CHICAGO CRIME............................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. CRIME'S HEAD MAN .....................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. AT THE CLUB MICHE ..................................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. FORGOTTEN DEATH ..................................................................................................8

CHAPTER IV. DEATH BY ACCIDENT .............................................................................................12

CHAPTER V. HERB'S VISITORS .......................................................................................................15

CHAPTER VI. MURDERERS THREE ................................................................................................20

CHAPTER VII. DEATH REVERSED ..................................................................................................24

CHAPTER VIII. HERB TAKES ORDERS..........................................................................................27

CHAPTER IX. CRIME'S HOUR..........................................................................................................30

CHAPTER X. CROSSED SIGNAL ......................................................................................................34

CHAPTER XI. DOUBLE BATTLE ......................................................................................................37

CHAPTER XII. DEATH'S DEAL .........................................................................................................40

CHAPTER XIII. TWISTED FACTS....................................................................................................44

CHAPTER XIV. CRISSCROSSED CRIME........................................................................................48

CHAPTER XV. CROOKS VANISH....................................................................................................52

CHAPTER XVI. CRIME'S CITADEL.................................................................................................55

CHAPTER XVII. CROOKS MAKE PLANS.......................................................................................58

CHAPTER XVIII. THE GAME TURNS ..............................................................................................62

CHAPTER XIX. CRAMPED REFUGE...............................................................................................65

CHAPTER XX. THE SHADOW'S ALLIES........................................................................................68

CHAPTER XXI. THROUGH DARKNESS ..........................................................................................72

THERE were two men in the longbuilt coupe that parked in front of the Southlake Hotel, Chicago's most

One, the driver, was chunkybuilt and squarefaced, with eyes that had a hardness that he was trying to

suppress. His lips, too, were the sort that required control, for they had a habit of curling downwards,

The other man was young. His doubled knees showed him to be tall, his broad shoulders marked him as

rangy. But his features had much of the dreamer. His clear eyes had a faraway look as they stared toward

Herb Waylon jerked himself from his reverie, gave a startled look at Chet Soville. Sight of the rough face,

"All right, Chet," said Herb, sheepishly. "Let's go in and meet the chap you told me about."

Chunky Chet led his meditative companion into the spacious lobby of the pretentious hotel. At the desk, Chet

announced that he wanted to see Mr. J. M. Cruke. Soon, the visitors were riding an elevator to the twelfth

"This fellow Cruke is regular, like I told you. But don't stare at him like you noticed he was crippled. He's

They found Cruke seated in an invalid's chair, gazing through an open window across a balcony that fronted

toward the lake. He made a huddled figure, wrapped in blankets; for though the day was warn, he seemed to

Cruke turned his head to greet the visitors. His face was pallid, weary; one that bore traces of great pain, as

They shook hands. Cruke's grip was flabby. Leaning back, he stretched his hand toward the window, showing

"I have been watching the traffic on Michigan Boulevard," wheezed Cruke, in a slow tone. "Thousands of

persons going to and fro about their business. Hundreds more beyond" he pointed to bathers disporting in

He dropped his arm, let his head lean farther back. His eyes seemed to reflect a glimmer from the outside

"All who have health," declared Cruke, solemnly, "should be happy. But some are not. You are one of those

"I guess Chet is right," returned Herb, sheepishly. "But after meeting you, Mr. Cruke, I suppose I ought to

"Nothing is trivial," interposed Cruke. He shook his head by keeping it levered on the chair back. "The

smallest things can destroy happiness, in some instances; whereas, real anguish can often be forgotten."

Herb said nothing. He felt that Cruke was certainly demonstrating the final point that he had made. During

Herb hesitated. His pride kept him from saying more. Cruke understood, and picked up the statement.

"Whatever I do," interposed Cruke, "is a matter of my own inclination. Mr. Soville tells me that you drive a

car. Very well, having seen you, I can recommend you to a friend of mine, Mr. Arthur Reether, who needs a

"The situation is an excellent one. Mr. Reether is willing to pay a salary of fifty dollars a week, because he

HERB'S moroseness vanished. His eyes gleamed happily at the offer. Chet had talked about some sort of a

After months of unemployment, during which his cash reserve had steadily dwindled, this was like happening

Herb stammered thanks. They were incoherent, because through his mind was running the thought that Joan

Gramley would be pleased. She wanted Herb to have a job, because she felt that he did not amount to much

Chet ended Herb's stammered thanks with a nudge. He conducted his companion to the door. Once outside,

"Wait for me in the car," undertoned Chet. "I'll go back and chin with Cruke. I'll give him some details to put

"Long enough to suit Cruke. When he likes a guy, he likes him. That's the way with all these wealthy

Chet stepped back into the apartment and closed the door. He listened until Herb's footsteps had dwindled,

The man in the invalid's chair flung away the blankets. His huddled figure stretched to a long, beanlike form.

He smeared away the chalky substance that gave paleness to his face. His lips twisted into an ugly grin that

"Just another sap," sneered "Long Steve", in reference to Herb, "who has walked out of this joint feeling sorry

"And he's the last guy in the world," added Chet, "who would ever guess that Cruke is really Long Steve

"Down around The Loop. Staring in a window, like he'd gone into a trance. He was easy to make friends

Long Steve gave an abrupt nod, which dismissed the matter of Herb's past. He pulled a little black book from

his pocket, and Chet Soville produced a similar memorandum. The two began to check figures.

"Last week's take was only five grand," growled Long Steve. "That much ain't half enough!"

"The boys are cracking up the buggies, same as usual," reminded Chet. "Yesterday, a couple of 'em did a dive

into traffic in front of witnesses. That will bring more dough from the insurance companies."

"It still won't make ten grand," snapped Long Steve, "let alone running this racket up into the boxcar figures

"Yeah," agreed Chet. "Guys like Reether, who have put on a front like they were bigbusiness men. Only,

"He's going to get hurt," growled Long Steve. "That's why I'm giving him a new chauffeur. Don't forget to

insure Waylon. He's good for a hundred a week on a double indemnity policy, like Crawler."

"And Reether's good for five hundred a week," chuckled Chet. "Unless" his expression became doubtful

LONG STEVE stroked his chin. His gaze was anything but kindly as he stared out toward the boulevard,

where dusk was producing firefly glows from the headlights of passing automobiles.

"Five hundred a week," declared Long Steve, slowly. "It's worth it, even if Reether does try to squawk. But

there's another way of figuring it, Chet. Fifty grand without any chance of Reether going yellow."

Chet couldn't see Long Steve's face, for the dusk hid it; but the tone was all that Chet needed. He gave an

enthusiastic hiss between his teeth. Long Steve stepped to a writing desk, took out a blank sheet of hotel

"Hand this to Waylon," he told Chet. "Tell him it's the letter of recommendation! Reether's smart, even if he

is yellow. He won't let Waylon spot it, so there's no need for me to write anything.

"Besides, it's time you got back with Waylon. We don't want him to get suspicious. I'm leaving it to you to

talk with Reether. Salve him plenty. Tell him he won't get hurt at all. Make out we'll be satisfied with small

Standing at the window five minutes later, Long Steve Bydle was puffing a cigarette when he saw Chet's

coupe swing into the traffic of Michigan Boulevard. Steve's grunt of ugly pleasure fitted the insidious leer

Crime was rampant in Chicago, although the law didn't know it. Traffic accidents had been doubled within

the past few months, and the police were still looking for an explanation, that only Long Steve Bydle could

For Long Steve Bydle was at present head man of crime in Chicago. His racket included other lieutenants

besides Chet Soville, and they, in turn, were aided by numerous smallfry who posed as victims fake and

So far, the net profits were around a quarter million, but Long Steve had fixed his mind upon acquiring twice

that sum. Posing as Cruke, in an invalid's chair, crime's head man had been figuring out new ways of

The sky was dark above Lake Michigan. Amid its blackness, Long Steve could see the tiny lights of a swift

plane, coming from the East. Later, perhaps, thought Long Steve, airplane accidents could be arranged. For

Long Steve Bydle would have changed that opinion, had he known the identity of the pilot who flew that

very plane. Had he guessed the truth, crime's head man would have given a half year's profit to see that ship

The plane's lone occupant was The Shadow, master foe of crime. His purpose in coming to Chicago was to

EARLY that evening, a guest registered at a centrally located Chicago hotel. He was a tall personage, that

stranger, with a hawkish face that was immobile and masklike. The name that he applied to the register was

The supposed Cranston stopped at a newsstand long enough to buy some evening newspapers. He went to his

room, with his luggage. Once alone, he glanced through the newspapers and cut out many clippings.

Laying the slips upon a desk, Cranston turned out all the light except a single lamp. It threw a focused glare

upon the surface of the desk. There was a rustle of papers from a briefcase. Long hands came into the light.

A strangely iridescent gem gleamed from the third finger of the hand that brushed the clippings aside. That

jewel was a rare girasol; an unmatched fire opal that marked the identity of its owner.

Upon the desk, he placed a folder that bore an imprinted symbol of a hand. Opening the folder, The Shadow

There had once been two other names on that list: "Ring" Brescott and "Pinkey" Findlen. The Shadow had

disposed of them in reverse order; for each had become a big shot in his own right, like other members of the

organization to which they had belonged The Hand. (Note: See "The Hand" Vol. XXV, No. 6 and "Murder

Each specialized in his own brand of crime; and Long Steve Bydle, with Chicago as his field of operation,

At the time when The Hand had functioned as a complete organization, it had actually been a group of five

crime masters. banded for mutual profit. The Hand had been ready to take over crime in New York, and The

The Five Fingers, conveniently assembled for The Shadow's master stroke, had suddenly cleared New York,

Only The Shadow knew the insidious menace that the five had carried. He, alone, had leads that were

In the case of Long Steve Bydle, The Shadow was seeking the shrewdest of the lot, when it came to ability at

Long Steve had always been a skillful organizer, using smart lieutenants and shifting them with uncanny

precision. In fact, The Shadow had not at first connected Long Steve with the insurance racket that was riding

Careful tabulations of accident reports had convinced him that some bigshot was behind the game, although

police and insurance companies had not waked up to the fact. But it was actually the seeming lack of a

FROM the folder, The Shadow drew a report sheet that showed a photograph of Kid. He was a

youngishlooking man, broadfaced, steelyeyed, who sported a cowpuncher's hat. Kid liked to create the

Statistics, however, classed Kid as a native of Hoboken, New Jersey. If he had ever been to Texas, it was

during those days when he had traveled with carnivals, working the threecardmonte game.

Since then, Kid had become a con man. He had dropped his swindling tactics only when he met Long Steve

Bydle. That had happened in New York, when Steve wanted a bodyguard; not a tough gorilla, but a smooth

Kid Dember had those qualifications. Furthermore, he was cool and skillful with a gun. He had gained the job

as Long Steve's bodyguard, in New York, and from all appearances it had become a permanent assignment.

No one else recognized that fact, except The Shadow. Whether or not Long Steve was actually using Kid at

present, was a question. But there could be only one reason why Kid Dember happened to be staying in

Finding Kid Dember would not be difficult. Reports showed that Kid's favorite hangout was a place called

the Club Miche. The Shadow closed the folder, laid it aside. The single light clicked off.

LOCATED near The Loop, the Club Miche formed a popular nitery. It was a noisy place at times, but the

booths that lined the walls were quiet places, where persons could chat together.

It was in one of those booths that Kid Dember sat, his nimble fingers practicing with pea and walnut shells

along the surface of the table. Kid prided himself on his skill at the "shell" game, and was disregarding the

His ears, however, were trained to pick up approaching sounds. Hearing a slight footfall, Kid gathered the

shells and pea in one sweep, dropping the whole outfit into a pocket of his tuxedo jacket.

A man in evening clothes looked into the booth; then, calmly, the stranger took the seat opposite. Kid saw

hawkish features that he seemed to recognize. He gave the newcomer an inquiring gaze.

The stranger laid a hand upon the table. The thumb and first two fingers were extended, the last two doubled

It was the countersign of The Hand, used by all who worked for Long Steve Bydle. The missing fingers

symbolized the two of the original band who had succumbed to The Shadow's prowess.

The stranger's inquiry was in an even undertone, the sort that Kid expected. But it brought a puzzled look to

"That's what I was going to ask you," whispered Kid. "That's the way Long Steve left it. I was to hear from

The Shadow was parrying, but Kid didn't realize it. He took this stranger for some silkhat chap working

"Sure he did," admitted Kid. "He told me to lay off Korber, so I did. If you're going to see Long Steve "

Kid hesitated. The Shadow encouraged him in a calm tone that suited the personality of Cranston.

"Then tell him I laid off," assured Kid. "I found out that Korber was wise, anyway. I can always spot it when

Behind the impassive features of Cranston, The Shadow's brain was forming swift thoughts. It was plain that

Kid Dember was being held in reserve; that Long Steve Bydle didn't need a bodyguard at present.

Which meant that Long Steve was as safe as some crawly creature dwelling beneath a forgotten stone.

Meanwhile, Kid had whiled away the time by starting a confidence game with a man named Korber as the

victim. Word had gone back to Long Steve; he had told Kid to lay off. Kid had obeyed instructions, following

Of vital importance was the fact that Kid was actually hearing from Long Steve, even though he didn't know

where the bigshot was. It left The Shadow no other alternative except to take Kid Dember into camp.

The versatile bodyguard was too shrewd to forget this interview with a stranger who passed the countersign.

When an actual messenger showed up, Kid would remember the false one and send word back to Long Steve.

True, The Shadow could wait until that time, then trail the emissary; but word might flash to Long Steve too

THE SHADOW'S doubled fingers stretched. Kid saw the motion. His eyes caught the sparkle of the girasol.

The flash of that rare stone gave him a sudden start. Kid shoved a hand toward his hip. He was too late.

Halted by a whispery laugh, Kid looked straight into the muzzle of an automatic that the pretended Cranston

With that laugh, Kid caught the glint of burning eyes. He realized instantly who it was that held him trapped.

Memory of that hawkish countenance was no longer hazy. Kid's poise was gone, as his lips gulped the name:

"We're leaving here" it was again the steady tone of Cranston that Kid heard "to a place where you will

be more comfortable; where we can discuss more details concerning Long Steve Bydle."

Cranston's left hand withdrew from the table. Reaching beside him, he flung a blackish garment over his right

hand. Kid recognized it as a cloak; in its folded condition it looked like a light overcoat. Poking from the

Gun concealed beneath the cloak, The Shadow arose, and Kid Dember willingly did the same. Side by side,

they moved from the booth, The Shadow using the leisurely stroll that suited Cranston. Close to his

They were well back in the night club, with a long distance to the outer door, but The Shadow made the stroll

calmly, keeping his prisoner under complete control. There wasn't a chance for Kid to make a break for it.

Already, The Shadow had acquired one helpless informant who might eventually lead him to Long Steve

From the side of his mouth, Kid Dember was muttering curses, blaming ill luck for his present plight. That

opinion was not justified. The Shadow, alone, was responsible for Kid being in this hopeless position.

But whether The Shadow could lead his victim out of the club without mishap was a matter that only time

THE Club Miche was well filled, and among its customers were many who had the look of crooks. The

Shadow had not discounted their presence. Taking Kid past tables where tuxedoed hoodlums sat was a more

Success depended entirely upon the way Kid behaved; and with that, The Shadow took no chances. Kid's

grumbles ended suddenly, as the gun poked harder. As they neared a table halfway to the door, it was The

"Say hello to your pals," he told Kid, "and make them think I'm just another sucker. Get it?"

Kid "got" it. He paused long enough to give his cronies a friendly wave. His other hand nudged toward The

Shadow, while Kid supplied a wink. Kid's pals took it for granted that Cranston was just another stuffed shirt

At the cashier's desk, Kid had to pay his check, even though he hadn't finished the drink that The Shadow had

interrupted. Kid fumbled gingerly in his vest pocket, bringing out enough small change to settle the bill.

He didn't have nerve enough to reach for his wallet. He figured that The Shadow might think he was going

after a gun. From what he'd heard of The Shadow, Kid guessed that one false move would mean a quick

finish. Kid could picture himself on the receiving end of the first gunshot that interrupted the babble of voices

Nervy, nevertheless, Kid was looking for some last chance to get himself out of this fix. Luck supplied it.

The Shadow was looking at the cashier, a man who could surely make trouble, if phony. Patrons were coming

through the door; The Shadow saw two women preceding the men who escorted them. That quick glance

The deft con man let his last two fingers slide into the vest pocket from which he had removed the change.

His thumb and first two fingers wiggled the signal of The Hand. Kid's hunch was a good one. The men who

came through the revolving door were bruisers who owed loyalty to Long Steve Bydle.

Kid Dember had flashed the emergency signal. With a sudden shove, the pair sent the girls sprawling aside

and made a lunge for The Shadow. Before he could offset the unexpected drive, The Shadow was hurled back

against the counter. Kid was away, the bodies of his rescuers blocking The Shadow's aim.

An average fighter would have cut loose with his gun, in such a predicament. Not The Shadow. He knew that

such a move would be suicidal, once the quicktriggered Kid was loose. There was only one solution: to

To manage that, The Shadow flung away his cloak and hat, the wrapped automatic going with them. Before

that bundle thudded in a corner past the counter, The Shadow was punching a path between the rowdies who

LIKE a speeding arrow, The Shadow launched for Kid just as the fellow wheeled to meet him. Kid's gun was

out, but he couldn't bring it up the last few inches that he needed for a straight aim. By that time, The

Twisting, The Shadow wrenched Kid behind his right shoulder. The revolver spat, its flame searing past The

Shadow's ear. The bullet pinged the ceiling, and with the echoes, Kid was hoisted in a long, headforemost

Kid couldn't yank the trigger in the last half second allotted to him. After that, he had no chance to fire,

because the gun was no longer his. Clamping the gun tight, The Shadow had literally flung Kid from it. The

crook landed weaponless upon a table, overturning it amid a bevy of shrieking women.

Sidestepping to a corner near the door, The Shadow gave a deft toss of the captured gun that brought the

trigger to his finger, with the muzzle pointing straight for the two attackers who had aided Kid.

The neat move was timely. Those thugs had guns and were drawing them. Their hands halted when The

Shadow covered them. To the left was the revolving door. One quick shift and The Shadow could be through

But the imperturbable fighter still had thoughts of taking Kid Dember along. Before venturing that risky task,

The Shadow took a quick glance at the nearer tables, to learn whether other tough customers were close

Kid's long dive had given the impression that the con man had taken the bullet from the gun, particularly as

Kid had not yet crawled from beneath the collapsed table. Some waiter, recognizing the pair of gunners that

Shouts, screams rose from the sudden darkness. In the bedlam, The Shadow drove for the two hoodlums who

were blotted from sight, just as their guns tongued in his direction. Again, shots went wide. A moment later,

Wouldbe murderers took those strokes on their skulls. Flashlights, glimmering from spots about the night

The Shadow had saved shots, and he needed them. He knew who held those flashlights. They were other

crooks who sided with Kid Dember. The lights doused as The Shadow ripped shots toward them, shooting

Other guns began to talk. Their barrage shattered the glass sections of the revolving door, where crooks

thought that their foe had gone. That guess was as wide as their bullets. The Shadow had flung away the

Close to the floor, he swept his cloak over his shoulders, clamped his hat upon his head. An automatic in his

fist, he came up to meet the surge of pursuing crooks, who expected to find a bulletriddled victim on the

There were shouts from the mob. Useless howls, for The Shadow was hewing his way toward a side door that

he had previously picked as a possible exit. Hubbub gripped the night club, for other customers had picked

AS The Shadow reached the side exit, figures blocked him. Grappling with a pair of husky attackers, he

dragged them with him to the street. It was dark outside that little exit; by the time they reached a patch of

The reason was that they were already toppling under hard sledges from The Shadow's gun. As they rolled

into the light, The Shadow saw that he had met with a pair of waiters who served as bouncers at the club.

