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

CHAPTER I. A QUESTION OF TERMS ...............................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. DOUBLE TROUBLE ......................................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. WAYS IN THE DUSK .................................................................................................10

CHAPTER IV. DEATH DEFINED......................................................................................................13

CHAPTER V. DEAD AND GONE .......................................................................................................17

CHAPTER VI. THE SHADOW'S PROOF ...........................................................................................20

CHAPTER VII. MEETINGS BY NIGHT .............................................................................................25

CHAPTER VIII. THE ONLY CHANCE..............................................................................................28

CHAPTER IX. THE LONG RIDE ........................................................................................................32

CHAPTER X. THE NEEDED TRAIL ..................................................................................................36

CHAPTER XI. TRAILS CLOSE..........................................................................................................40

CHAPTER XII. DEATH OUT OF HAND...........................................................................................46

CHAPTER XIII. THE MAN WHO LIVED ..........................................................................................50

CHAPTER XIV. THE SHADOW'S ADVICE ......................................................................................55

CHAPTER XV. A MATTER OF HUNCHES......................................................................................59

CHAPTER XVI. MANHATTAN MAN HUNT ...................................................................................63

CHAPTER XVII. THE SHORT TRAIL...............................................................................................67

CHAPTER XVIII. DEATH INTERVENES.........................................................................................72

CHAPTER XIX. FACTS REVEALED .................................................................................................75

CHAPTER XX. THE FINAL EVIDENCE ...........................................................................................79

IT looked like an ordinary desk lamp. It consisted of a little wooden stand and an incandescent bulb of

fortywatt intensity, topped by a small shade. There, the resemblance ended. One thing was missing: the

Homer Fengram lifted the lamp from the desk and chuckled like a pleased child. His chuckle had a basso

boom, and his childish glee was also incongruous. For Homer Fengram, portly man of millions, usually had

the serious manner that befitted the successful financier. It was odd to see a boyish smile spread across his

With a long reach, Fengram passed the glowing lamp across the desk to the calmfaced visitor who sat on the

"It's not a trick, Cranston," boomed Fengram. "Most tricks are done with wires. This lamp" the portly man

Lamont Cranston took the lamp and studied it from every angle. His face showed no amazement, but

Fengram was sure that it was masking such a sentiment. It was simply a habit with Cranston never to register

Cranston removed the shade, then started to unscrew the bulb from its socket. His fingers revealed the

surprise that his face restrained. They expected the bulb to be hot; hence they still hesitated, even when they

Like an ordinary bulb, this one extinguished itself when removed from the socket, and when Cranston

inverted the lamp stand, out dropped the source of the illumination a tiny drycell battery of the sort used

Cranston's interest returned to the light bulb as the only explanation for such phenomenal illumination from

so small an electric supply. Extinguished, the bulb looked dark, but Cranston's probing eyes distinguished its

contents to be a gelatinous substance. The bulb, moreover, was heavy, when he weighed it in his hand.

"It is called 'Infralux,'" explained Fengram, beaming across the desk. "'Bottled light' would be a good

commercial term for it. Light without heat, on a scale that passes belief. Imagine its possibilities, Cranston!"

The possibilities required little imagination. Cranston was thinking more in terms of the invention itself.

Someone had evidently solved the riddle of the firefly's glow, and produced a synthetic substance giving the

The need of a slight electric current, supplied by a tiny flashlight battery, to put the glow in operation, was

"Some obscure experimenter," replied Fengram. "His name is Dana Mycroft, I believe. But the man who

"The same." Catching a slight flash of Cranston's eyes, Fengram shook his head. "No, no, Cranston. You

mustn't believe those rumors about Brett. Those photoelectric bomb detonators that he developed for the

government are quite practical. He had some unforeseen difficulties with them; nothing more."

Cranston nodded, as though he took Fengram's word for it. The financier returned to the subject of the

Infralux bulb. It had cost Brett a mere twentyfive thousand dollars, Fengram declared, and Fengram had

offered him a quarter million for it. The deal was to be closed this very afternoon.

"It is now half past four," declared Fengram, stroking his double chin. "In exactly one hour, Giles Brett will

be in his office, back from Washington. I have here" Fengram drew a slip of paper from his desk drawer

"a certified check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, that I shall take to him.

"I should like you to come with me, Cranston, and witness the transaction. Meanwhile, allow me to detail the

plans that I have made for financing the Infralux Co., which will be the newest of the dozen corporations

under my control. When I have finished, I am quite sure that you will become the first purchaser of stock in

THERE was nothing of the highpressure salesman in Homer Fengram. He was actually offering Lamont

Cranston a chance to come in on the ground floor. For Fengram had the Midas touch in all his undertakings.

His present companies, a dozen of them, were paying good dividends to lucky stockholders.

In fact, if Fengram had a fault, it was his ability to make too much money. With emphasis on national

defense, several of his companies were taxed to their limit of capacity. All that Cranston needed to do was

Fengram's office, wherein the chat was taking place, was located in his palatial mansion, that occupied a

quarter of a block of choice Manhattan real estate. The house, alone, required two dozen servants, in addition

Downstairs were rooms containing enough famous paintings to furnish an art gallery; other rooms held

curios, jewels and statuettes that would have done credit to the Metropolitan Museum.

Having spent vast sums upon such collections, Fengram was only anxious to buy more. In his opinion, this

was the time to make such purchases, for many persons were selling their treasures at low prices. A few years

from now, values would be up again, according to Fengram, who was usually right in everything he claimed.

He said that Giles Brett would not be back from Washington until half past five. Actually, Brett had already

returned to New York, but he had not yet notified Fengram that he was in town. Brett happened to have too

TALL, stoopshouldered, with a worried expression upon his long, thin face, Giles Brett was pacing from

A dozen employees, busy at their desks, were carefully avoiding his silent wrath. When they saw him turn to

the door of the connecting laboratory, they breathed relief, but only temporarily.

Brett's attention was suddenly attracted by the loud opening of the outer door. In from the elevator stormed a

scrawny man, whose face was thinner than Brett's and whose white hair formed a shocky banner.

Seeing Brett, the scrawny man raised a thin, withered fist and shook it for the benefit of all witnesses.

"I am Dana Mycroft!" he piped in a high tone. "I demand my rights! I sold a priceless invention to Giles Brett

"And I am Giles Brett!" interjected Brett in a harsh tone. "If you have business with me, Mycroft, it is

"Private!" screeched Mycroft, still wagging his fist. "You made it public, Brett, when you offered my

invention, Infralux, to Homer Fengram for a quarter million! Look at this!" He waved a copy of a daily

"Whatever Three O'Clock says, is wrong," sneered Brett. "It prints everything backward in hope of starting a

"The figure, surprisingly, is correct. But I haven't sold the invention yet, Mycroft."

"You will be taken care of in a proper fashion, Mycroft. I have never yet dealt unfairly with anyone."

Mycroft screeched a laugh and thumbed through the pages of the picture newspaper, which he flaunted anew

"What do you call this?" he cackled. "Your deal with the government, Brett! Those faulty detonators that you

Brett turned to a pair of husky clerks who had drawn close. He gestured them toward Mycroft, and ordered

They threw Mycroft out. An elevator door gulped wide to receive him. Before the door could close, Mycroft

"I've given you your last warning, Brett! I have another way to deal with you! I have friends "

The clang of the elevator door started Mycroft on a twentystory journey to the ground floor. Employees

were glued to their work as Brett paced past them and entered the laboratory. Two technicians greeted him

"Martin and I have tested it, sir," replied Craig, gesturing toward his assistant. "I believe that we have

"You should have been with me today," snapped Brett bitterly. "One of our shells blew up another

Leaving the technicians staring at each other, Brett strode through a connecting door into his private office.

On his desk, he found a letter in a plain envelope. In one corner it bore the word: "Personal."

Ripping the letter open, Brett read its contents. He picked up a telephone and ordered the operator to connect

"Another of those letters, Kemball... Yes, demanding the same sum. I'm to expect a call at five o'clock, as

usual. Of course, it's Mycroft. He was just here making another of his crazy threats... No, I hadn't found the

"Worry about Mycroft? Why should I? It's that friend of his who bothers me... Yes, the one with the smooth

voice who always calls up at five o'clock... Certainly, I'll talk to him and sound him out. Only, this time, it

FINISHING his call to Kemball, Giles Brett stared at the letter. It was very simple, and specific. It stated that

unless he paid over the sum of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, evidence would be made public to ruin

It was blackmail, of course, and this wasn't the first letter of the sort. Hitherto, Brett had turned them over to

It carried a final note in its last sentence. There, Brett read the words: "You have waited long enough; at five

o'clock, we shall give you proof." Fingering the letter, Brett wondered. What could these hounds mean by

Bitterly, he wished that he had held on to Mycroft and made the fellow tell more about his friends.

Unfortunately, Mycroft hadn't delivered that bit of warning until the elevator door was closing.

Picking up the telephone, Brett called his switchboard operator, to say that he expected an important call at

five o'clock and wanted it put through to his office without question as to the caller's name. That done, Brett

Very shortly, a strange thing happened. It occurred in an outer office, where the switchboard operator,

"You know how fussy old Brett is," confided the switchboard girl. "Well, what does he do but say: 'Put the

call through at five, without question.' It doesn't make sense or does it? Maybe it does, considering how old

The clerk was making gestures. The operator halted and looked over her shoulder, to meet the stony gaze of

her employer, Giles Brett. She saw lips form a disapproving sneer; then, while the girl was still trying to find

"I didn't know he'd come out!" the girl panted to the clerk. "I hope he won't fire me!"

PUSHING the stack of letters aside, Giles Brett came back to the first one that he had opened. He read its last

To Brett, the threat was empty. His misadventures with the bomb detonator were no fault of his own. It was

common knowledge, however, that Brett's device had failed, and on that basis, professional blackmailers

were trying to shake him down, inspired, no doubt, by Mycroft, after the inventor's own measures had failed.

For Mycroft's open demands were definitely unjustifiable, considering that he had sold his invention outright,

with full knowledge of the extent to which Brett might develop Infralux. In a fair sense, Brett considered the

This letter bothered Brett, however, more than his sneer denoted. Something in the word "proof" rankled him,

because it carried a tangible note. Then, as if in answer to a query, came a voice which might have been an

Brett stared across the desk. His eyes opened wide as he saw the person opposite him, and the other man's did

the same. Even to their milkgray color, they matched Brett's eyes. When Brett's lips gave a twitch, the other

man duplicated it as faithfully as though he were a reflection gazing from a mirror.

For, in face, voice, manner, and even attire, this man who had entered unannounced was Brett's double!

Blinking, as though he didn't believe it, Brett freed himself from part of the illusion. At least, his double did

not copy his blinks; instead, the longfaced visitor relaxed, and delivered one of the contemptuous smiles that

were Brett's wont. Obligingly, he waved his hand, and said in a voice quite like Brett's own:

Brett reached for a desk lamp and twisted its bulb tight; then did the same with a lamp on the other side of the

desk. He'd hardly finished before he realized that he had used two of the Infralux lamps that he kept as

"A good idea, Brett," he stated, "to use your special lighting system. I like those new lights. I've seen them

Coming upright from his chair, Brett glared at the smirking man across the desk. His attitude was so

"At least, I have been mistaken for you," corrected the double. "My own name happens to be Jay Doban. I am

fortunate in two ways: I resemble you very closely, and I was once a character actor, which enables me to

DOBAN drew an envelope from his pocket and took some photographs from it, spreading them on the desk

for Brett's examination. One photograph showed Brett shaking hands with a blocky, fatfaced man whose

dark face had a blunt look. Another showed him seated at a table with the same individual.

"Why, that's the man they recently indicted for Fifth Column activities!" exclaimed Brett.

"Exactly!" agreed Doban. "I had no trouble meeting him. In the presence of witnesses, by the way."

"Exactly," said Doban again. "Suppose, Brett, that the F.B.I. should receive copies of these photographs and

begin to look into your recent past. For a man handling government contracts faulty ones, by the way

Doban stopped, as he laid another envelope on the desk. He'd spoken his piece as far as he could. Brett was

As Brett fumed, the telephone rang. Brett pounced for it, to hear the fiveo'clock call that he expected. It

"Are you convinced, Brett?" the voice inquired. "We told you that we would give you proof. It is right in

Brett's reply was incoherent. He was glaring across the desk as he tried to talk. Sight of Doban accounted for

"It's so simple, Brett," the speaker continued. "Sell the rights to Infralux and pay the money over to us. We'll

give you the negatives of those photographs, and a signed statement from Doban."

"You've heard the terms," the voice intoned. "You have no other choice. Mycroft has left it entirely to us."

Brett started to slam the telephone back on its stand. Doban stopped him. Coolly, Brett's double spoke to the

Doban was hanging up, when he saw a change in Brett's glare. For the moment, Doban was nonplused. He'd

"Cleeve is the name," said Doban. "Cleeve Rayland, to save you the bother of checking on it. I've worked for

Brett didn't know what else. It was his turn to be nonplused. Then, rallying, he asserted:

"Brett to you, Brett," retorted Doban. "I've already gotten away with it. How do you suppose I walked into

this office, past all the clerks who are supposed to keep people out? Only by passing as you so perfectly, that

The statement was quite a convincer. Brett took on the air of a trapped man. He stalked over to the window

and stared down into the dusk, as though contemplating a twentyfloor leap as his next move.

Then, raising his head, he caught his reflection in the darkened window, and blinked when he saw two faces

"You won't jump, Brett," sneered Doban. "You'll pay! After all, what have you to lose? Only the twentyfive

thousand that you originally paid Mycroft. You gypped him out of the rest, you know. So Rayland and I are

BRETT became canny, as he walked to his desk. Stopping there, he turned to argue. He hadn't closed a deal

on Infralux, as yet. True, he had been offered a quarter million by a financier named Homer Fengram, but it

was his intention to hold out for a much larger sum; perhaps not to sell at all, but to market Infralux himself.

Such argument had no effect on Doban. He simply shook his head and stated that Brett had heard the final

Under the light of the glowing Infralux lamps, Brett studied Doban closer. He was realizing that this man was

nothing but a stooge, working for the real blackmailer, Cleeve Rayland. It couldn't be otherwise, Brett

reasoned. Doban had been chosen for his job simply because he was Brett's double. He was an actor, too, but

If smart, Doban would be handling this game himself, instead of working for someone else. Remembering

Doban's previous slip, Brett decided to test him to the full. As preliminary, he laid his hand upon the

"Suppose I call some people in here," suggested Brett, "and let them see us both together, Doban. This

"Not at all," spoke Doban, as though Brett's words were a cue. "I would say that you had tried to bribe me to

commit perjury; to swear that the person in those photographs was myself, and not you."

A good argument, but Doban put it in a glib way. It was evidently Rayland's idea, not his own. Brett's face

firmed, and he watched to see if Doban's did the same. It did, but only superficially.

There was a difference between these two who looked alike. Brett was a man of determination; his double

"I'm going to make that test, Doban," said Brett decisively, "with the police as judges. We'll ask them to give

The words filled Doban with horror. This was getting beyond his depth. Madly, the fellow sprang for the

telephone and snatched Brett's hand from it. Then, as Brett shoved him toward a corner, Doban pulled a

"Don't touch that telephone, Brett!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "If you do, I'll shoot! You'll stay right here, just as

Brett didn't touch the telephone. Instead, he moved closer to Doban, speaking sarcastically as he approached.

"You'd shoot me, Doban?" Brett queried. "And spoil the whole pretty game? Why, I'm the one man you can't

afford to kill! Rayland didn't think of that, did he, when he framed this thing for Mycroft?"

"No closer, Brett!" Doban was backing desperately to a corner. "I'll shoot, if there's no other way!"

Brett came closer, with a charge so sudden that it bewildered Doban. He hadn't an idea that Brett could be so

agile. Brett caught Doban's hand before the fellow could pull the trigger, and shoved the revolver upward.

Brett's hold was not merely powerful; it was tricky. He bent Doban down to one knee, twisting him until his

All the while, Doban was trying to bring the gun down from the upright position and turn it toward Brett's

body, but the grip on Doban's hand was torturing, numbing. Doban's fingers tightened under Brett's clutch.

The revolver spoke, its report muffled. Doban's body sagged down in Brett's grasp. Brett found himself

looking downward at a face which still could have been his own, but its imitative expressions were frozen

The reason was the ugly hole that the revolver shot had blasted in Doban's temple. One bullet had put an end

IT dawned on Brett, as he gazed, rigid, that Doban was a greater menace dead than alive. The very story of

bribery that Doban had threatened to relate might occur to the police. They would have but one man to

Hardly, considering that the police could well regard this as a case of murder. The photographs wouldn't help,

whether Brett kept them or destroyed them. The letter on Brett's desk was merely a typewritten sheet that

The thought struck Brett that his lot might have been better had the bullet found him, instead of Doban.

Dropping beside Doban's body, Brett went through the dead man's pockets, taking whatever he found. He

began stuffing the contents of his own pockets into Doban's, and was busily at it when the phone bell rang.

Brett completed his task before he answered. When he spoke, his voice was strained.

The call was from his switchboard operator, announcing two visitors: Homer Fengram and a friend named

"Call Craig," said Brett slowly. "Have him show them in. And wait! Tell Craig to bring Martin with him.

Scooping up the photographs and the letter, Brett turned, not toward the door to the outer offices, but to the

one that led into the laboratory. It was latched from his side, and he turned the knob slowly, carefully. He was

peering through a crack when the two technicians went out from the lab, through a door to the outer offices.

Sliding into the laboratory, Giles Brett took a last look at the huddled duplicate of himself in the far corner of

his private office. The click of the door latch marked Brett's departure from the strange scene of death.

THE two technicians were prompt in escorting the visitors to Brett's office. Craig knocked, and when he

Fengram entered first, and the lamps on the desk immediately attracted his attention. He was pointing them

Then, with a stride that was swift but easy, Cranston walked to the corner, and the others hurried along,

excitedly, when they saw the object that attracted him. Cranston was first to stoop beside the huddled body of

Cranston didn't have to inquire the dead man's identity. Craig and Martin were already babbling Brett's name,

and Fengram was nodding recognition. Fengram's first words expressed the obvious, as to the cause of death.

He turned to the technicians and asked if Brett had mentioned anything about his trip to Washington. Grimly,

While the technicians were thus expressing themselves, Cranston stepped over to the corner door. As he

The technicians were on hand when the visitors looked into the laboratory, and both explained that they had

been in that very room when Brett summoned them. No one could possibly have come in through the

The men were honest on that point; so honest, that they released the fact that the laboratory formed a route

between Brett's private office and the corridor without the necessity of going through the outer offices.

Across the lab, Cranston saw the far door that served as an exit. Instead of going to it, he took the word of the

"We must inform the switchboard operator," Cranston said quietly to Fengram, "and any of the other

Fengram nodded, and Cranston stepped toward the outer office. Already, employees were crowding in, the

switchboard girl among them. A few swift paces and Cranston could have prevented them from viewing the

Brought by the sound of excited voices, the employees were through the door before Cranston reached them.

There was a shriek from the switchboard girl when she saw the body. Hysterically, she cried that she "should

have known." There was "something different in Mr. Brett's voice" when he had called the board. One of the

Through the outer offices, Cranston looked along the corridor as he rang the elevator bell. He saw the door

from the laboratory; it was marked: "Private." Farther along was another door, quite as important in

An empty elevator arrived. Without a word to the operator, Cranston entered it and began a rapid trip to the

ground floor, with no stops, since most of the people in the building had started out at five o'clock, half an

hour earlier. In that trip, Cranston hoped that he could make up for a few minutes of delay.

Those few minutes were the time that it would have taken a man to slide out through the laboratory and down

the fire tower, the logical path for a man who had framed a nearlyperfect scene of imitation suicide. For in

Famed master mind who hunted men of crime, The Shadow, in public life, posed as Lamont Cranston,

Not merely did it give him an introduction among the upper crust upon whom brainy criminals so often

preyed; but, as Cranston, The Shadow was a great friend of New York's police commissioner, Ralph Weston.

Often, The Shadow formed his own conclusions after learning the law's opinion, but he was equally adept at

uncovering crime on his own. When he encountered a surprise case, like the supposed death of Giles Brett, at

practically the moment of its occurrence, The Shadow never failed to follow immediate clues.

