THE CRIME RAY ..............................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. CRIME FROM BELOW ...................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. CRIME'S MYSTERY ......................................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. FACTS FOR THE LAW................................................................................................9

CHAPTER IV. THE CONTACT..........................................................................................................13

CHAPTER V. THE VANISHED HORDE...........................................................................................17

CHAPTER VI. THREADS TO CRIME ................................................................................................21

CHAPTER VII. THE RAY MACHINE ................................................................................................25

CHAPTER VIII. STRIFE IN THE DARK ............................................................................................29

CHAPTER IX. CRIME'S NEW DEMAND ..........................................................................................33

CHAPTER X. THE DEMONSTRATION............................................................................................37

CHAPTER XI. DARK TAKES THE SHADOW ..................................................................................40

CHAPTER XII. THE DOUBLE DILEMMA ........................................................................................43

CHAPTER XIII. THE MASTER CROOK...........................................................................................47

CHAPTER XIV. UP THE RIVER........................................................................................................51

CHAPTER XV. WESTON DECIDES ..................................................................................................54

CHAPTER XVI. THE PRISON BREAK ..............................................................................................57

CHAPTER XVII. CURBED CRIME ....................................................................................................61

CHAPTER XVIII. TORMEON SUSPECTS........................................................................................64

CHAPTER XIX. THE UNDERGROUND REALM .............................................................................67

CHAPTER XX. SHATTERED CRIME...............................................................................................70

THE cruising coupe was not the type of car to attract attention. It was a twoyearold model of an

inexpensive make; its color was a darkgreen, that passed for black as the car rolled along sparsely lighted

Even when it reached the avenue and followed it, the coupe was inconspicuous. So, for that matter, were the

car's two occupants. They had a wary way of huddling low, that driver and the man beside him, whenever

Their faces, it happened, had been mugged too often. They didn't care to show them when police were about,

for fear that some sharpeyed officer might identify them as visages that he had seen among rogues' gallery

Tonight, police were on hand in this secluded section of Manhattan. Too many of them to suit the two men in

"Take a gander through the back, Butch. See if that hackie is still tailing us."

"O.K., Jerry," returned Butch. "Keep your own eye peeled for the bulls. Seems like there's twict as many as

Jerry's grunt was one of agreement. As he piloted the car, he counted uniforms. It appeared that cops had

been moving steadily into the area centered by the Midtown National Bank. At this rate of influx, there would

That was bad enough, but Jerry knew what to do regarding the police. It was the trailing taxicab that really

As Butch gave that news, Jerry swung into another avenue. One hand on the wheel, the other on a revolver,

he sped a quick look through the window at his left. He saw the cab, gave a pleased chuckle as it continued

"Guess you figured it wrong, Butch," announced Jerry. "With that bird gone, we don't have to worry."

"What if the bulls spot us, though?" objected Butch. "There's plenty of 'em know that we work for Shag

Butch cut off. Jerry had pulled the coupe to the curb, stopping beside a subway entrance. He gave a quick

"Hop down there, Butch, and slip the dope through to Shag. Tell him I'm heading up the line to tip off the

troubleshooters. We're going to make suckers out of those bulls. That's why Shag put us on this trick."

With Butch sidling toward the subway entrance, Jerry scanned the street, saw what he expected a man in

plain clothes who looked like a headquarters dick. Shoving the coupe into gear, Jerry wheeled full about in

The maneuver accomplished exactly what Jerry intended, though he didn't look back to view the result. The

headquarters man sprang from his doorway, placed a whistle to his lips. Before blowing it, he waited, hoping

A taxi wheeled in from a side street, took the same direction as the coupe. More traffic was coming up the

avenue; pulling from a batch of trucks was the patrol car that the dick wanted. He flagged it, held a quick

conversation with the men in the car. Then the patrolling officers were on their way, with the detective

DOWN in the almostdeserted local subway station, Butch was rapping at the change window to arouse the

sleepy clerk. Traffic wasn't heavy at this late hour; the man behind the window scarcely noticed Butch's face.

He was more interested in the quarter dollar that the crook had laid on the counter.

Taking it, the changemaker slid five nickels in return. He was idling again, half asleep, when Butch went

The lights of a local were glimmering down the track. Butch was walking rapidly along the concrete

platform, as if he wanted to be far enough ahead to enter the first car. But by the time the train arrived, it was

He was seated on a handy bench, his head slumped on his shoulder. He looked like a drunken bum, who had

Doors closed; the local pulled out. Butch came to life again, made rapid paces toward the very front of the

platform. It was not a dead end; at that point a passage cut right, marked by arrows pointing to an exit on

another street. Taking the passage, Butch stopped by a barred door an exit to an office building, which was

A gun muzzle poked through a crack of the door; an eye glistened above it. Butch was recognized. The door

opened and he entered to meet the glare of flashlights. In a quick, hoarse whisper, Butch piped the news that

A flashlight gleamed along a concrete wall. It showed a rounded opening flanked by the jagged ends of steel

girders. The hole, five feet in diameter, appeared to have been made by some mighty boring machine.

Knee deep along the floor lay the remains of crumbled concrete; among the chunks was strewn a grayish

powder that glittered with bright specks of metal. Looking inward, Butch saw a deeper hole, through which a

The second cavity was more interesting than the first. It was a jagged opening, but stretched across it were

thin wires of bare copper which the crawling man lifted carefully with gloved hands as he passed through.

During the few minutes that followed, Butch and his pals heard another local rumble into the station and

depart. Then the crawler was back bringing two men with him. Guns and flashlights in readiness, the crooks

Moving out from the passage, they approached the platform of the subway station. Butch was delegated to

take a look toward the turnstiles. He poked his head out past the edge, returned it with a grin.

Butch's fellowthugs could hear the muffled approach of footsteps echoing from the vaulted depths. They

heard a voice, subdued with a recognizable gruffness. It was Butch who whispered the identity of that tone.

"Joe Cardona," said the crook. "The wise guy that's always on the job! He's shoved his snoot into trouble one

time too often! The police commissioner will be short one inspector, after we get through with this job!"

FROM a distance came the increasing rumble of another subway local. Butch took another look past the

corner, to make sure which track the train was on. He gave a quick nod to the others; they sprang into sight, a

That fire brought a rapid response from a swarthy, stockily built man who wore plain clothes and who was

backed by a squad of police and detectives, a dozen strong. Inspector Joe Cardona believed in just one

antidote for crooks when they began to shoot; his method was to answer them with a more powerful volley.

Butch and the rest were scurrying wildly through their passage when Cardona and the officers arrived.

Ducking into the shelter of the basement doorway, they rallied with a barrage that told the police that strategy

"Keep low!" shouted the ace inspector above the roar of the arriving local. "We'll have those rats out of there

Before Cardona could complete the prophecy, new shots came. A batch of passengers had sprung from the

doors of the local the instant that they opened. They were thugs with guns; the troubleshooters summoned by

Wheeling, the police returned the fire. They were quicker on the trigger than the thugs expected. Two crooks

staggered back into the train; the rest were stranded on the platform, as guards slithered the doors shut.

The local was on its way, amid the crash of breaking windows, the screams of actual passengers, who were

dropping to the shelter of the floors. The rattle of the train's departure was drowned by the bark of guns.

Again, the law had crooks on the run, but once more, rats showed purpose in their flight. Jerry and his tribe

were making for the turnstiles. Gaining them, they were in the station proper, with the shelter of corners near

Leading a rapid charge, Cardona had hopes of routing crime's new troops. He was taking his whole squad

More shots were blasting, but Cardona scarcely heard them amid the banging clatter of another subway train;

an express, coming down a center track. It was the sight of men staggering beside him that made Cardona

Butch and the crew from the basement passage were loose again, starting an attack from the front of the

platform. Trapped in the open stretch of concrete, Cardona and his squad were between two fires. Crouching,

grabbing for benches, ducking behind slender posts, they were outnumbered, confronted by death from both

Gunmen were sparing in their shots, content to snipe off police until they forced them to some mad endeavor.

Leaping into the open, he started toward the turnstiles, intending to blast his way through there, if possible.

His squad went with him, totally vulnerable to the sharpshooters at the platform's front.

All that Butch awaited was the beginning of the fray up by the turnstiles, before launching his entire crew

upon the police when the latter would be fully occupied. But something else was due before that moment.

A SHARP, blasting sound came from the speeding express train that was roaring along the center track

through the station. As if blown out by a giant puff, every light on the train was extinguished. There was a

terrific shriek of brakes; the catapulting express quivered and jounced, coming to a stop in the space of the

It was one of those emergency stops for which New York subway trains are geared; a halt that threatened to

hurl the cars from the track, by reason of its triphammer action. There were wild, trailing yells from

passengers; then the rear lights of the last car were jerking, swaying, beyond the pillars, just past the passage

Despite themselves, the crooks forgot the police and turned in the direction of the halted train. Above the

muffled shrieks from within the darkened cars, they heard a closer sound: a strident challenge that riveted

It was the mighty burst of a sinister laugh, a mockery that left no doubt as to its author or his location. In the

glow of the train's red taillamps, they saw a blackcloaked figure leaning across the swaying chains that

blocked the train's rear platform. Before they could aim, that blackclad figure vaulted the swinging barrier.

There was the momentary outline of a slouchhatted head against a ruddy light; then, like the shoulders

beneath it, the head was gone. The cloaked rider who had halted the express was dropping to the tracks

The instant that he struck the concrete roadbed, that singular arrival evidenced his presence again. He issued

his strident mirth anew, but drowned it of his own volition, with another form of challenge. From among the

pillars came the bursts of automatics, stabbing shots straight for Butch and the startled crew of thugs.

Crooks were due for battle of a sort that they had not sought. Murderous sharpshooters were confronted by

BY the mere fact of his arrival, The Shadow had brought timely rescue to Cardona's squad. Started on their

mad rush toward the turnstiles, the law's representatives drove back Jerry's crew and routed them.

Those mobbies couldn't understand why they weren't getting the cooperation that they expected. Staggering

for the street, hard pressed by the police, they were muttering imprecations meant for Butch and his outfit.

Though they didn't realize it, the crooks who reached the street were better off than those who had remained

At the platform's front, uglyfaced gunners were staggering as they fired into blackness. They couldn't find

The Shadow out there along the darkened track, but he was picking them off by the glow of the platform

The only hits that thugs registered came when their bullets clanged pillars. Those clanks of lead against steel

seemed to chime with The Shadow's laugh, the welltimed reports of his guns. He always had a post in front

Crouching low, Butch was urging his remaining men to spread. They'd get The Shadow if they used their

noodles, according to the way Butch phrased it. Yes, they'd get The Shadow, somewhere out by the central

But The Shadow wasn't along those tracks when the thugs managed to play their flashlights beyond the

pillars. Craning from the platform's edge, they were due to learn his new location from the new taste of

A gun flame knifed suddenly from below the platform's edge. One thug staggered backward, losing gun and

flashlight. Another saw the stabbing tongues, gave a triumphant shout as he leaned farther out, to aim. His cry

Crooks heard a shriek, saw the thwarted thug go sprawling to the local track. His clawing hand found a strip

That wounded mobster had plucked the third rail. He was one murderer who didn't have to wait his turn in the

electric chair. He took his burning in the sight of others, and their urge for battle suddenly lessened.

His laugh threw awe into the remaining few, as they dived for their passage. It seemed a knell for the crook

who had found a proper fate, as though the incident had been deliberately managed by The Shadow.

Taunted by ominous mirth, Butch and his pitiful pals were on the run, harried by shots that came from the

edge of the platform. Flinging his guns ahead of him, The Shadow gave a swift, sideward hoist up from the

track. Scooping his automatics, he supplied a kick to a revolver that a wounded thug was aiming. While the

gun was still clattering away from the snarling hoodlum's reach, The Shadow headed after the few who had

He overtook them before they could barricade themselves behind the basement door. One thug took a bullet

from a .45, while the others scrambled for the round hole in the wall. Before they reached there, The Shadow

was upon them; he was slashing with his guns, knowing that he would need bullets later.

Staggered by that rear attack, Butch and a last companion sank gunless. The Shadow's way was clear.

COMING to the inner gap, the cloaked victor noticed the copper wires that stretched across the cavity. But he

seemed to understand their purpose, for he issued a whispered laugh, then lifted the wires carefully with his

Through the opening, The Shadow used a tiny flashlight, found a stairway that led upward. Sight of the

The Shadow was in the basement of the Midtown National Bank. Off in the dimness, he saw safedeposit

boxes that crooks had ignored. He knew where he would find the main body of raiders. They would be

Far greater than the surprise in the subway was the consternation that The Shadow produced when he reached

the main floor of the bank. There, he saw three men in front of the vault, which showed a gaping hole like

One thug was holding a flashlight steadied on the stairway that led up from the basement, expecting pals to

arrive from that direction. When The Shadow came into the glare, all that the crook could do was to give a

The others spun about, then dived. The flashlight was flung away, leaving darkness. They were pulling guns,

shooting blindly. The flashes from their revolvers were giveaways that brought The Shadow's fire in return.

Someone pulled a light switch. The whole banking floor was flooded with brilliance. By an outer door which

had a gaping wirecrossed hole, The Shadow saw a crook he recognized: Shag Korman.

Long known as a deader of thuggish squads that worked for racketeers, Shag was supposed to have left New

York during a cleanup. Rumors had linked him with recent crimes, but The Shadow, scouring Manhattan in

search of those responsible for robberies, had gained no proof of Shag's presence until this moment.

There was no mistaking Shag Korman. Broadfaced, with hardset jaw, he had tiny ratlike eyes beneath a

bulging forehead that was topped by an uncombed mop of reddish hair. The combination was a sort that made

Shag's eyes were squinting at present. It wasn't the brilliant light that bothered them; it was blackness, in the

form of The Shadow. Shag hadn't expected the cloaked fighter to pop up in the very center of the rifled bank.

Two thugs were flanking him with drawn revolvers. Shag propelled his cronies in The Shadow's direction,

poking their gun hands upward as he shoved them. With almost the same move, he dropped away toward the

In one brief glimpse, The Shadow viewed a scene beyond. Crooks were pushing a peculiar mechanism out of

the way; it was a squatly, compact device the size of a large radio cabinet. They were making room for

others, who were passing boxes of loot through the cross wires of the gaping bank door.

Shag was yanking a gun; so were others by the door. There would be a mass attack if the two assassins failed.

Recognizing that, The Shadow did not fire as the two killers charged. Instead, he wheeled away across the

bank floor, fading shiftily in one direction, then the other, just as the pair opened fire.

They had wasted shots, before they saw The Shadow's objective. He was wheeling toward the jagged door of

the rifled bank vault, picking a spot that could serve him as a stronghold when the later attack came.

There were spread wires at that opening also, but they did not matter. The Shadow did not intend to enter the

A LOUD yell came from Shag Korman; it carried a note of expected triumph. The two crooks who had

blasted shots at The Shadow made a frenzied dive for the outer door, instead of offering further battle. Those

sudden happenings, plus the snakish feel of a thick, insulated wire upon which The Shadow trod, were

Whirling full about, The Shadow became a streak of living blackness, as he dived for the stairway that led

down into the basement. He was in retreat, inspired by a sheer, instinctive guess that Shag was about to

It came an explosion that shook the whole floor, jarring The Shadow's dart into a headlong plunge down the

marble steps. Shag had yanked a switch connected to the insulated wire. He had loosed a blast that blew the

Finding himself at the bottom of the steps, The Shadow heard a clangor from above. The explosion had set

off the alarm system connected with the bank vault. Curiously, those bells had not begun to ring when the

vault was first entered, but they were making up for their tardiness, jounced into life by the explosion. The

In his present situation, shaken by the pitch down the stairs, The Shadow was temporarily bewildered by it.

His hand clutched another thick cord, one that ran down to the bottom of the stairs.

It meant another explosive charge ready to be released; one that would blow those lower wall gaps, where

The Shadow had battled Butch's crew! It threatened doom, not to The Shadow but to others, whose shouts he

could hear. Cardona and his squad were coming from the platform of the subway station!

In that moment, The Shadow was confronted with a real dilemma. He had two choices: one, to dash out

through the lower route and hold back Cardona's men before it was too late; the other, to head up the stairs

again and prevent Shag from setting off the charge. Though the first course seemed more reasonable, The

He knew that if he reappeared, Shag might forget other matters long enough for Cardona's squad to come

through. In that case, The Shadow would have reserves at his disposal. Without an instant's hesitation, he

Before The Shadow had ascended half a dozen steps, the lower blast went off, quivering the building's

foundations. The Shadow, had he sped out to warn Cardona, would have been in the midst of the explosion

As it happened, he was safe; distant enough, upon the steps, to escape the shock of thunderous upheaval

The police were still short of the passage leading to the shattered lower walls. They were blocked from

NEW alarms were clanging when The Shadow launched himself across the deserted banking floor, intent

upon overtaking Shag and the main mob. Crooks had made good use of the short period allotted them. Except

for the few that The Shadow had felled with his first shots, all were gone, their swag and their precious

They had not broken the wires that stretched across the gaping outer door. Beyond, The Shadow could hear

the rumble of a truck, muffled in an alleyway. He didn't stop for the wires as he reached the door; he ripped

He saw the truck pulling out, men clambering aboard it. From behind it was an uncoiling wire, another of

That sight was The Shadow's cue not to halt where he was. Neglecting the safety that the doorway afforded

against gunfire, he sprang out into the alley, shooting for the rear of the truck while on the run.