Whistles were shrilling everywhere. Police were arriving to quell the riot at the Club Miche. Once they

entered the front of the place, mobsters would break for the side exit. That was why The Shadow waited in

Intuitively, The Shadow expected one man to come out ahead of the others. That fugitive would be Kid

Dember. He, more than any other brawler, had reasons to get away from the Club Miche.

A minute passed. A wary head poked into sight. It was Kid Dember, crawling from the side door toward the

stirring figures of the flattened waiters. Kid saw a revolver lying on the sidewalk. He snatched it and retired.

He was lurking there, close to the exit, on lookout for The Shadow. But he expected to see the figure of

Cranston, not a shape of blackness. Easing across the narrow street, The Shadow was skirting in to trap his

Then, with a swerve, came the lights of a stopping police car. They flung a blinding path down the street,

silhouetting The Shadow in the center. Against the glare, The Shadow had no chance to spot Kid Dember,

Diving across the street, The Shadow hit blackness as Kid's gun barked. He made that dart before Kid could

fire. Flattening, The Shadow wriggled along the curb toward a blank wall, while bullets whistled only a foot

Kid was smart. He was firing low, but not quite low enough. He figured that The Shadow had gone past the

curb. More than that, he was coming forward as he fired, hoping to cut down the range.

Stretched at full length, The Shadow aimed, taking as his target the orange bursts from his opponent's gun.

Kid was almost to the fringe of the police car's lights. He couldn't come farther safely; he would have to

This was The Shadow's chance to nick the man he needed. Later, he could lug Kid away, a prisoner. Steadily,

The Shadow's finger tightened on the trigger. One shot more from Kid's gun, The Shadow would be ready.

In his eagerness, the smart con man shoved into the glow of the police car's headlights. Like The Shadow had

been previously, Kid was bathed in light. This time, watchful officers were ready. The gun that gleamed in

A salvo burst from the police car. Kid's tuxedoed figure became a bulletlashed shape writhing on the

asphalt. His contortions carried him nearly across the street. He was only half a dozen feet from The Shadow

One look told the cops that they had settled this troublemaker. Other brawlers were coming from the side

door. The officers charged them, driving the hoodlums back into the night club, where other police had

FOR a short interval, there was a complete lull in the street. During those moments, The Shadow crept

forward to where Kid Dember lay. Kid's eyes were glassy, but his ears could hear the stir beside him.

"It was The Shadow!" Kid hoarsed the words in a final whisper, as he propped upon one elbow. "Tell Long

A cough finished Kid's sentence. Lips flecked with blood, he flattened backward to the street, dead. Those

same lips showed a satisfied smile, despite their pain. Kid Dember had told his story.

It hadn't occurred to Kid's dying brain that the only listener had been The Shadow.

So far as Long Steve Bydle was concerned, Kid's death would be forgotten. The bigshot would still lack

news that The Shadow was in Chicago. That was one reason why a whispered laugh came from the hidden

lips of a blackclad figure that glided swiftly from the vicinity of the Club Miche.

There was grimness, nevertheless, to The Shadow's mirth. Through the death of Kid Dember, The Shadow

had lost his one trail to Long Steve Bydle. He would have to begin anew before he could gain another

The Shadow could foresee new crime, of the sort that Long Steve manufactured, while that coming trail was

HERB WAYLON liked his new job. One day of it had convinced him that he would get along with Arthur

Reether. Not that Reether was friendly and sympathetic, like Cruke; quite the reverse.

Reether was drab, and nonexpressive to such a degree that he seemed to consider his new chauffeur as part of

the car. Since Reether's imported limousine was five years old and was expected to last forever, Herb decided

In fact, Herb had been told that Reether's last chauffeur had left only because of ill health. Since then, Reether

had been using taxicabs instead of the big car. But with a driver as good as Herb, recommended by Reether's

friend Cruke, the limousine had been promptly brought from storage and put back into service.

Actually, Reether had never had a previous chauffeur; nor had he owned the limousine for five years. The car

had been bought for a song, only a few months before, and had been kept waiting for the present opportunity.

Meanwhile, Reether had been living in a pretentious North Side apartment, which he had acquired at bargain

Reether's business likewise was a fake. He had a small office high in one of Chicago's skyscrapers, where he

posed as a commission merchant. Faked books created the impression that Reether handled huge transactions,

Visited by eager insurance agents, Reether had taken out an accident policy that offered compensation of two

hundred and fifty dollars a week in case of injury, with twentyfive thousand dollars as a claim for accidental

Those sums doubled for certain types of accidents, one of which covered injuries sustained while riding in a

Reether believed firmly in accident insurance. That was why he had a policy drawn up for his new chauffeur,

the first day that Herb Waylon came on the job. Herb's policy was for fifty dollars a week, with a double

IT was dusk when Herb parked the limousine outside Reether's office building. A traffic cop warned him that

he could stay there for only fifteen minutes. That limit was sufficient. From the lobby of the building, Herb

While he waited, Herb put in a call to Joan Gramley, to announce proudly that he had acquired a job.

"Of course I don't mind what the job is!" she told him. "All that I ever asked, Herb, was that you would try to

"I hope your father feels that way about it," returned Herb. "As a rule, bankers don't like to have their

"Don't worry about dad!" laughed Joan. "I'll handle him. Drop around any time you want, Herb. It's time that

Herb was smiling when he strolled out to the sidewalk. Dropping around to see Joan would be easy, as there

were many hours when Reether didn't need the big car. Moreover, Reether had passed over the matter of a

uniform as unimportant, so the Gramley servants would not identify Herb as a chauffeur when he called at

As Herb started to open the door of the limousine, someone thwacked him on the shoulder. He turned to meet

"I'll stick around and say hello," decided Chet. "Maybe I'll get a good report on you to take back to Cruke."

Reether arrived. The drab man was nervous. The reason seemed to be that he had a companion with him, a

wiry man whose looks didn't please Herb. The fellow had a scrawny face, with little darty eyes.

Reether didn't bother to introduce the fellow to Chet. However, he invited Chet to ride in the limousine. Chet

Watching the fellow in the mirror, Herb wondered how he happened to be with Reether. He decided that the

"Leave it to me," Chet was telling Reether. "You won't get hurt bad. Maybe not at all."

"But there's bound to be a crash!" protested Reether, in a whisper. "Any smashup may be bad!"

"I've got to lam after the wreck," reminded Chet. "So I'll see that it won't be too tough. What you've got to

"Not if you watch Crawler." Chet nudged toward the scrawnyfaced man, who supplied a wise grin. "Do

SNATCHES of that conversation reached Herb's ears, for he had not been ordered to close the glass partition

between the back seat and the front. But Herb did not hear enough to guess what the talk was all about.

Driving carefully, Herb was watching every traffic light. So was Chet, from the right of the rear seat. Like a

vulture waiting for its prey, Chet was hoping for one slight shred of daring on the part of the new chauffeur.

A traffic light was changing, just as Herb started to nose across a wide street. The sensible thing was to step

on the accelerator and get across. Herb did so; he had plenty of time to clear the traffic that was moving in

With a wild yell to "Look out!" Chet dived over the front seat and yanked the wheel from Herb's hands.

Startled, Herb pulled his foot from the accelerator. The limousine slackened speed as Chet's tug jerked it

Two cabs had started with the light. They couldn't stop in time. Together; they cracked the limousine, their

combined momentum bowling it to the far curb. The big car teetered there. Shouldered by Chet's weight,

Herb thwacked the window on the left. He was slumped, groggy, behind the wheel by the time the limousine

"Crawler" had doubled like a rubber ball. Unhurt, he was stretching, writhing his limbs as if in agony. Beside

him was Reether, jarred but not badly hurt. The drab man blinked at Chet, who pointed to Crawler, as if

As Reether's eyes went toward the floor, Chet's hand whipped from his hip pocket. Hooking Reether's hair

with his left fist, Chet swung a blackjack with his right. The blow, was a short one, completely hidden in the

The blackjack thudded a vulnerable spot at the base of Reether's skull. When Chet released his hairhold,

Chet was looking through the window on the left, as he spoke. They were on the sidewalk close to a building

wall, and pedestrians had scattered. Crawler's hand came up to pull the door handle.

With a bound, Chet cleared both figures. As he reached the sidewalk, he crouched, watching Crawler let

himself slip down to the car step from the open door. Herb was out of sight behind the wheel. He was the

All that Chet needed to know was whether or not his escape from the car had been spotted. If it had, his only

Apparently, no one had spotted Chet's departure. All persons who were hurrying toward the limousine were

By the time a traffic cop was directing the removal of the chauffeur and two passengers, Chet was part of a

gawking throng of pedestrians who had gathered in from doorways and other spots of refuge.

Chet watched the loading of the victims into taxicabs. Paced by a motorcycle cop, the caravan whizzed away

toward the nearest hospital. When the screech of siren and honk of horns had died, Chet strolled toward an

It had worked out great, in Chet's estimation. Reether was dead, and his finish would be attributed to a chance

whack against a door handle. Herb was a genuine victim, too groggy to have witnessed the blackjack blow

Crawler, the best accident faker in all Chicago, would pose as a badly hurt victim, and would also serve as the

best of witnesses, when he gave his version of the accident. There wasn't a flaw in the situation, as Chet saw

THE murderer might have changed that opinion, had he been bold enough to remain upon the scene.

Traffic had resumed, despite the curious throng. Most persons who passed in vehicles simply glanced at the

wrecked limousine. There was one cab, however, that carried a most interested passenger. Sighting the

The passenger who stepped from the cab was hawkfaced, bearing a haunting resemblance to Lamont

Chet nor anyone else not even the dead Kid Dember would have recognized this chance arrival as The

Joining the onlookers, The Shadow studied the smashed limousine. He heard witnesses remark that one

victim had been killed, that the man's head must have cracked the door open. Somehow, that didn't seem to

tally with another statement; namely, that an injured victim had rolled out to the step.

Nor did the door itself bear proper testimony. Momentum would have had a part in ripping it open, even if a

passenger did bounce against it. The door, however, showed no signs of having been ripped wide. To The

Shadow, it told an accurate story: that someone in the car had deliberately pulled the handle.

Noting the license number of the limousine, The Shadow returned to the cab, told the driver to take him on to

his destination. But as the taxi pulled away, its driver imagined that he heard an oddly whispered laugh from

That mirth was actual. The Shadow had gotten the lead he wanted. From this fresh accident, with victims still

WHEN Herb Waylon awakened, he thought it was morning, until he noted a gradual dimming of the light

outside his window. Then came hazy recollections of nightmarish events that had almost slipped from his

Herb remembered that he had been in a hospital; that he must have spent the entire night there. Then he

recalled snatches of daylight, accompanied by a joggy ride in a vehicle that must have been a private

The room where he was at present was not in a hospital. It looked more like a hotel room. As Herb raised his

head from the bed pillows, he caught a view of Lake Michigan through the window.

Herb's left arm lay, bandaged, across the front of his pajama jacket. Looking toward the bottom of the bed, he

saw a bulge that indicated his right leg to be in what seemed a plaster cast. His chest was tightly bandaged,

Sensing no pain, Herb attributed his comfortable condition to some opiate that had been given him. He

The door opened. Herb turned to see Chet Soville enter. The chunky man looked anxious; but he smiled as he

"Lay quiet, old man," he said. "Just thought I'd drop in to chat with you. There's a police inspector due here

"Yeah," returned Chet. "Reether was killed. But it wasn't your fault, Herb." Chet was adding that news glibly.

"Anyway, the other drivers were to blame. So just stick to your story: You were driving across the street

Herb nodded, but his grimace showed that he would find it difficult to forget that Chet had been there.

Though he couldn't be too sure of his memory, Herb could picture the grab that Chet had made to yank the

Still, Chet was his friend; at least, so Herb believed. It was better to rely on Chet's judgment for the present.

That was why Herb told a simple, slowworded story when the police inspector arrived. He stated that he had

been on his way across the street when the light changed; that cars had suddenly borne down upon him.

Quillon the inspector seemed quite satisfied with the account. As soon as he had gone, Chet thwacked

"Good enough, so far!" approved Chet. "When the doctors arrive, don't say anything."

Two physicians soon appeared. One was an elderly, pinchfaced man with an air of selfimportance. Herb

heard Chet address him as "Doctor Ruttler", but didn't catch the name of the younger physician.

Ruttler managed matters briskly. He had his companion check the extent of Herb's injuries, while Ruttler,

himself, conducted the examination. Ruttler also undertoned data that he read from a paper, which appeared

The little that Herb heard made his spirits sink. There was mention of a compound fracture of the right ankle,

a dislocated left shoulder, and two broken ribs. Those were sufficient to give Herb aches that he hadn't felt

The younger physician went out; Ruttler paused in the hall. Herb could see him whispering with Chet, and for

the first time, a smile appeared upon Ruttler's dryish face. It was a toothy grin, one that Herb didn't like.

Then Ruttler was gone. Lying with eyes half closed, Herb saw Chet sneak a look back into the room.

A FEW minutes later, Herb was propping himself in bed, cautiously trying his left arm. Oddly, he felt no

great pain from his shoulder, although he had imagined some, a short while before. His ankle didn't hurt,

when he worked it inside the bulky bandages. As for his ribs, the tight strap accounted for their discomfort.

Left foot first, Herb gingerly reached the floor. He limped about the room and soon walked steadily. He was

Near the door of the room, Herb decided he had better get back to bed. He paused, to steady himself by

gripping the doorway. He was doped, all right, for the room was whirling around a bit.

Out in the hallway, which was dim with dusk, he could see a big black splotch that seemed to drift as he

watched it. The thing had a human shape, at first; then it blended with the gloom of a doorway on the

Herb blinked, as if he had seen a ghost. He shook himself from his momentary trance and stumbled back to

There were footsteps in the corridor. They were cautious, hesitant, seemingly a long way off. Light footsteps,

that soon reached Herb's door and paused there. Though he kept his eyes closed, Herb sensed that someone

This was no hallucination, the face that he saw above him! It was a beautiful face, rounded in its mold, with

eyes that brimmed tears, lovely lips that quivered beneath a shapely nose. That face was angelic, against the

background of dark hair that melted into the twilight of the room. As tender fingers grasped his hand, Herb

"You're badly hurt, Herb" Joan's voice was low, troubled "and you didn't let me know!"

"I couldn't, Joan," returned Herb. "I only woke up a little while ago. But I'm all right."

The tight grip of his hand testified to the truth of his words. Again, Herb propped himself on his elbow,

Happiness loosed the tears that were in Joan's eyes. With grateful sobs, she told of the anxiety that she had

"I read about the accident," Joan explained. "I went to the hospital, but they said that you had just been

removed from there. I followed a private ambulance that came to this hotel, but you were carried in through

"They declared that you were not here; that someone else had been brought in the ambulance. Somehow,

there seemed to be a plot to keep me from finding you. I called up several times, with always the same

"Finally, I came here again, through that other entrance. I found a service elevator, and the man who ran it

was friendly different from the clerks and the others who had talked to me. He told me to try this floor."

Herb was clasping Joan's hand between his own, a proof that his left arm was not badly crippled. He told her

that a friend had brought him here Herb was thinking of Cruke, not of Chet and probably the clerk had

"They'll look after me," promised Herb. "I'll be up and around by tomorrow, Joan. I'm sure of it! You will be,

too, when I come to see you. But right now, you'd better go out, the same way you came in."

Joan nodded. She pressed her hand to Herb's forehead, noting that he had no fever. The gentle touch eased

Herb's head back to the pillow. Joan's parting whisper was as soft as the stroke of her fingers.

In the minutes that followed, Herb could fancy that she was still in the room. He clung to that illusion, even

after he opened his eyes again, for the room had become quite dark. It took a sharp sound and a sudden result

Someone pressed the light switch. In the glow that came from ceiling sockets, Herb saw Chet Soville

CHUNKY Chet pulled a table up beside the bed, placed a rectangle of paper on it. Giving Herb a pen, he told

"Yeah," returned Chet, wisely. "From the insurance company. Put your signature on it."

Herb signed with the fountain pen that Chet provided. Lifting the check, Chet held the face toward him,

manipulating his fingers for a moment. Slowly, he turned the check in Herb's direction. It was from the

insurance company, as Chet said, but the chunky man was holding his thumbs across the lines that told the

"A hundred and fifty bucks," remarked Chet, wriggling his right thumb slightly. "Take a peek for yourself."

Herb took a peek, a bigger one than Chet supposed. He saw the figures mentioned, but there was another zero

"That will take care of your expenses," remarked Chet, casually pocketing the check. "I'll cash the check for

you and slip you the dough. Those big insurance companies always pay up prompt when they know your

Herb gave a mechanical nod. He hadn't forgotten that undertoned conversation between Chet and Ruttler. It

was certain enough that Doc Ruttler had put the check through; and that meant one thing only.

The insurance company's examiner was working with the racket, the same as Chet Soville!

For there wasn't a doubt in Herb's mind that he had become the dupe of a swindling organization; out to trim

All that restrained Herb was the thought of his benefactor, Cruke. Until he knew how Cruke stood, Herb

didn't care to blow the works. That was why he again pretended sleepiness. Seeing Herb relax, Chet made an

During drifting minutes, Herb thought things over. Had Chet gone to see Cruke? If he had, did that mean that

Cruke was in it? The more that Herb pondered, the more he decided that the sooner he exposed the game, the

If Cruke wasn't in it, he could easily prove his innocence, and would certainly approve Herb's honesty.

A name spoke itself in Herb's mind. That name was Quillon the police inspector who had called earlier in

the afternoon. He was the chap to talk with. Probably Quillon was back at headquarters by this time.

Herb reached for the telephone, started to lift the handset from the cradle. An instant later, he swung,

Hawkish features and burning eyes beneath a slouch hat those were Herb's impression of the attacker who

swept upon him like a living avalanche. A gloved fist sped from a blackcloaked form; like a trip hammer, it

A moment later, Herb was yanked half from the bed. He found his whole form doubled, his bandaged arm

twisted behind him gripped in an armlock. Under Herb's other arm came a hand that clamped over the

One hand free, the cloaked arrival had gained the telephone. Replacing the telephone on its table, he relaxed

Sinking back weakly, Herb stared at the eyes above him. From hidden lips he heard a whispered laugh, one

that might have carried a variety of meanings, according to the mental state of listeners who heard the mirth.

