THE CRIME CRYPT .........................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. A MAN OF MURDER.....................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. CROOKS OF A KIND....................................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. THE MEETING ..............................................................................................................9

CHAPTER IV. CRIME BREAKS .........................................................................................................13

CHAPTER V. TWO MEN MEET .........................................................................................................17

CHAPTER VI. THE ALIBI ...................................................................................................................20

CHAPTER VII. MOBSTERS MOVE ...................................................................................................24

CHAPTER VIII. WITHIN THE HOUSE ..............................................................................................29

CHAPTER IX. GUNS BARK...............................................................................................................32

CHAPTER X. CRIME AND COUNTERCRIME................................................................................34

CHAPTER XI. THE SHADOW'S PART ..............................................................................................38

CHAPTER XII. THE STOLEN SCROLL............................................................................................41

CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW ACTS ..............................................................................................46

CHAPTER XIV. CROOKS SUSPECT .................................................................................................50

CHAPTER XV. AT THE MUSEUM ....................................................................................................54

CHAPTER XVI. THE PILLAGERS .....................................................................................................58

CHAPTER XVII. BRODIE'S MOVE...................................................................................................60

CHAPTER XVIII. DEATH AWAITS..................................................................................................64

CHAPTER XIX. CARDONA'S CLEW................................................................................................66

CHAPTER XX. THE SNARE ...............................................................................................................70

CHAPTER XXI. LIVING AND DEAD ................................................................................................73

CHAPTER XXII. WORDS OF THE SHADOW ..................................................................................76

CHAPTER XXIII. THE SHADOW'S MIGHT.....................................................................................78

CHAPTER XXIV. FROM THE CRYPT..............................................................................................80

THE glare of a Manhattan evening flushed Times Square. Standing amid the brilliant illumination of the

Rialto, a young man surveyed the bright lights as though they were a sight that he had long forgotten.

Lost among the myriads who strolled this dense district, the young man remained unnoticed by those who

passed him. Yet there was something in his bearing that would have attracted attention had people paused to

look at him. His suave, mustached face; his shrewd, roving eyes; these were tokens of a clever schemer a

The young man noted a huge clock dial that glittered from the far side of Broadway. It told the time as twenty

minutes after eight. The observer shrugged his shoulders, strolled leisurely along the street and hailed a

Twenty minutes later, the cab stopped in front of an old brownstone house. The young man alighted and paid

the driver. He ascended the steps and rang the bell. A solemnfaced servant opened the door. The menial

"Good evening, Mr. Havelock," said the servant. "Your uncle is awaiting your arrival. His attorney is here,

"Very well, Calhoun," responded the young man. "I shall join them. Are they in the living room?"

The young man crossed the hall, opened a door and entered a lighted room. Two grayhaired men looked up

"Ah, Martin!" he exclaimed. "We have been awaiting you. This is Jason Thunig, my attorney" he was

indicating the other grayhaired man as he spoke "and this, Jason, is my nephew, Martin Havelock."

JASON THUNIG arose to shake hands with Martin Havelock. To the lawyer, the young man appeared clean

cut. He liked the friendly smile that Havelock wore. All traces of the schemer had faded from the young

"Martin Havelock!" remarked Thunig. "Back in New York, after all these years. Cecil Armsbury's nephew

in the flesh. You are to be congratulated, Cecil" Thunig turned to the stoopshouldered man "on having

"Martin and I have become friends already," asserted Cecil Armsbury, as he took a chair and waved the

others to seats. "I was greatly pleased when he arrived from Mexico, two days ago. I have seen him but

occasionally, however" old Armsbury was smiling "because the lights of Broadway have lured him

"New York interests me," admitted Martin Havelock. "I haven't seen the old town in a good many years. It is

quite a change from Mexico. However, Uncle Cecil, I remembered my appointment. Here I am."

The three men settled back in their chairs. Armsbury and Thunig were smoking cigars. Martin Havelock

lighted a cigarette and puffed it idly while he surveyed the faces of his uncle and the attorney.

"Your arrival, Martin," remarked old Cecil Armsbury, "has proven a most fortunate one. I have recently put

my affairs in order; and Jason Thunig has come up to discuss all the matters which concern my estate."

"Not a very complex task," declared Thunig, with a smile. "This home your holdings in stocks and bonds

"Perhaps a trifle more," remarked Armsbury. "The few curios which I still possess may bring fair value. Ah!"

The old man shook his head sadly. "The treasures which I once owned! I was forced to sell them, Martin, to

"You were always a spender, Cecil," agreed Jason Thunig. "Nevertheless, you have managed to retain a tidy

sum of wealth. Your estate is a wellarranged one. The securities are sound. This property has held its value."

"You are heir to it all, Martin," said Armsbury, smiling in kindly fashion as he turned toward his nephew.

"I appreciate it, Uncle Cecil," declared Havelock, in a voice which echoed the old man's friendly tone. "My

one hope, however, is that my inheritance shall be long delayed. In fact, uncle, chance might make you my

heir. All of my Mexican mining properties are willed to you. They are worth many thousands those mines

"Perhaps. My father died young my mother also. However, uncle, my purpose here is to enjoy a visit with

you. I shall stay as long as possible; after that, back to Mexico. My interests are too extensive to neglect."

"You are wise, Martin," nodded Jason Thunig, sagely. "It is excellent to know that you have done so well. A

stranger in a foreign land, you met with great success. Commendable, Martin. Commendable!"

THE door of the living room opened as Thunig ceased speaking. It was Calhoun who entered. The old

servant was carrying a tray which bore a glass of water and a bottle of large white tablets. The three men

watched him set the tray upon a table. Solemnly, Calhoun opened the bottle and poured out three tablets

"Your medicine, sir," he said, turning to Cecil Armsbury. "About this evening, sir do you require me

The servant stalked from the room. Cecil Armsbury settled back to puff at his cigar. His voice took on a

"Years have gone rapidly," he declared. "I have traveled far and often. To many strange lands. Those days of

The old man scowled as he stretched forward a clawed hand and picked up the glass. The tablets had

"Every night," mused Armsbury. "Three tablets in a glass of water. A stimulus for my weakening heart. I

wonder why Calhoun did not put in the tablets before he brought the glass in here. He usually does so." The

old man paused and frowned speculatively. "Calhoun is sometimes absentminded. If he put three tablets in

"Probably fatal." Armsbury laughed at Thunig's expression of alarm. "But do not worry. I can rely upon

"Foolishness, Jason," scoffed Armsbury. "If I worried over every possibility of error that might mean my life,

I should live a burdensome existence. No, no. I have escaped death at the hands of wild African savages. I

have eluded wellaimed Tartar arrows. I passed through the Boxer uprising in China. Folly, Jason, to think

that a servant's error could possibly end my adventurous career! After these tablets have thoroughly

With a quiet laugh, old Armsbury placed the glass upon the table. Thunig eyed it anxiously; then puffed at his

cigar. Martin Havelock, idly lighting another cigarette, showed little interest in the trend of conversation.

"Do you wish these statements, Cecil?" questioned Jason Thunig, extending an envelope as he spoke to

"Very well." Thunig rose. "I must leave you, Cecil and you, Martin. I am expected downtown before half

Armsbury and his nephew arose. The old man conducted the lawyer to the door and Martin Havelock

followed. The nephew watched while his uncle showed Thunig to the front door. Calhoun had evidently gone

Cecil Armsbury returned to find Martin Havelock standing just within the doorway of the living room. The

"Wait here, Martin," he suggested. "I have some papers that I wish to give you. They will interest you. I must

go upstairs to obtain them." Armsbury's eyes noted the glass upon the table. "I can take my medicine when I

The old man turned and walked from the room. Martin Havelock's lips became suave as his ears heard the

fading footsteps. The young man's face had resumed its shrewd expression. From an idler, Martin Havelock

had become a schemer. Again, he was that keen, sharpvisaged individual who had stood in the light of New

WITH long, stealthy strides, Martin Havelock crossed the living room. His eyes were fiendish as they gazed

upon the bottle of white tablets. His hands were steady as they uncorked the bottle and removed three of the

large white pills. One by one, the treacherous nephew dropped the tablets into the glass. Then, as an

Twisted, leering lips showed him to be a man who contemplated murder. Carefully, Martin Havelock corked

the bottle. He placed it beside the glass. He noted that it still contained many pills. The fact that more had

Three might have been sufficient. Five was better. Dissolved pills could not be counted. Calhoun would be to

blame for this; and Jason Thunig, Cecil Armsbury's attorney, would be a testifier to the fact that the servant

Martin Havelock's smile was evil. The young man watched the tablets rapidly dissolve. The water was

clearing almost to its original color. Murder was in the making murder that would be classed as accident.

Still standing by the table, Martin Havelock drew a cigarette from his pocket. He placed it between his evil

lips. His expression began to change, turning mild for the part that he was to play upon his uncle's return.

Then came a sudden rigidity. Martin Havelock's changing appearance froze. His face, half fiendish, half

friendly, was caught in the midst of its transformation. A chuckle from the doorway. Instinctively, Havelock

With staring eyes, the young man gazed into the muzzle of a glistening revolver. The gun was in the hand of

Cecil Armsbury. The stoopshouldered old man, his lips spread in a gloating grin, had returned with stealthy

Cecil Armsbury had trapped his treacherous nephew in the act of preparing certain murder!

MARTIN HAVELOCK made no move as he stared into the muzzle of his uncle's gun. The young man knew

that he was caught; and in the face beyond that revolver, he saw no mercy. Cecil Armsbury, like his nephew,

had undergone a change. The placid face of the old man had become the countenance of a fiend.

Again the chuckle. Havelock paled. He thought that he had previously deceived his uncle. Now he knew that

he was the one who had been fooled. There was something monstrous in Armsbury's evil gloat.

The command was accompanied by a gesture of the revolver. Martin Havelock obeyed. Cecil Armsbury

pocketed his revolver, taking it for granted that his nephew was unarmed. The old man strode across the

room, showing unusual agility in his paces. With a cackling laugh, he picked up the glass of medicine and

"Harmless," he chuckled. "White tablets of sugar. A little bit of byplay performed by Calhoun at my order.

"Nothing very much," returned the nephew, in a tone which showed a resumption of his indifferent attitude.

"A clever thought." The old man chuckled. "Well, Martin, I have put you to the test. You played for thirty

Martin Havelock merely smiled sourly and shrugged his shoulders. He did not feel concerned by his uncle's

"Thirty thousand. Quite a loss, Martin. Not much to a man who owns large interests in Hidalgo silver mines,

Martin Havelock stared at his uncle; paused. The old man drew a large envelope from his pocket.

"This contains the documents that I promised to show you," he declared. "I had them in my pocket all the

while. They contain proof that Martin Havelock owns no mining interests in Mexico. They prove, moreover,

that Martin Havelock has not been living in Mexico. They tell a great deal, in addition, regarding the affairs

With a furious cry of interruption, Martin Havelock was on his feet. His spring toward Cecil Armsbury was

stopped only by the old man's quick action. Like a flash, Armsbury brought out his revolver and pointed it at

CECIL ARMSBURY cackled. He seemed to enjoy this turn of affairs. Martin Havelock, seeing the threat in

"Duke Larrin," announced Cecil Armsbury. "That is the name you have been using. You are Duke Larrin

"Like most men who have turned to crime, you have spent all that you have made. Europe is no longer open

to you. But you remembered that your old self Martin Havelock had an uncle. You thought that you

"Thirty thousand dollars! Bah! A paltry sum for a crook like Duke Larrin. I lost my respect for you when I

saw you, as a vulture, hovering by to wait for me to die. That is why I put you to the test to see if you

Martin Havelock stared as he heard these words. A new expression had appeared upon his uncle's face a

look that showed a strange approval. Before the young man could voice a question, Cecil Armsbury spoke

"You were my heir," declared the old man. "Thirty thousand dollars would some day have been yours had

"But you made good in the test. You showed that murder was in your category of crime. You are my heir no

longer, Martin. You will be my partner an equal sharer in a sum that will exceed a million dollars!"

Armsbury's face was gleaming. Martin Havelock wondered if his uncle had gone insane. The cunning look on

the old man's face might be that of a maniac; on the contrary, it showed amazing craft.

"To kill me, Martin," resumed the old man, with a cackle, "would be folly. Your crime would rest upon you.

Whatever you might reap would be lost. There are reasons. But to become my partner ah, there lies

"I have been awaiting your arrival from Mexico ever since I gained this information." The old man tapped his

envelope with his revolver. "For I had need of a partner of Duke Larrin's caliber. I merely required a test of

With a gesture of new friendship, the old man placed both revolver and envelope upon the table. Each had

been a threat one of death; the other of exposure. Martin Havelock, however, ignored them. His uncle

"For half a million?" The young man laughed. "Sure thing. How did you find out that I was Duke Larrin?"

"A friend who went to Mexico discovered that you were not living there. I thought, perhaps, that crime was in

your blood. The friend learned that you had been in three European capitals. Through another man, I checked

what was known about the famous international crook, Duke Larrin. I learned sufficient to identify him as

"Why you came here. It was clever of you. A wise step, Martin. It has paved the way to wealth for both of

HAVELOCK stared. Again he felt the impression that his old uncle had lost his mind. Armsbury saw the

"Articles worth nothing," repeated the old man. "That is why they must be gained. You may think that you

are clever, Martin. You cannot match your uncle. I have left a trail of strange swindles in my path. Once it is

The old man arose with surprising agility a further proof that his presumed illness had been a pretense. He

crossed the living room and locked the door. Striding to the far wall, he reached into the huge fireplace and

Martin Havelock stared as he saw the rear of the fireplace slide upward like a panel. The space revealed was

of considerable size. Stooping, the old man entered. He turned and beckoned. Havelock joined him.

Armsbury pressed another switch. The floor of the fireplace descended like an elevator, into blackness.

Then came light a dim glow that showed a small vaulted room. An iron door lay beyond. Armsbury led the

way. He pressed at the side of the door. It slid away and showed a crypt beyond.

Into this larger chamber went uncle and nephew. Their footsteps awoke hollow echoes in the dim crypt.

Each wall had a door. Cecil Armsbury opened the farther one. His nephew gasped at the sight of gleaming

objects that flashed even in this dull light. Golden Buddhas with glittering emerald eyes; strange scrolls of

"STOLEN goods," chuckled Cecil Armsbury. "Spoils from Chinese palaces; from Hindu temples; from

Persian mosques. Some are worth much because of the precious metal and jewels which they contain. Others

have value because of their rarity. The time has arrived, Martin, to turn the contents of this crypt into cash.

"Because of my past!" Armsbury gripped his nephew by the arm and spoke in a cackle that was harsh within

the confines of the crypt. "I have sold treasures in the past. I have gained fame as a discoverer of unknown

relics. But in my dealings with men who had wealth to spend, I used cunning methods.

"I sold them fakes! The jeweled Vishnu from Hyderabad" the old man paused to raise one finger "was the

first. The golden panel from the Temple of Heaven in the Forbidden City. That was the second. The sacred

scroll from Kaaba, in Mecca" Armsbury was chuckling "was the third. Last of all, the collection of

"All are impositions. I manufactured those supposed treasures. I gained large sums through their sale. I kept

my real treasures for myself. Now, however, I am faced with exposure. Should my swindles be discovered,

The old man paused in solemn fashion. Martin Havelock nodded with understanding.

"You mean," declared the nephew, "that your first step must be the regaining of the fraudulent items that you

"Exactly," stated Armsbury. "More than that: the fake treasures must be destroyed and their owners

eliminated. Theft and murder must come from someone other than myself. The first three items that I have

named are owned by individuals. Those men must die when their treasures are taken.

"The antiquities in the museum can be regained last of all. No one need die when they are stolen; but there,

Martin, we can play a double game. With the fake items, we can also steal real treasure objects of fabulous

wealth which are in the Egyptian Museum along with the fake antiquities. The trail will be ended. The road

Martin Havelock was sober. His uncle watched him narrowly, as though divining the young man's thoughts.

"Cannot commit the crimes," interposed Armsbury, with a cunning grin. "But as Duke Larrin, the

international crook, you have every opportunity. Your task will be to form a band of clever workers. This

crypt will be your headquarters. Here, as the leader, you can give your orders and send the henchmen forth

STRIDING across the crypt, Cecil Armsbury opened a door at the side. He pointed to a darkened corridor

"This will be the mode of entrance," declared the old man. "The shaft to my living room will remain

unknown to your band. I shall not appear. You will live quietly in my home, as my nephew, Martin

"But as Duke Larrin, crook supreme, it will be your part to launch crime so baffling that no one in all New

Chuckling, Cecil Armsbury faced his nephew in the crypt. A leering smile appeared upon Martin Havelock's

lips. Uncle and nephew both were crooks of a kind. They saw alike. The time had come to act.

Amazing, baffling crime was in the making; its font was to be this hidden crypt where only men of evil could

assemble. Cecil Armsbury had found the man he needed. Lives were at stake and the schemes of these

DAYS had passed since Cecil Armsbury and his nephew had formed their plot of crime. New night had come

There was one spot, however, that no illumination reached. This was a room in which pitchdarkness

reigned, irrespective of day or night. Somber silence marked the strange abode, until a slight swishing

Something clicked. The rays of a bluish light appeared in the corner of the room. The flickering glare was

focused upon the surface of a polished table. Beneath that glow appeared two long white hands. From a

finger of the left sparkled a brilliant gem, that displayed a range of mystic, everchanging hues.

The Shadow was in his sanctum. Those hands were his. The flashing gem a priceless girasol was the

emblem of this master being who balked all men of crime. An unseen visitant to a lost abode, The Shadow

All crookdom knew of the existence of The Shadow. In the badlands, the very name of this weird creature

was pronounced with awe. Time and again, the mysterious figure of The Shadow had arrived to foil the plans

A being clad in black a fighter whose mighty automatics blazed a trail of death to skulking fiends such

was The Shadow. Those who recognized his existence knew that The Shadow held the balance between

crime and order. When evil threatened to gain power over right, it was The Shadow who could turn the tide.

Long white hands were opening envelopes. Report sheets and clippings fluttered to the table. These were

from The Shadow's agents faithful workers who aided their master in keeping tabs on the pulse beats of

Strange hands those of The Shadow! When the mighty fighter fared forth, his hands were gloved in black,

in keeping with the spectral attire that clothed him from head to foot. Crooks who had met him had never

seen the hands themselves. Long white fingers and the sparkling girasol were tokens of recognition that none

Coded report sheets glistened with bluish ink. The Shadow read the word that his agents had reported. The

writing faded in uncanny fashion. Such was the way with all messages between The Shadow and his agents.

THE SHADOW'S right hand brought forth a pen. Upon a sheet of white paper it inscribed a name that

This was the name that The Shadow had written. From two of his agents, he had learned that the famous

international crook was in New York. Yet neither informant had picked up Duke Larrin's trail.

Cliff Marsland, The Shadow's agent who played the part of a gangster in the underworld, had heard

whisperings that Duke Larrin had come to the badlands. No descriptions of the man had been given; it was

Clyde Burke, reporter on the New York Classic, had gained the same information. Clyde was in touch with

Joe Cardona, ace detective at Manhattan headquarters. Through stool pigeons, Cardona had heard the rumors

of Duke Larrin's presence in New York. The ace sleuth was looking for the international crook.

So far, nothing tangible had been learned. The Shadow divined the answer. If crime happened to be in the

making, Duke Larrin would be forming secret contacts. With whom? That was the question to be considered.

Black gloves slipped over the longfingered hands. The light clicked out. A soft laugh sounded in the gloom.

The Shadow had fared forth. His destination was the underworld. There he would seek the undiscovered

AT the precise time when The Shadow was departing from his sanctum, a man was strolling along an uptown

Manhattan street. The walker paused to study the entrance of an old apartment hotel. He saw the name above

With a hasty glance up and down the street, the man entered the doorway of the building. He went through a

deserted lobby until he reached the obscure stairway. Another glance came from his dark eyes; his crafty,

heavybrowed features showed a cunning scowl. The man moved to the stairway. Instead of going up, he

No one had seen this visitor arrive. His identity would not have been suspected, even if he had been observed

in the lobby of Ridgelow Court. But in certain sections of Manhattan particularly where gangsters were

wont to meet this darkbrowed man would have been promptly recognized. He was "Brodie" Brodan, a

Reaching the basement of the old hotel, Brodan passed the entrance to a furnace room and continued on until

he reached the rear wall of the cellar. He drew a key from his pocket and unlocked a door. He took a flight of

All was dark below. Brodie's flashlight flickered in the darkness. The illumination showed the doors of old

storage rooms. Brodie picked one and unlocked it. He closed it behind him and pushed his way past stacks of

furniture until he reached the rear wall. He stopped in front of a wooden wall that had apparently been erected

Brodie's flashlight showed a projecting nailhead. The gang leader pressed it, like a button. The nail came

back. Brodie waited. A slight clicking sounded. Brodie pressed upward. A portion of the woodwork rose.

Brodie went through the opening. He used his flashlight to find his way along a narrow corridor. The wooden

The passage was more than a hundred feet in length. It terminated in a metal door. Brodie Brodan stopped at

the barrier and gave four short raps. The door slid aside. The gang leader's flashlight clicked off.

Brodie Brodan stepped into a dimly lighted chamber. A strange room vaulted with doors on every side.

Deep in the earth, this crypt had been reached through the cleverly concealed opening into the old storeroom

The iron door clicked shut after Brodie Brodan had entered. Quizzically, the gang leader surveyed three men

THE darkbrowed arrival knew them all. One a smoothshaven, languorous fellow was "Fingers"

Keefel. A safecracker of remarkable skill, Fingers specialized in artistic crime. He was a crook who looked

The second, a tall man with firmset jaw and cold, evil eyes, was "Croaker" Mannick. With Croaker, murder

was a pastime; yet this dangerous criminal was wary in his ways. He killed when people paid the price and

each scratch on his .38 represented the life of some big shot whom Croaker had assassinated at another's

The police had never pinned a murder on Croaker Mannick. The underworld, however, knew his ability.