One mobster lost his grip and hit the cobbles; another sprawled down into the truck. The rest ducked. Among

The explosion that came was the most violent of all. It wrecked the wall for a dozen feet on each side of the

hewn door. It seemed to jounce the cobblestones from the alleyway, for they came up in a mass to meet The

There was a blinding glare; then blackness. Yet, in the gloom, The Shadow raised himself from a sprawled

position and fired two more shots, as a warning that he still had teeth for any crooks unwise enough to return.

There was a rattle of fading gunfire from the direction of the avenue. The truck was running the thin cordon

of police. Added shots told of convoying cars, helping the escape. Then came silence, broken only by the sad,

occasional wails of police sirens, that seemed to give melancholy acknowledgment of defeat.

Like the law, The Shadow had been thwarted in his attempt to nullify crime. Nevertheless, there was

significance to the lowtoned laugh that came while he was groping from the vacated alley. That tone carried

a prophecy of future trouble for the vanished crooks. The Shadow, in fighting his way to their very midst, had

When Joe Cardona arrived in the alleyway, after a long trip around through the subway station, he found no

trace of The Shadow. The cloaked fighter had vanished, to take his own route through the night.

RALPH WESTON, police commissioner, was in a baffled mood. That was why he had left his office to seek

the comparative seclusion of the exclusive Cobalt Club. There, some moments glum, at others fuming, the

commissioner bristled to the tips of his shortclipped mustache as he poured his problems upon his friend

Calm of manner, leisurely in action, Cranston made the very sort of listener that Weston wanted. The

expression of his hawkish face was almost masklike, but he seemed to weigh all that the commissioner told

There was a good reason why Cranston liked to hear comments that Weston offered. Lamont Cranston was a

guise of The Shadow, and was therefore interested in the law's version of mysterious crimes that had reached

There was a real Lamont Cranston a biggame hunter and world traveler, and, known to him, while he was

"We have had warnings," declared Weston, "if they could be called such. Warnings before every crime. Here,

for example" he spread some typewritten letters "are communications received by wholesale jewelers,

promising them protection against burglaries if they paid the sum of one hundred thousand dollars."

"And those warnings," supplied Cranston, in an even tone, "were ignored, of course?"

"Not entirely," returned the commissioner. "We were on the lookout. But that didn't stop the three robberies

Cranston remembered those robberies. He had tried to forestall them, as The Shadow, but had gained his

"Then came these threats against the banks," continued Weston, referring to another letter. "A demand of half

a million dollars, to be paid through the New York Clearing House! We ignored it" Weston spread his

The Shadow reached for the letters. They bore the letterhead of the General Protective Association, Excalibur

Building, New York. None had signatures; simply the title of the socalled association, typewritten.

"There is no Excalibur Building," declared Weston. "All that is just a blind. If these crooks were paid, they

would still commit robberies, in my opinion. But the uncanny part of it is that we can't find a clue to them, or

As Weston spoke, he noted a mild query in Cranston's eyes. The commissioner immediately modified his

"We know who led the mob," said Weston. "We learned that last night. A crook named Shag Korman was in

it. We know that from the identities of the mobsters who were killed. All of them were linked to Shag. But

what's become of the rest? They're gone, the whole tribe of them. Completely vanished!"

The commissioner smiled at Cranston's question. In reply, Weston tapped the letters.

"These show," he declared, "that a real brain is behind the game. Some racketeer, bigger than any in the past,

has found a way to make crooks appear and vanish; to commit crimes in the twinkling of an eye. Shag is

"That robbery last night" Weston was wagging his forefinger "was highly mysterious. The crooks blew

the bank vault, the basement wall, and finally the side door of the bank. The explosions came three in a row"

he snapped his thumb and finger in rapid succession "like that! At the finish, where were the crooks?

CRANSTON'S face looked dubious, as though such events could not have happened. Weston became

"That's just what they did, Cranston! Of course, there was a lot of shooting before. But that was when they

decoyed Inspector Cardona away from the main scene. They started trouble in a subway station, to hold him

"It was. But Cardona can't be blamed. He guessed where the robbery was due, which is how he happened to

be on hand. It was a marvelous guess, Cranston, and Cardona did nearly as well with the last jewel robbery."

The Shadow remembered the crime in question. The law had beaten him to the scene by several minutes;

time enough to injure his own plans, but not soon enough to frustrate the crooks. History had, in a way,

"Cardona is playing hunches," remarked Weston, "and while I do not ordinarily approve of such a policy, I

cannot condemn it when it works. In fact, Cardona's promptness in being on the scene is the one factor that

His own mention of Cardona reminded the commissioner that he had not yet heard from his ace inspector,

although the afternoon was late. Weston went to make a phone call, leaving his friend Cranston to consider

Recent crimes, as perpetrated by Shag Korman and his followers, were still mysterious to the law. Only The

Shadow had learned one allimportant fact: that crooks had some new and amazing way of entering jewelry

stores and banks without setting off alarms. Those gaping holes, strung with wires as silent as unplucked harp

Literally, criminals knew how to pulverize steel, without injuring copper. They had cut through doors of

metal, through steel girders, which, in yielding, had caused concrete to crack and crumble with them. Yet the

In the case of the Midtown National, the crooks had worked in from the subway, finished the vault and cut

their way out to the alley, all with the aid of an intricate, rollermounted mechanism which The Shadow had

The explosions, set off later, were simply the coverup for the real method. Those blasts had left the police

baffled by what they considered to be a rapid entry, robbery, and escape, completed in a very few minutes.

There was another mystery, however, that intrigued The Shadow, and in this case the law knew more than he

did. Although his secret agents had been checking with The Shadow, looking for places where crime was

Commissioner Weston attributed it to Cardona's hunches, and really believed what he said. The one man who

The Shadow did not agree that Joe's hunches were good enough to work twice in succession. He was

convinced that the stocky inspector had something up his sleeve beside a brawny arm.

While considering that problem, The Shadow saw Weston returning, accompanied by Joe Cardona, who had

evidently just arrived at the Cobalt Club. There was a third man with them; reverting to his pose of Cranston,

The Shadow studied the arrival and identified him. The man was Morton Delcott, a prominent financier and

WORRIMENT showed on Delcott's long, thin features. Seating himself, he adjusted his pincenez spectacles

and used a handkerchief to mop his baldish forehead. Finally smoothing his scant gray hair, Delcott turned to

"So I called headquarters and told Inspector Cardona about the letter. He suggested that I meet him here."

"A good suggestion," approved Weston. He passed a letter across the table. "Look at this, Cranston."

The letter was from the General Protective Association, announcing that Delcott's properties were threatened

and that they would be protected against harm in return for monthly payments of five thousand dollars, to be

"That would mean sixty thousand dollars a year," spoke Delcott, in a horrified tone. "Why, in five years it

Though Delcott was reputedly a millionaire, the size of the demand apparently overwhelmed him. That was

quite understandable. The letter called for cash; most of Delcott's wealth was tied up in the properties he

Weston remarked that it was odd that the crooks did not ask for a lump sum. Cardona had a theory regarding

"They probably figure that five thousand a month will cover their running expenses," said the inspector.

"After last night, Shag Korman will have to pay guys plenty, to stick with his mob. Don't worry, Mr. Delcott"

Momentarily, Delcott looked relieved; then he pointed out that the letter promised immediate trouble if he did

"How are you going to answer them?" he demanded. "Did you ever hear of the Excalibur Building, where the

"Neither did anyone else," added Cardona. "So just forget it. We'll look after your properties for you."

"I'll send you a list, inspector," promised Delcott, "naming all the properties which I own, or in which I have

Cardona's words were so emphatic that both Weston and Delcott showed surprise. There was a flicker of keen

interest from the eyes of Lamont Cranston, for The Shadow had an immediate idea that Cardona was about to

Instead, Cardona was merely holding those cards closer to his chest. He wasn't going to give away the source

of his socalled hunches. His next words were a bluff, though only The Shadow recognized it.

"I've got a line on the bigshot," asserted Cardona. "He knows it, and he won't make a move. I went up to see

him this afternoon, but he wasn't around. He'll know that I was there, though. That guy is Philip Tormeon."

The Shadow had expected Cardona to end with that name. Philip Tormeon, a few years ago, had been classed

as a racketeer, until the rackets had been broken. Then it had developed that Tormeon wasn't a racketeer at

Indicated with various others in a dozen crooked enterprises, Tormeon alone had met the charges and won

out in court, despite the efforts of the district attorney's office to convict him. His relations with persons

connected with the rackets had been legitimate business transactions, nothing else.

Since then, Tormeon had been a silent partner in many honest enterprises, a fact which Cardona promptly

"TORMEON sings a good song," stated Joe. "He says he can't tell us the names of the companies that he has

backed, because it might hurt their business. When you slice that thin, it's baloney. The real answer is that

"He's a prize racketeer, that guy! The only one big enough to be staging a game like this. There's plenty of

mobbies who have worked for him, though he won't admit it; and get this! one of those crooks was Shag

To prove his statement, Cardona brought a batch of papers from his pocket signed statements, bearing the

names of smallfry crooks who testified to Shag's former connection with Tormeon.

"Others worked for Tormeon," added Cardona, "but only Shag is left. The rest are either dead or up the river.

We've found out that Shag did the heavy work on those robberies. So that tells us that the big brain is

Commissioner Weston arose, clapping a congratulatory hand upon Cardona's shoulder. Turning from one

"We have found out what we need to know. The man that we must have to watch is Philip Tormeon."

One listener disagreed, although he nodded. Behind the calm pose that he adopted when passing as Lamont

UPON leaving the Cobalt Club. Joe Cardona noticed that the afternoon was cloudy, a fact that promised an

early dusk. Lately, the ace inspector had preferred early darkness. He decided that by the time he had spent an

The only person who entered Cardona's office after Joe arrived there was Fritz, the janitor a pastyfaced,

scrawny fellow who had a habit of muttering to his mop and bucket while he cleaned the place. But when

From the side corridor where he was mopping, Fritz moved down a stairway and left his mop and bucket

beside a locker. From the locker itself, he scooped a black cloak and a slouch hat. Donning those garments,

he reached the street and sidled into a waiting taxicab, while Cardona was entering another.

It wasn't an easy route to follow. Cardona left one cab and took another: later, he transferred to an East Side

elevated. By that time, The Shadow had changed his makeup. He left his cab and took the same train as

The cab tagged along the street, from station to station, arriving at one just in time for The Shadow to board it

The inspector didn't squander much money on his cab hops, as all of the trips were short. The Shadow finally

trailed him on foot through a squalid neighborhood, where Cardona entered a little door behind a store and

There, he knocked at a door, was admitted into a darkened room. As soon as the door was closed, The

Shadow appeared from the dimly lighted stairway and began to work on the lock. Muffled clicks told that his

Meanwhile, Cardona had reached an unlocked inner room which was rather well furnished, considering the

neighborhood. Among other things, the room had a telephone, and the man who had admitted Cardona sat

He was a scrawnylooking chap and nervous in manner. Cardona met the flashes of beady eyes, the twitch of

lips that were almost as white as the fellow's face. That didn't particularly surprise Cardona. Squeak Wembry

"They'd croak me, Joe!" he was voicing earnestly. "Honest they would, if they even thought I was a stoolie!

"Not a chance," assured Cardona, gruffly. "Just because they've got the phone tapped isn't any proof that

Squeak showed some relief. He probably figured that a tapped telephone wire meant that other precautions

"Guess you're right, Joe," he said. "Shag don't know I'm blabbing. It's lucky, though, that The Shadow was in

"Let him," acknowledged Cardona. "What I want to know is, when's the next job coming? Once I get a real

THE prospect pleased Squeak. In his eagerness to talk, he did not notice that the door from the outer room

was easing inward, nor did Squeak spy the long stretch of blackness that appeared upon the floor, creeping

"They're going out again tonight," informed Squeak, "if Shag can get enough of a mob together. I looked over

"About an hour ago, the last time. I guess he'll call again, to ask some questions. He usually does."

"A warehouse," replied Squeak. "Here's the name of the place, and the layout. There's only one way he can

Cardona considered the rough diagram that Squeak showed him. An idea struck home to Joe.

"How are they going to clean out the place?" he demanded. "It takes time to do a job like that."

"I don't know," admitted Squeak. "They did a hurry job on the bank, though, after they blew the works."

Cardona grunted. He wasn't sure that the Midtown National robbery could be attributed entirely to dynamite.

"Maybe it belongs to a fellow named Morton Delcott," persisted Cardona. "Ever hear of him?"

"Let's get back to things we've talked about before," decided Cardona. "Where does the mob go to, with the

"I told you I don't know, Joe," whined Squeak. "Shag has me on the outside as a lookout. He wouldn't let me

"No," replied Squeak. "He just let the guy's name out once, while he was talking over the phone. But there's

Cardona nodded. He knew the "guys" that Squeak mentioned. Their names were signed to the statements that

Joe had shown up to the commissioner. But Cardona needed more than that to pin the goods on Philip

Tonight, he hoped to capture either Shag Korman or men close to the mob leader, fellows like Jerry or Butch.

Unfortunately, those two had not been alive when Cardona caught up with them last night. Jerry had taken

too many bullets near the turnstiles, while Butch had been crushed by the underground explosion in the

WHILE Cardona pondered over matters, a patch of blackness receded from the floor. Squeak caught a

fleeting glimpse of the sliding gloom as it trickled into the darkness of the outer room. In a pouncing fashion,

Cardona snapped his Police Positive from his pocket. Followed by Squeak, he stalked into the outer room,

"Mebbe the guy went through," faltered the stoolie. "He could've snook out the door."

Squeak answered the question with a nod. Cardona stepped to the door and tried it. As he turned the knob, his

hand blocked off his own view of the key below, while his body hid the key from Squeak's sight. The key

was moving, turned by thin pliers from the other side of the lock. Neither Joe nor Squeak heard the slight

"Locked tight," announced Cardona, referring to the door. "You'd better shake those jitters, Squeak. I'll stick

The call came much sooner than Cardona expected it. Squeak answered it in competent fashion. After a brief

conversation with Shag, the stoolie hung up and turned to give Cardona a quick nod.

"They're starting out," informed Squeak. "You've got plenty of time to box 'em, Joe. Only, don't let nobody

With due regard for Squeak's welfare, Cardona walked a few blocks after leaving the hideout. There, he

Confident that he had not been observed, Cardona was sure that no harm would come to Squeak. In his own

turn, Cardona didn't want the stoolie croaked. Squeak Wembry was too valuable. He was the factor behind

Chuckling as he rode by taxi, Joe Cardona decided that after tonight, Commissioner Weston would never

again express doubt regarding hunches. Cardona had kept his meetings with Squeak an absolute secret; no

Cardona was still considering Squeak's recent fright to be a case of jitters. It didn't occur to Joe that Squeak

Meeting the flying squad, Cardona held a huddle, then started for the warehouse, a huge windowless structure

on the East Side. Dividing the squad into two groups, he posted one at each end of the street that had the

blind alley in the center. Then, with one man from each group, Cardona started a personal foray.

His plan was that he and the two men with him should investigate the alley. If mobsters had arrived there, Joe

and his companions could quickly summon the others. But if crime had not started, the game would be to lie

ALL was black and silent in the alley. Probing along the side walls, Cardona whispered for his companions to

join him. He even decided that it would be safe to risk a flashlight, here in the gloom where blank walls

practically surrounded them. But with the first blink of his light, Cardona stiffened.

He heard a whisper a strange, ominous whisper that seemed to creep from nowhere.

The men beside Cardona gripped their guns. They, too, had caught that tone. Its words were

indistinguishable, but its sibilance carried a note of warning. Cardona recognized its import, for he had heard

Repressed to a subdued tone, the whisper seemed to come from beyond the inner wall of the alleyway, which

Cardona and his companions had not yet reached. That made it all the more uncanny, for, in effect, it was

Cardona could not explain how any tone, even The Shadow's could pass through several feet of masonry

supported by skeleton steel. He sensed that if he glared his flashlight in that direction, he might have the

answer. But The Shadow's warning distinctly concerned the light that Cardona carried.

Extinguishing the light, the inspector thrust back his men. He started them toward the mouth of the alley. The

retreat was timely, for they hadn't gone a dozen steps when a roaring sound broke loose within those very

depths from which The Shadow had spoken. It was the noise of a motor and hard upon its rumble came a

Realizing that he and his companions were caught in that huge glow, Cardona spun about; staring into the

illuminated alley, he saw the looming whiteness of the warehouse. Near the base was a jagged hole, large

They were the headlamps of a truck deep in the warehouse headed for the gaping exit through the solid wall.

Crime had struck earlier than Cardona anticipated. He had arrived in time to learn the secret that crooks had

hitherto preserved from the law; the fact that they could hew their way through steel, without benefit of

That truck was manned by thugs who evidenced themselves with gleeful howls, louder than the motor's roar.

