing was a puzzle to Jerry and he didn't like the riddle. Moreover, he didn't like

Harry for letting them get away with it. If they were to be stopped, now was the time, while the odd man was

It didn't occur to Jerry that Harry was waiting just the instant to take a proper bead on that lone gunner and

clip him at the proper moment. Nor did Harry, tense in his own right, suspect that Jerry had reached a berserk

On impulse, Jerry let ride with a sweeping fist that cleared Harry's gun hand and clipped the jaw above it.

Staggered, Harry rolled sideways, clearing the door for Jerry, who plunged right through. The clatter caused

the thug at the outer door to turn and let fire with his gun, but his shots were blind and therefore too high.

Jerry was coming forward with a low drive and Harry was halfsagged to the floor. Two bullets missed them

and before the gunner could deliver a third, Jerry hit him and bowled him out into the hall. Triumphantly,

Jerry pounced further, expecting to overpower his foe. He was totally discounting the two men with the trunk.

They let go of the trunk and the lower man sidestepped it while the man above was turning. Then both were

charging up the stairs, swinging the guns that they snatched from their pockets. Jerry was struggling with

Slugging guns would have rocked him then and there, but for the same intervention that had aided him

before. It came in a fierce, strident peal from the hallway down below the stairs.

Crooks dived wide when they heard that challenge rising above the banging crash of the trunk that was

bouncing down the stairs. They didn't stop to reason that The Shadow couldn't be on his way up, not with

Gonzales' improvised coffin coming at him like an avalanche. The man with whom Jerry struggled was just

as ardent as the other, so ardent that he flung off Jerry like a batch of straw and started to follow the others

There they met Harry, coming gun first. They met him in a wild drive, with Jerry springing after them. Still

groggy from Jerry's punch, Harry didn't find his trigger until his gun was driven up. His gun spurted, so did

another, likewise shoved high as Jerry clutched its owner's hand. Again, The Shadow's laugh.

He was coming up the stairs, The Shadow, and from behind him echoed the clatter of the trunk as it

continued out through the door and down the steps to the street. To Jerry, all those sounds were mostly echo,

for he was on his way out. Jerry wasn't deserting Harry, for he still wasn't sure that Harry was a friend. What

impelled Jerry was the fact that he didn't belong in any league where all the players, except himself, were

The route that Jerry took was the shortest; straight through the little bedroom and out its broad window which

he crashed in a single lunge. Out back was a low, slanted roof and Jerry slid right down it to the ground

below. There he took a leap that was very like a bounce and cleared a high board fence in the cat fashion that

That window crash was an invitation to others. The three thugs who heard it all thought that one of their

number had paved the way. They followed and came sliding from the roof like a row of diagonal marks in a

game of tictactoe. But they didn't bounce across the fence; their catlike tactics were of the alley variety.

Up in Jerry's living room, Harry Vincent was surging for the only figure that he saw, slugging blindly with

his gun. The figure met him coming through the doorway, took him in a grapple that suppressed him, gun and

There was no use in taking the back window route. The Shadow recognized that the crooks were thinking of

flight, not of pursuing Jerry. From the standpoint of evidence, the thing to reclaim was the trunk that had

gone downstairs. The Shadow didn't have to be told that it contained Gonzales' body, because he could see

Hauling Harry with him, The Shadow led a sweeping course down the front stairs, but by the time they

reached the street another opportunity was gone. An inert thing like a trunk couldn't depart of its own accord,

but arrangements had been made for its departure and the trunk had announced its own arrival on the street.

From half a block away, a parked delivery truck had come to life, swept up to the house and dropped a

twoman crew that scooped up the trunk and threw themselves on board with it. They didn't know what had

Shots blasted as the truck rounded the corner but a projecting pair of steps intercepted The Shadow's bullets.

The truck was away and a police whistle was shrilling in echo to The Shadow's blasts. Somebody had

Alone, The Shadow might have hailed a cab that he had waiting around the corner, but with Harry as an

added and slightly uncertain factor, it wouldn't do to begin a slowed pursuit. So instead, The Shadow rushed

Harry to the corner, rolled him into the cab, and told its driver, a quickwitted chap named Shrevvy, to head

The Shadow was staying on the ground to learn what else he could. His parting laugh, low and

fearprovoking, was swallowed like himself into the surrounding thickness of the night!

FOR a man who was either dead or missing, Jerry preferred to be the latter, considering that the locale was

There were advantages in being missed in Manhattan. It missed you, but you didn't miss it.

In a vestpocket hotel called the Colonnade, Jerry was enjoying a newspaper along with his breakfast and

admiring a retouched frontpage photograph of a G.I. who happened to be himself. It was anything but a

reasonable facsimile. Jerry could only hope that Brenda Van Dolphe didn't see the picture. He looked for

hers, hoping that he'd find it somewhere in the newspaper, but it wasn't included. Maybe it wouldn't be any

Nobody would ever find Jerry by his photograph, of that Jerry felt quite certain. Here at the Hotel Colonnade,

where he was registered under another name, he felt reasonably secure. If the police really instigated a hunt, it

From the news accounts, which carried the statement "Missing Van Dolphe Claimant Sought," Jerry gained

the inkling that the authorities might be holding out on something. Perhaps they'd gained evidence of foul

play and if so, they would assume that Jerry was the victim. In which case, Jerry might be quite embarrassed

if he showed up at the Bureau of Missing Persons to report himself restored to the realm of the found. It

As a missing person, Jerry's policy was solid. He couldn't be blamed too much for dropping out of sight,

considering that he had met mysterious enemies. Meanwhile he could await developments and keep certain

people guessing. One person who would be on the guessing list, and specifically, was Simon Severidge, the

In their few meetings, Jerry had talked too much and too frankly to Severidge, even to the point of

mentioning Gonzales and the men who might be interested in reclaiming the old Quetzal Silver Mine. Jerry

had told Severidge the address where the lawyer could reach him, and Jerry certainly had been reached last

Only on his last visit to Severidge's office had Jerry gained anything worthwhile. That was when he saw a

memo on a desk in the outer office, mentioning that Brenda Van Dolphe was coming into the obscure Long

Island air field. That was yesterday afternoon and Jerry hadn't waited to talk to Severidge. Right now, Jerry

As for futures, Jerry was mentally checking two other names. One was Kirk Grimshaw, the importer; the

other, Alvin Lancaster, the promoter. They were the two men who controlled the Quetzal Mine and Jerry had

Each had said the same thing. If enough cash could be raised to resume operations at the Quetzal, they'd be

interested. But there wasn't any use in the partners talking it over unless Jerry came through with the finances.

From his vest pocket, Jerry took a key. It was an old key, thin and peculiarly shaped. This key, in Jerry's

pocket all the time, was the cause for his sudden suspicion when the word "key" had been mentioned, perhaps

This key was highly important to Jerry Reeth. It might prove to be the exact passport that he needed to hold a

Some twenty blocks distant from the Colonnade, there loomed a Gargantuan brownstone mansion which

could practically have swallowed the little hotel that now had Jerry as a guest. This oversized byproduct of

In a dining room the size of a foyer, beautiful Brenda, attired in a lavish negligee, was breakfasting with her

uncle, Judge Jeffrey, and Senora Hidalgo, the duenna from Colombia. The only servant present, in fact the

only one visible on the premises, was Claxon, an old retainer who had been sent ahead to open the house.

Of course Cedric Treat was also present, and very busy indeed. A lot of arrangements had gone awry, which

was Treat's fault, but putting them right would be his business and Treat was indeed adept. The sharpfaced

secretary was a past master at setting things straight, which was why he had been valued by Brenda's father,

Craig Van Dolphe, who had purposely preferred to keep his affairs muddled until the right time.

Right now, Treat was checking things for Senora Hidalgo and Claxon, both of whom wished they were back

in Colombia and would soon be part way there. Mixing his conversation with bits of Spanish, Treat made

"Don't worry about the servants, Claxon," Treat told the old retainer. "I haven't dismissed them. I simply told

them to take time off, with pay. You hired them in a hurry to open the house and they've done that much.

Tomorrow, I shall have the new butler interview them and decide which we want to keep."

"And tomorrow," added Treat, "Manana, you will leave for Havana to occupy the house I rented there.

At that, the duenna broke into an excited stream of Spanish, which Treat understood and took quite

"Do not worry about Senorita Van Dolphe," returned Treat. "She needs no duenna here in Nueva York. She

will have a chaperone or companion in her greatcousin Genevieve, who will arrive within a few days."

"And until then," asserted the judge, "Brenda will remain here in the house. I agree with Treat that the less

people who meet her, the better. Particularly" Judge Jeffrey slapped a newspaper vehemently "while this

To that, Brenda put a question in pure Castilian Spanish, then realizing that her uncle did not understand, she

"In this case," replied Jeffrey, "it is an upstart named Jerry Reeth, who is seeking notoriety by faking a

disappearance. He wants to rouse sympathy because he pretends that he has a right to some of your father's

"Quien sabe?" was her comment. "You have said yourself that I need not worry about my father's money,

"I'll do the worrying," the judge asserted. "Or rather Severidge will. When will Simon be here, Treat?"

"I arranged for you to meet him at his office," returned Treat. "He is detained there by appointments on

"But I'm leaving for Washington at noon!" exploded Judge Jeffrey. "From there, I must fly directly to Manila

on a governmental mission. I was to go over the documents that Brenda must sign."

"They are all waiting at Severidge's office," explained Treat. "You can stop there, sir, on your way to the

airport. Mr. Severidge says that you can approve them and have your signature notarized. Captain Platt has

"He flew to Paris yesterday," put in Jeffrey, "He's to serve on the staff of a commission going to Syria. Your

cousin Jim simply did us a favor by saying he'd be here to meet you today. It was Treat's idea."

"To prevent newspaper interviews," stated Treat. "It worked splendidly. Not a reporter was at the air field."

"There was a photographer, though," objected Jeffrey. "He tried to take Brenda's picture, which is another

reason she should avoid appearing in public until her affairs are settled. That won't be long" the judge

turned to Brenda, reassuringly "because within the week, Brenda, you will come of age."

Brenda didn't seem to be interested. She was annoyed because she was to miss seeing Captain Jim Platt.

"You are all my family that I have met," the girl protested. "Only you, Uncle Judge and Captain Jim."

"You'll like Cousin Genevieve," Jeffrey promised. "She will find friends for you, Brenda."

All the while, Treat was retaining his canny smile, but it vanished suddenly when the door opened behind

him. Wheeling quickly, Treat faced a man in chauffeur's uniform who had entered.

"What are you doing here, Herkimer?" snapped Treat. "I told you I would summon you."

Though he was the chauffeur who had driven the limousine the night before, he hadn't gained a good look at

the furclad beauty. From his narrowed eyes and smug smile, it was apparent that Herkimer felt that his job

entitled him to feast his gaze on the mysterious Miss Van Dolphe, the fabulous young lady from Colombia.

"Sorry, Mr. Treat." The chauffeur shook his gaze from Brenda, who was eyeing him quite curiously. "You

Herkimer watched the judge give the girl a fatherly kiss and gave Treat a halfwink. Then, in leaving, the

chauffeur made a half salute which was obviously meant for Brenda and moved his lips in a muffled "So

At the door of the room, the secretary halted Judge Jeffrey and nudged toward the outer door, where

"That chauffeur," specified Treat. "Perhaps he tipped off the camera man. What's more, he has the look of an

"Use your own judgment, Treat," approved the judge. "If any questions perplex you, particularly legal ones,

you may communicate with Severidge. I shall remind him that you are in full charge of matters here at the

Bowing a grateful acknowledgment, Treat watched Judge Jeffrey go out through the great front door. It was

This time, however, Treat's lips formed a cold, merciless curve that boded ill for someone!

SIMON SEVERIDGE sat in his oldfashioned private office and studied a group of visitors in stolid,

closemouthed fashion. In fact, Severidge, even when viewed by impartial observers, produced much the

The term "spider crab" suited Severidge perfectly. He had the manner of a spider and this room, with its

entanglement of musty law books and ancient file cases, gave the semblance of a web. Severidge also had the

look of a crab, the way he hunched at his great desk, his arms folded in front of him, his fingers frequently in

Perhaps he'd grown that way, like his withering face and thinning hair, during the thirty odd years he had

spent in finally becoming the senior member of the law firm of Crittenden, Severidge, Hurd and Fortesque,

four names of which Simon Severidge was the only survivor. At any rate, Severidge now owned the business

How he liked representing very wealthy estates that could have bought and sold him, was a question that only

Severidge could answer and didn't. But that question now was in the minds of the lawyer's visitors.