Brodie Brodan, cagey gang leader, felt that he was in select company with Fingers Keefel and Croaker

Yet it was the central figure of the group the third man of the trio toward whom Brodie finally looked. He

saw a young man of good appearance, whose face wore the faint flicker of an evil, satisfied leer. This was the

leader of the four; the man who had summoned Fingers, Croaker and Brodie to the secret crypt of crime.

Cecil Armsbury's nephew opened the proceedings. He looked from man to man; then spoke in a firm, harsh

"We're all here," he announced. "I've picked the three of you because you are the men I want. You know the

"Three jobs for two of you," resumed Duke Larrin. "Fingers gets the swag. Croaker does the bumping. Keep

apart. You'll never see each other except when you do the jobs. You've got your instructions. You know the

"Each of you will be washed up after the third job. We'll work fast, because the fifteenth of the month is the

deadline. That's the time you're each due back here. The payoff comes on the fifteenth and if all goes

Fingers and Croaker grinned. They felt that their parts were set. Duke Larrin turned to Brodie Brodan.

"Fingers has his job," declared the international crook. "So has Croaker. You're the coverup man. You have

your instructions; wherever Fingers and Croaker hit, you be there with your mob.

"These two fellows will have to make clean getaways. We want it to look as though the mob did the trick.

"There's a fourth job scheduled," added Larrin. "It will come on the fifteenth. We'll need a picked crew for it

"None of your regular mob are to be in that crew. Get your special crowd in advance. Have them laying low

doing nothing until you call them on the fifteenth. They can show up where they're due and they can

pull the job like clockwork. After that, they're through. They can scram out of town, with one grand each for

DUKE LARRIN arose. From his pocket, he drew three typewritten lists. He handed one to each of the

crooks. They were detailed instruction sheets. Each read his part. Grins appeared upon satisfied faces.

"Got it all?" questioned Larrin, after the men had finished their reading by the dim light of the crypt.

Nods were the replies. Duke Larrin gathered in the lists. He tore them into fragments and dropped the pieces

in a small antique urn that rested on the floor. He applied a match. The flame of the burning paper showed the

"You are the three whom I have chosen," declared Larrin, "because you accepted my indefinite terms. There

were others whom I considered. They were rejected when they wanted to know more before the secret

"Each of you agreed to follow my instructions. That is why I gave each of you a key that would enable you to

reach this crypt. It is known, perhaps, that Duke Larrin is in New York; but with this crypt as my

headquarters no one can find me. I have planned my crimes so that all investigators will be baffled."

Shrewdly, Duke Larrin eyed his trio of subordinates. He noticed sober glances on their faces. Duke Larrin

"I said all investigators," he repeated. "I know what you are thinking. You are wondering if I have included

"Yes. The Shadow is included. Perhaps you think that I underestimate his power. You are wrong. I have

heard of The Shadow in cities other than New York. He has been in Paris, London, Berlin, Moscow, Madrid

yes, and in Rome. He has struck at crime in all those capitals; and he has vanished as quickly as he has

"New York, they say, is where The Shadow makes his headquarters. The chances are that he is in this city at

present." Duke paused; then smiled as he noted anxious looks on the faces of his companions. "Let The

Shadow be here. He can never fathom the secret of this buried crypt. Each of you has dealt in crime. None of

"Our plans are perfect. The police will cut no figure. While The Shadow is on the trail of one job, the next

will be under way. Three in swift succession; then the fourth, in which none of you will be actively

"The Shadow will be thwarted. In all his fighting against crime, he has never crossed Duke Larrin's path.

Even though he may know that I am in New York, he will never find me nor my crypt."

The voice of Cecil Armsbury's nephew rang with confidence. It brought nods from the men whom he had

Crossing the crypt, Duke Larrin opened the door to the long passage. One by one, the chosen crooks left, each

shaking hands with his chief. When the last of the three had gone, Duke closed the barrier.

The leering look faded from the shrewd crook's lips. Duke Larrin's face assumed the quiet manner which

Crime had been launched from the crypt. Martin Havelock otherwise Duke Larrin had no qualms. He was

Turning, the young man opened the barrier that led to the secret elevator in Cecil Armsbury's fireplace. He

entered the lift and rode upward through darkness until he reached the light of Armsbury's living room.

As he stepped from the fireplace, Martin Havelock heard his uncle's chuckle. With shrewd eyes, old Cecil

Armsbury had spied his nephew's face. That one glance told the old man that the meeting had served its

Men of evil had sallied from the crime crypt. When they met again, successful deeds of lawlessness would lie

Perry Trappe looked up as he heard the servant's words. There was a puzzled expression on his face. Perry

Trappe was a man who seldom received visitors. Here, in the living room of his secluded apartment, he was

Trappe took the card. It bore an odd name. The inscription beneath was the portion that awakened his

The servant departed and returned shortly afterward, followed by the visitor. Perry Trappe waved the arrival

Perry Trappe had expected a human oddity, for he was familiar with curio dealers, especially those who had

foreign names. Darwin Basib, however, was not at all the type that he had anticipated. The man was tall,

smooth of features and languorous in expression. His dark hair was glistening in slickness.

The man who had introduced himself as Darwin Basib, curio dealer, was none other than Fingers Keefel.

The false curio dealer was studying Perry Trappe. Fingers had expected to find an elderly man, for he knew

that Trappe was a collector who lived alone. Instead, he noted that Trappe was of middle age and a brusque,

businesslike fellow. Stocky, fullfaced and of somewhat challenging eye, Trappe looked like a test for the

"I am not selling curios," responded Fingers, in an indifferent tone. "I am buying them."

"I understand that you are wealthy," declared Fingers. "That is why I have come to see you. Most of my

purchases are made from wealthy men. I have done some rather odd buying, Mr. Trappe."

"Of all sorts. Always at the same price which the purchasers originally paid and my offers have been

Perry Trappe appeared puzzled. This smoothspeaking individual had him guessing. He noted a shrewd look

"The curios that I buy," declared Fingers Keefel, in a cautious tone, "are the ones which have been unloaded

on their present owners. In other words, Mr. Trappe, I show people a way out after they have been

"You mean" Trappe's voice was incredulous "that you pay money for stuff that is worth nothing?"

PERRY TRAPPE was on his feet. With arms akimbo, he was studying his visitor, wondering if the man

could possess his proper senses. Leaning back in his chair, Fingers Keefel laughed.

"Here is my system, Mr. Trappe," he explained. "Suppose a swindler should try to sell you a fake curio.

"That's right," declared Fingers. "He would let you have a thousand dollar item for less than five hundred.

Why? Because he would be selling something without being able to guarantee its genuineness.

"Suppose that you learn your curio is a fake. You would be tickled to sell it to me for five hundred dollars

"All right," resumed Fingers. "I take the curio and the certificate. I go to another collector. I ask the full price

of one thousand dollars. I have what appears to be a guarantee of its genuineness the proof that I bought it

from you, a recognized collector. You get rid of a fake without a loss; I make the profit that I want."

Perry Trappe rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He saw the game. It was crooked; yet attractive. Fingers Keefel

"There's no comeback," remarked the fake curio dealer. "My sales appear so bona fide that they are never

"I agree," declared Trappe. "The only point is that my collection of rare curios contains no fakes."

Trappe was startled by the suddenness of his visitor's question. Though he nodded his head, the collector

"I should like to see your collection," purred Fingers. "I can pick out fakes where others can't. I'm an expert in

"So I infer," stated Trappe, dryly. He drew a big key from his pocket. "Come along. I'll show you the curio

FINGERS KEEFEL followed as Trappe led the way to the rear of the living room. The crook coughed

slightly as they neared the far door. Trappe entered a hallway and turned to the right. He reached a door at the

end of the passage and unlocked it. He and Fingers stepped into a room that looked liked a small museum.

Tapestries hung from the walls. A suit of armor stood in one corner. Glass cases were filled with objects that

Fingers strolled across the room, to the only wall that had no windows. He calmly lifted a tapestry and

"Drop that tapestry!" roared Perry Trappe. "This is outrageous! You act as though you owned this place!"

"Perhaps I do," returned Fingers, with a grin. "Suppose you open that door, Mr. Trappe."

With clenched fists; Trappe sprang toward the crook. He stopped suddenly as he heard a sharp word from the

outer door. He turned to see a tall, squarejawed man standing with leveled revolver. It was Croaker

Perry Trappe obeyed in sullen fashion. Fingers Keefel, grinning broadly, approached the curio collector and

Going to the rear door, Fingers ripped the tapestry from the wall. He tried the keys until he found the one he

wanted. He unlocked the door and pushed it inward. The light from the larger room showed a large closet. Set

The headdress; the objects in the statue's hands all were studded with sparkling jewels. Fingers picked up

the statue of Vishnu and carried it into the curio room. The jewels glittered. Fingers laughed.

"Heavy," he remarked. "Maybe it's gold maybe not. Perhaps these sparklers are really rubies. Maybe they're

A threatening gesture by Croaker Mannick stopped the collector short. Fingers Keefel, holding the small but

heavy idol, spied a cloth covering upon one of the curio cases. He laid the Vishnu upon it and formed the

"All aboard," he said to Croaker Mannick. "I may have trouble with the flunky. If I do" Fingers pulled a

"He must have gone to his room," returned Croaker. "He wasn't around when I sneaked in from the hallway. I

With a snorting, disdainful laugh at Perry Trappe, Fingers hurried along the passage. His footsteps ended.

Perry Trappe stared anxiously, wondering if the thief had found a clear way. Croaker Mannick listened. His

"There goes your funny looking idol," growled the killer. "Don't feel too bad about it you're only losing a

"That the thing is a fake," snarled Croaker. "But you're not going to blab about it. That's what I'm here for

The glare in Croaker's malicious gaze struck home. Perry Trappe gasped. He realized that death had been

planned for him. This man had covered the thief's getaway. Murder was the step to follow!

"Help!" howled Trappe, hoping that his distant servant would hear. "Help! Harvey quick! Help! Murder!"

As he shouted, Trappe leaped forward with lunging arms, in an effort to prevent Croaker's shot. The

squarejawed killer wore an evil grin. He timed his trigger pull with Trappe's plunge. The revolver spurted

Trappe's cry ended in a choking gasp. The curio collector collapsed upon the floor. His body sprawled

CROAKER turned. He faced the hall and waited. He heard footsteps. The whitefaced servant, Harvey, came

into the hallway. The man was holding a puny automatic a .22. He raised it quickly as he saw Croaker

Croaker fired. Harvey had no chance. Like master, the servant dropped. Croaker hurried along the hall and

took a look at the body. His second shot had been as good as his first. Both Perry Trappe and his lone servant,

Hastening through the living room, Croaker reached the outer door. He bobbed into a hallway and leaped for

a flight of stairs. A shout came from a turn in the hallway. Croaker fired at a man who had evidently hurried

Down the stairs dashed Croaker. He reached a small lobby two floors below and ran uninterrupted to the

This was a quiet district of Manhattan. The revolver shots from Trappe's third floor apartment had been heard

outside. Two men were pointing upward as they beckoned to an approaching policeman. One of them spied

The killer dashed toward the nearest corner. Shouting, the two men began to take up the chase. The officer

drew his revolver and shouted a command to halt. Not one of the three pursuers noted a sedan that was

As the policeman leveled his revolver, a fusillade of shots broke from the darkness of the sedan. The

policeman sprawled upon the sidewalk. The first pursuer staggered; then his companion dropped.

Croaker had reached the corner. From the sedan came a growled order the voice of Brodie Brodan. The

sedan leaped forward and sped along the narrow street. The three victims of gangster bullets lay upon the

Fingers Keefel Croaker Mannick Brodie Brodan. The trio had worked together tonight. The first of Duke

Larrin's scheduled jobs had been accomplished. The orders from the crypt had been obeyed!

The question came from Clyde Burke, the Classic reporter, as he entered the office of Detective Joe Cardona.

It was addressed to the stocky, swarthyvisaged sleuth who was seated behind a desk.

"Nothing new, Burke," growled Cardona, as he looked toward his visitor. "We know it was a gang job

The detective glanced at his watch. It showed four o'clock. This was the afternoon following the murder of

Perry Trappe and his servant, Harvey Diker a crime which had preceded the slaying of a policeman and the

"Nothing," admitted the detective. "He was one of the mob and there may have been others in the apartment

house. It was nine o'clock when he beat it out of the place. We figure he joined up with another car around

"You know the story, Burke. Where there's a gang, there's a leader. That's the guy I'm looking for. I'm going

The reporter sat down. Cardona, paying no attention to his presence, began to check half a dozen names on a

list that lay upon his desk. These were the names of mob leaders whom the shrewd sleuth intended to

Joe Cardona studied the topmost name. He picked up the telephone and called a number. Clyde Burke heard

"Hello. Hotel Spartan?... Brodie Brodan there?... This is a friend of his... Out of town, eh... I see... Wired to

Joe hung up the receiver. He looked at the names on the list, then folded the sheet of paper and tucked it in

"Six thirty," he remarked. "That's when I'll see the first guy on the list. I'll pick up the others in the evening.

Hear what they have to say for themselves. I'll let you know, Burke, if we get anything new."

The reporter strolled from Cardona's office. Reaching the street, he approached a cigar store and entered a

"Burke," returned Clyde. "Report. Cardona checking on gang leaders. Going the rounds. First stop Hotel

CLYDE BURKE left the booth. His assigned task was completed. He had informed Burbank, contact agent

of The Shadow, of the steps that Joe Cardona was taking to apprehend the murderer of Perry Trappe. Reports

that went to Burbank were telephoned immediately to The Shadow, wherever he might be. Burbank

Clyde Burke was speculative as he strolled toward the Classic office. He knew that Brodie Brodan was a

figure in the underworld. Like others of gangland's elite, Brodan lived at the Hotel Spartan when in New

York. That hotel was a decadent structure on the East Side a meeting place between wouldbe big shots

Brodie Brodan, Clyde had heard, made frequent visits to Chicago. He was supposed to be friendly with big

shots of that city. The fact that a telegram had arrived indicated that Brodan might have paid a visit to the

It was nearly six o'clock when Clyde Burke reached the Classic office. At that precise time, a man appeared

in the concourse of the Grand Central Station. It was Brodie Brodan. Strolling amid the crowd, the

Tendering two tags to the attendant, Brodie received a pair of suitcases. He carefully detached the stubs that

the package man had left on the bags. Picking up his burdens, Brodie walked toward a train gate. He stopped

Six o'clock. The gate opened. A throng of passengers came forth. Brodie watched them from a distance until

he spied a man in a loud tan overcoat who was carrying a black suitcase. Picking up his own bags, Brodie

strolled after the arrival. As the man reached the exit from the concourse, Brodan was beside him.

The pair moved from the terminal. They reached the taxi tunnel and entered a cab. Brodie told the driver to

take them to the Hotel Spartan. Settling back in the rear seat, the gang leader spoke in a low voice to his

The other man brought the required object from his vest pocket. Brodie studied the car number and the berth.

"I checked out of the Hotel Spartan five days ago," he said, in a low tone. "Been living in a joint where they

don't know me. Packed up today and left my bags in the baggage room at the Grand Central.

"Here's our story. You met me in Chicago, yesterday. Hotel Drury where you were stopping. We pulled out

on the Starlight Limited ten o'clock last night. I've used that train before. I know it. Twentyone hours from

"Where did you see the New York newspapers? The ones with the story about a guy named Perry Trappe

Fritz raised his eyebrows. He knew the game now. Until this moment, he had not known the purpose of the

"Evening newspapers came on the train at Albany," he said. "I was in the club car."

THE taxicab had reached a dingy district. It was rolling along beneath the superstructure of an elevated line.

"Here's the hotel," he stated. "Come in with me, Fritz. Check in for the night. I might as well have a mug

The two alighted after the cab had reached the curb. The driver passed the bags into the lobby and a loafing

bell hop carried them to the desk. Brodie swaggered in with Fritz at his heels and waved his hand to the clerk.

The bell hop carried the bags to the elevator. Brodie started in that direction. It was then that a man arose

from an obscure corner. Brodie did not see him until he blocked the gang leader's path, Brodie raised his

"Just a minute, Brodie," declared Cardona, soberly. "I want to talk to you. Where are you going?"

"Come on up, Fritz," said Brodie, turning to his companion. "You can check in afterward. I'll phone down to

The three entered the elevator. The door closed. The clerk stared quizzically as the lift ascended. Thus he

failed to see a motion which occurred in a corner of the lobby where a little used passage led to the rear of the

Someone had been watching from that spot. Keen eyes had witnessed Brodie Brodan's arrival. They had seen

Joe Cardona interrupt the gang leader's progress. While the clerk still stared at the door of the elevator shaft, a

A tall being clad in black; such was the appearance of this unnoticed visitant. With easy, stealthy stride, the

shape that had come from the gloom of the passage edged toward the stairway that led to the upper floors.

For a moment, the sinister figure stood revealed. Blazing eyes flashed from beneath the brim of a slouch hat.

The upturned folds of a long, black cloak obscured the lower features of the stealthy stranger. Hands were

Then the phantom being blended with the darkness of the stairway. The clerk, shifting his gaze blankly

toward that direction, saw nothing. The Shadow, like a being invisible, had followed Joe Cardona and Brodie

Brodie Brodan put the question to Joe Cardona. At the same time, he gestured toward Fritz, the man whom

"Meet him now, then," suggested the gang leader. "Fritz, this is Detective Cardona. Joe Cardona a good

Cardona shook hands with the man from Chicago. They had reached Brodie Brodan's room and the gang

leader was placing his bags upon the bed. He turned to switch on a light, for dusk had brought gloom to this

"Thought you was a dick," confided Fritz Fursch, speaking to Joe Cardona. "You looked like one when we

Joe Cardona made no response to the comment. He turned and spoke to Brodie Brodan.

Cardona stared steadily. The gang leader was unstrapping his suitcases. Brodie stopped as he noted Cardona's

Fritz Fursch watched the tableau. His eyes went from man to man. All three were engrossed. None saw the

motion that occurred on the other side of the room behind Fritz's back. A door was opening slowly. It was a

connecting door to an adjoining room. Inch by inch it moved until it allowed a narrow crevice through which

THE SHADOW had entered the next room. Silently, he had gained this vantage post. He could see and hear

"Six o'clock this afternoon," returned Brodie, promptly. "I came in with Fritz. Chicago is his town. We rolled

"Say" Brodie's tone was challenging "what's the idea of this third degree? I thought you was a good guy,

"Never mind the goodguy stuff. I want to know where you were last night. That's all."

"O.K., Joe. Suit yourself. Fritz and I pulled out on the Starlight. Left Chi at ten o'clock."

"Say that's a mean one, Joe. If I had been doing anything, I'd think you were working along with a bunch of

Chicago dicks. I wasn't doing anything, though, so I'll tell you. I was staying at the Hotel Drury, trying to put

"That's where I met Fritz. Found he was coming on to New York, so we came along together. I wired here

yesterday. Told them to hold a room for me. That was before I bumped into Fritz."

Fritz watched Joe Cardona closely. It was Fritz who had sent the wire from Chicago. He looked to see if the

"Starlight Limited, eh?" quizzed Cardona. "Got anything to show for it outside of this guy's sayso?"

"Ticket stub," grinned Brodie, producing the article from his vest pocket, as though the idea had just occurred

The Chicago man produced the required stub. Cardona examined it along with Brodie's. The gang leader

"Look at that, Joe," said Brodie, with a grin. "I threw everything into the bag in a hurry. This other bag is just

as bad. Say I didn't get it shut until we were on the cab to the station in Chicago. Lucky I never opened it on

The second bag was bulging. Shirts fell out as Brodie opened it. The gang leader unpacked a suit, which

needed pressing. He found a razor and shaving cream. He laid them on the bed beside the bag.

"So you came in from Chicago, eh?" Cardona was persistent. "Then you don't know anything about Perry

Brodie Brodan looked up from the suitcase. He stared at Joe Cardona; then laughed.

"You mean the guy who was bumped off with his servant? All about him in the evening papers? Say have

"That's hot," pronounced the gang leader. "Remember, Fritz, you showed me the paper in the club car the

one with the dead guy's mug on the front page? Coming in from Albany, wasn't it?"

"Is this the paper?" Brodie pulled a folded journal from Fritz's pocket. He saw that it was a Chicago

newspaper. "No that isn't it. I guess we left the New York paper on the train. Say, Joe" Brodie's voice

became earnest as the gang leader addressed Cardona "you're following a wrong steer. If you're after the

"I came in with Fritz on the Starlight Limited. That's that. You know me well enough to know that I don't

chase around collecting curios. I'm in the nightclub business building it up from a side line. They used to

try to pin rackets on me but never any hokum like this. Grabbing off curios say, I'll be cutting up paper

Brodie bent over the suitcase and pulled out the few remaining objects. One was an excellent desk clock.

"Ten after seven," he remarked. "I want to get up to the Club Madrid at eight. So if you've got any more

questions, Joe, shoot 'em. But I've given you the straight dope. Fritz will vouch for it."

JOE CARDONA shrugged his shoulders in a fashion that was a trifle sheepish. To cover up his lack of

"Ten after seven," he confirmed. "Well, Brodie, I'm moving along. I just picked you as the first person to see

because I had a hunch you've been laying too quiet lately. But this night club business of yours sounds

straight. Lay off the racket boys and maybe you can make an honest living if fleecing customers can be

With a gruff laugh at his own weak jest, Joe Cardona turned toward the door. Brodie Brodan was peeling

"Ride down to the lobby with Cardona," suggested the gang leader in an affable tone. "Take your bag along

check in and get a room for yourself. Kind of an old joint, this hotel, but it's not bad."