Herb Waylon's state was one of sheer amazement at this, his first meeting with that incredible being The

PROBING eyes read Herb's very thoughts, as the young man replied steadily to questions from The Shadow's

lips. Somehow, Herb didn't realize that he was answering questions. This weird intruder started sentences,

It was almost hypnotic that method. Each urging of The Shadow's tone forced a spontaneous reply. Lies

But Herb spoke the entire truth under that encouragement. Detail by detail, he related how he had come under

Without realizing it Herb revealed the bigshot's actual headquarters. Though Herb still had hopes of Cruke's

In preventing Herb from using the telephone, The Shadow had stopped a suicidal move. From Joan's

experience, which Herb had detailed, it was plain that Long Steve, alias Cruke, controlled a considerable

Herb's call would never have reached headquarters. Instead, he would have had a visit from Chet Soville, at

Thanks to The Shadow, Herb was still safe. Moreover, he had unwittingly been initiated into the fake claim

racket. He was the sort who could prove of further value to the crooks. Doubtless, they would sound him out

That would give Herb his chance to join up; and from his study of the young man, The Shadow saw great

possibilities. Herb was straightforward. His love for Joan made him anxious to do something worthwhile. He

"Cruke is crooked," The Shadow told Herb. "He is actually Long Steve Bydle, a bigtime racketeer, While a

single stroke might finish his operations, hundreds of his followers would escape justice.

"It is preferable to wait. We must injure his game, driving him to desperate measure. Meanwhile, the law will

be informed of certain facts. When the time arrives, Long Steve will be helpless."

"You can," replied The Shadow. "Accept whatever proposition is offered. Tell no one of the part you intend

to play. Follow instructions that come directly from myself. You will recognize them by this!"

As he spoke, The Shadow used a fountain pen to ink words on a sheet of paper. He handed the message to

But as Herb watched, the writing obliterated itself letter by letter, leaving him staring at a blank sheet!

Herb understood. Written with a disappearing ink, those messages were unique, easy to identify; and they

would leave no trace, once exposed to air. He turned to nod his agreement to The Shadow, but the mysterious

As final token, Herb heard the whispered echoes of a low, weird laugh that seemed to trail back from the

THREE floors above, a prowling bellboy was keeping patrol outside Long Steve Bydle's lakefront suite.

The fellow's natty uniform was a thin disguise. He was a thug of the first water, and the bulge on his hip

Perhaps it was overconfidence that caused the fake bellhop to miss sight of the dark streak that slid along the

corridor. Possibly no eyes could have spotted that long patch of blackness. Certainly, the figure that caused

Gliding from doorway to doorway, The Shadow seemed part of the dim corridor wall until he reached the

That door offered access to Long Steve's apartment. When the patrolling thug reached it, he stopped, tugged

out his gun and poked it into the door space. The probe brought nothingness. In a quarter minute, The

The noiseless closing of the door had escaped attention from those within. Gliding to an inner corner of the

little entry, The Shadow saw Long Steve in conference with Chet Soville. With them was a third man, whose

This extra man was a New York crook named Barney Heslip. He was a triggerman who had found the

Murderers three such were Long Steve Bydle and the pair of lieutenants with him.

Long Steve had discarded the fake role of Cruke. He was talking business, with a raspy briskness. The

Shadow had arrived just in time to hear the bigshot's summary of an important matter.

"WAYLON'S ripe," declared Long Steve. "So go ahead, Chet. Talk to him. Lay it smooth, like he had a

Long Steve finished the sentence with an ugly grin that brought a knowing grunt from Chet Soville. The

"Fifteen hundred bucks on Waylon," he remarked. "One grand besides, for Crawler. Keep those little ones

coming in fast, Chet. They total up big. But what I'd like to stage is another haul like the one we just made on

"Fifty grand at one clip! And no squawks coming! There's no disputing a death claim. That's something that

"I get it," growled the bigshot. "You've had to alibi it with other guys that are insured heavy, like Reether

was. They listened when you said it was an accident. But things like that don't happen twice."

Long Steve discarded his plans for further murder, with a muttered grumble. Then, suddenly, he turned to

"Not much," returned Barney. "He got in a row with some stuffed shirt, probably a guy he'd flimflammed.

"Naw," replied Barney. "They know Korber down at the Club Miche. This was some other guy."

"Kid was working on Korber," recalled Long Steve. "Maybe Korber carries heavy insurance. Look into it,

The bigshot nudged toward the door, suggesting that Chet go down and talk with Herb Waylon. The

lieutenant shouldered out through the entry, passing within an arm's reach of The Shadow.

It was lucky for Chet that he didn't see that tall shape of blackness in the corner. A .45 was in readiness under

When the door had slammed shut, Long Steve turned to Barney. The raspy voice became a rolling undertone

"You're lamming, Barney," announced Bydle. "You're taking that lake freighter out of Milwaukee. Don't

"It's on account of Maisie Troy," explained Long Steve. "She was listed as Reether's niece. The fifty grand

"She signed it over," informed the bigshot. "All she's got is my check a Cruke check for five grand. She

thinks she's going to cash it in Kenosha. But she won't! You're driving her there, on your trip to Milwaukee."

MURDEROUS enlightenment spread across Barney's wide face. The Shadow caught snatches of muttered

details that followed, enough for him to formulate a plan. He let the last words pass, because Long Steve and

Barney were moving toward the door and it was imperative, more than ever, to keep away from sight.

The ringing of the phone bell halted the strolling murderers. Long Steve hopped to the telephone, with

"You signed Waylon up, huh?" queried Long Steve. "Good enough... Yeah. We'll use him... Sure! On the

Korber proposition. Don't tell Waylon, though... Yeah. Let him wait until we've framed the job the way we

The entry door was closing. It marked the welltimed departure of The Shadow, unnoticed by either Long

Steve or Barney. Getting out of that apartment wasn't as sure a task as entering it. The Shadow learned that,

In the hallway, the pacing thug had turned about. He was squinting at the doorway, wondering if he imagined

things. There was too much blackness to suit the fake bellhop. It went away when he blinked, but still it

The guard fancied that he saw something creep along the floor. He yanked his gun from his hip, to trail that

creeping streak that seemed constantly uncertain as it faded along the corridor, sliding just too fast for its

One chance upward look from the uniformed thug and The Shadow's game would have been finished, for

there were moments when his cloaked shape blotted the corridor lights. It was a long chance, but it worked.

The moment when the guard did look up, The Shadow was twisting past the corner of a broad stairway near

the elevators. Spying the stairs, the guard sprang forward. He made the turn, saw blackness loom from the

The blackness flattened clear across the broad steps. That fall was speedier than the guard's mad lunge. The

thug took a dive into gloom that was empty. His headlong tumble ended on a landing, a dozen steps below.

Coming from Steve's apartment, Barney Heslip heard the crash. By the time the triggerman arrived, The

Shadow had passed the halfstunned guard and was gone, below the landing. Barney hopped down the steps.

The fellow muttered that he had been seeing things, and Barney agreed with him, but on that point alone.

"Lucky you didn't cut loose with your gat," the triggerman. "You know the orders around here. No shooting

if you can help it. Snap out of it and get on into the apartment. Mr Cruke wants you to wheel him over by the

Barney helped the guard up the steps, starting him on his way to Bydle's apartment. While waiting for an

elevator, Barney could hear the fellow still muttering. It stopped, however, before the guard entered the

"That bellhop must be a dope," Barney told the toughfaced elevator operator, as they rode down. "He was

sneaking up on nobody, and he fell down the stairs trying to grab a guy that wasn't there!"

Choosing a side exit from the lobby, Barney still was scoffing at the guard's stupidity. Anybody could see

things in the darkness, if they looked long enough. But Barney wasn't that dumb. He proved it by giving no

more than a passing glance toward the foot of the stairway, which ended near the side exit.

Barney wasn't entirely wrong. He would have seen something if he had stopped to scrutinize those stairs

more closely. But Barney was in a hurry. He had no time to waste. Hence the cloaked shape that emerged

For Barney Heslip was the only person who might have learned that The Shadow was on his trail!

WITH Barney Heslip, murder was a pastime, provided the details were well arranged. The easier the victim,

the better, in his opinion. What Barney liked was his ability to lull persons into false security; to make them

It was funny to see the way their faces looked when they found out different. They reminded Barney of things

Taking a dame for a oneway trip was a new treat for Barney, and he got a big kick from it. Particularly,

because he knew Maisie Troy and had always figured her as a smart moll. On that account, Barney had

So if there was one guy Maisie would talk to, it was Barney, and that made it all the funnier.

They were riding northward through Evanston, in their battered coupe, when Maisie decided to be

confidential. She wasn't a bad looker, Maisie wasn't, with her big blue eyes and blond hair, as Barney noted

"You're a good scout, Barney," declared Maisie. "Too good to stay in the racket. You ought to be getting out

"You're riding to Kenosha, ain't you?" countered Barney, "in an old bus that's ready to fall apart. That's tough,

Maisie laughed, which proved that she had missed a point that Barney regarded as subtle. Apparently, she

thought that Barney had a phony reputation as a triggerman. That was another point of pride with Barney.

"Reether was in the racket," declared Maisie, suddenly. "His death was accidental. If it hadn't been, I wouldn't

"Just a softy, ain't you?" put in Barney. His gruff tone had a thickness, as he added: "You and me both, kid. I

There was something sympathetic in Maisie's bigeyed gaze, as a passing light showed her face more

distinctly. Barney chewed down a grin; the result was that his face showed a somewhat sad expression.

From that moment on, Maisie didn't hold the slightest suspicion regarding Barney, although he kept watching

the mirror frequently to check on a trailing car. If the girl hadn't fallen for Barney's bluff, she might have

realized that the car behind them carried a coverup crew that was seeing the killer along his route.

At times, that car fell behind, only to pick up the distance again within the next mile. Good stuff, thought

Barney. It showed that the crew knew their job. There was a factor, though, that neither the killer nor the

A FEW miles north of Highland Park, the trailing sedan let Barney's coupe curve from sight. At that timely

moment, there was a sharp purr from a powerful roadster in back of the sedan. The driver of the roadster

whipped toward the car ahead; leaning far to his right, he poked a gun muzzle from the side of the open car.

There was a report from a big automatic, aimed toward the highway. The burst of that .45 produced quick

alarm in the sedan. Three mobsters yanked guns of their own, ready to open fire on the roadster when it

A moment later, the sedan was jouncing heavily on the concrete. The driver growled to his pals:

Revolvers went from sight as the roadster sped by. None of the crew noticed its blackcloaked driver,

crouched low behind the wheel. A few minutes later, the mobbies were changing a rear tire, with one of them

Oddly, all disputants were right. They had heard both a gunshot and a blowout; but the two sounds had been

simultaneous. It happened that The Shadow's bullet was rattling around inside the inner tube of the flat tire,

Up ahead, Barney was still watching headlights that tagged close behind him; but the identity of the trailing

car had changed. There was not enough variance in the lights for Barney to recognize the shift. The Shadow's

He had reached the spot suggested by Long Steve. Barney veered suddenly from the main highway, taking a

The jounces of the rattletrap coupe awakened Maisie from a light drowse. She asked where they were.

"On a detour coming into Waukegan," informed Barney. "We'll be getting back to the highway pretty quick."

Sight of lights behind him satisfied Barney. They offered him a plan that had been brewing in his mind. Steve

had said to junk the old car after he reached Milwaukee. Barney had an idea that he could do that before he

Brakes screeched as the coupe pulled up on an embankment. The lights showed a sharp slope ahead, leading

to a rickety, longabandoned pier. Barney watched the mirror. He saw the headlights of the other car go off.

"Guess we're headed the wrong way," grumbled Barney. "We gotta back up, Maisie. Take a gander out your

As Maisie turned, Barney slid the gear shift into high. He kept one foot on the clutch pedal; the other pressed

the brake as hard as it could, to hold the car on the slope. Twisting about, Barney pulled the throttle button

The roar of the motor furnished the noise that the killer wanted. Amid that racket, a shot would pass for

nothing more than a backfire, assuming that the wrong persons happened to be near enough to hear it.

The bright, uncovered dashlight showed horror in those large blue eyes when Maisie looked down the threat

Maisie knew what was coming, and she was game. That didn't impress Barney; it annoyed him.

"That's a dame for you," he muttered. "She ought to go yellow, only she ain't. Anyway, she was easy to fool."

Maisie's fingers were on the door handle. She was leaning against the door itself, but from the ugliness that

came to Barney's face, she knew why he waited. When she pressed the handle, the killer would yank the

Grim seconds passed, while Maisie withheld the fatal move. At last, her hand tightened.

BEFORE Maisie could shove the handle, the door shot outward of its own accord. It opened frontward; the

girl, huddled at the edge of the seat, was precipitated from her perch. Sudden though her fall was, it might not

have beaten Barney's trigger tug, if some unseen force had not yanked the girl more swiftly.

Barney's gun spoke with the roaring motor. A bullet sizzled through space. With a snarl, the killer lunged

toward the open door, trying to spot Maisie on the ground. Upon the step he saw a black cloak whipping

That garment was whirling across Maisie, as its owner rolled the girl toward the ground, away from the dim

car glow. Barney shifted his gaze, bringing his gun with it, just as an uncloaked form sidestepped into sight.

Burning eyes, hawkish face they went with the cloak that now covered Maisie. So did the .45 automatic

A warding arm hooked Barney's wrist. The .38 spat a bullet a scant inch from The Shadow's ear. With a quick

jerk of his wrist, Barney drove a hard blow for The Shadow's skull. It was vicious, that stroke; but it was

Barney saw The Shadow sag. The crook jabbed his gun muzzle downward. This time, he was too late. A

spurt of flame arrowed upward from the automatic. Barney took that slug in the right shoulder, jolting upward

The rest happened in quick, surprising sequence. Barney's feet slipped from the pedals. The clutch gripped as

the brake released. The coupe seemed to hop from the embankment, as The Shadow made a vain clutch for

In high gear, with the throttle wide open, Barney didn't have a chance to get the car under control. He was

bellowing, half from pain, half from fright, as the hurtling death machine hit the pier. That bounce must have

alarmed him into belated action, for The Shadow saw Barney bob at the rear window as if preparing for a

Then came a crackle. The door hit a post at the edge of the pier, the jar slamming it shut. The coupe was

zigzagging at thirty miles an hour, its wheels hitting raised beams along the edges of the pier that jockeyed it

Barney never managed to grab the door handle. Finishing its ride along the twohundredfoot runway, the

junky coupe lurched out into the lake. With the muffle of the motor's roar, The Shadow gained a last glimpse

The car and its murderous occupant found a resting place forty feet below the surface.

Maisie was on her feet, riveted by the tragedy that she also had witnessed. Hands lifted the cloak that had

obscured her from Barney's aim. A moment later, The Shadow had donned that garb, to become a whispered

A chill swept Maisie, but The Shadow's tone did not produce it. She was thinking of the deserved fate that

had come to Barney Heslip, considering it in terms applicable to herself. For the spot that Barney had reached

By the time The Shadow had guided Maisie to the roadster, she was pouring her whole story, admitting her

part in the machinations of the insurance ring. Strangely, The Shadow seemed to understand even more than

Riding back into Chicago, Maisie tore up the check that bore the signature of J. M. Cruke; for the first time,

she realized that the funds from Reether's death were blood money. With that action, Maisie spoke her

The Shadow had performed a rescue, reversing death's decree. In so doing, he had enrolled another ardent

THE next day, two new guests registered at the Southlake Hotel. One was Lamont Cranston, who gave his

address as New York. Another was a young man named Harry Vincent, who came from a town in Michigan.

Actually, Harry was The Shadow's most trusted agent. His chief had chosen him as the man to share the

On the surface. all was serene at the Southlake. In fact, the pretentious establishment was well run, despite

the hold that Long Steve Bydle had gotten there. The more guests, the better, in Steve's opinion, provided

Both the new guests were approved by the bigshot. He failed utterly to link their presence with events that

Long Steve had ordered Chet Soville to play the accident racket for all it was worth, and the lieutenant did.

But, somehow, things didn't work as they had before. Doc Ruttler wasn't the only examiner called in to look

Police surgeons came into the picture. So did other physicians, who hadn't figured previously. Claim agents

were more alert than usual. The whole thing was a headache that reached a climax when Doc Ruttler made an

The dryfaced medico stopped in to see Herb Waylon, accompanied by Chet Soville. Herb was still lounging

about in bed, and Ruttler openly discussed matters in his presence, since he had Chet's assurance that Herb

"They're clamping down," declared Ruttler, sourly. "Who's handed them the tipoffs, I can't guess. Anyway,

"Herb's going on a job pretty soon," announced Chet. "Maybe tonight. But nobody's going to get a look at

Their destination was Cruke's apartment, but Chet didn't mention that to Herb. As yet, Herb hadn't been

officially informed that J. M. Cruke was actually Long Steve Bydle, master of Chicago crookery. Only the

more important lieutenants knew that fact, and Doc Ruttler was one of them. He covered it by posing as

LONG STEVE slid from his wheel chair by the open window, as soon as the visitors entered. He wanted

"I'd be up against it for fair, Long Steve," he declared, "if Crawler and some of the others hadn't been so

expert. Even at that, I had to yank them out of different hospitals in a hurry."

"Where've you got them now?" queried Long Steve. "Down at your private hospital?"

"Under observation," he smirked. "My observation; and so far, I've managed to escape suspicion. But if I'm

"Why not just ease them out of the picture?" queried Long Steve. "Let 'em beat it. That will clear you."

Doc Ruttler stroked his withered chin as he nodded. The plan pleased him, except for one angle.

"We might salvage something," he suggested. "Crawler and a few others could fake it through."

"Use your own judgment," declared Long Steve. "Only, hold out as long as you can. Something may happen

meanwhile. I've got a guy trying to find out who's been handing all these tipoffs. Chet here is crazy enough

"But he's not in it. The Shadow wouldn't hold off this long. All we've got to find is some smart guy who's

sneaking inside stuff to the police and the insurance companies. Once he's found" Long Steve snapped his

"All this paid out," he reminded, "with no take for five days. How are you going to laugh that off, Steve?"

"We'll let the Korber job take care of it," declared the bigshot. "The way we've doped it, the whole thing is

in our line. Just another accident. Set it for tonight, Chet, and use this guy Waylon."

Soon afterward, Chet paid a lone visit to Herb. The two held a long and confidential talk. When Chet had

gone, Herb dug deep in the closet and brought out a hidden microphone. The "mike" was hooked in with the

Harry had introduced himself to Herb three days before, by delivering a note written in The Shadow's

"Richard Korber is slated for tonight," undertoned Herb. "They figure they can pull the deal that Kid Dember

started. Korber always takes a cab outside the Club Miche. I'm elected to smack it with a truck.

"Two other cars will be on the job, both loaded with gunners. One is to block off the cab. I'm to hop aboard

the other, after I abandon the truck. Nobody's going to know where the truck came from or who the driver

Harry told Herb to stand by for instructions. Herb waited a brief five minutes. Then came Harry's reply,

Alertly, Herb listened to the rest. The words he heard brought a firm smile to his lips. The past had given him

confidence in The Shadow; the future offered even more. The way The Shadow had figured a suitable finish

Unquestionably, The Shadow had figured out all details that concerned the insurance racket. It was plain that

he had garnered these from many sources. But in addition, The Shadow had an amazing system of planning

Tonight, Herb Waylon was to figure heavily in such a move. It was the chance that he had long awaited.