These visitors consisted of Police Commissioner Ralph Weston, a very brusque, important individual, who

had brought along a friend who knew a great deal about Latin America. The friend's name was Lamont

Cranston and in his other life, he was The Shadow, a fact which he never publicly proclaimed. In contrast to

Weston, Cranston was calmmannered, impassive of features; quite as much a human enigma as was

Two other men were present: Kirk Grimshaw and Alvin Lancaster. They too were a contrast. Grimshaw was

stolid, longfaced, with whitish hair that seemed the result of habitual worry. Lancaster had roundish

features, pleasant as those of a jacko'lantern and just about as sincere. From his double chin to the top of

his baldish head, his pumpkin face was a succession of upward curves that marked him as a professional

"Tell us more about young Reeth," Weston was saying. "You say he came here to see you several times."

"Several times," repeated Severidge. "Always to press his claim on the Van Dolphe Estate."

"I accused him of nothing. I told him simply that I was not interested in hearsay, rumor or canards."

"He asked for money that he thought was due him. I doubted that there was any such."

There was a pause while Weston gathered himself to put more questions, hoping that he could sidestep

Severidge's system of beginning all sentences with a paraphrase of what another person had just said. Finally,

"Since the claim was invalid and Reeth insisted he was not engaged in blackmail, what did he expect to

"He may have felt he had a nuisance value," replied Severidge. "Large estates have been known to settle for

small sums when their attorneys do not like being bothered." Severidge paused, closed his mouth in his tight

If that happened to be meant for Weston, the commissioner ignored it. Turning to Grimshaw and Lancaster,

"The same here," responded Lancaster. "I said for him to settle his business with the Van Dolphe Estate. Then

"Yes. The reopening of the Quetzal Silver Mine," declared Lancaster. "I'd like to unload my stock at

"He'd been getting information from Mexico," replied Grimshaw, to Weston's question. "But he didn't

Lancaster shook his head to indicate that the same applied to his interview with Jerry.

"The source was a man named Gonzales," stated Severidge, across the desk. "A Mexican, I believe. But

Reeth talked about the things Gonzales was going to tell him, rather than what he already had."

"In Mexico, I presume," rejoined Severidge, dryly. "That would be logical, since Reeth never produced him

Severidge's eyes had become piercing in their search, as though seeking a face that they could thoroughly

probe. They stopped on Cranston and stayed, as though Severidge had found a fascination from those

immobile, unyielding features. Then came an interruption in the form of a buzzer. Severidge picked up a

"Hello... Judge Jeffrey is here?... Tell him I shall meet him in the conference room..."

"I shall talk to the judge in here," amended Severidge across the phone. "Bring in the papers at the same

Ushered into Severidge's office, the distinguished judge was surprised to see the assemblage. He recognized

both Cranston and Weston before Severidge introduced them and the lawyer didn't bother to introduce

"It's about Reeth," Severidge told Jeffrey. "The commissioner is quite disturbed because of his

"Say rather the circumstances of his disappearance," corrected Weston. "There was gunplay at Reeth's

apartment last night and later his car was found abandoned on a Long Island highway."

"Simply explained," put in Severidge crisply. "Reeth must have started out there to meet Miss Van Dolphe.

"We saw no abandoned car while driving into town," he declared. "We were watching carefully, too, because

"And that proves my statement," interposed Severidge. "Reeth left late, or you would have encountered him.

He must have picked up some partial information, or some stray news report, regarding the landing of an

As if that settled it, Severidge laid out the papers pertaining to Brenda Van Dolphe and invited Judge Jeffrey

to go over them. Finding they were no longer needed, Grimshaw and Lancaster filed out, which left Weston

"That photographer puzzles me," muttered Weston. "I'm going to ask the judge about him."

Cranston nodded. He was listening to comments exchanged between Jeffrey and Severidge. The judge was

explaining that Treat, the secretary, would handle all the details at the house until Brenda's greatcousin

Genevieve arrived. On the day when Brenda came of age, Severidge could call and have her sign the

necessary papers, those that were now being certified by Jeffrey, and from then on, her affairs would be in

"Of course you will be retained as counsel," assured Jeffrey, "particularly to handle such matters as the Reeth

"Some bounder who tried to crash the police cordon," completed Jeffrey. "They took his camera away, I

"I wouldn't know, but I doubt it. He wasn't a newspaper photographer, or the photograph would have

appeared by now. If he tries to sell us the picture, rather than having it published, Severidge can handle the

Nodding, Weston brought out an envelope and from it produced a few odd items, such as a theater stub, half a

"We found them in Reeth's apartment," the commissioner explained. "We thought that through them we

might be able to trace some other place where he had been. Has any one called at the Van Dolphe mansion

With a bow, Weston decided to let Judge Jeffrey finish his business with Severidge. In fact, Weston bowed

himself out of the office and Cranston went with him. Following to the door, Severidge spoke crisply to the

"If I hear anything from Reeth, I shall let you know," the attorney declared. "The same applies to that

photographer, whoever he was. I shall phone the Van Dolphe residence and instruct Treat, the secretary, to

notify me if anything occurs there. I understand that Treat is highly reliable, although I have never met him."

There was a peculiarity to Severidge's tone that made it difficult to trace the thought behind it. The more

straightforward his speech, the more it seemed tinged with insincerity. Perhaps that was the way he intended

And with that, Simon Severidge closed the door, leaving his status an unanswered question, even for The

The final editions of the evening newspapers corroborated the fact that Commissioner Weston had stated

regarding Jerry's car being found out on Long Inland. The account treated the matter as a mystery, which

It indicated that police and other searchers would be looking for Jerry Reeth everywhere except in Manhattan,

which in turn would allow Jerry to roam at large, which was exactly what he intended to do.

Those newspaper accounts interested Brenda Van Dolphe when she read them. The newspapers were brought

into the commodious library of the mansion by Herkimer, the chauffeur, who bowed politely and asked if

"There is," Brenda decided. "Tell me this, Herkimer. Since Treat was annoyed when you came into the house

The question took Herkimer aback. The chauffeur was a bold sort, who had made it only too plain that he

wanted to impress the very important Miss Van Dolphe. In trying to act independent and at the same time

work himself into good graces, Herkimer had to be ready to gamble at almost every turn.

Herkimer knew that effrontery would pay dividends but only to a certain point. If Treat had put him a blunt

question, Herkimer would have had a smart reply. But such a question coming from Brenda, completely

Besides, Herkimer couldn't quite understand the manner that prompted the question. He didn't realize, that

although Brenda spoke English perfectly, she had used it comparatively little. Therefore remarks that she put

abruptly or pointedly, were often intended purely as frank inquiry, which applied in this case.

If Herkimer had found words to reply, he might have talked himself right out of the house; but while the

chauffeur hesitated, his dilemma was solved by someone else, of all people, Treat.

The secretary was entering the library at that moment and he picked up where Herkimer left off.

"I can answer that question, Miss Van Dolphe," declared Treat, smoothly. "We need servants who are capable

and reliable. Until we find them, as we shall, the household will operate on a modified basis."

"Some will come in and out," replied Treat, "such as the chef or the housemaids. But there is no reason why

you should see any of them, Miss Van Dolphe, until we are sure that they will prove satisfactory."

"But what about Herkimer?" asked Brenda, in her frank style. "Why are you keeping him?"

By now, Herkimer was realizing that Brenda did not put her queries as a matter of personal affront, nor even

as a suggestion of policy. The chauffeur folded his arms and waited hopefully as he watched Treat.

"Herkimer is enterprising," decided Treat, "therefore we shall give him a fair opportunity to prove his loyalty

and worth. Since you have met him, Miss Van Dolphe, we may as well count him as the first of the

permanent servants." Treat turned to Herkimer. "Of course that depends, Herkimer," added Treat, "on

whether you fulfill your duties. I gave you several today; have you a report on them?"

From his jacket, Herkimer produced a list and handed it to Treat, who ran through it, nodded, and placed the

It was nearly dark outdoors when Herkimer came from the huge mansion. This was summer and daylight

persisted late, which seemed to annoy Herkimer. However, the chauffeur's face took on a pleased grin as he

stood beside the Van Dolphe limousine and glanced at his wrist watch. Then, in a deliberate manner,

There was plenty of darkness, squatting in front of the overhanging bulk of the great, oldfashioned

homestead. It was the sort of darkness made to order for lurkers; perhaps that was why the front windows of

Proof that a lurker was actually present came when a portion of the darkness wavered, detached itself from

the mansion's front and stretched across the sidewalk, as though the thickening dusk were playing queer

The proceeding blackness reached itself clear to the rear door of the limousine, seemed to gather up the

stretch of darkness that lay behind it. Briefly it became a tall human shape in a black cloak and slouch hat;

Herkimer didn't hear the door open and close behind the mysterious figure. The chauffeur was at that moment

During a drive of a few blocks, Herkimer didn't even look back into the rear seat where he wouldn't have seen

The Shadow was perfectly blended with the interior of the big car. So far as Herkimer was concerned, The

Stopping at a little cigar store, Herkimer went in to make a phone call. The interior of the store was quite dim;

the phone booth was near the front. Not seeing anyone around, Herkimer didn't close the booth door

If he'd glanced out, Herkimer would have mistaken the blackness near the door as the shadow of the phone

booth. It happened to be The Shadow himself, keeping tabs on Herkimer's activities.

The chauffeur was calling the garage where he kept the car. He gave them instructions that should Treat call,

they were to say that Herkimer had stepped out for a few minutes and would call back when he returned.

Herkimer added that he would keep contacting the garage, to check on whether Treat called.

Again with his mysterious passenger, who this time had preceded him to the limousine, Herkimer drove some

thirtyodd blocks to a decrepit sector of the East Side, where the fancy car made a striking contrast to the

shabby appearance of the neighborhood. There Herkimer entered a pawn shop, that was even dimmer than

The pawnbroker knew Herkimer and gave a friendly nod; then craned his neck to look at the car outside, as

though hoping that Herkimer intended to hock some of the spare parts belonging to the luxurious job.

"Look, unk." Herkimer became confidential. "You know me well enough. You've just taken a look at the car

I'm driving, so you know I'm drawing salary. I've got an idea, see? Only it may take a grand or so to swing

The wizened pawnbroker raised the part of his face where he should have had eyebrows.

"No security." Herkimer shook his head. "Just a sure shot, with a fiftyfifty on the dough."

"I want you in on a photofinish," chuckled Herkimer, thinking affability would help. "It's this, unk. The

dame I work for is in the big money. Her name is Van Dolphe, daughter of the guy who used to get South

American mining concessions by paying off the national debt for some of those countries down there."

"You should see her" Herkimer blew a kiss. "A blonde and gorgeous. That's what worries her family. They

don't want pictures taken of her or all the smart boys in New York will be after her. Only last night, a guy got

"This isn't a hock job," argued Herkimer. "Listen, unk. Today, my job was chasing around to find out who

that photographer was. His name is Russ Wilbert and I know where to reach him. Only I've got to get there

"So Wilbert can get the price they'll pay? I bet he'd settle for half a grand, only I want to be heeled in case he

doubles it. Because five G's would be minimum from the lawyer, Simon Severidge, who represents the Van

"I heard the secretary talking to him over the phone," insisted Herkimer. "The secretary is named Cedric

Treat see? I've got to play smart with Treat, to hold the job, but if I can get to Russ Wilbert in a hurry "

More headshakes. Turning on his heel, Herkimer strode to the door, turned there and stormed back.

Blackness was evaporating ahead of Herkimer; again, that blackness represented The Shadow. Only this time

it didn't enter the limousine before Herkimer drove savagely away. The Shadow waited until the car had

gone. Then, his black figure glided from the darkness near the front of the pawn shop.

A whispered laugh stirred the darkness, telling that The Shadow had found the trail he wanted!

IT was very dark now, outside the Van Dolphe mansion, so dark that Jerry Reeth particularly liked it. He was

sure as he moved rather furtively along the street, that no one would be able to spot him.

There, Jerry was wrong. The Shadow would have noted him instantly. But The Shadow, at that moment, was

away over on the East Side, just preparing to begin a trail that would bring him back in this general direction,

However, The Shadow had capable assistants. Harry Vincent had proven that fact the night before; now

another of The Shadow's competent aides was taking over a vigil that his chief could not at the present keep.