Fritz picked up his bag and followed the detective. The door closed behind the pair. Brodie Brodan did not

show the slightest elation. His poker face remained the same. The gang leader turned to cross the room.

The door opposite slid tightly shut, just before Brodie glanced in that direction. The Shadow had heard Joe

RIDING uptown on the elevated, Joe Cardona checked his list of names. He crossed out Brodie Brodan. The

gang leader's alibi stood, so far as Joe was concerned. The Chicago story had the earmarks of a correct one,

There had not been a flaw in any of Brodie's statements, so far as Cardona could see. Everything had stood

the test. A man riding eastward on a limited would have no thought of preparing an alibi. Joe Cardona had

In retrospect, Cardona recalled each statement that had been made; he defined Brodie's actions and formed

the final conclusion that there was not a single shred of evidence to indicate falsity in the gang leader's story.

SUCH was Cardona's conclusion. The detective thought that it was thorough. He was sure that nothing had

escaped his keen attention. But Cardona was not the only investigator who had viewed Brodie Brodan at the

There was another The Shadow. He, the mysterious supersleuth, had been there also. He had heard

Cardona's quiz. Like the detective, he had analyzed the statements of Brodie Brodan and had witnessed all of

The Shadow, like Cardona, had an answer. It differed, however, from Cardona's. It came, shortly after

THE light clicked in The Shadow's sanctum. Long white hands appeared beneath the bluish glare. The

Shadow's right hand wrote a name upon a sheet of paper; beneath the name went two short statements:

A laugh sounded from the gloom on the near side of the bluish light. That laugh betokened keen

understanding. It told of a clew which Joe Cardona had not noticed; one, however, which had not escaped

Brodie Brodan had been in Chicago for three days or more. He had told Cardona that he had packed his bags

in a hurry; that he had not opened the second bag upon the train. Therefore, the clock had not been touched

Ten minutes after seven! A clock packed in Chicago hurriedly had registered New York time! There

could be but one answer. Brodie Brodan had not packed that desk clock in Chicago. Had he done so, it would

have shown ten minutes after six, allowing for the difference in time between Chicago and New York.

Brodie had packed his clock in New York. He could not have gone to Chicago, as he stated. There was a

chance that he might not have changed its time during his sojourn in the Middle West. That chance; however,

The clew was sufficient for The Shadow. It was the thread which marked Brodie Brodan's alibi as a doubtful

one. With that thread as a starting point, The Shadow was ready to trace Brodie Brodan's activities in the

A long hand reached across the table. A tiny bulb flashed from the wall as The Shadow drew a pair of

The sinister tones of The Shadow's eerie voice clung to the lighted corner of the room as the master worker

gave his orders. When Burbank's final corroboration came, The Shadow placed the earphones back upon the

wall. The little bulb went out. The blue light clicked. The sanctum was in complete darkness.

Then came a whispered laugh. It rose to a strain of shuddering mockery that awoke ghoulish echoes from the

hidden walls of blackness. When the reverberations had died, deep silence reigned.

The Shadow had departed. His orders had been given. The Shadow had taken the first step to trail Brodie

Brodan the gang leader whom he suspected was concerned with the death of Perry Trappe.

Where Joe Cardona's hunch had faded, The Shadow's inkling had begun. From keen deduction, The Shadow

had picked up the trail which Cardona had lost. Crimes like the murder of Perry Trappe were due to fall in

Through his agent, Cliff Marsland, The Shadow would gain the word he needed. When crime next struck,

The speaker was Brodie Brodan. He was seated in his hotel room, on the second evening following his arrival

at the Hotel Spartan. The man to whom he was speaking was his alibi artist, Fritz Fursch.

"Not a thing, Fritz. You did your job. Say Cardona fell for that gag like a punk. We'll work the stall again,

"No." Brodie snorted. "Not a chance of that, Fritz. Next time we'll use it, we'll work from New York west. If

I've got a job to pull in Chi, I'll plant you here and let you come out there with a couple of tickets."

Fritz Fursch looked at the clock on the bureau. It showed quarter after eight. The alibi man stretched himself

"I'm set for my next alibi," remarked the gang leader, in a casual tone. "I've got Lobo Ruscott all fixed he's

"Pretty soon." Brodan's reply was noncommittal. "I just took another bird into the outfit and he's a swell

"Yeah. Cliff Marsland. Say he's cagey, that guy. Everybody knows he's as good as half a dozen gorillas; but

there's nobody can lay a finger on any jobs he does. I met him up at the Club Madrid two nights ago and he

"Not guys like Cliff Marsland. He gets dough when he works. Needs some cash that's all. I picked him up

Brodie Brodan paused to light a cigarette. Fritz Fursch noted the clock again. He decided it was time to leave

FIVE minutes after Fritz's departure, there was a tap at the door. Brodie Brodan issued a summons to come

in. A husky, wellattired young man appeared. Brodie Brodan recognized Cliff Marsland and waved his

Brodie held a high opinion of his new recruit. Cliff Marsland was a different type than the average gangster.

His face showed intelligence. His appearance was cleancut. Yet with it, Cliff possessed a firm chin and a

straightfeatured face that showed selfconfidence and ability. Brodie Brodan classed him as one mobster in

"O.K.," decided the gang leader. "We've got a job tonight and I'm picking you as my right hand man. We've

"I'll give it to you," declared Brodie. "We're going out to Long Island. A big house near the Sound home of

a millionaire named Tyler Bogart. There's three entrances to the place front, side and back.

"Bozo Griffin will handle the front. Just for emergency that's all. I'm taking the side because that's where

someone's going in. The back is yours and there may be a getaway in that direction. That's why you're

"I'll be on the job. When you hear three quick shots from the side, pile in. That means the getaway has been

"If you see anybody duck out in your direction," added Brodie, "you pass out three quick shots. That lets me

pile in from the side. There'll be two guys coming out if they come your way. Let them ride."

"There'll be shooting in the house, maybe," remarked Brodie. "That doesn't mean anything. Forget it. If I give

the signal, you kick up the fuss, then scram with your part of the outfit. If you give the signal, beat it right

Cliff repeated the instructions in methodical fashion. Brodie nodded his approval. He arose and motioned his

"Come along," he ordered. "We're meeting the mob out back. Wait a second I want to phone the lobby.

Brodie made the phone call. It was evident that he had fixed the clerk. Brodie's signal to leave was proof that

Brodie led the way to the stairs instead of the elevator. At the bottom, he pushed Cliff toward the passage that

REACHING a darkened alley, Brodie uttered a low, hissing whistle. Whispers came from the darkness.

Members of the mob had assembled. Brodie drew Cliff over toward the wall; a confab began between the

"I'll take these gorillas," decided Brodie. "You take the car out in the side street, Bozo. What about the bunch

"Yeah," answered Bozo. "I told them he'd be along. I'll be driving past there and they can follow. Hunky

"Give me a few minutes to get there, Bozo," interposed Cliff. "I'm not going on the run, you know. Some

"Give him ten minutes," decided Brodie. "That'll make it sure. All right, Cliff. Get started."

Cliff sauntered from the alley. He was smiling to himself as he reached the side street. He made a turn into an

Ten minutes! That was a lucky break. He could make the Pink Rat locality in five.

On the next street, Cliff spied a small store. He entered and picked a telephone in the corner. The place was

deserted except for an old man behind a counter. Cliff called Burbank's number. He heard the voice of The

In brief terms, Cliff fulfilled Burbank's order. He told the contact man all that he had learned. Under ordinary

conditions, Burbank would have instructed Cliff to stand by and await a return call. This was impossible

However, both Cliff and Burbank saw the situation. That was the way with The Shadow's agents. Trained to

obey their master, they were also capable in dealing with emergencies. Cliff, as he explained matters to

Either The Shadow would seek to enter the home of Tyler Bogart, or he would require Cliff for some definite

duty outside. Perhaps both. Cliff could prepare for either circumstance. Keenly, he visualized a back door that

"I'll post my squad thirty feet to the right," he informed Burbank. "I'll have them far enough from the house.

I'll be ten feet to the left of the back door and as close to the house as possible."

Cliff hung up the receiver. He glanced to note that the old man at the counter had heard nothing. He hurried

from the store and dodged through alleys to gain time on his way to the Pink Rat.

A CAR was waiting near the spot designated. Cliff approached and gave a low whistle as he observed dim

forms within the car. Before any of the gangsters could reply, he announced himself in a single word:

"O.K." The voice belonged to "Hunky" Wikell, the man at the wheel. "Climb in with me."

Cliff joined the driver. They waited for a full minute. Then a car rolled into the narrow street and passed the

sedan in which Cliff and Hunky were waiting, with gangsters in the rear. Hunky started the motor and

The cars headed for an East River bridge. They crossed and moved rapidly along a highway. Cliff, silently

Brodie Brodan had moved sooner than Cliff had anticipated. That meant that the raid on Bogart's home would

begin shortly after the mob arrived. Brodie had said that men would enter. Did that mean some of Brodie's

If the latter case existed, the men appointed to enter whoever they might be would probably be outside of

Bogart's house at present. The Shadow, swift though he was, would have to travel at unusual speed to

Cliff began to see another possibility that he had not suggested to Burbank. If The Shadow needed time, a

fracas outside of Bogart's could produce it. Perhaps that would be necessary. Cliff decided to be ready even

Half an hour after the start from Manhattan, Bozo's leading car turned into a side road. Cliff fancied that

Brodie Brodan must be up ahead of the lieutenant. A mile of side road; then Brodie swung into the deserted

Lights went out; but just before the glow failed, Cliff noted a third car up ahead. With his mobsters close

"All right, Cliff," said the mob leader in a low tone. "There's Bogart's house through that hedge. We're at

the back of the place. Bozo's going around to the front. I'm going through to the side. You come along last

Men shuffled through the darkness. Cliff held his squad in readiness. When all was silent, he led the way

through the hedge. He could see the home of Tyler Bogart a looming mansion of gray stone. There were

lights in upstairs windows; a glow from a broad veranda on the side toward the Sound showed that people

There was no light at the back, except a shaft that came from a curtained room on the second floor. This gave

a faint glow above the back door. Cliff drew his men thirty feet to the right and posted them.

"Lay here," he whispered. "I'm casing over by the back door to see what's what. No shots until I give the

Mumbles of understanding came from the gorillas. Cliff moved to the left. His plan was working. It was

natural that he should circle in aiming for the back door. Cautiously Cliff crept through the darkness until he

LONG minutes passed. Cliff was not nervous, but he could feel the tension. His eyes were glued to the

whiteness of the back door. He felt that the time for trouble was imminent. He feared that The Shadow had

Then, as Cliff blinked, he fancied that he saw the back door moving inward. The motion itself was

imperceptible. It seemed that a vertical strip of blackness was working its way from the side of the door. The

strange phenomenon continued; then stopped. Gradually, the widened strip of black began to fade.

Cliff suppressed a gasp. He realized the amazing truth. The Shadow, with ample space between the gangsters

and the house, had approached the back door. With stealthy, unseen hand, he had picked the lock. He had

opened the door inch by inch; the blackness had been from the interior of the house.

Through the crevice, The Shadow had passed. The narrowing shaft of blackness was all that marked the silent

closing of the door. Cliff not more than a dozen feet away had seen no sign of a living form!

The gangsters, farther from the house, could not have seen a single token of The Shadow's arrival not even

that moving strip of black. Subtle had been The Shadow's entrance; yet Cliff realized that it could have been

made even less visibly. He saw that The Shadow had deliberately left his trace that Cliff, himself, might

There had been no signal; no whispered words from the dark. Cliff knew the answer. He was to play the role

to which Brodie Brodan had assigned him. The Shadow could take care of his own departure as effectively as

Cliff smiled grimly, as he drew his revolver from his pocket. The climax of this episode was on the way.

Silent and placid, the home of Tyler Bogart was due for a startling eruption. Crime was ready to break loose.

This time, consequences would differ from those which had occurred at Perry Trappe's. The Shadow, the

master who battled crime, was on the scene to meet the fiends within the silent house.

THREE men were seated on the enclosed veranda of Tyler Bogart's home. The millionaire and two friends

formed the trio. The night was mild and ice clinked in cold glasses as the three conversed.

This was the side of the house that faced the Sound. A spacious lawn, with widespread trees, formed a

pleasant, dimlyoutlined vista beyond which sparkled the moving lights of vessels that were passing this

The atmosphere was one of serenity, with no menace of approaching danger. Hence the three men, as they

chatted, gave no thought to the unexpected. Not one of them saw the door that slowly opened from the house;

The Shadow, studying this scene, saw that Tyler Bogart and his companions were set to remain on the

veranda. This formed a temporary refuge. Brodie Brodan and his crew of mobsmen were on the other side of

the house. Cliff Marsland at the back; Bozo Griffin at the front; neither of their squads would appear at this

The one method of attack, should Tyler Bogart's life be sought, would come directly through the house.

Stealth would be the method chosen by the crooks tonight. The Shadow held a key position; from this door he

The Shadow, however, was on the watch for dual crime. He had linked this approaching trouble with the

affray at Perry Trappe's. Theft, as well as murder, must be the motive. Cliff had informed, through Burbank,

that two men would be in the house. The Shadow, now that he had established the point of contact between

Somewhere in the house, criminals might already be at work. The Shadow, when he battled crime, forestalled

his enemies. Such was to be his plan tonight. From the darkened doorway, The Shadow moved inward. He

reached a gloomy hallway. There he stood in mystic outline, a tall blackgarbed figure of sepulchral

Keen, burning eyes stared along the hall. The Shadow saw a passage at the rear. It led deeper into the house.

It formed the natural path to search. The Shadow moved from the blackness of the wall; then stopped short.

Footsteps were coming down a flight of stairs. The Shadow eased back into the gloom. His keen eyes

watched as a servant appeared. The man walked within five paces of The Shadow. He did not see the singular

form of blackness that stood so foreboding. The Shadow, however, studied the man's dull, passive features.

He saw that this menial was no minion of crime. He watched the man pass onward toward the porch.

SWIFTLY, The Shadow moved out into the narrow hall. He reached the corridor that turned left. He

followed it until he came to a blocking door. The side of the broadbrimmed hat pressed against the barrier.

Two men were in the room beyond. Crooks were at work. The Shadow had discovered them.

Slowly, a blackgloved hand turned the knob of the door. The barrier did not yield. A tiny metal pick clicked

almost inaudibly as The Shadow applied it to the keyhole. The lock gave without a sound. With black form

pressed against the door to mask the slight gloom from beyond the turn in the passage, The Shadow opened

Clicking footsteps came faintly from the house. The Shadow waited, knowing that the servant had come back

from the veranda. The Shadow heard the footsteps die. The door was open wider now. With keen eyes, The

"Not yet, Croaker," was the cautious reply. "Easy. Keep a watch on the door. We want it clear to get out by

"Right. I'll do a sneak to see that you can make it. I'm just waiting until you get this tin box open. You make a

"You bet. He's the fat bimbo. I got a squint at the three of them on the porch. I'll plug him and then cut out the

Momentary silence. Fingers was working at the dials of the safe. A soft click sounded; then came a low

The door of the safe opened. Fingers threw the rays of his flashlight into the interior. Croaker, somewhere in

the darkness behind the safecracker, saw the same object that Fingers had spied a square panel of gold

It was the second of Cecil Armsbury's fake treasures which the old man had unloaded on unsuspecting

collectors. The golden panel that had supposedly come from the Temple of Heaven in the Forbidden City of

THE SHADOW, from the spot where he was standing, could not see into the safe, for the door was opened in

his direction. Fingers Keefel clicked off his flashlight. The Shadow could hear the safecracker dragging a

"Stick here." Croaker was the speaker. "I'm going out to see that it's all clear. Wait "

"Naw." Fingers put a protest. "I'm sliding straight out, Croaker. There's nobody around. You stick here by the

Pitchdarkness reigned. The Shadow was edging through the door that he had opened. His action was a

careful one. The doorway was low; The Shadow's tall form covered the opening between door and post. The

Crooks in the dark! The Shadow was entering with them. Despite the blackness, he could tell the exact

positions of the men. Fingers Keefel was sneaking toward a farther door. Croaker Mannick was on the other

Theft was reaching its accomplishment. Murder was due to follow. The Shadow, from his strategic position,

was ready to frustrate them both. Fingers a moving target would be the first. He could be stopped when

he reached the door; for that was a spot which he must certainly pass. Croaker, the potential murderer, could

"I'll give you time, Fingers." Croaker's hoarse whisper was coming from the other side of the blocking door

of the safe. "I'll finish Bogart and beat it for the side line, after you've made a good getaway "

Fingers sent an answering growl from near the farther doorway. That, and the clank of the object which he

carried, drowned other sounds. Then came a muffled exclamation. Fingers had encountered something in the

The room was flooded with light. Standing within the doorway, his hand upon the switch, was a portly,

It was Tyler Bogart. Some unexpected suspicion had brought the millionaire to the strongroom. His gun was

Beside the millionaire, almost at the doorway, was Fingers Keefel, crouching as he held the flat shape of the

By the little door stood The Shadow, revealed as a tall, sinister figure in total black. He was the fourth

Crooks were at bay; yet the sudden change that had brought the present emergency was to their benefit. Tyler

The millionaire who had come to protect his property had, by his appearance, thwarted the plan of The

TYLER BOGART, standing by the doorway of the lighted room, had every opportunity in his favor. The

millionaire had come with loaded revolver. He had aimed at the safe as the logical objective. He had Croaker

Fingers Keefel, though close to the millionaire, was handicapped by the burden of the panel which he carried.

He had no revolver ready, although one hand was free. Counting on Croaker's protection, Fingers had left his

Circumstances, however, had caught The Shadow in an unfortunate position. The master from the darkness

had moved into the room; but he was not beyond that projecting door of the safe. Fingers Keefel, his first

target, was in plain view. Croaker Mannick, crouching behind a steel barrier, was not within The Shadow's

Tyler Bogart had his chance. He fired. The millionaire's own excitement was his undoing. His shot went

wide. Even while the revolver roared, an answering bark came from the safe. Croaker Mannick, replying with

The Shadow, had not been inactive. With the shots, his tall form was sweeping toward the wall away from

the safe. The black cloak whirled as The Shadow swung to aim at Croaker Mannick. The killer's gloating

eyes became transfixed. A gasp came from Croaker's lips as the murderer saw the weird shape that had

Too late to save Tyler Bogart's life, The Shadow was ready to avenge the murder. Gun to gun, he was facing

Croaker Mannick. The quickfingered crook was aiming instinctively to meet The Shadow's swinging

Then came an unexpected break. Fingers Keefel had not seen The Shadow. His eyes had been on Tyler

Bogart. As the millionaire crumpled from Croaker's bullet, his hand dropped away from the light switch. At

Just as The Shadow and Croaker swung gun to gun, Fingers yanked the switch and plunged out through the

DARKNESS as fingers were pressed to triggers! The Shadow and Croaker Mannick, each seeking to beat

the other to the shot, were blotted from view by pitchblack gloom. Instinctive fighters, the terror of the

underworld and the famous marksman of the badlands, both adapted themselves to the unexpected change.

Each shifted as he fired. Automatic and revolver blazed simultaneously, each at a target that had dropped

away. Those bursts were but the first of a succession. Through the strongroom where Tyler Bogart's body lay

The Shadow was fighting it out with Croaker Mannick. The master battler was weaving through the darkness

to meet an enemy whose craft was worthy of his own. Flashes were targets; but each marksman was on the

A burst of flame came from near the door. It brought a quick response from the other side of the room.

Croaker's revolver had spoken from the exit. The Shadow, with keen strategy, had fired in reply toward the

A sharp cry from the darkness. Croaker had dodged inward, expecting to deceive The Shadow. He had failed.

A zimming bullet from the automatic had found its mark in human flesh. Croaker was wounded on the left

side, and not seriously for he fired again, almost instantly after he had cried out aloud.

Another bark from the automatic. Then a pause, while roaring echoes resounded through the room. The

Shadow was shifting for the cover of the safe door the barrier which had previously protected Croaker. His

Then came Croaker's final shot. The smart killer had suspected The Shadow's move. He had taken advantage

of two short seconds to gain the door. His revolver delivered a winging bullet that thudded like a warning

The automatic responded. Once twice it hurled its lead toward the far door where Croaker, firing, had

sprung for safety. Croaker, wounded in the fray, had sought safety in flight. Those two quick shots from The

The gunfray, despite its varied action, had been short in duration. The few seconds that followed the final

echoes of the shots were tense ones. The Shadow, playing his strategic game, was waiting for any answer that

All was silent by the door. Croaker Mannick he had recognized The Shadow had chosen flight as his final

goal. There would be no more from Croaker that The Shadow knew. Fingers Keefel had gained a start.

The Shadow moved forward. His flashlight glimmered. It showed the body of Tyler Bogart, crumpled within

the doorway. The light flickered toward the hallway. Suddenly, its rays went out. A soft, sinister laugh

What was The Shadow's thought? As if in answer came a signal from the outside of the house. Three quick

FOOTSTEPS were clattering. Tyler Bogart's friends and servants, alarmed by the shots from the strongroom,

were coming to investigate. The sounds were from the direction of the veranda. Sweeping back into the

He was in time. Cliff Marsland, in order to play the part assigned to him, had been forced to launch his

cohorts. A snarling mobster arrived in the passage. The Shadow saw the fiendish look on the man's face as

the fellow aimed a revolver down the straight hall, where he spotted one of Bogart's frightened friends.

The Shadow's automatic boomed from the side passage. The mobster dropped. With a forward leap, The

Shadow gained the junction of the passages. His blazing automatics a second had come forth in his other

hand delivered fierce fire toward the doorway where two other mobsters had appeared.