Ready for their getaway, they were happy at the chance to crush the puny victims who blocked the path.

While Cardona and his two companions stood riveted with amazement, the truck roared forward like a

AT the moment of the truck's forward lurch, it seemed that no human power could have stayed the murder

that crooks intended. Though warned by The Shadow, Cardona and his men were still a few yards short of the

street where safety lay. Turning, they started a mad dash from the alley, an effort as hopeless as it was frantic.

They didn't see what happened behind them, but they heard the strident laugh that came from the alley

Into the path of the highpowered truck whirled a blackclad figure. The Shadow was just inside the gaping

wall, a spot that he had reached when Cardona and the others had arrived. Wheeling straight for the truck, he

was jabbing shots with an automatic, as if he expected those tiny pellets to halt the massive vehicle of

The truck was upon him. For an instant, The Shadow was lost beneath its lunging radiator. Then, as if lofted

by a hidden spring, he was over the front. Feet on the bumper, he had caught the radiator cap with his free

hand. He was toppled backward, jarred by the impact, but the truck's own momentum gave him balance.

Flattened along the hood, The Shadow opened fire pointblank at the face of the truck's driver Shag

The windshield was bulletproof, but it cracked as the slugs hit it. With the glass blurring before his eyes,

Shag dropped low behind the wheel, shoving the brake pedal as he went. He was shouting for his pals to dose

The Shadow with bullets of their own. Half a dozen guns bristled from the truck's sides and began a

With those revolver spurts, The Shadow had gone below the level of the radiator. Snarling, Shag realized

what the blackcloaked fighter had accomplished. By mounting the truck before it attained full speed, he had

diverted Shag from the original purpose of mowing down Cardona and two other helpless men.

Shag couldn't sight The Shadow. He thought that the cracked windshield was the reason. He figured that it

was The Shadow's turn to be running from the alley. Lunging the truck forward, Shag roared it out to the

street; his head skewed to one side, he was getting the clear vision that he wanted.

Still, he didn't see The Shadow, not until he gave the truck a hard veer. That was when a long, black shape

flung itself across the glare of one headlight, to blend with the darkness of the opposite curb.

Crouched low, The Shadow had ridden the front bumper during that roaring trip from the alley! Shag himself

GUNS were talking from the street. Shag's mobbies dropped below the steel sides of the semiarmored truck,

to ignore that fire while they whizzed away. Cars were speeding in from the corner, and they weren't police

They were thugmanned automobiles, meant to pick up crooks who had been assigned to blast the warehouse

wall and make a getaway later. Dropping for the shelter of the alley that had so lately been a spot of death,

Shots answered, not from the cars but from the warehouse. Attracted by the gunfire, the men who were to

blow the wall had dropped that duty, to join the battle in the street. Forced to turn and meet them, the three

officers were in the same unenviable situation that Cardona had been in the night before. Joe's only hope was

Mowing down the few who blocked the route through the alley, the officers once again were protected from

enemies at their backs. Guns were spurting from all along the street opposite the warehouse alley; the shots

were directed at the thugs who manned the cars, and they were fully occupied in giving reply.

The Shadow had posted his picked agents in doorways opposite, while he had made a lone trip into the

warehouse. Competent marksmen all, the agents were making it hot for Shag's reserve crew. Almost with one

Though pursued by one police car that came roaring after them, the crooks overtook the other while it was

battling with the truck. Soon, cars were tangled in a jam that filled the narrow street, a few blocks from the

Softened by their setto with The Shadow's agents, the mobbies were no match for the police at closerange

fire. They went staggering, sprawling along the street as they deserted their cars; but, like all of Shag's thugs,

Only one crook weakened, and flung his arms up to surrender. He received a shot from a dying thug who

propped himself up from the curb. Again, crime's secrets were to be preserved, so far as this batch of thugs

was concerned. They were sworn to accept death in preference to capture, and to make sure that others did

BLOCKS away, the rumbling truck was traveling at breakneck speed, carrying Shag Korman and a crew of

crooks who were still intent upon escape. If they managed to elude pursuers, they could count tonight's crime

a victory, for their truck was loaded with spoils from the warehouse, and it carried the mysterious machine

At intervals, cars wheeled in behind the truck, then sped ahead of it, signaling as they passed that no

followers were on the trail. Those same cars would round the blocks ahead and come back to perform their

All the while, the truck was zigzagging from side streets to new avenues, changing its course in a most

confusing style. It seemed, actually, that no followers were on the trail, but thugs were wrong in that surmise.

Several blocks behind, a taxicab was tracing the truck's course. Its canny driver, Moe Shrevnitz, one of The

Shadow's agents, was taking orders from his blackclad chief, who rode as passenger with drawn guns.

Spotting the tactics of the coverup cars, The Shadow had matched them. He was trailing the reserve crews,

Finally, the flocking cars crossed an avenue. The cab was following them, when The Shadow gave a quick

order that brought an understanding nod from Moe, the taxi driver. Far up the avenue, The Shadow had spied

the truck dodging among other traffic. This was where the reserve cars were supposed to drop off.

Moe jammed the brakes. With a quick reverse, he swung the taxi back into the avenue and dodged through

traffic to resume the truck's trail. Within a dozen blocks, the cab was close enough for The Shadow to spy

faces peering from the slitted section above the truck's high side. In lowtoned command, he told Moe to

Rather than resume battle at this spot, The Shadow hoped to trail the truck to its ultimate destination, to learn

where crooks had their mysterious lair. This wasn't the first time that they had gone on a vanishing expedition

with a truckload of loot. Abandoned trucks had been found afterward, but the swag had never been traced.

Two blocks farther along, The Shadow's wellformed plan was disturbed by intervention that he did not

Shrieking in from a side street came a police car; in answer to its siren came another wail from up the avenue.

The truck veered like a frightened hippopotamus, and went lunging blindly down a side street.

Members of Cardona's flying squad had spotted the truck's license number and had sent out a general order to

halt it. They had probably described the truck, too, judging by the promptness with which the patrol car had

ROARING southward on another avenue, the truck was being overtaken by a pair of patrol cars, while The

Shadow's taxi tactfully kept to the rear, its cloaked director hoping to again regain his former opportunity to

Slats had dropped at the rear of the truck. Crouched low, crooks were announcing themselves with revolver

shots and the police were giving answer. That fire was haphazard, producing no real damage to either faction,

but it was accomplishing something of advantage to the crooks. They were preventing the police cars from

Their object was uncovered when other cars wheeled in from side streets. Those cars were the protectors that

had left a while before. The truck had doubled back, to pick them up again. The emergency measure

Cutting in at a spot where half the avenue was blocked for repairs, the reserve cars let the truck go through,

Guns were busy, warily. These crooks wanted to escape and knew they could, for they outnumbered the

police. The patrol cars, in turn, were backing away. Halting the taxi, The Shadow opened a longrange fire

that helped the officers to retreat. Moe, meanwhile, was crouched below the wheel, one eye cocked through

He was informing The Shadow that it had stalled only two blocks ahead, under the shelter of an old elevated

Before Moe had time to report more, the reserve crooks suddenly fled, shooting their sedans through the free

half of the avenue. The patrol cars started after them, The Shadow's taxi followed.

At the first street, the sedans veered from the avenue, as if in a last effort to act as decoys. The police cars

were not fooled. They kept straight ahead, for they saw the truck getting under way and thought they would

The Shadow saw it, too. He spied men hoisting up the back that they had lowered, to cover the same machine

that he had glimpsed during the bank robbery. In that instant, he understood why the truck had pretended to

He spoke a grim word to Moe. The taxicab launched forward with whippet speed. It overtook the patrol cars,

which were racing side by side toward the looming structure of the abandoned elevated, only a quarter block

Through the connecting window to the front seat came The Shadow's hand, to grip the wheel and jerk it hard

to the right as Moe, for once, found his nerve falter. The driver, however, did the rest. He hoisted his foot

from the accelerator, slamming it to the brake pedal as the cab took its sudden veer.

Their own brakes shrieking, the police cars also swerved, forced to the curb by the surprise action of the cab.

Three cars jounced across the sidewalk under the very fringe of the elevated structure. The taxi smashed a

plateglass window; one patrol car ripped a broad doorway into splinters, while the other wrecked itself in a

But the sounds of those crashes, the jounces that shook the occupants of the three cars, were as nothing

compared to the terrific din that followed, nor the destruction that they escaped, thanks to The Shadow's

With a mighty din, the elevated station collapsed. Descending to the street along with tons of steel that

supported it, the ancient structure shook the paving with the force of an earthquake shock. Criminals had used

their pet machine to ruin those supports, hoping that the deluge would bury the pursuers who were on their

The Shadow had seen the elevated structure totter. At the last instant, he had veered his own car and two

others from its path, stopping them a dozen yards short of the collapsing tons of metal that would have

Again a horde of crooks had vanished, to regain their mysterious hideaway, carrying their crime machine,

and another enormous load of loot. But they had failed in their endeavor to crush their superfoe, The Shadow!

Amid the echoes of the clashing, tumbling steel came the tone of a strange, triumphant laugh from the

JOE CARDONA had guessed right about the warehouse. It belonged to Morton Delcott, as the police

Though his own loss had been small, confined only to the damage of the warehouse, Delcott was highly

perturbed over the robbery. Silks, tapestries, and other merchandise to the value of some fifty thousand

dollars had been stolen, and Delcott feared that merchants would remove their goods from several other

The loss in storage rentals would in that case total quite a few thousand dollars a month, more than the crooks

No public mention had been made of the letter that Delcott received. That fact, Weston explained, made

crime's threat a general one, not something that involved a specific individual. There had been no loss of

public confidence in jewelry stores and banks after the previous robberies; hence Delcott would have no

Of course, the threat still existed; but the commissioner now had a complete list of Delcott's holdings and

intended to guard the properties. Moreover, the law had acquired important evidence that made it unlikely

In proof, Weston produced an envelope and poured out a quantity of grayish powder specked by tiny flakes

"Samples from the warehouse wall," he explained. "We are having them analyzed. The experts have

promised us an accurate opinion by late this afternoon. They agreed that the criminals have found some way

Delcott offered the objection that the warehouse wall was constructed of concrete.

"Its core was structural steel," corrected Weston. "The steel was powdered by the action of some penetrating

force, that caused the concrete to crumble. Suppose you meet me at the club, Mr. Delcott, some time after six

With Delcott gone, Weston and Cardona discussed another phase of the robbery. Last night, the crooks had at

least been up to usual form in two important respects. They had taken bulky goods along with lighter loot,

"What gets me," admitted Cardona, "is the amount of stuff they lugged away. The truck must have been

loaded to the roof. It was like that jewelrystore robbery, where they took about half a ton of tableware that

The phone bell rang as Cardona completed his statement. Answering the ring, Weston held a brief

"The man that we must question," decided the commissioner, "is Philip Tormeon. His former connection with

"Tormeon has gone out of town," objected Cardona, glumly. "He's smart enough to have an alibi for

"He hasn't ducked out," returned Weston. "He will be at his apartment at three this afternoon, and we are to

"Cranston's doing," chuckled Weston. "Remember what you said about Tormeon how he was putting up the

bluff that he was in legitimate business? Well, Cranston decided to sound him out, and did. Tormeon was

more than pleased to hear from a millionaire who wanted to talk over some new enterprise."

"Yes. But we are going along" Weston's smile was broad "despite Cranston's protest. Meet me at the

PROMPTLY at three o'clock, the visitors were admitted to Tormeon's apartment, which occupied the entire

fourth floor of an old brownstone residence in the nightclub district. Going up in the slowmoving

"Tormeon owns this whole building," informed Joe. "He rents out the doctor's office on the ground floor and

all the other apartments, except his own. At least, that's what Tormeon says; but my bet is that the whole

"Could these apartments be hideouts?" he questioned. "For crooks like Shag Korman? There must be a fake

"I've checked on the whole place," he said glumly. "Everybody has a clean bill of health. I still think they're

in with Tormeon, but only to help his alibis. He's smart enough to keep his mobbies some place else.

"You're watched, though, the moment you show up here. We wouldn't have gotten past the street door, if Mr.

Cranston hadn't walked up alone. We pulled a smart stunt of our own, arriving in a cab right when he was

Cardona was right. The moment that they knocked at the door of the fourthfloor apartment, it opened and

the visitors were greeted by Tormeon in person. The exracketeer was tall; his face as dark except for its

glistening teeth, which shone like his sleek black hair when he tilted his head back to laugh.

Tormeon's mirth was silky. His hand clasp gave an impression of smoothness. His laugh changed to a purred

"Good afternoon, commissioner, and you, inspector. I should have warned you, Mr. Cranston" he clapped a

friendly hand upon The Shadow's shoulder "that these bloodhounds would trail you here. I knew they

"When I phoned here this morning," he declared, brusquely, "they said that you were going out of town."

"So I was," purred Tormeon. "I changed my mind. We all have that privilege, commissioner."

The jab was a neat one. If any man in New York had been changing his mind with the speed of a jumping

jack, Weston could claim the honor. Recent crimes had kept the police commissioner busy giving orders and

"Come into the office," suggested Tormeon. "Through this way" he was turning toward the rear of the

The collection, which occupied two rooms, consisted of statuary, paintings, ship models, and a host of other

curios that Tormeon had put about in hodgepodge fashion. Eyeing the medley, Cardona looked for silver

plate, silken hangings and tapestries, the spoils of recent robberies. None were in sight.

Tormeon must have noticed Cardona's appraisal, for when they reached his mahogonyfurnished office, he

"Bills of sale," announced Tormeon, smoothly, "for all the stuff that you saw coming through. When I see

Having thus disposed of Cardona's suspicions, Tormeon concentrated upon Weston. He seemed to recognize

"YOU'RE wondering where the money comes from," remarked Tormeon, suavely. "I'll show you,

commissioner" he tapped a bell as he spoke "provided that you keep it confidential."

An attractive, redhaired girl answered the bell, bringing a folder from a filing cabinet. She came from a little

side office, where the visitors could hear the click of typewriters, telling that other secretaries were busy with

The girl stood by, smiling along with Tormeon, while he drew papers from the file and passed them to the

Here were signed documents that proved Tormeon's ownership of a dozen legitimate businesses that operated

under other names. The exracketeer controlled a small chain of restaurants, owned two theaters outright, and

Most intriguing was the fact that he owned two rival night clubs, both within sight of his apartment. Both

places were doing good business, due chiefly to the fact that their supposed owners were at odds. Tormeon

"Everybody likes a feud," he remarked, as he sat back to puff his thin cigar. "Particularly on Broadway. So I

let the Cafe de Paris fight it out with Club 33 and I take the profits from both. This young lady" he gestured

toward the smiling redhead "can tell you all about it. She's Dixie Mayland, and she's worked in both

Only Lamont Cranston seemed unamazed by the details that Philip Tormeon had disclosed. Facing across the

"I remember you, Miss Mayland. I thought that when you left Club 33, you were going on tour to the coast."

"She knew the inside of the business," declared Tormeon, "and she has brains. The way I run things, I can't

He replaced the papers in the folder and handed it to the redhaired secretary. Ignoring Weston and Cardona,

"None," replied The Shadow, in the calm tone of Cranston. "Any enterprise that I could suggest would be

superfluous, considering those in which you are already engaged. My congratulations, Mr. Tormeon, upon

AFTER dinner, that evening, Commissioner Weston was still talking about the visit to Tormeon's. Morton

Delcott had come to the Cobalt Club and was waiting there, along with Lamont Cranston, for Cardona to

"Tormeon is smarter than we thought," decided Weston. "Far smarter! Which simply convinces me" he

pounded the table as he spoke "that he is the man behind this super crime! He denies, of course, that Shag

"But we have proof to the contrary, and let me add this: if certain other criminals of Shag's type were still at

large instead of being in the penitentiary, where they belong, we would have a terrific battle on our hands.

"There are half a dozen who were associated with Tormeon. Indirectly, of course, which makes it impossible

for us to supply the needed proof. But Shag's case is enough. We know that he hasn't the brain to think out the

Before the commissioner could resume his tirade, Joe Cardona arrived. There was something triumphant in

his air, enough to make him forget his usual pokerfaced manner. Under his arm Cardona had a large

envelope, which obviously contained the technical reports; but he didn't open it.

Instead, he produced a smaller envelope and shook some grayish powder on the table cloth, exactly as

"We've found the key to the thing, commissioner," stated Cardona, unable to control his enthusiasm. "It's

Weston stared at the gray substance, with its minute sparkles, as if expecting the powder to come to life and

"Those little crystals," added Cardona, picking up some of the glistening particles with his fingertip "what

Weston decided that they were fragments of steel that hadn't disintegrated. Delcott thought that they were

impurities from the shattered concrete. Cranston alone offered no theory, but behind his masklike face his

From Cardona's use of the term "crystals," plus the inspector's enthusiastic manner, The Shadow could have

Holding his finger so that the dustlike particles glittered brilliantly in the light, Joe Cardona announced:

TO Commissioner Weston, Cardona's statement was one that called for new amazement; not because he

believed it, but because he thought his ace inspector had gone crazy. His concern faded, however, when

The experts agreed that the shiny particles were diamonds, and from that they had drawn several conclusions,

"I spent a couple of hours getting this dope straight," said Cardona. "Let me explain it, the way I finally got it.