This watcher answered to the name of Hawkeye, whenever he answered to a name. Usually the phrase "Hey,

you!" was enough to influence Hawkeye, because in appearance and action he was as shambly a figure as

anyone could expect to see. It was a part of Hawkeye's business to slink in and out of places as though he

didn't belong there or anywhere else. This made him very valuable as a checkerupper on various matters that

Hawkeye's one trouble was that he lacked The Shadow's range. Where the cloaked master could glide swiftly

and almost invisibly, Hawkeye found it necessary to slouch from one place to another. The Shadow knew

how to pass unnoticed; Hawkeye was able only to render himself inconspicuous and at times this meant a

Around the Van Dolphe mansion was such a difference. Upon spotting Jerry, Hawkeye tried to trail him, but

A car had pulled up in front of the mighty mausoleum that the Van Dolphe's termed a mansion. Out of that

car alighted a brace of stocky personages that even at this distance smelled of police to Hawkeye. They were

looking around in a typically professional style, which meant that they overlooked a respectable person like

Jerry as he straightened up and took the corner in gentlemanly fashion. But these flycops as Hawkeye

Instead, Hawkeye just watched and waited, wondering who these headquarters men were and why they were

visiting the Van Dolphe place. As a result Hawkeye wasn't able to tag along after Jerry.

Around the corner, Jerry made a quick sidle into a passage behind the tremendous mansion. Well down that

alley, he found a recess at the back of the house and took to that shelter. Anxiously, nervously, he brought out

the odd key that was his prized possession. Running his hand in and out the ivy and hoping it wasn't poison,

That fissure had a keyhole, which Jerry discovered. Drawing his breath furiously, fearing that at any

moment hefty hands might come from the dark and lay themselves upon his shoulder, Jerry inserted the key.

A chunk of the wall came open like a door and Jerry gratefully ascended a short pair of iron steps, pleased

when he heard the barrier click shut behind him, with even its ivy rustling into place. Ahead was a wall that

Jerry barely glimpsed in the brief show of light that followed him before the outer stone closed. That wall

was wood, as Jerry discovered when he probed it. During the probe he found another keyhole, made for the

This brought him to the landing of an old, littleused staircase, that led up from a corner of the downstairs

hallway, though probably people had often wondered why, since the hallway already had a grand staircase

leading up to the second floor. At least this side stairway could be admired as a showpiece, because all the

That was one thing that didn't mystify Jerry after he closed the secret door. He saw how neatly the paneling

fitted, much like the designed squares of a Chinese puzzle. On this side, even the keyhole was invisible,

The landing itself was neatly isolated. The stairs came up from one direction and turned in another. A person

could step back against the wall and remain unnoticed in the gloom by anyone who passed. In addition, the

landing gave its occupant the advantage of observing both the floor below and that above, by merely shifting

There were voices from below, so Jerry peered around the corner to learn whose they were. He saw Treat, the

secretary, bowing politely to the two stocky men who had come in the front door. Then Treat turned and

introduced Claxon, the old servitor who was slated for a trip to Havana with Senora Hidalgo, the duenna.

Catching shreds of conversation, Jerry learned who these two visitors were. They weren't headquarters men

as Hawkeye had supposed; they were a pair of private operatives from a strictly highclass detective agency.

"We are short on servants," Jerry heard the secretary explain, "Until the new butler is here, I can not hire

regular help. Today our chauffeur, Herkimer, a man we supposed to be reliable, acted both boldly and

"Possibly Herkimer was responsible for the unpleasant incident at the air field, where someone informed a

photographer that Miss Van Dolphe was to arrive by plane. I am giving Herkimer a chance to prove his

loyalty, but I cannot burden myself with the same risk where other servants are concerned.

"Tonight, I would like you gentlemen to make sure that every door is locked; that no intruder enters this

house. Specifically, I am worried about an upstart named Jerry Reeth, who has recently disappeared, perhaps

"So you will patrol the house and particularly the ground floor to make sure that there are no such interlopers.

I shall stay in the library, where you may report to me hourly. Claxon will now show you about the

That was enough for Jerry. If the private detectives were going to inspect the ground floor first, it was time

that Jerry was on his way to the second, for his interview with Brenda Van Dolphe. Shifting across the

landing, Jerry stole up to the next floor, to find himself confronted by a maze of doors, anyone of which

As he paused near one door, Jerry heard a sound beyond it. He had hardly identified the sound as that of a

Turning the knob, Jerry found the door open and a moment later was listening to voluble Spanish, which

suddenly changed to perfect English. He heard the girl laugh; then her tone became serious.

"The picture?" she inquired. "But no, we do not want the picture!... Your name?... Russ Wilbert? Yes... I shall

Now, through the open door, Jerry was watching Brenda at a telephone table, as she wrote an address that she

was taking across the wire. The girl was wrapped in a Turkish bathrobe that looked as lavish as the alpaca

"Of course I shall tell my secretary," Brenda continued, "but he should have answered for himself... Yes, I

suppose he is busy somewhere, but he will tell you the same as I... the picture is something that we do not

Hanging up the telephone, Brenda arose languidly, gathering the loose folds of her deluxe bathrobe. It was

then that Jerry decided to attract her attention more forcibly and to better avail than by a mere telephone call.

He closed the door carefully, but just emphatically enough to produce an audible thump.

Turning at the sound, Brenda Van Dolphe supplied a startled gaze that made her surprise of last night seem

mild. And Jerry, facing from the doorway, showed a grim, triumphant expression that the girl apparently

To a degree, Brenda was right. A question of honor was at stake. Jerry was here to make demands that would

And from Brenda Van Dolphe alone, did Jerry Reeth believe that he could gain the rights that were his due!

IT wasn't much to Brenda's credit that she didn't scream, the main reason being that she was quite too

frightened to become immediately vocal. How far a cry would have carried in this big, thickwalled house,

However, Jerry wasn't certain on that point himself. At any rate, he didn't intend to have Brenda try, not with

a couple of private cops prowling the premises. Remembering Harry's technique of the night before, how the

mere threat of an automatic had enabled him to keep Jerry in hand, it seemed that a similar system would be

Having no gun, Jerry at least could fake a substitute. Using his right hand inside his coat pocket, he kept the

coat punched up, with an interior finger pointing Brenda's way. Copying the surly tone of the road mob, Jerry

Though Brenda's knowledge of English was adequate, it didn't include some of Jerry's terms. Nevertheless,

she interpreted the remarks correctly. Her hands loosened their clutch and began to tremble slowly upward,

while the shudder of her shoulders became quite apparent as the robe slipped down over them. Brenda's arms

If anything, Jerry's ruse had worked too well and he was quick to realize it. He wanted Brenda to talk and to

add embarrassment to her fright would only double his problem. So Jerry nonchalantly withdrew his hands

from his pockets, spread them to show them empty and gestured Brenda to the chair beside the telephone

The girl sat down both gratefully and gracefully, since the maneuver enabled her to slide back under the

shoulders of the robe as her hands reclaimed the slipping folds. Looking up at Jerry, she lost her fright at the

humor of the situation and furnished a rather delightful, though slightly nervous laugh.

Smiling in return, Jerry became his more courteous self, deciding that he couldn't hold a grudge toward such

a charming creature even if she happened to be the daughter of Craig Van Dolphe. As the son of Felix Reeth,

Jerry had rather resented being a scapegoat on his father's account, whether the Reeth name deserved blemish

or not. At least Brenda deserved a hearing under circumstances like these, where any strongarm retainers

But Jerry was to have a hearing first and he had achieved what he wanted, finding Brenda in a situation where

Brenda nodded emphatically, giving a shimmer to a wealth of blonde hair that added just that much more to

"Money, I suppose." Brenda gave a shrug that brought one shoulder into the open. Then, stretching a hand to

draw the robe back in place, she added: "If it is money, we should pay it of course."

"It's more than money," insisted Jerry. "Your father and mine were partners. They had a silver mine in

"In Mexico?" Brenda's thin eyebrows lifted in surprise. "But that was long ago, before my father made his

"That's how he began to make his money," corrected Jerry. "He closed out on Quetzal Silver after my father

was arrested for trying to peddle the stock. Since they were partners, half of what your father left you, should

A frown clouded Brenda's face and Jerry went grim. The girl's scare was past and she was becoming herself,

probably strictly Van Dolphe. Which put Jerry in a tough spot, because being a Reeth, he would probably

And there'd be a lot to explain if Brenda grabbed that telephone or screamed to bring a couple of strongarm

detectives. Missing men didn't make mysterious calls on young ladies in their boudoirs, without at least

having a certified invitation. Despite himself, Jerry was edging toward the door, preferring a swift flight,

"My father's money," continued Brenda, with a shrug that she confined to the shoulders of the gown, "nobody

seems to like it. They say it is bad, my uncle and my cousin; the judge and the captain."

"I suppose my greatcousin, Miss Genevieve, will say the same when I meet her. Maybe, too, the lawyer that

I have never met will also feel that it is bad. I have asked Senora Hidalgo and she says nothing, which

Jerry couldn't credit Severidge with having any qualms about money, whatever its origin, but he was willing

"If it is bad for me," declared Brenda, in a naive tone, "it might be bad for you, which would be very bad,

because I like you. But maybe it is bad for me because I have other money. Do you?"

"Then we can decide together," nodded Brenda, "But we must wait until I can do what I wish with the

money. That will be in one, two, three" she started to count on her fingers, but finding that the robe was

relaxing, she gripped it instead "in a few days," she added. "That will be when I am twentyone years old."

"I'll make a deal with you right now," put Jerry, with full sincerity. "Buy up the old Quetzal Mine and give

"It will?" Brenda was much pleased. "I think that would be wonderful! I shall speak to my lawyer when I

"Don't speak to anybody," interposed Jerry. "That goes not only for Severidge, but your secretary Treat. I

"Claxon doesn't know I'm here." Jerry produced his key. "I came in by my own special way, the one my

This detail both puzzled and intrigued Brenda. Then, almost whimsically, the girl exclaimed:

"It's curious that since this house has a secret entrance, I have not learned about it! Or maybe that is

something I shall find among my father's records when I receive my inheritance. Still, I'm surprised that you

"He's in the library right now," stated Jerry, "taking a nap, I suppose, while Claxon is posting some guards

"Then that's why he didn't answer the phone call," recalled Brenda. "My phone here just happened to be

She paused to pick up the paper on which she had noted the name of Russ Wilbert. Showing it to Jerry,

Whether Brenda's gaze was merely inquiring or a trifle suspicious, Jerry didn't try to analyze. He had his own

"I know about the photograph," conceded Jerry. "Would you like me to get it for you?"

With that, Jerry bowed out. Stealing along the hallway he reached the side stairs; looking back, he saw

Brenda watching from her doorway as he dipped from sight. Reaching the landing, Jerry found the right

Hardly had Jerry gone, before Brenda arrived at the top of the main stairway. Looking down, she saw old

Claxon coming through the lower hall, past the bottom of the very stairs where Jerry had gone. The girl called

"Of course not, Senorita," replied Claxon. "Every door in the house is bolted. We have two men watching

them and besides, there is no one to go out. Senora Hidalgo is asleep and Mr. Treat is in the library."

Wondering, Brenda went back to her room, halfinclined to regard Jerry's visit as something that she had

imagined. However it was too vivid to have been a mere dream, so finally her speculation centered on the

question of Jerry's disappearance. To Brenda, it seemed that Jerry must have the ability to travel places

Maybe Jerry was getting such notions himself, for he became careless when he strolled from the side passage

in back of the great house. If he hadn't been so indifferent to surroundings, he might easily have slipped the

notice of a man who was watching for his return. As it was, Jerry was spotted on departure.

The spotter was Hawkeye, The Shadow's keeneyed agent. Instantly Hawkeye took up Jerry's trail, a route

THE man in the little room was very busy with his work. The little room was a dark room and his work

consisted in examining a developed photographic plate. A single light was shining just above his head and he

That negative showed Brenda Van Dolphe in the startled pose that she had struck just after her arrival at the

The man who surveyed the picture with a satisfied chuckle was Russ Wilbert, the photographer who had so

recently phoned Brenda, to offer her first opportunity to buy this exclusive camera shot.