Nothing so Herb thought could put these plans awry. So Herb believed, not realizing how chance, plus

IT was dusk when Chet Soville dropped into Waylon's room again. The chunky crook motioned Herb to the

"There's your buggy," declared Chet, "and here's the keys. Get started any time you want. But remember

"Here's the license number of the truck," added Chet, passing over a slip of paper. "Just climb in it and get

After Chet had gone, Herb dressed hurriedly. Unseen, he descended by the hotel stairway, to reach the coupe.

For Herb had a plan of his own in mind; a plan that seemingly could not conflict with The Shadow's orders.

With several hours to spare, he intended to accept the invitation from Joan Gramley to visit the North Side

apartment that her father used as town residence. For several days, he had been anxious to meet Peter

Herb wasn't at fault in having that urge. He had heard from Joan, through Harry Vincent, and she had

repeated the invitation for Herb to call. Joan had always wanted to introduce Herb to her father; all that she

Though his career as Reether's chauffeur had been a short one, and a frameup as well, Herb had at least

convinced Joan of his willingness to work. Moreover, in entering The Shadow's service, Herb had done

Of course, there was his promise to The Shadow. Herb intended to keep it. There was no reason why he had

to mention his present work to Joan. She would be proud of him, later, when he was free to tell the full facts.

For the present, Joan's love was all that counted. She had demonstrated it with that visit she had made. She

would be thrilled when he called this afternoon, even though Herb's stay would be a short one.

Herb was counting on those coming minutes, when he parked the car across from the big apartment house.

When he entered the lobby, he gave his name to an attendant and asked for Miss Gramley. The call went

upstairs and brought back news that Joan was at home. The attendant told Herb to go up to Apartment 5B.

Scarcely had Herb found the apartment door, when it opened. A tall, stoopshouldered man brushed out and

ran squarely against the incoming visitor. The fellow lost his derby hat in the jostle. Picking it up, he gave

Who the fellow was, why he was here, Herb didn't bother to guess. He took it for granted that the man hadn't

been calling on Joan. He looked like some visitor who had been calling on her father, and had evidently had a

The servant who had ushered out the visitor was prompt in admitting Herb. Conducted to a sumptuous

reception room, the young man had only a minute to wait. At the end of those sixty seconds, two curtains

She took one look to make sure that Herb was alone. Then Joan was in his arms. To Herb, that moment was

more thrilling than any that had ever gone before. He had found the happiness he wanted. It was the summit

Never could Herb Waylon have believed that this reunion was to end with the greatest misery that he had

ever undergone; that from it, he was to lose all the confidence that he had gained.

A test was due, wherein Herb's only wish would be to forget all that had ever passed, including his promise to

LOVE had produced many difficulties for Herb Waylon and Joan Gramley; enough to make them practical

minded. There were reasons why their future depended upon Herb's meeting with Joan's father.

Old Peter Gramley had decided that his daughter would benefit greatly from an extended trip abroad.

Methodical as well as domineering, he had scheduled that voyage and all the details that would keep Joan in

Joan had managed a few postponements, for she could be as firmset as her father. But it was that very fact

Joan's own determination that had caused her to insist on Herb establishing himself before she would marry

"Dad will understand," she told Herb. "Once you meet him and he learns that I love you, he won't insist on

"There will still be the other problem," reminded Herb. "A banker's daughter marrying a chauffeur."

"Dad wouldn't object," she insisted. "He admires industry in young men. He has often said that I could marry

a ditch digger, if I wished. The only men he doesn't like are the playboys in our social set.

"But I won't tell dad that you were a chauffeur, because you aren't any longer. The matter of a job was my

own test, Herb, and you proved you could get one. So I'll tell dad what you really are a young architect with

Herb liked Joan's final statement. He did have big ambitions, and felt that he could realize them. For Herb

knew that he could look forward to an honest reward in return for his services to The Shadow.

JOAN led the way to her father's study. They found Peter Gramley at his desk, munching the end of a fat

cigar as he thumbed through sheaves of papers. Gramley was a grayhaired man of forceful appearance. The

Rising from his desk, Gramley shot out a powerful hand that Herb received with friendly clasp.

"I thought so," declared the banker. "At last, Joan, I have met the young man that you have been telling me

"Of course not!" chuckled Gramley. "But you showed many symptoms that proved you were in love. Well"

"This is Herb," declared Joan. "Herb Waylon. He's an architect. He doesn't have any present connection, dad,

Gramley had finished the handshake. He motioned Joan and Herb to sit down. His smile showed that he

approved of Herb on sight. Leaning back in his chair, he spoke in fatherly fashion.

"Willingness is what counts," he declared. "I can't say that I could find a present opening for an architect, but

I know of other opportunities for a young chap of your type, Waylon, if you need them."

"I don't think I do," declared Herb, frankly. "Even Joan doesn't know it yet, but I have excellent prospects. I

"Very good!" approved Gramley. Then, in mild curiosity: "Who was your employer?"

Herb had hoped to dodge that question. Since it was asked, he had to meet it. Joan gave a quick nod, which

indicated that she thought her father would probably fail to connect Herb with last week's accident.

"I worked for a man named Reether," said Herb, in an indifferent tone. "Arthur Reether, a commission

There was a slow closing of Gramley's eyelids, accompanied by a tightening of his lips. That expression

He dialed a number and asked for Mr. Larrivan. Learning that the man was absent, Gramley left word for him

to call back. Hanging up the receiver, he swung back to the desk. He was thumbing through papers, as he put

"Tell me, Waylon," asked the banker. "Did you ever hear of a man named Larrivan?"

"He was here not long ago," added Gramley. "I thought that you might have seen him."

Herb remembered the stoopshouldered man with the derby hat who had bumped him in the hall. He

"That was Larrivan," declared Gramley. "He brought these papers. Very important papers, Waylon, to you as

well as myself. Because" the banker was coming to his feet "here is one that bears your name.

"Look at it!" Gramley slapped the paper in Herb's hand. "Let Joan see it. That report has you listed as a

hospital case, with injuries that should keep you there for the next six weeks. It states, also, that you were

THE room seemed to swim about Herb's head. In the middle of that swirl was Joan's face, with a gaze that

showed shock and bewilderment. Out of the confusion boomed Gramley's voice, scornful in its accusation.

"You didn't know that insurance companies were borrowing to meet their claims, did you, Waylon?" jabbed

Gramley. "That's why they sent Larrivan, their investigator, to talk to me. The law is getting to the bottom of

"Your claim was listed as bona fide. I recalled it, the moment that you mentioned Reether. Your own

presence here proves that you are in the racket. So you want to marry my daughter! I don't think that can be

Gramley was out from behind the desk, ready to grab Herb if he tried to make a break. For a moment, Herb's

mind was set on flight as his only alternative; but he soon gave up that thought.

The banker could have him blocked before he was out of the apartment house, and that would end Herb's

chance to cooperate with The Shadow. His only hope was to make Gramley listen to some plea.

There wasn't any use in trying to explain matters. The banker wouldn't believe Herb's talk of The Shadow. It

would seem sheer fabrication, if Herb declared that he was working for a mysterious being who was actually

Desperately, Herb did the best he could. He stammered partial truths, hoping that Gramley would believe

them whole. He hadn't known of the racket, so he said, when he took the job as chauffeur. There had been an

All that made it worse. Gramley wanted to know the friend's name. Herb wouldn't give it. Maybe the friend

was all right; maybe he wasn't. Herb promised to find out. All he wanted was a few days' freedom. After that,

The banker's manner became contemptuous. He was classing Herb as a frightened rat. Even Joan's faith

seemed to waver, until, suddenly, the girl offered the solution that Herb needed.

"You can't send Herb to jail," she told her father. "Whatever he has done was on my account. Herb isn't

"So you want to marry a thief!" Gramley was scornful, as he turned to Joan. "That's what Waylon is,

"Not legally a thief," reminded Joan, "unless you brand him as one. In that case, I shall stand by him."

Gramley stood rigid. Slowly, he began to nod. He knew the determination that Joan could display. The test

came when the telephone rang. Gramley lifted the receiver, recognized the voice.

"Hello, Larrivan," he said. "Yes, I called you. But it was nothing of importance. Just forget it. Drop in to see

Joan had opened the door. Her face was stern, her eyes seemed to look right through Herb, as he passed. All

HERB didn't realize that Joan's attitude might be for her father's benefit. His head was still in a whirl, an

angry, hopeless one, as he went from the apartment house. He saw his car across the street and groped toward

There was a shriek of brakes. Herb felt himself lifted by the fender of a halting car. He took a hard fall on the

"Are you hurt, fellow?" The words seemed far away. "Maybe I'd better get you to a hospital!"

Herb shook away. A hospital! The one place where he couldn't go! Funny thing, getting socked by a car just

the way the accident fakers did. Herb was dazed; more so than he realized, for his head had jolted the curb.

A cab had stopped close by. It was empty. On sudden impulse, Herb entered it, muttering thickly that he

They were near the central section of the city when the cabby noted that his fare had slumped down in the

rear seat. He stopped the cab, jumped out to see what was wrong. Herb came out of his coma. He saw the

"I need a drink," he grumbled. "Yeah, a couple of drinks! Here" he shoved two dollar bills into the cabby's

Steadying, Herb entered the tap room and ordered a straight drink. Finishing it in a gulp, he called for

another. One thing he'd always kept away from was liquor, no matter how down and out he had been. But

that didn't count in this case. Since Joan was through with him, he was through with her.

There was a clock above the bar and despite his muddled condition, Herb kept watching it. The hands were

creeping close to eight o'clock, a fact that roused Herb, even after he had gulped his fifth drink.

"Eight o'clock," he mumbled. "Gotta be there. Yeah, sure I do! I'll show Joan yeah, and her old man, too!

Flinging a bill to the bartender, Herb staggered out to the cab. His head ached from the bump he had taken

when the car struck him, but it was the liquor that made him reel. Herb had lost his wits and realized it, but he

The taxi driver heard Herb mutter the address of the Avenue Garage. The cab started for that destination. But

as it rolled along, the watchful driver could see his passenger huddled in the back seat, apparently fallen into

Herb Waylon had remembered his promise to The Shadow. There was a question, though, whether or not he

would be able to go through with his present assignment. Circumstances, plus Herb's own indulgence, had

Without Herb's aid, The Shadow's measures could prove a boomerang to the master fighter who had planned

GUISED as Lamont Cranston, a wellknown clubman in New York, The Shadow was seated in a corner of

the Club Miche. No one had recognized him, for most of the brawling waiters were still in jail. Only they and

Kid Dember had gotten a close look at Cranston on that first eventful night in Chicago.

Keenly, The Shadow watched a bulky, bushybrowed man who sat at a nearby table. The man was Richard

Korber, regular patron at the Club Miche and a person with whom Kid Dember had conducted certain

During the past few days, The Shadow had been looking into Korber's affairs, with definite results.

Though reputedly worth much money, Korber had very few sources of large income. He was a director in

various companies, and had considerable pull with certain politicians. His specialty, however, seemed to be

There was, for instance, the matter of the TriCity Traction Company, with which Korber had long been a

director. That corporation had suffered losses through embezzlements and had never managed to lay hands on

the culprits. There had even been a robbery, in which fifty thousand dollars had been mysteriously removed

Detectives had been unable to trace the stolen funds, and the company's officials had gone totally witless. It

had been Korber who had suggested a shakeup of all departments, with the result that crooked work had

entirely ceased. Many employees had been discharged; presumably, the culprits were among them.

Similar incidents had marked Korber's connection with other companies; and doubtless, he had been privately

reimbursed for his valuable services. In The Shadow's opinion, those facts did not give Korber a high status.

A man so capable at halting criminal activities could easily be concerned in the dirty work itself. It was odd

that Korber should chance to have connections with almost every corporation that was bothered by

The Shadow was not the first person who had observed that oddity. Kid Dember deserved earlier credit.

The dead con man had often gone in for blackmail schemes, and he had always gotten the facts before he

started. He must have found out plenty, to go after Korber. In fact, The Shadow's recent investigations proved

No one person could tell much about Korber, but stray bits from here and there built themselves into a

Kid, however, had suddenly "laid off" Korber, and the reason as stated by Kid himself was because

Korber was a "sucker who was getting hep". The Shadow hadn't forgotten those earnest words that Kid had

Long Steve Bydle had given orders for Kid to lay off. That was because Long Steve had expected to use Kid

later, in other activities; not because Steve had learned that Korber was dangerous. In fact, there was no

reason why Long Steve should consider Korber as anything more than a sucker, since only The Shadow had

The Shadow could see profit through a meeting between Long Steve and Korber. Nevertheless, he intended

to prevent one. Korber was a case to be handled separately. There was no reason why he should suffer at the

WATCHING Korber, The Shadow could see worry on the man's bluff face. He had made two telephone calls

in the past fifteen minutes and they didn't seem to please him. The Shadow knew why.

Lately, Korber had suspected that someone had pried into his affairs. He had even been disturbed by an

elusive intruder who had entered his home, but who had vanished as mysteriously as the funds of the

It would have amazed Korber, had he guessed that the person responsible for those investigations was seated

Yet, tonight, Korber, a rogue in his own right, was under The Shadow's protection!

Dinner finished, Korber left his table, stopping long enough to get his hat and coat. That short halt at the

cloak room gave The Shadow sufficient time for a move of his own. Plucking black garments from a chair

Once in the outer darkness, The Shadow smothered the identity of Cranston beneath slouch hat and

Nearing the street in front of the Club Miche, The Shadow picked out salient features. Several cabs were

ranked in front of the club; behind them was a lowbuilt touring car, very muffled in the darkness, for it was

Beyond a corner crossing, The Shadow saw a hulked sedan. Down the side street were the dim lights of a

truck. Everything was set for the special surprise party that Long Steve Bydle had provided for Richard

Cars were swishing past. The Shadow could count them without watching, for each one gave a clickclack as

it struck a loosened manhole cover in the center of the crossing. Those cars were averaging about four a

Korber came from the night club. Immediately, a man darted out from the wall and hopped into the first

waiting cab. That brought the second taxi ahead. It was the one that Korber entered.

There was something about that ancient taxi that reminded The Shadow of the dead Barney Heaslip's

rattletrap coupe. When Long Steve Bydle sacrificed motor vehicles, he always used old ones.

As the taxi eased forward, the touring car edged out from its parking space. The sedan came to life, from the

other side of the crossing. There was a blink of the truck's lights, down the side street. The big vehicle

Long strides took The Shadow to the corner. The slowmotion scene was gaining rapidly. The sedan was

shoving out to block Korber's taxi. The touring car was moving up behind. In a few moments, the cab would

This was the moment for The Shadow's signal. Once Herb heard it, he would go through with the job

according to The Shadow's order; not those that Chet had brought from Long Steve.

WHISKING an automatic from beneath his cloak, The Shadow pointed the muzzle upward. One shot would

mean that Herb should swerve the truck and bear down upon the blocking sedan. Two shots would tell him to

Whichever he left to Herb, The Shadow would take out the other. Either course meant that Korber's taxi

Not waiting to see Herb veer for the sedan, The Shadow sped for the touring car. He was upon its step before

the crew had guessed the source of the unexpected shot. With one hard stroke, The Shadow downed a man

Smothering the driver, he poked two gun muzzles into the rear seat, brandishing them under the noses of two

The raucous yells that the thugs gave were drowned by a terrific crash that The Shadow did not witness. The

hurtling truck had found its target, with an impact that could be heard for blocks.

Quivered air seemed to settle. Steadily, The Shadow kept the two thugs covered. He was nudging the huddled

driver with his elbow, telling him to get the car started. No need to glance through the windshield behind his

It was the huddled driver who proved The Shadow wrong. With a sudden shout, the fellow made a grab for

the cloaked fighter's neck. The men from the rear seat came to action. They were diving forward, ignoring the

Mockery came taunting from The Shadow's lips, as he showed how well he had prepared for such a surge.

With a sidelong shove, he bowled the driver out into the street, rolling with him. Nimbly gaining his footing,

The Shadow spun about, while two thugs fired blindly. Guns in his fists, The Shadow aimed for the touring

Revolvers barked a sudden fusillade. Bullets whimpered past The Shadow's ear; one slug sliced the folds of

his flowing cloak. With those shots came The Shadow's first view of the actual scene.

Wrecked near the center of the crossing was the taxicab. Its driver was gone; Richard Korber, sole victim of

the crash, lay sprawled half through a window. Beyond was the sedan, intact. It was from that car that the

In an instant, The Shadow knew that Herb had failed his important duty; and with that realization, the cloaked

fighter gained a partial explanation. He saw the truck, the driver who was clambering from the big machine.

The man wasn't Herb Waylon. The truck driver was Chet Soville. Crime's lieutenant had accomplished one

outrage, and was intent upon another. His face wore a leer; his hand was on the move, bearing a quickdrawn

Chet had seen The Shadow. Counting upon two crews of gunmen to aid him, Chet intended to end crime's

IN two seconds, The Shadow could have finished off the thugs in the touring car. He didn't waste those

precious moments. Instead, he took an immediate dive that blackened him against the paving.

That sprawl was just in time. Bullets were ripping through the space where The Shadow had been. Through

quick calculation, he had found it preferable to avoid gunfire, rather than attempt to outshoot his foemen.

There was double strategy, however, in The Shadow's dive. Not only did it produce the impression that The

Shadow had been clipped; the cloaked fighter finished it with a roll that carried him underneath the touring

When Chet arrived, expecting to blast bullets into a crippled foe, he stopped short, blank in amazement, to

Then came Chet's hardvoiced shout to the men in the touring car. They turned, warned in time to see The

Shadow loom upon the step at the other side of the car. Together, they lunged for him, aiming as they came.

Chet heard muffled shots. He didn't know that automatics had produced them until he saw his own men settle

Its motor still running, the touring car offered a means whereby The Shadow could keep up a running fray,

drawing crooks to their own destruction. Bullets were pinging close as he sped the car forward, but none

The sedan's driver hadn't left the wheel. He had his car in gear when the touring car wheeled forward.

Dropping low, the fellow pressed the accelerator, launching the sedan straight into The Shadow's path.

The two cars collided near the middle of the crossing. The touring car was lighter; it overturned. As it

teetered, The Shadow lurched over the door, but he was partly trapped beneath the car's folding top.

That weight lay on The Shadow's left shoulder It had no crushing effect, but the blow was numbing in its

force. As he dragged his left arm free, The Shadow saw his own hand, empty. One gun was lost somewhere

There must have been blank moments in The Shadow's consciousness, for out of the crash he still seemed to

hear the loud clank that had come when the cars hit. Somehow, recollection of that sound remained despite

Moreover, when The Shadow looked up from the street, he had proof of lapsed moments. An apish face was

poking over the touring car. The driver of the sedan had found time to climb across the wrecked machine and

With a savage grin, the thug poked his gun downward, taking sure aim toward The Shadow. He didn't see the

motion of a gloved right fist, as it turned a lone automatic upward. The .45 spoke while the crook was

Others, coming up to find The Shadow, saw the apish man straighten on the overturned car. With spinning

motion, he flung backward, to strike the street. That sight showed that The Shadow's sting had not been

FROM the curb, Chet shouted an order. His followers deployed, skirting those two cars that formed a big "V"

A beetlish figure was working toward the upper side of the touring car. One thug spotted it and unwisely

shouted the news before he fired. The Shadow's gun spat first; the gunman was diving for cover when he

Then others were ducking, as The Shadow laced shots along the line. This time, he had the edge and used it;

True, the range was long; but that didn't matter to The Shadow, from all that Chet had ever heard. This meant

that The Shadow had taken a hard jolt in the crackup. He wasn't performing in his accustomed style.