First, Brett's body; second, the possible exit through the laboratory; third, the switchboard operator's mention

of Brett's unnatural voice. Those added up to something with The Shadow, though, curiously, he was using

It wasn't Brett's body, and the voice had been Brett's own. On both those points, The Shadow was, so far,

wrong, though the two minus factors, in a sense, made a plus. His strongest hunch, though, was correct:

A man had made an exit through the lab, after neatly drawing away the two technicians who would otherwise

Reaching the ground floor, Cranston hurried his stride to a side door, which he knew must be close to the

alley exit from the fire tower. He had made up for lost time, because he saw the man he wanted.

A cab had stopped right at the alley, and a stoopshouldered man was getting into it. It was hardly

Unfortunately, the man's face wasn't visible. He was partly into the cab when Cranston spied him, and the

street was thick with dusk. Important, however, was the fact that the cab started away very rapidly, as though

There were other cabs near the building, and Cranston could easily have taken the first in line. Instead, he

gave a slight gesture of his arm and a cruising taxi wheeled in from the corner, to pick up this fare that the

There was a great honking of horns that suppressed indignant oaths from all along the hack line. The other

They didn't know that the cab actually belonged to the man who had summoned it; that it was cruising this

vicinity on the lookout for his call. Moe Shrevnitz, the driver of that cab, was in The Shadow's permanent

Not only did Shrevvy snap to the trail of the cab that went ahead, in a style that indicated he would overtake

Sliding out a drawer beneath the rear seat, the passenger produced garments of black: a cloak and a slouch

hat. Enveloped in that garb, the personality of Cranston was submerged. A low, whispered laugh announced

For added emphasis, the mystery man in black planted a brace of .45 automatics beneath his cloak. Those

The raucous honk of taxi horns back by the building seemed but a minor matter, something that The Shadow

had often encountered before. On this occasion, however, they had covered up a very vital fact. The Shadow's

From within a sedan parked across the street, watching men saw Brett spring into his cab and got a good look

at his face. They knew that his hurry had significance. Their car was moving when Cranston sprang into

Then, as Moe's cab spurted ahead, the sedan gave a roar that The Shadow would certainly have heard, but for

As Moe swung the corner, The Shadow's rearward glance showed nothing but a flow of traffic, released by a

green light. The sedan gave no indication that it, too, was on the trail. Had the trail itself been a long one, The

Shadow would have observed the pursuing sedan; but matters broke within the next few blocks.

CAUGHT by a traffic light, Brett's cab was forced to stop. The Shadow spoke to Moe and his driver

slackened speed. The Shadow was ordering Moe to ease up beside the cab ahead, in innocent fashion.

Obscured by darkness, The Shadow intended to take a preliminary look at the fugitive in the cab ahead.

Corner lights offered an excellent opportunity, and The Shadow was on the verge of a most remarkable

There were others, however, who, for reasons of their own, did not want The Shadow to gain that look. They

were the men in the sedan, and the driver of the following car took advantage of Moe's slackened gait.

A thing unleashed, the sedan whipped past The Shadow's cab and cut in front of it to force it to the curb. Moe

might have countered that action, had the turn not been so sudden. It happened so close to the halted cab

Jogging to the curb, then cutting sharply the other way, Moe expected to spurt behind the sedan. Instead, he

The collision was terrific. The sedan actually lifted the cab into the air. Revolving sideward, the cab

presented a peculiar sight: its rear doors jarred open and flapped like wings, only to fold again as the cab

The sedan stopped, intact. From its interior sprang four men, apparently concerned with the accident their car

Assistance wasn't in their minds. These men were bent on twofold murder, under the guise of aid.

BOUNDING across the blackened curb, three murderous men reached the overturned cab. The fourth man

tripped in the patchy darkness, sprawled, and swore about it; but the others didn't wait, nor listen. They were

The driver came out first. Moe was very groggy, but the men who dragged him out intended to make him

groggier still. They'd have swung their drawn guns hard to his skull the moment that they hauled him out, if

He managed to kick at his assailants, and they tattooed a bastinado on the soles of his shoes. That settled him

The other pair were reaching into the back seat. One was the fellow who had tripped at the curb. He was

muttering about his spill and gesturing back at the curb itself, when something turned his mumble into a

Patchy blackness was materializing, a shape sprouting from cement. Weirdly vague, it was coming up from

the curb and blocking off lights across the way. To the man who saw that grotesque form, it could mean one

A gun throated in the darkness. With the jab of flame came simultaneous sounds: the clang of metal as the

bullet ricocheted from the inverted cab step; the duller plunk as the metal slug bashed the house wall as a

Both sounded as if The Shadow planned them, but he hadn't. His real idea was a surprise attack.

Hardsledged blows could have settled Moe's assailants silently, while the other two were probing the rear of

Those wideflapping doors had marked The Shadow's own departure from the cab while it was in midair.

Spotted, The Shadow was forced to change his tactics. His shot was purposely wide. The men he had to stop

first were the pair about to put the slug on Moe, and he couldn't risk too close a shot, with the cabby in their

However, the one shot served its purpose. Thuggish captors dropped Moe from his horizontal position, to

Almost upon them, The Shadow had them cooped up. Otherwise, they would have dropped away, shooting

back at their blackclad foe. If they'd tried that, their move would have been the equivalent of suicide. With

two guns drawn, The Shadow could have clipped them in the midst of their diving aim.

Instead, the four men surged with one accord. Bullets weren't the antidote for such a drive. The Shadow let

his opponents use them, to no avail. As they fired, he lunged, low and hard, and the shots whizzed a foot

Then, taking his opponents as buffers, The Shadow came up among them, flinging his taunting challenge in

their ears, driving the message through their skulls with the weighted heft of bludgeoned guns.

Crooks reeled and staggered off toward the sedan, giving their backs as easy targets with one exception.

Their leader clung to The Shadow, clutching with a lucky grip that he had obtained. Together, a rangy man of

They whirled into the gleam of headlights, beneath a traffic light turned red. They halted, locked, and The

Shadow, with one gun stowed beneath his cloak, used his free hand to take his opponent's throat. He saw the

man's face, clear in the headlights, ruddied by the glow from above. It wasn't the face of an ordinary thug.

Sleek, sallow, sharply pointed, those features betokened smoothness. The Shadow recognized the visage. It

belonged to a man who was smart at finding loopholes in the law. It was the face of a confidence man named

BEFORE The Shadow could follow up his discovery, the light about him moved. Cleeve's face had turned a

sickly green, but the change of the traffic light wasn't the reason why his followers had started the sedan.

The concentrating of the headlights was accompanied by the sedan's roar. The driver intended to smash The

In the rear, two men with guns were prepared to snipe The Shadow if he reeled from the car's path. They

hadn't the regard for Cleeve that The Shadow held for Moe. Two figures would be a bigger target than one,

Instead of taking Cleeve with him, The Shadow shoved the head crook toward the lights. Across the curb,

with a long dive into darkness, The Shadow rolled into the shelter of basement steps, already reached by

But the lurch ended with a jolt. The driver jammed the brakes when he saw Cleeve, alone, in his path.

The gunners in back didn't get the chance they wanted to clip The Shadow. They heard a laugh that mocked

their frustrated scheme. They were ready to spring from their car and again become targets in the open, when

Staggering squarely against the radiator of the sedan, Cleeve made a lucky lurch up to the bumper and bawled

The sedan whipped around the corner, with Cleeve hanging to the front, almost before The Shadow could aim

from his shelter. As he followed with his gun, intending to clip the driver, a pair of house steps came across

Drawing Moe with him, The Shadow sprang to the sidewalk; then halted. He was about to urge Moe back to

the cab, when he realized that it was useless. Generally, Moe was ready to resume pursuit, but not with a cab

Stopping briefly at the cab, The Shadow took off his cloak and hat and pulled the drawer from beneath the

rear seat. Packing the black garments with the guns, he put the drawer in right side up, just the opposite of its

usual way, in relation to the cab. Then, leaving Moe to explain the accident to the first patrol car that arrived,

Plenty of people had reached the twentieth floor of the building housing Brett's office when Lamont Cranston

reappeared there. He didn't have to resume his hunt for a physician, because a police surgeon was on hand. So

was Commissioner Weston; brisk of action, he had taken over proceedings. With the commissioner was a

Brett's death wasn't hard to analyze, in Weston's opinion. It was plain, everyday suicide.

A dozen people not only identified the dead man as their employer, Giles Brett; they also testified that he,

alone, had gone into his private office during the afternoon. In and out in his usual style, the technicians had

seen him enter from the laboratory, while the switchboard operator and a clerk had seen him later, during a

No one could possibly have entered through the lab and left again, with murder in between, during the brief

As for the switchboard operator's mention of Brett's strange voice, she'd altered her ideas, now that her

hysterics were ended. She described Brett's voice as "strained," which was a definite help to the suicide

"Another hunch gone wrong," said Weston in a pleased tone. "I wouldn't rely upon them in the future,

Cardona grunted a halfhearted agreement. Weston went out to the switchboard to call Brett's lawyer and

notify him of his client's death. Fengram and others followed the commissioner, leaving Cardona quite alone

Perhaps it was the atmosphere of the place; possibly the thing was just coincidence. Whichever it was,

Cardona, thinking of Weston's summary, grunted two words aloud as he stood at Brett's desk. They were the

CARDONA looked up, startled; then nodded when he saw Cranston. Knowing that Cranston and Weston

"I had a hunch it was murder," said Joe, "but the commissioner says that all the proof shows suicide."

"A very curious suicide," observed Cranston. "Coming just when Brett was ready to close a

Cardona was starting to the outer office. Cranston, shaking his head, restrained him.

Cranston gazed about the office as though searching for nooks. There were some dark spaces, quite removed

"Brett came in here twice," observed Cranston musingly, "but no one saw him go out between those times."

"Because nobody happened to notice him," returned Cardona. "That part is simple, Mr. Cranston."

"Very simple," Cranston agreed. "If Brett could step out unnoticed, somebody else might have stepped in the

"And hidden here!" exclaimed Cardona. "Then if he'd murdered Brett and answered that switchboard call

himself, he could have pulled the technicians out of the lab to clear the path. Say, if the commissioner saw it

"He won't. I'd look for traces of the man, inspector, before pushing the theory further."

"Fingerprints," he said. "There, and elsewhere. Take impressions of Brett's at the morgue, and check them

with any you find. Particularly those on the telephone, to find if someone other than Brett used it."

Cardona's grin was as emphatic as his nod. But Cranston, strolling nonchalantly away, was thinking even

How Brett could have stepped from his office and someone else stepped in, unnoticed, was really quite a

problem. Chances of one were very slight; of both, practically nil. Yet someone other than Brett had been in

Pausing idly at the switchboard, Cranston learned that the commissioner had talked to Brett's lawyer.

Horrified by his client's death, the attorney was coming to the office; but first he wanted to gather some data

It would take him awhile, so the commissioner had decided to wait. Weston mentioned that the lawyer's name

Cranston decided not to wait. Strolling to the elevator, he indulged in a lowwhispered laugh, an echo of The

Shadow's mirth. Death stood defined as suicide, but Cardona was working on the hunch that it was murder.

The Shadow, alone, had gained the curious impression that the death of Giles Brett might belong in a

A VERY solemn, wearyfaced man was delving meticulously among the papers in a big filing cabinet. He

was Blaine Kemball, the attorney, and he was in his apartment, where he kept most of his private papers,

especially those which pertained to such matters as blackmail that concerned his clients.

Finding some papers that he wanted, Kemball turned to his desk and laid them on a pile. He gave a sad sigh

The backward paces that Kemball took brought him to a seated position on the bottom drawer of the filing

cabinet, which was still open. Kemball didn't believe in ghosts, but he was viewing the real article, so he

"I'm alive, Kemball," Brett assured. "In fact, I'm a lot shakier than you are. I saw myself lying dead, while

Kemball stared, as he thought of this new riddle. Brett explained the matter of his double. He showed the

lawyer the evidence that backed it: the photographs of Doban in the wrong company. The final letter from

"I didn't want to kill Doban," declared Brett. "In fact, I didn't. He killed himself. But I'd have a tough time

Sandra was Brett's daughter, and he evidently understood her moods better than Kemball did, for Brett shook

"I called Sandra," he said, "and she is coming over here. I told her it was a confidential matter, that we could

explain when she arrived. Only one thing worries me about Sandra. She will want to help, with what I have in

During the next few minutes, Brett discussed the matter of his flight from his own office. He told how a car

crash at a street intersection had almost spoiled his escape, because the driver of his cab had wanted to wait.

Fortunately, the traffic light had gone green at the right moment, and the green of a fivedollar bill had

Brett's daughter was a most attractive girl. She was tall, like her father, but not overly so, and her graceful

poise offset her height. Where Brett's long face carried determination in its chin, Sandra's oval features

They were brown, a perfect match for her hair, and the lips beneath her shapely nose were wise in their smile,

"I have something important to tell you, Sandra," declared Brett seriously. "I want you to take a trip South,

"That's a relief," said Sandra, as she opened a cigarette case. "I thought you'd be going that way, with a few

years stopoff in the Atlanta penitentiary, after I heard that radio flash about what happened down at

"If they had only waited for the improved detonator," groaned Brett. Then, turning to Kemball: "Make a note

"Hadn't you better go, Dad?" inquired Sandra. "They'll want to talk to you, won't they?"

The girl looked at Kemball, who nodded; whereupon the whole story came out by degrees.

THERE was one point that Kemball noted. Though Brett mentioned Doban by name, he avoided the subject

of Rayland. As he explained it to Sandra, Doban had been working for Mycroft, though others were probably

"You have yourself to blame, Dad," observed Sandra, philosophically. "You know how good inventors are at

hatching out weird ideas, particularly whacky chaps like Mycroft. Why didn't you settle with him for half of

"Because I didn't intend to sell Infralux to Fengram," snapped Brett. "At least, not unless he came through for

"Even my own daughter doubts me," he said. "What chance would I have if I made this whole mess public?"

"I'm not talking about the mess," put in Sandra stoutly. "Kill off a regiment of Dobans, if you want. I'm

"Because I'm no fool," asserted Brett. "Inventors have ideas. The better you treat them, the more they bring

you. That has always been my policy, and Mycroft ought to know it. But a man who has spent half his life

chasing fireflies to find out why they light, isn't apt to rationalize other subjects."

"Enough, Dad," assured Sandra. "I'm both sorry and convinced. Now, why am I to go South?"

Therewith, Brett revealed his plan. It sounded so bizarre, that both his daughter and his lawyer were inclined

to place him in Mycroft's class, until they realized that his reasons were based on the inventor's probable

It was Brett's idea to remain dead, so far as the public was concerned, and use his status as an advantage to

bring Mycroft to a reasonable state of mind. As a dead man, Brett could not be reached, nor harmed; at least,

"Of course, there is one danger," pursued Brett. "Mycroft and his associates" his glance at Kemball showed

he meant Rayland "will know that I am alive when Doban does not return to their fold. So they will be

"They won't," assured Brett. "But they might find you, Sandra. That's why I want you to be far away."

"Exactly! While they are hunting for you, around some of those night clubs where you spend your early

mornings. When I find Mycroft, or any others, I'll force them into signing statements as to their game.

It sounded well to Sandra, except as concerned her own part. Brett had to explain that men who played at

blackmail would not hesitate at kidnapping to insure their game. If they should abduct Sandra, they could

threaten Brett anew, promising her release only if he came back into circulation and took undue blame for

Furthermore, Sandra, as heiress to Brett's fortune, might be due for additional trouble. If crooks could reach

her and prove that Brett was still alive, they might force a deal on the threat of the murder charge alone. Brett

"They wouldn't get far with that," he decided. "Not with you, Sandra. But it might prove a complication. So

"To one of the Florida keys. You will be off on a fishing trip; in fact, you've already started on one. Kemball

simply won't know where or how to reach you, until after this business has all been settled."

Her father gave a grim smile. He turned to Kemball and asked for the reserve fund. Kemball opened the safe

and brought out a stack of currency that totaled ten thousand dollars. Taking five thousand of the money,

Brett sorted it into two heaps; gave one to Sandra and kept the other for himself.

"That will tide us over," he told Sandra. Then, to Kemball: "Call a cab, so that Sandra can go to the station.

HER remark ended in a smile, that was still faintly present when the cab arrived. Brett decided to go along to

the station, so they left together, after Kemball peered out through a darkened window to make sure that all

Another cab arrived a few minutes later, and Kemball, packing his papers, decided to take it himself.

The second cab came just too late to witness the departure of Brett's taxi. It already had a passenger, for it

happened to be Moe's cab, on its wheels again. The passenger was Lamont Cranston, and he was drawing out

the drawer beneath the back seat when Kemball appeared from the apartment house.

The Shadow had to do some quick work with his cloak and hat, for they dumped, instead of coming right to

hand. Moe had forgotten that the drawer was in upside down. Nevertheless, The Shadow gathered the black

From darkness, The Shadow heard Kemball order Moe to take him to Brett's office. He noticed that Kemball

was carrying some papers, so The Shadow decided to drop in on the commissioner later and learn what

However, the lawyer was not carrying the file that he had originally arranged. Any talk of a blackmail threat

Bizarre though Brett's scheme was, Kemball approved it under the circumstances, particularly since Brett had

solved the problem of Sandra's safety. But Kemball, in admiring Brett's craft, forgot that Sandra had inherited

At the Pennsylvania Station, Sandra bought her ticket herself, so that her father wouldn't be noticed and

possibly recognized. They reached the train and Sandra went on board. She looked from the window of her

Alone, Sandra opened the ticket; so far, she had kept it carefully folded in half.

The half that Brett hadn't seen was the return portion. True to her promise, she was going South, but she

didn't intend to stay there. Brett was dead, and Sandra was gone; but he was really alive, and she was coming

All of which added up to coming problems for The Shadow, in his search for an answer to the death that was

ON the third evening after the supposed suicide of Giles Brett, Inspector Joe Cardona stopped in at the Cobalt

Club. Joe wasn't a member of that highhat organization, but he often came there to see Commissioner

Tonight, Cardona didn't want to talk to the commissioner. He had stopped to see Lamont Cranston. So Joe

was armed with a lot of reports that he was sure would keep the commissioner busy.

The reports dealt with many cases, but didn't include the one that was really in Cardona's mind: namely, the

It wasn't long before Weston was deep in the report sheets, and Cardona, catching Cranston's eye, made a

gesture which The Shadow had been awaiting. They stepped from the table where Weston sat, and outside the

"Maybe not, Mr. Cranston," conceded Cardona, "but they've got me beat. I found fingerprints of one man all

"No, they weren't Brett's. His were only traceable in a few spots. I've checked everybody who worked for

him; easy enough, because the employees were all fingerprinted by a bonding company. None of their marks

"Naturally not, inspector," smiled Cranston, "since it was Brett's private office and he kept people out."

"Then who was the guy who pawed all over the place?" Cardona demanded. "You take a look at those

photostats I've given you, Mr. Cranston, and read the list that goes with them. I even found them on the

Cranston nodded his willingness to cooperate. He was turning to rejoin Weston, when Cardona stopped him.

"I thought of Kemball," said the inspector. "Being Brett's lawyer, he was in the office a lot. But I found a few

prints that tallied with Kemball's. He had his prints recorded, along with a lot of other lawyers, one time when

"The prints aren't Kemball's. And listen, Mr. Cranston: I sent copies down to Washington and the F.B.I. put

them through that sorting machine of theirs. These mystery prints are not on record. My last chance is that

they belong to that crackpot inventor, Mycroft. I'm going to find him, if I have to take this town apart!"

The prints couldn't be Mycroft's. Of that, The Shadow was reasonably certain. The one man who would have

found it most difficult to reach Brett's sacred preserves was Mycroft, inasmuch as bouncers were always on

Nor would Mycroft have found good reason to hang around Brett's office. The issue between them was

clearcut, and Mycroft had all the documents necessary to prove that he was the originator of Infralux.

Of course, The Shadow recognized that Mycroft might have placed the prints, but certainly not on the day of

Brett's sudden death. Should the case prove to be murder, with Mycroft on the giving end, the inventor

couldn't have sneaked into the private office until shortly before the crime. He'd neither have had the time nor

No need of expressing such opinions to Cardona. Quite the contrary, for The Shadow wanted Joe's man hunt

to proceed. Mycroft was essential to this bizarre case, in one way or another, and his importance was

considerably amplified by the fact that he had crawled off into some hole where he couldn't be found. Maybe

Mycroft didn't want to be questioned about the open threats that he had made to Brett.