The diagram illustrated dozens of short lines, interlocked. Some were black, others lighter, and they all

"This is a cross section of a chunk of steel," explained Cardona. "Those lines represent iron crystals and

carbon atoms. I forget which is which, but it doesn't matter. Anyway, they're keyed, the way they now stand.

"If you could unlock them, they'd fall apart and that's just what happened when Shag and his mob got to

work with their machine. Here, take a look at this second diagram" Cardona turned up the bottom half of

The second diagram showed tiny black squares, which represented endon views of iron fragments. The

"Black's iron," recalled Cardona, "and white's carbon. I remember; that's it. The gray powder is what's left of

the iron, and the carbon formed diamond crystals. Metal sand and diamond dust is what it all amounts to."

"No." Cardona shook his head. "Theoretically, one expert said, enough heat would force the carbon atoms

into new alignment, but it would have to be under a pressure heavier than anyone can produce. They've used

"The only guess is that the crooks are using the concentrated action of some ray, that shakes up the carbon

particles like a lot of sand settling in a jar. It's a matter of high frequency, not power. If there's only two ways

Weston had to agree that Cardona was using good logic. The commissioner wasn't convinced, though, that

there were two ways of doing it. He argued that if a heat process was considered to be practically impossible,

"It isn't an unknown ray, though," returned Cardona, bringing out a yellowed newspaper clipping. "Read this,

commissioner. Here's a fellow named Simon Zurm who has been studying the actions of the cosmic ray. He

said a couple of years ago that it was capable of producing reactions on certain metals."

"That's what we haven't found out yet," replied Cardona. "But the expert who had this clipping says we ought

to be able to locate him. Zurm used to go up in some of those stratosphere balloons, just so he could study the

MORTON DELCOTT was leaning forward eagerly, trying to get a word into the conversation. He found his

"I know where Zurm is!" exclaimed Delcott. "He has a special laboratory in the National Science Institute. I

was one of the contributors to the institute when it was founded, ten years ago. Zurm has been mentioned in

"Not that I remember," replied Delcott. "The reports simply said that he was designing a new apparatus to use

on a stratosphere flight. His work was delayed by a fire in the institute, several months ago. Some of his

"We ought to look into that," decided Weston. He turned to Cardona: "Call the institute, inspector."

"It wouldn't be open this late," objected Delcott. "But I think I can reach the director at his home. Suppose I

Delcott was back soon with the news that the director was out to dinner but was expected back within half an

hour. During the interval, Weston began to go over the technical reports in detail. The only person who

Remarking that he would be in the reading room, he strolled out through the foyer. Stopping at a telephone

booth, he dropped his character of Cranston and became The Shadow, in voice, at least, as he talked by

telephone to his contact man, Burbank. To Burbank, The Shadow gave specific instructions for certain

Twenty minutes later, Cardona found Cranston in the reading room. In a voice too low to disturb the fussy

"Delcott talked to the institute director. He says that Zurm works evenings in his lab. Delcott called there, but

Zurm didn't answer. He's probably out eating, too. We're going to try again, and if Zurm doesn't answer, we'll

"He'll have to like them," returned Cardona. "Anyway, we can forget that worry until we get there."

THERE was a significance to Cranston's remark that Cardona did not catch. A visitor had already arrived at

the National Science Institute, which stood a few miles north of the Cobalt Club.

The institute building was a squatly structure, which had never been completed beyond a few stories. It had

been started in a day when funds were plentiful, but had suddenly run short of contributions.

Lights from barred basement windows showed that someone was in the place, which was why the visitor,

Clyde's summons was suddenly answered by a peakfaced, stoopshouldered man who eyed him

suspiciously. Clyde introduced himself as a newspaper reporter, which he actually was.

Wisefaced, and wiry of build, Clyde looked like a typical representative of the press, and when he showed

"You're the chap I want to talk to," said Clyde. "You gave an interview once, regarding the reaction of metals

to the cosmic ray. We thought maybe it would make a timely story for the Classic."

Zurm's reply to Clyde's question was a headshake. The inventor was leading the way to a flight of stairs that

Halfway down the stairs Zurm stiffened, clutched Clyde's arm. In a highpitched tone, the inventor

"At the time of the fire, some months ago," responded Zurm. "The smoke drove me out. When I returned to

my laboratory, I found my equipment damaged; there were burned papers that I thought were my plans. But

They were at the door of the laboratory; as soon as they had entered, Zurm bolted it behind him. There was a

rear door, also bolted, and Clyde observed that the windows were barred. The room, itself, was rather bare.

Although Zurm peered about suspiciously, he had little reason to do so, because there were no hiding places

Zurm led the way into an inner room, peering about as he entered. This room was smaller, and had no

furniture of any consequence, except for an apparatus in the very center. It stood on an openslatted crate that

served as a table, and one look at the machine convinced Clyde that it was the type of device used in recent

It answered the description of the machine which The Shadow had seen crooks use twice: once, at the

Midtown National Bank; again, when the elevated station had collapsed. It was larger than the apparatus that

had been employed for crime, judging from descriptions that Clyde had from The Shadow.

OPENING the paneled sides of the machine, Zurm revealed an array of tubes set at a variety of angles. The

tubes contained glowing wires, which lessened their flickers at steady intervals.

Clyde saw a storage battery set at the bottom of the apparatus, and noted also that the machine contained

movable sheets of coppercolored metal, which Zurm tilted at different angles. Above, was a large pipe that

"The tubes receive current from the battery," explained Zurm. "The flickers are the result of a discharge

caused by the cosmic ray. By means of these deflectors" he shifted the coppery sheets "the rays are

He swung the cylindrical pipe upon its swivel, turning it toward a sheet of steel in the corner of the room.

"I call the machine an intensifier," stated Zurm. "An improved intensifier, far more effective than any I could

have constructed from my original plans. By lowering the center of the projector" he was turning a small

Zurm broke off. He tilted his head, his eyes showing alarm. He gestured toward the outer laboratory and

Clyde shook his head. Zurm looked toward the doorway, then back at his precious machine. His eyes were

turning suspiciously toward Clyde. To allay the inventor's qualms, Clyde made an obvious suggestion.

"Suppose I take a look," he told Zurm. "Meanwhile, you can get the machine focused."

Zurm gave a pleased nod. Clyde went out through the connecting doorway. He tried one bolted door, then the

other, making plenty of noise in the process, so that Zurm would know exactly what he was doing. Turning

Further speech was interrupted by a gurgly screech from Zurm, somewhere in the inner room. There was no

mistaking the sound; it came from a throat that was under the grip of a choking hand. Clyde made three quick

steps toward the connecting doorway, pulling a gun from his hip pocket as he ran.

Before he could reach the door, or get the automatic fully drawn, every light in the place went out. Clyde

grabbed for the side of the door frame, to get his location. He heard a choking sob from the darkness.

In yelling to the inventor, Clyde caught himself too late. His shout didn't help Zurm; instead, it gave Clyde's

own location. To rectify the mistake, Clyde tried to make a quick shift in the darkness and took the wrong

A flinging form hit the reporter in the darkness. Hands took his throat in a driving grip. Light of weight,

Clyde was hurled back into the outer room, swept so suddenly from his feet that he couldn't get the right

direction with his gun. He heard a fierce snarl voiced in his ear, then he was sprawling, whirling toward the

Clyde's finger tugged the gun trigger. The muzzle spouted a useless bullet into the surface of a workbench.

Almost with the shot, Clyde's head thwacked the wall of the room. The whole place crackled with an

After that, all was blackness for The Shadow's agent. Stunned by his collision with the wall, Clyde Burke

THINGS were happening rapidly in the basement laboratory, events that Clyde Burke was unable to witness.

A flashlight cut the gloom, concentrated on the rear door. A hand came into the light and pulled the bolt.

There was a whiff of air as the door opened, a hissed sound, then the quick approach of feet through an

underground passage. Whispers were exchanged, while a flashlight swung toward the inner laboratory. A

The invaders numbered at least a half dozen, and they were moving rapidly. Using flashlights, they were

crating Zurm's new machine, ready to take it with them. Meanwhile, another path of light was creeping along

Into the light poked the hardset face of Shag Korman. The mob leader's ratty eyes made a merciless study of

the stunned reporter. Taking Clyde's chin, Shag lifted it, let the unconscious head thud back to the floor.

"He's not bluffing," decided Shag. "But he may know too much. If I was sure he didn't know too much, I'd

Shag heard the crate coming through the connecting doorway. With Zurm and the machine both on their way,

he came to a decision regarding Clyde. Shag told the other crook to hold the light steady. Aiming his revolver

The sudden smash of a window interrupted Shag's announcement, and forestalled the death bullet. Leaping

back from the light, Shag saw a face at the broken window; below it, a hand with a gun. Shag fired; so did the

Neither shot scored a hit, but the marksman from the window was closer. He had Shag diving for the rear

door, yelling for men to join him. The thug with the flashlight pulled a gun, but made the mistake of aiming

There were two sharpshooters there by that time, and they fired together. The sprawling thug became the first

casualty in the conflict. From then on, shots were rapid, but wary. Shag and two gunners who had joined him

were peppering the window from deep beyond their doorway. The men outside, flattened low, were beneath

They were other agents of The Shadow, who had come along with Clyde. Out front, they had heard the

Seeing Clyde's plight, their present purpose was to protect their fellow agent, by keeping Shag and his pals

busy. At the same time, they were hoaxing Shag into further trouble that he didn't expect.

JUST as shots began to wane, there was a splintering crash of the laboratory's outer door. In from the

stairway that Clyde had descended with Zurm came another pair of agents. One was Harry Vincent, long in

Shag's two comrades sprang out to meet them, thinking to take them by surprise. They met the glare of

Harry's flashlight. which came with a timely swing. The thugs had either forgotten the two men at the

window, or thought these were the same. They were reminded of their error when guns spurted final shots.

One gunner was Cliff Marsland, his companion a sharpeyed agent named Hawkeye. Both had served The

Shadow through many battles in the underworld, and they were cool with their triggers when it counted. One

of Shag's thugs took a long pitch forward; the other reeled back and staggered after his leader.

Shag didn't wait. Forgetting Clyde as an intended victim, he sped out through the passage, followed by his

staggering pal. Reaching the rear door of the laboratory, Harry and Moe fired a few shots to spur the flight,

That delay was lucky for Shag Korman. When he reached the rear street, to which the passage led, he found

his men ready to decamp. They had the improved ray machine aboard a light truck, under guard. The rest of

"Where's Zurm?" demanded Shag, as he climbed into a car. "In the truck, along with the machine?"

"All right," snapped Shag. "Let's go!... Wait!" He pointed back to the passage exit, where a reeling man had

just come into sight. "There's Luke! Grab him and haul him along, before those hyenas catch up with him."

The truck was away and the cars were getting started, when The Shadow's agents reached the street. Lacking

a car, they were unable to follow the mobsters, but they dispatched a few bullets after them. Paint was nicked

from the rear of Shag's shiny sedan as it wheeled the corner, but the mob leader didn't mind.

"Just so they didn't get the gas tank," he growled, "or a tire. We should worry!"

Brakes shrieked from the corner ahead. There were yells from the mobbies in the car that had left ahead of

Shag's. A big limousine took to one curb, the crookmanned car to the other. Neither vehicle was overturned,

but as the limousine teetered on the curb, Shag recognized the official insignia on the door. From the back

"It's the commissioner's car! Ram it! We can't let that louse spoil our getaway! Give him the works! We'll hop

THINGS were already happening swiftly; things that Shag didn't see. The door on the lower side of the

limousine had jolted open, its handle yanked by the passenger who sat at that end of the rear seat.

Lamont Cranston was that passenger. There was a clear space in front of him, for the folding seat that Joe

Cardona occupied was on the high side of the angled car, in front of Morton Delcott. Planted in the middle,

Commissioner Weston did a lurch toward Cranston's side, for there was no longer anyone there.

Though he provided the impetus himself, The Shadow went out through the open door exactly as if he had

Another man was busy. Swinging to his window, Joe Cardona saw Shag's car roaring straight for the tottering

limousine. Defiant of the wild shots that thugs began to loose, Joe yanked his own gun from his pocket.

He was too late. Never could he have halted that lunging vehicle that threatened to ram the limousine

The shots that did stop the motorized batteringram came from the least expected spot. They were already

That was where Cranston had rolled, yanking a hidden gun with the quick action that had made him famous

as The Shadow. From their location, those shots sounded like backfires of the limousine's motor, tearing at

the big car's muffler. But the damage that they wreaked was concentrated upon Shag's car.

His elbow wedged beside the curb, The Shadow blasted a steady stream of bullets into a wide, approaching

target that was looming larger every instant. Zimming a few inches above the street level, the leaden slugs

Literally shredded by the wellaimed hail, the tire flattened like a pair of spreading wings. There was a clank

as the rim jounced the paving. Veered by its flatness, the flapping tire yanked the steering wheel from the

driver's hand. Before Shag could climb over the front seat and add his strength to the wheel, the rocketing car

That crash was a real one. It missed Weston's limousine entirely. Ramming a house wall, Shag's sedan

seemed to fling its doors open of its own accord. Shag and his mobbies were stumbling along the sidewalk,

Swinging toward the lower door, Joe Cardona opened fire. Guns began to answer, but their shots seemed

puny. Lonehanded, the police inspector was apparently crippling crooks with every bullet. Amazed at his

own skill, Joe didn't realize that a fresh gun was talking along with his, from underneath the commissioner's

Knifing upward, The Shadow's shots were doing the heavy work. Mobsters didn't relish the sight of

staggering pals who couldn't even begin to aim. Rolling aboard the car that had jumped the curb to avoid

collision with the commissioner's limousine, they made their flight, abandoning Shag's emptied sedan.

Loaded with a double quota of passengers, some of whom had lost interest in battle, the fleeing car swung a

corner before Weston's chauffeur could stop his chattering teeth long enough to think of giving pursuit.

By then, a chase was useless. Concerned over Cranston's safety, the police commissioner shoved Cardona

aside and sprang from the car to look for his friend. He found Cranston rising from the gutter, a bit

bewildered. When Weston shook his shoulders, The Shadow came from his pretended daze, smiled in

INSTRUCTING Cardona to order a general man hunt, Weston started on foot for the institute building,

beckoning Cranston and Delcott along with him. They found a shattered door, an open stairway down to

Zurm's laboratory. There, past another broken barrier, they found Clyde Burke, half groggy on the floor.

The reporter was still trying to tell his story when Cardona arrived. Becoming coherent, Clyde related how he

It wasn't surprising that persons at the Classic office should have come across the facts of Zurm's interest in

the actions of the cosmic ray, and connected them with recent crimes. Such research was part of the

Clyde's description of the machine that Zurm called an intensifier fitted with everything that the police

suspected, as did Zurm's statements repeated by Clyde that Zurm believed the robbery of a few months

"That's how they acquired their machine!" exclaimed Weston. "They built it from Zurm's plans! They knew

that he was working on an improved device, so they came here tonight to steal it. They abducted Zurm so he

couldn't give us needed evidence that might help us place guilt where it belonged."

"Perhaps Zurm knew of weaknesses in the device," added Delcott. "He might have been able to counteract

this fearful ray that is being used in crime. Poor Zurm! We must spare no effort in his rescue, commissioner.

I, personally, shall insist that the institute offer a large reward for his safe return."

Leaving the matter of Zurm's present plight to Weston and Delcott, Cardona looked about the laboratory. He

saw the broken windows, the shattered door from the front stairs. He noted that the window catches were still

The rear door, however, was unbolted. That brought a wise nod from Cardona. He indicated the rear door, as

"Was that how they sneaked in on you, Burke? While they were hammering at the front door and the

windows? Or did they smash their way in first, and carry Zurm and the machine out by the back?"

"We were in there, Zurm and myself" Clyde was pointing toward the inner laboratory "when he thought

Clyde hesitated. He realized that his fellow agents had smashed in through the front, to rescue him. He didn't

want to say anything that would falsely implicate them. But he was sure that the rear door had been bolted,

His eyes met those of Cranston. Under that penetrating gaze, Clyde felt that his very thoughts were

"I'm not sure." Clyde shook his head. "All that I remember is that the lights went out and somebody socked

Cardona was satisfied. Either of his theories would do. The Shadow, too, was satisfied. He held a theory

entirely his own. From details surrounding the disappearance of Simon Zurm, plus his own earlier

observations, The Shadow had formed definite conclusions regarding the origin of supercrime.

IN a bluelighted room that served him as a hidden sanctum, in an old building in the heart of the city, The

Shadow was studying stacks of evidence that related to recent crimes. Not only did he have the essential data

gotten by the police, which he had obtained, as Cranston, from Commissioner Weston; he was also provided

There had been a real chase, that night when Shag Korman had tried to mash the commissioner's car without

knowing who was in it, other than Weston. Shag had spied Cardona at the window, but not until the ramming

drive had been on its way. Sight of Cardona had, of course, merely spurred Shag's desire to damage

Had Shag known that a certain passenger was in the commissioner's car, he wouldn't have made the attempt.