To Wilbert's credit it needed to be said that blackmail was not part and parcel of his business. Any national

magazine would be pleased to publish this shot as the picture of the week and that was why Wilbert had taken

it. But the emphasis which the newspapers had placed upon a mysterious camera man, the fact that even the

possession of the picture might run him into complications with the law, had induced Wilbert to phone the

There was another reason for Wilbert's chuckle. If the police had been going to ask him questions, they would

have done so quite a while ago. For Russ Wilbert rated among the topnotchers in his profession. A thorough

checking of last night's assignments among the photographic elite, would have proven that Wilbert had been

in no place specially and therefore could have been the mysterious camera man of the air field.

However, having foreseen that, Russ had faked an out of town job. He'd chosen Chicago for its locale, hence

he couldn't have returned to New York by this time. Except that he hadn't left New York at all.

So the police, if looking for anyone, were probably scouting out a lot of smalltime camera fans. They

certainly hadn't been around this neighborhood, because Russ had been looking for them whenever he went

out to eat. Only once had anybody noticed him sneaking back into his apartment house and the man in

However they disguised themselves, New York detectives wouldn't go in for fancy chauffeur uniforms. The

man that Russ had seen was wearing that sort of regalia and had probably been looking for another address in

Such were Wilbert's thoughts at what was to prove the most crucial moment in his life. That moment arrived

as the photographer held the plate to the light. It didn't occur to Wilbert that there might be even the slightest

connection between the girl in the photograph and the chauffeur who had been around this neighborhood.

A gun spoke sharply, its echoes loud within the confines of the little dark room. Those echoes were

Wilbert, for the moment, was looking at space. The gun, fired at close range, had shattered the photographic

Instinctively the photographer turned. That was bad judgment, for Wilbert's haggard face met that of the man

whose gun had wrecked the plate. That man could not afford to let his identity become known, any more than

What met Wilbert was a gun muzzle, below the eyes that glared into his. The gun spoke twice; with the

The dark room then became really dark, for with his gun, the murderer slashed the hanging light, cracking its

bulb into as many pieces as the photographic plate that he had destroyed several moments before.

Light entered the room, but briefly, as the door opened and closed again. The killer was moving out from this

scene of muffled murder, but in departure he let something flutter to the floor. The light came from the end of

a little passageway, which ran from a living room to the improvised dark room, for this was all part of

However, the killer did not proceed through to the living room. Instead, he found a door behind a curtain, a

side door that led out into the main hallway. Cautiously, avoiding all noise, the unknown murderer opened

A mysterious blackness was creeping along the passage that led from Wilbert's living room to his dark room.

As it materialized, it exterminated most of the dim light. That figure became the cloaked form of The

He had entered by the front way, this black Knight of Darkness, at just the moment the murderer was taking

A few moments later, The Shadow's gloved hand was turning the handle of the dark room door. Next, a

Often had The Shadow analyzed crimes like this. His was the sort of mind that could absorb and correlate

details almost at a glance. The pungent odor of powder indicated that the shots had been very recent; a sweep

of The Shadow's flashlight showed him that the room was so nearly soundproof that it was not surprising

The fragments of the photographic plate, the broken glass from the electric bulb, were further items that The

Shadow tallied mentally. They told their story as graphically as if The Shadow had witnessed it; but the thing

that brought the grim laugh from The Shadow's hidden lips was an added item, lying on the floor.

It was just inside the door, a peculiar playing card of a Spanish pattern, which bore three spots that looked

like acorns, instead of the conventional sort found in American cards. It was a shabby card, apparently an odd

one from a muchused deck, and on it, in a clumsy scrawl, appeared an address, in pencil.

With low, whispered mirth, The Shadow stooped and picked up this trophy which a murderer had dropped.

The address on the card was that of this old apartment, where Russ Wilbert lived. Odd that a murderer should

drop anything as important as this unless intentionally. To The Shadow, that smacked of false evidence.

Carefully, deliberately, The Shadow tore this card in half so that the address was incomplete. He let one half

At that moment, The Shadow was in the doorway of the dark room, hence was restricted by its soundproof

tendency. A muffled rumble reached his ears; not only did he identify it, but it served him as a guide. It was

the apartment house elevator, an automatic type, and from its receding sound, The Shadow decided that it

There must be a reason why the sound was so audible in this little connecting passage, deep in Wilbert's

apartment. Lifting a curtain close at hand, The Shadow saw the door beyond it, the door that the murderer had

used. Opening the door, The Shadow stepped from the apartment passage into the third floor hall.

Close by was a stairway, a quick route to the ground floor. Almost as quick as the plodding elevator. In this

instance, the stairs were the one alternative, because by the time The Shadow could bring up the automatic

elevator, the murderer if he happened to be the elevator passenger would be gone.

The Shadow turned and made a quick sweep for the stairs, not at that moment caring that his cloaked form

Already, The Shadow had drawn an automatic and in this quest of overtaking a killer, he perhaps looked the

part of the man he was out to find. Even if viewed impartially, The Shadow produced a menacing effect,

particularly when he delivered one of those low, whispered laughs that was his custom when he anticipated

Anybody on those darkened stairs, whether killer, lurker, investigator or mere visitor, might have classed The

Such an attack needed to be countered; and was. Hardly was The Shadow on the stairs before a figure shot up

THERE were times when silence was The Shadow's specialty, but this wasn't one of those times.

Noiseless suppression of an unexpected antagonist could be accomplished, even on a stairway, but the delay

would be unwise at a moment when a freshly murdered victim was lying in a dark room awaiting the arrival

of investigating police. Of course the sooner the police came the better, provided The Shadow first could

leave with proportionate speed, so by making this a rapid, noisy struggle, The Shadow would be

And of course there was still a third factor, The Shadow's desire to get to the ground floor soon enough to

All this might have worked out perfectly, except for a very reliable character who answered to the name of

Hawkeye and who tonight happened to be operating so efficiently that he was almost on the heels of a man he

That man was Jerry Reeth. It was Jerry who had launched the ardent spring from the stair top, upon seeing

The Shadow. Out on the Long Island highway, again at his own apartment, Jerry hadn't any more than

And since those two episodes, Jerry wasn't in a mood to accept any stranger as anything but a foe.

Hawkeye realized this when from the bottom of the stairway he saw two figures whirling down his way

forming a blinking, kaleidoscopic pattern against the light from the hall above. Hawkeye was on the second

floor; he'd followed Jerry into the building and up that far. Where Hawkeye should have been was down on

the first floor to spot the person coming from the elevator, but not knowing anything about that person,

And now as the tumbling figures reached him, Hawkeye felt that he was needed right here. Sidestepping the

revolving grapplers, Hawkeye saw his opportunity and took it. Barehanded with the fighting spirit of a

mongoose tackling a hooded cobra, Hawkeye flung a choking clamp on the neck he thought was Jerry's.

Of course that was the neck that wasn't in a cloak collar. Apparently, Jerry had kept his first advantage during

the sprawl down the stairs, for even in the gloom, Hawkeye could distinguish The Shadow all muffled in his

own cloak. At least that was what Hawkeye thought he saw, but he was either forgetting one of The Shadow's

favorite tricks or else not crediting his chief with the ability to spring it during so few seconds.

In the brief melee The Shadow had flung his cloak over Jerry's head, given it a twist to muffle and choke his

antagonist. If Hawkeye hadn't intervened, The Shadow would have suppressed Jerry very promptly. Now,

Caught by a pair of gloved hands that came up over the uncloaked shoulders above them, Hawkeye was

flayed in what seemed six directions at once. Fighting to hold his grip on what he thought was Jerry's neck,

Hawkeye lost it and regained it twice. During the second slip, however, Hawkeye heard a sharp, compelling

whisper; then, the fact that gloved hands were trying to break his clamp, drilled home the mistake that he had

Relaxing, Hawkeye found himself staring into Cranston's face. The cloak beside them was empty. Around the

corner of the hall, making for the next flight of stairs below, Jerry Reeth was giving a good impersonation of

They took after Jerry, Hawkeye and The Shadow, the latter delaying long enough to regain his cloak and

fling it over his shoulders while picking up the slouch hat that had rolled beside it.

Reaching the ground floor first, Jerry sped past the empty elevator and out through a rear door that he saw

handy, for as a missing man, Jerry preferred back routes whenever available. Since Hawkeye kept right after

Jerry, The Shadow took a different route. Tightening his cloak, he left by the front door, passed the building

What might seem a lengthy process, that of doubling around a block, could often prove the shortest route to

an objective, particularly if that objective happened to be human. Fugitives like Jerry Reeth had the habit of

doubling around the block in order to avoid pursuers, and this time was no exception.

As The Shadow reached the rear street, traveling the long way, he met Jerry coming from the other direction.

This was one of those mistaken chases that never should have begun. All during it, The Shadow was seeking

another trail, that of the missing murderer. In meeting up with Jerry, he was only defeating his own purpose

again, or at least so it seemed. But The Shadow, as usual, was either playing in luck or having one of his

The challenging laugh that stopped Jerry in his tracks brought a response from across the way. There, a gun

spoke savagely from the dark, aiming at the wildest of targets, the spot from which The Shadow's laugh

The shots brought results, but they were in The Shadow's favor. Hawkeye dived for cover while Jerry turned

and made a dash across the street. That left The Shadow free to deal with the man he wanted, the man who

To reach him, The Shadow wheeled out into the darkened street, watching for another telltale gun jab. To

encourage such a spurt of flame, one that would give away his enemy's position, The Shadow delivered

another of those fierce, provoking laughs. No shots responded; instead, a new attack came from a different

Out of blackness glared a pair of headlights, as if flung from nowhere. With them came the car to which they

belonged, whipping forward with a wild whine of its gears. How the man with the gun could have gotten into

that car so fast was a mystery in itself, though there was nothing to prove that he was the same man.

What the gun had failed to do, the car was accomplishing. It was aiming straight for The Shadow, in a much

larger way. Yet with its speed, the car could not begin to match a bullet's pace. Briefly was The Shadow

silhouetted like a giant moth in the glare, increasing in proportions as the lights hurtled toward him. Then,

The car kept right ahead, its driver preferring flight to any attempt to go back after The Shadow. As it slewed

around the corner, the car revealed itself as a shiny, sleek limousine very like the one that Herkimer, the Van

One thing had been accomplished, whether planned or not. Like the fugitive car, the missing murderer had

gotten away and so had Jerry Reeth. Those two factors in the present case were gone, despite The Shadow.

He gave it, a strange grim tone of parting mirth, telling Hawkeye to follow his example and decamp from this

IT was afternoon and a considerable crowd was gathered in front of the old Van Dolphe mansion as though

expecting something extraordinary to happen there. Police were on hand and they had roped off the street to

hold back the curious. The only vehicle that had been allowed to enter the block was a big sleek limousine

In the limousine sat a nervous chauffeur who was trying to hide his mood under a scowl. Watching the

crowd, Herkimer seemed to be annoyed by the way they had hemmed him in and apparently was wondering

whether the police would clear a proper path for the limousine's departure. Actually, Herkimer was on the

alert for camera men and of the dozen that he saw, he expected one or more of them to come springing

None did, nor did the police bother Herkimer, which was considerable help, since Herkimer had become

allergic to police as well as photographers. However, no one had yet gotten around to connecting the death of

Russ Wilbert with the fact that he had taken a photograph of Brenda Van Dolphe; at least not officially.

The crowd was here to get a look at the fabulous Brenda, that was all. However, the girl did not appear and a

sigh of disappointment rose from the throng at sight of the persons who did arrive from the house. Only a

stoopshouldered old servant, Claxon, and a squatty lady, Senora Hidalgo, came from the big door and down

If any smart photographers had the notion that they might pile into the house, ferret out Brenda and get her

Two stocky men emerged from the front door, took their places on either side and made a show of badges

which they wore beneath their coats. They were the private cops who had acted as inside guards the night

Within the house, Brenda and Treat were in the large library which adjoined the flight of side stairs leading

down to the great hall. One reason why the landing of that stairway had made a good observation post for

Jerry, the night before, was because the lower steps flanked an ornate, finely carved wall, beyond which lay

Hence those stairs at least had one value. You could come down them and enter the big door of the library

without parading all the way across the great hall. That was why Treat had suggested that Brenda come down

to the library. And now Treat was watching from the window, reporting to Brenda what went on outdoors.

"What a strange city, this Nueva York!" the girl exclaimed. "And these Americanos, what strange people!"

Treat turned and his shrewd face relaxed into a sympathetic smile. When the girl reverted to a Latin mood, it

meant that she was troubled. All her childhood had been spent in South American countries, chiefly

Colombia, and she was used to the customs of those lands, whatever their shortcomings. Certainly there, she

had never found herself regarded as a curiosity. The crowd outside made her think in terms of revolution. It

didn't seem intelligent for so many people to gather just for a peaceable purpose.