If the law could track down Mycroft, so much the better. It would save The Shadow the trouble of a

needleinahaystack hunt, and also keep the police otherwise occupied while The Shadow pursued a search

The man that The Shadow specially wanted to locate was Cleeve Rayland, his chief antagonist during the

LEAVING the club, Cranston became The Shadow. He went directly to his sanctum a blackwalled room

in an old building hidden away in the heart of Manhattan. There, The Shadow kept his copious records, and at

It contained the fingerprints of unworthies like Cleeve Rayland men of the half world between the

underworld and the upper strata of society. Blackmailers like Rayland didn't give the law much opportunity

to gather their fingerprints, but The Shadow had privately acquired quite a collection.

Cleeve's prints were in the file. They failed to match the numerous photostats that The Shadow, as Cranston,

had received from Cardona. Studying the mystery prints, The Shadow gave a deep, reflective laugh.

Bizarre though it was, almost bordering on the incredible, The Shadow decided that the fingerprints belonged

Not the Brett found dead in the office, whose finger impressions Cardona had taken at Cranston's suggestion.

Prints from so many places in the office should logically be Brett's; and the idea was balanced by the fact that

Cardona had found so very few impressions traceable to the dead man who had been identified as Brett.

The Shadow's theory fitted perfectly with the past. It told why Brett had been seen entering his private office

twice. Two Bretts would account for it, and also explain why one had only to leave by the laboratory route

As for the future, it offered definite possibilities, too. Brett, hiding out, would be as difficult to find as

Mycroft, and a direct search for him would not be good policy, as he might leave town in the pinch.

In The Shadow's estimate, Cleeve Rayland was still the man to find as a link between Mycroft and Brett.

Reaching for earphones, The Shadow put in a call to his contact man, Burbank, to learn how certain persons

To a degree, The Shadow had previously sensed the present situation, and had put capable secret agents in

LIKE Mycroft, Rayland was in hiding, and at this very hour the pair were comparing notes, for their

Far from where The Shadow's sanctum was located, their nest was a very snug one, specially arranged for

The place was an apartment in what had once been a private house in a rather pretentious row. The front

room was deep, and made an excellent living room as long as its occupants kept well back from the windows.

There were bedrooms: one for Mycroft, another for Rayland; a third where a stolid man named Tilroy

Tilroy was literally the cook and bottle washer. He prepared the meals that were served in the

kitchendinette; between times, he stayed with Mycroft in a rear room that the inventor used as an

experimental laboratory. That was where Tilroy washed the bottles, for Mycroft spent most of his time in

A member of the confidence group, Tilroy had often fronted as a butler or steward, hence was useful in his

present capacity. There were others, too, who came in and out, but they weren't steady boarders. If need be,

they slept on couches in the living room, or shared Tilroy's quarters, but most of the time they were at large.

This evening, Mycroft was fussing about the lab engaged in some new creation that might rival Infralux,

when Rayland joined him. Hearing the door open, Mycroft gestured Rayland to a chair beside a window with

Sniffing the atmosphere, Rayland spoke to Tilroy, who was washing bottles at the sink.

Tilroy stepped toward the window, and Rayland shoved him away, toward a door at the rear of the lab.

"Don't open the window!" Rayland's purr became a knifing rasp. "The smell will carry in next door. Let it out

Opening a door in the rear wall, Tilroy revealed a closet that had no floor. A short ladder ran down through,

reaching the curve of a forgotten stairway that had been closed off when the house was made into apartments.

In looking the place over, Rayland had discovered the existence of the back stairway, and had later tapped it.

As a ventilating device, the shaft proved its worth. The atmosphere cleared rapidly.

"Some of the boys are here," Rayland told Mycroft. "I'm going out with them on something important."

Mycroft gestured Tilroy away from a shelf which held a stack of square wooden boxes. Then, peering at

"On account of the other night," returned Rayland, in a tone of buzzsaw sharpness. "I was covering up for

you, after I learned that you'd slid out of here. That's when I ran into a guy called The Shadow, who got too

"You didn't have to cover up for me," objected Mycroft. "I only went to Brett's office "

"And a swell time you picked for it!" interrupted Rayland. "Just when I was all set for the payoff. I'd talked to

Brett, and all I had to do was wait until he made the sale to Fengram. And then well, you know what

From a corner, Rayland picked up a discarded newspaper and flourished it in front of Mycroft. The journal

carried a frontpage photograph of Brett, with a story of his supposed suicide. Lower down, Rayland found

"If you'd only let me handle it!" asserted Rayland. "I was doing swell, Mycroft, until you bungled things by

going to Brett's office. It worried Brett, and it put me in a jam with The Shadow."

"But you weren't getting results fast enough," returned Mycroft. "I told you that Brett was clever enough to be

prepared for anything. He doesn't have to be alive for his plans to progress. That lawyer of his, named

"Forget Brett," inserted Rayland, "and Kemball, for the time being. The job is to find Brett's daughter."

Reaching, Rayland picked up a later newspaper that carried Sandra's picture. "That fishing trip of hers some

place where they can't reach her is fishy itself. I'm going to find that dame, even if I have to put the heat on

AN interruption came from a telephone in a corner of the lab. Tilroy grabbed the telephone, but Rayland took

it from his hands. His conversation was brief, but eager. Hanging up, he turned to Mycroft.

"One of my men spotted the girl!" exclaimed Rayland. "Sandra Brett, big as life, making the rounds of the

night spots, as usual! Lucky the boys can look in at those joints, even if I can't. You know what this means,

Mycroft. If we grab Sandra, we can make her go through with the deal, just as we planned with Brett."

"You sit tight, right here," warned Rayland. "This is one place where the cops won't find you, Mycroft."

"I know," humored Rayland, "but this one is better. You have friends here, like myself; and Tilroy to help

you. He's going to stay right here with you, Mycroft, like he should have done the other day."

Rayland left, closing the door behind him. They heard him speak to a man who was waiting in the living

Tilroy, who was washing a thinnecked, heavybodied glass jar, paused to glance at Mycroft. The inventor

"Don't worry, Tilroy," he said. "You won't have to bother about me. I shall busy myself with my new

experiments. But first" his tone became annoyed "let me show you the proper way of washing that jar."

Taking the tall container, Mycroft filled it with water and then inverted it above the sink. He repeated the

rinsing process, then held the glass jar inverted in front of an electric light.

Mycroft's left hand was gripping the jar's heavy base. His right, lower down, clutched the lip. Raising the jar

It did very well. As Tilroy gazed, Mycroft gripped the neck of the jar tightly, took a backward pace, and let

Startled, Tilroy thrust forward warding hands; too late. Mycroft swung the heavy jar like a cudgel, past

The jar cracked when it struck, and Tilroy did an impersonation of a rolling log. After watching his helper hit

the floor, Mycroft gave a sad glance at the jar and tossed it into the sink, where it fell apart in chunks.

Then, instead of taking Rayland's route, Mycroft opened the closet door and descended spryly through the

gaping floor. His cackled laugh came back, unheard by Tilroy, who was lying senseless.

Always, The Shadow chose those best suited to the work at hand. For one, he had picked Harry Vincent, a

keen young man who looked both gentlemanly and prosperous. Well familiar with Manhattan night clubs,

He was looking for Cleeve Rayland, though he didn't expect to find him. Cleeve was something of an "in and

outer," the sort who would show up quite frequently for a while; then remain unheard from for weeks. He'd

Harry knew why. Cleeve was ducking The Shadow. But it didn't mean that all Cleeve's friends would do the

same. They might know where Cleeve could be found. The trouble was to pick out Cleeve's friends. Harry

He was watching persons who didn't look shrewd enough to be working con games on their own, nor dumb

There was a man hanging around the bar where Harry was at present, who seemed to fit the proper

classification. The fellow was sleek, yet tough; friendly, yet wary of eye. He looked like a small edition of

Cleeve Rayland, which caused Harry to recall that specialists in the big con games were apt to imitate their

Blackmail, of course, was Cleeve's real business, but his crew was much like a con mob. The sleek man

under Harry's observation looked like a firstclass spotter. He was watching everyone who came in and out

of the night club, and he was close to the telephone, too. It was from that source that the result came.

When the telephone rang, the sleek man answered it; speaking low, close to the mouthpiece, he didn't bother

to close the door of the booth. A neat system, since it made the call look unimportant; but it had one flaw.

The confines of the phone booth focused the man's voice and carried its tone to Harry.

As soon as the sleek man had gone, Harry used the telephone himself. He called Burbank and informed him

that Cleeve Rayland was calling a gathering of the clan near the Red Barn, a sidestreet night club not far

Harry was sure that the "Cleeve" mentioned must be Rayland; otherwise, the meeting would have been

Harry waited a few minutes for a return call from Burbank, bringing instructions from The Shadow.

MEANWHILE, developments were happening at the Red Barn, itself, though not the sort that Cleeve

A girl was entering the little night club; she was a brunette whose choice of evening wear was exactly suited

to the place: just formal enough to indicate that she expected someone to meet her, yet not too conspicuous to

The girl's name was Margo Lane, but she didn't have a date this evening. Like Harry Vincent, she was

working for The Shadow. Her manner of expecting someone was purely a pretense that enabled her to look

around. Also like Harry, Margo was searching for Cleeve Rayland, hoping to find him through his associates.

Margo had just finished a tour of the fancier night spots, only to abandon them in favor of Class B places like

the Red Barn. Maybe Cleeve's pals didn't go in for the chichi of the niftier clubs. The Red Barn, with its

sawdust floor and rustic bar, could be more to their liking. In fact, as Margo entered, she was jostled by a

He stopped, tugged at his hat, and said: "Pardon, lady," in a tone too apologetic to suit his hardfaced

When gentry of his ilk went courteous, it showed they weren't anxious to attract too much attention. This

chap was in a hurry, that was all. Too much of a hurry for Margo to catch up with him. So she looked around

This was a threefold surprise. Sandra, back in New York, was No. 1. The second puzzle was the fact that

Sandra was visiting night clubs so soon after her father's death. Finally, the Red Barn wasn't one of Sandra's

Sandra was talking to a broadshouldered young man who wore evening clothes. Approaching, Margo

identified him as Ferdy Brythe, sometimes known as the Bull. Something of a man about town, Ferdy had

been invited out of the better places, due to his habit of tossing things about.

Furniture didn't matter; Ferdy had enough money to pay for whatever he broke. Lately, however, he had been

tossing waiters, which was more serious, because other customers approved it and joined in when bouncers

Having learned that he could start a riot at will, Ferdy had acquired a superhuman complex. Hence the

proprietors of his favorite night clubs saw to it that he went out as soon as he came in.

Finding Ferdy in bushleague surroundings didn't surprise Margo, nor was his quiet mood a thing at which to

wonder. He was creating confidence around the Red Barn, meanwhile singling out waiters for future

"Sure, I'll go places with you, Sandra," agreed Ferdy. He banged his glass for another drink. "I'd like to see

"I don't mean that," Ferdy rejoined. "What I mean is that you've found your way around right along. What

"I've become something of a celebrity," said Sandra in a regretful tone, "and I'm worth a lot of money since

"Of course not!" Ferdy gulped the drink that the bartender shoved him. "Sorry about your father, Sandra.

Ferdy dented his shirt front with one fist, then brandished the clenched hand at the barkeep, as though

planning to throw a few punches his way just for practice. When the bartender gave an instinctive duck,

"Softies around here, Sandra. Let's go to a tougher joint. Might as well work from the bottom up."

"Hello, Sandra," she said, "and you, too, Bull. How about buying a friend a drink? The next will be on me."

FERDY ordered the drink, while Margo, chatting with Sandra, noticed the other girl's attire. Contrasted to

One thing, Sandra wasn't overdressed, for the gown didn't begin until halfway down her back. Her bare arms

were conspicuous because of the glittering bracelets that adorned them, and when she stretched her hands,

All this show was certainly unlike Sandra, and it didn't seem sensible, considering the apprehensions that she

had expressed to Ferdy; but Margo understood. Sandra wanted to attract attention. She hoped that certain

It all had something to do with her father, and she was anxious to finish the business. Anticipating trouble in

"I have to make a phone call," said Margo. "I'll be back by the time the drink is ready."

She crossed the floor to a telephone booth. Immediately, Sandra turned to the man beside her.

Ferdy bristled at the impeachment. He found Sandra's wrap, helped her on with it, and paid the barkeeper,

telling him to leave the drink that remained. Then Ferdy piloted Sandra around the dance floor, toward the

The busy signal had forestalled Margo's phone call. She was dropping a nickel for another try when she saw

Sliding from the booth, Margo started after them, wondering whether she ought to kibitz again, or merely

As Margo reached the door, she saw Ferdy and Sandra get into a cab and close the door behind them; hence,

the only course was to trail them. The doorman was turning to call another cab, when Margo saw one parked

It was Moe Shrevnitz's cab; evidently, he had seen Margo enter the Red Barn, and had parked conveniently

With Shrevvy as a driver, Margo could follow the trail indefinitely. Telling the doorman that she didn't need a

cab, she hurried along the street, passing cars that intervened between her and Moe's cab.

The last car in the row was a coupe, and Margo cut quite close to it to shorten her path to the cab. She didn't

Suddenly, that door flung frontward, right into Margo's path. Half stumbling against it, Margo tried to turn

and dart away. A man stretched from the car, caught Margo's neck deftly and brought her backward with a

Landing deep in the seat, Margo couldn't even scream, for her abductor had an arm around her neck, while he

Margo's kicks and writhing efforts were suppressed by the door, as it slammed shut when the coupe spurted

from the curb. Then, as Margo slid downward to the floor, thus worming from her captor's clutch, the man

Instead, he darted his hand to his pocket, produced a gun and planted its muzzle against the girl's neck. Margo

gave a horrified gasp; calculating where her face was, the man slid the gun beneath her chin and practically

No use arguing with a gun, thought Margo, nor with a man who handled one so neatly. As though the touch

of the cold metal had frozen her, Margo sat stockstill, staring straight ahead, not uttering a word.

Who this captor was; where he was taking her, were very worrisome questions. The answers to both

HARRY VINCENT swung a corner, straightened his car along the street, and put his gun into his pocket. At

Margo's hand dropped from the door handle. Her grim expression changed to indignation, as she voiced:

"Why, you big lug, Harry, trying a stunt like that! You're worse than Ferdy, the Bull!"

"You mean Ferdy Brythe?" he inquired. "The chap who took the cab with Sandra Brett?"

"That's what I thought," said Harry. "It's why I had to grab you, Margo. Things are going to happen, fast. So I

Margo didn't understand, until Harry pointed ahead; then she saw that a sedan intervened between Harry's car

"Cleeve Rayland and his crew," Harry explained. "They were waiting outside. One of them must have spotted

Remembering the man she had met coming out, Margo mentioned him and received a nod from Harry. Then

"It is waiting for The Shadow," interposed Harry. "Burbank told me it would be. We didn't know you were at

the Red Barn, Margo. Very probably, Burbank saved time by ordering Shrevvy to the Red Barn, to wait there

"If you'd climbed into the cab, Moe would have snapped away like a hair trigger the moment you said 'Go.'

You'd both have made a mistake without knowing it. I was afraid to call to you, because I saw the sedan

Margo agreed, quite mollified to learn that Harry's system wasn't a mere prank. Then her attention centered

on matters ahead. It was really a serious situation Sandra and her boy friend, Ferdy, being pursued by the

If trouble began, Harry would have to do his share toward stopping it, with Margo as his aid. Well away from

Harry inquired if Margo had her gun, and she produced the weapon a small automatic, which she kept deep

in her handbag. Harry slid his hand to his pocket again, tightening his grip on his own gun. His comment was

It came, hard upon Harry's words. They were about ten blocks from the Red Barn and Sandra's cab was

slowing to take a corner. The sedan lunged, much as it had the night when it spilled Moe's cab, but its present

Instead of trying to shove a cab off the street, the sedan took to the sidewalk itself. Clipping the corner, it

Brakes shrieked fiercely. The cab skewed full about, and the sedan did the same. They were pointing at each

As the cars halted, two men sprang from the sedan: Cleeve and one companion. Sandra and Ferdy came

In his urge to reach the cab, Cleeve was jumps ahead of his companion, and before the other man could catch

THE menace was Ferdy, heaving his full bulk, with his fists flying ahead of him. Margo gave an eager

Harry watched. It didn't take long. As Ferdy drove a heavy fist at Cleeve, the crook slid under it, so close, that

Margo wondered why the punch hadn't landed. The fist that really found a mark was Cleeve's. It came up

short and hard, to clip Ferdy's chin. With one sock, Cleeve personally disposed of Sandra's muchtouted

Then, with Ferdy leaning back against the cab, his chin perched in his hand, Cleeve and his arriving pal

grabbed Sandra, to drag her back to the sedan. They were tangling the evening wrap about her head, stopping

her attempts at outcry. Sandra's arms were flashing their diamonds, as she tried to clutch her assailants and

From the sedan, Cleeve's two reserves were aiming revolvers, ready to down Ferdy and the cabby if either

Ferdy was coming to his feet. In a moment, he'd be gathering himself for another charge. Like Ferdy, the

effort would prove shortlived. Those guns that pointed from the sedan meant business, even though Ferdy

He'd been letting the coupe coast; now, he pushed the accelerator to its limit. The car whizzed forward,

almost at the two men who were dragging Sandra. They ducked toward the cab, carrying the girl with them,

which was what Harry wanted. That accomplished, he veered his coupe toward the sedan.

Not expecting the daring thrust, the reserves hadn't time to shoot before Harry smacked their car amidships.

Revolvers spoke upward as the sedan landed on its side, temporarily trapping the two men in it.

Shoving Margo out through the door on her side, Harry took the one beside the wheel and sprang back to deal

with Cleeve. Turned toward the coupe, Cleeve dropped Sandra and pulled a gun to aim at Harry.

Cleeve was clever. He sidestepped to use Sandra as a shield. Harry countered, but it wasn't enough. Cleeve

Her gun only had the bark of a Pomeranian, but its bullets could sting. Cleeve knew it when he heard the first

shots whistle past. Ducking wildly, he inadvertently put himself in the path of Harry's fire, when Ferdy

First, Ferdy took the thug who still clutched Sandra, gave the fellow a swing that landed him headlong

against the side of Harry's car. Then the human bull roared after Cleeve, threatening reprisal for the crook's

For the moment, both Harry and Margo had to rely on Ferdy. His charge looked capable, and he should

Instead, Ferdy waded right straight in, figuring that luck had been Cleeve's way before. The leader of the

kidnap crew proved that technique was the real element. He came under Ferdy's guard again and landed a

second bash against the Bull's sore chin. Back first, Ferdy thwacked the sidewalk, and Cleeve grabbed Sandra

They whirled around the front of Harry's car in a dance macabre that was mostly the flash of Sandra's purple

dress. Neither Harry nor Margo could fire at the human whirligig, so they bided their time, thinking that they

Instead, the advantage went the other way. As Cleeve and Sandra revolved against the spilled sedan; Harry

Two men were poking out from the window of the wrecked sedan. Both had guns, and they were picking

Harry and Margo as their targets. They intended to finish off the pair who had wrecked them, and were in a

All that stayed them for the moment was Harry's quick fire, which made the marksmen duck warily and send

The shelter of the cab might help, but Harry knew that Margo needed it, too. He jabbed shots as he pointed

her to cover, and followed on his own, so that he could shield her if any bullets hammered too close.

It was a losing fight, but with the possibility of safety, and afterward the hope of rescuing Sandra by an

onslaught from the new base. But the shooting crooks had the edge, and needed only a bit more advantage to

It was inevitable that they should get their chance. A blunder was due in their favor. Not from Harry or

Groggy, the wouldbe bodyguard mistook all men for enemies. He saw two persons coming toward him:

Margo first, then Harry. Thinking, in his groggy way, that the girl was Sandra and the man Cleeve, in pursuit,

Margo saw him grab for Harry and halted her own flight to aid. Then all three were tangled, spilling to the

As Cleeve pinned Sandra against the overturned sedan, the gunners in the wrecked car took straight aim at the

Avalanches, cyclones and earthquakes were unknown in Manhattan. Anyone of those might have helped the

situation enough to prevent the murderous marksmen from delivering intended death. None of the natural

catastrophes arrived. But the human form that did appear carried the elements of all three.