Shouting encouragement to the others, Chet took quick aim. As he fired, he saw The Shadow take a sideward

roll; but Chet wasn't fooled. That drop had started before Chet pulled the trigger. The Shadow, recognizing

his own plight, had dropped into the temporary shelter offered by the inside of the "V".

Chet had forty feet to go to reach him; the others had a longer run. The lieutenant paused long enough to

shout orders to his cohorts. Then, with a surge, half a dozen killers were on their way.

The Shadow hadn't been idle during those moments. Landing beside the body of the sedan's driver, he had

found the answer to the one thought in his mind: the clank that had sounded when the cars collided.

Right in the middle of the "V" was the loosened manhole cover that marked the center of the crossing.

A loose edge was toward The Shadow. He jabbed his emptied automatic beneath the metal surface, giving a

hard upward pry. The cover tilted, as if on a hinge. The Shadow propped it with his shoulder.

Shoving his automatic beneath his cloak, he reached for another object that glimmered close beside him. It

was the revolver that the crook from the sedan had failed to fire. Hooking that weapon with his left fist, The

They saw the black form disappearing below. They opened fire, but the manhole cover was turned in their

direction. It was The Shadow's shield when bullets struck. Sharp clangs told that killers had missed their

Crooks tugged to lift the cover. It came upward. With it, a revolver muzzle poked into sight, delivering a stab

of flame. One thug took the bullet that the sharp thrust carried. He gave a gulp, as he coiled to the street. The

Chet's oaths didn't stir his mob to action, and the lieutenant knew the reason. Maybe The Shadow was

groggy, but he couldn't miss at arm'slength range. Handling that manhole cover was like playing with a

There would be more bites every time the crooks tried it, and each man could figure his own turn as the next

one. If Chet wanted to get at The Shadow, he would have to think of a better way.

Time was too short to puzzle out an answer to the problem. Chet could hear the wail of police sirens and

knew that they were coming toward this battleground. He snarled orders to the remnants of his mob. They

While mobsters were scattering, Chet and one other man hurried to the wrecked taxi. Wrenching open the

crumpled door, they hauled Korber's bloody, senseless form to a coupe parked a short distance away.

With Korber between them, Chet and his companion were speeding from the scene before the police arrived.

THE next fifteen minutes produced considerable commotion outside the Club Miche. Witnesses who had

watched the fight from windows were prompt to give their testimony to the police. But all those stories boiled

A truck had smashed a taxicab. After that, a touring car had collided with a sedan. There had been shots,

plenty of them, right from the start, with fighters all around. The crowd had finally scattered, except for the

Looking over the victims, the police came to an obvious conclusion. Two rival gangs had met at this corner

and gone out for carnage in a big way. It reminded the cops of the old days, when any corner in Chicago

True, there had been trouble in the Club Miche not very many nights ago. But that had been a brawl; this was

a battle. The police decided that there was no connection between the two frays.

They did consider the matter of the insurance racket, which had come into prominence within the last few

days. That angle was worth investigation, because this trouble had begun with an automobile crash.

But the police, to a man, laughed down one witness who said he thought that fighting hoodlums had been

shooting at a single human target. That was ridiculous! One man couldn't have stood up against an entire

The twomob theory was the only answer that made sense; and the police were too busy looking for vanished

hoodlums to worry about the manhole cover. They searched the smashed cars and the truck. By the time that

When all that was over, the manhole cover tilted upward. From beneath the disk, keen eyes studied the

crossing, deserted except for occasional passing cars. Each time one approached, the cover settled back into

That was when The Shadow gave the disk a powerful upward heave. Rolling out from the lip, he eased the

cover down again, then glided quickly to the sidewalk to escape the revealing glare of the next car.

From that darkness, The Shadow whispered a grim laugh, almost a reminder of the battle that had gone

before. For, in that mirth, The Shadow was promising more ill fortune to Long Steve Bydle and all who

AGAIN on the move, The Shadow's first concern was for Herb Waylon. Making a convenient stop, The

Shadow called the Southlake Hotel and held a brief conversation with Harry Vincent.

No outside listener could have suspected the purpose of that call. The Shadow spoke in the tone of Cranston,

and the talk was brief. It meant, however, that Harry could expect a later call, in a drugstore a block from the

Boarding a cab, The Shadow gave a West Side address. Though perplexed by so sudden and mysterious a

passenger, the cabby soon recovered from his puzzlement. He decided that he had merely been dozing when

Finding the address to be an old boardedup and shuttered house, the cabby turned to inform his passenger of

such. Except for a bill that lay on the rear seat, the cab was quite as empty as the house where it had stopped.

How and when the passenger had left the taxi, the driver couldn't guess. He gave a glance at the old

Curiously, in regarding that house as haunted, the cab driver was merely expressing the opinion of the

Recently, the old building had been a place of peculiar manifestations, which several persons had reported

but which none could prove. One chance passer had sworn that a ghostly figure had been swallowed by the

blackness close to the old house. Another declared to have seen a gleam of light at an upper story window,

where the boards had cracked open. There was also talk of a batlike shape that had been glimpsed upon the

The Shadow moved into a space beside the building; the gloom engulfed him. Scaling a dark wall, he opened

the broken shutter and eased inward. Once he had closed the shutter, he blinked a tiny flashlight.

A telephone appeared in the narrow beam. It was connected with an outside line, for The Shadow had

attended to that some days ago. Dialing a number, The Shadow heard Harry Vincent answer from a pay

Harry had something to tell. He had been in the lobby when Herb had arrived at the Southlake Hotel, assisted

by a cab driver. A bellhop had helped Herb to his room. From all appearances, Herb had been drinking

There had been no later results. It was evident that Chet and others in the racket knew of Herb's condition.

Overindulgence in liquor was a light offense among crooks. In Harry's opinion, Herb had not put himself in

The Shadow agreed. It was certain that Herb would not be under suspicion because of The Shadow's own

appearance outside the Club Miche. Criminals would figure that if Herb had been working for The Shadow,

ENDING the call with brief instructions to Harry, The Shadow followed the thin rays of the tiny flashlight,

until he reached a topfloor skylight. There, the beam was extinguished. The shadow emerged upon a roof.

His course demanded progress across a short open stretch. That accounted for the story that a batlike figure

had been seen upon the house roof. The Shadow looked the part of a gigantic night creature, as he moved

At the rear of the roof, The Shadow listened. From below, he could hear the shuffling footsteps of a patroller

A crook was on guard duty, like others that The Shadow had seen in the next street when the cab had passed

along it. Waiting until the footsteps shuffled away, The Shadow stretched out into space. His gloved hand

By daylight, that wire appeared to be a radio aerial. At night, it served another purpose. Under the eaves of

the empty house was a doublewheeled trolley, only six inches in length. Gripping the little car with one

The power of that heave proved that the numbness had gone from his left arm. The taut wire whirred; The

Shadow rode a level route through space that brought him beneath the overhanging roof of the other house.

He huddled there, to make sure that the sound had not been heard. There was no stir from the patrolling crook

Worming through a loosened window, The Shadow groped his way across the storeroom. Thin luminosity

cleaved the darkness as he settled the flashlight upon a keyhole. Unlocking the door with a plierlike

This house was occupied, but The Shadow was familiar with its interior. It was the home of Richard Korber,

who had previously received visits from The Shadow. Usually, The Shadow could proceed with only

ordinary caution; but tonight, he navigated Korber's home with the utmost stealth.

The reason was evident when he reached the second floor. A lurking crook was on duty, covering the stairs

that led down to the ground floor. Had he turned at the right moment, he would have seen The Shadow glide

Reaching a room that looked like an office, The Shadow closed the door behind him. He flicked the flashlight

upon a small, but modern, safe that occupied a corner. The beam wavered over the entire surface, finally

Dousing the flashlight, The Shadow approached a streak of light that lined the floor, marking a connecting

door to another room. A key was in the lock, on the other side, but The Shadow twisted it by inserting the

In half a minute, he had eased the door a trifle inward and was viewing a grotesque scene.

Richard Korber lay propped upon a bed. His eyes were wide open; so was his shirt front. Rough bandages

were packed about his chest. The blufffaced man was breathing in long, heavy wheezes as he faced two men

Those two were Long Steve Bydle and Chet Soville. Behind them, keeping in the background, was Doc

"GOT it through your noodle, Korber?" questioned Long Steve, harshly. "We know you've got fifty grand of

Korber supplied a cough of a different sort. The effort produced a spasm. His face went purplish, then the

Doc Ruttler plucked Long Steve's sleeve. The bigshot told Chet to talk to Korber for a while. Doc drew

Long Steve over beside the door where The Shadow watched. Both were too intent to notice that dim corner.

"I thought you were a good croaker," growled Long Steve, "even though that diploma of yours is a phony!"

"Oh, I know the business," assured Ruttler. "The man is as good as dead! He is suffering from internal

Long Steve Bydle glowered toward the bed. His ugly gaze showed no sympathy for the dying man. Watching

Long Steve's face, The Shadow saw shrewdness register. Long Steve started over to talk to Korber,

"Watch this highpressure stuff," The Shadow heard Long Steve mutter to Ruttler. "It will turn the trick."

This time, Long Steve drew Doc Ruttler into the light. Korber looked at the physician, seemed to recognize

him. That didn't surprise The Shadow, since Ruttler had evidently applied the hasty bandages that were

"Here's the whole story, Korber," rasped Long Steve. "You've heard of the insurance racket. All right, I'm the

bigshot. My name is Long Steve Bydle; and this guy Doc Ruttler is my ace in the hole.

"He's the examiner who puts the O.K. on the phony claims. We've got the whole thing sewed up tight only,

lately, we've needed a fall guy. So we picked you to take the rap, unless you're willing to buy us off."

"You're insured heavy," reminded Long Steve. "You ought to collect about five grand for the crackup you

took tonight. But suppose that doc here decided the claim was phony; and suppose we planted a lot of framed

Korber muttered something about his injuries being real. That brought a laugh from Long Steve.

"Sure, they're real!" he gibed. "So are a lot of others, that are crooked! You can't help real accidents once in a

while in this racket. You'll be labeled as the bigshot, and to clinch it, we'll produce the taxi driver.

"You know what he'll tell them? He'll say that you hired him to shove that cab of his in front of the truck.

That'll make it a sure case against you. Say, Korber" Long Steve's tone became contemptuous "you're a

With one hand, then the other, Steve beckoned to Chet and Ruttler, indicating that there was no use wasting

"Let the guy lay," he told his lieutenant. "He'll be a cinch to frame. It will be worth fifty grand to have him

The bluff worked. Korber's head came up from the pillow with an effort. He licked his lips anxiously, almost

eagerly. He felt that he had held out too long; he wanted to make the most of his last opportunity.

"I'll I'll give you the money!" he panted. "I've got it right here in the safe in the next room "

The effort made Korber's head drop back, but his lips still moved. Long Steve, leaning close, caught the

"All right, Korber," gruffed the bigshot. "It's a deal. We'll pick some other fellow to be the fall guy." Then,

THE SHADOW had closed the door. His pliers turned the key with almost the same motion. Sweeping across

the room, the blackcloaked watcher reached a closet before Long Steve arrived with Chet.

The pair left the door open behind them. Over their shoulders, The Shadow could see Korber, eyes closed, a

wise smile on his pale lips. Chet looked back; noting the grin, he mentioned it to Long Steve, who was

"Let him smile," sneered Long Steve. "He thinks he can get back at us because we've given him the lowdown.

The safe came open. Fishing through bundles of papers, Long Steve came upon the only pile that interested

him a stack of crisp currency. He turned toward the door to count the money. It totaled fifty thousand

"Kid was right," Steve told Chet. "This was one sock of mazuma that Korber didn't stick in the bank. The

neat part is, that nobody knows he's got it. Leave everything else just like it is."

A rattling cough came from the other room. Long Steve swung to see Korber, head tilted back, going through

a sudden agony. A hopeful chuckle slipped from the bigshot's lips as he watched the spasm end.

Doc Ruttler turned and gave a nod, a smile upon his dryish features. That cough had been Korber's last.

The crooks wasted no more time. They looked about long enough to make sure they had left no traces of their

visit. Headed by Long Steve, the trio departed without bothering to turn out the lamp above Korber's bed.

Edging from the closet, The Shadow could hear Long Steve's voice from the stairs, as the bigshot

summoned the various guards that he had stationed on the premises. Soon afterward, there was a thud from a

Like a ghostly visitant, The Shadow stepped to Korber's bedside to study the dead man's haggard features.

Pallid lips clung to a semblance of a smile, as though Korber, in death, still expected to settle scores with the

A solemn laugh crept through that death room. It was low, uncanny in its whisper. The Shadow's face was

hidden; no observer, had there been one, would have credited the weird mirth to the spectral figure that stood

Seemingly, The Shadow's laugh came from the dead, halfgrinning lips of Richard Korber!

NEXT day, Long Steve Bydle had further reason to congratulate himself upon the death deal that he had

worked with Richard Korber. A servant, returning to the house at midnight, had found Korber's body. The

Korber was correctly identified as the man who had been in the wrecked cab outside the Club Miche, but the

evidence indicated that the taxi had been accidentally boxed by other cars that contained feuding gangsters.

Evidently, Korber hadn't realized the extent of his internal injuries. He had aggravated them by making a trip

to his home, instead of going to a hospital. All of Korber's affairs were in good order. There wasn't a shred of

That gave Long Steve Bydle many chuckles when he read the newspapers. He had not only profited to the

extent of fifty thousand dollars; he had removed the evidence that would have branded Korber as a criminal.

All through the day, Long Steve sat in his wheel chair benignly gazing at the bathers who flocked the beach

beyond the boulevard. As J. M. Cruke, the bigshot fancied himself completely covered.

It was late afternoon when Chet Soville dropped in to compare figures in the little black books. That done,

"I can't quite figure the guy," declared Chet. "He showed up in a cab last night plastered to the gills! It's lucky

I was out at the Avenue Garage, to make sure he hadn't gone yellow. If I hadn't been there, he'd have tried to

"Lucky he didn't!" put in Long Steve. "With The Shadow bobbing up, it would have been a mess, a drunk

"It was a mess, anyway," argued Chet. "But we gave The Shadow a dose that he won't forget. But let's get

"What about him?" demanded Long Steve. "It was his first job. Maybe he had cold feet and took a few drinks

"I've been talking to the guy today," returned Chet. "He isn't just bothered with a hangover. Something else is

Long Steve became interested. He began to pop questions, and Chet answered them.

First, there was the matter of the car that Chet had loaned to Herb. The taxi driver had said that he brought

Herb from an address on the North Side, so that was where Chet had looked for the car.

He had found it opposite a large apartment house, far off the route that Herb should have taken to the Avenue

Garage. Besides that, the taxi driver had said something about Herb stepping in front of a car.

"I thought maybe the guy was kidding," declared Chet, "unless he knew something about the racket."

"In that case, he wouldn't have mentioned the matter," argued Long Steve. "Didn't you figure that?"

"Have Doc Ruttler see him," ordered the bigshot. "He's dropping in here soon. There's another guy coming,

WHEN Ruttler arrived, Chet met him in the hotel lobby. The two went up to Herb's room, to find him

stretched out on the bed, dressed. Ruttler turned on a corner floor lamp. Herb blinked, rubbed his hand across

"Hello, Chet!" he said. "I see you've got doc with you. I guess I won't need him. I'm feeling better."

Ruttler began to examine Herb in professional fashion. His probing fingers found the bump at the back of the

"A car smacked me," replied Herb. "I must have cracked the curb. I didn't want to go to a hospital, so I

Chef's face showed satisfaction with the story, and Herb observed the expression. Doc Ruttler finished the

"A slight concussion," was his diagnosis, "but you're all over it, Waylon. You'd better rest, though. Don't try

Ruttler lowered the lamp so that it's glare wouldn't shine toward the bed. He and Chet made their departure.

Immediately, Herb rolled from the bed. Reaching the closet, he undertoned a favorable report into the

Harry Vincent answered, then held a brief conference with someone. Harry finally told Herb to follow

Ruttler's advice, but to leave the closet door slightly open. By that arrangement, the sensitive mike could pick

up any further conversations from the room, thus making it unnecessary for Herb to leave the bed.

Below, Harry turned off his own microphone, so that no sounds would carry from his room to Herb's, which

was on the ninth floor. Harry's room was almost dark, but there was a vague shape standing by the window.

The Shadow intended a brief trip to Doc Ruttler's private hospital, which was located on the South Side. The

place was only a few miles from the hotel, and this was a good time for an inspection tour, with Doc Ruttler

The fake medico was still harboring a horde of pretended accident victims, crooks of Crawler's ilk. Soon,

they would begin to leave that refuge some discharged with settled claims, others sneaking away like the

All that would cover Doc Ruttler. He might be blamed for laxity, in letting the fake cases get away; but he

It was The Shadow's intention to spring a surprise before that exodus began. The task would be easy,

provided that crooks did not suspect his coming move. However, The Shadow wanted to postpone his scheme

as long as possible, hoping that he could deliver a simultaneous thrust against Long Steve Bydle.

If the law could be roused to rapid action at the proper time, Ruttler would be exposed as a crook, along with

the patients at his hospital. Since J. M. Cruke was Ruttler's prize patient, police would be brought to the

That could result in the trapping of Long Steve Bydle, with Chet Soville and other followers. But the whole

campaign would require concerted action. Numerous details had to be weighed beforehand.

THE shape stirred from the window. Harry heard the door close. Soon afterward, he saw a car move out from

a parking space behind the hotel. The Shadow had started on his duskshrouded route.

Listening at the receiving end of the wire, Harry heard no sounds from Herb's room. The Shadow's agent

settled back for what seemed to be a useless vigil. There wasn't anything that could break wrong at the hotel,

in Harry's opinion. Nevertheless, The Shadow had ordered him to his routine duty and Harry intended to

Had that hookup been connected with Long Steve's apartment instead of Herb's room, Harry would have

gotten a different impression. Up in the twelfthfloor apartment, the pretended J. M. Cruke was seated in his

There was a signaled knock at the door. Chet Soville was also present, and Long Steve motioned for the

Chet admitted a stoopish man, who came directly to the wheel chair. Long Steve knew the fellow and told

him to sit down. The stoopy man was evidently well informed on matters that concerned Long Steve,

"This is Larrivan," announced Long Steve, in the slow, wheezy tone of Cruke. "An investigator for several

Larrivan supplied a grin. It faded, a moment later, when Long Steve demanded with sudden sharpness:

"Nothing much." Larrivan was toying nervously with his derby hat. "I've been to see a big banker named

Larrivan hesitated. Long Steve forgot his Cruke manner, to urge with an ugly rasp:

"There was a guy came to see Gramley yesterday," replied Larrivan, "just as I was going out. When I got

"Well, I called Gramley back," continued Larrivan, "but he said it wasn't important. And today, when I went

"Maybe some inside guy that's working for Gramley's bank. They've loaned plenty of dough to the insurance

companies. If they've been using an inside man, that could account for all the tipoffs that have been giving

Finished with that statement, Larrivan watched Long Steve with anxious eye. He was afraid that the bigshot

would be angry because he had not received more information. Instead, Long Steve accepted the news as

"Better have a couple of guys case the joint where Gramley lives. We'll find out who it is that comes there!"