"It is very stupid," remarked Treat. "But what else could we expect? With this man, Reeth, seeking notoriety

A telephone bell cut Treat's comments. There was no phone here in the library, as Brenda knew. The bell was

ringing from a corner of the hallway and Treat went there to answer it. He pressed a button on the box beside

It was through lack of that button business that Brenda had taken Wilbert's call of the previous evening.

Naturally, she was interested in the present call. Incongruously, however, Brenda thought it might be Wilbert

again. She hadn't seen today's newspapers, hence did not know that the photographer had been murdered.

This wasn't the first phone call that Brenda had overheard Treat make during the past few days. When he

made phone calls, however, Treat was a very cryptic gentleman. As usual, Brenda could only try to guess

"Hello..." Treat's tone became one of recognition. "So you've talked with her? Fine... I was sure you would

like her... She can get here this evening? Good... Yes, the sooner the better... Certainly. I can explain

Hanging up the phone, Treat placed his finger to the dial to start another call. Then, in that crafty way of his,

he turned and looked about. Over his shoulder, Treat saw Brenda, her face slightly puzzled as she stared from

Smoothly, without a trace of misplaced emphasis that might have aroused Brenda's suspicions, the oily

"It was your attorney, Simon Severidge. He says he has talked to your cousin, Genevieve Jeffrey. He hopes

This made partial sense to Brenda, but some of it was still obscure, particularly what Trent had said about

"Hello... Yes, this is Treat... Yes, everything is arranged for tonight, but suppose I take her out there

myself?... Certainly, that would be easiest... It will save us a lot of time..."

Still a bit baffled, Brenda decided it was her own fault that she didn't understand. Because when Treat hung

"Your cousin Genevieve wasn't sure we would be ready to receive her," explained Treat. "So she stopped to

visit some friends outside of town. They weren't going to bring her in here until tomorrow, so I think we

"That would be splendid!" exclaimed Brenda. "I'm so tired of staying indoors. But" she frowned and

gestured back into the library, in the general direction of its big windows "what about the crowd?"

"They'll all be gone." Treat was crossing the library as he answered. He looked from the window and added:

"The crowd has pretty well cleared now. However" Treat turned with a satisfied smile "I think we can

arrange to leave here without being observed. Of course we shall have to wait until after dark."

Sudden interest dawned in Brenda's eyes. She was thinking of Jerry's mysterious visit of the night before and

the remarkable way he had vanished from the mansion. It might be that Treat knew some such secret too!

Then, rather than betray her interest, Brenda simply gave a hopeful nod as though wishing that Treat might be

"You had better go upstairs," he told Brenda. "I am going to call in the two detectives who are watching

outside. Some camera man might just decide to slip past them. You won't have to worry about such things,

not after tomorrow. You will see Mr. Severidge then and once your legal affairs are settled, you will no

Nodding as she left the library, Brenda realized that tomorrow would be her birthday, which indeed was a

help. She hoped she would like her greatcousin, Genevieve Jeffrey, now that all her relatives and friends

Just how much of a friend Treat was, could have become a pressing question in Brenda's mind if she had

stayed in the library and watched him at the window. Satisfied no one was observing him, Cedric Treat

relaxed his shrewd features into a smile that could aptly have been termed Satanic.

Realizing what his smile must look like, Treat kept his face well back from the window. That was why a

curtain intercepted his view of the corner across the street and prevented him from seeing something that

Two young men had detached themselves from the dwindling throng and were turning the corner, one neatly

picking up the other's trail. The first of that pair was Jerry Reeth; the man who had recognized Jerry and was

POLICE COMMISSIONER WESTON alighted from his official car in front of his famous rendezvous, the

exclusive Cobalt Club. Two other men were with him: Lamont Cranston and Simon Severidge. They had

Waiting in the club were two other men, Kirk Grimshaw and Alvin Lancaster, who had arrived there

separately. They sensed they had been summoned for something important, hence they were quite intrigued

"It is this, gentlemen," declared Weston in his brusque style. "We believe that there is a connection between

Looks of surprise passed between Grimshaw and Lancaster. It was Grimshaw who spoke first, his long,

horsey face showing surprise amid its expression of habitual worry. All the importer asked was:

"Wait a moment, commissioner." Lancaster's roundish face was lighting like a harvest moon. "Maybe I can

answer it! There was a deal on between them, out at the air field. Reeth was to help Wilbert get that

photograph. They were to split on whatever price they could get for it. Reeth was afraid Wilbert wouldn't

"You've been reading the five star finals," asserted Weston, gesturing to one such newspaper that lay on a

chair beside Lancaster. "They have begun to guess that Wilbert was the photographer who took that picture of

Miss Van Dolphe. Probably they are right, though we have no absolute proof. If so, it is possible that Reeth is

At that, Grimshaw's face went as hollow as his gaping mouth. His tone sounded like an echo.

"Very possibly," nodded Weston, "and in that case, the killer of both Reeth and Wilbert may be a man

known as Gonzales. That is why I asked you here, to find out what you know about Gonzales."

For answer, Grimshaw and Lancaster could only shake their heads. They'd never met Gonzales; they'd told

the commissioner once before that they doubted if the man existed. It was Severidge, who in his

tightmouthed style, was able to show some evidence on the Gonzales question. Silently, the lawyer

produced it, tossed it across the table, a torn sheet of paper which bore a clumsy scrawl:

While Grimshaw and Lancaster were studying that rough note, Weston produced some other items of

"People living at Reeth's place say they saw a man who looked Like a Mexican go in there several times.

"Half a sheet of paper," mused Weston, "plus half a blank envelope, may mean nothing. But when we found

another torn object at Wilbert's, the half of an odd and curious playing card, it completed the trail.

Particularly when the card bore part of Wilbert's address, in a scrawl identical with the one used by 'G' who

With that, Weston tossed the evidence on the table and the two men stared at the half of a Spanish playing

card, the half that The Shadow had left as the law's share of a clue that a murderer had dropped in Wilbert's

Severidge, the lawyer, was cannily studying the new surprise that showed itself in individual fashion on the

respective faces of Grimshaw and Lancaster; but Cranston was no longer present to view that result.

An attendant had entered to tell Mr. Cranston that he was wanted on the telephone and Cranston had left the

Reporting, Harry announced that he had successfully trailed Jerry Reeth to a little hotel called the Colonnade.

Harry had done a neat trailing job, ready to play smart if Jerry spotted him. In that case, Harry would have

popped right up to Jerry as though having seen him accidentally. But since Jerry hadn't noticed Harry, there

Approving Harry's policy, Cranston told him to keep watch at the Colonnade. Then, calmly, Cranston added:

"You mean the half envelope?" Harry's tone was sheepish across the wire. "I was going to use it to muffle the

"But you didn't," interposed Cranston, "and you laid it down and forgot it. You still have the other half of

"Good. Carry it with you so that you can give it to me the next time we meet. I am using it as the first link in

Having thus explained the riddle of the half envelope, Cranston ended the phone call and returned to the

conference room. In doing things by halves, Cranston, as The Shadow, was forging them into a whole. Just

by chance through Harry's oversight had The Shadow managed to acquire half of an object that had been

on the scene of crime at Jerry's. That was why The Shadow had personally taken half a planted clue by

Luck had caused those two artificial links to fall in with the note that Severidge had received from someone

who might be Gonzales. Personally, The Shadow suspected the authenticity of that note; hence his own clues

were quite in keeping with it. Sometimes it took a fake to expose a fake. This The Shadow knew.

Arriving back in the conference room, Cranston found Weston summing the Jerry question.

"There is a chance that Reeth met with foul play," asserted Weston. "There was shooting at his apartment and

the place was ransacked. It is possible that Gonzales murdered Reeth. On the other hand" Weston shrugged

"Over that photograph?" demanded Severidge. "The one that we couldn't find at Wilbert's?"

"If Wilbert took such a picture," continued Severidge, "it was probably destroyed."

"Unless the murderer purposely created that false impression," asserted Weston, cannily. "If he kept the

picture, he probably hopes to sell it to you, as attorney for the Van Dolphe estate."

"Not to me." Severidge supplied a tightlipped smile. "Whatever Miss Van Dolphe looks like, they are

welcome to print all the pictures of her that they wish. Besides" Severidge spread his hands as if in relief

"when I meet Miss Van Dolphe for the first time, tomorrow, it may be the last time. The estate then will be

Others were taking this as a matter of mere fact, but the steady look in Cranston's eyes, his close but

unobserved scrutiny of Severidge, told that he was placing a singular import on all that the lawyer said.

"Tomorrow, Miss Genevieve Jeffrey arrives," resumed Severidge. "She will take the place of Madame

Hidalgo, the duenna, who left today with the old servant, Claxon. After Miss Jeffrey meets Miss Van Dolphe,

they can plan on whatever they wish. I suppose they will keep Treat, the secretary, to handle most of Brenda's

affairs. Besides, he has been doing a good job, keeping private detectives on the job, probably for the very

"You have something there!" asserted the commissioner. "Suppose we phone Treat, Severidge, and learn if

They made the phone call and talked not only to Cedric Treat but to the two reliable operatives that he had

hired. They thus received triple assurance that all was well within the Van Dolphe manse, because all the

reports were alike. Positively, no one had gone in or out of the house the night before. As an added bonus,

Treat put Herkimer on the phone to give the same assurance, the chauffeur having just returned from the

"No need for police surveillance," decided Weston. "If Gonzales or even Reeth should attempt an entry at

the house, the private detectives would apprehend such an intruder, as would be their right. If blackmail or

some similar business is afoot, it is preferable that it should be handled that way."

Two other listeners nodded their acquiescence along with Severidge. Those listeners were Grimshaw and

Outdoors, darkness had fallen. It was time for Lamont Cranston to become The Shadow!

IN the Van Dolphe house, Herkimer, alert but nervous, was watching the two detectives make their final

patrol to see that the house was tightly locked. Most of the chauffeur's nervous manner, however, was due to

When Treat turned toward the library, Herkimer followed. In the doorway, the chauffeur overtook the

"Say, Treat, about that business I looked into for you yesterday. You know I didn't "

A low hiss was Treat's interruption, accompanied by a warning gesture as he turned about. He motioned

Herkimer back, then turned toward the old side stairway, just as footfalls came down from the landing. On

the steps, Brenda Van Dolphe halted, about to turn back, until she recognized that Trent's companion was

"There was a phone call from Mr. Severidge," Treat explained to Brenda. "He was afraid that Reeth, or

possibly someone else, might try to come here tonight. Therefore he wanted us to stay in the house."

Brenda's face became more than annoyed; it showed impatience. "I couldn't mention meeting Miss

Genevieve," added Treat. "So I think we can arrange it anyway." Then, as Brenda brightened, Treat gestured

toward the library: "In here, Miss Van Dolphe," he added quickly. "It is not wise that you should even meet

Voices and heavy footsteps were entering the other side of the great hall, but Brenda was safely inside the

library with the door closed when the two detectives arrived. Herkimer, a wise look on his overhandsome

face, was figuring that he had gained an edge on the smart secretary, Treat. But Herkimer decided that he

"Herkimer is going out," Treat told the operatives. "I shall lock the front door when he leaves; after that I

shall retire to the study. Miss Van Dolphe is in her room upstairs and is not to be disturbed."

"Take any phone messages," added Treat, "but do not annoy me with them, as I wish to nap until midnight.

Showing Herkimer to the front door, Treat undertoned special instructions to the chauffeur.

"Bring the car around to the side of the house," ordered Treat. "Park at the rear passage. Leave on the dim

Understanding, Herkimer nodded. Treat waved him out, then locked and bolted the front door, after which he

Pulling around to the side of the huge house, Herkimer wondered how Treat and Brenda could possibly arrive

there without betraying their departure to those human watchdogs, the private ops that Treat had apparently

hired just to give himself a lot of trouble. However, that was Treat's business, so Herkimer simply waited, at

The one man actually in sight was keeping low along the curb, almost under shelter of the rear of the car. He

was Harry Vincent and he was on the stalk for Jerry Reeth, who had left the Hotel Colonnade a short while

Harry had spotted Jerry about to enter a passage behind the Van Dolphe house. Then the limousine had come

along, forcing Harry to duck to the wall, then out again, to begin his present tactics.