One man fell. The other fled. The Shadow caught a glimpse of Cliff Marsland. The agent, playing his part,

also took to flight. He could tell Brodie Brodan that he and his men had encountered an unexpected ambush.

Back through the strongroom. The Shadow reached the way to the side door. Again, he was just in time.

Brodie Brodan, alarmed by unexpected firing within the house, had launched a new drive. Mobsters were

piling into the darkened side passage. Once again, The Shadow's automatics broke loose.

Snarling mobsters staggered. Guns clattered to the floor as the repulsed horde took to flight. The fury of The

Shadow's fire brought belief that several armed men were here to meet the invasion.

The effect on the mobsters, however, was matched by that which came to the startled guests of Tyler Bogart.

The two men coming in from the veranda ran back the way that they had come, followed by a pair of

Flinging open the veranda windows, they leaped to the lawn and fled in the only direction that seemed to

afford safety toward the sloping vista that led to the Sound. Scattered shots too distant to cause harm

Shouted orders followed. Brodie Brodan was urging his men to scatter. The admonition was a wise one. The

Shadow had reached a window that covered both front and side. His automatics belched in both directions.

The Shadow knew that Cliff would lead the mobsters at the back into a swift retreat. His aim was to scatter

Brodie's hordes and send them flocking back to Manhattan. He succeeded swiftly; and as token of The

Tyler Bogart's home was emptied of all living beings save one: The Shadow. Stalking ghostlike through the

darkness, the master battler returned to the strongroom where Tyler Bogart had met his unfortunate death.

Once again, The Shadow's flashlight flickered. Then came a long, weird peal of mocking laughter. In this

deserted spot, The Shadow stood alone. He had banished hordes of crime, although murder had been

Triumph, itself, was hollow; yet The Shadow's thoughts were of the future, rather than the present. Already,

The first crime the death of Perry Trappe had struck without The Shadow's knowledge. The second this

murder of Tyler Bogart had been accomplished despite his presence, although The Shadow had taken

More crime, however, was due. A third stroke was in the making. When it arrived, The Shadow would be

there, prepared to accomplish by subtle craft more than could be gained by might alone!

CECIL ARMSBURY was sitting in his living room. The old man who had sponsored crime was puffing at a

cigar while he watched his nephew studying newspaper reports. A frown appeared on the brow of Martin

"This mixup at Bogart's," returned Havelock. "I don't like the way it turned out."

"I have read the newspapers," commented Armsbury. "I see nothing to cause alarm. Tyler Bogart's safe was

"What of it? That means less to pay. Brodan got away; and so did your other two workers Keefel and

Mannick. They were important enough to have been recognized by the police had either of them remained.

"I guess so." Havelock's tone was thoughtful. "But I'm glad I've played a wary game. Brodie Fingers

Croaker all three are on their own. They don't have to hear from me to go through with the next job."

"Good strategy," agreed Armsbury. "Your qualms, Martin, are hardly justified. Perry Trappe and Tyler

Bogart each knew too much; but what they knew has perished with them. The statue of Vishnu, the panel

"Brisbane Calbot," laughed Armsbury, "is the next. He has the sacred scroll from the Kaaba in Mecca. It will

"I guess you're right," decided Havelock. "Fingers and Croaker know their way. They each have a hideout;

"As for Brodie he's a good hand with the alibi business. He knows enough to throw the police off the track.

It's working perfectly and I'm completely out of it. Duke Larrin in New York! They probably know it down at

headquarters by this time; but they haven't got a single thing on what Duke Larrin's doing."

The young man arose and walked to the fireplace. He pressed the switch that produced the special elevator.

"Seven o'clock," announced Havelock. "I'm going down to the crypt. If any one of the outfit suspects trouble,

Cecil Armsbury nodded. He knew the emergency arrangements that Martin Havelock had made. No news

would mean good news. The old man chuckled as the fireplace closed over the descending elevator. He

puffed serenely at his cigar for the next few minutes. A clicking sound announced Havelock's return.

"All well," declared Havelock, as he stepped from the elevator. "No visitors. That means each of my men is

sure of himself. The job will go through at Calbot's tonight. The only one I was really worried about was

Brodie Brodan. Those folks at Bogart's picked off a few of his gorillas. But Brodie is too clever to let that

MARTIN HAVELOCK'S remark indicated his assurance. He had picked Brodie Brodan as his mobleading

henchman because he felt sure that Brodie could cover up no matter what might occur. The proof that

Havelock's certainty was justified was occurring at that very time in a room at the Hotel Spartan.

Brodie Brodan, reclining in a dressing gown, was talking with Detective Joe Cardona. The ace detective was

paying a second visit to the mob leader whom he had originally suspected of complicity in the affray at Perry

"Still worrying about me, eh?" Brodie was questioning. "Say, Joe, you must have me heavy on your mind.

"There were two gorillas out at Bogart's," returned Cardona, "who were guys that used to work for you,

Brodie. I recognized their mugs when I went out to look at the bodies. What were they doing out there?"

"Working for someone else," responded Brodie, promptly. "Listen, Joe I'm not going into details about my

past. But you know me well enough to know that whenever I do anything, I do it myself."

Cardona eyed the heavybrowed mob leader in narrow fashion. After a short survey, the detective shrugged

"Guess you're right, Brodie," he admitted. "I haven't been able, though, to pick anyone else that might have

been in on the deal. That's why I came to question you. Say where were you that night?"

"At the Club Madrid," returned Brodie. "In the office with Lobo Ruscott. Why don't you slide up there and

"I've seen Lobo," growled Cardona, as he rose and turned toward the door. "Your alibi holds, Brodie."

With this final remark, the detective strolled from the room. Brodie Brodan remained in his chair. His poker

face remained the same for a full five minutes. Then his heavy brows furrowed. Reaching from his chair,

"That you, Bozo?... Yeah. This is Brodie... Ankle up here... Yeah, right away and stop off at the Black Ship

on your way... Pick up Marsland if he's around there. Yeah, that's his usual hangout... Listen, Bozo keep an

eye out for Joe Cardona, If he's around this hotel, stay out. Call me instead. Savvy?"

The gang leader placed the telephone aside. He leaned back in his chair and drowsed.

TWENTY minutes passed. Then came a rap at the door. Brodie awoke with a growl. The door opened and

two men came in; one was Bozo Griffin; the other, Cliff Marsland. Brodie motioned his visitors to chairs.

"Listen," declared the gang leader. "Joe Cardona was just up here. It's the second time he's been around. He's

"We've got a job tonight as you fellows know. I was going to take you along and let you find out about it on

the way. But I'm changing that plan on account of Cardona. I'm going to let the pair of you handle the work

"That'll let me hang out at the Club Madrid," continued Brodie. "Like as not Cardona'll be up there or have

some stools mooching around the joint. When tonight's over, Cardona won't suspect Brodie Brodan. That's

A satisfied smile appeared on Brodie's face. The gang leader stared approvingly at his companions; seeing

that they were anxious to learn their duties, he gave them the needed information.

"Here's the lay," explained Brodie. "There's a guy named Brisbane Calbot who lives in an old house uptown.

Worth a lot of cash, but he hangs out alone with an old goofy servant a geezer that has been with him for

"The servant don't amount to much anyway; but to make it all the softer, he was taken sick a couple of

months ago and Calbot sent him to a sanitarium. Being a crabby guy himself, Calbot hasn't taken on anyone

else. He lives in the house all alone and he has a room down in his basement where he spends most of his

time mulling over a lot of junk that he's collected. He's got a big vault down there, too."

"Wait a minute," ordered Brodie. "You're doing just what I tell you, Bozo. You and Cliff are to be with the

mob, outside of Calbot's place. You'll hear a shot from inside. That'll mean the end of Calbot. Wait a couple

of minutes, see? Then gang the joint. Shoot up the windows; pile in through the doors they'll be open and

make a big noise. Then scram, in a hurry, before any flat feet show up. Got it?"

Bozo nodded, a trifle perplexed. Cliff grinned, to show that he understood. Brodie could see which was the

"It's a coverup," growled Brodie. "Like we've done before, Bozo. We lost some gorillas out on Long Island;

we don't want to drop any more on this job. That shot from inside tells you that it's all set to do some

"That's it," announced Brodie. "Say, Cliff, you've got a noodle, even if Bozo hasn't. Wake up, Bozo! I've

Bozo scowled. He glanced angrily at Cliff, as though blaming his companion for the criticism which had

come from Brodie Brodan. Cliff returned the scowl with a steady gaze. He felt that Brodie's innuendo

Bozo, tough, stocky, and with a hardboiled face, looked like an ordinary gorilla. He had gained his

lieutenancy purely through survival in the service of Brodie Brodan. He was a relic of the gang leader's past.

Brodie saw Bozo's malicious glare. He ended it with another growl that caused Bozo to ease back in his chair

"No sorehead stuff," warned Brodie. "You and Cliff are working together. Figure it between you where you'll

pick up the mob. Ten o'clock's the time. Beat it and dope out your game outside. Look Brisbane Calbot up

in the phone book. He's listed. That'll tell you where he lives. I'm going up to the Club Madrid. Stay away

Brodie waved his hand toward the door. Cliff and Bozo arose and made their exit. Brodie's face, usually

immobile, showed changing expressions after the pair had gone. Brodie was comparing his new lieutenant,

Cliff Marsland, with the old, Bozo Griffin. The comparison was in Cliff's favor.

Rising from his chair, Brodie Brodan went to a closet and brought out a tuxedo. The gang leader was

preparing for a gala night at the Club Madrid. His plans of crime had been completed. The clock on his

HALF an hour later, at exactly eight twentyfive, a click resounded in a darkened room. Shimmering blue

light glared upon a polished table. White hands stretched forth to obtain earphones from the wall where a tiny

The Shadow listened in the gloom. The clicking of Burbank's telephoned voice brought the word which the

"Instructions," spoke the voice of The Shadow. "Marsland to follow orders as given by Brodan."

The earphones clattered to the wall. The bulb went out. The blue light clicked off. A creepy laugh rose to a

The Shadow had departed. He had learned the facts he wanted. He would find a way to deal with crime.

NINE o'clock. The home of Brisbane Calbot, an oldfashioned brick structure, showed gloomily in the

It was a building that no one would have suspected as a place where valuables could be found. In fact, that

was one reason why Brisbane Calbot kept this old house. He did not want to be annoyed by intruders who

might come to rob; and the fact that his place was so inconspicuous made it an ideal location.

A patch of blackness appeared beneath the light of a street lamp. It paused there, and its shape became that of

a human silhouette. Shown in profile, the brim of a hat projected above a hawklike nose. That silhouette was

the symbol of a living presence; yet no figure appeared in the darkness near the lamp.

The black patch moved. It blended with the darkness of the street. A slight swish was all that announced a

motion in the gloom. A strange, invisible creature was moving toward Brisbane Calbot's old house. The

There was a cement passage beside the old house. That was the course which The Shadow took; yet no eyes

unless they had possessed the sharpness of The Shadow's own could have spied the progress of this

The dull whiteness of a side door was blotted by a grotesque blackness that covered it. The door was heavy;

though its outer surface did not show it, the barrier was held from within by formidable fastenings.

Slight clicks occurred in the darkness. Slow minutes passed. At last the door yielded to The Shadow's skill.

The barrier opened. The Shadow entered. The locks tightened again as an unseen hand threw them with

Traveling through a passage, The Shadow spied a single light in a side room. He stalked to the door. His tall

form threw a long streak of blackness across the threshold. That darkened, flattened length became

Brisbane Calbot was a middleaged man whose appearance gave him the air of a recluse. He was totally

engrossed in his reading; and the volume which he held showed that he was engaged in study. The walls of

SATISFIED that Calbot was completely oblivious of what passed about him, The Shadow moved away from

the open doorway. He moved through a passage. A tiny light, its circle of illumination no larger than a silver

dollar, became the medium through which he found a low, locked door. This was obviously the entrance to

The Shadow's pick went to work. The lock yielded. The Shadow opened the door, pointed his flashlight down

The basement proved to be a formidably protected place. The iron gratings that covered the small windows

were such that no one could have opened them without long trouble and considerable noise. A locked door

drew The Shadow to it. He opened this barrier as he had the others. He stepped into Calbot's curio room.

Iron shutters guarded this place. The room was large and wellstocked with all sorts of oddities. The Shadow,

knowing that his presence here could not possibly be detected, turned on a light. His spectral form made a

Suits of armor, curious weapons of many descriptions, iron statues, urns and pedestals these were the

assortment of oddities through which The Shadow stepped. The room was in disarray; and it was obvious that

It would have required a group of moving men with a van to carry away Calbot's collection. Stealth and

The far wall, however, showed a door that fitted tightly. It was the barrier to a vault. The Shadow approached

it and began to work. The vault was a formidable obstacle. The black glove came from The Shadow's left

One minute passed; two three The Shadow's skill was rewarded. The door of the vault came open.

Glittering metal sent back flashes as The Shadow gazed. Within the large vault stood two guardian statues.

Heavily bedecked with metal, these rare idols were safe without their vault. A whispered laugh told The

Shadow's thought. Three men could not carry one of these heavy pagan gods. Yet Brisbane Calbot had placed

On the floor between the idols set as though it belonged to the statues and was in their care a glittering

object rested upon a low pedestal. It was a golden scroll, inscribed with curious characters in Arabic. Each

Stooping, The Shadow formed a shroud which blocked off the light that shone upon this treasure. His tiny

flashlight glimmered. It showed the uppermost line of the scroll. It moved along from word to word while

The Shadow was reading the Arabic inscription as easily as if it had been English. He was deciphering it

word by word, perusing its mystic message. The flashlight's glimmer continued until it had reached the final

FROM hidden lips came a whispered laugh that sounded like hollow mockery within the opened vault. The

legend purported that this was the sacred scroll from the Kaaba in Mecca, that cubeshaped building that

stands within the holy place called the Haram, and which houses the Black Stone venerated by all

A sacred scroll from the Kaaba! That was the reason for The Shadow's sardonic mirth. The theft of such a

scroll would be as difficult as the purloining of the Black Stone itself. Had this scroll ever rested within the

The Shadow knew that Brisbane Calbot's treasure was a fake. Someone had duped the old collector. This was

not all that The Shadow divined. He knew also that this spurious scroll could be the only object which men of

Crooks were coming to take false treasure. Paste jewels on plated gold; that was all that they could gain. Yet

this, to The Shadow, was more important than the discovery of an object of real value.

His keen mind was tracing backward. Criminals intended to take a false treasure from a man who had been

swindled when he obtained it. How had the crooks learned of this hidden scroll? Who had foisted it upon

The Shadow was connecting the approaching robbery with the two that had gone before. The police had

advanced the theory that the robbery at Trappe's and the invasion at Bogart's had resulted in the theft of

unknown wealth on each occasion. The Shadow, himself, had glimpsed a golden panel in the arms of Fingers

That was all The Shadow needed. He knew the truth. The crooks were at work to reclaim fake curios; to

cover up the traces of some swindler who had operated in the past. Fingers Keefel would be here tonight. The

Shadow could frustrate him. But would the saving of this valueless scroll be an accomplishment of import?

Again, The Shadow laughed. His tall form rose. It stood like a gigantic shroud. The black glove slid over the

left hand. The girasol was hidden. The Shadow closed the door of Brisbane Calbot's vault.

Stalking through the curio room, The Shadow traversed the way that he had come. He locked the door behind

him. He ascended the stairs, unlocked the door at the top and relocked it from the passage. He moved beyond

the open doorway of the room where Brisbane Calbot was poring over an antique volume. The Shadow

Minutes passed. The hour of ten was approaching. The Shadow, however, expected action before that hour.

As he waited in the silence of a darkened room, he knew that crime would soon be under way.

The faint whisper of a laugh sounded in suppressed tones. Strange crime would come to a head tonight; and

A CLOCK chimed in a room of Brisbane Calbot's home. It marked the third quarter. Fifteen minutes before

Brisbane Calbot heard the bell. The recluse arose from his reading and reluctantly placed his book aside. He

walked slowly through the darkened hallway until he reached the front, where he pressed a light switch. He

pushed back the bolt of the front door; then turned the lock. He peered cautiously through the crack as he

A man was standing on the door step. He turned as Calbot's white face appeared. Brisbane saw a smile flash

"Yes," came the reply. "Darwin Basib, the curio dealer who made the appointment for tonight."

Fingers Keefel stepped into the light. Brisbane Calbot moved beyond him and closed the large front door.

With shrewd gaze, Fingers watched the man's action. A gloating smile appeared upon the lips of the visitor.

A pressed bolt the turning of a lock below. These were easy to counteract from within the house. As Calbot

moved back from the door, Fingers, still standing in the vestibule, removed his hat and coat. He spied a rack

In indication, Calbot moved into the hall. Raising hat and coat, he hung them on the rack. Fingers Keefel

foresaw the action. Standing by the outer door, he turned and with deft movement drew the bolt while his

other hand twisted the key of the lock. Then, with a quick step, he turned toward the hall. He was at the inner

"This way, Mr. Basib," said the collector, not suspecting for an instant that his visitor had released the

fastenings of the front door. "I like to talk with curio dealers. Collecting is my hobby "

Fingers Keefel was experiencing uneasiness. Despite the ease of the trickery which he had used at the front

door, he had a suspicion that eyes were watching him. Fingers had opened the way for Croaker Mannick.

AS they entered Calbot's reading room, Fingers decided that he must have been mistaken. Calbot's face was

friendly and showed no sign of distrust. The collector offered his visitor a cigar. Fingers sat down and smiled.

"You told me" Calbot's tone denoted anticipation "that you had something most unusual to tell me about

curios. I assumed that you might be desirous of selling me some for my collection; but you informed me that

"You heard me right," interposed Fingers. "I don't sell curios, Mr. Calbot. I buy them."

"You might be," interrupted the false dealer, "when you have heard my terms. There is a particular type of

The collector seemed puzzled. Fingers grinned as he went on with his explanation.

"Lots of collectors," he said, "get stuck with phony curios. They usually buy them cheap that's why they get

stung. So I give them their money for them and pass the fake curios on to other people."

"This is outrageous, Mr. Basib!" asserted the collector. "A dishonest practice!"

"Just a way out," returned Fingers. "I find that most curio collectors are glad to find it if they learn that they

"I should never take such a step," protested Calbot. "If ever I have been swindled, the loss is my own. I trust

"So do I." Fingers suddenly changed tactics. "It's not my fault that I had to take up this game. The collectors

are the ones to blame. I used to be an expert at detecting forged curios. What did I get for it?

"Nothing. People called me in to examine articles they thought had value. I told them when I found fakes.

That upset them because they saw financial loss. They didn't like to pay me the fee that I required. They all

"If I could help them to get rid of their fakes, passing the junk off as genuine."

"I had to do it." Fingers took on a mournful look. "It was the only way, Mr. Calbot. Think of it me the

man who can spot a fake quicker than anybody else in the country forced to go into a racket."

"I am sorry," stated Calbot, sympathetically. "Very sorry, Mr. Basib. I appreciate the fact that you feel

remorse. I should like to aid you in a return to honesty. Perhaps" the collector was nodding thoughtfully

"you would be willing to give an impartial study to my collection of curios. I should value your expert

opinion. I can assure you, also, that I shall be willing to pay you a generous fee.

"But I shall not dispose of any spurious items in my collection. Instead, I shall spare no effort to trace the

men who swindled me should you discover that some of my curios are not genuine."

"I'd like to see your collection," asserted Fingers, in an eager tone. "I'd like to get a first look at it so that I

could list all doubtful articles. Then I could return to give a more exact inspection."

BRISBANE CALBOT arose and conducted his visitor toward the door that led to the stairs below. Fingers

Keefel, as he followed, gave a warning cough, as he threw a glance toward the front of the house. He heard a

slight creaking sound just beyond a turn in the hall. He grinned, knowing that it must be Croaker Mannick.

Brisbane Calbot opened the door and turned on a light at the top of the stairs. With Fingers Keefel at his

heels, he led the way to the cellar and unlocked the door of the curio room. The two men stepped into the

"A wonderful collection!" exclaimed Fingers. "Wonderful. Many interesting items."

He strolled about the room, noting one object after another and finally stopped to face Calbot.

"I suppose," said Fingers, in an indifferent tone, "that you have other items which you consider to be of more

Calbot looked nervously at Fingers; then his eyes went toward the vault. Fingers, near the door of the curio

room, gave a noiseless snap to his fingers a sign which could be seen by anyone in the cellar. Then,

stepping past Calbot, he approached the door of the vault. He placed his hand upon a knob.

"That vault stays locked!" exclaimed Calbot, excitedly. "I do not care to open it, Mr. Basib."

"What what!" blurted Calbot. "You dare to seek to open it? Leave my house at once. At once, I say!"

Brisbane Calbot turned in bewilderment. A gasp came from his lips as he sighted the reason for his visitor's

Standing in the doorway was a tall, squarejawed man who gripped a .38. The revolver was covering

"Good work, Croaker," laughed Fingers, as he recognized the tough, though pasty, face of the killer whom he

With cool indifference, Fingers turned and began his work upon the knob. He laughed sourly as he

"It would be easier," he remarked, "if you gave me the combination. What's that? No answer? How would a

"You'd rather die, I'll bet," he declared. "Well, maybe you will maybe you will. And if you're dead, you

can't tell us. We don't like to stay around long after a guy takes the bump. So we'll let you keep your funny

BRISBANE CALBOT stared. His lips were pursed. As Fingers Keefel had suggested, the outraged collector

was ready to face death without speaking. He had a sort of nervous confidence in the door of his safe. As

Fingers began to talk. It was his way of working. His growled remarks reached the door of the curio room

"The last job," was the comment that Fingers made. "I fixed it for you and you walked in, Croaker. This is a

better lay for you than the one out on Long Island. Say I helped you out when I yanked off that light, didn't

"You're cool with the gun, Croaker. The way you beat old Fatty Bogart to the shot was neat. You had to

scram plenty fast. Brodie's mob ran into trouble that you got out of. Didn't they?"