Chet asked Larrivan for the address. The stoopish man gave it. Chet's eyes popped as they turned toward

Long Steve. The bigshot was also electrified. Forgetting that he was Cruke, Long Steve was half out of the

"Hear that address, Chet?" demanded Long Steve. "That's the one the cab driver gave you. It means that

Chet nodded. Like Long Steve, he was twisting facts to a wrong conclusion, but one that was just as serious

as the right one. Both men had missed the link between Herb Waylon and The Shadow, but they were putting

Long Steve, sure that Herb must be Gramley's agent, began a buzzing undertone that brought the others close

Trouble was due for Herb Waylon and it was coming in a hurry. Without realizing it, crooks were picking the

They were ready to act during the absence of Herb's invisible protector, The Shadow!

LYING on his bed, Herb Waylon was keeping his eyes shut, as Doc Ruttler had suggested. Much though he

disliked the phony physician, Herb realized that Ruttler knew his stuff. Doc Ruttler had certainly managed to

With his eyes closed, Herb seemed to sense sounds more readily. He wondered whether his hearing was

actually acute or whether he was still troubled by mental confusion. Perhaps it was a recollection from the

It suddenly struck him that the sound was no illusion. Opening his eyes, Herb saw the door open. He swung

The subdued lamplight tinted Joan's lovely face, formed a background like a halo, against her dark, fluffy

hair. Her eyes were expressive. They were limpid orbs that carried no rebuke; only sympathy.

For a moment, Herb's own eyes reflected Joan's expression. Then he decided that the girl had come here to

"There's no use, Joan," said Herb, thickly. "I don't want to talk to you. Not after the way you looked at me last

Joan came closer. Her hand rested on Herb's arm. Herb was standing now. Her lips were breathing words that

Herb halted. His mind was clearer; groping, it began to find the answer. As if from far away, Herb heard Joan

"It was on account of dad. He wanted to arrest you. I knew that he would drop that plan if I scorned you. You

didn't realize it, and I couldn't explain. It was better, at the moment, to have you believe that I was through

Herb began to mutter apologies. Joan silenced him with a tiny finger pressed against his lips. She breathed

His arms encircling Joan, Herb leaned forward to receive her kiss. That was the moment when he heard

In the doorway stood Chet Soville, eyes rigid, lips fixed in an unlovely leer. The crook had a drawn revolver

and he wasn't alone. Behind him were two others; one was Doc Ruttler. The other man looked familiar to

"Just a couple of love birds, huh?" he sneered. "So this is the dame that you're goofy about. Maybe it was on

Herb didn't reply. He eased Joan to a chair beside the bed. Silently, Herb faced Chet with challenging eye.

It was Larrivan who supplied the answer that Chet wanted. The derbyhatted man popped into the room

"Gramley's daughter!" voiced Larrivan, hoarsely. "I get it she's the gobetween!"

Joan stared blankly, but Herb understood. Despite a dizziness that whirled his tired brain, he could understand

exactly what the crooks thought, for he recognized Larrivan as the man that he had seen at the Gramley

Larrivan the investigator that Joan's father had called by telephone. The fellow who wasn't supposed to

know that Gramley had branded Herb a crook. It was plain that Larrivan had not been told.

Chet motioned Ruttler to the telephone, told him to call Cruke's apartment. Doc held a short confab with the

"Keep Waylon here," he said. "The bunch can take care of him. The less noise, the better."

"This will fix her." Ruttler grinned dryly, as he drew a hypodermic needle from his pocket. "A shot of dope

like we gave Waylon, when we brought him here. We're taking the girl over to my hospital."

Joan didn't flinch as Ruttler approached her. Her eyes were brave as they looked toward Herb. She was

Chet Soville was watching Doc Ruttler. That gave Herb a sudden chance. With a lunge, Herb came from the

bed edge, flinging a hand for one objective: Chet's gun. Herb caught the fellow's fist, jerked it before Chet

That bullet cracked the window. Herb was shoving Chet for a corner, but the crook had his gun straight up

and was twisting his wrist clear for a slash at Herb's head. That satisfied Larrivan; the stoopish man turned to

Joan was tearing away from Ruttler. Larrivan blocked her. One scrawny hand locked Joan's arms behind her,

the other stifled her frenzied cries. As Larrivan held the girl helpless, Ruttler jabbed the needle in her flesh.

Already dizzied by exertion, Herb hardly felt the glancing blow that Chet landed beside his ear. Staggering,

Herb reached the foot of the bed. He wavered there while the whole scene became a nightmare.

Ruttler and Larrivan were gone, carrying Joan with them. To Herb's whirling gaze, they seemed to disappear

when his eyes blinked. He wanted to follow, but his legs wouldn't move. Breathing heavily, Herb scarcely

felt the cold roundness that pressed his temple. That icy object was the muzzle of Chet's revolver.

"Here's where you croak, doublecrosser!" sneered the crook. "You asked for it, so you're getting it! You

forced me to fire one shot, so another won't matter. It's easier to get rid of a stiff, anyway."

There was a pause only an instant, but it seemed an eternity to Herb. He expected it to end with a burst

from Chet's gun. Instead, a cool voice ended the silence. The tone came from the doorway.

CHET'S gun hand dropped. He whipped about to stare into the throat of an automatic gripped by Harry

Vincent. Who The Shadow's agent was, Chet didn't know; but he certainly meant business. Chet voiced a

Harry jutted his automatic forward. Chet let the revolver hit the floor. Despite his grogginess, Herb found that

he could act again. Clamping his aching head with one hand, he stooped and clumsily picked up Soville's

Harry watched Herb steadily. The Shadow's agent stepped aside, intending to let him pass. Then came sudden

footsteps from the hall; they were sneaky, but rapid in their approach. Harry changed tactics.

Wheeling out into the corridor, Harry suddenly faced a trio of armed bellhops. There was a burst of shots

wherein Harry's gun talked first. Herb heard a figure plop in the corridor, while others scampered for cover.

He was covering Chet, but the crime lieutenant took a chance. He dived for Herb, snatching at his gun hand.

Chet didn't wait to grapple. He hurled himself through the doorway; a bad move, for Harry was down the

corridor and saw him come through. But before Harry could clip the crook, the two remaining bellhops

Dropping back, Harry missed his aim at Chet. His shot whistled wide as the sallow crook dived for a

There, Chet met other hoodlums coming up. With raucous voice, he ordered them into the fray. Harry heard

Then Herb was with him. Together, they were driving along the hall, scattering mobsters ahead of them. They

didn't stop when they reached the stairs, for gunners were dropping back to the shelter of a landing. Instead,

That sortie had accomplished results. Two of the fake bellhops lay wounded, while Harry and Herb were

unscathed. But an attack was coming soon. Harry could hear shouts from the stairs. Coolly, he reloaded his

automatic, telling Herb to stand back and be ready with the few reserve bullets that his revolver contained.

Leaning toward the wall, Herb pressed against a double door. His elbow jogged a twoinch crack between

the sliding halves. Herb could hear a rumble below. He recognized it as the service elevator.

Harry scarcely heard Herb's words. He was busy watching past the corner. Frantically, Herb performed the

first action that came to his maddened mind. He grabbed at the halves of the elevator door, pried them apart.

Just then the new attack came. Harry began to fire at Chet's enlarged crew. A dozen gunners were launching

for the lone defender, zigzagging, taking to shelter as they came. Harry clipped some; others rolled to safety.

Rising right up from the floor, the fellow lunged past the turn and bowled Harry flat. Sprawling, Harry gave a

yell to Herb; with it, he glimpsed his companion at the open elevator shaft. Herb was taking hurried aim, but

The bullet pinged the steel side of the door frame. Instinctively, Herb shifted. He forgot the open shaft. He

cried out as he stumbled backward; made a frantic lurch that failed. A second later, Herb had gone from sight,

HARRY'S head sank back. A gun muzzle pressed between his eyes. He could hear a rumble blending with

Harry thought it was a gun hammer striking on an empty cartridge. He was wrong. That click was followed

There was a howl, as Harry's captor rolled away. Cold steel left Harry's forehead. Shouts of attackers, their

hurried gunfire all seemed puny against new roars from twin automatics that blazed destruction upon

IF ever there had been a perfect ambush, The Shadow had provided it. How he had managed that coup, Harry

couldn't guess, although he was soon to learn. All that counted at the present moment, was the fact that The

They were diving back beyond the corridor's turn, plopping like chunks of snow flung aside by a living plow,

in the person of The Shadow. Not only did the blackcloaked fighter clear away that crew of shock troops; he

When The Shadow reached the stairs, to jab final shots to the landing, Chet Soville dived below. The Shadow

Taunting a laugh that sped the flight, The Shadow turned to find Harry Vincent beside him. Questioning his

When Harry told the final detail of Herb's plunge down the elevator shaft The Shadow gave a grim laugh

The Shadow led the way back to the elevator shaft. Once there, Harry gasped a sudden understanding.

The rumble that Herb had heard had not come from a descending car. Like Harry, Herb had lost sight of the

time element during those exciting minutes. The elevator carrying Ruttler and Larrivan, with Joan as their

The occupant of that darkened car had been The Shadow. Arriving several seconds after Herb's fall, he had

been in time to prevent Harry's death. With that as his first stroke, The Shadow had gone on to further

There was another death that he had halted, though his action had been a sheer coincidence.

Stepping into the elevator, The Shadow lowered it beneath the floor level. Harry gave a glad cry, On the

elevator's broad top was a sprawled figure that stirred into life. A few seconds later, Harry had hauled Herb

The elevator came up. Harry noted that it was slow, geared to carry heavy loads.

Herb's plunge had been a short one, no more than a dozen feet. The elevator had been too slow to provide an

added impact. Had Harry been looking toward the shaft a few seconds after Herb's fall, he would have seen

the saved man rising up through blackness, his return heralding The Shadow's immediate arrival.

IT didn't take Harry long to get Herb to his feet. The jolt had been a hard one, but it had jarred some of the

cobwebs from Herb's brain. When The Shadow came back from a short reconnoiter, he found two men ready

The Shadow announced that there was chaos on the lower floors. Police had invaded the Southlake Hotel and

were blocking off the escape of mobsters. The place would no longer serve as a criminal resort, after the law

Unfortunately, the situation made it difficult to pursue Joan's captors. Both Harry and Herb thought that The

Shadow would attempt that task, despite the complications; hence they followed him eagerly into the service

Instead of starting the car downward, The Shadow took it to the twelfth floor. Herb started an excited

The Shadow had chosen the one way to offset the strategy of Long Steve Bydle. That was to capture the

bigshot himself. If any man could risk bluffing the police, it was Long Steve, for he still could pass himself

Whatever harm crooks might plan for Joan Gramley, it would be offset if they learned that their own chief

Battle hadn't reached the twelfth floor, for the course of strife had traveled downward. Silence gripped the

corridor outside of Long Steve's apartment. No guards were present. It was likely that the bigshot had begun

Leaving Harry and Herb on guard duty outside, The Shadow opened the door. The living room was lighted;

by the window, he could see the wheel chair faced out toward the balcony. A breeze was whipping in from

A light showed from a side room. There was a mumble of voices. Long Steve appeared lugging a large

satchel. He placed it on a table, began to open drawers and take out papers. Most important was a bundle that

Though he was willing to bluff it out as Cruke, the bigshot certainly intended to be ready for a prompt

Long Steve's breath came in hardsucked hisses. He was cursing Chet Soville for all the trouble that the

lieutenant had made. From those oaths, it was evident that Steve hadn't been informed of The Shadow's entry.

He merely thought that Chet had done a blundering job in settling Herb and Joan.

In fact, Long Steve did not immediately recognize the sound that crept from a space behind him. It sounded

like a shivery laugh, but it was vague. Steve listened a moment, then turned toward the wheel chair.

The laugh came closer; therefore, it seemed louder, though it was still in the sinister whisper that reached

Long Steve flipped about, then gave four quick, backward paces. His right hand stopped halfway from his

It wasn't the first time that Long Steve had faced a similar threat, but never before had he seen a black shape

in back of it. He ignored the gun, to meet the burn of eyes that told him fight would be of no avail.

A FLUSH of anger showed on Long Steve's face, offsetting the chalky layer that went with the guise of

Cruke. He heard the words that came in steady whisper, commanding him to move toward the door. Long

There was a stir from the inner room. Two helpers, posted here, were ready to do an outward sneak. Long

Steve had already guessed that The Shadow wanted him as hostage. Since he had a while to live, he could

With a fierce shout, Long Steve made a sideward dive for the wheel chair. He twisted as he hit it; the chair

spun about. Its rollerbearing wheels sent it on a fast trip toward the side wall, carrying Long Steve from

Two thuggish hotel attendants bounded in from the other room. The Shadow met them with a sudden drive.

He slashed a crossarmed blow at one; as the fellow staggered, The Shadow finished the stroke with a trigger

The muzzle of the .45 was pointed directly toward the second crook. The fellow took the bullet with a grunt.

Again the bigshot was on the move. He hadn't wasted time to clamber from the wheel chair. Shoving both

legs against the wall, Steve had driven his vehicle backward. It was spinning in a long fast trip to the outer

door. As The Shadow followed with his gun, the wheel chair hit the wall beside the entry.

The chair was turned about, when it struck. Steve's bearish form was precipitated in a long hurtle out into the

corridor. With him went the satchel that his left hand had never relinquished. The wheel chair became an

Whistles were sounding from far below, out toward the boulevard. The Shadow's shot must have been heard;

and observers could have spied the brawl near the open window. Those factors didn't matter for the moment.

Reaching the wheel chair, The Shadow yanked it aside, letting it go into another long roll that ended with a

crackle against the wall. By the time the chair thudded, the cloaked battler was in the corridor, viewing a

fierce scuffle near the stairs. Harry had grappled with Long Steve, and Herb had joined in the fray.

In hanging on to the valise, Steve had placed himself at disadvantage. He sprawled, sending the satchel ahead

of him, toward the elevator. The Shadow saw Long Steve's gun bounding from his fist. It went a dozen feet

Right then, Long Steve's chances of farther flight were only one in a thousand. He made a wild scramble on

hands and knees, but it wasn't taking him anywhere, until chance again played a part. There was a clang; an

Harry yanked Herb back. They aimed together. The elevator operator ducked inside the car. In those quick

moments, Long Steve Bydle snatched his precious satchel and made a wild dive into the elevator.

The bigshot was gone before The Shadow could aim. His own aids blocked the path of fire. True, Harry was

shooting at the elevator and Herb was joining the fire, but Long Steve Bydle was out of reach.

Immediately, there was another clatter. The door of the next elevator came open. Harry dragged Herb

forward, hoping to capture the car; but this time, the guess was bad. Out from the elevator piled a pair of

Each spurt of the big .45 sent a bullet close to a policeman's ear. The Shadow could be as expert at missing

targets as at hitting them. The cops couldn't see where the shots came from, and they didn't care to

They dived back into the elevator as warning slugs ricocheted from the metal door frame. Slamming the

doors shut, the officers used the car as a fort, poking their gun muzzles through the narrow slit between the

When they finally opened the doors wider, the corridor was empty. The Shadow had taken to the stairway, his

Though Long Steve Bydle had escaped, The Shadow had formed plans to regain the bigshot's trail.

A FEW floors below, The Shadow conducted his companions to the service elevator and sent them

downstairs. Their orders were to watch for a chance to get through the police cordon. Before rejoining them,

Using the stairway, The Shadow reached the side passage to the lobby. Police were in charge, with a flock of

captured hoodlums, some wounded, herded in the lobby. A purplishfaced police captain was questioning an

"That last batch that got away," questioned the captain. "Did you recognize any of them?"

"Humph!" The police captain tilted his head to listen to an officer's report. Then: "What about the shooting up

The clerk's reply branded him as a member of the crooked outfit, although the police captain didn't recognize

"That suite was empty," lied the clerk. "The guest, Mr. J. M. Cruke, left the hotel two days ago."

"None. He was a helpless invalid who spent all his time in a wheel chair. His health became worse. His

One of the police reported that a wheel chair had been found in the apartment. That gave J. M. Cruke a clean

bill, from the law's standpoint. But The Shadow, sidling from the darkened exit, had formed different

Even in flight, Long Steve Bydle could still revert to his part of Cruke. He had planned for this emergency. If

the police looked for Cruke, they would find him in the hospital, under charge of a physician who would

swear that the supposed invalid had been there long before the trouble at the Southlake Hotel.

There was only one hospital which could serve in that bluff. It was the fake establishment managed by Doc

That was where Joan Gramley had been taken; it was the place where Long Steve Bydle had fled. Captor and

prisoner were under the same roof. That fact made the place The Shadow's next objective.

Thanks to the large area covered by the Southlake Hotel, the police had been unable to form a tight cordon.

Harry and Herb had picked a route through it and were waiting near a suburban station of the Illinois Central,

THE SHADOW was driving an old sedan that Harry didn't recognize when it pulled up alongside. It was The

Shadow's whisper that identified him as the driver. His companions boarded the car. The Shadow drove them

They reached the borders of a residential district, beyond which lay the unsavory odor of the stockyards.

Night was complete; when The Shadow parked the darkpainted car on a side street, it became a part of the

Picking a route between two buildings, The Shadow found the back door of a rickety, deserted house. With

his tiny flashlight, he led his companions through to the front. The light extinguished, The Shadow opened

Across the street stood a building that had once been a pretentious mansion, its grounds surrounded by a low,

pickettopped wall. The house had ceased to be a residence when this section became less desirable.

There was a driveway leading in between two pillars; it was closed off by a heavy gate. The arch above the

gateway bore a sign: "PRIVATE HOSPITAL," while the gate itself was tagged with a smaller notice that

Dull lights showed through barred windows of the building. The place was a stronghold, and little wonder. It

At The Shadow's whisper, Harry and Herb followed him up to the second floor. Getting a view across the

picket fence, they could glimpse occasional sparkles that came with the brief glows of fireflies.

Men were patrolling the grounds with flashlights. Any intruders who worked within that wall would be due

Battle within those grounds would not only produce an instant alarm inside the hospital; it would also put

invaders in trouble with the law. Doc Ruttler, taking orders from the pretended invalid Cruke, could barricade

A large front door served as main entrance. It was visible from the window of the house across the way. But

Herb gave a groan when he saw whitejacketed attendants on duty. He knew that anyone who tried to pass

Though Herb Waylon knew that Joan Gramley was safe for a while, he also realized that there was no

guarantee of her future welfare. Whatever her eventual fate, it could be prevented only by moving to her

No move could be worse than an attack. Once it began crooks could dispose of Joan, to prevent her

testimony. Doc Ruttler could easily fake it that she had died while a patient, and give valid reasons for her

To call the police into it would be equally fatal. The law could be stalled while Ruttler accomplished his dirty

work. One course alone seemed plausible. That was for someone to work from the inside.