The closer Harry came to the car, the less chance he had of being seen by the chauffeur. The ruddy glow of

the sizable taillights wouldn't matter where Herkimer was concerned. But Harry had forgotten about Jerry,

or at least had supposed that Jerry was well along his way somewhere else, which Jerry wasn't.

A lurch came from the darkness of the passage and Jerry, like a fighting wildcat, launched himself upon

Harry, who couldn't come up in time to meet him. But as Harry sprawled, another figure came scooting

across the street. Dynamite in a pintsized dose, this new fighter, otherwise Hawkeye, proved to be the

All this happened before Herkimer was really aware of it. Before the chauffeur could switch his lights, two

figures came from the alley that Jerry had left and were in the car a moment later. The arrivals were Brenda

There was plenty of pickup to that limousine. It had the same zang as the car that had borne down on The

Shadow, outside of Wilbert's, the night before. And Brenda, realizing that there had been some excitement

back by the house, was thrilled by the adventure, until the horrifying thought struck her that Jerry might have

By then, the limousine was a few blocks away and it was too late to talk of going back, particularly since

From then on, the ride seemed only occasionally eventful to Brenda until they had crossed a great bridge and

were somewhere outside the city. It was then that Treat spoke through the speaking tube to Herkimer.

"I don't like the way that cab is following us, Herkimer," said Treat. "It may be another of those troublesome

photographers. Pull into the first road you see on the right and we can watch what happens."

Herkimer did as instructed. The cab came along and slowed, but probably only because of the road, because it

continued along the main highway without stopping. At Treat's order, Herkimer backed the limousine onto

There was a peculiar difference in the limousine, however, which none of its passengers noticed. The

taillights seemed to blink and blot at moments, as though a blackish film came across them. As the road

became rougher, the jounces of the car gave an occasional impression of something lifting, like the cover of

Except that the trunk was tightly locked; therefore the only other explanation was that an object, human

This illusion dispelled itself after the limousine swung between a pair of stone gates and pulled up in front of

a great brick building which looked slightly like an oldfashioned hotel. Brenda studied the place rather

curiously as Treat escorted her into the place, saying it was the inn where her greatcousin Genevieve was

Instead of finding a clerk at a desk, Treat ushered Brenda directly into an office, which bore the name on the

Inside was Doctor Borneau himself, a thinhaired, sharpfaced man, who did not even rise from his desk.

Standing nearby were two hefty, matronly women, both plainly dressed, and Brenda stared at them,

Then Treat was stepping forward, spreading papers in front of Borneau and saying things that suddenly

"Here are the commitment papers, doctor," announced Treat. "All quite in order. Of course you understand

"I understand," Borneau's tone was as sharp, as grating as his looks. "Such cases are to be expected, every

"It isn't entirely that," explained Treat, in a very serious tone. "This girl, Sarah Prentiss, actually worked for

Miss Van Dolphe. Due to the fact that we allowed no one to see Miss Van Dolphe "

"Of course, of course," inserted Borneau, in crackly style. "She acquired a fixation that reached a stage of

"And then," added Treat, "Sarah took to posing as Miss Van Dolphe, even borrowing her clothes and jewelry.

"What is this, Treat?" broke in Brenda, noting that the others all wore Treat's serious expression. "Has

"Very usual," declared the doctor, crisply. "Accusing others of one's own condition. A little quiet, proper

He was looking at Brenda and the glint in those eyes of Borneau's was hypnotic. If ever a face seemed

distorted, evil, it was that of the man who posed as a doctor in charge of what Brenda now realized must be

an asylum, whether real or fake. Then, before Brenda could finish a single scream, Borneau was giving an

Wildly though she struggled, Brenda didn't begin to be a match for the two husky women who had grabbed

her. They pinned her arms behind her, stifled her screams, and carried her bodily from the room. Brenda's

shoes came flying back as she tried to kick her captors and when the door closed, Treat calmly picked up the

With that, Treat bowed out. Doctor Borneau remained at his desk, a smile on his crisp, dry face as he tilted

It was then that a laugh disturbed Borneau, a tone of whispered mirth that brought him full about to stare

across the desk. Bulging straight at the alleged doctor was a huge automatic, above it a pair of cold, stern

eyes, that made Borneau's glare seem childish. Above those eyes was a slouch hat, its brim turned down,

With a snarl, Borneau performed a savage but useless action. With incredible speed, he whipped a revolver

from an open drawer beside him, and came up from his chair, swinging to aim, hoping to beat The Shadow to

Instead, he swept his gun hand forward, upward and outward, turning it knuckles up. Borneau's chin came

right into the arc of The Shadow's pistonpowered hand. Weighted with an automatic, The Shadow's fist

carried a terrific power. His swing seemed almost lazy, but it carried through without a pause.

That fist lifted Borneau with his own jaw, carried him up and over the back of his swivel chair, where he

landed so hard that his head, cracking the wall, jarred his fake diploma from above him and brought it

Approaching Borneau, The Shadow studied the man's distorted face that was tilted up into the light.

Removing his slouch bat, The Shadow produced a makeup kit from beneath his cloak and began to pattern

his own visage to resemble the unsavory features of the unconscious faker who called himself a doctor. A few

Finding some keys in Borneau's pocket, The Shadow chose the proper one, then picked up the unconscious

man and carried him out of the office and down a long, dim corridor. Reaching some formidable doors, The

Opening the door, The Shadow dumped Borneau into one of his own padded cells and returned to the office.

There, putting cloak and hat into a closet, The Shadow sat down behind the desk and canted his head in exact

Picking up the telephone, The Shadow jiggled the receiver. When the switchboard responded, he spoke, in

MOST of the way back to Manhattan, Cedric Treat maintained a strict silence. At last, however, he picked up

"Miss Van Dolphe decided to stay at the inn overnight. We are going to stop for her cousin, Miss Genevieve,

While listening to the address that Treat gave, Herkimer was careful to keep his grin out of the mirror. He

knew that the inn was a phony and he was willing to bet that Cousin Genevieve would be the same. When

they reached the address named and found a much muffled woman waiting there, Herkimer was a trifle

nonplussed; but once the lady was in the car, with her veil drawn back, the chauffeur began to understand.

In the passing street lamps, he caught enough light to see reflected faces in the mirror. Treat's companion was

The girl had dropped the veil again, when Herkimer stopped the big car at the side of the Van Dolphe

mansion. This time Herkimer really looked to see if the coast was clear and Treat did the same. Then, through

"Wait at the garage for half an hour, Herkimer. I shall phone you if I need you."

Treat and his companion made a quick trip through the passage behind the house and the limousine promptly

pulled away. That was when Hawkeye again came into sight, from the shelter of some old house steps across

the way. Furtively but efficiently, the little spotter reached a telephone and put in a prompt call.

The man who received that call was Harry Vincent. He was sitting in a little back room with Jerry Reeth, who

was beginning to trust this friend again, though not too implicitly, Jerry's main reason being that Harry had a

So far, Jerry hadn't furnished Harry with a single word of worthwhile information and Harry hadn't pressed

him, for he wanted Jerry's full confidence. And now, to prove what was in his mind, also to follow complete

instructions as recently received from The Shadow, Harry brought out his automatic and weighed it while he

"I mean can you keep your head," replied Harry. "if I steered you to a man who could tell you a lot you

"I get it," he said. "You mean would I use a few of those encouraging nudges that seem to be your specialty,

"The Van Dolphe chauffeur," returned Harry. "His name is Herkimer. He's just left the house to put the car

Jerry was thinking too, and grimly. Figuring the time element and all, it could have been Herkimer who

murdered Gonzales on that first occasion and Wilbert on another. Eyeing Harry's gun, Jerry nodded to

It was a little after half past eleven and it took them slightly more than ten minutes to reach the garage, which

was just a few blocks from the Van Dolphe residence. Harry had received data regarding the garage from

Hawkeye who had snooped briefly around the premises and all came up to specifications. There was only one

man on duty after eleven o'clock and he was usually fixing flats in a workroom. The only thing that would

bring him out of there were the honks of an automobile horn or the roar of a motor.

Herkimer kept the Van Dolphe limousine in a corner remote from the workroom and usually gave it a

superficial polish before leaving the garage. So all Harry had to do was point Jerry to where he should go,

plus, of course, the act of giving him the .45 automatic. When Harry did that, Jerry grunted his thanks and

sauntered into the garage. As soon as Jerry was out of sight beyond some cars, Harry followed, but kept a

This was indeed a crucial test. The idea was to have Jerry square himself where any murder charge was

concerned. A bold course, letting Jerry go in with a gun, but knowing Jerry's mettle, it was the best. There

Tonight, solid evidence had been gained of Herkimer working hand in glove with Treat. It wouldn't do to tell

Jerry that, because he'd prefer to go after the secretary instead of the chauffeur. That would be breaking the

game too fast. The real system was to work on Herkimer first, getting him to squeal all he knew, which would

All part of The Shadow's plan, but even the plans of that master could sometimes go awry!

Sighting the Van Dolphe limousine, Jerry sneaked up past it, expecting to catch Herkimer unaware. To his

surprise, he found no sign of the chauffeur, other than a polishing rag, lying on a fender of the car. Moving

around the rear, Jerry discovered a door in the wall of the garage, through which a streak of light trickled.

Close to the door, Jerry heard Herkimer's voice; from its tone, he realized that the chauffeur was using a

"Yeah," Herkimer was saying. "Bywood. That's the name of the place I want... Yeah... Who? The head

Through the crack of the door, Jerry could now see Herkimer at the telephone, a pay box on the wall, because

Jerry had widened the crack to push the automatic muzzle through. He was waiting, though, to hear what

"What's that?" Herkimer was snapping at the operator. "I'll have to call information?... All right... I'll get it..."

Herkimer slapped the receiver on the hook and reached for the nickel that the operator returned. Jerry was

undecided whether to wait until the chauffeur talked to information and that moment of indecision ended all

Down from above Herkimer's head, swinging hard past the hanging electric bulb that illuminated the space

by the payphone, came a hand containing a powerful weapon in the shape of an oversized monkey wrench.

The wrench did to Herkimer's head what Jerry had seen a tank do to a pillbox. It just didn't leave much of it.

Savagely, Jerry flung the door inward and drove forward, the automatic ahead of him. The door hit against

some steps, that led upward, steps that Jerry didn't know about, but which the killer did, because he was on

them. Back came the door, shoved by the other man's shoulder and the wrench, hand and all, came swinging

Either Jerry's lunge was too low for the wrench to reach him, or it wasn't meant for him at all. The latter was

likely, because it did find a target, the hanging light. As at Wilbert's, that blow crashed the light and furnished

Other footsteps were pounding Jerry's way and rather than beat around in the darkness, Jerry drove back

through the door again, toward the man who was coming his way. That man was Harry Vincent and Jerry

Reeth no longer gave him benefit of doubt. It was Harry who had shoved Jerry into what was either a trap or

He'd made just one mistake, Harry had. That was trusting Jerry with a gun, either thinking he wouldn't have

time to use it, or hoping it would incriminate him. If that was what Harry wanted, Jerry's incrimination, he

could have it. Aiming the gun point blank at Harry, Jerry let go with the trigger.

Before Jerry could switch to slugging tactics, Harry grabbed him. Jerry countered and ferociously heaving

Harry so hard against the door behind the car that Harry's head knocked it open and received it again when it

came back from the steps beyond. Profiting by Harry's slump, Jerry went tearing out through the front of the

garage, followed by the shouts of the night man who was coming out of the work room.

Halfgroggy, Harry came to his feet, drew an automatic that had bullets in it, and flung a flashlight's beam

into the place where Herkimer's body lay. Dimly, Harry recalled some footsteps that had come dashing up a

The killer had fled and Harry was about to follow, when he remembered The Shadow's discussion regarding

some previous scenes of crime. Looking to the floor, Harry saw an object lying there, something which the

murderer must have dropped purposely, as before. Picking the thing up, Harry found it to be a baggage check.

Then, using his other hand with a handkerchief covering it, Harry tore the check in half, dropped the segment

which he knew did not bear his fingerprints and rushed up the stairs in hope of finding the killer.

All Harry found was a roof, with a fire ladder attached to the wall next door. That was the route the murderer

had taken, so Harry decided to use it too, even though he knew he could no longer trace the killer.

Not many minutes later, Harry was clear of this neighborhood. Amid the clangs of a big clock that was

chiming midnight, he could hear the whine of a police siren, telling that the night man at the garage had

Again, Jerry Reeth was at large, and he probably wouldn't return to the Hotel Colonnade where his trail could

be picked up again. With Herkimer dead, Harry Vincent could think of only one other man who might in any

sense, furnish some lead to affairs of current crime. That man was Cedric Treat.