"Don't get nervous, Croaker," laughed Fingers. "Say if I could handle a gat like you can, nothing would

"Yeah?" Croaker's voice showed actual nervousness. "Well, when I scrammed, there was some guy firing in

Fingers poised his hand. His smile faded. A grim look appeared upon his face. He halfturned his head to

look toward Croaker. The gleaming .38 was trained steadily upon Brisbane Calbot; but Fingers fancied that

"This is the last job, Croaker," assured Fingers. "I don't blame you for wanting to get it over with if you've

got a hunch that The Shadow might mix in. Well we'll scram when we're through and there's nothing

"Not even The Shadow can get wise to the next stunt that Duke Larrin's going to pull. He'll get what he's after

and it won't be phony junk so he said. We're not in it and neither is Brodie. Even The Shadow won't

With these words, Fingers bent back to the vault. His hands resumed their task. The nervousness which

Fingers had gained after his survey of Croaker s face seemed to spur him rather than deter him.

Something clicked. The door of the vault moved open. It had taken Fingers twentyfive minutes; he thought

that he had done a creditable job. He did not know that The Shadow had been here before him, to do the work

Fingers Keefel spied the golden scroll. He gloated. He pulled the object from between the two statues that

guarded it and gripped the scroll beneath his arm, leaving the pedestal on the floor of the vault.

AS Fingers headed for the door of the curio room, he saw Croaker Mannick moving inward. The killer

shoved the muzzle of his revolver close to Brisbane Calbot's body. Fingers, at the door, peered nervously

about. He remembered the sensation of some strange presence in the house. He wanted to be sure that no

"Better give him the bump," urged Fingers, nudging his free thumb toward Brisbane Calbot. "Wait until I'm

up the stairs though. You'll have to hurry to get out before the mob piles in. I'll open the side door, Croaker.

"And suppose they might happen to hear the first one? Listen, Fingers I'm coming right after you get

that? I'm not sticking down here in this trap. Say could anybody ever open that vault in shorter time than it

"Well, that settles it. This mug is going in his own vault. He won't last a half an hour."

Croaker's gun jabbed against Calbot's ribs. The curio collector backed away. Fingers Keefel grinned

fiendishly as he watched from the cellar. He saw Croaker back Calbot into the vault while the curio collector

"My scroll!" blurted Calbot. "You thieves! Stealing my greatest treasure. You you murderers!"

The last word came in a hoarse scream as the collector tumbled backward into the vault. As Calbot sprawled

upon the pedestal which had held the golden scroll, the vault door swung shut. Fingers saw Croaker twirl the

knob. Without another word, the safecracker started for the stairs, leaving his companion to follow.

Fingers reached the side door and opened it. He left the barrier ajar. With the fake scroll of pretended gold,

Fingers slipped out into the darkness of the alleyway. He headed toward the back; he quickened his pace as

Croaker, like Fingers, was clear. Thief and murderer were scurrying away to safety each to his own

Gloating, Fingers Keefel chuckled over the thought of Brisbane Calbot, interred alive in his own vault. The

last of three whom Duke Larrin had marked for death was buried in a spot where doom was certain!

THE pause that followed the shot from Croaker's revolver was an ominous one. To mobsmen, waiting in cars

in front of Brisbane Calbot's home, the report was a familiar signal. They had heard the sound of that gun at

Perry Trappe's. They had heard it again on Long Island, when they had invaded the home of Tyler Bogart.

Bozo Griffin, assuming full command for himself despite the fact that he and Cliff Marsland were of equal

ranking, emitted a growl as he heard the signal. He remembered Brodie Brodan's admonition to allow time

The single shot, though unexpected in this quiet neighborhood, had no aftermath until Bozo decided to give

the next command. In a louder growl, Brodie Brodan's lieutenant ordered his gorillas to start their wild raid.

Mobsters piled from automobiles. Dashing across the street, they opened fire on the windows of Calbot's

home. Three men rushed up the front steps and threw open the big door. Others made for the alley, to seek

the side entrance. Bozo Griffin, with Cliff Marsland beside him, was standing near the leading car across the

Shots from the front of the house. Then came a scream from the first mobster who had entered. The man

came tumbling from the vestibule. A gorilla beside him leveled his revolver and fired. An answering boom

came from within. The second mobster staggered and plunged, headlong down the steps. The third man

There were shots in the alleyway. The gangsters who had taken the cement passage were at the side door. In

response to the wild barks of their revolvers came a new fusillade. Someone within the house had stopped the

raiders at the front and had turned to meet those who were entering at the side!

One mobster had sprawled upon the cement. Another was staggering, crying to his pals to aid him. The rest,

remembering the ambush at Bogart's, took to flight. As they scattered for the waiting automobiles, new shots

Mobsmen were starting the automobiles. Bozo Griffin had dived into the front car. Cliff Marsland was

following him. With demoralized gorillas clambering aboard, the cars shot from the curb. Brodie Brodan's

CLIFF MARSLAND knew the answer. The Shadow had acted from within the beleaguered house. Stationed

there, he had met the first invaders; then had turned his fire to the second horde. Mobsters had met their just

The quick exchange of shots had roused the neighborhood. People were shouting from windows. In this quiet,

Within Calbot's now silent house, The Shadow was moving with quick precision. Almost before the echoes

of his fire had died, the tall avenger in black had reached the steps to the cellar. With swift, sweeping stride,

Gloved fingers worked upon the knobs of Brisbane Calbot's vault. The Shadow had unbarred the barrier in a

few minutes on his previous attempt. This time, his task was a matter of seconds. The door of the vault swung

Brisbane Calbot was slumped between the two idols. The black statue and the white looked like huge slaves

protecting their master. The light from the curio room shone upon Calbot's face. With frightened gasp, the

Before him stood a being clad in black. The sinister visitant seemed like a spectral figure sent to the vault

which had been marked as Calbot's tomb. Burning eyes were commanding, as a blackgloved hand stretched

Wondering, Brisbane Calbot rose. He was like a man in a trance. Strong hands caught his shoulders and

swung him from the vault. The door clanged shut. The light went out. With a powerful arm swinging him

forward, Brisbane Calbot found himself following the sharp glare of a narrowbeamed flashlight as it cut a

The Shadow swept the recluse onward. Together, they crossed the floor above and reached the side entrance.

Calbot, wondering where he was being taken, could do nothing but obey. This strange visitant had brought

Shouts were coming from the front street when The Shadow and his charge issued into the cement passage.

Brisbane Calbot stumbled over the body of a dead gangster. The Shadow caught the recluse and helped him

onward. Through the rear of the passage; down a tiny alleyway; then across a side street. The pair was just

Calbot slumped upon the cushions of a coupe. The car shot forward as an invisible driver took the wheel.

Turning a corner, it sped into darkness. The Shadow, like those who had gone ahead, was leaving this

The coupe stopped after a trip of one mile. Calbot, still nervous, felt himself being aided from the car. He

blinked. He was on a side street, with a bright avenue ahead. He felt a strong arm aiding him through the

THE chauffeur started the limousine. Calbot tried to make out the form of the man beside him. He could see

nothing in the black corner of the limousine. Then came the quiet voice, again bringing reassurance.

"You are fortunate, Mr. Calbot," were the words. "The death which you expected has been stayed."

"Thanks to you," blurted Calbot. "I thought that I was doomed. I can never fully thank you "

"Men of crime have sought your death." The Shadow's tone was ominous. "In order that they be foiled, they

"Gladly," expressed Calbot, in a relieved tone. "But but they did more than try to murder me. They stole "

"The golden scroll from the Kaaba. I shall speak of it later. In the meantime, remember that you must stay

away and communicate with no one. You are taking a train at Newark, tonight. Travel to the destination

Again Calbot nodded. This stranger in the dark seemed to know everything. The recluse, however, was due

"Your golden scroll," declared The Shadow, "was a fraudulent treasure. The theft of it relieves you of a

"My scroll!" Calbot's exclamation was a sharp cry. "Fraudulent. You mean that I that I was swindled "

"Cecil Armsbury," declared Calbot, slowly. "I cannot believe that he would have played me false. His

reputation is too great. Armsbury has traveled everywhere. His collection of Egyptian antiquities was

purchased by the Egyptian Museum. I I cannot believe it of Armsbury. He he must have been duped

The name came in a whisper from The Shadow's hidden lips. The limousine rode on, heading for the Holland

"A man of reputation," added Brisbane Calbot. "A great traveler and explorer. A fine career behind him.

There was a long pause. Brisbane Calbot, staring ahead, was trying to find an answer to this new perplexity.

In one short evening, he had experienced more surprises than he had previously gained during his entire

THE limousine came to a stop. It had turned into a side street to gain a parallel avenue. Brisbane Calbot was

leaning forward. Keen eyes from the dark were studying his pale profile. Something moved in the darkness at

Calbot's side. A gloved hand grasped the knob of the door. Silently, the door opened and closed. While

"Armsbury!" Calbot still repeated the name. "The golden scroll from the Kaaba a fake! I have been

The collector mumbled incoherent words. The limousine reached the Holland Tunnel as he still was speaking.

Lights from the highspeed highway. Brisbane Calbot turned, with sudden realization that he could see the

man beside him. To his amazement, he saw that the limousine was empty of passengers other than himself.

Calbot could offer no explanation. He could not remember a possible occasion upon which his mysterious

rescuer could have left the car. He was still bewildered when the limousine pulled up at the Market Street

The chauffeur alighted and opened the rear door. He handed an envelope to Calbot. The curio collector

opened it in dumfounded surprise. He found a railway ticket, with Pullman berth to Washington.

"Your train leaves in ten minutes, sir," the chauffeur of the limousine informed him.

The chauffeur went back to the car. The limousine rolled away while Brisbane Calbot was still examining the

ticket. Slowly, the recluse entered the station and ascended the steps to the train platform. He knew that his

Calbot could still recall that weird form in black; the burning eyes of his rescuer; the quiet voice that had

spoken in the limousine. As the headlight of an electric locomotive blazed down the track, Calbot realized

This ticket had been ready for him while he was still within the vault of his curio room. That meant that his

rescuer had anticipated the visit of the men who had stolen the golden scroll and had placed him in the vault!

For a moment, Calbot experienced perplexing doubts. Then, as he stepped aboard the sleeper, he realized that

one to whom he owed his life must certainly be working entirely in his aid. Brisbane Calbot noted a card in

the envelope which contained the ticket. It bore the name of a Washington hotel. That would be Calbot's

BACK at Calbot's house, the side door was open. A patrolman in the passage at the side was staring toward

the street. He turned as two men came from the house. One was Inspector Timothy Klein; the other Detective

"You were the first man to enter here?" Klein, the grayhaired inspector, put the question to the patrolman.

"Yes, sir," returned the officer. "Came in through one of the busted windows at the front. Found the front

"Looks like the trouble was all outside," remarked Cardona. "That junk room hadn't been touched, inspector."

"It would take more than a bunch of gangsters to lift any of that stuff," agreed the inspector. "That note we

"Yeah. This fellow Calbot who owns the house left the note for his servant, Hildebrand. I called up the

sanitarium where the servant is staying. They told me he's due back in a week and that he has keys to this

Klein nodded. He had read the note mentioned by Cardona. It announced to Hildebrand that Calbot was going

away for a trip. It instructed the servant to put the place in order and to remain until his master returned. No

"Just a gang fight," decided Cardona, "but they picked a funny place to stage it. I figured for a while that they

must have been trying to bust in here. Maybe they were at that; but they didn't make it. Anyway, there's one

"Brodie Brodan. I thought that guy was mixed up in the murder of Trappe and Bogart. But I had my eye on

him tonight. I was watching him down at the Club Madrid when I got the call to come up here."

The two men strolled along the alley. The patrolman closed the side door to Calbot's home. The automatic

Something clicked in the darkness. The side door opened. A swish sounded as a moving form made its way

through the dark house to Calbot's reading room. A tiny flashlight glimmered on the table. It revealed the

The Shadow had returned to make sure that his plans had succeeded. He had left that note; he plucked it from

He had saved Brisbane Calbot from death in the vault and had sent the collector out of town where he was to

remain. He had tricked the police into thinking that nothing had occurred within this house. Most important,

So far as Duke Larrin and his minions were concerned, Brisbane Calbot had perished. They would believe

that the curio collector's body was still in the vault. Yet Brisbane Calbot still lived; and tonight, The Shadow

The spurious scroll from the Kaaba. Its former owner a man named Cecil Armsbury! These were facts which

The whispered laugh of The Shadow echoed through the hollow stillness of Brisbane Calbot's reading room.

ONCE again, Cecil Armsbury and his nephew, Martin Havelock, were seated in the living room of

Armsbury's home. Calhoun, the solemnfaced servant, had just gone out to the hall, closing the door behind

him. The departure of the servitor was followed by a growl from Martin Havelock.

"I don't like it!" expressed the man who called himself Duke Larrin. "I thought that Brodie Brodan was

smarter than he is. Getting his mobsmen picked off is something I hadn't counted on."

"All right from that standpoint," admitted Havelock. "But I can't see what caused the trouble. Nothing has

gone sour otherwise Fingers or Croaker even Brodan would have shown up at the crypt. They polished

off Brisbane Calbot, sure enough, and stowed his body somewhere. But what caused all the shooting?"

"Easily answered," returned Armsbury. "The shot that Croaker Mannick fired as a signal must have brought

Cecil Armsbury uttered the name in matteroffact fashion. His nephew stared in unfeigned alarm. A

"The Shadow," repeated Armsbury. "You, Martin, have yourself expected him to appear. He is a supersleuth;

and it is not at all unlikely that he has trailed some of Brodan's mobsmen. Brodan's system was a delayed

"He didn't stop Fingers or Croaker," declared Havelock. "They made a getaway all right. Those fellows

"Precisely," stated Armsbury. "That is The Shadow's forte, my dear nephew. He fights with men of the

underworld. He kills them and he feels satisfied. But he has touched the surface only. He cannot have reached

beneath. He will never reach far enough" the old man's eyes were gleaming with cunning "to learn the

"You're right about that," decided Havelock. "The Shadow is a keen worker, but all indications show that he

hasn't gone far. I'm glad, though, that this was the last job for Fingers Keefel and Croaker Mannick. They can

"Yes, the fifteenth," repeated Havelock. "But there's one point of contact left. Brodie Brodan."

"Sure Brodie's clever. That's why I picked him. But he's the only one that The Shadow might trail to the

"I'm going to call Brodie. I'm going to tell him to be on the lookout. I took the right precautions from the

"Which will bring us vast wealth," chuckled Armsbury, "as well as destroying the final shred of evidence that

"There's only one answer," declared Havelock. "Somebody in Brodie's mob must be working with The

Shadow. I'm going to put Brodie wise to what I think and let him act accordingly."

"A wise thought," returned Armsbury, "but actually an unnecessary precaution. Brodie is through with his

present minions. When he tells them that they are no longer needed, they will have no further trail to follow."

"Except Brodie himself. That's why I'm calling him. I can reach him at the Hotel Spartan, from a pay station a

With this decision, Havelock arose and sauntered from the room. Cecil Armsbury smiled indulgently. He did

THE aftermath of Martin Havelock's precaution came at the Hotel Spartan. Brodie Brodan, seated in his

room, was talking with Bozo Griffin. Coincidentally, the gang leader was discussing the very subject that

Havelock had mentioned to Armsbury the forestalled raid on Brisbane Calbot's home.

Brodie's voice was coming in a growl when it was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. Brodie picked

up the receiver. His eyebrows furrowed as he heard the voice of the man whom he knew as Duke Larrin.

Duke's terms, though cautious, were to the point. Brodie answered them in short monosyllables. His words

meant nothing to Bozo Griffin. When the call was complete, Brodie placed the telephone aside and stared at

"I was talking to Marsland a short while ago," asserted Brodie. "That's why I called you up here, Bozo.

Marsland can't account for the trouble up at Calbot's any more than you can. But he told me without

"Sure, I told 'em," retorted Bozo. "If I hadn't, Marsland would have. The thing looked like a setup, Brodie. I

"He didn't squawk," returned Brodie. "He told me something which you have admitted. Seems to me you

"Yes, you. Stick along with the guy. Do as I tell you. I'm keeping the two of you to handle the mob if I need

you later. You buzz me every night at the Club Madrid. When I've got work for you to do, I'll let you know."

There was a rap at the door. Brodie gave a summons to come in. Cliff Marsland entered. Brodie had told him

"Hello, Marsland," greeted Brodie, in a cheery tone. "Was just talking about you. Bozo, here, was a bit sore

because he thought you were passing the buck to him on that trouble up at Calbot's. I told Bozo to get over

"No reason for him to be sore," remarked Cliff, in a quiet tone. "He gave the order quicker than I expected,

"Then you'd have given the same order," growled Bozo. "It would have turned out the same way, wouldn't

"That settles it," expressed Brodie Brodan. "Stick out your mitt, Bozo, and give Marsland the grip. You birds

Bozo obeyed. Cliff shook hands in friendly manner. Brodie lowered his growl and spoke to the reconciled

"I'm laying low, boys," he declared. "I'm sticking at the Club Madrid except when I'm here at this hotel.

When I need something done, I'll let you know. That's why I want you to be pals. Get it?"

"Bozo can call me every night," resumed Brodie. "I'll tell him what's to be done. If it don't sound O.K. to you,

Marsland, you can get me on the wire to make sure. But we're laying easy for a time that's all."

With a wave toward the door, Brodie dismissed his lieutenants; Cliff Marsland and Bozo Griffin went from

the room. From now on, they would stick together, with the understanding that both would be ready when

SEVERAL minutes passed. Brodie Brodan picked up the telephone. He called a number. A growling voice

responded. Brodie recognized it. The man at the other end of the wire was one whom he had chosen to keep

"Let it ride then," returned Brodie. "You know the lay. Go through with the job. I'll see you after it."

Brodie hung up the receiver. He grinned as he prepared to leave for the Club Madrid. The warning that had

The Shadow! Duke Larrin had mentioned the name of that dangerous foeman. He had stated that an agent of

The Shadow might be a spy in Brodie's camp. If such were the case, the guilt must lie between Bozo Griffin

Hence the mob leader's insistence that Bozo and Cliff stick together. It had been Brodie's original idea to

break up his mob after the Calbot job. His present plan was better. The Shadow if Cliff were his informant

would be waiting for another move by Brodie's present mob. That move would never come. Brodie would

Bozo and Cliff, however, were not out of Brodie's mind. The crafty gang leader had plans concerning them;

Brodie Brodan had played his cards craftily. Cliff Marsland, strolling through the badlands with Bozo Griffin,

had gained no suspicion whatever. When the pair reached the notorious dive known as the Black Ship, they

separated for the time. Cliff, with opportunity at his disposal, slipped into a room where a telephone was

SOME time afterward, the tiny bulb glowed on the wall of The Shadow's sanctum. The little spot of light

showed clearly, for the silent room was dark. The glow remained. At last, a swish in the blackness announced

Hands clicked the earphones in the dark. The voice of The Shadow spoke from the total gloom. Burbank

replied with his report a simple statement from Cliff Marsland. The Shadow gave brief orders. Cliff was to

A weird laugh resounded as the blue light clicked above the polished table. There was cause for The

Shadow's mirth. The master fighter could see that Brodie's instructions to Bozo and Cliff were a stall.

Plotting fiends were planning different crime. The Shadow was seeking their objective. Beneath the surface,

he had gained startling results that his enemies did not suspect. Though they believed his hand was present

The Shadow was planning a counterstroke to crime; one that would prove astounding when it came. But in

the plans lay a flaw that even The Shadow did not see for it was the result of Cliff Marsland's unfortunate

Cliff's report had failed to give a complete resume of the conversation with Brodie Brodan. It did not show

that Cliff, himself, lay under the gang leader's suspicion. That fact concerned The Shadow, for it involved the

All lay in the cunning of The Shadow's contemplated counterstroke; for when it was delivered, The Shadow

A FEW days after the affair at Brisbane Calbot's, a stoopshouldered old man appeared on the avenue in

front of the new Egyptian Museum. Turning from the sidewalk, this visitor ascended the granite steps that led

The old man had an odd, tottering step that seemed to indicate a strength despite the frailty of his form. His

short height was due to the forward lean of his shoulders. This resulted in a peculiar upturn of his neck; and

the old man made a ludicrous appearance as he stalked toward the entrance of the museum.

An attendant at the door grinned and turned to a companion. He pointed out the figure of the wearylooking

"Here he is again," said the attendant. "The guy I was telling you about. If he ain't a card, I miss my bet. We

get some goofy looking birds around here, but this old turkeyneck has 'em all beat."

The old man was at the door when the attendant ceased speaking. The uniformed man opened the barrier to

admit the visitor. The old man bowed in friendly fashion and mumbled his thanks. Then, in a quavering tone,

"Ah!" The old man's tone was grateful. "I had hoped to find him here. This is my third visit in the past few

Following the attendant's pointing finger, the old man walked along a corridor and reached the office which

The old man opened the door. Hesitatingly, he entered. He reached an outer office and bowed to a young

The old man was carrying a heavy package under one arm and a briefcase in his other hand. He placed these

objects upon the floor and seated himself in a chair. He produced a pair of largerimmed spectacles and

OLD Sturgis Dilling arose and followed the girl into an inner office. He bowed to a cadaverouslooking man

who sat behind a mahogany table. Handley Matson, curator of the Egyptian Museum, looked like the

"Good afternoon, professor," said Matson, in a solemn voice. "What is the purpose of your inquiry here?"