As it turned out, both passengers, Morton Delcott and Lamont Cranston, were still alive because one of them

happened to be The Shadow. But even that fact wasn't known, thanks to The Shadow's mode of shooting

from an unexpected spot. In the flight that followed, Shag had been too busy making a getaway to worry how

The truck, with Simon Zurm and his precious machine, had gained a good head start. But Shag and his

crippled crew were trailed in their overloaded car, not only by police but by The Shadow's agents, who had

Finally blocked, Shag and a few others had deserted their car on a side street and had fled on foot. Wounded

crooks, shooting from the abandoned car, had succumbed to police gunfire, while The Shadow's agents were

The capture of Shag had been unwittingly prevented by police, who had mistaken The Shadow's men for part

Ducking first to cover, then back to Moe's cab, Harry, Cliff and Hawkeye had managed to get away

Coupled to a full and significant report furnished by Clyde Burke, The Shadow was considering facts

supplied by the other agents. It was obvious that Shag and his handful of thugs had found cover somewhere

in a restricted area east of Sixth Avenue. But the police, scouring dozens of buildings in a space several

They had searched about three dozen trucks that chanced to be in that area some going through, others

parked on streets or in parking lots, but none contained any thugs or a prisoner answering the description of

Simon Zurm. Nor was there any cargo resembling the kidnapped inventor's strange ray machine.

In his sanctum, The Shadow studied a large scale map showing the portion of Manhattan where the crooks

had vanished. When the map failed to give a tangible clue, he turned to the subject of criminals themselves.

One fact was certified both by the police and The Shadow's agents, who had been conducting separate

investigations: There had been no disappearance of known crooks other than those belonging to Shag

Korman. Therefore, the mysterious mob could not have drafted new recruits to fill its thinned ranks.

Crime was stymied for the present. With only a skeleton crew, Shag could not risk the type of jobs that he

A tiny light, glowing like a whitened speck upon the sanctum wall, announced a call from Burbank.

Answering it, The Shadow received a brief report through earphones. He extinguished the bluish light; in

AMONG The Shadow's reports was mention of a scheduled meeting between Inspector Joe Cardona and the

exracketeer, Philip Tormeon. That meeting had begun, in Tormeon's fourthfloor office, at the moment

Chewing the end of one of Tormeon's fiftycent cigars, Cardona was watching the reformed racketeer in

pokerfaced fashion. The policy didn't appear to bother Tormeon. With his usual pun Tormeon was discussing

"I'm glad you came up here, Joe," said Tormeon. "It's a real compliment to know that you want me to help the

law in an advisory capacity. I'm finding it worthwhile, living a straight life."

Cardona grunted between cigar puffs. He had his own opinion of what Tormeon regarded as "straight." On

the desk, Cardona saw a corkscrew. Joe wanted to make the wisecrack to the effect that Tormeon probably

used the corkscrew as a ruler when drawing his idea of a straight line. But Cardona finally decided that it

"It's too bad," remarked Tormeon, casually, "that you didn't have a tipoff to what happened the other night.

"Like the ones you had before," returned Tormeon. "Everybody knows you were on the job three times: at a

"It was The Shadow got wise to those jobs," he said, in a confidential tone. "He started things, and we moved

in to help him. He was on deck when they grabbed Zurm, too. Ahead of us, but not soon enough to stop the

Mention of The Shadow brought a worried look from Tormeon. Cardona complimented himself upon a

clever speech. In emphasizing The Shadow, Cardona had definitely protected his own informant, Squeak

Wembry. The one job that Squeak hadn't heard about in advance was the flurried abduction of Simon Zurm.

"Well, so long, Tormeon," said Joe, helping himself to a fresh cigar by way of a friendly gesture. "One thing

we know: Shag and his outfit aren't getting any new pals. We just had a roundup, and there isn't a thug in

town who would risk joining up with Shag. The only guys who would take a chance on it are all in the Big

Cardona was looking around the room as he spoke, but he sidelonged a look at Tormeon. Joe's reference to

the penitentiary was significant, because Shag's pals who were confined there were reputedly friends of

"What are you looking around for, Joe?" he asked, as he rose to conduct the visitor to the door. "If you're

wondering where the redhead is, she's gone to lunch. She's a swell kid, Dixie is, and she thinks I'm a great

That parting reference was Tormeon's indication that one person who would not reveal the inside of his

business affairs was Dixie Mayland. Tormeon was actually a "great guy" in the girl's estimation, as she was

AT the little cafe where she usually went to lunch, Dixie Mayland had chanced to meet Lamont Cranston.

They were chatting together in a little booth, and Dixie herself had worked the conversation to the subject of

"Phil Tormeon is on the level. Everything he does is legit, and if he wants to keep people guessing about what

business he is in, that's his privilege. Anyway, everything he told the commissioner was straight stuff, and I'll

tell you something else, Mr. Cranston. Tormeon doesn't deal with crooks, or doesn't even want to!"

The Shadow's reply was the slightest of Cranston's nods. Then, coolly, he replied:

For a moment, Dixie's eyes blazed. Suddenly, the subtlety of the remark struck her. She was particularly

"Oh, very probably," replied The Shadow. "But it would not do to mention that to Tormeon."

"He is the sort who would go after them, which is exactly what they want. Let us assume, for instance, that

Tormeon managed to reach Shag Korman something which the police have been unable to do. What

reaction would that produce from my friend the police commissioner, if he heard of it?"

Dixie considered the question, then replied: "The commissioner would think that Tormeon was in it."

"Exactly!" Cranston's tone was confidential. "Therefore, you just watch for any indication that crooks are

trying to bait Tormeon. Since he is on the level, as you term it, he should certainly be protected."

The logic impressed the girl, but it wasn't until after Cranston had politely departed that she realized the full

significance of the suggestion. Since she couldn't talk to either Tormeon or Weston, if she learned anything,

Dixie thought that she had guessed that for herself; hence the idea struck her as a good one, particularly as

she and Cranston had agreed to have lunch together the next day. That brought another question to mind.

It was possible that the exracketeer was still crooked. Dixie had to admit that much. Still inspired, more than

she supposed, by Cranston's calm, fairminded manner, the girl came to the conclusion that if Tormeon were

He wouldn't be a "swell guy" after all; therefore, he wouldn't deserve the consideration that she had given

him. On her way back to the office, Dixie Mayland decided that it would be her part to put Tormeon's

MEANWHILE, the impassive Mr. Cranston had reached the Cobalt Club, where he received an urgent

Going there, The Shadow found Weston in conference with former victims of recent crimes; among them,

Morton Delcott. A new member had been added to the fold a bulky, worriedfaced man whom Weston

introduced as Titus Longarth, president of the United Bridge Construction Corporation.

Longarth had received a letter from the General Protective Association, bearing the return address of the

mythical Excalibur Building. It stated that unless all the bridge builders in the country pooled together for

Only the G.P.A could provide the needed protection, and the price asked for such service was one million

"They know our weakness," groaned Longarth. "My company alone has contracts involving millions of

dollars in construction, and there are half a dozen others in the same situation."

The Shadow reached the last paragraph of the letter. It was more startling than any that preceded it. The

paragraph stated that the G.P.A had done its utmost to postpone impending disaster, but that the criminals

were determined to proceed. Unless the G.P.A received a large advance payment on the million it would be

Important information had been obtained, however, and was being supplied to the law without charge. To test

the power of their larger ray machine, criminals intended first to demolish the old Stuyvesant Bridge in

If the law could prevent that operation, the letter smugly stated, the services of the General Protective

Association would not be needed. The unknown directors of the G.P.A hoped sincerely that the law would

not fail, and that all criminals would be apprehended. But if the law should fail, the G.P.A would gladly

"You have nothing to lose, commissioner," remarked The Shadow, in a calm tone that made others feel more

confident, "if you try to capture the criminals when they demolish the old bridge. Through this protective

association that serves them as a front, they have actually told you when they intend to do the job."

"At six o'clock tomorrow afternoon," nodded Weston. "You are right, Cranston; we can stop them!" He

Then, in a manner as confident as if his task had already been accomplished, Weston swiveled to the

"Call long distance," he told the switchboard operation. "Have them connect me with the capitol at Albany. I

NEXT noon, a specially made chart lay on Police Commissioner Weston's desk. It showed the location of the

old Stuyvesant Bridge and all highways leading to it. Over the same gorge that the old bridge crossed was a

newer, higher span of concrete, which had been opened for traffic a few weeks before.

"The old bridge has been closed to traffic," stated Weston, to the group that surrounded him. "The new one is

made of concrete, and therefore cannot be harmed. We have learned enough from Clyde Burke's testimony,

and old notebooks belonging to Zurm, to know that the intensified ray harms only steel."

With that Weston began to mark out special details on the map. He had arranged everything with the

governor, and the State police were to handle the situation. Weston, however, had been given special duties,

and he was talking with the manner of a field marshal, as he showed how the forces would be placed.

The State police would not be too greatly in evidence. There would be just enough of them to keep away the

curious, and handle whatever witnesses the law intended to allow. Reserves, however, were to be posted at

"Somehow, the news has leaked out," declared Weston, planting his hand on a stack of morning newspapers

that carried big black headlines. "Probably the crooks themselves arranged for it to get into print. They know

nothing, however, regarding the fake organization that calls itself the General Protective Association.

"The public has learned only that criminals intend to demolish an old bridge that is no longer needed, and that

we are presumably intending to let them go ahead with it. Which is exactly what we shall do until afterward.

The telephone bell was ringing merrily. The commissioner answered it, spoke for a few moments in a

"That was a committee of bridge workers," said the commissioner. "They want to be there to see it happen.

So I'm letting them have a permit, along with newspaper reporters, cameramen, and a lot of others.

"Inspector Cardona has a hunch that Shag Korman is counting on that. Your hunches have been good lately,

inspector" Weston turned with an approving smile "and I hope this one proves right. You believe that

Shag is counting on safety through numbers. Very well. Let him. We shall have him where we want him!"

"That I ought to go along with you," expressed Joe, "instead of being detailed to sit around with Philip

Tormeon all afternoon. What good will it do to have me up at his place holding his hand? Tormeon is too

"Something may slip," returned Weston. "Shag might call Tormeon, in the emergency. My order still stands,

TURNING to the others present, Weston stated that they were to join him at three o'clock, to ride in his car.

The first, of course, was Titus Longarth, the bridge builder who had received crime's latest threat. The second

was Morton Delcott, whose properties, though guarded by police, were marked for targets by Shag's

The Shadow was studying the desk map, while Weston passed each man a special identification card to carry

on the expedition. As Cranston glanced at his card, Weston saw him give an approving nod.

"Thank you, commissioner," said The Shadow, in a quiet tone. "I have a luncheon engagement and may not

be able to reach the club before three. With this card, I can follow you in my own car."

Though Weston would have preferred to have Cranston with him, he finally decided to let the matter stand, as

it seemed highly likely that Cranston would arrive in time. But when The Shadow strolled from the

His luncheon engagement was at one o'clock. At that hour, The Shadow met Dixie Mayland and introduced

her to a young man whose handsomeness intrigued her. He, in turn, showed a definite admiration for the

redhaired girl which made them friends immediately. The young man was Harry Vincent.

Classing his agent as a private investigator, The Shadow announced, in Cranston's fashion:

"Mr. Vincent handles all matters confidentially. Since he is not a personal friend of the police commissioner,

it would be preferable for you to discuss matters with him, rather than with me. He understands the situation

It didn't take Dixie longer than ten minutes to become fully convinced that Harry Vincent was a

"squareshooter," as she herself expressed it. A lapse of twentyfour hours had more and more convinced the

Meeting him again, she had fully trusted him; and to find that Cranston had friends like Harry Vincent was

She and Harry held a long and earnest conference, which ended only when Dixie realized that she had

overstayed her lunch hour. She called Tormeon to tell him she would be late; and from that call, she gained

"Who do you think is up there?" questioned Dixie, breathlessly. "That gumshoe Joe Cardona! Tormeon says

"No wonder," smiled Harry. "Cardona thinks that Tormeon is in back of that bridge proposition."

For a moment, Dixie showed a flicker of expression that Harry had waited to see. Without knowing it, she

"We'll see what happens," she promised. "Whatever I find out, you'll know it. I'll call you later."

WHILE all Manhattan waited during that balmy, lingering afternoon. events were shaping themselves beside

Commissioner Weston had posted his car upon a roadway leading from a hill brow down to the level of the

old bridge, which spanned the gorge at an altitude of about one hundred feet. Beyond was the higher concrete

Beneath those coats, as Weston had told Delcott and Longarth, were Statepolice uniforms. They were

reserves, sufficiently disguised, and they had cars waiting at each end of the concrete span.

There were other cars about; some were driven by State police; others, with tops lowered, stood parked at

good lookout spots. In them were radio announcers, their microphones connected by long wires to telephone

lines. The public was due to get a firsthand description of whatever happened at the old bridge.

There were press cars, too, but their occupants were absent. Some of the reporters were on the higher bridge,

others in the gorge. Photographers were scattered everywhere, but most important were the newsreel cars,

They had wheeled to most strategic spots, where they could take advantage of the sunlight as long as it lasted.

Sunset wasn't due above the gorge top until past six, by which time, if crooks went through with it, the bridge

One camera car had swung down to the gorge road to take advantage of the upward view. Newspaper

photographers were also down there, along with picked reporters. Police, stationed on connecting roadways,

were not permitting less privileged spectators into the gorge, even with passes.

There was a battered car on the road below the bridge. How it had arrived there, the State police didn't know,

for it had been there when they came. Though they had searched that car and found it empty, they were

On the roads above, certain cars were also under surveillance. There was one, however, that produced no

suspicion. It was a highpowered roadster of expensive make, obviously owned by someone of importance.

Though it was parked on a knoll that commanded a complete view of the whole scene below, the elaborate

roadster was too far from the steel bridge to possibly figure in anything that might happen there.

At the wheel of that roadster sat Lamont Cranston, otherwise The Shadow. With him, he had a pair of small

but powerful field glasses. Through the lenses he could make out Weston's face; he watched the

commissioner's moving lips and read the words that Weston was saying to Delcott and Longarth.

"Watch everywhere," advised Weston. "Zurm's ray may be invisible, but the criminals who are using it

cannot hide themselves. I can safely predict that they will be spotted the moment that their work is under

IT was six o'clock. Announcers were becoming hysterical through their mikes. Photographers were snapping

last shots of the old steel bridge, just before the zero hour. In the camera cars, the motionpicture men had

forgotten other phases of the scene and were also concentrating their lenses on the bridge. Their hands were

Yet there was no token of crime's action; no sign of the evil workers who were to demonstrate their skill at

destruction. With passing minutes, the silence seemed to carry the prediction that the whole occasion would

Then, from a hundred feet above the gorge came a sharp, loud crackle. Its echoes ripped along the gully and

were repeated from the depths of the gloomy gorge. Again came the sound, sharper, terrific in its outburst.

Those sharp notes were scarcely traceable, until a gigantic moan ground through the valley. It was like the

groan of a mammoth beast in dying agony. That hideous grating was uttered by the ancient bridge itself!

Eyes saw what followed, though they had to blink before they believed it. The great steel bridge was

swaying, its whole vast weight threatening an immediate collapse. The crackles, coming like a rifle volley,

The groans, increased to a titanic volume, formed a continuous obligatio as great girders ground together,

Without a change in the existing scene, the massive Stuyvesant Bridge was going to its promised ruin,

A power that seemed beyond the vaunted ability of the intensified cosmic ray with which picked crooks had

AMONG the observers watching the destruction of the old Stuyvesant Bridge, one alone was lacking in

amazement. That witness was The Shadow. Like the others, he had first been attracted by the crackles and

groans that came from the higher portion of the failing bridge; but his attention was rapidly drawn elsewhere

Those snapping struts and yielding girders represented the effect produced by another cause. The reason for

the bridge's impending collapse lay elsewhere. Training his powerful glasses toward the gorge, The Shadow

The great steel arch was supported upon two huge bases of stone. At one base only, on the near side of the

gorge, great posts of steel were melting. The fact was scarcely discernible, even through the glasses, for the

gully was gloomy and the sinking of unmelted steel filled the space left by the disappearing metal.

Unable to stand the grind of sinking steel that replaced the withered portion, the stone support was cracking.

Bits of masonry were bounding into the gorge, unnoticed because their thuds were trivial compared to the

Though other spectators occasionally glanced toward the gorge, they saw nothing that afforded explanation of

Among the half dozen cars that were taking newsreel photographs, only one was stationed deep in the gorge.

An odd spot for it to be, for although there was plenty of light higher up, the gorge itself was hazy.

Apparently, the newsreel photographer had come to his senses, for the camera car was swinging away from

its position near the sinking end of the arch. It wasn't just a case of getting out from the danger zone; the

camera car was heading for a small stone bridge that crossed the creek in the gorge depths.

A State trooper was challenging the car. The camera man gesticulated, shouted something and pointed

upward. The officer waved him through. Obviously, the photographer had argued that the light was getting

bad; but he wanted to get to the top of the gorge and take further shots from there.