With the stroke of midnight, Treat was answering the rap on the library door. Coming out, he nodded sleepily

to the two private operatives, asking them if all had gone well. When they said that nothing had disturbed the

It was a girl's voice, speaking with a Spanish accent, from the bottom of the main stairway. Turning, the

detectives saw a very gorgeous brunette in a still more gorgeous negligee that trailed like a royal robe.

"We must congratulate Miss Van Dolphe," announced Treat. "This is her birthday. She is now of age and no

longer subject to the regulations of the stupid duenna who would not allow her to meet Americanos."

MORNING brought Simon Severidge to the Van Dolphe mansion and with him he brought all the certified

documents that Brenda's closest relatives, Judge Jeffrey and Captain Platt, had checked over prior to their

Another arrival was Brenda's greatcousin Genevieve Jeffrey, who proved great in size as well as

relationship, being a jolly personage who insisted upon referring to her weight as fifteen stone, English style,

On this, their first meeting with Brenda, both Severidge and Genevieve were much charmed by the girl. Of

course, Severidge's business covered the legal phases of the documents he brought with him and there were

many detailed questions, all of which Brenda answered comprehensively in a mixture of English and Spanish

Not once did the brunette give any inkling to the fact that she was not Brenda Van Dolphe. Knowing all the

The nearest thing to a bad break took place when Commissioner Weston arrived as an unexpected visitor,

accompanied by Lamont Cranston and insisted upon holding a conference in the library. Introduced to

Brenda Van Dolphe, the commissioner bowed courteously, then launched squarely into the business at hand.

"It's about your chauffeur, Miss Van Dolphe," asserted the commissioner, abruptly. "He was murdered last

"Herkimer," corrected Treat. "Miss Van Dolphe has trouble remembering these American names. She

scarcely saw Herkimer at all after the night he drove us in from the air field. I heard about Herkimer's death,

Realizing that Treat would know more about the case than Brenda, Weston concentrated on the secretary.

Cranston's gaze, however, was fixed on the girl and he saw that she was less at ease than ever.

"Early in the evening," replied Treat. "The two guards I have here may be able to tell you the exact time."

"He was killed shortly before midnight," declared Weston, "and he had only just come in with the car." Treat

"I expected as much," he declared. "Too frequently Herkimer was not at the garage when he was supposed to

be. He always claimed he was performing necessary errands, but he never specified them."

"About those errands," put Weston. "Would one of them have been looking up the photographer who took

"We are practically sure it was Wilbert," affirmed Weston. "And what would you say, Treat, if I told you that

the Van Dolphe car or one much like it had been seen in Wilbert's neighborhood before his death?"

"I would say that it confirms all our suspicions!" exclaimed Treat. "Miss Van Dolphe will tell you that her

uncle, the judge, breached the theory that only Herkimer could have informed the camera man of our arrival."

"We should have dismissed Herkimer along with the other servants," decided Treat, "but since he was an

outside man, it did not seem necessary. Apparently he was associated with the wrong people. I wonder"

"He may have," said Weston. "Which reminds me: what does Miss Van Dolphe intend to do?"

"Absolutely nothing," replied Treat. "She has left the matter in my hands. In turn, I agree with Mr. Severidge

Again, the new Brenda took the cue and nodded, which seemed to please Severidge who was standing by.

That ended Weston's business, but as the commissioner was leaving, Treat overtook him.

"Miss Van Dolphe is holding a reception," stated Treat. "We should be glad to have you attend,

commissioner. Should anything new develop before then, we shall certainly let you know."

IMMEDIATELY after Weston and his friend Cranston had left, Treat found opportunity to phone the

Bywood Sanitarium and ask for Doctor Borneau. He learned that the head of the asylum had gone out for the

day but had left word that the patient was doing nicely and receiving the proper attention.

That settled, Treat went back to the library and buried himself in business matters including the establishing

of huge bank accounts, the hiring of servants, arrangements for the reception, and dozens of other details

Severidge had left, taking along all the documents that the girl had signed; now Treat was busy getting the

signature of Brenda Van Dolphe on checks. He was particularly anxious also to arrange the purchase of

certain properties and push the sale of others, since all such matters had remained in abeyance until the estate

Meanwhile, Commissioner Weston, riding in his big official car, was confiding in his friend Cranston.

"That chap Treat impresses me," declared Weston. "He analyzed Herkimer better than he supposed. We

checked on Herkimer's record and found that he knew several unsavory characters. He even approached one,

a pawn shop proprietor of doubtful status, on the subject of lending money to buy that photograph from

"Either Treat or Severidge," replied Weston, "according to what they would pay for the picture."

While Weston was bringing an official envelope from his pocket, Cranston broached a query.

"Nobody else did, until today," Cranston replied. "At least nobody except Treat. She hadn't met Severidge or

"All of which has nothing to do with the case," chided Weston. "Here is something really important,

Correctly, it was half of a baggage check, another of those partial clues picked up on a scene of murder.

"That's right," acknowledged Weston. "It's more tangible than the half of a blank envelope found at Reeth's,

or the portion of a playing card that was with Wilbert's body. It's only half a check, but from it, I am sure we

can soon trace the luggage that it represents. Perhaps that will enable us to prove the guilt of murder."

"On whichever of the two is still alive. I feel sure that one of them was murdered."

Weston was hitting closer than he knew and the evidence represented by the baggage check was much more

"Now to see Grimshaw and Lancaster," declared Weston, checking a list he carried. "I suppose they will be

invited to the Van Dolphe reception if only to be told that they will have to manage their own silver mine. I

"Because they have been planning other enterprises. They have been together every evening, so they tell me,

listing imports that can be promoted. They are good business men, both of them. They have been very helpful

too, in whatever testimony or advice they could give toward solving this chain of mysterious murders."

Cranston offered no amendment, though he might have. A chain of murders that was still in progress could

hardly be termed solved. As for the links that those deaths formed, Cranston could see a simple answer to all

of them. In fact, he had tossed the answer right at Weston, but the commissioner hadn't caught it.

Of one thing, Cranston was certain. The series of crimes had served its intended purpose. But behind it

stalked another crime that the law did not even suspect, the kidnapping of the actual Brenda Van Dolphe.

As The Shadow, Lamont Cranston had not only solved that crime for himself, but had nullified it. All that

remained was to turn it into a boomerang that would bring crime home. When that was done, certain

Perhaps that was why Lamont Cranston, after parting with Commissioner Weston, delivered a whispered

DUSK was settling over the great, grim building known as the Bywood Sanitarium when a somewhat

bedraggled man pushed his way from the nearby trees and reached a doorway unobserved. Finding the door

unlocked, he entered, and in the dim light of a corridor, his face became plain.

The man was Jerry Reeth. He was following a lone, last clue, the lead he had gained by listening to

Herkimer's discussion with a telephone operator just before death finished the doublecrossing chauffeur.

Jerry was linking suppositions wildly but correctly. He was sure that Brenda Van Dolphe had left the

mansion in the family limousine. He was also certain that the car had come out here. Knowing Herkimer to

be a doublecrosser, Jerry was sure that something had happened at this place and the only logical answer

was that Brenda had been kept there. Jerry was positive that Herkimer had phoned to demand a price for

Herkimer had paid his own price for silence, but that didn't help Brenda's dilemma.

It would have puzzled Jerry to know that Brenda Van Dolphe was holding a reception at her New York home

this very evening; in fact such knowledge might have knocked his theory. But Jerry hadn't read any

newspapers today and a few radio newscasts that he had overheard had not mentioned the Van Dolphe

reception. Therefore Jerry, keeping to the countryside, supposed that as usual, visitors were taboo at the Van

Once inside the sanitarium, Jerry began looking for the headquarters of the head man that Herkimer had

mentioned, but not by name. He soon found a door bearing the name of Doctor Borneau and that looked

Behind a big desk sat a man who must be Borneau and Jerry didn't like his looks. Gripping the gun that Harry

Vincent had given him, a gun that still lacked cartridges, Jerry was undecided whether to accost the

crispfaced man. As in Herkimer's case, Jerry's gun began to creep ahead of him, opening the door a trifle

So slight was the creak of the door that Jerry was sure Borneau could not have heard it. In fact, the genuine

Borneau could not have heard it, even if he had been here in his office instead of still enjoying the privacy of

a tightlocked padded cell. But the man behind the desk had the highly acute sense of hearing that belonged

Without changing the direction of his gaze, The Shadow noted the projecting gun muzzle and immediately

identified the man behind it. This was perfect, one of those added strokes of luck on which The Shadow never

depended, but had hoped might strike. Tracking down Jerry Reeth would have been difficult after last night,

but the chance that Jerry might have grasped a clue that would bring him into voluntary circulation was the

Picking up the telephone, The Shadow called the switchboard and snapped an order in Borneau's sharp style.

"Arrange transfer of patient Sarah Prentiss," was the order. "From East Wing, Section Two to West Wing,

There was a pause, during which the connection was completed. Jerry heard Borneau's crisp voice asking for

"So she still claims she is Brenda Van Dolphe." Borneau's tone carried a sneer. "She must be cured of that

delusion... Yes, I shall recommend the treatment, beginning tomorrow... Meanwhile, I am having her

As he spoke, The Shadow was making penciled notes, but his hand was very near Borneau's favorite drawer.

In a trice, The Shadow would have produced a gun to match Jerry's, had the young man made a further move.

From a report received from Harry Vincent, Jerry Reeth could become quite dangerous under stress. But this

time, Jerry was taking it calmly and not just because he knew his gun wasn't loaded. The muzzle receded and

Immediately, Doctor Borneau sprang from his chair, reached a closet door, and a moment later swung back

into sight as The Shadow, in his usual black regalia. Then, stalking along the corridor of this place where he

When Jerry reached a stairway with an arrow pointing to Section Two, he was spotted by a stocky,

heavybrowed attendant, who immediately moved after him, not knowing that Jerry was already being

trailed. Before the attendant could overtake Jerry, blackness moved up in back of him, hooked his neck, and

gave him that expert form of wrenching pressure familiarly styled the Javanese Jolt.

The attendant crumpled and slumped nicely behind the stairway, where The Shadow released him.

By the time Jerry reached Section Two, Brenda was already on the way to Section Four, conveyed by the two

Amazons who had taken her in charge the night before. They were being very polite, this pair, because

Doctor Borneau had so ordered it shortly after Treat had left. In fact that was why Brenda had been put in

Jerry spotted the procession far down the corridor and started that direction just as they turned a corner. He

didn't see the blackness that moved in from an angle. When he reached the turn, Jerry was surprised to see

Brenda walking ahead alone; in fact, Brenda was halting, rather surprised herself.

The Shadow had simply picked off the Amazons one by one, whisking each into a room so suddenly and

rapidly that they'd landed in a dazed heap, each too bewildered to hear a door bolt from the outside. And now,

Jerry had reached Brenda and was hurrying her down a stairway, telling her he'd explain the rest later.

By the time they had reached an outer door, Brenda was trying to explain things herself.

"I'm all right," she was saying, breathlessly. "He spoke to me last night and told me I was safe."

"The Shadow," explained Brenda. "That's what he called himself. He said I'd be out of here when the right

"This is the right time," assured Jerry. "I know where there's a bus line that will take us into town. We're

That was all The Shadow heard because he paused in the darkened outer door through which Jerry and

Brenda went. It was all right with The Shadow, because it fitted with his plans. Having a car of his own

available, The Shadow could reach the Van Dolphe mansion ahead of Brenda and Jerry.

And he still had time for a phone call. Naturally, The Shadow returned to the office and made it in Borneau's

style, until it was relayed past the switchboard. That call was to New York and it brought a response in an

Burbank was The Shadow's regular contact man, who kept tab on all the latest developments. Expecting

The report was brief, but when Burbank finished, The Shadow's closing response was a strangely whispered

laugh. Crime's climax was coming more swiftly than The Shadow had expected, but not too swiftly for his

Burbank's report concerned a discovery that the police had made. They had traced the half of the baggage

check and had brought in a trunk from a ferry station, a trunk belonging to Jerry Reeth.

In that trunk they had found the much hunched body of a man that they had identified as a Mexican named

THE Van Dolphe mansion was anything but a grim old mausoleum when Jerry and Brenda arrived there. In

fact, they were totally astonished to find it brilliantly lighted, with a party in full progress.