That person, however, would have to be capable of strong battle, in a pinch. The Shadow was one being who

THOUGHTS of The Shadow caused Herb to turn about. He wanted to speak to his mysterious protector. The

Shadow had at least found this observation post across from the hospital. Perhaps he had other tricks stowed

In the darkness, Herb sensed suddenly that The Shadow was gone. It was Harry Vincent who spoke from the

"Stick here, Herb," advised Harry. "Our turn will come later. We want to be ready when we are needed."

"The Shadow!" exclaimed Herb. "Is he trying to get inside, over across the way?"

"I think so," returned Harry. "He usually chooses the best move. He said to wait for his signal."

Harry admitted that he didn't know. He said that The Shadow had made previous trips into Ruttler's hospital,

but that was before the guards had been placed on duty. There was a chance, so Harry declared, that The

That possibility pleased Herb. He didn't guess that Harry had suggested it merely to ease Herb's strain.

Actually, Harry was quite as perplexed as Herb. The Shadow had given Harry a complete plan of the hospital

and the grounds about it, in case his agent needed them. Those plans didn't show a single loophole that Harry

Nevertheless, The Shadow's ways were many. Time and again, Harry had seen his chief crack situations as

tough as this one. Passing through a cordon of quickwitted gunners ready to shoot on sight, was The

Harry suggested that they go downstairs. When Herb asked why, Harry's reply was a simple one. Sooner or

later Harry was sure of it there would be a signal from The Shadow. When it came, their job would be to

"And the place he will want us," added Harry, as they groped their way down the stairs, "will be inside that

"How will he signal us?" queried Herb, eagerly. "With a flashlight from one of those barred windows?"

"Either that," returned Harry, grimly, "or with gunfire. Once things break loose, The Shadow will need us.

The prospect had a depressing effect upon Herb. He didn't relish gunfire in any place where Joan was a

prisoner. His spirits rose, however, when Harry reminded him of events at the Southlake Hotel. There, The

Shadow's guns had taken over the odds, and the cloaked fighter still carried that same brace of automatics,

When they reached the lower window, Harry told Herb to make sure his own gun had its quota of cartridges.

He held a flashlight while Herb made an inspection. Then came blackness; with it, silence. Long minutes

lapsed, while the tense young men watched the dull, unchanging lights of the disguised fortress across the

Crime's citadel stood grim against the blackness of the trees surrounding it. Seemingly impregnable, manned

by picked fighters from the underworld, that stronghold flung a silent challenge to all who might venture near

Crooks had found a final refuge secure against all attacks, even from The Shadow!

INSIDE the hospital that served him as a stronghold, Long Steve Bydle sat staring from a deepset window.

The space was too deep, the room too dim, for him to be observed by outside eyes. Nevertheless, the

Once again, he had become J. M. Cruke. He was propped in an invalid chair, his gaze listless, his face

From a halfopened door came mumbled conversation. The next room was a large one; it contained half a

dozen patients in cots and chairs. Doc Ruttler termed that room, and the others like it, a ward.

Most of the patients were faking hurts, like Long Steve was. They included Crawler and others of his sort,

Doc Ruttler came into the room where Long Steve sat alone. The phony medico closed the door that led into

the ward. When he took a chair near Long Steve's, Ruttler showed unsteadiness. A match flame wavered

"Jittery, doc?" Long Steve put the question with a short laugh. "Keep your shirt on! Things are going to

"I'm worried about the mess at the hotel," declared Ruttler. "Maybe the coppers will be smart enough to pick

"Not a chance!" snapped Long Steve. "They didn't see me duck out. Besides" he reached beside him,

Opening the satchel. Long Steve chuckled as he removed the stack of fifty thousand dollars. He handed the

"Having dough ain't a crime," declared Long Steve. "I'll keep the fifty grand on me. I don't care who sees it.

"You ran into The Shadow," he reminded. "Suppose he dopes out that you're here?"

"How's that going to matter?" returned Long Steve. "He hasn't a chance of getting inside. If he gumshoes

"Who's going to believe it? I'll say I'm Cruke, and you'll say I've been here a couple of days. Nobody can

"And I didn't get a good look at them," parried Long Steve, "which means they didn't lamp me. Open the

RUTTLER complied. He had hardly stepped back toward his chair, when an outside noise alarmed him. It

was the muffled crackle of two colliding cars, accompanied by shouts, all a block away.

"Easy, doc," laughed Steve. "Once in a while, there's real accidents in this burg. If there wasn't, we couldn't

Doc Ruttler came back to the subject that really worried him. He began with the statement:

"And he's through," interjected Long Steve. "One of the mob saw him take a spill down the elevator shaft."

"But after that," reminded Ruttler, "there was this Vincent fellow, that Chet told us about."

"But he showed up too late to get wise to anything. Forget it, doc" the bigshot shook the medico's

Horns were tooting along the front street. A taxi pulled up in front of the hospital drive. Men jumped from

"Somebody got hurt in that smash," remarked Long Steve, as he stretched his head toward the window.

"They'll take them in," replied Ruttler. His chortle told that his nerve had returned. "That's the best thing

about this place. I run it on the up and up. It's a swell break when some real accident cases come our way."

The gate swung open. The taxi wheeled through. None of the other cars were allowed to pass. As soon as the

taxi had discharged its human cargo, it returned. The gate was locked after it went out.

"The way she looks right now," he told Long Steve, "I can tell her old man she's an amnesia victim. There's

been a couple of cases lately, where persons were wandering around. Lost memory is always a good stall."

"I'll advise an immediate operation," replied Ruttler. "I've built up a good name, and I've faked a lot of cures,

"Good enough," approved Long Steve. "Only, see to it that the dame don't come out of the ether, even.

A telephone bell was ringing. Ruttler brought the instrument to Long Steve, pulling behind it a long extension

cord. Long Steve gave a knowing nod to Ruttler, indicating that the right voice was on the wire.

"Hello, Larrivan!" said the bigshot. "So you're over at Gramley's, huh?... O.K. Break the news to the old

"What'll you tell him? Tell him she called your office from a pay station... Yeah, you couldn't figure what it

was all about, until she had sense enough to give you the number of the pay box. That's how you traced her

"She's got amnesia. Get it or do you want doc to spell it?... Amnesia, that's right. It means she can't

WHEN Doc Ruttler was going from the room, Long Steve heard scraping sounds in the hall. He swung about

in his chair to see a wheeled stretcher going by, carrying a heavily bandaged burden.

A nurse was bending over the silent victim, while an attendant pushed the stretcher. Doc Ruttler drew an

interne aside and held a brief conversation. After that, he stepped back into the room and closed the door.

"One patient that's really hurt," informed Ruttler. "If he's insured, I'll keep him on exhibit. I'll let the interne

look out for him. I'm going to see the Gramley girl and fix her so she can talk."

Soon after Doc Ruttler had gone, Chet Soville sidled into the room. Long Steve motioned him to keep away

"What're you doing here?" demanded the bigshot. "I thought you were outside watching the grounds."

"I've got the crew posted," replied Chet. "They can take care of anybody, including The Shadow."

Long Steve grumbled that they should have taken care of The Shadow back at the hotel. Chet argued that The

Shadow hadn't been expected there, any more than he had been outside the Club Miche. This time, he argued,

That conversation was scarcely finished, when Steve's keen ear caught the wail of sirens. As the sound came

"You're as bad as doc," sneered Long Steve. "Inside of two minutes, he'll come popping in here. Wait and

Long Steve was right. As the sirens swung into the front street, Ruttler hurried in from the hall. He gasped

that his fears were justified. The law was making a raid. He wanted Bydle to do something quick.

"Hold off the fireworks!" growled the bigshot. "We can start them when we want. We've got enough guys

Two motorcycles pulled up in front of the hospital. Behind them was a limousine, then a police car. His head

"Two on the cycles," he announced. "One getting out of the big buggy, and three more in the patrol car. That

The seventh was a man that Long Steve identified as an officer, although he was in plain clothes. Chet poked

"Inspector Quillon!" he exclaimed. "There's Larrivan with him. And the guy with the gray hair must be

They saw the inspector tell the officers to wait outside. Gramley and Larrivan had started up the steps to the

"See that?" queried Long Steve. "Nothing to it! Old Gramley was just worried about his daughter and wanted

Ruttler hurried away, much relieved. Long Steve told Chet to take care of the front door, but to keep out of

"I'm making a call to learn what's new at the hotel. I'll be seeing you later, Chet."

From the doorway, Chet Soville heard Long Steve chuckle in the fashion that told that the bigshot was well

SOLEMNFACED, Doc Ruttler led the visitors to the small private room where Joan Gramley lay in bed.

The girl's eyes were open, but they had a tired stare. She barely recognized Peter Gramley when he stepped to

That, however, was enough. Gramley's face lighted; he tried to make out words that came slowly from Joan's

"She knows you," declared the crooked physician. "That is enough. She is tired; she needs more rest."

His fingers pressed Joan's eyelids. The girl let them close. Ruttler drew the others to a corner.

"I have done all I can," he said, seriously, "but her condition does not seem to improve beyond the stage that

"All operations are serious," replied Ruttler. "In this case, with the patient young and healthy, I can almost

"You have my approval, doctor," he told Ruttler. Abruptly, he swung to Quillon. "And I ask you, inspector,

to institute an immediate search for a man named Herbert Waylon. Once found, he may be proved

Despite themselves, Ruttler and Larrivan exchanged surprised looks. They managed to curb those expressions

"I should have told you this before," asserted the banker. "Waylon is working with the accident racket. In

addition to that criminal connection, he had designs upon my daughter. Joan was foolish enough to fall in

To the listening crooks, one surprise was piling upon another. Gramley's sincerity was evident. It proved that

Once started on his theme, Gramley didn't stop. He gave all the details of Herb's visit, including the fact that

"But I provided for any consequences," added Gramley. "After Waylon left, I wrote a complete account of

every statement that he made and had Joan attest, as witness. The only document the I lack is Waylon's

Both Ruttler and Larrivan were figuring that they had made a bad bet in Herb's case, one that had cost them

heavily. It seemed too late, however, to make any alterations in their present plans, especially with Long

After all, Herb Waylon was dead. The next step was to put Joan Gramley in the same condition. Doc Ruttler

was working to that purpose, when he gestured suddenly for silence. He gave a worried glance toward the

"We must not disturb the patient," he reminded. "Her condition may be much more serious than I suppose.

They were moving toward the door. It stood ajar, and Ruttler reached for the knob. Gramley undertoned a

RUTTLER stopped short, the door swung halfway open. An ugly snarl caused the interruption. On the

threshold sat Long Steve Bydle, deep in his wheel chair. The bigshot had used his left hand to roll the

In that fist, Steve held a revolver that moved slowly back and forth, covering both Peter Gramley and

The two dropped back, hands half raised, with alarmed glances toward Ruttler. They took Long Steve for

some crazed patient. Ruttler didn't, nor did Larrivan. They were reaching for guns of their own.

"Never mind the rods!" snapped Long Steve. "I can handle these two boobs! Say" he stared coldly above

Inspector Quillon showed enlightenment. He had received details of the battle at the Southlake Hotel

"I'm Cruke!" chuckled Long Steve. "Only, that ain't my right moniker. I'm no invalid" he was climbing

Quillon recalled it. He was glowering, but he kept his hands raised. The inspector realized that Ruttler and

"Long Steve Bydle," announced the bigshot. "The guy that's run the accident racket. But that won't be

"Waylon's not dead" this information was for Ruttler and Larrivan. "I found that out, when I talked to the

desk clerk at the Southlake Hotel. He took a peek down the elevator shaft. The body wasn't there.

"I've just been listening to this blahblah that Gramley gave you. He talked loud enough for me to hear him

outside the door. Since Waylon is loose, we might as well let the bulls catch up with him."

Doc Ruttler still looked puzzled, and Larrivan wasn't any too wise in expression. Long Steve straightened to

"Don't you saps get the idea?" he snarled. "We're going to cut loose with the fireworks. Quillon gets his; so

does Gramley along with the girl. Those papers Gramley talked about will pin the goods on Waylon.

"I'll clear out, along with all the fake cripples. You'll stay here, doc, along with Larrivan, to tell your story.

We'll hand you a few wallops, only you won't be hurt bad. And remember, both of you, to say that the mob

"That'll make it look like I was snatched. Nobody will hear no more of J. M. Cruke. Got it all straight? O.K.,

that fixes it. As for you two" he faced Gramley and Quillon "I'm giving you a chance, just for the sport of

LONG STEVE lowered his revolver, but his finger was tightening on the trigger. Doc Ruttler saw the

bigshot's purpose. As soon as the victims broke through the door, Long Steve would fire a signal.

In wards along the hallway, fake cripples would be ready to greet the fleeing men with a barrage that neither

During that bombardment, Long Steve would riddle Joan with bullets, then make his departure with the mob.

The police, outside, would stand no chance against the horde that would pour from the hospital.

Perhaps Inspector Quillon scented something of the bigshot's scheme, for he stood where he was. Gramley

tried to edge toward the door, but the inspector elbowed him back. Then the momentary mystery cleared.

The police inspector simply wanted to try argument. He thought that he could handle crooks like Long Steve.

"You're taking a long chance, Bydle," gruffed Quillon. "Why not call it quits? Beat it, but leave us here. It

The gun was coming up. Quillon grabbed Gramley's arm and yanked him toward the door. Long Steve's eyes

Long Steve was staring toward the door, like the victims. They had halted, and with good reason. The

The man who stood there was grotesque. He was swathed in bandages, that increased the higher one looked.

His head was almost completely covered, making his face appear like the wrapped visage of a mummy.

Only his eyes showed. They reflected the light with a burning gaze, intensified by the whiteness all about

Onehanded, the whitegarbed challenger held control, for his left arm was hung in a sling. One hand,

however, was all he needed to hold sway, for that fist shoved its .45 straight between the eyes of Long Steve

It was Doc Ruttler who gave an uncontrollable gasp. He realized where this foe had come from. He was the

accident victim who had come in less than a half hour go. Whoever he was, he had tricked crooks with their

Unhurt, he had faked injuries. Regarded harmless, he had been carried through the cordon of surrounding

mobsters. A lone indomitable fighter, he had penetrated to the center of the stronghold to settle scores with

No longer had he reason to conceal his identity. He declared it, to bring new consternation to the cornered

DULLY, Long Steve Bydle stared at The Shadow. The stringy bigshot was backing slowly from the door,

but it wasn't with a purpose. His hand had dropped limp beside him; he was ready to let the gun fall.

All that Long Steve could see were those avenging eyes, as accusing as they had been when he met The

This time, Steve's wheel chair didn't offer quick transportation. The bigshot had left the chair in the hall and

couldn't get to it, with The Shadow blocking the path. Furthermore, The Shadow was wise to the tricky way

Long Steve licked his dips. Pasty dye tinted his tongue. The bigshot wanted to parley.

"You're on the spot, Shadow!" he voiced, in a tone that was hoarse and ineffective. "We got you boxed this

The Shadow stepped forward. Automatic jabbed close to Steve's ribs, he made a sudden side sweep that

knocked the revolver from the bigshot's feeble clutch. The lost gun bounced across the floor, almost to

A moment later, The Shadow had stepped back. His gun was away from Long Steve, making menacing

motions toward Ruttler and Larrivan. That pair cowering, The Shadow concentrated again upon Bydle. His

Long Steve had forgotten one thing. Back at the hotel, The Shadow had wanted him alive, to hold as hostage

because Joan Gramley was in the hands of Long Steve's lieutenant. That situation had changed. In gaining

control here in the heart of Bydle's own stronghold, The Shadow had reclaimed the captured girl.

Death would be the proper fate for Long Steve, from The Shadow's present viewpoint.

Moving to one side, The Shadow nudged Long Steve with the gun point. The crook's chalkdyed face began

to show understanding. The Shadow was going to march him out into the hallway, using him as a barrier

But Crawler and those others wouldn't guess the game. They'd think that the man they knew as Cruke was

simply leading a procession. Doc Ruttler and Larrivan would come along, with Inspector Quillon behind

It wouldn't help much, having others drill The Shadow, if Steve and his companions went first. What was

worse, Crawler and his bunch wouldn't recognize The Shadow, all done up in white.

Probably The Shadow would have Gramley wheel Joan along in the chair that was so conveniently waiting

outside the door. Long Steve began to curse himself because he had let The Shadow knock his gun away. If

he still had that rod, Long Steve could give the signal, should he find half a chance to do so.

Orders crept from The Shadow's muffled lips the sort that Steve expected. Rage gripped the bigshot. His

muscles tightened, his limber body seemed to telescope. Though he had his own snarl, he looked like Cruke

In apish fashion, the bigshot shoved his hands forward, ready for a desperate spring. He halted with a jolt,

If the first shot had to come, The Shadow would give it, straight to Long Steve's heart. That was why the

IT happened that Long Steve's temporary defiance was to produce the very break he wanted, but from a

There was one man who wasn't watching The Shadow's eyes, who failed likewise to see the motion of the

bandaged fighter's gun. That man was Inspector Quillon. All that he noted was the forward gesture that Long

Wrongly supposing that The Shadow was partly crippled, Quillon suspected actual menace the moment that

Long Steve moved. Fearing that Ruttler and Larrivan would support the bigshot, the inspector decided to

Chucking himself forward, Quillon bowled Bydle from the path of The Shadow's aim, sending him hard

As they went, Long Steve's stringy form unlimbered. It recoiled in springy fashion, coming back at Quillon

like a boomerang. With a lucky heave, Long Steve bowled the inspector straight against The Shadow,

Ruttler didn't pass up that opportunity. He made a wild spring for The Shadow, and close behind came

Larrivan. This was their chance, for The Shadow was against the wall beside the doorway, his gun hand

With their move, the two crooks yanked guns, to open flank fire against The Shadow. They didn't guess the

There was a rip as The Shadow flung his left arm wide. The sling tore loose from his neck; his arm, rigid

from a splint beneath its bandages, pointed straight for the oncoming attackers. There was an explosion from

From those bandages knifed a spurt of flame that pointed for Ruttler's shoulder. A bullet came with it. That

wasn't an ordinary splint along The Shadow's wrist. The rigid object was another automatic, gripped in the

With a halfcrazed howl, Doc Ruttler spun clear about, like a child's top finishing its twirl. He flopped

Inspector Quillon was away again, meeting Long Steve Bydle in a sudden grapple. That left only Larrivan,

who was almost to the door. Momentarily protected by Ruttler's dropping form, Larrivan bolted through,

The Shadow did not aim. It was unnecessary. Nor did he stop Doc Ruttler when the crippled physician came

A terrific crackle filled the hall, guns bursting from many doorways. Crawler and his pals had heard the shot

that they took for Long Steve's signal. Not knowing Larrivan, they took him for one of the fugitives that the

Whipped by bullets from all directions, Larrivan withered in the center of the hall.

Doc Ruttler heard that roar as he started out. Madly, the medico tried to halt his dive. He grabbed for the

doorway with his right hand, but his wounded arm couldn't stand the strain. Ruttler took a sideways tumble

into the hall. His dryish face turned toward Crawler. A plaintive squeak left Ruttler's lips.