Once posted in the gorge, the camera car should have remained there, for the crash of the steel bridge was

imminent. Down in the gorge, the photographer had at least a chance of getting shots that others would not

More than that, because of the long road circling up to the trees, the camera car couldn't possibly reach a

higher outlook before the bridge went. The camera car was acting either very crazily, or very cleverly. The

The camera car was a camouflaged truck that carried Zurm's improved ray machine!

Thanks to their bluff, Shag and a few other crooks had placed themselves right at the bottom of the bridge.

While one man had been cranking a dummy camera, the others, hidden inside, had been directing the

Having reduced steel supports to powder, they were letting the doomed bridge complete its own destruction,

Thanks to the tiny bridge across the creek, the mobsters were bound for some highway on the far side of the

WHILE hundreds of awed eyes watched the steel bridge buckle, saw it swing with a pendulum sway that

increased with every alternating motion, they were treated to a sight that made the fate of the bridge seem

Down from an old approaching road swooped a highspeed car, a shiny, glistening roadster that looked like a

gleaming arrow against the brilliance of the lowering sun. Piloted by a daredevil driver that car was streaking

straight for the sagging bridge, where a gap of a dozen feet had opened at the nearer end.

The Shadow, as Cranston, cleared that space as if it hadn't existed. He roared his car across the buckling

bridge, the purr of the motor completely drowned by the cannonade of smashing steel. The highpowered car

Not only did the sway produce that course. The Shadow was dodging openings where the surface of the

bridge's roadway had dropped through with the girders that supported it. Halfway across, the car was flinging

It was across the hump. Awed spectators began a grateful sigh. The sound ended in a human moan, audible

for one brief moment before the thing that everyone feared came into stark reality.

With a few hundred feet still separating the car from the safety toward which it sped, the Stuyvesant Bridge

collapsed. As the vast mass of steel began its monstrous plunge, it seemed that only death awaited the driver

He knew what had happened. Ahead of him, he saw the bridge begin to form a hill. One end of the arch had

gone, but it was the end that he had already crossed. Seconds, perhaps, remained before the ruined end of the

bridge would pull the other with it. The Shadow did not calculate those seconds.

His foot pressing the accelerator to the floor board, he counted upon the powerful car completing its surge up

The roadster made it. Just as the bridge slashed sharply downward to a pitch of fortyfive degrees, the car

shot over the brow of the steel hill onto solid ground. Never halting the speed, The Shadow was taking a

Writhing like a tortured giant, the Stuyvesant Bridge was settling into the gorge, its broken girders clanging

into a mass of junk that was swallowed by the gloom below. Fronting the great concrete arch that reared

beyond was a great gap, with nothing but stone buttresses against the fringes of the gorge to indicate the level

Speeding around another bend, The Shadow lost all sight of the gorge. Echoes of the great collapse were

muffled, to fade altogether. A new urge guided The Shadow in his speeding drive. Ahead, he saw the fake

Taking the first shortcut, The Shadow wheeled in toward the trail. He knew why crooks had set six o'clock

as their zero hour. They were counting upon dusk to help them shake pursuit. Their course, for a while, would

STRIKING the highway, the crookmanned car swung left and suddenly doubled back along another side

They had found out just where the State police were posted. They knew that the highway was blocked in both

directions. They were weaving a serpentine course through the guarded area. But The Shadow needed no

Etched in his mind were the details of the wellplanned chart that had been in the commissioner's office.

There was only one route through this area. The crooks were taking it; so was The Shadow.

Though Shag's fleeing tribe knew their way about, their route was not all velvet. They had to cross roads that

were picketed by State police patrol cars. Two of those happened to be close enough to cut in ahead of The

Shag's speedy truck was out of sight when the patrol cars reached a fork. Each took a separate road. The

Shadow followed the one that he knew was on the correct route. The patrol car must have sighted the truck,

for the officers made good choices after that. Gaining on the patrol car, The Shadow was only a hundred

Despite the gathering dusk, The Shadow saw the truck only a few hundred yards ahead. The patrol car made a

quick spurt on it, and guns began to talk back and forth. There were only a few marksmen shooting from the

truck, and The Shadow was ready to concede victory to the patrol car, when something went wrong with it.

Veering from the road, the cops were lucky enough to pick an open space. Their car was half overturned, but

they were poking their heads from it when The Shadow's roadster zimmed past. Tailing the truck, The

Guns were spurting back at him, but he ignored them. He wanted close range, a sure chance to clip a tire or

the gas tank. He fired one shot, then another, saw them kick up little puffs on the road. He was getting the

A true aim was hard, however, for the roadster motor was spitting: either bad gasoline, or the ignition system.

His third shot was mere inches short. At that moment, The Shadow didn't think it mattered. He was wrong.

As he tugged the trigger a fourth time, the .45 failed to speak. He couldn't understand it for a moment; then,

The crooks were employing the intensifier while on the run! Their bullets hadn't crippled the police car; the

ray had done that trick. Fearing The Shadow's gunfire, they had sought first to stop his shots, rather than his

It came before The Shadow had time to prevent it. The truck was wheeling a sharp bend to the right, the

roadster just behind it. All the strain was on the left front wheel when it gave. Bashing a wooden guard rail,

Steel yielded like wood. Weakened by the deadly ray, the whole car front crumpled. The deluxe roadster was

partly junk before it somersaulted down a stony embankment, where huge rocks waited to ruin what was left

Skirting a horseshoeshaped bend, Shag's truck rounded the stonestrewn ravine where the roadster had

crashed. Dusk had closed in; the truck's lights came on. Accompanying them was a glaring spotlight, with

which the crooks probed the valley. They saw the remains of The Shadow's crumpled car, bashed into a big

What they didn't see was the blackclad shape that was clinging to the ruins of the guard trail, up by the road

itself. The Shadow had gone with the car in its plunge. Still wearing the cloak and hat he had slipped on early

in the chase, he escaped the searchlight's probe and saw the crookmanned truck swerve off between the

Dark had taken The Shadow back into its folds. From such gloom, the intrepid fighter would emerge again.

Men of crime would soon learn that their archfoe was still alive, prepared to deliver vengeance upon those

NEXT day, the public began to get educated on the subject of the cosmic ray. No longer could the law keep

all of crime's details quiet. The story had cracked wide open, with the crash of the Stuyvesant Bridge.

Newspapers, radio broadcasters, went into elaborate explanations, which boiled down into simple but rather

The cosmic ray was one of nature's mysteries. Traveling with the speed of light, having a wave length shorter

than any other known, those rays were bombarding the earth with a remarkable penetrative power.

Some scientists regarded them as the cause of the mysterious northern lights, otherwise known as the aurora

borealis. Cosmic rays, it was known, produced a certain amount of radio interference. Their effect could be

measured by vacuum tubes containing electrified platinum wire. But when it came to harnessing those rays,

Cosmic rays could best be studied in the stratosphere, because the earth's atmosphere acted as a blanket

against them. The rays were a potential source of power, but not at the earth's surface. Certain scientists

believed that the total energy of all the cosmic rays at sea level would not exceed one hundred horsepower.

They had a marked effect on weather conditions, and that, plus their penetrative ability that enabled them to

pass through several feet of lead, was the basis upon which Simon Zurm had worked.

Deflected rays, intensified. That was the story in a nutshell. The concentrated force had shown its effect on

steel, a manmade alloy. It could probably ruin duralumin and other alloys. But it had no effect on copper,

lead, aluminum or zinc, which indicated that many other metals, and such alloys as brass, would be immune.

Human beings, too, were safe against the ray. The Shadow, for one, could have testified personally to that

fact. He actually owed his luck of last night to the ray's effects. In an ordinary type of crash, The Shadow

would have rolled to destruction, trapped in his wrecked car. The ray, however, had served him.

Literally, the intensified force from the machine had crumbled the roadster's front. Powdered bolts had

yielded; the car had fallen apart as its plunge began. The Shadow had struck ground just over the edge of the

Recalling his escape, The Shadow could testify to another effect of the concentrated ray. Judiciously applied,

it had no effect upon electrical apparatus. The lack of alarms during certain robberies proved that fact. But

when the converged rays were poured with furious intensity, as they had been at The Shadow's car, they

created a disturbance. The Shadow remembered that the roadster's ignition had gone balky just before the

The police supposed that crooks had been using the improved supermachine that they had taken from Zurm's

DURING the day that followed the bridge collapse, The Shadow spent a considerable time in his own

laboratory, a blackwalled room that adjoined his sanctum. There, he experimented with tubetype cosmic

ray detectors. Packing the best samples in a box, he called Burbank, his contact man, and told him to collect

Burbank, himself an electrical genius, was to place detectors in various parts of the city, where other agents

could keep them under observation. If crooks cut loose with new crime, and overdid their use of the ray, it

wouldn't take long to trace them. The detectors would pick up indications at long range, and by having

In their crimes, the mobsters had not needed an overintensified ray. They had used one in the bridge

demonstration to hurry up the process. The only other time that The Shadow recalled as similar was when

Until another such incident occurred, the detectors would he useless. Besides, Burbank wouldn't have them

placed for twentyfour hours at least. Therefore, to handle the present, The Shadow had but one course: to go

back to his original way of getting information, by trailing Joe Cardona when the police inspector visited

With the afternoon only half gone, The Shadow had no need to hurry. As Cranston, he visited an old antique

shop, where he became intrigued by a type of curio that had always interested him. Before he left the shop, he

purchased some obsolete weapons, including widemouthed blunderbusses and Swiss culverins that looked

The Shadow took his purchases to the Cobalt Club and left the heavy packages there. Commissioner Weston

wasn't about, but that pleased his friend Cranston. The Shadow had a more important appointment, with Joe

With dusk, Cardona arrived on the street outside Squeak's hideout. Looking about, Joe failed to notice the

As soon as Cardona had gone inside, The Shadow followed. Soon, he had handled the locked door and was

"I'm giving you the straight dope, Joe," Squeak was saying. "Shag is up against it. Sure, he and the mob are

back in their hideout, wherever that is, but how's that helping 'em? There ain't enough guys left in the outfit

"Yeah, they got away with that bridge job, but what did they get out of it? They showed what they could do,

but that was all. Shag's got to get a new mob together, and the only guys that would sign up with him are in

"What's more, he needs dough. He's got to pay plenty, even to the pals that would work with him. They're

afraid of that mazuma he grabbed at the Midtown National. The banks were wise that something was coming,

and they had the numbers listed of all the big bills. Shag's blown the small dough, and everything that's left is

THERE was logic as well as sincerity in Squeak's tone. The Shadow wasn't surprised to learn that crooks

"Tormeon has plenty of cash," gruffed Cardona. "I was up at his joint all yesterday afternoon, and he was

showing me his books. If I had ten per cent of what he took in last year, I'd retire for life!"

"I asked Shag why Tormeon didn't come through with dough," said the stoolie. "You oughta heard Shag

"The idea of Tormeon handing over dough. Shag says this is a racket where the big noise is supposed to take

"About Tormeon being in business," explained Squeak. "The way Shag put it, the bigshot has to keep

himself covered. The only way he can do it is to keep his own accounts on the up and up. You oughta know

The logic dawned on Joe Cardona. Still, the ace detective was wondering how Shag was going to get the

"They got a pile of dough in their safe," assured Squeak. "Close to a hundred grand, Shag says. Money that

ain't listed. It's come into their office in return for exports. Nobody's supposed to know it, so they ain't been

"Tormeon must know somebody in the export company," decided Squeak. "Maybe a loud mouth talked too

much at one of the night clubs. Anyway, Shag is going after it tonight, about an hour after the joint closes. He

That was all Cardona needed to know. He left the hideout, and The Shadow went ahead of him. The

Shadow was still ahead, when Cardona found Commissioner Weston at the Cobalt Club. With the

commissioner was his friend, Lamont Cranston. Together, they listened to Cardona's latest hunch.

"If you are right, inspector," declared Weston, "it means that the criminals will have to use the ray machine

again. Necessarily limited in number, they should be easily trapped. Arrange your campaign accordingly."

It was after Cardona had left that Weston became dubious. The Shadow prompted that mood by remarking, in

"That's just the trouble!" exclaimed Weston. "Gad, Cranston, I'd like to use real strategy in a case like this!

Inspector Cardona is doing his best, but he is limited. It would be an excellent idea for him to visit the

"But that would be a giveaway. The people in the place would be worried. So Cardona will do as he did

before. He will close in from the outside. But if those crooks know the inside, they may be able to stage a

"If the Antipodes Export Co. is still open," he remarked, "how easy it would be for someone to stroll in there

"You could do it!" exclaimed the commissioner. "Call that office, Cranston, and find out if it is still open!"

The Shadow made the call. The office was open, would not be closed until nine o'clock. With that

information gained, The Shadow and the Commissioner sat down to dinner planning their own move as

During the meal, faint traces of a smile showed on the impassive lips of Lamont Cranston. Tonight's events

were shaping exactly as he wanted them. Whether or not the law managed to spring its trap, one thing was

Crooks would meet with a real surprise if they invaded the offices of the export company. This was one

BY eight o'clock. Commissioner Weston was itching for Cranston to get started; so The Shadow obligingly

left the Cobalt Club and headed for the export company offices. Left alone, Weston began to think of other

He called Delcott and Longarth, told them to come to the club at once. He also phoned Cardona at

At eightthirty all were gathered. Cardona was again announcing his hunch, and basing it on the fact that

Shag Korman needed money in order to obtain men. This time, however, Weston began to analyze what

"This is more than a hunch inspector," insisted the commissioner. "Out with it where have you been getting

Cardona had expected the present situation. In fact he had wondered why the commissioner had not seen the

light on former occasions. Joe had long ago resolved to meet the issue by declaring the truth. So he came out

Casually Cardona described his dealings with Squeak Wembry. He knew that it ended Weston's belief in

For long it had been the privilege of various officers to handle special stool pigeons in the way that they

"Very good, inspector," nodded the commissioner. "By dealing with Wembry alone you prevented any leak.

Too bad that he is only their outside man. If he could only learn more! The location of their stronghold for

"Squeak would give himself away if he did," asserted Cardona. "But so far Shag hasn't gotten wise to him.

"What about Tormeon?" put in Delcott. "Did you learn anything while you were with him yesterday?"

"Not a thing," returned Joe glumly. "I said I'd give him a buzz this evening maybe, but I haven't yet on

There was silence for a few moments, then Delcott asked: "Wouldn't it be best to call Tormeon, inspector?"

"Of course it would!" exclaimed the commissioner. "If Tormeon doesn't hear from you, he will suspect that

you know something about the crime that he has planned tonight. Delcott is right."

Longarth nodded agreement with Weston and Delcott. Stubbornly, Cardona held out alone.

"You've got to figure everything two ways with Tormeon," he argued. "When I said I'd call him, he figured I

wouldn't do it. I decided I would call him, just to worry him. Right now, I don't want to worry him."

The point didn't impress Weston or the others. Rather than cause trouble, Cardona went out and put in a call

to Tormeon. While Joe was disposing of that formality, Weston received a call of his own. He had something

"Cranston is at the export company office," said the commissioner. "He says that everything is quiet there;

but that they will be open until nine. He gave me a brief description of the place. Here is a diagram,

WHILE Weston was tracing the details as Cranston had told them, Delcott excused himself to keep another

appointment. He promised to return later, to learn how tonight's campaign had gone. Longarth was also on

Thus there were three persons to learn the startling news that came soon after nine o'clock, just as Joe

Cardona was about to leave for the building where the export company was located. The ace had figured that

mobsters would start their job within the hour that Squeak had allowed. There was always a chance that Shag

Going through the foyer with Weston and Longarth, Cardona was stopped by an attendant who said that he

Leaving the booth door open, Cardona let Weston and Longarth overhear his end of the conversation. From

"What's that?" demanded Joe. "You say that the bigshot is going down there himself? Did Shag mention

Over the wire, Squeak's reply came in a frenzied whine, that the other listeners could catch from the receiver.

"Shag's got wise to me, Joe! From something I musta said. I gotta lam, before he gets here "

"I'm a goner if I don't, Joe! Listen, you gotta get down to that joint quick. If Shag stops off here, you'll have

That was all Squeak said. A sharp sound split the telephone receiver. Cardona recognized it as a gunshot. He

heard a gargly moan: Squeak's. Then the sound of a telephone thumping the floor.

Dropping his own receiver, Cardona forgot himself to bark sharp words at Weston:

"They got Squeak! That's what came from the crackpot idea of having me call Tormeon! He wised that

Squeak had blabbed. But Tormeon's down there, and I'm going to get him. I can beat Shag to it. The squads

Leaving Weston openmouthed, Cardona turned about and headed outdoors before his superior could decide

WITHIN the offices of the Antipodes Export Co., all was quiet and dark. The place had closed a few minutes

before nine, and the manager, the last person to leave, was sure that the offices were empty.

The manager remembered a very distinguished visitor, Lamont Cranston, who had talked of export matters in

large figures, and who had made a telephone call which the manager had not overheard. He supposed, of

That surmise was wrong. On a chair near the door, Cranston had left what appeared to be a folded coat,

underneath a package that almost concealed it. He had gathered those belongings before leaving the

anteroom, and had undergone a rapid transformation. The coat had become a black cloak, a slouch hat had

With the package safely hidden beneath the cloak, The Shadow turned into a gliding, elusive figure. Shifting

from one spot to another, he had remained unnoticed while the lights were going out. With the offices dark,

he was unwrapping the package, to disclose its contents as a brace of automatics.