"I am an Egyptologist, sir," returned Dilling, in a quavering voice. "I came, a few days ago, to see the tomb of

"It is not," asserted the curator. "We intend to have it so after the new wing is completed. However, I can

Sturgis Dilling nodded. His eyes gleamed warmly. The curator arose and led the way to the door. He passed

through the anteroom, with the professor following. On the way, the old man hesitated; then picked up his

The pair reached a long room some distance from the office. They passed an attendant who was standing at

"You have seen the antiquities here, of course?" he asked. "We have some remarkable specimens of Egyptian

Sturgis Dilling nodded as Handley Matson pointed out a show case that contained delicately sculptured

"This is the Armsbury collection," explained the curator. "Purchased from Cecil Armsbury, a man whose

archaeological work is highly recognized. Over here are clay tablets also from the same collection."

Professor Dilling stared at the second case. He seemed to be deciphering the inscriptions on the tablets. The

"I have seen these," declared Sturgis Dilling. "Very interesting, sir. Very interesting, indeed."

The curator led the way to the end of the room. He removed a large key from his pocket and unlocked a

heavy door. Within was a huge stone sarcophagus, with heavy lid. Standing before the coffinlike structure

"THE tomb of Senwosri," announced the curator, in a voice that sounded solemn within the walls and low

ceiling of the little room. "We keep the mummy case here because of its great value. The golden mask the

jeweled objects all are in their place within the case. We keep it closed and strapped shut because of the

"I should like to see the mummy itself," remarked Sturgis Dilling. "I shall certainly be among the first to visit

the new wing of your museum, Mr. Matson. I have been deeply interested in the history of Senwosri. He was

"And the builder of the obelisk at Heliopolis," added the curator, in a monotone. "He also erected the temple

at Wadi Halfa. Confidentially, Professor Dilling, I am almost afraid to have so valuable a treasure here in my

"The public does not realize the value of Senwosri's coffin, for the publicity given to Carnarvaron's discovery

of Tutankhamen eclipsed the finding of Senwosri. There are Egyptologists, however, who know that the

American expedition which unearthed this case and its sarcophagus did quite as creditable work as the British

"Accessible only from the outer room," declared the curator. "That fact has somewhat relieved my qualms. In

the new wing, however, the tomb of Senwosri will have ample space for public display. We have made it a

rule, however, to keep the mummy case closed until we have the proper arrangements for its protection."

Professor Dilling was examining the painted, gold decorated surface of the mummy case. The curator added

"The straps," he explained, "are simply to keep the case loosely shut. At first, we used to keep it in the stone

sarcophagus. You will observe the padlocked bars that still encircle the stone container. I intend to remove

The old man looked at the sarcophagus. He turned and walked from the little room. The curator followed him

Dilling was strolling about the outer room when the curator joined him. The old professor had laid his

package and briefcase aside. He was displaying new interest in the Armsbury collection. Then he turned and

"I was told," he said, "that yonder space was reserved for a collection of mummies."

"Yes," acknowledged the curator. "They are a part of the Armsbury collection that has not yet been delivered.

The mummy cases have been in temporary storage. They are not of great value, professor; nevertheless, they

would interest you. They are virtually a gift from Armsbury for we did not have the funds to purchase

"Indeed," remarked Dilling. "That is quite interesting, Mr. Matson. The attendant did not know just when the

"They are to be delivered on the fifteenth," returned Matson. "Jove! That's today, isn't it? I had forgotten all

The curator paused to glance at his watch. The time showed twenty minutes of three.

"We close at three o'clock," declared Matson. "Of course, the attendants and myself are here until five. The

mummies will probably come in later in the afternoon. Should you come back tomorrow, Professor Dilling,

"I must leave you," said the curator. "I have business in the office. I shall be pleased to meet you again,

Handley Matson departed, leaving Dilling in the long room that housed the Armsbury collection of Egyptian

THE old man moved about from case to case, mumbling to himself as he studied hieroglyphs that appeared

At times he paused to look at the windows. They were high above the floor and heavily barred. All the doors

about the place were massive. The old man remembered the museum as he had seen it from the outside. The

Strolling about the room, Professor Sturgis Dilling allowed a thin smile to form upon his lips. He studied the

door of the tomb of Senwosri. He looked toward the end of the room reserved for mummies of lesser value.

The afternoon was glum and a pall seemed falling within this room. The old man, stalking noiselessly here

and there, seemed like some ghostly figure out of Egypt. He was the only occupant of the room. His presence

here seemed forgotten. At last, the old man's inspection of the antiquities was ended. He came to the door of

The attendant had gone from the outer hall. It was near the closing hour and the whole museum was silent.

Then came the clang of a bell. Attendants called to one another through the corridor.

Shortly afterward, the uniformed man appeared and entered the room where Sturgis Dilling had been. He saw

that the old man had left. He was about to close the outer door when another attendant called to him from the

"Keep it open, Jerry! Mummies coming in. Stick around until the truck arrives. Curator's orders."

The attendant nodded. He turned on the lights in the room and sat down to read a newspaper that he took

from his pocket. An hour passed. The museum, closed and barred, was as silent as the shut tomb of Senwosri.

Then came the tramp of footsteps in a corridor. Attendants and truckmen appeared carrying heavy mummy

cases. The man in the room which housed the Armsbury collection was on his feet, pointing out the spot

Fifteen minutes later, a row of mummy cases lined the end of the room. The heavy objects were standing

upright; their painted faces made them appear like a squad of solemn sentinels. The moving men went out,

accompanied by an attendant. The other attendants remained, making jests as they studied the row of new

The mummy cases bore fastenings that had kept them intact during shipment. These would be removed in the

morning. It was approaching five o'clock and the attendants seldom waited until that hour. They reported at

eight in the morning an hour and half before opening and that was the period during which new exhibits

"Curator says he'll look over the mummies in the morning," declared an attendant, coming from the office.

The group passed along the corridors to the rear entrance of the museum. This was where the truck had

delivered the mummy cases. The curator and his secretary passed from the museum; the attendants followed.

EVENING. Blackness pervaded the Egyptian Museum. The building was a whitened sepulchre within a

blanketing pall. The glow of Manhattan did not visibly affect the secluded spot whereon the granite edifice

Within the room which housed the Armsbury collection, thick blackness reigned below the dim stretch of

high windows. The watchman's electric lantern, glimmering in the darkness, flashed upon the solemn painted

A slight sound occurred in the end of the room. It came from one of the mummy cases. Something was

working from within! Life was present inside that wooden shroud! Some prying force was pushing out the

front; an instrument was at work upon the central band which held the case intact!

The front of the mummy case sprang open. A figure stepped from within. A flashlight glimmered upon the

next case in the row. Brawny hands ripped open the bands that held the second case. Another man came into

Both set to work. Other cases were opened. Where eight closed mummy cases had been, four opened ones

remained. Flashlights were flickering about the room. Two men, sneaking through the darkness, reached the

"Get the watchman," came a growl. "Grab him and tie him up. We don't want any shooting until we're ready

Men moved out into the darkness of the hall, bound on the mission ordered by Sinker Hargun. These men

who had come from the mummy cases were invaders from the underworld, under the command of Brodie

Flashlights showed upon the cases which harbored the items of the Armsbury collection. Clay tablets were

dumped into burlap bags which the invaders had with them. Specimens of metal sculpture were piled into

A squad of crooks was rifling this room of its supposed treasure. Actually, Duke Larrin's orders were being

completed. Spurious items of fake origin were being lifted for destruction. The last evidence of Cecil

Whispers in the darkness. They announced that the watchman had been captured. Gangsters had trailed him

to an obscure part of the museum. He was bound and gagged totally unaware of how the yeggs had entered.

"That's good," growled Sinker. "Drag this stuff out to the back door. Set that charge so we can blow the

works and make it look like we came in there. But don't do nothing until after we've finished in here. Come

His flashlight sweeping along the floor, Sinker Hargun revealed the door to the Senwosri tomb. It was a

formidable barrier because of its powerful lock. Sinker Hargun, however, was a thug who used measures

HIS flashlight showed him making arrangements in front of the door that hid the tomb. His warning growl

sent mobsters scurrying to cover, with Hargun at their heels. Then came a muffled report; with it a burst of

As the vapor cleared, Sinker uttered a command. His torch marked the mummy case of Senwosri. The heavy

object had toppled backward from the explosion and was leaning against the wall beside the stone

Mobsters piled into the tomb. Three on a side, they gathered up the heavy mummy case of the Egyptian king.

Struggling with their burden, they made their way along the corridor to the back.

Sinker Hargun, chasing ahead, yanked open the bars of the rear entrance. He uttered a warning hiss. A reply

"Make it speedy, Sinker," came a low voice. "You could hear that boom out this way. Maybe they got it in

The mummy case came floundering through the wide doorway. Sinker aided the men who were carrying it.

The big case slid aboard the truck and settled into a mammoth box, coffinlike in shape, which was there to

"Yank those doors," growled Sinker. "Shoot the works as we start, Terry. Climb on with us "

The truck was in motion. A stooping yegg was standing by the doors which he had closed. He was igniting a

new charge. He came bounding after the rolling truck and leaped aboard. As the truck reached a side street, a

huge roar followed it. A second explosion had wrecked the rear entrance of the Egyptian Museum.

The truck was speeding toward a rear avenue. Police whistles were sounding from in front of the Egyptian

Museum. Sinker Hargun, growling a laugh, had clambered up to the front seat of the truck.

"It's soft," was his comment to the driver. "Say, bo, this job went through like clockwork. The bulls are goin'

"Keep on rolling. I'll show you where we're goin' to unload. There ain't nobody can stop us now. This job is a

AT Sinker's direction, the truck driver guided the big vehicle on a weaving course. Far from the vicinity of

the robbed museum, there was no need for hurry. The truck was moving slowly when it neared the vicinity

"Easy, now," warned the leader. "Stop here we're goin' to make sure there's nobody following."

The driver obeyed. Gangsters dropped to the street and strolled back along the sidewalk. They returned to

Sinker ordered the driver ahead. He growled new directions. When he issued his final command to stop, the

Sinker Hargun alighted. He strolled down a side entrance and rapped at a big delivery door. A janitor opened

"Got my truck outside," announced Sinker. "Bringing in a big couch to go down in Mr. Sudgen's storage

The janitor nodded as he peered from the door and saw a crew of men unloading a huge box from a truck. He

pointed out the way to the subcellar. As the pretended moving men came through, the janitor strolled away.

Men went back and brought in burlap bags. These had the janitor seen them would have passed for bags

of household effects. But the janitor gave no further thought to the matter. When he happened back, he noted

that the truck had moved away. He thought that the crew of storage men had gone with it.

Little did he realize that the subcellar harbored Sinker Hargun, notorious gangster, and a crew of sullen thugs.

The box which had been unloaded was going through a passage that led beyond the subcellar of Ridgelow

The mummy case of Senwosri, pillaged from the Egyptian Museum, was being delivered to the crime crypt!

WHILE hardfaced thugs, members of Brodie Brodan's undercover band, were lugging away their loot

from the Egyptian Museum, their absent leader was enjoying a gala night. Brodie was at the Club Madrid,

Brodie, attired in wellfitting tuxedo, was seated at a conspicuous table. The gang leader was applauding a

dancing act. His bluff face wore a grin; a paper cap perched above his heavy eyebrows gave him the

At the table with Brodie was Fritz Fursch, his alibi pal from Chicago. Fritz had come in at Brodie's order and

But Brodie, despite his merrymaking had serious thoughts in mind. He was secretly eyeing a stocky,

swarthyfaced man on the other side of the floor. This individual, half behind a pillar, was also making a

pretense of watching the floor show. Actually, however, his gaze was on Brodie Brodan.

It was Detective Joe Cardona. Persistent in his hunches, the sleuth was dogging Brodie's trail. Baffled in his

attempts to locate the murderers of Perry Trappe and Tyler Bogart, Joe was watching Brodie in the hope that

Cardona's reasoning showed logic. He had accepted Brodan's first alibi. He had also been forced to take the

second. One had been on the sayso of Fritz Fursch from Chicago; the other on the statements of Lobo

Ruscott, proprietor of the Club Madrid. Cardona was not willing to base much on the testimonies of those

So he had watched Brodie Brodan either through his own observation or with the aid of stool pigeons. Joe

was sure that Brodie had been at the Club Madrid on the night that mobsters appeared at Brisbane Calbot's.

He was sure that some of those dead gangsters were members of Brodie's old crew.

Whatever the purpose at Calbot's, it had failed. That, Cardona knew. He had attributed the failure to the

possible absence of Brodie Brodan. That was why Cardona was again at the Club Madrid. Brodie watched,

LOBO RUSCOTT, a suave, elegantly attired man with a pointed mustache, paused at Cardona's table to

acknowledge the detective's presence. Joe growled a reply to Lobo's welcome; then snorted.

Brodie Brodan had spied Lobo from across the floor; seeing the proprietor, he had apparently discovered

Cardona also. The blackbrowed gang leader had left his table and was skirting the floor to join the pair.

"Hello, Lobo," greeted Brodie. "Hello, Cardona. Say you've picked a great place to spend a night off. Not a

"I remember," laughed Brodie, sitting down at the table. "You talked to Lobo after that guy was killed out on

"Yeah," retorted Cardona. "Lobo gave you an alibi like that other pal of yours, from Chicago. I see you've

"Fritz Fursch?" questioned Brodie. "That's right, he told you the straight dope one night another time you

were going to put the screws on me. Say, Joe" Brodie was making a fervent appeal "when are you going

"I've got no idea," returned Cardona. "I'm just playing a hunch, Brodie. Things are sort of quiet right now. I'm

waiting for something to break something big and I just want to see if that can happen while you're

"Great stuff, Joe," laughed Brodie. "Well, stick around old kid. How long have you been here tonight?"

"Just before I came in. Well, Joe, I hope something does break. It'll give you some excitement and it'll mean a

"Listen, Brodie. I'm not questioning your alibis. They're good ones. I'd like to see a better one; I've got a

hunch that some funny business is going to break loose. If it does while you're here, I'll admit that you're out

Brodie paused as he turned toward the proprietor. Looking beyond Lobo Ruscott, he saw a solemnfaced

man picking his way among the tables. Brodie turned and plucked Cardona's sleeve.

"Say, Joe," informed the gang leader. "Here comes a pal of yours another dick, ain't he? Is he looking for

Cardona followed the direction of Brodie's gaze. He saw that the gang leader's statement was correct. The

CARDONA arose and beckoned to the second sleuth. Markham hurried over and buzzed with Cardona. Joe's

Both Brodie Brodan and Lobo Ruscott were staring with questioning gaze. Cardona noted Brodie's look. He

"No reason why you shouldn't know what's up," growled the detective. "A crowd of gorillas just raided the

"Say that's hot!" he exclaimed. "They'll be crashing Grant's Tomb next. What can they get out of a

"That's what I'm going to find out," retorted Cardona. "Take it as a joke, Brodie. You've got a right to laugh."

"Because I expected something like this, I won't be around for an alibi from you. That's why you ought to

There was a touch of feigned sincerity in the tone. Cardona remembered it as he followed Markham. No use

of watching Brodie Brodan now. This was the clincher that backed up Brodie's previous alibis.

Brodan watched Cardona leave the night club. He remained seated and chatted with Lobo Ruscott. A waiter

"Call for you in the office, sir," he said. "Not exactly for you the man wants to talk to someone but he

As Lobo turned away, Brodie arose and followed him. Traveling by the proprietor's side, Brodie whispered:

They reached the office. Lobo Ruscott spoke into the mouthpiece of the telephone. He turned and handed the

instrument to Brodie with a nod. As Brodie began to talk, Lobo went from the office and closed the door.

"Listen Bozo." Brodie's tone was serious. "Is Marsland there with you?... Yes? All right... I want to see the

two of you... Together... Yes. Right away... I'll tell you where to meet me... Hotel Ridgelow Court... Yes,

come up there in a cab and don't mention where you're going until you've got Marsland in the cab with you,

"I'll meet you outside the place. We'll go in together... Now remember this. When you hear me say 'Hurry up,

Brodie scowled as a surprised exclamation came over the wire. He growled an admonition.

"Keep mum, you sap! You heard me... Remember what I told you... Now get started."

Brodie hung up the receiver. He opened a closet door and removed hat and overcoat. He examined a revolver

in the pocket of the outer garment. Brodie was accustomed to parking his gat and overcoat in the closet of

Following this action, Brodie opened the door of the office and signaled to Lobo Ruscott, who was seated in

The gang leader took an obscure exit that led from the Cafe Madrid. On the sidewalk, he waited for Fritz and

piled the alibi man into a cab. He ordered the driver to take him to an uptown destination not far from

"Fritz," declared Brodie, in a low tone, "you're going to see a lot tonight. You and some other guys that I can

count on. You're going to see the headquarters for the greatest bunch of jobs that has ever been.

"More than that, you're going to see a doublecrosser get doublecrossed. Have your gat handy. I'll tell you

BRODIE and Fritz alighted at their destination. They strolled a block until they reached the front of the old

hotel, where Brodie was to meet Bozo and Cliff. A few minutes later a cab rolled up. Bozo and Cliff alighted.

"Come along," ordered the gang leader. "We're going places. You two go first. Through the lobby of this old

hotel and take the stairway down. This fellow Fritz Fursch will follow along with me."

Cliff and Bozo obeyed. They entered the old hotel, walked across the deserted lobby and descended. At the

bottom of the steps, they awaited Brodie and Fritz, who showed up a minute later. Brodie led the way to the

The quartet arrived at the storeroom. Brodie unlocked the door and ushered his companions in. A voice

Sinker turned the glimmer of a flashlight upon the spot where the wooden panel was located. Brodie stepped

"Watch this gag, Cliff," remarked Brodie, in a cordial tone. He pressed the special nail. The panel opened.

"Come on through," said Brodie, urging Cliff forward. "Come on, you other guys. Hurry up, Bozo!"

Cliff Marsland was in the light of Sinker Hargun's torch. Brodie Brodan was ahead. The gang leader swung

suddenly; he whisked out a revolver. At the same instant the muzzle of Bozo's gun jabbed Cliff from behind.

"Put 'em up, you rat!" snarled Brodie. "Keep 'em up and come along with us. We're going to put you on the

Cliff's arms raised mechanically. The Shadow's agent had fallen into a perfect trap. Brodie Brodan's flashlight

came on; Sinker Hargun let the panel drop. With a contemptuous laugh, Brodie Brodan ordered Bozo Griffin

The gang leader had trapped the man he suspected as The Shadow's agent. Cliff Marsland, a helpless

The question came to Brodie Brodan's ears as Cliff Marsland was shoved through the opening of the crime

crypt. The man who asked it was Fingers Keefel. The safecracker had opened the barrier in response to

"A doublecrosser," jeered Brodie, as he glowered at Cliff Marsland. "A rat that's working for The Shadow."

"Yeah?" Fingers matched Brodie's growl. "Well, he'll get his as soon as the word is given. What you going to

"Sure. Maybe we can pump this guy first. Say this crypt is going to mean a lot to us. The first job we've got

ahead is to give The Shadow the bump he's been waiting for. This is the place to work it from."

"And starting with one of his stools is the best way to get at him," derided Fingers, in reply.

Brodie's henchmen obeyed. The gang leader nudged his thumb in their direction as they forced Cliff to a

"Here's two birds that'll count," he asserted. "Bozo Griffin and Fritz Fursch. They're in on the lay. I've got

another guy outside Sinker Hargun and his mob. They're the boys that gabbed the gravy tonight. They'll

be good workers for the de luxe mob that Duke told me to bring up. None of those bum gorillas of mine will

Brodie paused. He was staring past Fingers Keefel to a huge object that stood in front of the farther door. It

was the mummy case of Senwosri. The painted face and its golden inlay showed dimly in the low light of the

"Old Nebuchadnezzar himself," exclaimed Brodie, with a grin. "Say the boys did a neat job lugging that

"They carried that back to the storeroom," explained Fingers. "Duke Larrin was down here. He had them

THE mummy case was encircled with the broad straps that had been put about it in the museum. These kept

"Not here yet," responded the safecracker. "He slid away like I did, after we raided Brisbane Calbot's place.

"Give me the lowdown, Fingers. The bulls didn't make much fuss about Calbot. I had a hunch that you and

"Not a bit of it. Calbot had a vault down in his cellar. Took me about a half hour to open it. So we shoved him

in that and left him there. Croaker didn't want to shoot until he got upstairs."

"Now you're telling me something, Fingers. That's how you and Croaker got away in such a hurry. You were

"The Shadow." Fingers was sober. "Duke told me tonight. He must have come up after he heard Croaker's

shot. That's how he was in time to start a fight. It's lucky that your gorillas piled in as quick as they did if it

hadn't been for them The Shadow might have had a chance to trail after me and Croaker."

Bozo Griffin heard Fingers Keefel's comment. The toughfaced lieutenant swelled. This was a justification of

the promptness with which he had ordered the raid. Brodie Brodan saw Bozo's face light.

"That squares you, Bozo," declared Brodie. "You did a good job tonight, too, covering Marsland the way you

did." Brodie turned to glare at The Shadow's agent, who was under the muzzle of Fritz Fursch's gun. "Say,

Marsland you rat I'd like to give you the works in a hurry. But we're holding you, see? Holding you so

But Cliff was thinking plenty. He had heard of Duke Larrin; in fact, he had informed The Shadow of the

rumor that the international crook was in New York. In the past ten minutes, Cliff had learned a lot about

Cliff had much to tell The Shadow. But that opportunity was ended. A prisoner, Cliff could only hope that

The Shadow might find another trail to the crime crypt. But Cliff realized the difficulty. Brodie Brodan had

been left for Cliff to follow while The Shadow was otherwise engaged. Cliff had failed. A captive, he was

"CROAKER MANNICK is coming through," declared Fingers Keefel, again speaking to Brodie Brodan;

"and Duke Larrin says he'll show up before midnight. Not long to wait. The payoff comes tonight, Brodie

and from what Duke tells me, this is just going to be the beginning. We're all in for a cut on the swag in that

"You telling me?" Brodie grinned. "Say, Fingers, I can talk now. When Duke passed me my instructions, he

told me more than he told you. That was just because I had the mobs to look out for, see?