He arrived in a speeding cab, that fighter who laughed crooks into fear. The top of the cab was down, and his

shape emerged from it like a symbol of sudden death upon the move. For the fighter's shape was black, from

Along with his challenging mirth came the chatter of two guns that, even from long range, were whistling

Instantly, the scene on the paving blanked from the minds of Cleeve Rayland and his cronies. Switching their

aim from helpless human prey, they pointed their revolvers toward their new and elusive target and yanked at

Crime's superfoe was at hand, taking the full brunt of battle for his own. He was here, The Shadow!

THE SHADOW'S cab did some tricky things under Moe's able guidance. The cloaked fighter was in a

Swerving, the cab performed a complete turn in the crossing, its short wheel base serving it well. All the

while, it seemed to revolve around The Shadow, whose guns didn't miss a single beat in their steady cadence.

One marksman flopped from the door of the sedan and struck the sidewalk beyond it. The other scrambled

after him, flinging away a useless, empty gun. A third, the man flung earlier by Ferdy, was spilled by a bullet

Only Cleeve was shooting, as he clung to Sandra with his other hand. But Sandra was tired of playing the

She wrenched hard and dragged Cleeve after her. He grabbed for the purple dress, and Sandra let him take it

Shielded only by the flimsy gown and the evening wrap that was hanging to his own shoulders, Cleeve flung

the garments aside and sprang into the cab that had brought Sandra to this spot. The driver had deserted the

Sandra, meanwhile, was gathering up the purple gown and the wrap that went with it. Only Harry's quick

grab saved her from the cab's swing, as Cleeve hurled the vehicle along the street.

Taking to the sidewalk, the cab missed the barrier formed by Harry's coupe and the demolished sedan. The

Wounded crooks managed to cling to the borrowed cab, and Cleeve wheeled it away, carrying his helpers

Out of his own cab, he thrust Sandra inside it while she was struggling into the remnants of the purple gown.

Giving a quick order to Harry, The Shadow followed Sandra into the cab, and Moe sped off by another street.

It was all a logical progression. First, The Shadow had scattered the criminal foemen; next, he was taking

Sandra away from the scene, since she was the subject of contention. He was depending upon Harry and

As for Ferdy, The Shadow wanted him left right where he was. Somebody had to give a garbled account of

Police cars were whining to the scene. The Shadow's keen ears had heard them; hence his actions. Harry was

back at the wheel of the coupe, with Margo in beside him. Then came trouble. The starter worked, but the

"Flooded or something," decided Harry. "Look, Margo" he pointed across the street "you can duck

"At the Bronze Slipper," suggested Margo. "I can get there by subway. See you later, Harry."

Leaving the car, Margo reached the space between the buildings, while Harry made another try with the

starter. This time, it worked, and he decided to get as far as he could before abandoning his car.

Backing, Harry heard a clatter as his bumper ripped away the step of the ruined sedan. Then, at the corner,

The police cars that arrived wheeled in from three directions, but not the one in which Harry departed. Piling

out, the men in blue uniforms found Ferdy and began to quiz him. His testimony followed the incoherent line

Crooks, a whole horde of them, had abducted Sandra Brett. The mention of the girl's last name made the cops

alert. They asked if Sandra was Brett's daughter, and Ferdy said yes. The officers wanted to hear more, so

He and Sandra had started from the Red Barn to another night club, the nearest they could find. That was

true, too. In fact, it was why The Shadow had reached the scene of crime so soon. He took it that Ferdy and

Sandra would be making another stop, after Moe told him that Brett's daughter was in the other cab.

But Ferdy was all wrong from that point on. He claimed that there had been three cars loaded with mobsters;

that half a dozen had landed on him at once. He remembered disposing of all but one, who swung a punch

while the rest were holding Ferdy's arms. He'd settled the fellow, though, Ferdy had, and taken on a fresh half

His endurance had them at a total loss. Fleeing, they resorted to gunfire as they went. They must have been

punchdrunk after meeting Ferdy, because they couldn't shoot straight. Sandra had stayed in the cab, as

The odd part about Ferdy's story was the way it clicked. The cops actually believed it, but cut it in half.

Learning that Ferdy was the chap who had been banging up night clubs, using the personnel to damage the

furniture, they conceded that he might have given five or six thugs a lot of trouble.

They wanted to know more about Sandra; particularly, the direction in which her captors had taken her. Ferdy

couldn't supply that information, and his admission that he didn't know every detail gave further credence to

The cabby who had brought Ferdy and Sandra to the scene of strife came crawling from safety halfway down

the block, and gave his hectic version of the battle. It didn't nullify Ferdy's exaggerated testimony.

The scared cabby had heard smashing, shooting, and seen the departure of some vehicles, his own among

them. He supported Ferdy's statistics. Thereupon, the police set out to find two cabs the stolen one and

another that had followed it. The cabby told them the direction in which the vehicles had gone.

HURRYING to their quest, the police unwittingly passed up a witness more reliable than the pair that they

had questioned. She was only a block away, moving cautiously from doorway to doorway along an almost

She didn't want the police to find her until she could concoct a story which would somehow jibe with Ferdy's,

and not having heard his story, Margo had to use her imagination. It was a double process, for she had to

The longer Margo waited, the better; of that, she felt certain. She could claim that she had come this direction

She'd have to put on the old hysteria act, but that wouldn't be difficult. The longer she waited, the less the

Eluding discovery entirely was the thing on which Margo banked the most. Reaching the subway wouldn't be

Margo's chief concern, however, was for Harry. She had an impression that she had heard his car starting as

she dashed through the alley. She hoped he was away; but maybe he was boxed in, too.

A police car whined across the nearest corner. It was coming to the scene of battle, but Margo heard its siren

continue in a trailing shriek. Evidently, other patrol cars were starting on a hunt, and it was following after

Coming out from a doorway, she started toward the corner, only to halt as a rattle came from the street behind

Dropping away from the glow of street lamps, Margo flattened against a house wall as a coupe clattered past

and pulled up beside the curb, in a darkened spot of its own. Margo gave a glad gasp. So Harry was safe,

Just like Harry, to remember Margo's plight and come around this way to give her a lift. He'd probably seen

her as he went by, for she thought she caught sight of his hand, beckoning from the car window. Margo

Quick, gripping hands cut, off Margo's query, as they had done back at the Red Barn. This time, Margo didn't

struggle as she was hauled into the car. She could understand Harry's abrupt style.

He might have seen searchers in the offing; whether crooks or police, it didn't matter for the present. His

main idea would be to get Margo away as rapidly as the damaged car would allow. So Margo relaxed under

The car was off again, gathering speed despite the rattly noises from its motor. Why Harry still persisted in

choking her, Margo couldn't understand. Maybe he was tense, excited, for he was putting too much power in

Unable to speak, Margo clutched the pressing arm and wrenched it from her neck. A hand clapped across her

"Don't be silly, Harry!" Purposely, Margo kept her tone low. "I haven't gone crazy. I'm not going to yell."

The hand darted to a coat pocket, and Margo did not try to stop it. If Harry wanted to draw a gun, it didn't

matter. Maybe he liked to play silly games, though he'd never shown that tendency in the past. Margo gave a

THE man wasn't Harry. He was a scrawny, elderly man, whose pinched face had quick beady eyes that darted

at Margo across the tops of oldfashioned glasses. His hand was quick, too, for it had drawn a revolver and

was pressing the muzzle against Margo. The man's nervous face marked him as a fanatic who might let a gun

So Margo sank against the door, lifting her hands and breathing that she wasn't going to put up further fight.

"Nobody can outwit Dana Mycroft," he boasted. "You've heard of me, haven't you?"

Margo nodded, while the shrewd eyes probed her face. So Mycroft, the dark horse, had come along in the

wake of Cleeve's murderers. Working around the edges, he had bagged a prisoner after they fled. This was

What a fool she'd been to mistake the clattering motor of an old rattletrap for a damaged engine in Harry's

If there had been any rhyme or reason in letting Mycroft trap her, Margo could have forgiven herself. So far,

Then came the words that salvaged the situation. It was Mycroft who uttered them.

"You thought you could get away from us," he said gleefully. "But you didn't! So I'm taking you for a nice

So that was why he was so intent upon her capture! He thought he was succeeding where Cleeve Rayland had

With those words from Mycroft, Margo's situation was transformed from a stupid predicament into a colorful

adventure. Though it might provide added hazards, she felt that they would be worth it.

This ride would lead to crime's headquarters; not to some way stop on the road. There, posing as Sandra,

Margo could probe into matters and gain facts for The Shadow. She could foresee complications, and bad

Relaxing, Margo smiled pleasantly at Mycroft, who gave a cackle in return. Her captor's tone wasn't pleasant.

It didn't promise happy things to come. Nevertheless, Margo retained her outward smile, even though she

One thought enabled Margo to show calm. She was sure that The Shadow would learn of her capture, and

THE SHADOW, at that moment, wasn't thinking of Margo Lane. He was entirely engaged with Sandra Brett.

At first, Sandra's confusion at finding herself with The Shadow was as great as Margo's upon encountering

Mycroft. But Sandra had soon learned that her companion was a friend, not a foe, just as Margo had

Clad in the remains of a tattered evening gown and a bedraggled wrap, Sandra was riding in Moe's cab,

The Shadow's tone, a calm, expressive whisper, bore no resemblance to Cranston's. The variance in speech

was necessary, for, though Sandra had only occasionally met Cranston in the past, she was going to see more

of him in the future. Hence, The Shadow was carefully avoiding anything that might betray his dual identity.

While he spoke, Sandra noted that he was keeping an eye on the cab driver, who was following a rapid, but

Whenever the cab approached a brightly lighted street, the driver shied from it, or crossed in a hurry. He was

cocking his head, too, listening for the wails of police sirens, and whenever he noted them, he veered in

There were times when The Shadow corrected the driver's course with brief instructions, but usually he let

the man decide for himself. All the while, however, The Shadow was quizzing Sandra in an intelligible

There was this about The Shadow's questions: they were more like statements than queries. Indeed, they

"So you are Sandra Brett," The Shadow said, "and these men are your father's enemies."

"To blackmail your father," interposed The Shadow, when Sandra hesitated. "They wanted a quarter of a

"Blackmailers always demand all they can get," explained The Shadow. "In this case, they knew the sum that

would be available, if your father sold Infralux to Homer Fengram. Cleeve Rayland simply timed his threat."

The name was new to Sandra; her question showed it. She didn't realize that The Shadow had brought up the

"Rayland managed the actual blackmail," explained The Shadow. Then, in the casual way that was actually a

probe, he added: "If your father knew Rayland's name, he should have mentioned it to you."

"But... but my father is dead. Tonight well, they were just trying to blackmail me into accepting the terms

"Kidnapping is a poor way of blackmail," observed The Shadow. "If they preferred it, they would have tried

"Not so unusual as your father's. It is seldom that we hear of a dead man who is still alive."

Sandra couldn't keep up the pretense any longer. Convinced that The Shadow knew all, she exclaimed:

SANDRA related the story of Brett's double as she had heard it from her father. She explained that Brett had

From that, The Shadow took it that Brett knew about Rayland, though he hadn't mentioned the man to

Sandra. Brett would certainly have needed a lead more easily found than Mycroft, before embarking on so

That possibility was another reason why Rayland had taken to hiding. Perhaps he was dodging Brett, as well

as The Shadow. Certainly, Rayland knew that Brett was still alive, because Doban hadn't returned. Only,

Rayland couldn't have known it at first. The Shadow was thinking back to a very pointed clue, which had

It was really the point that had fixed The Shadow's conclusion. It might have put Cardona on the right track,

had Joe known about it. The point was that Rayland had sent someone else in to see Brett, and had waited

outside an odd situation, considering that he was the real blackmail expert. But why hadn't Rayland pursued

Reflection on the answer brought a laugh from The Shadow's lips. Rayland had mistaken Brett for Doban;

Sandra's testimony simply backed The Shadow's supposition. Seeing Cranston on the trail of "Doban,"

Rayland had supposed that the imposture was detected; hence, had sped to intercept the man he thought was

All the while, people up in the office were bemoaning the death of "Brett," with Rayland, below, in absolute

Had he grabbed the genuine Brett, the game would have been in the bag. No wonder Rayland had gone to

vicious extremes this evening in his attempt to capture Sandra. His earlier mistake was still rankling in his

Misunderstanding The Shadow's reflective laugh, Sandra thought it might concern Brett directly. She

"Only his fingerprints," The Shadow rejoined. "They were all over his private office, and they did not match

the dead man's. That fact formed the basis of my investigation. I, too, expect to find Mycroft through

The Shadow's eyes fixed straight ahead, and Sandra realized that they were trailing another cab, the very one

At first, it seemed miraculous that The Shadow's cab should have come upon the trail amid the many streets

Prompted by The Shadow, Moe, the cabby, had simply used natural tactics in getting away from the area of

battle. Dodging bright streets, shying away from the shrieks of police cars, relying on The Shadow's advice,

whenever a choice was doubtful, Moe had automatically copied the very system that Cleeve was using in the

It was like "follow the leader" played in the dark, using the instinct of the hounded, plus reason, in a few

Success was the result, and the best part of it was the fact that Cleeve could hardly guess that Moe's cab was

on his trail. For a long while he hadn't been followed at all, and would therefore suppose that he had left The

Still, Cleeve was playing crafty, because of the possibility that police cars might cut his path. He was taking

an irregular course, that certainly wasn't a direct route back to his hideaway, wherever that might be.

So Moe did the same, staying well enough behind. It wasn't a rapid pursuit, for Cleeve was avoiding speed.

"You must drop from sight again," he told her. "If there is any girl that you can specially trust; particularly

He put a pause at the end of the statement, and Sandra responded eagerly, with the very name that The

Apparently The Shadow had never heard of Margo. He asked if Sandra happened to know where Margo

When Cleeve's cab swerved suddenly from the street and entered a small allnight garage, The Shadow told

"I have instructed the driver to call Miss Lane. Wait here, while I settle some business up ahead."

Sandra knew well enough what the business was. Lonehanded, The Shadow intended to corral Cleeve's

crew. Not a formidable task, for The Shadow, considering that two of the crooks were already wounded, and

She was thrilled, yet fearful, as she saw the cloaked champion glide toward the garage; then quite amazed as

Sandra could no longer wonder why The Shadow had flung such terror into the black hearts of the murderous

crew. She confidently expected to hear new bursts of gunfire, and see the stragglers come reeling out from

the garage where The Shadow sought them. Any fighter who could travel in such ghostly fashion was indeed

Before The Shadow reached his goal, an interruption came. Moe was back; shoving his hand into the front

The Shadow must have caught the signal, for he reappeared suddenly from an unexpected direction. Sandra

saw Moe spring over to meet him. They were too far away, however, for the girl to catch their conversation.

During the few minutes of The Shadow's preliminary approach to the garage, Moe had put through the call to

Burbank, and had waited for a return call. It had come, with important news: Margo was missing.

Harry Vincent had already informed Burbank where she was to be, but in calling the place, the contact man

couldn't locate her. She hadn't been stopped by the police, for Burbank had been picking up shortwave radio

He was calling Harry, telling him where he could find The Shadow, to give a fuller report.

The Shadow returned to the cab with Moe. He told Sandra that Margo wasn't at her apartment, but that Moe

had explained that a friend was coming to see her and the manager had agreed to admit Sandra. Apparently,

Margo had a standing arrangement with the management covering the arrival of friends like Sandra.

The cab would take Sandra to her destination; she would hear from The Shadow later. Until then, he wanted

As the cab departed, Sandra saw The Shadow merging with the darkness near the garage. She thought that he

THE SHADOW was using new tactics. He couldn't chance haphazard battle if crooks held Margo hostage.

She hadn't been brought along by Cleeve's crew; of that, The Shadow was certain when he scaled a low wall

He could see Cleeve and the other thugs in a corner of the place, helping the cripples bandage their wounds.

The cab was farther away, and its open door showed it to be empty. But there was an old sedan at hand, and

Maybe some coverup men had gabbed Margo. If so, she would probably show up at Rayland's headquarters.

If The Shadow smashed the window and opened fire into the garage, crooks would scatter, and one might

What might happen to Margo, while The Shadow was hunting high and wide for the hideout, could prove

But for the factor that Margo Lane presented, The Shadow could best trap Cleeve Rayland and leave Dana

Mycroft without friends. Clipped of such, Mycroft couldn't very well track down either of the Bretts.

Good reasoning by The Shadow, but it was out. His only policy was to revert to the trailing game.

The Shadow was away from the window, waiting near the door of the garage, ready to take a ride on Cleeve's

bumper if it proved necessary. He was banking on a better way, however, and it came along in the shape of

The moment the coupe poked cautiously around the corner, The Shadow gave signal flashes with a tiny

flashlight, which alternated red and green. He coaxed Harry to the spot he wanted, then boarded the car.

Half a minute later, Cleeve Rayland and his repaired followers came rolling out in their emergency car. They

Looking along the street, they didn't see a taxicab resembling one they had noticed during the last stages of

their ride to the garage. They spied a darkened coupe parked among other cars, but never connected it with

Confident that he and his men were safe, Cleeve Rayland didn't waste much time with roundabout methods.

He did a little zigzagging as a matter of habit, and kept to an easy speed, through policy. But it was plain that

his next destination was to be a place far more important than the garage where he had made the emergency

It was plain both to The Shadow and his agent, Harry Vincent. For they were bearing hard upon the trail,

Harry glued to the wheel, with eyes straight ahead, while his chief, with drawn automatic, was watching from

Crooks weren't going to elude The Shadow. If they guessed that he was after them and tried to outspurt him,

his big gun would drill their vulnerable gas tank and abruptly end their flight. But The Shadow was hoping to

Rather, he hoped that the men ahead would lead him where new rescue would be needed: to the place where

FOUR men formed a serious group in the office where Homer Fengram conducted his financial transactions.

One conference, between Fengram and the attorney, Blaine Kemball, had ended abruptly when the other men

The others were Inspector Joe Cardona and Ferdy Brythe. They had phoned Kemball's apartment and learned

that he was at Fengram's; hence, they had come directly to the financier's mansion. There, Cardona's news of

"Impossible, inspector!" exclaimed Fengram. "Why, Mr. Kemball has just assured me that Miss Brett is in

"Thought she was!" chided Fengram in basso rumble. "You said you talked to her by long distance, only an

Sandra had deceived Kemball, but not in the way the lawyer meant. He thought she had gone to Florida and

Looking at Kemball, Fengram saw that the lawyer was giving him some sort of double talk, and Fengram's

broad face stiffened, even to his double chin. Then Cardona, inadvertently, helped Kemball out of his

"Sandra Brett is here in New York," declared Cardona in a positive tone. "She foresaw some trouble and

asked Ferdy Brythe to look out for her. The trouble hit and Brythe did his best, but it wasn't enough. Four

Cardona gave a sideward look. He remembered that Ferdy had first numbered his assailants as a round dozen.

"Make it six," bargained Joe. Then, to the others: "Anyway, the girl has been kidnapped and we'll have to do

"We?" inquired Kemball, with a despairing shrug. "It seems as though the job is yours, inspector."

"You can help," Cardona told Kemball. "Get back to your apartment and stay there. If Miss Brett was lucky

"They'll strike it tough. I've ordered a squad up to your apartment house. You'll have to identify yourself to

get through. As for you, Mr. Fengram" Cardona swung to the portly financier "you can help, too."

"Stay here," said Joe, "and if Miss Brett calls Kemball, he can tell her to come here. That bunch might try to

head her off if she made for Kemball's, or even tried to get to police headquarters. They won't expect to find

Fengram nodded; meanwhile, Cardona turned to see Kemball lingering at the door. He wanted to know why

"Don't wait, Kemball. We can't discuss the Infralux matter any further until Miss Brett is found. I still want to

"It isn't that," returned Kemball. He looked straight at Cardona. "What I want to know is this: what are you

"That happens to be my business," snapped Joe. "Just the same, I'll tell you. I'm going to find Mycroft, the

Kemball admitted that it did. As soon as the lawyer had gone, Cardona turned to Fengram and said:

"There's just a chance that I might find Mycroft soon. I've been looking for the fellow, and have several leads

to persons answering his description. I've listed about thirty places where he might be, in six different areas."