The ray would be used judiciously tonight, and The Shadow intended to keep out of its path. By striking

crooks unexpectedly, he planned to have them helpless when the law arrived. But The Shadow intended to

No matter how fierce the combat, he counted upon taking at least one intruder alive and making the thug talk.

Through that procedure, The Shadow expected to find crime's hidden stronghold, where tons of unpeddled

They would be using a portable machine tonight, the crooks. It wouldn't take a strong concentration of the ray

to finish the steel bars that protected the doorway of the export company. Similarly, a simple application

would cleave the front of the big safe that stood in a deep corner of an inner office.

The safe in question hadn't been opened while The Shadow was present. It was obviously one devoted to

some special use, such as the storage of the reserve funds that Squeak had mentioned. Though strong, it was

oldfashioned, and The Shadow was confident that he could open it without the ray apparatus.

Busy with the dial, he probed the combination. Ungloved fingers, sensitive in their touch, were finding the

task easy. All that interrupted was the buzz of a telephone close beside The Shadow's elbow. He had

connected that particular line with the outside switchboard, and had muffled the bell with his discarded glove.

The call was from Burbank, reporting that Philip Tormeon had heard from Joe Cardona and had later gone

out, ostensibly to visit one of the night clubs under his control. The news had come through Harry Vincent,

supplied to him by Dixie Mayland. On the chance that Burbank might receive later reports, The Shadow left

The safe front swung wide. A tiny flashlight licked the steel interior, stopped. The safe was empty, but that

was not what riveted The Shadow's attention. At the back of the safe was a yawning cavity, two feet in

Crooks had staged their robbery hours ago, working through from an empty office! They had duped The

Shadow, along with the law, by informing Squeak Wembry of a crime already accomplished, not one that

There was something behind the game; more than a mere mistrust of Squeak. A big brain had ordered Shag

Korman to this task in order to obtain an important result. They were pitting one foe against another. Figuring

that their plans would leak out, crooks had fixed it for the police to trap The Shadow!

HOARSE, cautious whispers were drifting through the gaping back of the rifled safe. The Shadow saw the

blinks of flashlights. Simultaneously, he heard creaking sounds from the door of the outer office. Those

The Shadow had no desire to shoot it out with the law. Though his cause was a right one, this was a trap he

could not escape without damaging those who might oppose him. But he couldn't let himself be captured as

Turning to the telephone, The Shadow cut off a report that Burbank was about to give. He spoke quick words

Wheeling from the inner office, The Shadow clattered chairs as he went. The noise brought results. There

were shouts from the empty office on the other side of the safe; crashing sounds from the front of the export

The Shadow reached a window, ripped it open. There were bars outside; he didn't have time to wrench them

loose. But the space between those bars was all he needed. Whipping his cloak over his shoulders, The

Shadow carried his slouch hat with it. Twisting his automatics inside the compact bundle, he pushed the

As the weighted cloak dropped, the front door crashed. From the inner office, there was a clatter as a man

sprawled through the back of the safe and rolled to the floor. Thumping the window shut, The Shadow

grabbed up a chair and began to swing it as he charged into the glare of flashlights.

Police guns were talking, but their shots went high. The Shadow was almost at floor level, his arms swinging

the chair considerably above his head. He made a wide sweep toward a detective who was aiming from the

doorway of the inner office. As that fellow ducked away, The Shadow whipped toward an opponent from the

He could easily have downed the second man with the chair; instead, he merely thumped the dick's gun arm

and made him fire wide. Then, losing the chair as he wheeled about, The Shadow stumbled clumsily into the

hands of two other detectives, keeping his arms above his head as a protection against their swinging guns.

Purposely collapsing, The Shadow was surrounded by half a dozen captors who were racing to put handcuffs

on him. Someone pressed a light switch, flooding the office with a bright glow just as one of the captors

In from the shattered doorway strode Inspector Joe Cardona. He saw a tuxedo coat lapel in the midst of the

"Wearing your glad rags, huh?" snorted Cardona. "I guess you headed down here from a night club, didn't

The prisoner didn't answer. Yanking him into the light, Cardona saw his face. Joe's eyes went goggly; his

hands lost their grip. If he'd found his own face looking at him, Cardona would not have been more amazed.

Lamont Cranston, friend of the police commissioner, the bigshot of the crime ring! The thing was absolutely

Joe Cardona was almost as astonished as if he had been forced to arrest The Shadow!

THE trial of Lamont Cranston was the fastest, hottest, wildest display of crisscrossed legal activity that had

ever been enacted in the New York courts. There were enough Latin phrases in it to fill a newspaper

paragraph, and radio commentators found themselves talking in terms of habeas corpus and non compos

The police had captured a master crook, but couldn't produce the goods to prove he was one. The D.A.

couldn't figure what charges to bring against the prisoner. Murder, robbery, blackmail, all were in the air

It seemed that Cranston had an alibi for everything, except one important count. He had been trapped in the

offices of the Antipodes Export Co., with the safe wide open and empty. His fingerprints were on the safe

But there wasn't a witness to prove that Cranston had opened the safe. His own statement was that he had

found it empty. The hole in the back proved that someone else could have walked off with the cash. The

That didn't satisfy the district attorney's office. This was a case that had to show results. When men of high

esteem went crooked, examples had to be made of them. Otherwise, less fortunate culprits would howl that

The police didn't find the cloak and guns in the courtyard below the office window. The Shadow had told

Burbank about those, and agents came to get them. Harry Vincent paid a prompt visit to the Cobalt Club and

picked up the packages of antique weapons. But, somehow, the police heard that there was a revolver in

With surprising speed, Lamont Cranston was indicted under the Sullivan Act, tried by a court that overruled

many of his lawyer's objections, and convicted by a jury that thought him guilty of so many things that it was

a foregone conclusion he would go to prison. The judge supplied an immediate sentence to speed him on his

THE day Lamont Cranston started for Graykill Prison, Inspector Joe Cardona walked into the commissioner's

office and handed in his resignation. Purple in the face, Ralph Weston indulged in indignant splutters, which

"You know that Cranston isn't guilty!" asserted the resigning inspector. "You sent him down to that office

yourself. You said so to me. Why didn't you show up at the trial and speak your piece, then?"

"What if he did?" interposed Cardona. "You didn't tell him to come back, either. I'm through, commissioner!"

"I've got another reason, and a good one! Somebody planted that gun in Cranston's locker, and I've got a

"You wouldn't like this one, commissioner, because you're the person I've got in mind!"

Joe Cardona had spoken his piece in full. He was glad that no witnesses were present, for he expected Weston

to rage. Instead, the commissioner behaved in a most surprising fashion. He calmly tore up Joe's resignation,

brought out a box of his best cigars, and told the inspector to sit down and smoke one.

"I talked to Cranston after you arrested him," related Weston. "He told me to forget that I had sent him to the

export company. He asked me to place the gun in the locker. Later on, you see, I can come out with a

statement that Cranston was engaged in duty to which I had assigned him. As for the revolver, we can prove

that it was registered in another name, without stating who planted it on Cranston."

By that time, Cardona could find words. "You mean that Cranston wanted to go to prison?"

"Certainly! So that the real master crook will think himself safe as long as he refrains from further crime.

"Cranston may have a long wait coming," said Joe, glumly. "If the real brain doesn't show his hand, how are

"That, inspector," smiled Weston, "is your problem. It is one reason why I do not want your resignation."

Leaving the commissioner's office, Cardona went up to see Tormeon. He found the former racketeer in a very

"A nervy chap, that Cranston," purred Tormeon. "I'd never have picked him as the man in back of it, that day

he dropped in here with you. Well, all you've got to do, Joe, is make him tell you where to find Shag and his

bunch. Cranston will crack, while he's in the cooler. Those stuffed shirts always cave in."

Cardona retained his pokerfaced pose, his eyes meeting Tormeon's steadily. Neither saw the expression

registered by a redhaired girl who was on her way to the inner office. Her eyes flashed anger as she heard

Tormeon's references to Cranston, but Dixie Mayland managed to compress her lips and walk away

Cardona learned nothing from his chat with Tormeon, but he intended to visit the fellow often. Sooner or

later, Cardona hoped, Tormeon would make a slip, and Joe wanted to be around when it happened. The

sooner, the better, because Cardona wasn't at all pleased with the fact that Cranston was being forced to spend

THOUGH noted for its many modern improvements, the Big House up the river was badly overcrowded.

New prisoners were therefore confined in the old cell block, a hideous monstrosity of the past that should

long ago have been demolished. Those cells had walls so narrow that an occupant could scarcely squeeze into

The bottom tier was the worst in the entire block. It was practically at basement level, and the passage outside

the cells had the musty, gloomy appearance of a dungeon keep. Fortunately, that tier was seldom used for

prisoners; and it had at last been put to another purpose: the storage of old prison records.

During the period of Cranston's trial, a solemn, setfaced man had been classifying those records. His name

was Slade Farrow, and he was a noted criminologist. Intent upon his work, Farrow did not mind browsing

On this particular day, two prison workers were beginning to clear the first cell in the abandoned tier, to store

"This cell is for the highhat guy who came in today," said one. "That fellow Cranston. He likes to be

"You can't mean that he's being put in this tier!" exclaimed the criminologist. "Why, these cells are the worst

in the entire prison! It's impossible! A man like Cranston, used to luxury and comfortable surroundings "

"That's just it," interrupted the second worker. "When the guy got here, he was told that he could expect no

favors. He'd be treated like the rest of us; that was final. So he got sarcastic about it. He said he didn't want

"He'd heard about these punk cells and wanted one. He asked for it, so he's getting it. I hope he likes it when

Farrow was back at work when Cranston was brought to his cell and locked in there. The cell had a special

lock, separate from those in the rest of the tier, because their doors were frequently open. But there wasn't a

chance that Cranston could work his way out through the steel door, unless he carried a portable ray machine

of the type which crooks, supposedly under his control, had been using in their crimes.

Having been thoroughly searched when admitted to Graykill, Lamont Cranston obviously lacked such a

Afternoon was waning when Slade Farrow finished his work. Coming from an open cell, the criminologist

paused to mop his forehead. He happened to stop in front of the closed cell that contained the sarcastic Mr.

"We managed it," undertoned Farrow, without looking toward the cell. "I smuggled Tapper in with a box of

books, and he worked on the wall while I was busy with the records. Shipping him out was harder, but they

didn't suspect anything coming from here. So Tapper has gone, and I leave today. Good luck!"

On occasions in the past, Slade Farrow had served The Shadow capably. Once again, he had proven his

AS soon as all was silent in that lower tier, Lamont Cranston rolled from sight beneath his low cot.

Probing along the darkened wall, he found the opening where Tapper, a reformed convict loyal to Farrow,

had worked at a longforgotten task of hewing his way through prison walls. In this case, Tapper had been

He had carved a hole of just sufficient size for Cranston to work through. From the other side, behind a high

stack of bound prison records, the new resident of Graykill replaced the neatfitting blocks that Tapper had

Probing hands found a bundle. Farrow, himself, had brought it the same cloth package that The Shadow's

agents had reclaimed from the courtyard outside the export company's window. Unwrapping it, Cranston

placed two automatics under his belt, slid the cloak over his shoulders, and pulled the slouch hat down upon

Dusk had come. The corridor outside the ancient cell block was filled with preternatural darkness that seemed

tinged with memories of many prisoners who had stared hopelessly from their cells. It was a place for ghosts

and a living one appeared, coming from the empty unlocked cell that contained the life records of the very

A creature of blackness; a being so elusive that he might credibly have passed through solid bars, The

Shadow was at large in Graykill Prison. With gliding stride, ready to fade from sight at any moment, he was

following gloomy corridors and obscure stairways, to investigate the situation that had brought him within

There was a reason, other than the one expressed to Weston, why The Shadow had chosen to reside in

NEW history was in the making at Graykill Prison. There were five days of it, and five nights. A period when

nerves were taut and rumors were rife among the prison population. Yet, inklings of what was really to come

The restless feeling among the convicts began soon after the arrival of Lamont Cranston, but there was no

way of linking the new prisoner with it. If ever Graykill had received an inmate who accepted his

At meals, hundreds of eyes kept glancing at the masklike face of the new prisoner. Not once did any pair or

those many eyes detect a change in Cranston's impassive expression. In the prison library, to which Cranston

had been assigned, studious convicts forgot their books to watch for any alteration in that inflexible

Though he had become a number, instead of a name, Lamont Cranston was leaving an indelible impression of

individuality, not through any effort to attract attention, but by his passive way alone. Confined to his solitary

cell, his selfchosen residence seemed a perfect setting for one of his singular demeanor.

Cranston's impenetrable calm would have given the other prisoners much to talk about, if another, and more

startling, phenomenon had not been present at Graykill. By day, eyes watched Cranston; at night, those same

There was something that stalked by night through the silent corridors of Graykill; a creature neither ghost

nor human, that stopped by the barred doors of cells, to whisper things that brought jittery convicts shrieking

Awakened men had been heard to mutter later. What they said, their fellows never knew. In the daytime,

convicts who had undergone that strange experience remembered nothing but bad dreams, too fantastic to be

Common opinion had it that the victims of those nightmares were going stircrazy. Epidemics of the sort

were not unknown in prisons. Screams in the night had a way of shaking nervous men who heard them. It

was only natural that others would have nightmares of their own. But the thing was on the increase.

Prisoners were being transferred to other cell blocks; a few, whose fears were unabated, were sent to the

hospital. Still, the hardboiled convicts were jesting at the weakness of their goofy comrades.

All except two, who found a chance to meet in the prison library. They were a pair who had once held much

in common: Red Garey and Prex Algus. Both were convicted mobleaders, whose past exploits had been

"LIMMER CRAYLE got the bug last night," sidemouthed Red. "I heard him howl. That's bad! Limmer is in

"I talked to him," undertoned Prex. "He don't remember nothing, except that he didn't say nothing."

"The screws ain't been bothering him. That shows they ain't wise to nothing. Everything's jake, Red."

The two went back to their reading as one of the library workers went past. Red glanced up to see the

masklike face of Lamont Cranston. The new prisoner was arranging a file of magazines. When Red was sure

"It was the deadpan guy," said Red. "Keep lamping him, in case he comes this way. Listen, Prex; my aunt

Prex grinned at Red's reference to his "aunt;" the woman in question was a fake relative, upon whose visit the

"It's all set for tonight," added Red. "Like Shag sent word it was going to be. He only wanted to make sure

"Fat chance they would be," chuckled Prex. "With so many guys going haywire, the warden probably figures

"Yeah. Anyway, get busy. Pipe the word to the right guys. I'll take care of my bunch."

Separately, the pair left the library. Not glancing back, they failed to see something that would have amazed

them. The slightest trace of a smile had appeared upon the thin lips of Lamont Cranston. The new prisoner

In that room, voices carried farther than either Red or Prex supposed. By picking the precise limit of the

range, The Shadow had overheard every word without attracting suspicion. The statements that had reached

the ears of Lamont Cranston fitted with words that Limmer had muttered in his cell last night in response to

THOUGH five days had made Lamont Cranston something of a fixture in Graykill Prison, there were persons

far outside those walls who regarded him as quite the opposite. In New York, Commissioner Weston and

Inspector Cardona were discussing Cranston's plight from a new and hopeful angle.

On Weston's desk lay a new letter from the General Protective Association; one which promised an important

The letter was addressed to the commissioner personally, and it threatened new calamity. It classed the

Unless Cranston should be released before tonight, the letter stated, the country would be shocked by a

disaster as great as the bridge crash, with an added toll of human lives. This time, mobsters were going to

"The point of this letter is plain," summed up Weston. "Your friend Philip Tormeon is trying to establish that

"Don't call Tormeon a friend of mine," objected Cardona. "It was your idea, commissioner, to have me drop

"I understand," interrupted Weston, "but we shall not do it according to the terms of this letter. Our game is to

"I have talked with Delcott about this letter," explained Weston. "None of his properties are the sort where

human lives would be at stake. Therefore, the underworld is not directing a new thrust against him.

"I called up Longarth, also. He assured me that all bridges under construction by his company and others are

being guarded. That stunt with the camera car can't work again. So we know that Tormeon isn't after

"No one," returned Weston. "How can he be, when Shag Korman, his only lieutenant, has so few men left?

That is why I say this letter is a bluff, inspector. Therefore, I shall have photostatic copies made of it, and

"When crime fails to strike," answered the commissioner, "public confidence will be restored. I can then

reveal the details of Cranston's cooperation. He will receive a pardon from the governor; but not until

With that, the commissioner proceeded to put his plan into action. He sent the letter to be photostated; he

called the newspapers and told them to send reporters to his office. While he waited for the news hawks to

Cardona heard the commissioner state the true facts of Cranston's case. Hanging up, Weston displayed a

"The pardon will go to Graykill tonight," he announced, "with instructions to the warden to hold it until

tomorrow. It will be a real surprise for Cranston" Weston was chuckling at the thought "because he

expects to hear from me first. But after all, that is entirely unnecessary. What good would it do to inform

One of Cardona's hunches must have been stirring when the ace inspector left the commissioner's office.