"We'll go in by the secret door," he told Brenda. "Of course when we reach the landing, we may be stumped."

"Why?" asked Brenda. "We can use your key and unlock the next panel, the one leading down into the

Jerry halted in surprise; they were near the darkened passage leading in back of the house.

"Of course," replied Brenda. "It's the way Treat brought me out. From the library to the landing, then through

"Of course. My father's key. He didn't know your father had one too and of course I didn't tell him."

They were well into the passage when Jerry heard that and he stopped short, momentarily alarmed. Then,

Jerry hesitated. Still believing that every friend might be a foe, he was rising to a fighting mood. But he

couldn't locate that sinister yet confident whisper. It spoke again, from a new direction.

Something much like a gun muzzle pressed cold against Jerry's neck. Brenda didn't know that such was

"It's The Shadow, Jerry." Brenda's tone was a plea. "He is our friend. Give him the key."

Reluctantly, Jerry dropped the key into a gloved palm that came magically from the blackness.

"Brenda will go in the front way," spoke The Shadow, in his whispered tone. "She will particularly seek out a

girl pretending to be Brenda Van Dolphe and will talk of mutual acquaintances in Colombia. Her purpose

That suited Brenda beautifully, now that she was beginning to understand what was really going on.

"Any that you choose," replied The Shadow. "Your part will be simple, as the advantage will all be yours."

They were moving out toward the street. A tiny flashlight blinked from The Shadow's hand. Its signal

brought another man, vaguely familiar to Jerry, even in the dark. Again The Shadow spoke; these instructions

"Here is Vincent," said The Shadow. "Trust him this time and fully. You will wait out front together until the

With that, The Shadow was gone. His course carried him through the gloom of the rear passage and to the

secret door which his key unlocked. Reaching the landing, The Shadow closed its ornamental paneling

Below were guests, dozens of them, and some were so close to the obscure stairway that they might have

observed an average intruder upon the little landing. But the gloom of that landing, with its angled

background of fumed oak, was a perfect setting for The Shadow. He was to all intents invisible.

Then, The Shadow was gone, through the inner wall that closed behind him, down some steps to a bookcase

that opened smoothly, silently, and brought him into the presence of a man who did not see him: Cedric

Hardworking Treat was at his patient task, that of putting the Van Dolphe affairs in order. Tonight,

however, it was a task he relished, here behind the locked door of the library. Treat was chuckling to himself,

but audibly, as he made entries in ledgers and account books. Beside him were stacks of bills, title deeds, and

Blackness drew closer and closer to Treat but he did not recognize its ominous approach. Reaching for a

check book, Treat tore out a check, which already bore the signature of Brenda Van Dolphe, like all the other

Treat made out the check to cash. The amount that he inscribed was fifty thousand dollars, mere spending

money where a Van Dolphe check was concerned. Again Treat chuckled, but this time his chortle died.

Blackness had not only arrived; it had solidified in the shape of two gloved hands that came over Treat's

shoulders. Cloaked arms pinned Treat where he was, as the hands took the check from his and tore it in half.

Then, turning mechanically, Treat saw what had happened to the free gloved hand. It had gone beneath The

Shadow's cloak to produce an automatic. Treat was getting a look right down the muzzle of that gun. But

when the muzzle swung toward the desk, Treat's frozen eyes followed it, to the half check that The Shadow

"There was half an envelope left at Reeth's apartment," spoke The Shadow, in a slow tone, that to Treat had

the stroke of a deathknell. "The playing card found at Wilbert's was torn in two, with one half gone. The

baggage check found with Herkimer's body was also torn, with one half missing. And now this check, with

"You were the man with the perfect alibi," continued The Shadow. "You had witnesses, two capable private

detectives, to prove that you never left this house. They knew nothing of the secret route that you had learned

"Of course, you told Brenda, last night. It was a way to win her confidence. You put her where you thought

she would never tell, until you gave the order for her release, if you ever gave it. You wanted time, of course,

"The original idea was to use Jerry Reeth as a tool," declared The Shadow, "until you realized what a chance

existed, with Brenda's uncle and cousin, the only relatives who knew her, leaving the city very suddenly. You

shipped Claxon and Senora Hidalgo, thus getting everyone away who could possibly identify Brenda Van

"You knew Gonzales would be at Reeth's. He was part of the game, Gonzales. You disposed of him, with the

aid of a crew that had been hired beforehand. You had an alibi that night, because Judge Jeffrey thought you

Treat's eyes were popping, as though they, like his wide and wavering mouth, were drinking in these

"You had to find the photographer who took that picture of Brenda," added The Shadow, "and you used

Herkimer to help you. It was Herkimer who discovered Wilbert and paved your way to a second murder.

Since Herkimer had seen Brenda, he was next in line; therefore he proved an excellent tool."

As plainly as though The Shadow had stated it, Treat realized that this cloaked accuser must have talked with

"All the while you were planting a trail to Jerry Reeth," continued The Shadow, "because you had forced him

to become a fugitive. The Spanish playing card, from a greasy deck in Gonzales' pocket, the baggage check

There was no need for more. Wildly forgetful of The Shadow's automatic, Treat had ripped open the desk

drawer and snatched out another piece of evidence as yet unplanted on Jerry, the gun that had been used to

No shot greeted Treat, only a grim laugh. In the gloom of the great library, Treat could not tell where it came

"It is useless, Treat. Three murders are on your hands. Three murders, all readily proven."

The revolver was turning in Treat's hand, as his frantic eyes sought the voice that he could not locate. Again

"Bullets will not aid you, Treat, except to save you from a later doom. You will only waste those shots if you

With a shriek, Cedric Treat came to his feet, placed the revolver muzzle to his own temple and pulled the

trigger. His body wavered, fell forward, struck the desk and thudded to the floor.

Like an answering echo to that thud came the closing of the book case, marking the departure of The Shadow.

AN amazing blonde named Carmen Del Oro had become the life of the Van Dolphe party. Voluble in

Spanish as well as English, she had sought out Brenda Van Dolphe to talk about so many people that they

had both known in Colombia. It was so strange, though, that Carmen could not remember having met Brenda.

If so, it seemed that Brenda had changed. But there must be places, people that they both remembered. It was

Not wonderful for the girl who called herself Brenda Van Dolphe. If she could only find Treat!

But Treat was in the library and couldn't be disturbed, so the brunette Brenda, who wasn't Brenda, began

tearing herself away from one group after another, always to be followed by the voluble Carmen Del Oro.

Flying distress signals, the brunette at last attracted attention and managed to get in a few words to a

"Quick, get me out of this!" the brunette undertoned. "That girl knows too much about the Van Dolphes."

Taking care of Carmen just didn't work. Hardly had Grimshaw introduced himself to the unknown, before

Carmen placed him in the competent hands of Miss Genevieve Jeffrey, whom she introduced as Brenda's

lovely cousin. Mentioning that Grimshaw must have certainly met Judge Jeffrey, the real Brenda left him

helpless, because the portly Genevieve just loved to talk to people who knew the judge.

Meanwhile, Nita, seeing the blonde menace traveling in her wake, had contacted a new ally in the person of

Alvin Lancaster. He promised to handle Carmen too, but failed as Grimshaw had. This time the interference

was Cranston, who next was drawing Lancaster into a chat with the police commissioner. By then, the real

"You must listen to Brenda," Carmen told Weston. "I have asked her to tell us all about that wonderful trip

she took with her father across the Arroyo Grande, when they visited the platinum mines. That is, if she

The girl called Nita was fading fast. In faltering style, she started to take up a story that she knew would fail.

Meanwhile, Cranston had strolled away and was over near the door, asking for his coat and hat. He was there,

"We've got to get out of here, before Nita spills!" was Grimshaw's verdict. "She won't last long."

"If we could only get word to Treat," returned Lancaster. "Maybe he could help."

They didn't clear. While they were bundling into their hats and coats, Cranston strolled over by the front

door. His pause there was a signal to outside watchers. As Grimshaw and Lancaster were starting out the

Those two were Jerry Reeth and Harry Vincent. Instantly, Jerry was shouting accusations.

"So here you are!" he stormed. "You're the pair who tried to swindle me and when you couldn't, you framed

Trying to shove past, Grimshaw and Lancaster were met by clouting fists. Next, Weston was over at the door,

calling upon men to grab the intruders. Reeling, Grimshaw and Lancaster still hoped to get away, but this

Good reason, too. They were to be needed as witnesses. Weston had just grabbed a murderer that they could

Again, it was Cranston who intervened, this time when the commissioner was about to lay a clamp on Jerry.

Calmly, Cranston waited for events to take their course. The person who stopped the show was the amazing

"I can speak a good word for this man, commissioner," the blonde declared. "I am sure that he is not guilty of

any of those murders. As sure, for example" her tone was very steady "as sure as I am positive that I'm

Weston's eyes bulged in disbelief, until Brenda pointed to a much flustered brunette.

The brunette of course was Nita and she was doing a rapid sneak toward the library, throwing a frightened

look back over her shoulder. Weston overtook her and shook her until she nodded, amid gasps stating that

Turning, Weston gestured for the rest to come along. He hammered hard at the library door, but received no

response. All the while, Brenda was giving details of her kidnapping and Jerry was getting in some details of

how he thought be had been framed. When it came to the fact that Jerry had rescued Brenda tonight, Weston

angrily called upon the two private operatives who were still around and told them to smash down the library

"If that rat has a way out of there!" stormed Weston, in reference to Treat, "I'll know that he was the

The door was latched, not bolted, hence anyone could have locked it by merely drawing it shut. That fact

became apparent after the door was broken through. But once across the threshold, Weston halted, the purple

Sight of Treat, a gun lying beside his dead body, was proof that if the rat had a way out, he hadn't taken it. It

was Cranston who called attention to the odd item lying on the desk, half a check, bearing the signature of the

"Curious, the way those tokens were found after every murder," remarked Cranston, calmly. "It would seem

almost as though they were required, perhaps by two partners in crime, so that each could keep tally on the

Steadily, Cranston was eyeing Grimshaw and Lancaster. His gaze went toward the pockets of their overcoats

and they instinctively reached that way. Thinking they were going after guns, Weston shouted for the private

operatives to stop them. They did, but when they felt for guns, they found none.

What they brought out of those pockets was even more incriminating. From Grimshaw's came half a blank

envelope and half a baggage check. Lancaster's pockets disgorged the torn half of a Spanish playing card

displaying a scrawl that had been attributed to Gonzales and a new and startling chunk of evidence, the other

half of the torn check for fifty thousand dollars that lay on the desk beside the body of Cedric Treat!

With that, Grimshaw and Lancaster broke. They were confessing everything. They'd hired Treat to frame

documents supporting Jerry's claim on the Van Dolphe estate. They'd intended to unload their Quetzal Silver

stock on Jerry at a huge figure, knowing how anxious he was to clear the Reeth name.

Then Treat had given them a better idea, that of bringing in a false Brenda to replace the real Van Dolphe

heiress, who was known to so few people. But he hadn't said he was going to murder Gonzales, the man who

Nor Wilbert, nor Herkimer they were later innovations, Treat's own. They'd brought in Nita to replace

Brenda, but they hadn't expected the real Brenda to be kidnapped. Treat had said he would only suggest that

They were pouring truth, mostly, but with a few lies to cover certain things that they had actually known and

countenanced. Cranston, Brenda and Jerry were believing them, as was Harry Vincent, but no one else was.

For there was one thing that Treat had never told his sponsors in supercrime, that he had a secret way out of

Treat wouldn't have told that. He valued his own alibis too highly. And with that evidence unknown,

Grimshaw and Lancaster, sponsors of planted crime, were learning how it felt the other way about. The

Shadow's halves of evidence, which as Cranston he had neatly planted in their pockets at the cloak room,

were marking three not only for three actual murders, but for Treat's suicide as well.

They were still crying their innocence of murder, when Commissioner Weston took them away, but with their

protests, Kirk Grimshaw and Alvin Lancaster were admitting more and more the depth of the parts that they

had played. And the more they talked, the more they were clearing Jerry Reeth of blame.

One person didn't need that proof in Jerry's behalf. The smile that Brenda, the real Brenda, was giving him,

There was another person who smiled but cryptically. That person was Lamont Cranston. As he watched the

departure of Grimshaw and Lancaster, Cranston could have lessened their burden if he had told the full facts

concerning that real man of murder, Cedric Treat, who had become his own final victim.