From his pocket, Joe drew a map, unfolded it and showed the circles that he had marked. "I'm going to start

with this one and try the houses that might have hideaways. That will take about an hour; then I'll visit the

Ferdy tried to rise, but couldn't. He'd found a bottle of rare brandy on Fengram's sideboard and had sampled

the half pint that it contained. Noting the empty bottle, Fengram smiled dourly.

"Let him stay here, inspector. I'll have the servants help him down to the wine cellar, where it's cool and

The sarcasm didn't etch itself on Ferdy. He started thanking Fengram in a maudlin way, and Cardona,

convinced that Ferdy would prove more of a handicap than a help, hurried out to rejoin his squad, while the

FAR different from Fengram's luxurious office was the room where Margo Lane found herself. She had

reached it by a trip up what seemed to be a secret stairway, with a ladder climb at the top.

Dana Mycroft was following her, croaking threats if she didn't hurry, and Margo made a final scramble into

She was startled at sight of a waiting figure that had the blundering look and expressionless scowl of a

Frankenstein monster. The fact that the man was standing in a smelly laboratory, crowded with bottles and

The man's face was a deathly white; his forehead was girded by a bloodsoaked towel. He snarled when he

saw Margo and shoved himself forward, hands extended, as though he planned to seize and throttle her.

The fellow wavered, however, before he had advanced halfway, and Mycroft, crawling up through the closet

floor, pressed between and pushed the gory man into the chair by the shaded window.

"This is Tilroy," croaked Mycroft. "His condition represents the folly of blind obedience to a misguided

master. He is Rayland's servant, not mine. His duty was to keep me here while Rayland captured you, Miss

"You see how badly Rayland miscalculated. I reversed both situations. I kept Tilroy here, and I trapped you.

Now, let us see, Miss Brett: where were we? Ah, yes. We were discussing my invention, Infralux. Let me

He fumbled among the boxes. Margo noticed that he was very careful with one, as he laid it in the corner.

Coming to another, he brought out a fairsized electric bulb, then a large flashlight. He screwed the bulb into

"More than could be expected from flashlight batteries," declared Mycroft. "Still, it is not enough. I admit

that it had to be developed. But did you ever hear what they said of Edison's first incandescent? No? They

"It was improved, of course, and Edison shared both credit and cash. That is what I ask with Infralux. Your

father developed it more rapidly than I could have. I can show you some of his later lamps." He looked about,

"However, Brett denied me my share!" Mycroft's eyes took on a crazed glare. "He became stubborn; heedless

of my warnings. It preyed upon him, though he would not admit it. Trouble with government contracts

worried his guilty conscience. He reached the point where he could think of only one recourse: suicide!"

It wasn't easy, playing Sandra's part at this point. Though Margo knew some of the facts regarding Brett, she

wondered two things: first, how much Sandra really knew; second, what Mycroft expected Sandra to know.

Mycroft eyed her closely. Margo could almost feel his probing glare, as he stooped to get a better view of her

face. Passing seconds brought Margo to the breaking point; but she was suddenly saved when the telephone

Tilroy tried to come from his chair to answer it, but Mycroft pressed him back. Still watching Margo, the

He wasn't getting an answer from the other end. His eyes moved from Margo to the telephone and back

again, as though suspecting her of trying some trick. Then, angrily, Mycroft slapped the receiver on the hook

"What happened to your father was entirely his own making," Mycroft insisted. "What may happen to you

"Homer Fengram wants to purchase Infralux," explained Mycroft, "and he knows nothing whatever of this

business. Simply call your attorney and have him draw up the proper papers. When they are signed and

"I hardly think so," objected Mycroft. "I am sure that Kemball can manage it. Perhaps your father authorized

him to handle such transactions. Who knows he might be able to produce contracts bearing the signature of

Pausing, Mycroft rubbed his hands, then added: "Your father always had a way of looking far ahead."

MYCROFT was definitely trying to get Margo to commit herself, yet avoiding any direct mention of the fact

that Brett still lived. Margo decided that Mycroft had concluded that Sandra would yield that fact herself,

As Sandra's proxy, Margo thought it best to disappoint him. She knew, from The Shadow's statements, that

"There were certain things my father expected," declared Margo. "Just what they were, I am not quite sure. If

Margo went no further. At that moment, the door of the laboratory opened and a man appeared. His face was

sallow, sharply pointed, yet glossy. Margo didn't have to ask who he was. Cleeve Rayland had returned.

His stare was evidence that he didn't know who Margo was; but that wasn't much help. He would certainly

Margo wasn't all that puzzled Cleeve. He saw the revolver in Mycroft's hand, the bandage around Tilroy's

head. He stepped to the center of the improvised laboratory, and other men poked their faces through the

"What sort of mockery is this?" demanded Cleeve. "How did the dame get in here, and what happened to

Tilroy? Why did you drag out the old horse pistol, Mycroft? Who's going to hurt you?"

Mycroft became gleeful. He looked to the doorway, saw the bandages that Cleeve's men wore; then gestured

"Look at them!" he exclaimed. "Then talk about me getting hurt! I can explain Tilroy's case. He became

obstinate and tried to keep me here. Did your men try to keep you somewhere, Rayland?"

"As it turned out," retorted Mycroft, "you did! I was the one who captured Sandra Brett."

"Allow me to introduce you," said Mycroft, gesturing to Margo. "Mr. Rayland, meet Miss Brett."

The hush that fell was one that Margo hoped she would never experience again. Cleeve's eyes left Mycroft

and focused upon Margo, with an appraisal that made her squirm. Then came Cleeve's emphatic tone:

Those words were icy. They sounded like a death sentence, that could only be stayed if Cleeve Rayland

decided to play a higher tribunal and reverse his verdict. He was probably wondering how much Margo

knew, or had learned. If that didn't prove too much, he might let Margo live, on the strength of other merits.

"Croaking dames is foolish business," asserted Cleeve, his hand stopping on the gun in his coat pocket. "I'm

against it, provided they listen to what's good for them. This one doesn't look half bad. She might listen,

"Unless," said Cleeve, "she's working for The Shadow. Where did you find her, Mycroft?"

"About a block from where the shooting happened," began the inventor. "That's why I thought she was

Cleeve's sudden glower was telling that the death sentence stood. So was his hand, as it swung from his

BY then, Margo was no longer petrified. The moment that Cleeve telegraphed his purpose, she made a spring

Her direction took Cleeve unawares. He didn't know that Mycroft had brought Margo in by the back route.

What was more, Cleeve didn't want to start a lot of shooting in the hideout. His gun hand was swinging

above the level of a normal aim as he sprang forward. He intended to slug Margo with it.

Mycroft provided Margo with a momentary break. His thoughts had taken the same channel as Rayland's,

The inventor preferred gunfire as a quicker way of death. He didn't care about noise or its consequences. He

wanted to get in the first shot, with his antiquated revolver. He sprang, too, and jostled Cleeve aside.

It was all like a wild dream to Margo. She grabbed for the closet door and it came flying open, though she

didn't seem to touch it. She saw the blackness representing the short shaft to the stairway, plunged for it

Crazily, the matter of the door was repeated. Margo was jolted as she began her dive, not as she finished it.

She heard the blast of Mycroft's gun, and a clank as Cleeve smacked the other weapon with his own to

Wildest of all was the laugh that accompanied the wide shot. Certainly, it was the largest figment of Margo's

imagination, probably because it was the thing she had hoped for so ardently: the laugh of The Shadow,

It couldn't be real, but it proved so, and as Margo gazed from the corner where she had somersaulted, the

whole truth drove home. She hadn't grabbed the closet door. Someone had hurled it wide from the other side.

Margo's spill wasn't a bounce. She had been flung by that same living mass of blackness that was turning

Trails were closed. Into this den of death had come the master who sought the end of crime. His arrival was

from the very route that crooks had reserved for exit, should they be hard pressed. The pressure was hard, at

He was here, the challenger who asked no quarter from murderers, and offered none.

THINGS happened in a whirling fashion that Margo could scarcely grasp. She felt as Ferdy must have when

the earlier fight had spun around him, except that Margo was sensible enough to stay right where she was.

The impacts that she witnessed explained themselves, but only after they occurred.

The blast of a gun, the clang of metal, came in quick succession. Margo thought for the moment that Mycroft

had fired again; that Rayland had tried to stop him. But the smoke that she was seeing was coiling from The

Rayland was reeling, his own weapon drooping, and Mycroft was gunless, clutching one scrawny hand with

The Shadow had taken Rayland first, beating the fellow to the shot. It was The Shadow's .45, guided as it

recoiled, that thwacked the oldstyle sixgun from Mycroft's fist. The thoughts flashed to Margo rapidly,

Smoke that remained where The Shadow no longer was. The smoke was white; his garb was black. No

Gone, The Shadow was, from between the staggering form of Cleeve and the huddled figure of Mycroft.

Gone from under the startled eyes of Cleeve's men, as they surged in from the doorway.

They'd blundered against one another, all trying to be first, because each thought that Cleeve was softening

The Shadow with a preliminary shot. They were doubly wrong; it was Cleeve who took the first bullet from

The Shadow. The entering men were forced to dodge him as he reeled their way, another point that assisted

The Shadow was around them, surging in from a new angle. He was wielding two guns, but he wasn't aiming

them. They were being used as cudgels, for he knew that a silent, slugging attack would enable him to hew

It wasn't in this room; it was distant; muffled, and repeated. With it, she was sure she heard a splintering

sound, as of someone ripping through a door. Odd, the way those sounds mixed in with other things closer at

One such thing was the hoarse shout from beside the window. It was Tilroy who gave it, as he saw The

Shadow piling upon his pals. Tilroy was tugging for a gun, but his hand was stuck in his pocket.

He was still the blundering monster, which, in a sense Mycroft had created. Tilroy couldn't quite forget the

The Shadow was in among Cleeve's men, but they were turned about. Three in all, they were grabbing for the

blackclad fighter, stopping his downsweeping guns. One .45 crashed through and flattened a foeman; then,

with Tilroy plunging straight into things, his gun finally drawn and poked ahead of him, The Shadow made a

Margo saw Tilroy's gun stab into blackness three times in succession. She saw the collapse that followed. The

Rather, it wasn't The Shadow who clattered; the things that fell were boxes from the other corner. The

Shadow was away when Tilroy started shooting; like Margo, the fellow had supposed that he still was there.

This time, the very men that Tilroy had warned were the ones who were shouting the location of the menace.

They saw The Shadow twisting in Margo's direction, and they sprang after him. The scene was blotted in

front of Margo's eyes; the blackness that clouded it was the whirl of The Shadow's cloak.

She heard two gunshots and the blackness swished away. She saw the crooks, and feared that they had won.

But their guns weren't smoking; they were sagging. Two shots had found them before they could even fire.

Yet only one of those shots could have been The Shadow's, for he had cloaked a gun and was aiming a single

automatic when Margo spied him again. The curious thing was the fact that the other gun that Margo saw was

in the hand of Cleeve Rayland. He certainly couldn't have been fool enough to aid The Shadow by dropping

Before he could fire, the two guns spoke anew, and Cleeve's wasn't either one of them. One shot hit Cleeve's

wrist and made him drop the weapon that he had obtained: Mycroft's ancient revolver. The other shot must

have skimmed Cleeve's shoulder, from the grotesque shrug he gave as he slipped to the floor.

Harry Vincent was standing in the doorway from the living room. The Shadow had sent him in by the front

way. Those muffled shots, the splintering accompaniment, were Harry's way of dealing with the door of the

WITH the rest crippled in the rapid fray, The Shadow and Harry were confronted by two foemen only:

Mycroft and Tilroy. Confronted was hardly the term, considering that Mycroft was ducking for a deep corner

But when The Shadow drove in Mycroft's direction, Tilroy lunged between. Harry aimed for the fellow, but

Taking Tilroy, The Shadow sent him hard against the closet door, knocking it shut. Losing his gun on the

way, Tilroy clutched his bandaged head to save it from another thump. His shoulder took the jolt from the

An unnatural alliance, Mycroft and Tilroy, considering the feud between them, and it produced unnatural

He snatched the object from the box that Margo had seen him handle so carefully awhile before. Almost

under the muzzle of The Shadow's gun, the inventor turned and brandished the thing he held.

"Take care!" cackled Mycroft. "If I even drop this bomb, it will be the end of us all!"

It looked as though Mycroft couldn't help but drop it. The bomb was the size and shape of a baseball,

possibly a trifle larger, and its surface had a slippery appearance. The inventor's hand showed a palsied shake,

the result of his excitement, and his scrawny fingers did not provide a satisfactory grip.

From the floor, Cleeve Rayland and two wounded men were howling for Mycroft not to toss the bomb. Their

babble awakened the stunned man who had taken a hard blow from The Shadow's gun.

Tilroy, too, stared horrified from the spot where he had landed. Shouts wouldn't have stopped Mycroft's toss.

Strangely sardonic, the laugh intrigued Mycroft. It carried an indifferent tone, as though The Shadow

welcomed any adventure and would consider death a novelty. The mirth had a touch of mockery, indicating

that Mycroft's effort would surely fail. The inventor caught that note and wondered at it.

"Toss the bomb, Mycroft," spoke The Shadow in a tone of command. "Learn for yourself that it is nothing

Mycroft's fingers gained a better grip. He knew that The Shadow's statement was a bluff; therefore, he

wanted to enjoy the situation longer. What was more, The Shadow had spoken an order, and Mycroft wasn't

in a mood for taking any. There was something else that entered the inventor's halfcrazed mind. He

"So, Shadow," he said, "you are not afraid to die. You and I are alike, upon that one score. After all, why

"An excellent question," The Shadow replied. "Perhaps you can provide the answer, Mycroft."

The inventor made a wary forward pace. Staring past The Shadow, he noted the open door to the living room

"Close the door, Vincent," The Shadow told Harry. "I am sure we shall all appreciate what Mycroft has to tell

Margo watched Harry close the door. There was a moment when he could have slid through. Perhaps, from

the living room, Harry could have threatened Mycroft, giving The Shadow and Margo a longshot chance to

Of a certainty, the move would have preserved Harry's own life. But Harry was the type who preferred to

take the long shots himself. Margo's eyes lighted with admiration as Harry coolly blocked off his own escape

With a chuckle, Mycroft condescended to discuss his theories on death. Hardly had he started to speak, when

Mycroft didn't answer it; his glare, the way he gestured the bomb, warned others to pay no attention to the

"Those who do not fear death, prepare for it," stated Mycroft. "Everywhere I go, I prepare. I made this bomb

when I first came here. I had it with me when I visited Brett. I could have used it that day" Mycroft's eyes

lighted at the recollection "but I restrained myself. Wisely, too. This bomb proved unnecessary."

Mycroft's cackle was expressive. The Shadow's keen eyes probed the inventor's face, interpreting what lay in

the mind behind it. The telephone stopped ringing, and from the floor, Cleeve Rayland groaned.

His wounds were serious, painful; but his tone told something else. It told that Cleeve feared death.

"Bah!" exclaimed Mycroft in disgust. "Why should I do favors for those who do not welcome them? Like

you, Shadow, I am ready to die. So is that friend of yours by the door. But these others "

MYCROFT shook his head. With a half turn toward the corner, he actually appeared ready to put the bomb

back into the box and surrender to The Shadow. Suddenly, he was around again, more rabid than ever, his

"You thought I meant it, Shadow!" he exulted. "You thought I was going to let you live! Fool that you are, I

shall show you what I intend!" He shifted toward the closet door. "I shall toss this bomb one direction, and

"Wrong, Mycroft!" The Shadow's gun muzzle fixed on the inventor's heart. "Another step, and I shall fire!

You still desire life; long enough to know that I have died. You can't gain the triumph that you want. A bullet

Mycroft calculated, craftily, but remained stockstill as he did so. Watching, Margo saw that The Shadow

was inching forward, but he wasn't nearly close enough to snatch the bomb away from Mycroft.

"Throw the bomb," urged The Shadow. "Be the first to die. Unless you would rather watch a while and see

A groan came from Cleeve, and the other thugs echoed it, with one exception. It was then that both Margo

and Harry saw the factor upon which The Shadow depended. There was one man in the crooked aggregation

He'd sided with Mycroft a short while before, and now regretted it. Tilroy was on hands and knees, almost

behind Mycroft. Coming slowly up, he was steadying himself to reach both hands for the bomb.

Tilroy's expression showed that if he obtained the deadly globe, he certainly wouldn't throw it. He'd prefer to

surrender, on the chance that he, only a minor hand in crime, would find amnesty from The Shadow.

Looking The Shadow's way, Tilroy saw an approving glint from burning eyes. It was enough. On his feet,

Too tense to notice anything else, Harry Vincent did not hear the footsteps that approached guardedly outside

the livingroom door. If they had paused a few seconds longer, Tilroy would have held the bomb and The

Shoulders hit the door from the other side. It hurled inward, flattening Harry ahead of it. On the threshold

stood Inspector Joe Cardona, a detective sergeant with him, and other men behind. Both Cardona and the

Dana Mycroft galvanized into action. His laugh pitched high, and so did his scrawny hand. His quick side

step carried him away from Tilroy, whose frantic grab missed the bomb by a foot.

The Shadow was flinging forward, shoving his own hand at Mycroft's. His effort to seize the deadly missile

The man who wanted to deliver death was sending it on its way despite The Shadow's utmost effort.

Mycroft threw the bomb. The question of life or death was no longer in his hand nor in The Shadow's!

HORRENDOUS was that moment, with every detail registered like a scene from a slowmotion picture.

From her corner, Margo saw those details vividly. Mycroft's hand and its forward fling, with fingers opening

Amazing speed, on The Shadow's part, but it had failed a few inches from its mark. The bomb was in the air,

and Mycroft's effort was complete. True, his hand had twisted and taken a jolt, as he made the throw. Odd,

the way the bomb had squeezed from those fingers that looked so much like claws.

A freak of chance or had The Shadow managed it, as the only possibility within his reach?

The thing itself was more important than the answer. The bomb wasn't coming with a hard, straight throw. It

was scaling, flipped high, almost grazing the ceiling. It was dropping into Margo's corner.

Half on her feet, Margo flattened against the wall. She could hear Harry shouting, like some baseball fan to a

Margo caught it, wondering whether the jar against her soft hands would explode it, yet not caring, since

death seemed destined. It didn't explode; it was still in her hands, and she was juggling it.

Despairingly, she knew that she had to hold it and did so, more than momentarily. But, as the importance of

her catch came home to her, she clutched the slippery sphere too tightly and it started to slither away.

Two other pairs of hands were upon Margo's before she could lose her prize. The Shadow's from one side,

Harry's from the other. They took it and almost juggled it between them. Then The Shadow had the thing

With a whip of his free hand, he brought an automatic from beneath his cloak, gave a slash that ripped the

Guns were talking through the room, but The Shadow totally ignored them. He gave the bomb the easiest of

The Shadow wheeled about, gun in hand. But the blast that came wasn't from his automatic. It sounded from

the little courtyard between this house and the next, a roar that shook the building, sending men from their

There were crashes of a dozen other windows; the smash of falling masonry. No doubt about the power of

The shooting was a duel between the invading police and the crooks who were crawling on the floor. During

the excitement of Margo's catch and The Shadow's disposal of the bomb, Cleeve Rayland had shouted for his

Their guns were near; they hadn't dared to reach for them during the tense time when The Shadow and

Mycroft had been holding each other at bay. They regained their guns, Cleeve and his men, but did no

Cardona and his squad outshot the opposition from the very start, which wasn't startling, considering that the

police were ready with drawn guns, while crooks were grabbing for theirs. Besides, Joe and his men weren't

For all they knew, Mycroft and Margo were simply playing catch, with The Shadow as an umpire. The gun

duel was practically over when the quake of the explosion staggered all contestants. Cardona and his men

Though belated in their fire, men of crime were too earnest to be treated leniently. They were literally riddled

by police bullets, fired at close range. Even Tilroy had succumbed to the barrage, for he had switched sides

The Shadow by the window, Harry and Margo in a corner, were clear from the path of fire and so was

Dana Mycroft hadn't even thought of picking up his old horse pistol after Cleeve Rayland dropped it.