Crawler saw the face, heard the screech. He howled for the mob to lay off. Some of those beside him also

recognized the fake physician, but killers at other doorways didn't. Pumping guns flayed the floor with lead.

Some bullets scored direct hits in Ruttler's body; other slugs ricocheted, to riddle him like dumdums.

THE SHADOW had turned to handle Long Steve. Two bowling forms hit him like a battering ram. Long

Steve was hurling Quillon straight for the door. The best that The Shadow could do in that emergency was

yank the police inspector clear, before Steve bowled him into the hall where death awaited.

Bydle twisted, snarling as he made a futile clutch. Then, continuing his spin, he charged on through the

doorway. The wheel chair was straight in front of him. Remembering that it had once enabled him to elude

His head sticking over the chair back, The bigshot was taking a speedy ride, catercornered across the

hallway, while Crawler and his pals gazed in wonderment. Seeing his own door ahead, Long Steve gave a

hard yank to a wheel. The chair rolled into the bigshot's own room, to finish with a crash against a metal

Before the hallway gunners could realize all that had happened, a much bandaged figure loomed suddenly

from the room that Long Steve had fled. For a moment, the murder squad took him for one of their own

Then came a chilling laugh, a tone that had previously been whispered, limited to the confines of Joan's

room. This time, it pealed a fullthroated challenge; ringing forth a mockery that no man of crime could fail

That rising mirth brought bellows from Crawler and his mob. They jerked their guns toward the figure that

they saw. The laugh had reached the high of its crescendo; it was shivering to a fierce finish. Along with that

He was turning, jabbing shots from both automatics, picking a different target with every stab. Aiming crooks

were bouncing about like jumping fleas, to land with a sharp clatter on the floor.

They were firing back, but that didn't help. They were too hurried, and The Shadow fooled them with a

forward feint, then a quick withdrawal toward the door from which he had stepped.

Crawler and others who had been wisely dodging when they fired were at last able to spot their target. But

they were rewarded by nothing more than clicks on emptied gun chambers. They had wasted most of their

shots on Ruttler and Larrivan, then spent their few reserve bullets in a hurried outburst against The Shadow.

His guns, too, were empty. That was the only reason why The Shadow backed into the room and slammed the

door shut. Another minute. he would have ruined most of Crawler's gang. He had done well, eliminating

nearly half of them; but the rest still had teeth. While he reloaded, The Shadow could hear Crawler's braying

Inspector Quillon was beside The Shadow, holding two revolvers his own and Long Steve's. He heard The

Shadow's orders to keep them; to be ready to meet the rush that soon would come. With a quick glance

The girl had roused, jolted into wakefulness by the gunfire. Her father was soothing her, telling her that she

would be safe. Yet Gramley doubted his own words, until a strange sound inspired him to actual confidence.

That tone was the laugh of The Shadow, whispered in weird sibilance through the squarewalled room that

Peter Gramley took that mirth to mean that The Shadow still had ways to deal with men of crime!

ACROSS the street, the sound of battle had come with the suddenness of loudly beaten kettledrums. From

their window, Harry Vincent and Herb Waylon had seen the spurts of guns. They hadn't waited to grope their

Together, they ripped open the shuttered window and jumped to the sidewalk, while the rattle of guns still

persisted in their ears. Across the street, they saw six officers pulling out revolvers.

The police were ready to charge into the hospital when the roar of gunfire ceased. That didn't deter the

officers; from the size of the barrage, they figured that someone had cut loose with a machine gun inside the

What held back the police was the sight of men who suddenly filled the hospital's main door.

Faking themselves as internes, whitejacketed mobsters had been lounging in that doorway. Their guns were

out, and they were the first to use them. With bullets spattering the sidewalk, the officers took to the shelter of

Right then, the police were in a serious predicament. There was a clang from the big gate that formed the

ambulance entrance. Hoodlums shoved in sight, ready to open an enfilading fire along the outer wall. One

Harry and Herb prevented that slaughter. From the curb across the way, they opened unexpected fire on the

massed rabble at the gate. Crooks began to plop; their companions dived for shelter. Wheeling about, the

The police took that as their cue. They went after the mob with double purpose: first, to rout the retreating

Herb Waylon gave an exultant shout. He wanted to follow, thinking that the driveway would offer a route

"We can't get in that way," informed Harry, tensely. "There's only one way. That's through the main door."

"But it's blocked!" Herb vociferated. "Don't go crazy, Harry! You saw how the police ducked."

Herb yielded. He was willing for any risk, with Joan helpless in the stronghold where many guns had talked.

He guessed that Harry must be following special orders, previously given by The Shadow.

The Shadow had told Harry that when the crisis came, he and Herb must attack the main door. True, they

were to do it cannily, keeping well to cover. But it was important that their effort be sustained. The police,

Harry noted, had failed to keep up the attack that they had started. He and Herb wouldn't make that same

They were spotted by the whitejacketed guards the moment that they neared the entrance. Harry gave Herb

a shove to the left, behind a big post that marked the end of the wall. As Herb took that cover, Harry dropped

Belated bullets were whistling from the doorway, chipping the edges of bricks that formed the posts. Poking

their guns past those same edges, Harry and Herb returned the compliments, with slow but welltimed fire.

The sheltered men had something of an advantage. Herb was a good shot; better, perhaps, than Harry. But the

latter had practiced until he was equally good with both hands. Thus, by choosing the post that required

They didn't have to look for a target. They could gauge the direction of the doorway. It wasn't good shelter

for the crooks that guarded it, that big wide space with a hall beyond. That was why the defending gunmen

DEEP in the hallway, crouched at the foot of a stairway, Chet Soville was snarling orders. He and his crew of

four fake internes were far away from the battleground on the second floor. Chet wasn't worrying about

One of his four had taken a bullet. The other three were keeping to the vestibule, using the same sniping

tactics that served Harry and Herb. That setup didn't please Chet. He never liked a stalemate.

If cops showed up, there would be a rush. His men were wasting bullets. Maybe they wouldn't have a chance

"Lay off the shooting!" bawled Chet. "Get that big door shut! There's loopholes in it! Come on you guys

Chet hopped out from his shelter. Like the others, he was wearing a white jacket, that made him conspicuous

There were calls from above. Chet recognized Crawler's hoarse shout. He couldn't figure what had happened,

but it was plain that Crawler wanted reserves and was coming to demand them. All right, thought Chet, he'd

have them, as soon as this door was shut. One good sharpshooter could hold it by firing from a loophole.

Crawler's voice was nearer. Chet turned toward the stairs to answer. For the first time, he was actually in a

line with those steps. He could see straight up them, and midway, he spied a figure.

The person on the stairs was a woman, dressed in the white uniform of a nurse. Her purpose, however, was

not one of helping wounded battlers. She was on hand to add a few more actual cripples to the rapidly

She was holding a .32 revolver in a grip that meant business, and the first man that she had covered was Chet

The chunky crook might have seen a ghost, the way he stared; and with good reason. He recognized that

The chunky thug recovered from his startlement, to figure a more plausible explanation than that of a ghost.

"Maisie Troy!" he snarled. "So Barney Heslip didn't croak you, like he was supposed to. Trying to get even,

"Drop that gat!" ordered the blonde. "Tell those gorillas to chuck theirs, too. And get back from the door, or

Maisie didn't have to say more, nor did she have time to do so. With a quick whoop to his pals, Chet started

A slim finger tugged its trigger. Maisie's gun was descending as she fired. She had more than nerve; she

knew how to pick a target. Chet Soville jolted, rolled headlong to the floor, clawing for his lost gun.

Crooks were swinging from the halfclosed door. Bounding down the steps, Maisie was jabbing shots in their

direction. One thug took a sprawl. Two others dropped to the shelter of the vestibule, suddenly turning the

The blonde tried a dash past the stairs. Chet sped a failing hand to grip her ankle. As the girl went headlong,

Guns talked above the shout. They spoke from the inswinging door. Harry and Herb were in the entrance,

each picking a wouldbe murderer who aimed at Maisie. The crooks tumbled, their guns unfired.

THE two invaders didn't linger. They saw the stairs ahead, knew that they afforded a quick route to The

Shadow. They didn't even notice Maisie's quick point upward; they were already on their way.

Figures bobbed into sight. They were bandaged fakers who had battled with The Shadow and were coming to

summon other crooks for a massed attack. Crawler was in the center of the three, at the head of the stairs. He

He fired hastily; his shot went high, for Harry and Herb were flattening on the stairs. Aiming up the steps,

they loosed shots at Crawler and the motley men beside him. Crawler lurched up from between two sinking

Harry pushed Herb aside to let Crawler bound between them. Driving upward, the two invaders reached the

floor above. Maisie, by the stairway, saw Crawler land. He lived up to his nickname, the way he writhed

This time, Crawler's contortions were not faked. His days of pretended accidents were finished. Mortally

Police were in the doorway, attracted by the battle. Pointing them upstairs, Maisie followed. She was with

them when they reached a turn in a long hall and witnessed the fray that proved to be the climax.

Side by side, Harry Vincent and Herb Waylon had opened fire on a grotesque group who were battering a

closed door. Snarling mobsters, spry despite their many bandages, composed the throng that scattered under

The police with Maisie were quick to join fire when the mob went for shelter; but those shots weren't enough.

Reaching doorways, the crooks swung about to wreak devastation on their opponents.

Odds were turned; invaders were caught flatfooted. But they, in turn, were to receive timely aid. Open came

the door that thugs had hammered. With a laugh of final challenge, The Shadow thrust his automatics into

Mere sight of the whitebandaged foemen was enough. Yelling crooks were in flight when The Shadow

opened fire. Bounding across huddled forms that had fallen long before, they broke for windows. Shattering

The Shadow had followed. From doorways, he was nicking the last few gunners who offered fight. Others

pitched out from windows, still howling as they plunged to the ground. There, officers awaited them. Having

A last few crooks surrendered. Pitiful remnants of the horde that had once manned this stronghold, they came

Alone at the far end of the long hall stood The Shadow. His eyes alone were visible from his bandaged face,

The Shadow's keen brain was centered upon a final mission; the capture of Long Steve Bydle.

THERE was something passive in The Shadow's attitude, a manner of calm expectancy. He knew where

Long Steve Bydle could be found. There was no haste needed in the search for the missing bigshot.

Perhaps Long Steve could squeeze his beanlike body between bars, the way that others had, but he wasn't the

sort to risk it. He had shown himself yellow, more than once. Besides, Long Steve wasn't equipped for battle,

if he reached the ground in safety. He had dropped his gun a while ago, and had found no opportunity to

Harry Vincent guessed why The Shadow waited, so he did the same. Not so with Herb Waylon. He wanted to

find Joan and he was frantic, until he saw a man step from the door where The Shadow had first emerged.

The man was Inspector Quillon, taking charge. Looking into the room itself, Herb saw Joan propped in her

Herb forgot his feud with Gramley. He sprang into the room, hastened to Joan's side. The girl's eyes showed

recognition; her lips broke into a smile. When Herb's arms encircled her, she gave a delighted gasp and

Joan's head upon his shoulder, Herb heard Gramley speak. He turned, to find the banker thrusting out his

"My apologies, Waylon," said Gramley. "At last, we know how you really stood. You have our thanks for all

that you have done. What concerns both of us, at present" Gramley's tone was solemn "is how soon Joan

"She's all right," assured Herb. "All Ruttler did was dope her. I saw him use the needle."

Gramley hesitated. Herb, too, was troubled. They were suddenly set at rest. A newcomer had arrived: Maisie

"I was her nurse," declared Maisie. "Doc Ruttler had never met me, so he suspected nothing. All that he gave

Many details flashed home to Herb. He knew that The Shadow had paid previous visits to the hospital. He

understood why those trips had been made. The Shadow had kept tabs on all developments. He had posted

It had taken The Shadow to start things; and Herb no longer wondered how he had managed it. He

remembered the taxi coming in with an accident victim and realized that The Shadow must have wrecked the

Once inside, The Shadow hadn't worried about how others would enter. He had settled that before hand,

WHILE that group remained in the room that The Shadow had defended, others were beginning a search for

Long Steve Bydle. Inspector Quillon stopped them before they had gone very far. He saw a darkened room

Reaching inside the doorway, Quillon turned on the light. He and his men shoved the wheel chair to a corner.

They looked under the cot, then opened a closet door, shoving the wheel chair farther aside so they could pull

The closet was filled with crumpled sheets and blankets. Waylon was about to turn away, when a shape

moved up beside him. It was The Shadow, his face still obscured by bandages. In that guise of white, The

Shadow was quite as unrecognizable as when cloaked in black. Steadying an automatic toward the

There was no response. A low, menacing laugh issued from The Shadow's lips. It proved enough. The pile

stirred. Out from under it, dragging a sheet halfway with him, crawled Long Steve Bydle.

He looked to be the yellowest rat of all. Sweat had streaked his ugly, longish face, forming paths in the

chalkish paste that produced the pallor so suitable to Cruke. When Long Steve wiped his face with his sleeve,

Long Steve's own complexion looked pasty enough. He knew what the law held in store for him. All that he

could do was whine, when two policemen pulled him to his feet. His one flash of defiance came when he

Something tumbled from inside Long Steve's coat. The inspector stooped to pick up a bundle of crisp bank

notes. He counted the stack; the total made him cock his head. From a pocket, Quillon drew a little book.

He compared the numbers of the bills with a list. That checkup resulted in a nod.

"We've been looking for these," announced the inspector. "Cash stolen from the vault of the TriCity

Amazement showed on Long Steve's face, until he met the eyes of The Shadow. Their gaze brought mutters

He had been wondering, Long Steve had, why The Shadow hadn't shown up at Korber's, after trying to

prevent the accident outside the Club Miche. At last, Long Steve began to understand it. The Shadow knew

No wonder Kid Dember had laid off Korber! Kid had found out too much. He had gained a hunch that even if

he did blackmail Korber, the fellow would outfox him. What Kid had learned, The Shadow had learned also.

That was why he had kept them, just in case of blackmail. Stuff that he couldn't shove himself, would be

great to hand to another crook. If Long Steve had tried to pass this dough, it would have bounced back at him.

Thereby, The Shadow had been prepared to expose the bigshot; or, rather, to let Long Steve Bydle give

himself away. The outbreak at the Southlake Hotel had merely hurried the climax.

"GET going, Bydle!" he ordered, poking Long Steve with the mobster's own gun. "Out into the hall. We're

taking you to headquarters. One of you men" this to the officers "get ready with a pair of handcuffs.

Two policemen sprang forward, each anxious for the privilege. Long Steve wrenched away, only to get a jab

from the gun. This was the payoff, Steve thought, and he was right. It was strange, though, how a split

The next instant proved the most important moment in all of Long Steve's evil career.

Of a sudden, every light was blotted out, not only in that room but throughout the entire hospital. Some dying

crook it happened to be Crawler had reached the basement and yanked the master switch!

Set back from the street, its windows deep, the hospital's interior caught only the faintest glimmer from the

street. In the darkness, Long Steve was out of sight, struggling with men about him. In that melee, he was

Hard thwacks sounded. The bigshot was flaying everywhere. Blundering men were helping him, for they

were scuffling with one another. Though jolted to the floor, Long Steve managed to crawl out from the

confusion. His sliding hand hit something cold. His own gun, dropped by Quillon!

A break for the door, and Long Steve could be away along the hall before these boobs got busy with their

flashlights. But there was someone upon whom he wanted vengeance first. Not only to even matters, but to

On his feet, against the wall, Long Steve looked into darkness. He could see The Shadow! That was a rare

one, sure enough, but it showed that The Shadow wasn't always smart. Tonight he had pulled a fast one,

coming in here as a patient. Maisie and a couple of internes had faked him up with bandages, so he could

But that very stunt was to prove The Shadow's finish, as far as Long Steve was concerned!

Tonight, The Shadow wasn't garbed in black. He was in white! Of all persons in this room, he was the one

that Long Steve could spot. There he was, over in the corner crouched down, trying to get out of sight.

The Shadow heard that raucous threat but couldn't quite locate it. He was taking chances, though; he was

moving in Long Steve's direction. There he came suddenly, still crouched, but with a long, sweeping lunge.

Long Steve cut loose. He was riddling the whitegarbed shape with every bullet that the gun possessed.

Revolver spurts were cutting through the darkness, sprayed by an expert hand. Men were dropping

They didn't need to hide. Long Steve didn't care about them. He had fixed The Shadow. That was enough. All

he had to do was turn and duck out. Maybe his shots had shown where he was; but he didn't intend to stay

That was just another of Long Steve's intentions, the sort that went sour, when The Shadow was concerned.

A gun spoke, its report muffled. Where it came from, Long Steve couldn't guess. He was worrying about the

bullet that accompanied it. That chunk of metal was below his left shoulder, just above his heart.

STAGGERING toward the door, Long Steve stumbled. He could hear a laugh behind him, also muffled. It

sounded like dying mirth; but that was due to the bigshot's own distorted hearing.

The laugh made others bold. Flashlights shone suddenly, bathing Long Steve as he sank to the floor beside

the door. Excited officers saw that he still held a gun. They used their own revolvers. Long Steve writhed

Flashlights spread their beams everywhere. Flat on the floor, Long Steve's eyes reflected an amazed stare, as

he gave the convulsive gulp that was to be his last breath. A moment later, he was dead, a snarl fading from

There was a sight that might have been the cause of that last snarl. Possibly Long Steve saw it.

Halfway across the room stood a bulletriddled wheel chair, draped with a sheet that had been shot half

away. It was the huddled shape that Long Steve Bydle had mistaken for The Shadow; the object that The

In those first moments of chaos, The Shadow had recognized his own dilemma. Between the closet and the

wheel chair, he had whipped up a sheet and thrown it across the vehicle. Only that had been in sight when

The shot that The Shadow had fired came from the closet. The door was opening under the flashlights' glow.

GULPING their relief, silent men watched The Shadow go out through the door. Others saw him, a ghostlike

figure, moving along the hall. When he reached the stairs, his form went downward. From below, there came

A cab driver near the battlewrecked hospital was surprised when a muchbandaged figure stepped into his

taxi. The Shadow gave a destination; during the ride, he peeled away layers of bandages, to emerge as

Lamont Cranston. In that guise, he paid off the stupefied driver when they arrived at a central hotel.

Once in his room, The Shadow opened the folder that bore the symbol of the hand. Again, three names

The Shadow drew an obliterating line through the bottom name. Another Finger had been cut off from The

The light clicked off. A cloak settled over The Shadow's shoulders. Hands picked up a slouch hat in the dark.

There were those, however, who had not forgotten The Shadow. One hour later, a limousine was wending

north along a boulevard. Two of the occupants were lost in their own whispers, that breathed words of love.

Proof of that was given by another passenger. Peter Gramley could hear the whispers that stirred behind him.

When the lights of the boulevard flickered on his face, they showed the banker's smile of benign approval.

From the window opposite, a man was staring, lost in thoughts of his own. Harry Vincent was scanning the

broad, windswept waters of Lake Michigan. That tumultuous surface was inky in the night, like the sky

There was a purr from high above. Harry saw two tiny lights, red and green, coursing into space. Rapidly

dwindling, they became pin points that were swallowed by engulfing darkness. The plane had gone beyond

Alone, of all persons in Chicago, Harry Vincent could have named the pilot of that ship.