"I picked the real guys to grab off old Nebuchadnezzar's casket here so that they would be ready for what's

coming next. We're going to raise hob after the swag is unloaded. Say if The Shadow pokes his nose around

this crypt, he'll be in for trouble. You me Croaker and the rest of us, all working with Duke Larrin!"

"Cardona? He's goofy already. Where do you think he is now? Up at the Egyptian Museum. He pulled out

from the Club Madrid and gave me a clean alibi for a starter. Match that, Fingers match it is the best you

Fingers Keefel joined Brodie in raucous mirth. Laughter echoed through the crime crypt. Men of evil had

gained their way. They were awaiting the arrival of their comrade in crime, Croaker Mannick and their chief,

Cliff Marsland, under the cover of Fritz Fursch's gun, felt a hopeless weakening as he listened to the

merriment of his captors. He felt that he had failed The Shadow. He knew that the police had been

Of the two, Cliff trusted The Shadow most. He had seen the master fighter spring into being almost out of

nowhere. But in this forgotten crypt, its corridor entrance guarded by Sinker Hargun and a band of thugs, The

Cliff groaned as he realized the extent of his failure. The fact that his own rescue seemed impossible was bad;

Death in The Shadow's service was something that Cliff Marsland was glad to face. The inability to be of

WHILE Brodie Brodan was chuckling over Joe Cardona's dash to the Egyptian Museum, the ace detective

had arrived at his destination. The museum was lighted; the front door was open. Joe Cardona entered and a

Cardona found two men in charge. One was Inspector Timothy Klein; the other, a leanfaced individual who

the inspector introduced as Handley Matson; the curator. Klein led Cardona to the rifled tomb of Senwosri.

"Look it over, Joe," ordered the inspector. "This is where they made the biggest haul. They took a lot of other

"Out of there?" questioned the detective, with a perplexed stare, as he surveyed the stone sarcophagus, which

"That is the sarcophagus," explained Matson, nervously. "It used to contain the mummy case of Senwosri. It

is empty at present. The thieves must have known that. They took the mummy case, but did not bother to

"Standing right here." The curator looked like a mummified king as he took his position to indicate the spot.

"The case contained the embalmed body of Senwosri, the son of Amenemhe. He was the builder of the

"All right," interposed Cardona. "What was the value of the stuff in the mummy case?"

"Thousands of dollars," stated the curator, in an awed tone. "The golden mask; the jeweled boat that was to

Cardona was nodding as he turned to look at the outer room. He saw the rifled cases. He waved his hand

"Very valuable," declared the curator. "Antiquities from the collection of Cecil Armsbury. The purchase price

was in excess of sixty thousand dollars. Examples of early Egyptian sculpture; clay tablets with hieroglyphic

Cardona was pointing to the farther wall. The row of opened mummy cases had attracted his attention. The

"The thieves rifled those cases," he stated. "They carried away the mummies, which were not of high value.

We had not inspected the mummy cases, I must admit, but I have a list here of their contents all articles of

"They were brought in only this afternoon. We intended to open them in the morning."

KLEIN smiled slightly. He had listened to the curator's long harangue before the detective had arrived.

"Here's the story, Joe," explained Klein. "At about eight fifty this evening, there was a muffled explosion

heard on the street. About five minutes later came the second blast. The patrol arrived just after nine.

"They found that the burglars had blown open the rear doors of the museum. They came in here and blew

"The sarcophagus," interposed Handley Matson. "A scarab, inspector, is a beetle about so large" he

showed the size with thumb and finger "which was regarded as sacred by the Egyptians. I have a specimen

"Scarab or sarcophagus," laughed Klein, as the curator hurried away. "I mean that stone box that has the locks

on it. The crooks got in the room and carried away a mummy case the one that had King Says Who's This

"They also rifled this exhibit. Took the stuff from the cases and yanked the new mummies out of their

wooden boxes. They must have gotten away in a truck. There must have been a crowd of them, too, to make

"The watchman," added Klein. "They landed on him in the basement, while he was making his rounds. Tied

him up and gagged him. I quizzed the watchman. We're holding him for further questioning."

"I don't see any, Joe," admitted Klein, ruefully. "You're the man to find them, if they're here. I'm going down

to headquarters. If you can get the curator to calm down, maybe you can get some information out of him. I

"Leave it to me." Cardona strolled away and went to the curator's office. He found Matson digging through

"I had it here in my desk," began the curator. "It's made of gold about so large "

"Never mind the scab," interposed Cardona, gruffly. "The crooks wouldn't have had time to take it. You'll

find it later. Come along with me, Mr. Matson. I want to see that rear door the crooks blew open."

JOE surveyed the blasted door. Beckoning to the curator, he led the way through the corridor to the rifled

"Let's get things straight," suggested the detective, as he stood alone with Matson. "When was the last time

"Yes. I locked the door myself. I showed the mummy case to a visitor a Professor Sturgis Dilling."

"An old gentleman with stooped shoulders. Thin gray hair. A scholar one acquainted with the history of

"Did he want you to open any of these?" asked Cardona, pointing to the emptied mummy cases.

"They had not come in," explained the curator. "They arrived after the museum had been closed. We opened

"Hmm." Cardona was thoughtful. He paced about the room. Like Inspector Klein, Joe Cardona could see no

Cardona half shut his eyes and rested his chin in his right hand. He was thinking over everything that Klein

had told him. A practical sleuth, Cardona made no claim to deductive reasoning. He relied upon his hunches.

"Listen, Mr. Matson," said the detective, slowly. "You're an intelligent man and you know the layout of this

museum. Forget your golden beetle and hear what I've got to say. Tell me whether I'm right or wrong."

"First of all, it's a long way from that back door here. It takes a few minutes to blow a door. I figure that the

crooks would have needed a regiment to pile in here, blow the door to the tomb, grab off these exhibits,

empty out the mummies and carry away the old king with his coffin. That is, they would have needed a

"Absolutely!" exclaimed the curator. "Especially with the watchman here. It must have taken them some time

to find him. He was bound and gagged and they knocked him out when they took him. He said he did not

"Hmm. Of course he was down in the cellar. Still, the explosions were heard on the avenue. We're getting

Cardona stared across the exhibit room and pointed at the emptied mummy cases. He clutched the astonished

"Why did the crooks take those mummies out of the cases?" demanded the detective. "Can you tell me why?"

"Like the old king's? Well why didn't they yank the old boy out of his casket, too? Why did they want to lug

"The mummy case of Senwosri had some value," declared the curator. "Nevertheless, its contents were the

actual prize. These other mummies well, to be valuable, it would have been wise to take their cases also. It

"You're right," decided Cardona. "Listen. You didn't open those cases when they came in. Suppose, Mr.

"No. Living crooks! In there instead of the mummies. There's the answer! That's how the crooks got in here.

They came out of the mummy cases. They grabbed the watchmen. They swiped all these exhibits that are

"They fixed two charges one for the door to the tomb; one for the rear door of the museum. They let off the

first blast in here after they had dragged out the exhibits. The mummy case went out as fast as they could

CARDONA looked at Matson. The curator was standing openmouthed. He was nodding in emphasis.

"Wait until the inspector hears this!" he exclaimed. "I'm going to follow this up, Mr. Matson. Tell me. Where

"I do not know," admitted Matson. "They were in some storage house delivered at the order of the man who

Cardona accompanied the curator to the office. The detective was talking on the way.

"The crooks knew those mummies were coming in here," he declared. "They must have gotten into the

warehouse and chucked the mummies. If we can locate the warehouse, through this man Armsbury "

Cardona paused. They were in the office. The curator was looking for the file which contained Armsbury's

address. He emitted a cry of satisfaction as he brought his hand from a desk drawer.

"No," returned Matson, excitedly, "I've found the scarab. See? Here it is. I must keep it to show to Inspector

"Let me have it," growled Cardona, seizing the golden beetle from the curator's hand. "Get that address.

Nodding, Matson delved through files. He finally produced a card and showed it to Cardona. It bore the name

Cardona seized the telephone. He called headquarters. He asked for Inspector Klein and was told that the

"I'll call him later," declared Cardona. "This is Joe Cardona." He hung up the receiver. Then, to Matson:

The curator nodded and picked up his coat and hat. Joe Cardona, tapping his clenched fist against the table,

suddenly realized its weight. He opened his hand and laughed as he saw that he was still holding the golden

Cardona chucked the metal beetle into the desk drawer from which Matson had taken it. He grabbed the

curator's arm and hurried the man out to the front door. Policemen were still in charge. Cardona told them to

Three minutes later, the ace detective and the curator of the Egyptian Museum were whirling in a taxicab

The question came from Martin Havelock. He was standing by the fireplace in his uncle's living room, about

"One moment, Martin," returned Cecil Armsbury. The old man was seated in his favorite chair. "I think I

Havelock showed momentary alarm. Then he strolled from the fireplace and lighted a cigarette. There was a

knock at the door. Armsbury motioned to Havelock. The young man went over and unlocked the door. He

"Two gentlemen to see you, sir," explained the servant. "One is Mr. Matson, the curator of the Egyptian

"Matson?" quizzed Armsbury, in a pleased tone. "Ah! I shall be glad to see him. You say a detective also? I

hope nothing has gone amiss. Usher them in, Calhoun. Then you may retire. I shall not need you later."

With a warning glance toward his nephew, Cecil Armsbury arose to his feet. He was all smiles as he stepped

forward to greet the two men who entered. He knew Matson. The curator introduced him to Cardona.

"My nephew," remarked Armsbury, turning to Martin Havelock. "He is my only nephew Martin Havelock.

Sit down, gentlemen. Tell me the reason for this unexpected visit. I hope that nothing serious has occurred."

"Something very serious," explained Matson, solemnly. "The Egyptian Museum has been rifled by thieves.

Cecil Armsbury sank back in his chair. His whole attitude was one of a man who had experienced a terrific

"More than that," added Matson, "the thieves also took the mummy case of Senwosri, the son of Amenemhe

CECIL ARMSBURY was gripping the arms of his chair. His air showed that he regarded this daring theft as

"We want to recover these stolen articles, Mr. Armsbury," he explained. "We have come here because we

"Give us some information, then, regarding the mummy cases that you donated to the Egyptian Museum."

"My collection of mummies?" he questioned. "I remember! I had ordered them to be delivered today. You do

"Yes," returned Cardona, "but not from the museum. Tell me, Mr. Armsbury, where did you have them

"This is bewildering!" exclaimed Armsbury. "Let me think. Indeed, Mr. Cardona, I do not remember for the

moment. I shall have to call my attorney, Jason Thunig. He arranges all my business affairs."

"So he is," recalled Armsbury. "You do not recall my mentioning the name of the warehouse, do you,

"I may be able to remember it. But tell me" Armsbury's tone was quizzical "have there been two

"No." Cardona furnished the explanation. "I have a theory, Mr. Armsbury, that may aid us. The manner of the

robbery makes me believe that crooks were smuggled into the museum in mummy cases.

"That granted, they must have entered the warehouse first; there to remove the mummies from the cases. Do

"I see. A remarkable deduction, Mr. Cardona. Tell me, has this been established as a certainty?"

"No. But it is the only plausible theory. I struck upon it while I was in the museum, after Inspector Klein had

"I suppose," remarked Armsbury, in an innocuous tone, "that you have informed Inspector Klein."

"Not yet," declared Cardona. "I want to give him the whole dope, Mr. Armsbury. I told my theory to Mr.

Matson. He and I were alone at the time. So we came down here at once. When I make my report, I want it to

"I have it!" Armsbury sprang to his feet with agility. "Do you remember it now, Martin? I marked that name

The old man pointed as he spoke. His face was turned toward Martin Havelock. Cardona and Matson were

following the direction of the old man's finger. They did not see the motion of Armsbury's lips. Havelock

alone caught that. He understood. Nonchalantly, the young man dropped his hands into his coat pockets.

CECIL ARMSBURY strode across the room. Cardona and Matson followed him. The old man yanked open

"Here it is" Armsbury was looking at Joe Cardona. His gaze turned to Havelock "the very thing we want

As he broke the sentence, Armsbury turned. In his hand was a shortbarreled revolver. He swung the weapon

directly at Joe Cardona's breast. At the same time, Martin Havelock made a sidewise spring. His hand, too,

Joe Cardona was too stupefied to do other than obey. Handley Matson followed the detective's action.

"This gentleman will take charge of you," he said. "As a man of crime, I am a mere tyro. Perhaps you have

heard of my nephew, Mr. Cardona. Under another name than that of Martin Havelock "

Cardona was staring at the young man with the gun. He saw the fiendish sneer that had grown on Havelock's

lips. Yet he could not place the crook until Armsbury's next words brought astonishment.

"Yes," snarled Havelock. "That's who I am Duke Larrin. I've been working this town of yours and you've

been too dumb to know it. So you're Joe Cardona, eh? Well there's a bunch of friends of mine who'll be

Cecil Armsbury was depriving Joe Cardona of his revolver. The old swindler was chuckling. He urged

Cardona and Matson toward the fireplace; Havelock accompanied the movement with a gesture of his

"As Duke Larrin's uncle," chortled the old fiend, "I am worthy of my nephew. It was for him that I provided a

very excellent headquarters which has failed to attract your notice, friend Cardona.

"Allow me" Armsbury was pressing the switch "to conduct you to our lair. It is the resting place of

Senwosri, the son of Amenemhe. He is dead poor Senwosri but he shall have company. He came dead

from the Egyptian Museum; you have come living from that same place. Let the living join the dead!"

Armsbury cackled gleefully. Martin Havelock stepped aboard the elevator and descended. Cecil Armsbury

remained alone; but he and the gun he held were a sufficient threat. The elevator came up empty. Armsbury

"My nephew will be awaiting you," cackled Armsbury. "He will take charge until I join you!"

Cardona and Matson, staring upward, saw the gloating face of the fiend. Then came darkness as the

MIDNIGHT. Duke Larrin sat in the center of the crime crypt. Grouped about him were the privileged crooks

Brodie Brodan sat with gloating face and bristling eyebrows. Fingers Keefel wore a malicious smile upon his

crafty face. Bozo Griffin and Fritz Fursch were standing in a corner of the crypt. Seated on the floor between

this pair of thugs were the three prisoners, their hands bound behind their backs.

Joe Cardona Handley Matson Cliff Marsland. The trio found no pleasure in their company. Each knew

The crime crypt harbored another person: Cecil Armsbury. He was standing behind his nephew, grinning as

sponsor of insidious crime. To him, this crypt was a legacy which he had given to a deserving heir. Cecil

Armsbury was proud of the power which Martin Havelock, alias Duke Larrin, had come to wield.

"Not here yet," asserted Fingers Mannick. "He'll be through. No reason why he should be on time tonight."

"Yes," affirmed Havelock. "He is one of us. Let the mob remain on guard. We shall talk with them later.

Brodie Brodan went to the door to the corridor. He opened it and summoned Sinker Hargun. The gang

"You all know me," announced Martin Havelock, his voice resounding through the crypt. "I'm Duke Larrin.

That's the name I go under. This crypt is my headquarters. From here we have put through successful crime.

"No dumb dicks are going to cross us. Neither are any stools that work for The Shadow. We're going to blot

out the ones we've already got and a third man with them. That's settled. When Croaker Mannick arrives,

Havelock turned toward Cardona as he spoke. His lips snarled the names of the three men whom the fiends of

"Perry Trappe. Tyler Bogart. Brisbane Calbot." Havelock laughed. "They're the ones we blotted out and

He turned and faced his henchmen. Rising, Havelock waved his arm toward his uncle. Cecil Armsbury's

"This," stated Havelock, "is the silent partner. Cecil Armsbury. The man who built this crypt. The one who

planned our crimes. He has reclaimed articles which might have exposed his past. Through his cunning, we

have also gained fabulous wealth. He is the man who showed the way to obtain the mummy case of

Eager gasps came from the crooks as they heard these astounding words. Duke Larrin's aids were beginning

to realize the mammoth proportions of this crime ring. Martin Havelock, however, maintained a calm

demeanor. He knew the truth. Cecil Armsbury had not told one half the reputed value contained within the

"The jeweled Vishnu from Hyderabad." Cecil Armsbury was checking as he spoke to Fingers Keefel. "The

golden panel from the Temple of Heaven. The sacred scroll from the Kaaba in Mecca. Those were fakes

which needed to be destroyed. You performed that work, I am told. You have my thanks.

"With the mummy case of Senwosri came the antiquities which I once sold to the Egyptian Museum. That

was your work" Armsbury had turned to Brodie Brodan and Sinker Hargun "and it was well done. Those

antiquities were fakes clever ones, but liable to detection. They are to be destroyed."

"I placed them in the treasure room," reminded Martin Havelock, in an undertone. He meant the compartment

Cecil Armsbury nodded. The old man was gloating as he looked toward Handley Matson. The curator of the

"Living men have obstructed our path," resumed Armsbury. "Some of them have died. Others still live. Three

of them are here before us." He pointed to the prisoners. "They shall die all three. Living shall be dead!"

THE old man's chuckle resounded in hollow tones through the vault. It was a fiendish sign of an evildoer.

The prisoners who heard it knew that they could expect no mercy from this cruel captor.

"Living men have brought us trouble," continued Armsbury, in a dramatic voice. "Therefore they shall die.

He turned to approach the huge mummy case. While the others watched, Armsbury clawed away the loose

"Wealth from the dead!" exclaimed Armsbury, turning to face his listeners. "Senwosri, the son of Amenemhe,

brings us his gifts! The living have deserved to die. The dead deserve to live. Had I the power, I would

"That cannot be." The old man's tone seemed regretful. "So we must accept Senwosri as dead. Let us look

upon his wealth. Feast your eyes, my friends, upon the splendor that will glitter from within this casket!"

As he completed his statement, Cecil Armsbury seized the front of the mummy case and pulled it open. The

powerful wrench brought him alongside the casket, facing the men who thronged the crime crypt. That was as

Cecil Armsbury had intended. A showman in his ways of crime, he wanted to see the effect upon the

Cecil Armsbury stared at faces that showed grotesquely in the crime crypt. He had noted eager eyes; he

expected to hear gasps of elation. Instead, he was amazed by the sight of frozen faces.

Brodie Brodan's eyes were bulging. Fingers Keefel was sinking as his legs trembled beneath him. Bozo

Griffin Fritz Fursch Sinker Hargun these redoubtable lieutenants were wavering. Armsbury stared at

The crook who called himself Duke Larrin was as rigid as a statue. A look of horror showed upon his

whitened face. His gaze was centered upon the opened mummy case. Something within it had petrified the

With a snarl, Cecil Armsbury sprang forward. He wheeled and gazed in the same direction of the others

toward the opened front of the mummy case. His snarl died. He, too, stood astounded.

The figure that loomed within the mummy case was not the dead body of Senwosri, son of Amenemhe.

Instead of a whitewrapped mummy, Cecil Armsbury gazed upon a living form in black. A tall, spectral

being was surveying the crime crypt crooks with burning eyes. That penetrating gaze brought terror.

Black from head to foot. Eyes, alone, of the features that were hidden beneath the projecting brim of a slouch

hat. A form shrouded with a cloak of sable hue. Such was the terrible figure that Cecil Armsbury and the

others saw. They also viewed the threats that this living creature carried a pair of mammoth automatics that

Cecil Armsbury gasped the name that others dared not utter. In answer came a token from the opened

mummy case of Senwosri. It was a strange, weird burst of whispered mirth that rose to a crescendo within the

hollowness of the crypt; then faded to leave taunting echoes that seemed voiced by a myriad of invisible,

The laugh of The Shadow! To the startled crooks who heard it, that strident mockery came as a prophecy of

NOT one crook dared make a move. Silence reigned within the crime crypt, but the memory of The Shadow's

laugh prevailed. The Shadow had caught these fiends at a moment when they thought their safety complete.

Cliff Marsland uttered an inaudible sigh of relief. He had forgotten that his own life was at stake. He had

been chiding himself for the failure which had brought two others Joe Cardona and Handley Matson to

The presence of The Shadow had ended all thoughts of doom. That spectral visitant in black, his ready guns

looming before the terrified crooks, had the situation completely within his control. One against six; but The

Moments seemed to linger within the crime crypt. Bulging eyes stared as The Shadow's weird shape moved

forward. With a slow, gliding motion, The Shadow issued from the mummy case of Senwosri.

His tall figure in plain view, the master who battled crime whispered forth a laugh more terrifying than the

first. It was a shuddering laugh that seemed to come from everywhere. Sinister mirth pounded the eardrums

of the listening fiends. All trembled. Even Cliff and the two prisoners beside him felt the horror of that

"Living shall be dead." The Shadow's pronouncement came in a sibilant tone. "The dead has come to life to

The blazing eyes were focused upon the cringing crooks. Again an echo of The Shadow's laugh; then the

"You are murderers. Perry Trappe died through your conniving. So did Tyler Bogart. One man Croaker

"Croaker Mannick met his fate. He challenged my might. He fought me amid darkness at Tyler Bogart's

home." A pause; The Shadow's whispered laugh was throbbing at the recollection. "A fight in the darkness.

The Shadow dwells in dark! Croaker Mannick did not escape The Shadow. Croaker Mannick, man of murder,

A gesture of one automatic added emphasis to The Shadow's statement. Fingers Keefel stared, bewildered.