SEEING his bomb caught was a shock to Mycroft. Watching it sail out through the window was an added

disappointment. Given life when he had made up his mind to death, the scrawny inventor decided to hang on

to what he had. Alive, he wanted to be at large; so he took the route that promised freedom.

Cardona saw him go, and looked again. Joe thought The Shadow had the copyright on such strange

disappearances. But Mycroft's vanish wasn't any mystery, when Cardona reached the closet and found that it

Shouting for his men to follow, the inspector used the ladder as a more sensible means of descent. Indeed,

judging from the ardor of Mycroft's plunge, Cardona thought surely that the fanatic had broken his neck

When Joe reached bottom, only a dozen rungs below, he decided to speed his pursuit. His flashlight showed a

stairway, and Mycroft's footsteps were clattering back from some distance farther down. Unhurt, the inventor

To a man, the members of Cardona's squad followed their leader. They were only five in all, and they might

have to scatter to round up Mycroft. With crooks dead, there was no use remaining in the laboratory.

The police should have wondered why The Shadow did not follow them to aid in this important chase, but

He couldn't have reached the rear street ahead of the police, for they had found the direct exit and were

blocking it in their rush. Either they would capture Mycroft before The Shadow could aid, or the pursuit

Mycroft happened to be Cardona's quarry, half a reason for The Shadow to leave the chase to the police

inspector. The other half of that reason was lying on the floor, in the person of Cleeve Rayland, the man

Of all the men who might have talked, Cleeve alone remained. He'd taken more bullets than the rest, but his

stamina was stronger. Curious, how men who feared to die could forget their dread when they thought they

Why they should want to kill at all, was a riddle in itself, but they did. Rats who quailed at sight of Mycroft's

bomb had cast aside discretion in their battle with the police. The odds had been against them, but they hadn't

He was dying, too, and his eyes were seeing darkness. But Cleeve knew that the blotting blackness, looming

close to him, was the figure of The Shadow. Though he could tell more than his dead companions could have,

Cleeve was, in the same proportion, determined to conceal the facts at his disposal.

Urged by desire for defiance, Cleeve was half on his feet, glazed eyes fixed on The Shadow, lips inserting

"Finding Mycroft will be unnecessary," The Shadow told Cleeve. "You still have time to speak, and you

That whisper, the burn of the eyes above The Shadows hidden lips, took strong effect on Cleeve. In his dying

condition, Cleeve's only logical fear was of death itself; but the force of The Shadow's utterance threw

Cleeve's reason out of gear. The Shadow's laugh had a haunting echo, as though it promised to follow Cleeve

Sagging against the table which supported him, the faltering blackmailer opened his mouth to speak. He acted

as though he knew the question that was coming, and was ready to answer it. Then Cleeve's dilemma was

Margo remembered it during the time when she had been on her own, playing the hoax that she was Sandra

To Harry's mind sprang the recollection of the unanswered call that had come while Mycroft was threatening

Whatever the meaning of that call, The Shadow seemed to understand it. His laugh was weirdly significant as

Cleeve Rayland was nearer, and he snapped to surprising action. His twist was convulsive; aided by the

direction in which he leaned, the dying crook slapped his hands upon the telephone and whipped it from The

He was falling as he forced out the words, which was why The Shadow couldn't quite snatch the telephone.

As Cleeve struck the floor, his failing hands were too wabbly to replace the receiver on the hook, and The

But before The Shadow could even get the receiver to his ear, there was a click from the other end. Harry and

From the floor, Cleeve spoke again, his fingers plucking space as though still feeling the telephone.

It wasn't good luck for Cleeve Rayland. Those words were his last. The blackmailer was dead when The

"Mycroft must have given Cardona the slip," said Harry. "He'd be just nervy enough to call back and see how

"Too nervy, perhaps," returned Margo. "Let's hope that they trapped him, wherever he stopped off."

The Shadow was beckoning to his agents. They went out by the ladder route, and found Harry's car.

There were no sounds of police cars; evidently, the trail had led afar. Margo was describing Mycroft's

rattletrap coupe, and Harry circled about, hoping to spy it somewhere, but there wasn't any sign of it. Mycroft

Meanwhile, The Shadow was questioning Margo regarding her adventures, and she related them in minute

detail. She was pleased to hear that Sandra was quite safe. The Shadow explained that he had sent Sandra to

It would be all right for Margo to tell Sandra about the other events such as Margo's own capture. It would

Margo could say, too, that she had seen The Shadow, and therewith advise Sandra to follow any advice he

gave. Perhaps he would advise both girls to rely upon a friend named Lamont Cranston, if occasion called.

The Shadow made that statement as he was stepping from the coupe. Both Harry and Margo heard his

whispered laugh; saw him merge with darkness. It wasn't until they rounded the next corner that Harry

Very probably, The Shadow intended to drop in on his friend, Commissioner Weston. That, however, was

The Shadow's business. Harry's job was to take Margo back to her apartment; so he did.

IN the Cobalt Club, Commissioner Weston was quite pleased when his friend Cranston arrived. Weston had a

The Brett case was in the news again, for the dead man's daughter had disappeared. The police had found the

man who had abducted her: Dana Mycroft. But the vindictive inventor had slipped them.

"We don't know where Mycroft went," declared Weston ruefully. "Apparently, he has hideaways all over

town. A batch of crooks were working with him, led by a blackmailer named Cleeve Rayland. We trapped

"No, Cranston, she wasn't," replied Weston. "They must have left her somewhere else, and returned to join

"Not unusual," said Cranston, with a smile. "The Shadow finding criminals, I mean. But how did Cardona

"He had a lead to Mycroft," Weston explained. "He was searching that particular neighborhood, when he

heard the sound of guns, and investigated. Unfortunately, Mycroft escaped. I tell you, Cranston, we must find

Mycroft. Wherever he has gone, we may be sure that the Brett girl is a prisoner in the same place."

Strolling from the club, Cranston summoned a limousine from across the street. In that car, only ten minutes

before, he had stowed away the black cloak and hat that concealed his identity under the guise of The

But the leisurely Mr. Cranston did not resume his sablehued garb. Instead, he told the chauffeur to drive him

No need to worry over the abduction of Sandra Brett. A person who went somewhere voluntarily could not be

classed as abducted. The Shadow knew exactly where he could find Sandra, any time he wanted. She would

The person that The Shadow wanted to find was Dana Mycroft, the man who had lived after others died.

Easier, by far, to let Mycroft declare himself, which he would, in one way or another, very soon. For Mycroft,

wherever he was hiding, would certainly keep tabs on the news. He would learn, to his utter amazement, that

he had really kidnapped Sandra Brett a fact that would puzzle the halfcrazed inventor to no small

Knowing that Margo wasn't Sandra, Mycroft's confusion would be all the greater, matched only by his

indignation. He'd feel that a move would be necessary, and almost any move that Mycroft might make would

Once Mycroft moved, The Shadow would find him. With Mycroft found, the Brett case would be cleared.

LATE the next afternoon, Lamont Cranston stopped in to see Homer Fengram. He did so in response to a call

Fengram wanted Cranston to meet Kemball, the attorney who represented Sandra Brett, the missing girl

As he was entering Fengram's massive mansion, Cranston observed that he was going to meet more people

than Kemball. Parked on the street outside was an official police car belonging to Commissioner Weston. The

Shadow was quite sure that Inspector Cardona would also be present, and the surmise proved correct.

They were all in Fengram's office, but their subject did not concern Infralux. Weston was seeking advice

"Surely, you can help us find Mycroft!" exclaimed the commissioner. "You both know the fellow."

"I know of him," said Fengram, "but I have never met him. His business was with Brett, not with me.

"I am in the same position," put in Kemball. "Where he could be, I have no idea. I only wish I did have."

Of the two, Fengram was more himself, and with good reason. He wasn't under the same handicap as

Kemball. He hadn't met the real Brett, alive and in right mind, after the tragedy which had disposed of the

To Weston and Cardona, Kemball's nervousness was natural. Any lawyer would be worried, losing clients

one by one. But The Shadow, very casual in his guise of Cranston, knew exactly why Kemball was troubled.

Finding that neither Fengram nor Kemball could help, Weston turned abruptly to Cardona.

"It's up to you, inspector," declared Weston. "You found Mycroft once, by following what clues you had.

Maybe some of those other leads will help you trace his new hiding place. Go after them."

Cardona gave a halfhearted nod. He wasn't at all sure that his other leads would help. Weston was

It wasn't Cardona who had found Mycroft the night before; it was The Shadow. Except for the betraying

Naturally, Cardona hadn't emphasized that point to the commissioner. Joe had to take credit for something, to

discount his shortcomings in letting Mycroft escape. But he wasn't very enthusiastic over future prospects, for

"While I'm hunting for Mycroft," he said, turning from Weston to the others, "I'd like you to keep us posted,

"Nothing came my way last night," returned Kemball. "I sat around hoping to hear from Sandra, and not a

thing happened. How I'm to hear from her when she is a prisoner, is something I don't understand."

"You might hear from Mycroft," stated Cardona. "Kidnapers usually try to collect a ransom, and you're the

WESTON was still nodding approvingly when he left with Cardona. Idling about as Cranston, The Shadow

observed that Fengram was also deeply impressed by Cardona's opinion. Looking at Kemball, Fengram

"I'll offer to meet his demands," said Kemball glumly. "I suppose there is no other way."

"His demands will involve a quarter of a million dollars. Can you convince him that you can pay it?"

"Not unless I can assure him that the Infralux deal is closed. But that won't be possible, unless I have the

The Shadow noted that Kemball didn't specify who would sign the papers. Fengram, naturally, overlooked

"I want Infralux," he declared decisively. "But I cannot deal with Mycroft. It would be illegal. However,

Kemball, you may keep me in mind, whatever happens. If you need a quarter million, I shall provide it, on

"Should you be," returned Fengram, "my offer stands. The best I can do is leave it that way, Kemball."

When Kemball had gone, Fengram returned to the subject of Infralux. He picked up the lamp on his table,

"A wonderful thing, Cranston!" said Fengram. "I wish I could afford to develop it, should I acquire it. A

quarter million is the most I can afford, at present. Of course, I would expect a substantial interest in Infralux

"Your factories are booming, Fengram," he remarked. "Why not use their profits to further Infralux

Fengram shook his head. He drew a batch of blueprints from a desk drawer and spread them for Cranston to

"These are enlargements of my factories," he explained. "They will cost as much as I can afford; perhaps

"You are behind the times, Cranston," he said. "In the old days, when a man made heavy profits, he kept

them. Such does not apply today, where government projects are concerned. I have made my profits, of

"The money is in trust. It belongs to the government, in return for the privileges granted me. It must go into

new plants and new equipment, as part of the agreement. Let me simplify the matter, Cranston, by showing

Fengram reached to another drawer; then hesitated. "You will keep these confidential? I have your word for

The Shadow nodded. Fengram produced a financial report and handed it across the desk. He watched

"According to these," came Cranston's conclusion, "your present available assets, reckoned in cash, total a

"Precisely," declared Fengram. "You will note that the sum is divided in two shares."

"One share already pledged to plant expansion," he said, referring to the figures. "The other, available for

"Which means the purchase of Infralux," declared Fengram, "if my offer is accepted. It would be taken up

immediately if negotiations had not struck these hopeless snags. First, Brett's suicide; then his daughter's

Fengram settled himself back in his chair. "Yes, wait, the same as you and others to whom I may offer stock

in Infralux, when I acquire it " He stopped on the final word; shook his head in doubtful fashion, and added:

LEAVING Fengram's, The Shadow went to Margo's apartment. He announced his name, and was admitted.

Though Margo was quite at ease, Sandra looked worried when she was introduced. It was a moment for

Cranston to feign surprise, and he did, turning to Margo with a most amazed glance.

"Stay right in that stuffed shirt of yours, Lamont," said Margo. "Don't grab the telephone and call your

playmate, the police commissioner. This is Sandra Brett, in person! Nobody kidnapped her, so you aren't

"Margo is right, Mr. Cranston," declared Sandra. "I'm only pretending that I've been abduced."

"Abducted, darling," corrected Margo. "Let me give the harrowing details. If Lamont doesn't believe me, you

can back my statements. He'll believe me, though, considering how consistently I believe everything he tells

Cranston believed the whole story when he heard it. Margo had to insist, however, that The Shadow was

really as remarkable a person as she claimed. Cranston was inclined to think that she exaggerated the prowess

There, Sandra rallied to Margo's support. According to Sandra, Margo had not told half how wonderful The

"I believe you, Miss Brett," acknowledged Cranston, with a bow. "I only hope that you may some day

"I might," assured Sandra, "if you could tell us what to do next. It seems that The Shadow is busy hunting for

Mycroft. He asked if Margo had a friend whose advice she could trust, and she said yes. It happened that she

It didn't look as though Cranston could supply advice, when he first began to ponder on the question. By

"Your father is still alive," he said to Sandra. "At least, we have that for a starting point."

"Alive, yes," agreed Sandra, "but no one is supposed to know it. Everyone thinks he's dead, just as everyone

"Everyone except ourselves and Mycroft. One moment, though. Blaine Kemball knows that father is alive.

Still in the style of Cranston, The Shadow smiled his decision. As he did, he arose and turned toward the

"We have an appointment," he said, "with a gentleman who does not know it. I refer to Blaine Kemball.

The idea rather flustered Sandra. She turned to Margo and received a nod from the other girl. Outvoted two to

Muffled in a short fur coat from Margo's wardrobe, Sandra accompanied her friends downstairs and entered

They were nearing Kemball's apartment house when Sandra expressed her final doubt.

"Remember, Mr. Cranston," she said. "I'm going to see Kemball on your advice. But if it doesn't work out "

The calm tone reassured Sandra, though she didn't realize why. She would have understood, had she known

that Cranston's advice came straight from a mysterious personage who called himself The Shadow!

THERE were police outside Kemball's apartment house when the limousine arrived there, but Cranston

handled them in his inimitable style. Alighting first, he introduced himself and asked if his friend, the police

Mention of Weston's name was enough to keep the hearers occupied. During the interim, Margo entered the

Brett had already amazed Kemball by returning from the dead. Seeing Sandra with the visitors who entered

his apartment, the attorney was flabbergasted anew. Still, this surprise entry of a kidnap victim could be

explained more readily than the previous marvel. Kemball took it with his chin in hand, his elbow on the desk

They told him, and Kemball, like Cranston, believed all the details except those that concerned The Shadow.

Cranston assured him that though Margo and Sandra exaggerated the prowess of their blackclad friend, the

story was reasonable. He recalled that Inspector Cardona had met The Shadow, too.

"You are my client, Miss Brett," he said to Sandra. "Your wishes will be kept confidential. However, you will

Puzzled, Sandra tuned to Cranston. She hoped he could suggest the next step, and he did.

"We want to know where Giles Brett is at present," said Cranston. "Perhaps you can tell us, Kemball."

"I wish I could," declared Kemball. "But I haven't an idea. Sandra remembers what his plan was. He intended

to play dead, completely so, until he could expose the blackmail plot in its entirety."

"Yes, though he didn't tell Sandra. He was afraid she would come back and look for Rayland.

"I did come back," she said, "and I let Rayland find me. I knew that someone would be looking for me, even

Cranston brought the subject back to its origin. He asked if Kemball expected to hear from Brett.

"Sooner or later," said Kemball. "He will certainly communicate with me, if he can't find Mycroft. I would

"I think sooner," interposed Cranston. "The newspapers are filled with accounts of Sandra's disappearance."

"Of course!" exclaimed Kemball. "I hadn't taken that into calculation. Yes, I should hear from Brett shortly,

"You will tell him nothing," inserted Cranston. "You will merely insist upon knowing where you can reach

Kemball's expression showed that he was baffled. Cranston explained that Brett might have already made

some progress in his search for Mycroft; that to hinder it would be a mistake. Certainly, Brett would be all the

"Mycroft is still dangerous," Cranston declared. "You can't afford to put Brett's life in jeopardy, Kemball.

There is also the little matter of his vindication, before he can officially return to life."

Kemball nodded his acknowledgment to those points, but Cranston's next proposition rather floored him.

"And now," said Cranston, with a gesture to the telephone, "call Fengram and invite him over here. We are

WHATEVER his reasons for bringing Fengram into the conference, The Shadow wouldn't give them unless

Kemball finally left it up to Sandra, since she was his client, and she stated that she would be guided by

Cranston's decisions. Of course, Sandra was really thinking back to her meeting with The Shadow, the night

before, remembering that he had advised her to cooperate with any friend that Margo might introduce.

Within twenty minutes, the financier arrived. He'd never met Sandra, but he had seen her photographs and

thought he recognized her. Quizzically, he turned from Cranston to Kemball and saw both nod.

"Yes, this is Sandra Brett," declared Kemball. "She wasn't kidnapped after all."

"What excellent news!" Fengram exclaimed. "We must inform the police commissioner at once."

"One moment, Fengram," put in Cranston quietly. "Commissioner Weston is a friend of mine. I like to do

favors for my friends without them knowing it. The best turn I could do Weston, at this moment, is to conceal

"On the contrary, it will further it. The police expect to hear from Dana Mycroft, don't they?"

"Of course," replied Fengram. "They expect that he will call Kemball and demand a ransom "

"A ransom for whom?" queried Cranston. "Not for Sandra, because Mycroft did not kidnap her. As matters

stand, the only way to make Mycroft declare himself is to keep him believing that he is wanted for a crime he

did not commit. He will try to clear himself on that score, to relieve the intensity of the hunt now in progress

It was sound sense. Fengram asked whether Cranston thought that Mycroft would call Kemball, or

communicate with the police directly. Cranston dismissed the question as being impossible to decide when a

He was certain about Brett, however. Brett would surely call Kemball. Fengram began to nod, saying that a

man would naturally call his own lawyer; then, suddenly, Fengram's broad face went blank.

Among them, the others explained that Brett was still alive, and Fengram's face went blanker and blanker.

The business of a double named Doban, the fingerprints which Sandra said The Shadow had mentioned, all

At last, Fengram sank heavily in his chair, convinced. Then, in a really puzzled tone, he queried:

"He will be worried about Sandra, of course," said Cranston, "so Kemball will let him think that she is still

missing. Naturally, Brett will state where he can be reached, and will wait there. Kemball will inform us,

"The fact that such men as ourselves believe his story about Doban's death, will restore much of the

confidence that Brett has lost. If he is willing to let us help him, we can relieve his worries about Sandra.

SHE was to change that opinion, very promptly. There was a rap at the door, delivered by Kemball's servant.

Approaching the door, Kemball asked the reason for the summons. When he heard it, he turned with a

"Inspector Cardona is here," he said. "I should have known that he would arrive. He wants to be right on

"It's probably my fault," vouchsafed Cranston. "I told the police downstairs that I expected the commissioner,

"I can't stay here!" she exclaimed. "But where shall I go? I'll want to know as soon as we hear from Dad."

"You and Margo can go with Mr. Fengram," decided Cranston. "As soon as Mr. Kemball hears from your

father, he will call there. As for myself" Cranston turned to Kemball "you can call me at the Cobalt Club.

I shall be in and out, so if I'm not there, simply leave word for me to call you back."

There was another detail to be handled that of leaving without meeting Cardona. Cranston covered that,

very simply. He went out first and found Cardona in the living room, with the two anxiousfaced cops

standing at the door. He beckoned them all into Kemball's kitchen, and gave them some confidential facts.

"I think the commissioner is planning a checkup," said Cranston. "A surprise visit to make sure that you're

on your toes. He'll want to know who has been in and out. You can tell him, of course, that both Fengram and

"Tell him that we were negotiating for Infralux, that new light that Brett developed. With Brett dead, and his

daughter kidnapped, Kemball is the only person who can sell the invention. Tell the commissioner that's the

The cops were very appreciative, but Cardona gave a worried glance toward the window as he heard a car

outside. He reached the window, but couldn't see the street because a corner of the building intervened.

"It's only Fengram's car leaving," stated Cranston. He didn't add that the car was taking Sandra, too, as one of

its extra passengers. "By the way, inspector, there's something I'd like to discuss with you."

"Why, what about last night?" Cranston's tone carried surprise. "Didn't you put your hand right in the hat and

come out with a rabbit? I mean the way you found that hideaway where Mycroft and those blackmailers

"The Shadow found it," returned Cardona. "Between you and me, Mr. Cranston, I'd have gone right by it."

Cardona produced his map and spread it on the kitchen table. He showed Cranston the several areas where he

thought Mycroft might have been. Bringing out some reports, Cardona let Cranston read them. They covered

"They're all alike," grumbled Cardona. "Right now, I need a hunch. I'd like to know which of those areas, if

any, is the real bet. Last night, I simply took the first in line, and happened to hit."

"Only on the outskirts," returned Cardona. "I can't afford to scare Mycroft. Not while there's a chance he

might call Kemball, demanding a ransom for the Brett girl. But that's your hunch, Mr. Cranston. Not mine."

The Shadow nodded in Cranston's idle style. But his nod didn't cover a past hunch; it referred to a present

READING Cardona's dope sheets, The Shadow was actually winnowing through them, noting the dates when

One area particularly interested him. It was an East Side neighborhood, where local folk, gifted with

shrewdness, were apt to be right in their observations. They'd seen a man resembling Mycroft a few weeks

ago, but not since. Probably Cardona would have laughed, had Cranston mentioned that sector as the prime

Margo had mentioned Mycroft's remark concerning another laboratory. Since Mycroft had no official lab, it

would have to be a hidden one. His appearances in the vicinity of that hiding place would naturally have

terminated abruptly when Mycroft went to dwell with Cleeve Rayland. When forced to rapid flight, as he had

It was The Shadow, not Cardona, who thus gleaned a hunch from the data at the disposal of both. With a

shrug, The Shadow folded the sheets and map, giving them back to Cardona. Verbally, the casual Mr.

He meant for Cardona; not for himself. Rather than wait for Mycroft to declare himself, The Shadow hoped

to find the missing inventor. The arrangements that The Shadow had made for contacting Brett, and keeping

him where certain visitors could reach him, would crack one aspect of the case. By finding Mycroft and

Such a conclusion was, in itself, a hunch one that brought a softly whispered laugh from the disguised lips

of Cranston, as he started on his quest. A good hunch, too, with little chance that it would go astray.

Little chances, sometimes, prove to be the largest. It was so in this instance. For once, The Shadow did not

foresee that the very strength of his conclusions could threaten total disaster to his cause!

WITHIN two miles of the area that The Shadow was scouring in search of Mycroft, a man muffled in an

overcoat was walking with stoopshouldered gait. Under his arm he held a newspaper, that he had bought by

From the way the man muffled his face, he didn't want it to be seen, which was curious, considering that no

one would recognize him for the person he really was. No one could mistake the living for the dead;

Reaching a basement entry, Brett unlocked it, and did the same with an inner door that led to an old

storeroom. The place was squalid, furnished only with a cot and an old table that had a soap box as a prop in

There was a lamp on the table, and Brett tightened the bulb, to illuminate the windowless room with the glow

His face haggard, Brett scanned the newspaper. Its headlines glared with the news that Sandra was still

missing. Brett's groan told that his daughter's disappearance was the great cause of his misery.

Flinging the newspaper on the cot, Brett debated briefly. Then, tightening his coat again, he left his squalid

This time, he actually entered the cigar store, sidled into a telephone booth, and called Kemball. Recognizing

Brett didn't want to tell him. Sharply, Kemball ended the hesitation with the words:

In a low tone, Brett gave the address, and explained about the cellar room. Then Kemball supplied a

"Very well," said Kemball, his tone quite irked. "I shall expect another call from you, in about an hour,

The connection cut off and Brett walked from the phone booth, forgetting, at first, to muffle his face. Then,

making up for the deficiency, he paced back to his hovel, wondering what Kemball meant by saying he

At last, Brett decided that Kemball meant he'd see him within an hour, or expect another call. Kemball had a

There was a better explanation, sitting right in Kemball's office. The explanation was Inspector Joe Cardona.

DURING the brief telephone chat, Cardona's eyes were fixed on Kemball, and the lawyer knew why.

Kemball nodded. It was his only choice. He couldn't say the call was from his dead client Brett.

"I think he will when he calls again," declared Kemball. "That is" the lawyer was hasty "if he calls again.

One bluff, at least, had worked. Kemball's next problem was to stage another. He suggested that they forget

the telephone, since Mycroft was settled for an hour, at least. Nodding, Cardona decided to go downstairs and

Hardly out of the door, Cardona had a sudden hunch that Mycroft might come to Kemball's in person, instead

of calling again. He thought he'd better warn the lawyer, since Mycroft was unquestionably dangerous.

Guiltily, the lawyer clamped the phone on the stand; then, with the realization that he was discovered, he

Cardona stood stolidly watching him, but didn't catch the shrewd expression that came suddenly to the

Actually, Kemball was changing the call. He'd just gotten a connection with Fengram, when Cardona entered.

"Why, hello, inspector!" exclaimed Kemball, looking up. "I'm just calling the Cobalt Club, to tell Cranston

about Mycroft. I thought he could inform the commissioner and save you the trouble."

Cardona couldn't parry that one. Getting the club, Kemball asked for Cranston and found that he wasn't there.

So Kemball said he would like to speak to Commissioner Weston. Finding that Weston was also absent,

Cardona left, but Kemball ignored the telephone: He wasn't taking any chances until he was sure that Joe

What, bothered Kemball most was the possibility that Fengram would call back to find out if the interrupted

call was from Kemball. It would be bad if Fengram did, for Cardona might bob in again. Still, Kemball felt

As he waited, no call came. Kemball gradually relaxed, waiting the moment when he could try a call himself.

THE interrupted ringing had been heard at Fengram's. It wasn't the first call that Fengram had received since

Half a dozen times Fengram had left the luxurious library where he was chatting with Margo and Sandra, to

answer a ringing bell. Fengram always received business calls in the evening and he disposed of them all

This call, however, was a mystery. Fengram mentioned that fact when he returned. He'd lifted the receiver

and there had been no answer. Musingly, he presumed that it might be Kemball. But he decided not to call

Keenly, Fengram suspected the truth: that Kemball had been forced to cut off the call because of Cardona's

Very soon, the telephone summoned Fengram again, and he gave a knowing nod when he went in to answer

it. He left the door ajar, as he had before, but the girls couldn't hear his voice, at first. Fengram always began

his phone calls in a calm manner, but his voice boomed louder as he continued. This time, it ran true to form.

One reason was that he appeared at the door of the library, carrying the phone on its long extension cord. His

"Excuse the interruption, but tell me: did you try to get me a few minutes ago?"

The reply was evidently in the negative, for Fengram turned toward Margo and Sandra and shook his head to

Then Fengram was talking into the telephone in his heavy tone. His words carried emphatic agreement.

"I quite agree," said Fengram. "Yes, this Infralux business is responsible for the trouble. If I hadn't offered a

quarter million for the invention, it wouldn't have loomed so large in everyone's mind... Yes, it did make

"Quite right. We can't go on letting people think Sandra was kidnapped, when she wasn't... Suppose I meet

you over at Kemball's... No, that's right we can't talk if the police are there... A good idea! I'll meet you in

half an hour; outside, of course. If I'm delayed, it's because I'm waiting to hear from Kemball

"Yes, I think that other call was from him... If it was, he'll call again as soon as he can. I'll tell you what he

Hanging up, Fengram held the telephone, expecting Kemball's ring. In the meantime, he interpreted other

"Cranston thinks we can crack the thing from the Infralux angle," stated Fengram. "Sandra can reappear,

saying she wasn't kidnapped at all, and offer to divide the proceeds of Infralux with Mycroft. That will bring

"Of course not," acknowledged Fengram. "So part of the deal will be for Mycroft to exonerate your father in

"Not necessarily. Cranston thinks the real blame belonged to Cleeve Rayland. If such is the case, Mycroft's

position may be something like your father's. I'm going to meet Cranston outside the Cobalt Club, when he

NEW angles! To Margo, there could be only one. The Shadow must have located Dana Mycroft. Perhaps he'd

decided to humor the inventor, which, considering Mycroft's crazed way, would be a plausible policy.

Proving crime against Mycroft would be difficult, lacking Cleeve and the other dead blackmailers as

Margo decided not to bother with complexities. She knew The Shadow's way of switching plans; she

remembered that such changes invariably brought results. So she let it go at that, particularly as the telephone

Fengram didn't have to go far to answer. The phone was right in his hands, and by then, the eager girls were

It was Kemball, reporting that he had heard from Brett. He gave the address where the pretended dead man

was in hiding. He cut off abruptly, saying that he didn't want Cardona to discover him making the call.

"No chance to tell him the new angle," expressed Fengram to the girls. "I'll take my car and drive over past

the Cobalt Club. If I find Cranston, I'll take him along, and we can save our discussion until we see your

"I'll go and see Brett," replied Fengram. "Kemball says he's very worried, so we ought to get there shortly.

Try the Cobalt Club in half an hour, Margo, and tell them Cranston may be waiting for someone outside. If

he is, you can tell him that I've gone on to see Brett, and will be waiting for him."

As soon as Fengram left, Margo tried the club, anyway, on the chance that Cranston might be inside. He

wasn't, so Margo decided to wait a while. Though she didn't mention it to Sandra, Margo had a very satisfied

Through The Shadow's foresight, Giles Brett had openly revealed where he was located. But it would take

To Margo, the fact that Cranston wasn't at the Cobalt Club stood as perfect proof that he was progressing

Margo was right. The Shadow, at that moment, was very close to his intended goal. But Margo didn't realize

IT was very dark on the little roof, and the ledge, though ample, was none too wide. It was the only way to

the little room among the eaves, a cubicle poked into the connecting corner of two oldfashioned houses an

Originally, the cubicle had belonged to the other house, which had now become the shabbiest of apartments.

The Shadow had tried the other house first, only to find the final way blocked off by a solid wall.

Probably the highperched room had been condemned as dangerous. Whatever the case, the only way to

There was this about Mycroft's own private hideaway, which he called his laboratory: he had chosen it too

well. Had it been an ordinary room, tucked off as it was, it might have baffled an exhaustive search. But its

From the street, there was one angle right up between the buildings, that gave a perfect view of the cubicle.

The crazy piece of architecture had just the appeal that a man of Mycroft's eccentricity would relish.

In approaching the roof dwelling, The Shadow was gaining absolute evidence that it belonged to Mycroft.

Though not a chink of light, nor the slightest sound, filtered out from the shuttered window, the odor of

Mycroft's inevitable chemicals were apparent. He was back at his experiments, and he didn't have Tilroy as a

Up the short slope to Mycroft's window, The Shadow inserted the muzzle of an automatic between the

downtilted slats of one shutter. He levered the slats upward, for they were all connected.

Silent, at first, was The Shadow's action; then it did not matter. He saw Mycroft in the tiny room, at a

workbench opposite, distributing the contents of a beaker into test tubes that were set in a rack.

Had Mycroft turned at the sound of the shutter's rattle, he would have seen the muzzle of an automatic

covering him and heard The Shadow's commanding voice assuring him that resistance would prove folly.

However, noting that Mycroft hadn't heard the noise, The Shadow proceeded farther.

He gripped the other half of the shutter, drew it open, and produced a gun with his other hand, before

cloaking the first. Easier than transferring a gun from one hand to the other, and a better process, considering

Since Mycroft didn't turn, The Shadow opened the original half of the shutter and squeezed into the room.

There was another window, in the far corner, lower and larger than the one The Shadow entered. It had a

drawn blind, and might prove to be another exit. So The Shadow moved across to it, partly to cover it, partly

The effect of The Shadow watching him in silence was more overwhelming to Mycroft than if he had heard a

challenging whisper. The inventor paused in his work and let both hands slide upward, while his opening

"We meet again, Mycroft." The Shadow's tone was whispered, but lacked a sinister touch. "We have certain

SO far, The Shadow was proceeding in the manner that Margo had assumed he would use with a man like

Mycroft. Certainly, the inventor was a composite individual, whose feud with Brett was based upon what

Whether Mycroft had hatched the blackmail scheme himself, or simply let Rayland handle it, was a question.

It was difficult, however, to deal with Mycroft on any terms, including, probably, those of his own making.

This situation certainly wasn't one that Mycroft wanted. His expression craft mingled with anger proved

The first thing that Mycroft tried was a slump, which he accompanied with a pitiful wince.

The Shadow saw that Mycroft's sag was taking one withery hand beneath the workbench. Anticipating one of

the inventor's very effective bombs, The Shadow stopped him with a gesture of the automatic. Then, with a

glide so swift that Mycroft had hardly time to jerk away, The Shadow was between the inventor and the

"Fooled you, Shadow!" he clucked. "Once again, I fooled you! Would you like to find my nest egg, the bomb

Starting to point to one corner, where there were several boxes, Mycroft cannily changed direction and

indicated a corner where boxes were few. The Shadow wasn't particularly interested in the bomb question.

The inventor was shifting toward a window, and it happened to be the one that The Shadow had used.

As long as Mycroft held hope, he would display defiance. The Shadow knew, because he had dealt with those

of this ilk before. So The Shadow moved along with Mycroft, his glide so easy that the inventor didn't

recognize its purpose until he found himself half turned about, staring at the cloaked visitor between himself

It was quite a shock to Mycroft. He looked actually ready to wilt. Then, with the effect of an electric shock,

his defiance returned on a grandiose scale. Tilting his head back, Mycroft laughed long and happily. Out of

"So you hold me helpless!" Mycroft's merriment increased. "I am a man without friends. You think so, don't

The Shadow's own thought was more important than Mycroft's words. The Shadow's thought was this:

Mycroft's manner became convulsive. It was a minute before he could stay his mirth and speak again.

"You were sure," continued the inventor, "that you had wiped out all my friends when you disposed of

"You think I wonder how you found me here," rasped Mycroft, "as though I supposed that this place could

never be discovered. I discovered it myself, did I not? Therefore, I knew that another could do the same. My

security lay in my choice of neighborhood, not in the selection of this dwelling.

"Once near, seeking my whereabouts, you would logically find me. You, my foe, were lucky to be in this

THIS time, The Shadow's mental flash was a burst of interruption. Previous questions, like new ones, were

answered all at once. The Shadow's back was to the window; that was why Mycroft changed tune.

The inventor was stalling because he expected a friend. In turn, that friend would be looking for the cubicle

from the one spot on the street where it was visible. He would be waiting to receive a signal from Mycroft.

The window was open, as The Shadow had left it. Like a weird banner, The Shadow's cloaked figure was

visible, a perfect target from that spot across the street. But that was not all.

Coupled with his intuition, The Shadow had the amazing faculty of projecting his attention to remote spots,

Instinctive, that ability. It proved its worth at this vital moment. The Shadow's thoughts were drowning

Mycroft's chatter; and those concentrated thoughts were focused on the place in mind. As distinctly as though

he had been down across the street, The Shadow heard the sound that carried up from that particular spot.

It was the smooth purr of a motor, cut to the idling pitch that denoted a pausing car!

Instantly, The Shadow gave himself a long, forward pitch not in Mycroft's direction, for the inventor was

boxed in a corner, but in a straight line from the window, almost to the workbench where Mycroft kept the

The sharp report that sounded from the street seemed timed to The Shadow's dive, but it actually came after

With the report came a sizzling whine from a revolver bullet that skimmed the window sill, sliced the rear

A wellaimed shot, supplied with all the venom that the distant marksman could provide, but too late to find

The Shadow, whose inspired lurch, made with the speed of thought, could not be overtaken by the fastest

High glee told that Mycroft believed the shot had clipped The Shadow; unless sure the cloaked fighter had

been wounded, the inventor wouldn't have used the measures he did. The Shadow was down, and Mycroft

Grabbing things as he found them, he flung the objects at The Shadow: chairs, workbench, even lamps

Coming to his feet, The Shadow was dodging the flying things, unable to insert an accurate shot had he

He was cutting the inventor off from the window; at the same time, The Shadow was keeping clear of that

It was a question of putting Mycroft in a corner, and The Shadow recalled the secondary incident, wherein

Mycroft had hesitated before pointing to the corner where be claimed his bomb was stored. He'd pointed to

the many boxes first; then to the few. So The Shadow made a long, cross dash and twisted about.

Driven to a frantic dive, Mycroft landed on hands and knees in the corner that held the few boxes.

Like the lashing head of a poisonous snake, Mycroft's hand swooped among the boxes and whipped out

Wilder than ever rang the crazy laugh. Mycroft had really fooled The Shadow! He'd pointed out the place

where he kept the bomb, confident that The Shadow would not believe that it was there.

WAGGING the bomb as an antidote to The Shadow's gun, Mycroft was dancing to the window. He spun as

he reached it, slapped his free hand upon the sill and made an agile vault out to the slope.

As he disappeared, Mycroft flipped the bomb back over the sill so short a toss, that even with a headlong

slide, The Shadow, a dozen feet away, could not have caught the missile that was dropping in the room.

The Shadow did not try to catch it. As Mycroft slid from sight, The Shadow was diving the other way, toward

a window of his own, the shaded one in the far corner of the room. He took it, shoulder first, cleaving the

The bomb's burst drowned the echoes of the shattering sash and the clatter of its glass. The concussion

gushed flame from the window with a roaring drive that seemed to hurl The Shadow ahead of them.

In the redness that momentarily banished the night, he was a flying shape that looked destined for an endless

In fact, darkness did swallow The Shadow, and as its shroud received him, he struck. Though short, the fall

was numbing, but he managed to clutch a strip of metal and save himself from a backward roll into a deeper

His surge through the air had carried him across a narrow courtyard well, not much wider than an air shaft.

He had struck on the edge of a long, sloping gable belonging to the next door house. This edge was nearly a

floor below Mycroft's cubicle, and another oddity of architecture that someone must have strained hard to

Perhaps the architect had possessed the gift of prophecy. Certainly, this awkward gable could only have

served one sensible purpose in its whole decadent history that of receiving a fugitive from an explosion that

Getting back from the gable wasn't difficult; not after The Shadow had tested the rain gutter and found it

secure enough. These peculiardesigned roofs ran into each other at several places.

Within a few minutes, The Shadow was approaching Mycroft's cubicle, to find it a complete wreck.

The window was gone, and half the wall with it, which made entry quite simple. Crossing to the other

window, The Shadow found it in the same state. Through the smoke that obscured him, he saw the twinkle of

Catlike, Mycroft had found his own ledge and descended to join his friend below. Together, they were

Only one thing in the room was intact. The telephone, resting on the floor, had been buried by debris, but was

uninjured. Plucking it from where it lay, The Shadow dialed Kemball's number. He heard the lawyer's voice,

"You've heard from Brett!" The Shadow spoke in Cranston's tone. "Come, Kemball. Give me his address."

"It's imperative!" Cranston's voice would brook no argument. "Mycroft is on the loose! I must reach Brett!"

In uttering the name, Kemball loosed his own tongue. He babbled Brett's secret address without stating whose

"So it's Mycroft," Joe was saying, "and you've just told somebody where to find him. I'll handle this from

The Shadow hung up and turned to the outer window. His blackcloaked figure weaved through smoke of

grimy gray and blended with the blackness of the ledge that gave him a route below.

As The Shadow faded, his laugh trailed back, to linger amid the ruins of Mycroft's cubicle a token that The

HOMER FENGRAM tried the door of Brett's basement and found it unlocked. He groped his way to the

The name "Fengram" was a password in itself. Anyone wanting to buy Infralux as badly as he did, could

certainly be trusted by the owner of the invention. Admitting Fengram, Brett shook hands eagerly and said:

"I'd have called you long before this, Fengram, but I thought I ought to talk to Kemball first. That was

"In my hunt for Mycroft?" Brett shook his head. "Horribly! I've been wondering whether he would find me

first. The fellow prowls like a cat, and is as dangerous as a snake! Mycroft is one man, at least, who knows

that I'm alive. He is also one who wishes I were really dead, and would do his best to fulfill the wish."

With that assurance, Fengram motioned Brett to the cot, where Brett sat down, obviously relieved at having

"No," replied Fengram. "I am expecting Lamont Cranston. The man who came with me to your office the day

Suspicion started to Brett's eyes when Fengram mentioned a comparative stranger such as Cranston. With the

reference to Doban, the expression changed to a wince. Wearily, Brett leaned back against the wall.

"I'll have to face it, Fengram," said Brett, "so it doesn't matter who comes here. I'm willing to tell the truth

"Kemball is your attorney and I am your friend," returned Fengram. "A jury might doubt you. Cleeve

Rayland and others of his crowd are dead; they cannot be questioned as witnesses."