He remembered shots that Croaker had fired, back in Bogart's strongroom. Croaker had fought with The

"Croaker Mannick left Bogart's." The Shadow's voice was a creepy sneer. "I carried him from the spot where

he had died. His body will never be found. But I retained his famous revolver. It was I who visited the home

THE truth broke upon Fingers Keefel. He realized now the oddities of that meeting in Calbot's curio room.

He had seen Croaker Mannick there but Croaker had seemed different. Fingers recalled the pale face of the

Fingers had attributed them to nervousness on Croaker's part. He knew now that The Shadow had feigned

"Croaker Mannick placed Brisbane Calbot in the vault." The Shadow's whisper was a sibilant throb. "I was

Croaker Mannick. It was I who released Calbot I, The Shadow to carry him to safety. Brisbane Calbot

The whole truth was dawning upon all. Cecil Armsbury, a snarl frozen on his lips, was facing The Shadow

"Cecil Armsbury!" The Shadow's scoffing tone marked the crook who had backed the schemes of crime.

"Purveyor of false treasures. I learned your game; but I, The Shadow, waited. I foresaw the culmination of

crime. I sought a way to reach this crypt and take you and your minions unaware.

"I visited the Egyptian Museum! I saw your collection of antiquities. I knew them to be spurious. I learned of

the mummy cases that were coming in. I divined that they would carry living henchmen."

A gasp from the corner of the room. It came from Handley Matson. The curator of the Egyptian Museum had

gained a sudden inkling. He realized the identity of the old visitor who had called during the afternoon to see

The Shadow! He had played the part of Professor Sturgis Dilling. His package his briefcase these had

contained his black garments and his huge automatics. The Shadow, with masterful craft, had opened the

"I took the part of Senwosri." The Shadow delivered a low, ominous laugh. "The mummy and all its treasure

is safe within the locked sarcophagus where I placed it. That container supposedly empty was not

It was Joe Cardona who uttered an amazed exclamation. He realized the subtlety of The Shadow's work. The

crooks had ignored the relocked sarcophagus. So had the police. Both had passed by the real treasure.

Unstolen, the mummy of Senwosri and its fabulous accompaniment of gems and gold had never left the

The Shadow had tricked the crooks of the crime crypt with their own game! Minions of crime had been

carried into the Egyptian Museum within closed mummy cases. The Shadow, foreseeing that move, had

countered with the same scheme. Brodie Brodan's picked henchmen had served as carriers to bring The

TENSE silence reigned. The Shadow held the crooks at bay. They knew that their crimes were learned. Cecil

Armsbury's past swindles were uncovered. Murder had been exposed. The secret of the crypt was known.

Cliff Marsland, yanking one hand loose from the cord that bound his wrists, was preparing to give The

Shadow aid. Cliff had served The Shadow in situations that had held this weird intensity.

He knew the ways of cornered crooks when they faced The Shadow. First terrified; then cowed; they

invariably leaped to desperate measures when they realized that The Shadow knew all the evil which they had

Cliff's hand was free. The Shadow's agent was reaching to aid Joe Cardona. This action was unnoticed by the

crooks. Their staring eyes were all upon The Shadow. Six fiends were waiting, all with common thought.

Their hope was a way to thwart this master who held them helpless. A single spark alone was needed to

It came. Martin Havelock the redoubtable Duke Larrin was the one who led the challenge to The

Shadow's might. Facing the looming automatics, the snarling international crook was seized with sudden

A cry echoed through the crypt as Martin Havelock gave the word for mass attack. Nearest to The Shadow,

Havelock leaped forward, hurling his reckless body into the path of both The Shadow's guns!

A TERRIFIC roar exploded within the crime crypt. It was the burst of an automatic wielded by The Shadow.

Its report, caught by the vaulted room, sounded like the outburst of a mighty cannon.

The shot was fired just as Martin Havelock precipitated himself upon The Shadow. The crook sprawled as he

reached his objective. The Shadow, whirling aside, let Havelock plunge on. The crook dove head first into the

bottom of the mummy case of Senwosri. His clawing fingers only grazed the swishing cloak of The Shadow.

The Shadow never turned to gaze at Havelock's body. His shot had marked the end of Duke Larrin's career of

crime. Havelock, dead from a single bullet in his heart, offered no new threat. There were others who needed

They were coming to the fight. The roar of the automatic had brought them to swift action. Brodie Brodan

his three lieutenants all were yanking shining revolvers to fight the common foe. The delay of Martin

Havelock's plunge; The Shadow's sidestep these were factors which gave the crooks an opportunity.

Brodie Brodan, leveling his revolver, was the first to make a forward lunge. Ahead of the others, Brodie

sought to fire. The Shadow's second automatic spoke. The gang leader crumpled. The automatics continued

Bozo Griffin staggered, wounded. Vainly, the hardfaced gang lieutenant tried to fire as he backed against

Fritz Fursch, dropping to the floor, got away one shot. His hasty aim was wide. As he steadied for a second

Sinker Hargun, slowest on the draw, was the coolest in his aim. Backing toward the side door of the crypt, the

fiercest of Brodie Brodan's henchmen aimed a shot to kill. The Shadow had taken the others first, in

consequence of Sinker's slowness. Apparently, Sinker was set to beat him to this shot.

Finger on trigger, Sinker pressed. As he did, the report of his revolver was accompanied by sight of The

He never fired. The Shadow's fall had been designed. Coming a split second ahead of Sinker's shot, it had

enabled the blackgarbed master to escape the steady gangster's fire. While Sinker, thinking that he had

felled his enemy, was pointing for new delivery, another blast from an automatic sponsored new echoes

The Shadow, shooting as he crouched, was perfect in his rapid aim. Sinker Hargun slumped. His left hand

went to his body. His right arm lowered. His revolver loosened from spreading fingers. It clattered on the

stone floor of the crypt. Sinker folded; his body cracked the floor with a thud. The gangster rolled on his back

Cecil Armsbury! The chief plotter of this band of crooks had chosen different tactics than the others. His aim

was escape. Plunging across the crypt, he had taken advantage of The Shadow's activity. He had made his

A man blocked his path. Armsbury, gun in hand, found himself wrestling with an unexpected foeman who

had risen to meet him. It was Cliff Marsland. The Shadow's agent strove to hold the master plotter.

Armsbury fought with savage fury. His strength was surprising. Cliff could not wrest the revolver away from

him; but he did manage to hold Armsbury on equal footing. Together, the two struggled while The Shadow

Joe Cardona was struggling with the bonds which Cliff had partially released. The detective broke free. He

paid no heed to Handley Matson's cries for release. He could aid the curator later. Joe launched himself upon

Amazingly, the old man increased his power as his adversaries doubled. He wrenched himself free and

leveled his revolver squarely at Joe Cardona. Cliff Marsland, hurled against the wall, flung his arm upward

Cardona and Cliff leaped forward, just as Armsbury yanked open the door to the elevator shaft. A cry came

Armsbury broke away as the two men seized him. His swinging hand delivered a side clip to Cardona's head.

The detective slumped from the glancing blow of the revolver. Springing clear, Armsbury leveled his gun at

ARMSBURY'S gloating cackle ended as a burst of flame was accompanied by a roar from the crypt. The old

man's arm dropped. The Shadow, picking the only opening past Cliff Marsland's intervening body, had

Cliff seized Armsbury's gun. He dragged the old crook forward into the crypt. Joe Cardona, rising dazed, saw

that Armsbury was helpless. Joe picked up a revolver that was lying on the floor beside the body of Fingers

Cliff Marsland, standing by the door toward the elevator shaft, heard a warning hiss beside him. He turned to

find himself staring into the eyes of The Shadow. Before Cliff could nod in reply, he was drawn through the

door toward the elevator. Thrust aboard, he found himself riding up through blackness.

The Shadow had withdrawn his henchman. He knew that Cliff's status might be questioned, even though Cliff

had aided Joe Cardona. With his agent, The Shadow was departing. Death reigned in the crime crypt.

The Shadow had played his part. He had ended the reign of crime. He had saved wealth that crooks had

marked for theft. The crime crypt had been uncovered. Joe Cardona, representative of the law, was in

The Shadow had picked the exit through Armsbury's, learning of it from Joe Cardona's cry. Standing in

Armsbury's living room, he pointed Cliff Marsland toward the door. The agent nodded and hurried from the

Cliff, as he reached the corner of the nearest avenue, paused for a long breath. It was then that he heard the

whispered echo of a weird laugh a sound that seemed to come from in back of Armsbury's home.

The laugh of The Shadow! It was sinister mockery that denoted triumph. Yet to Cliff, it carried a strange note

DETECTIVE JOE CARDONA stared about him. He was in possession of the crime crypt. He realized for the

first time that The Shadow had departed; then he discovered that the prisoner who had aided him was also

Cardona had not recognized Cliff Marsland in the dim light of the crypt. He suspected that his fellow prisoner

Cecil Armsbury, alone of all the crooks, still lived. The old man, sprawled helplessly against the wall, was

weaponless. He was clutching his wounded shoulder, whimpering as though in pain.

Gasps for aid attracted Cardona's attention. The detective was forced to smile as he noted Handley Matson.

The museum curator was weakly endeavoring to release himself from the bonds which held him.

Cardona approached and aided. Handley Matson, freed, staggered to his feet. He was unsteady; his

"Look after Armsbury," ordered the detective. "Keep him covered. I'm going to see what's in here."

Cardona motioned toward the door beyond the mummy case of Senwosri. Picking up loose revolvers from

the floor, the detective approached and hacked at the lock of Armsbury's treasure room. He finally used a

The sight of glittering objects opened Cardona's eyes. Here was pelf of tremendous value stolen wealth

which Armsbury had stored away during his long career. It captured the detective's entire attention until a

Cecil Armsbury had risen weakly to his feet. Handley Matson, nervous, had made no attempt to stop him.

Cardona saw Matson go down. His revolver clattered on the floor. Armsbury scooped it up with his left hand

The bullet missed its mark. Armsbury, with fiendish strength, yanked open the side door. Cardona, firing,

sprang forward. Armsbury seemed to possess a charm against the detective's bullets. Cardona saw him

"Come on!" Cardona thrust a new gun into Matson's hand as the curator rose from the floor.

THEN, with prompt pursuit, the detective yanked open the door and revealed the long passage which

Armsbury had taken. The old crook was fleeing toward a spot of safety which Cardona had not known was in

Joe fired down the passage. His bullets ricocheted from the walls, too late to stop Armsbury's flight. The old

man had gained the other end. He was going through the panel. Cardona dashed after him and reached the

Scuffling feet sounded on stairs. Armsbury had called to Sinker Hargun's henchmen. These gangsters had not

heard the firing in which their leader had been slain. The buried crypt was soundproof.

Cardona delivered wild shots as he dashed through the storeroom, with Matson at his heels. His flashlight

showed the stairs that led above. He blazed in that direction. Return shots resounded. Then a door slammed

shut. Cardona clambered up the steps and tried to crash the barrier. It resisted.

Cecil Armsbury was explaining matters to a group of excited gunmen. He was urging them to flight; and he

pointed out the way. Across the basement was an elevator shaft. An open car stood there. The operator and

A revolver barked from a mobster's hand. The elevator man and the janitor fled for cover, leaving the car

deserted. Armsbury waved his good arm and the mobsters followed him into the lift. The door clanged. They

The door was flung open. The operator of a second elevator looked out as he saw a gunwielding gangster

spring from the car that had come from the cellar. He made a leap to stop the armed invader.

The gangster, with others at his heels, flung the elevator man aside and paused to aim at him. Then came a

sharp cry from a second mobster. The aiming man looked up. Straight ahead, framed in the outer doorway of

A FISTCLENCHED automatic barked. The murderous gangster dropped. Others raised their guns and

started fire. Automatics thundered in quick return. The Shadow's shots, aimed at the startled group, found

Three gangsters were all who could obey. Diving into the elevator, they clanged the door. The lift started up.

Armsbury uttered a cry of satisfaction. Then came a growl from a mobster, peering through the slatted side of

Armsbury peered through the slats. His lips writhed as he realized the truth. The Shadow had seized the

The shaft was designed for three elevators. The central one was not in use. Hence there was a space between

the two the one which contained Armsbury and his gangsters and the other in which The Shadow was

A mobster clicked the switch. The elevator was passing the seventh floor. Armsbury knew that the old hotel

The command was obeyed. Gangster guns were through the slats, ready to blaze The Shadow's elevator when

it came alongside. In the vague gloom of the shaft, the other car was gaining upward impetus. Its solid top

was a guard against bullets; but its slatted sides were vulnerable, beginning three feet above the floor.

Gangster guns blazed. The faster moving elevator was the target. To return the fire, The Shadow would have

to be at the slats. Bullets flattened against The Shadow's lift. Others whistled between the bars.

Growling gangsters stayed their fire as the other elevator shot by. There had been no reply. They thought that

A mobster fumbled in the darkness. He stopped the car and started its course downward. This time they could

fight their way through the lobby. Sure of safety, the mobsters were grouped against the openslatted side.

Then came thunderous roars. From the height above, the second elevator came dropping, with all control

released. The Shadow had loosed it from the topmost floor. With terrific speed, he had taken the downward

Freed from the control of the elevator, he was at the slatted sides, pouring the lead of his loaded automatics

NOT one had suspected The Shadow's ruse. They had thought as Armsbury had suggested that The

Shadow might have crouched to cover to avoid their shots. But to drop as if from nowhere, on a

Cecil Armsbury crouched to the floor as cursing mobsters dropped about him. Of a dozen shots delivered by

The Shadow, seven had passed between the slats. They had crippled the trio of mobsters in the car with

Alone capable of action, the old crook yanked the control as The Shadow's car whizzed past. Armsbury's

elevator jammed to a stop between the fifth floor and the fourth. It started upward at the old man's action on

A whistling sound wailed through the shaft. The Shadow's lift had struck the aircushion in its confined shaft

below the fourth floor. Rebounding as though shot upward by a spring, it was in new pursuit. The Shadow

Armsbury's car clicked to a stop at the twelfth floor. The old man clawed open the door. He dashed along a

short passage, up steps, and pulled open a barrier. He hurried out to the roof of Ridgelow Court. He was

Reaching a corner post at the rear of the roof, Cecil Armsbury clung there in the darkness. He was obscured

from the glare of the city's sky. He steadied his right wrist upon the cornice. Gloating; he pointed revolver at

Though capture might prove inevitable, Cecil Armsbury was determined to commit one final deed of crime.

He had reached this spot in time to await The Shadow. The moment that the blackclad avenger might appear,

Sure death with this steady aim. Armsbury's eyes were keen as they watched the whitened surface of the

door. Not even The Shadow could come there undiscovered. Armsbury's only qualm was the possibility that

The Shadow might avoid this trap. Yet the old fiend, chuckling, counted on The Shadow's daring.

The being who had come to the crime crypt in the mummy case of Senwosri, there to eliminate a band of

fierce ruffians, would certainly not avoid this challenge. In the crypt, Armsbury had chosen flight. That

course was ended. The Shadow would learn the perfection of Cecil Armsbury's calculating aim!

ON the twelfth floor of Ridgelow Court, The Shadow was standing by the very exit which Armsbury had

taken. Behind him were the open doors of two elevators: the one containing the bulletscarred gangsters

whom Armsbury had abandoned; the other, the car in which The Shadow had arrived.

There was one path which Armsbury must have taken. The Shadow knew it: through that door to the roof.

The Shadow's gloved hand was upon the door. Then came a solemn, whispered laugh from lips that were

The Shadow saw the trap. He knew the odds which Armsbury was playing. His keen eyes spied a window at

Gloved hands raised the sash. The Shadow's tall form passed through the opened window. Strong fingers

gripped an ornamental stone above the window. A long arm was thrust higher; it clutched the base of the

Clinging with one sure hand, The Shadow swung over space. His free hand joined the gripping one. Both

held the base of the cornice. The Shadow's body moved upward. A rising hand pressed powerful fingers

Both hands gained this objective. The Shadow's body reached the base. It rested firmly there; a freed hand

That hand produced an automatic. Gripping the weapon of vengeance, The Shadow raised hand and head

above the walled cornice. Clinging to his precarious perch, he turned his keen eyes in searching gaze across

The Shadow was more than a dozen feet from the door which Cecil Armsbury was watching. The old man

was hidden in the darkness of the opposite corner; but the whispered laugh which was almost inaudible told

The one spot which the villainous sponsor of the crime crypt could have chosen was that opposite corner.

There, The Shadow knew, the fiend was waiting with his gun trained on the whitened door from the twelfth

The Shadow raised head and shoulders. His automatic leveled. Here, at the front of the roof, the glow was

behind him. His slouch hat and the upper portion of his cloak formed a spectral silhouette against the glowing

A cry came from across the roof. Cecil Armsbury had spied The Shadow. Clinging to his vantage post,

Armsbury shifted aim as he realized that the door could no longer be his target. With his cry, Armsbury fired.

THE blaze of the revolver showed the old man's exact location. The bullet, though aimed in haste, was close.

It clipped the brim of The Shadow's tilted hat as it whistled past to space. Armsbury's frantic finger was

The automatic barked. The Shadow's aim was perfect. The flash of the crook's revolver was all that he had

A second cry came from Cecil Armsbury. The old man's clinging arm lost its hold. His revolver dangled,

hanging from his trigger finger. It clattered to the roof. A wail came from Armsbury's lips as the master of the

Headlong over the cornice thus did Cecil Armsbury plunge. Twelve stories downward to the courtyard

behind the old hotel; Armsbury's helpless body formed a circling, puppet figure as it dropped though

The Shadow crossed the roof. Peering from the rear cornice, his keen eyes distinguished the contorted form

of the villain who had perished. Cecil Armsbury was dead; his motionless corpse was lying on the cement

Crime from the crypt was ended. From the crypt had Cecil Armsbury fled. The Shadow, from the crypt, had

Minions of crime had perished. Duke Larrin's band of murderers and raiders were no more. Last to die had

Weird laughter sounded its triumph from atop the old hotel. Its tones reached the roof of the old mansion

Chilling, penetrating mockery! Its echoes faded with eerie irony, as though creeping through the old secluded

mansion that they might reach the crime crypt as a token of The Shadow's victory!

THE END (NOTE: Here is a description of the main characters in the story. They were placed throughout the

story in the original pulp. They have now been placed at the end of the story, so as not to interrupt the flow of

Under the guise of adventurer, worldtraveler, collector of various treasures, Cecil Armsbury has been

successful in accomplishing a masterful plot of crookedness. The victims of his evil are not aware of his

treachery not yet. But there is a time for reckoning, and Cecil Armsbury plans for such a time.

From within his own home, he acts as the master mind of this vast plot. He foresees all contingencies; he

realizes the difficulty of the task which he undertakes. But his evil mind is equal to all the situations, and his

A master crook in his own right, Duke Larrin attempts to take advantage of another master crook and there

results the most deadly combination of wickedness possible. One is a schemer beyond reproach; the other is a

crook of international reputation who is looking for new territory, new means of crime.

Duke Larrin and Cecil Armsbury, two of a kind! They pool their experience, and out of it comes a plot that is

bigger than anything any single crook could imagine. The idea is perfect; the system they plan is foolproof.

Of all The Shadow's agents, Harry Vincent is probably the most important. It was Harry Vincent who aided

The Living Shadow, long ago, in his battle against the gang of diamond thieves. But that was only after The

Shadow had saved Vincent when he was on the brink of death, and thus won his everlasting loyalty and

Vincent, as the dean of The Shadow's agents, is worthy of his post. Quickthinking, fastacting,

impressivelooking that is Harry Vincent. He follows orders, and when necessary, is able to do his own

Another lieutenant of the master crooks. Fingers and Brodie Brodan are both serving the same purpose

doing the work "up front" while the masters do their plotting behind the scenes.

One of gangland's big shots, is only an incidental lieutenant in this campaign of great crime. Nevertheless,

Although The Shadow is not an officer of the law, he fights for the law at all times, and, indirectly, is the

law's most effective agent. There was a time when the police did not believe in The Shadow, when the name

was accounted as nothing more than a myth. Even today, officially, there is no such name on the police rolls.

In all reports, it is a "person unknown" who does something which brings the police on the trail.

But to Joe Cardona, ace detective of the New York force, The Shadow is real. More than once Cardona's life

has been saved by this master fighter; more than one baffling case has been "solved" by the police because

The Shadow set the scene, gave Cardona the tip, and let this ace detective win new laurels by making a

marvelous "catch." Joe Cardona knows he owes everything, including his life, to The Shadow.

To the underworld, Cliff Marsland is a freelance fighter, a gunman of high repute. He owes allegiance to no

gang; his nerve, his gunfighting ability, make him a man in demand when big jobs are planned; and his

Cliff Marsland has a reputation. He was in the Big House on a murder charge; he has dozens of crimes

But what the underworld does not know is that the murder charge Cliff took was lifted from the shoulders of

another, and that the crimes credited to him are all trumped up. And also, that this freelance fighter who

owes allegiance to no gang is an agent of The Shadow, enemy of gangdom, and uses his builtup reputation

in order to maintain contact between the chiefs of the underworld and the king of crime avengers The

As a newspaperman, Clyde Burke is a wizard. All sources of news are open to him; his "scoops" have made

him in demand by every paper in the country. Clyde serves faithfully on the Classic, leaving his occupation

That duty, by the way, is not imposed by his newspaper superiors, but by someone else by The Shadow.

For Clyde Burke, who was once downandout, ready to give up entirely, was rescued by The Shadow. The

master who saved his life now calls it his own, to be offered up if need be. But The Shadow's agents, though

they risk their lives continuously, also have the protection of their master, the man who wastes no lives, but