Remembering his own setto with Doban, Brett nodded. The case had certainly narrowed down.

"It all depends on Mycroft," admitted Brett. Then, his worried air returning: "And Mycroft has Sandra a

It was necessary for Fengram to hesitate before answering the question. He couldn't say that Sandra was safe,

at his own home. Cranston had warned against such policy. Fengram knew, too, from Brett's mood, that the

living dead man would lose interest in his own case if he heard his daughter was no longer in jeopardy.

"Mycroft cannot afford to injure Sandra," decided Fengram sagely. "He wants to make terms with you, Brett,

and she is the only means. Suppose you made it public that you would deal openly with Mycroft; giving him

"I'd do it," agreed Brett. "Look at the plight I'm in. Technically, I've lost my own life" his tone was bitter

"and I've placed Sandra at the mercy of a fanatic. I intended to develop Infralux myself, but it would be folly

to attempt it. If your offer still stands, I'll take it, and give half the payment to Mycroft.

"He couldn't doubt me after that, and with the cash at hand, he'd be a bigger fool than he is, if he refused. If I

tried to go ahead with Infralux, I'd have Mycroft on my neck all the time. But how can we arrange the

Fengram smiled, as he drew the contracts from his pocket. He laid them on the battered table.

"Sign these," said Fengram. "I shall deliver them to Kemball. He will have them witnessed by certain

persons. They will be dated back before your supposed death. You can still remain out of sight, until matters

THE contracts covered the sale of Infralux to Fengram for the stipulated sum of $250,000. Fengram produced

another sheet of paper a typewritten order for Kemball to deliver an unspecified amount to Mycroft, in

Brett signed the sales contracts in duplicate. In the order, he inserted the sum to be paid to Mycroft: $125,000.

"Those services of Mycroft's," chuckled Brett, "will include delivery of all the trumpedup evidence against

me, with sworn testimony regarding the blackmail scheme. Mycroft can easily protect himself; Kemball will

show him how. He can blame it all on Rayland, and I am willing to support such facts."

Nodding, Fengram produced the certified check for a quarter million dollars. It, too, was dated in the past.

Brett indorsed it and was about to give it back to Fengram, when the latter shook his head.

"Why not keep it, Brett?" he inquired. "Along with the order for Kemball to pay Mycroft. You may be able to

see Kemball shortly; if not, you can mail the check and the order to him. They are yours, Brett, not mine."

"You will see Kemball earlier," Brett replied. "I'd rather have you deliver them "

There were footsteps from the passage. Brett halted, alarmed. Fengram gave a reassuring smile.

"It's Cranston," he said. "Excellent! We can have him sign these papers as a witness."

The door opened but it wasn't Cranston who appeared. Brett's gaze froze, half with doubt, half with alarm,

at sight of Dana Mycroft. As shabby and eccentric as ever, Mycroft had a dangerous, unreasonable look.

Leaving the papers in Brett's hand, Fengram stepped forward, inserting his portly form as a buffer.

"Come, Mycroft," he began. "This meeting is in your interest " Mycroft tugged a hand from his coat pocket

and jostled Fengram aside. Whipping his other hand into sight, he produced a revolver and brandished it in

"So I've found you, Brett!" sneered Mycroft. "Playing dead, sending others to trick me and trap me! First a

girl, who pretended she was your daughter; then a man who called himself The Shadow. And now I find you

here with Fengram. Are you conspiring with him, too? Or are you duping him as you did me?"

"We're conspiring to give you a half share an Infralux," retorted Brett. "And as for duping Fengram, I'm

simply selling him the invention for the price he offered. He has the contracts and here is the certified

With a quick approach, Mycroft snatched the check and the other paper from Brett's hand. His cackly laugh

"You give me half!" jeered Mycroft. "I shall take all, because of the trouble you caused me! You can do with

nothing, Brett. You are dead! Do your hear? Dead! Try to dispute me, and I shall make you so in fact!"

MYCROFT was pressing the gun toward Brett, expecting his rival to sink back to the cot; but Brett did

nothing of the sort. He had demonstrated his contempt for guns in Doban's case, and the menace of this

With a hand thrust toward the papers, which caused Mycroft to twist away, Brett suddenly changed direction

and grabbed for the gun instead. Then Brett, rangy and powerful, was pressing the scrawny inventor back

across the room, while Mycroft, wiry and agile, was trying to wrest his gun hand free.

Fengram was springing into it, bellowing for both to quit their folly. He was reaching to his pocket for a gun,

but hadn't pulled his hand out when he was caught in the struggle. Fengram's bulk forced the others to a

corner; there, Brett gained the grip he wanted: the same that he had used with Doban.

Mycroft's squirms failed. He went down to one knee, turning his face upward with a venomous glare. Brett's

hand was performing swift torture, forcing Mycroft's gun straight up toward the man's bent chest. Mycroft, at

It looked as though Mycroft might get free, and Brett was swinging in to clamp him with his other hand,

A shot sounded, dully, muffled by Mycroft's chest. The inventor slumped; as Brett halted, horrified, relaxing

his hold, it was Fengram who caught the scrawny, staggering figure. Brett heard the thud as the death gun hit

There, Mycroft became a dead weight that carried Fengram downward. With a shake of his head, Fengram

rose and turned to Brett, whose eyes were fixed upon the glittering weapon that lay smoking upon the floor.

Brett looked across the room, noted Mycroft's sprawled position on the cot. Brett hesitated; then asked:

Fengram nodded. A heavy silence seemed to cloud the room. Again, death had intervened in the affairs of

Giles Brett, to bury him still deeper in the grave that was supposedly his, but which he had never occupied!

HOMER FENGRAM remained quite cool. He picked up the gun and wiped it with a handkerchief, remarking

that it might have Brett's fingerprints upon it. Then, holding the gun barrel with the cloth, Fengram

approached Mycroft's body and pressed the handle of the weapon into the clutch of the dead man's scrawny

"Yes," said Fengram. "They will suppose that he committed suicide, and that this was his hideout. The

"Mycroft didn't kidnap Sandra," spoke Fengram. "You heard what he said. I've been trying to tell you that;

With that start, Fengram had no other course but to give the details. He told how Cranston had suggested that

they keep Mycroft guessing. Brett saw the purpose clearly enough, but he realized how it could have

"No wonder Mycroft was desperate," said Brett musingly. "He must have gone the limit to find me tonight.

"If you had only gone a little slower, Brett," reproved Fengram. "Or if I had been a trifle faster! I tried to get

my gun out" he tapped his pocket "but I didn't have time. I think that I could have cowed Mycroft."

"Yes, it's too bad this thing happened. People ought to believe that the same thing would happen twice over

"But they won't, Brett. You must face the situation. You will have to remain dead permanently."

Brett gave a shrug. He'd practically resigned himself to such a future. Mycroft's death simply was the

deciding factor. On the floor, Brett found the check and the order to Kemball. He handed the check to

"I'd like her to see this when you tell her the story, Fengram. She will know that I tried to deal fairly with

Fengram nodded. The hush had deepened in this room of death. Seemingly, gloom had filtered in from the

halfopened door, to dull the glow of the Infralux lamp that shone from the old table. The pall worried Brett,

"It won't be my problem," argued Brett. "I'm dead. But if anyone saw you come here this evening, you'll have

FENGRAM'S face went worried in its turn, and Brett's burden lightened. Going to the table, Brett wrote

"That covers it," declared Brett. "The simple statement that I killed Mycroft in selfdefense. Produce it, if

Brett shrugged. He hadn't the least idea. His worry was returning, and Fengram promptly curbed it. He told

Brett to take his car, which was parked outside, and drive to a New Jersey airport, where Fengram always

"I'll phone the pilot," said Fengram, "and tell him to expect a friend of mine. You can hop to some Caribbean

country, Brett, and get these worries off your chest. Sandra can come there and see you, later."

Brett brightened, though the room seemed duller, as he was turning toward the door. He wondered what had

happened to the Infralux, and Fengram evidently had the same thought, for they both turned together.

A whispered laugh greeted them, and, for the moment, both were transfixed. They thought the strange tone

Their eyes dispelled the illusion that had tricked their ears. The dimming of the light was explained. Unheard,

a figure had entered this room while the two men were engaged in their discussion of Brett's future. The

figure had moved toward Mycroft's body; then turned in the direction of the table.

The intruder was cloaked in black. His sleeve had intervened in front of the Infralux lamp, which was shining

To Brett, the arrival of this living specter was a thing horrendous. But Brett, now used to playing dead, wasn't

the sort who could believe in ghosts. He made a sudden lunge for the being in black, before Fengram could

The words didn't carry weight with Brett. He'd heard of The Shadow from Mycroft, among the other

accusations that the inventor had flung. Moreover, The Shadow was aiming a gun in Brett's direction, and it

Daring and hotheaded at sight of a menacing weapon, Brett showed that sad experience had not cured him

He lunged for The Shadow and gripped the automatic. Brett threw the old trick hold and The Shadow

partially sagged to the floor. His laugh had a tone of understanding, that Fengram recognized, though Brett

Arriving too late to witness Mycroft's death, The Shadow had heard it described as the duplicate of Doban's.

He wanted to test the powerful way in which Brett handled men who threatened him.

Half the test was sufficient. It convinced The Shadow. The half finished, The Shadow replied with reverse

Stopped halfway, Brett took a sideward sprawl and rolled over on the floor. The Shadow still held the

automatic and was moving it, gesturing for Brett to rise. Weakly, Brett came to his feet. He remembered

"You've heard it all," said Brett, facing the burn of eyes beneath the hat brim. "Everything is true. The

THE SHADOW'S strange laugh silenced Fengram. Like Brett, the portly man stood awed. They waited

during a few minutes that seemed unending time. They were still wondering, when footsteps approached

They wondered, because they didn't hear the sound, although The Shadow did. His laugh drowned the noise

As the door swung open, The Shadow gestured. Brett and Fengram turned around to meet Inspector Cardona.

He had two detectives with him; they stopped short in the doorway, amazed by the strange scene, but

Noting a turn of The Shadow's head, Cardona looked to the cot and saw Mycroft's body. Stooping above it,

The Shadow's laugh throbbed. Cardona looked up startled; for the first time, he saw Brett's face clearly. Sight

of a dead man, alive and active, actually made Joe quail, even though The Shadow, who, in Cardona's

Gradually, the truth struck home to Cardona; but he didn't have to start a quiz.

Voluntarily, Brett poured out his story, the ring of conviction in it. The Doban instance struck Cardona as

clearcut, provided Brett could produce some further proof of the blackmail attempt. The fact that Cleeve

Rayland, blackmailer de luxe, had shown his hand so plainly, later, was a great help to Brett's cause.

Hunches or no hunches, tests or no tests when the same type of death was repeated, the accident factor

vanished. It would never pass as selfdefense. A smart prosecutor could maintain that Brett's first experience,

with Doban, had given him the idea of turning his tricky selfdefense into a means of murder.

"No," said Brett. "I have no gun. Fengram brought one, but had no time to draw it before Mycroft entered."

Fengram produced the gun, remarking that he had a permit to carry it. He was about to hand back the

Thinking The Shadow meant the death gun, Cardona cracked it open, to find that two shells had been fired.

He was puzzled over the fact, when he heard The Shadow's low laugh and the statement:

"It isn't even loaded," said Cardona. "But this gun that Mycroft carried has two bullets missing. He must have

The Shadow did not complete the statement. At that moment, Fengram made a grab. Ignoring the empty gun

that he said was his, Fengram snatched the one that supposedly belonged to Mycroft. He was slapping it shut,

The burn of eyes above the leveled muzzle of an automatic were a threat that could not be ignored. The partly

loaded revolver dangling from his fingers, Fengram tilted into the clutches of Cardona's two detectives.

Like a prisoner before a bar of justice, Homer Fengram was awaiting the verdict of The Shadow!

THE SHADOW was summing up a strange case, the most amazing that his listeners had ever heard a story

which, if true, cleared Giles Brett of everything except the death of his double, Doban, and exonerated him in

The basic facts were already known. A group of blackmailers, handling thuggery as a side line, had been

operating under Cleeve Rayland, with Brett as their hapless target. Reputedly, Dana Mycroft had inspired

It made sense to Cardona. Mycroft had impressed him as eccentric enough to be more of a dupe than a master

mind. Joe hoped that The Shadow could add the convincers, which The Shadow did. His facts were largely

"By a curious coincidence," declared The Shadow, his sinister whisper matched by the accusation in his eyes,

"the blackmail scheme that culminated in Doban's visit was scheduled just ahead of your trip to Brett's office,

"Only a coincidence, you would say" The Shadow's gesture halted Fengram's objection "but there were

other facts with it, that seemed unimportant at the time. Though the business was confidential, you had let it

slip out. You delayed your visit to Brett's on the pretext that he had not returned from Washington.

"Finally, Fengram, you gave the impression that Brett wanted to sell you Infralux, whereas he did not intend

to dispose of the invention. But he would have, willingly, had he not tangled with Doban.

"Your friend Cranston" The Shadow spoke dryly, but impersonally "would have witnessed a very prompt

Disregarding Fengram's contemptuous stare, The Shadow proceeded. He described Mycroft's part; how the

Later, believing Brett dead, Mycroft had been willing that his friends, like Cleeve, seize Sandra and make her

come to terms; for it was a direct system, too. At no time had Cleeve taken orders from Mycroft; nor had he

There, Mycroft had mentioned an "unnecessary bomb" that he had taken to Brett's: a plain inference that he

believed Brett to be dead. Three times, during the hectic scene, the telephone bell had rung, but not for

Mycroft. It was Cleeve, dying, who had eventually answered it and warned the caller off.

That call had been a message to the blackmail crew, telling them that the police were on their way. It could

only have been made by someone who knew where the search was to be. Fengram was such a man.

That statement from The Shadow rang home to Cardona. He remembered that he had shown his map to

Fengram just before Ferdy Brythe was banished to the wine cellar. This was circumstantial evidence,

narrowed to a sharp, prodding point. Looking at Fengram, Cardona saw the accused man wince.

With blackmailers dead, and Mycroft in hiding, Fengram's game had struck a snag. One, however, that left

him quite secure, with Brett still in an unenviable plight. Still, Fengram hoped that he could buy Infralux

He no longer had Cleeve as a gobetween; but if he could swing the game himself, there would be no

"I found a way to make you show your hand, Fengram," declared The Shadow. "Through others, I arranged

that Sandra should remain kidnapped; and that even Brett should not be told. You were brought into the

conference and a perfect opportunity given you to be the first to visit Brett, when he was heard from. Sandra

"Your course was obvious. You could come here and lay your cards out plain, telling Brett that you not

Mycroft held his daughter as a hostage. Brett's status as a dead man made him helpless. Only you could have

granted him return to life, along with Sandra's freedom. Brett would have signed over Infralux without

Fengram threw a look at Brett, as though to say it hadn't happened that way and therefore must be a false

assumption on The Shadow's part. But Brett's expressive glare gave Fengram no encouragement. Again, The

"One thing alone could have changed your scheme, Brett," affirmed The Shadow. "Almost at the final hour,

you heard from Mycroft. He thought you were the man who could help him with his problem: that of being

THE SHADOW had scored a perfect hit. Had Margo and Sandra been present, they could have poured out

testimony that they were to give later. That call which Fengram said came from Cranston was actually

Mycroft's call. After a few preliminaries, Fengram had raised his voice and done some excellent fakery. He

was to meet Mycroft outside the cubicle hideaway; not Cranston outside the Cobalt Club.

"I reached Mycroft's first," declared The Shadow. "You spotted me at the window and fired, which accounts

for the first bullet missing from the gun now weighing heavily on your fingers. Mycroft bombed the place

and then joined you, reporting that I was dead. But I saw your car when it left the same car that is outside

Fengram's fingers were twitching on the death gun. One of the detectives noticed the weapon and took it from

"By then," continued The Shadow, "you and Mycroft were comrades in crime. Your new, and far more

clever, scheme looked sure. You gave Mycroft an empty gun and told him to wait until you had made a deal

with Brett. He was then to enter and demand all for himself. You promised him all, very probably, on the

"Mycroft ran to form, and so did Brett. He pulled the same trick that he did with Doban. You joined the fray,

and with your loaded gun fired the second bullet, Fengram, just before I arrived.

"I saw you flip the death gun to the floor, and pluck away the empty when you dragged Mycroft to the cot.

You shoved the empty back into your pocket while you were turned away from Brett."

The whole story fitted, and with it was The Shadow's claim as actual witness to the aftermath of murder. One

"Your next step was to be simplicity itself," The Shadow told Fengram. "With Brett fully duped, and

selfbanished, you had only to show Sandra his confession regarding Mycroft's death. You wouldn't have had

"The charity suggestion was perfect. She would have given you all, not just Mycroft's half, and left the

donation to your good self. It would have gone to a charity named Homer Fengram, the man who begrudged

"You knew that Infralux was worth the quarter million you offered, and more. Still, you wanted a quarter

million in cash. There was your motive, Fengram the greatest motive that causes fools to think they can

Fengram still was greedy; not for the cash he could no longer get, but for the freedom that would enable him

to travel far and live in luxury on other sums at his disposal. The method he used to attempt that freedom was

Wrenching back between the detectives, he twisted through the doorway. Foolishly, they clung to him,

Breaking loose in the passage, Fengram managed to grab the death gun as he fled. The Shadow led the

pursuit, only to find it blocked when Fengram passed the outer door and flung the clamp on the old

Moe's cab was in the offing. The Shadow sprang into it and sped away. Hurrying to a police car with

Cardona, Brett told about the plane that Fengram had waiting in New Jersey. Cardona ordered a detective to

PROBABLY Fengram knew where they would go. He didn't head for the airport; instead, he arrived at his

own great mansion. Easing from his car, he entered normally, so as not to attract attention outside.

Upstairs, Fengram found Sandra waiting in the library. He gave her a broad smile.

Stepping into the office, Fengram opened a large safe. He heard Sandra calling from the door, asking if he

had found her father. Fengram called back that he had. He said all was well; that Brett wanted him to bring

From the safe, Fengram took a satchel, loaded it with bundles of cash and a packet of envelopes. Coming out,

The girl stared at the gun muzzle. Vindictive to the last, Fengram was prepared to murder the girl, that Brett

But there were other gun muzzles in the picture, nudging Fengram from each side. Margo Lane held one; she

had been hidden in the office, watching Fengram. Harry Vincent gripped the other, having arrived from

Sandra sprang away before Fengram could lose his surprise. Remembering his previous break, the murderer

tried another. He sprang away from the muzzles that pressed him. Twisting across the library, he was

Harry and Margo clipped him, but their shots didn't stop him. They saw Fengram reach the grand stairway

Catching himself on the head of the stairs, Fengram waved the gun in one hand and clutched the precious

satchel in the other. He was booming a sarcastic farewell, when an interruption voiced from below. Shakily,

Fengram halted, and aimed for the dread sound. He saw blackness, but there was too much of it in the dim

Fengram couldn't shoot a living laugh which, at the moment, was the sole token of The Shadow. Fengram

tried, with his last bullet, and failed. As his gun spoke, another blasted from below. Its fiery tongue was far

Jolted by The Shadow's shot, Fengram reared to full height, still gripping his gun in a posture that looked

defiant. From the front door came a deluge of bullets, dispatched by entering men in uniform. Fengram took

With a long series of awkward bounces, Fengram reached the bottom of the stairs, to flatten, dead, at the feet

of Commissioner Weston, who had entered with the police squad. Weston, too, had heard from The Shadow.

So did Sandra. From the library door, she saw the blackcloaked figure that ascended the stairway with rapid

stride. Plucking Fengram's satchel, The Shadow opened it, and handed the girl the packet of envelopes that

In Sandra's hands lay all the blackmail papers, from facts to photographs, that constituted the threat against

Turned over to Giles Brett, they would serve in his favor, not as evidence against him, now that crime's truth

was proclaimed. Those pictures of Doban's would justify Brett's claim of selfdefense in the death of a man

Eyes dimmed with grateful tears, Sandra Brett looked for The Shadow. Perhaps the teary blur was why he

disappeared so suddenly. All that Sandra saw was the waver of curtains hanging from a doorway leading

Those curtains seemed to clutch and hold the laugh that floated back, as though loath to relinquish the

farewell mirth of The Shadow. Echoes, as they faded, carried a trailing note of triumph that no ear could fail