Cardona felt uneasy, but didn't know why. He didn't connect it with the fact that Weston had decided not to

At last Cardona blamed his worry on the letter. Whenever crooks had bared their fangs before, they had bitten

hard. True, in this case, their threat, though large, was vague. But that, in a sense, made it the more

Cardona was finally lulled by the thought that since Weston was making the letter public, The Shadow would

promptly learn of it and be ready with any needed measures. If real purpose lay behind the letter, The Shadow

Joe's fresh confidence would have faded, had he known that facts which failed to reach Lamont Cranston

EIGHT o'clock was the hour set for the prison movie show, but Lamont Cranston was not among the

privileged convicts who were gathering in the auditorium. Attendance was optional, and Cranston still

That choice, properly interpreted, meant that with darkness, the time had come for him to roam as The

On this night, of all that he had spent in Graykill, The Shadow needed his garb of black. Picking a shrouded

course among the great buildings of the penal institution, he was planning rapid moves to halt crime's

Though The Shadow wasn't the big brain of the crime ring, he knew the exact purpose of the master mind

who managed it. The law should have recognized it, too, for Squeak Wembry had practically told it to Joe

Those were the things needed to replenish the thinned ranks commanded by Shag Korman. The money had

been acquired by the robbery of the export company's safe. With that cash, a mob could be bought.

Manhattan mobsters were chary about signing up with Shag Korman. There were others, though, who would

If freed by Shag Korman, crooks would not only serve in his mob, but in others. For Red Garey and Prex

Algus would become lieutenants of equal rank with Shag. They, too, would have ray machines to aid them in

Those prospects could be thwarted only by The Shadow. His course through the prison grounds had brought

him to the administration building. Picking a short passage to a stairway, he ascended and reached the

This was the strategic spot that The Shadow needed. From one window, it offered a view of the prison yard;

from another, it gave outlook to the world beyond the walls. There, The Shadow could see the huge steel gate

Numerous cars were parked along the approaching drive. There were trucks among them, and none of the

vehicles were under close surveillance from the steel watch towers that topped the concrete walls. The

Shadow intended to watch for the arrival of thugmanned cars. Should he spot them, shots from the window

Like other outer windows in the administration building, those of the warden's office had bars over it. The

warden wasn't anxious to be disturbed by occasional convicts dashing through his office because it offered a

In fact, few persons but The Shadow had ever reached the warden's office unchallenged, for there were

In this present visit, The Shadow had been detained because the warden had not left the office until a few

minutes before eight. The delay, however, did not seem important, for The Shadow did not expect the break

At the moment of his arrival in the office, The Shadow particularly wanted to learn how soon the warden

intended to return. Hoping to find some clue, he stepped to the desk to examine the memo pad that lay there.

The pad was blank, but beside it was an opened envelope from the governor's office

Taking a folded paper from the envelope The Shadow opened it. There was silence, then the whisper of a

FROM that chance discovery, The Shadow divined an immediate fact. Something must have happened in

New York something that concerned Commissioner Weston. Hoping for further luck, The Shadow stepped

The eighto'clock news broadcast was under way. A rapidfire commentator was spreading the same

information that Weston had given to the evening newspapers for their final editions.

"Crime threatens anew!" came the announcement. "New York's police commissioner places the blame for the

recent ray robberies and destruction of the Stuyvesant Bridge upon a syndicate of criminals calling

themselves the General Protective Association. Operating the biggest racket in the history of modern crime,

these crooks are covering their game by claiming to have offices in the Excalibur Building. Though no such

The radio was interrupted by a sudden crackle of static. Turning about, The Shadow made for the window,

barred outside. As he yanked it open, he saw a change in the prison's great steel gate.

A wide circle had appeared against its solid surface. A powdery substance was falling from it, like metal

Shag's slim crew was already on the job. Their truck was parked behind a larger one, in a space where gunfire

couldn't reach it from the windows of the administration building. The crooks were working their ray at full

The truck was visible from the nearest watch tower. A guard's rifle cracked. It was answered by spurts from

revolvers. Those shots were puny in comparison. The guard was getting the range with followup shots. A

Something had gone wrong with the guard's rifle. Another guard had joined him, but his gun quit after one

shot. The tower, itself was indicating what had happened. It was canting to one side, with a crazy lopsided

Crooks had brought along a second ray machine. Its concentrated force was disintegrating the watch tower

just as the larger machine was pulverizing the gate. The guards were diving down the tower stairway to

There was only one way for The Shadow to enter the conflict. That was to blast away the bars on the office

window with slugs from his automatics, and thereby get outside. He began the process just as great sirens

The bars were loose, The Shadow was jolting them free, when he heard another sound. It was continuous, but

he caught it only between the brief lulls of the shrieking sirens. It was like the roar of stormy surf, but it

lacked pause between its beats. The sound was voiced by a thousand human throats raised in raucous unison.

INSTEAD of springing outward, The Shadow sped to the inner window. The prison yard was bathed in the

glare of floodlights. The space was alive with men, hundreds of them, who had surged from the exits of the

Red and Prex had planned well. They and dozen of others had planted themselves throughout the convict

audience. They had stirred the whole group with timely yells the moment that the sirens had begun their

earsplitting whine. Under cover of a general break, they expected to insure their own escape.

The nearest guards were forced to flight. Their rifles were wrenched from them as they ran. The men who

grabbed those guns were working for Red and Prex, in keeping with lastminute plans. They were opening

Smuggled revolvers, too, were talking from the ranks. Squads of guards were taking to shelter, hoping to

quell the riot from safe spots. Berserk convicts were driving upon them, caring nothing when the men beside

them sprawled. Armed with chairs and other improvised weapons brought from the auditorium, they intended

Nothing, it seemed, could halt mass murder and general escape. Nothing, except the challenge that came,

strident above that roar of human voices. Inserted between the halting screaming of sirens, the horde heard it.

Dropping from the warden's window, the cloaked fighter was atop a low projecting roof. In the glare of the

floodlights, the ghost of Graykill had revealed himself. Not only by his laugh, but with the thrusts of his big

The stabs from his guns were finding sharpshooters before they could fire with their captured rifles. As

weapons clattered in the yard, other marksmen grabbed them up, only to be sprawled by sure shots from The

Charging crowds had halted, to stare at the figure on the roof. Cornered guards came driving out upon them,

scattering them across the yard. In the midst of that milling mass, Red and Prex shouted orders that their

The gate had crumbled. A mad throng made for it. Tower guards were sniping them as they ran, but some of

them were getting through, Red and Prex among the lucky. The Shadow, a fresh brace of automatics in his

His shots dropped ringleaders among the other groups who still battled with the guards. Prisoners were losing

their desire for fight, and the guards were taking over. Except for the score or more who had reached the

DROVES of subdued convicts were staring toward that low roof, wondering what the amazing battler would

do next. They saw The Shadow cloak his guns, fling his hands high above his head, to clutch a window sill.

Ears heard The Shadow's parting laugh, but no eyes witnessed his departure. When guards reached the

warden's office, they found it empty. The bars were gone from the outer window, and so was The Shadow.

Shag's truck was speeding away from Graykill prison, followed by a dozen cars that outside crooks had

cunningly planted, earlier in the day. Those cars were filled with escaping mobbies, who had been fellow

All cars except the last one. It started off too late. A gloved hand swung through the window, thudding a gun

against the driver's head. Yanking open, the door released the stunned thug. He rolled to the ground beside

There was a second thug in that car, but he didn't wait. Taunted by a mocking laugh, startled by a yawning

gun muzzle thrust squarely toward his face, the fellow hurled open the door on his side and made an earnest

Doors slammed. The car whipped forward. It was on its way, in pursuit of the few dozen who had managed to

Away from the walls of Graykill, those new members of the criminal mob had not yet eluded the power of

DAUNTLESS in his pursuit of the fleeing caravan, The Shadow garnered results within the first few miles.

Overtaking a straggling car, he cut across its path and drove it from the road before its occupants realized that

The fate of that car must have been noticed from the one ahead, for shots greeted The Shadow as he drew

close to his next quarry. Low behind the wheel, he ignored the hurried gunfire and fired bullets of his own,

When the tire burst, the crooks slued from the road. Roaring past, The Shadow went after another unit of the

He was playing a bold bluff, counting upon mobsters to believe that his appearance signified a general

pursuit. The game worked. The cars ahead were spreading out, all desirous of individual escape. That made

His one regret was that he hadn't time to stop and deal with the cars that he crippled. He was strewing the

countryside with wrecked automobiles, but the crooks themselves were able to get clear. In slowing their

escape, however, The Shadow was laying them open to capture. Moreover, he was putting an added crimp in

As yet, none of the new mob knew where they were supposed to go. They had been following Shag's speed

truck, counting upon it to lead them to their destination. When Shag arrived at his goal, if he reached it, he

But The Shadow did not intend to let Shag reach his goal. He had linked certain facts: the Cranston pardon in

the warden's office; the radio broadcast regarding the threat note; the fact that fleeing cars were following a

crosscountry route all those points informed The Shadow that criminals intended to stage some further

With four cars settled, The Shadow was tailing a fifth, when he saw it suddenly change course, taking a side

road that denoted a reversal of the route. The car was still following the caravan, for The Shadow could see

taillights up ahead. Overtaking the straggling car, he settled it and sped on to the chase, confident that the

Then, rounding a bend, The Shadow suddenly cut off his lights and put the car into a coast. Cars had halted at

a crossroad a short distance ahead, and the speed truck was with them. Men were on the ground; the glow of

dimmed headlights showed them looking back, wondering where the other cars were.

In the darkness, The Shadow could have coasted almost to the crooks, if it hadn't been for the creaks of the

old car that he drove. Braking it, he alighted and approached on foot, stopping just short of the dim group of

"Those boobs have lost their way," decided Shag, "or some of the jallopies quit on 'em. Red's going to stick

along with me in his buggy, while Prex goes back and rounds up the crew. Take the rest of the cars with you,

Prex, and guide 'em all into town. I've told you where to head when you get there."

"The place where we're going, Red," announced Shag, "is called Riverdale Crossing. We've just got time to

get there and spend ten minutes before the World's Fair Limited comes through. Only, that rattler won't be

THERE was only one interpretation to Shag's statement. Crooks intended to ruin the trackage with Zurm's

ray. This was the supercrime that had been promised Weston. In a few moments, they would be on their way.

Quickly, The Shadow made his own decision. He would be in for battle anyway, as soon as Prex's outfit saw

the car that he had left on the highway. It might be suicide, the course that he intended, but if it proved so it

would at least use up the time limit that Shag would need when he reached the crossing.

From darkness, almost at the elbows of the throng, The Shadow delivered a taunting laugh. The moment that

the challenge had left his lips, he made a quick fade toward the other side of the road, to be where crooks

Flashlights blazed. Alone, they wouldn't have mattered. But there were crooks in the parked cars, and they

turned on the head lamps. The glare that swept the crossroad was as bright as the floodlights back at Graykill.

Then guns were blazing. Crooks had spied The Shadow and were answering his opening fire. They were

ducking for the cover of their cars, leaving The Shadow without shelter. One instant's hesitation would have

He flung himself squarely upon a pair of mobbies who were diving away, close together. Slugging one before

the thug could fire, The Shadow thrust the sagging foeman into the path of the other's gun. As bullets riddled

A cross slash rendered the thing helpless. Shooting for head lamps, The Shadow was blanketing the scene.

Wildly, the massed mob surged. They'd give him slugging tactics, if he preferred them. At moments, the

glints of flashlights showed swinging guns glancing from The Shadow's head; but the superfighter did not

His foemen thought they had him, when he reeled away in darkness amid the blasts of hastily aimed

revolvers; but when flashlights sprayed along the highway, they showed no sign of The Shadow.

Shag was bellowing orders. Stunned thugs were to be loaded on the truck, along with the more seriously

wounded. Prex and his crew were to find The Shadow, whatever was left of him; then go about their business

Shag and Red had another job to do, and they were in a hurry. Like the truck, Red's car still had lights, for

Suddenly, a wild yell sounded. A gunman had spotted The Shadow's car, with the cloaked fighter in it. As

guns began to talk, the car shot forward. With crooks diving from the path, The Shadow wheeled the car

through the circle of halted automobiles and sped it straight along the road to the railway crossing!

Shag and Red went after him. For a quarter mile, they were roaring side by side; then Red's car forged ahead

of Shag's truck. Gaining on The Shadow, Red thought at first that his own car must be a faster one. Then he

"Look at the guy zigzag!" exclaimed Red, to a gunner beside him. "He's groggy! Say, maybe he's due to crack

WHERE the road curved to cross a gully, the crash came. The Shadow didn't even see the bridge. His

hurtling car took away one rail, cleared the gully, and telescoped upon the opposite bank. Thrown against a

A medley of recollections jarred into The Shadow's impressions of the present. He remembered instinctively

the measures that he had taken that night in the export office. He slid his cloak from his shoulders, his slouch

hat with it. Clumsily poking his guns into the cloak fold, he let the loose bundle go bouncing down the bank.

Red's crew were playing their flashlights on the wreckage of The Shadow's car when Shag's truck halted after

crossing the halfwrecked bridge. A few mobbies clustered with him, Shag joined Red and held a short

"Take a gander," suggested Shag, "and if you find the guy, croak him! That is, if you need to. Then head into

town. I'll be seeing you" Shag chuckled "at the office in the Excalibur Building!"

Remembering that he wanted to reach the railway crossing, Shag hurried his crew back to the truck. From

then on, their race was a mad one, to reach the crossing ahead of the World's Fair Limited, the crack flyer due

Scheduled to reach New York at night, the limited was a popular train, for it gave visitors a chance to reach

the fair grounds at the peak of the evening's activities. But the passengers aboard tonight's train weren't going

Reaching the crossing with a few minutes to spare, Shag planted the truck across the inbound tracks and

turned the ray machine along the rails. Turning a dial to its full extent, he poured out the steeldestroying ray

"We're supposed to shoot it slow," snarled Shag, to a thug beside him. "That's what I would be doing, if The

Shadow hadn't tried to queer things. But it won't matter, letting it ride full power just for a couple of minutes.

"It makes a lot of static and other disturbance, when you go the limit; but it gets results, too. Look at those

rails! See 'em melt? Listen, you at the wheel as soon as you see that engine swing the bend, get started!

"We're going to be on our way when that rattler goes to pot. See this curve we're on? You know what that

means. Coming through at seventy, the limited is going to wind up in the river!"

A stretch of rails had disappeared while Shag was talking. Neither he nor his pals had noticed a slight crackle

overhead, nor the way that lights along the right of way were blinking. They spied a mammoth glare, as the

giant searchlight of the locomotive swung from the bend that Shag had mentioned.

Suddenly, the glare was gone. But the roar of the train could still be heard. Shag jabbed the driver with his

"Get going, lug! Just because the engineer cut off that glim, is no reason why we want to stay here. Hop to it,

The truck jolted from the crossing, started up a slope. Staring from the high slats, Shag was watching for the

Limited's arrival at the broken stretch of track. It came, but the train was not traveling at seventy. The

locomotive was almost stopped when it jounced across the trackless ties and canted to an angle, at which it

Steel cars were clanking, but they did not overturn; in fact, the rear of the train did not leave the solid rails.

The wreck had come, but not as crooks wanted it. Snarling because the great disaster had fizzed, Shag noticed

That stretch of track was electrified. By operating the ray at full intensity, Shag had created the disturbance

he had talked about. The machine had done more than disintegrate the rails; it had interfered with the power

line. The current cut off, the locomotive had lost its driving force at the time the searchlight failed.

Naturally, the engineer had braked the train. But he wasn't the person who forestalled the tragedy. The

Shadow had averted the catastrophe, by his delaying battle at the crossroads. Whether The Shadow still lived

was a question; but there wasn't a doubt regarding his most recent accomplishment.

By engaging in a fray that offered death as its reward, The Shadow had taken the sting from crime's most

PHILIP TORMEON was seated in his fourthfloor office, a newspaper spread upon his desk. As he studied

the facsimile reproduction of the letter that Weston had received, Tormeon gave a wise smile and stroked his

He reached for a radio dial, tuned in on a news broadcast. Big events were flashing over the air. There had

been a prison break at Graykill; a horde of dangerous convicts were at large, among them two notorious mob

The break had been managed, the announcer stated, through use of the dreaded cosmic ray intensifier that

criminals had stolen from Simon Zurm. Then, almost in the same breath, he added a later news flash.

The World's Fair Limited had been wrecked, and reports had it that the ray machine was again responsible.

Details would be forthcoming within the next ten minutes. Tormeon didn't wait for them. He switched off the

"Did you hear all that?" purred Tormeon, smoothly. "I suppose that pest Cardona will be around tomorrow,

"I'll tell him what I said about Shag Korman. Sure, I've met the guys! But does that prove anything?"

Tormeon's eyes were steady, as he spoke. "Not a thing! Everybody that knows me will say I'm on the level.

"You've been working too late," he said. "There's no need for you to stay around the office evenings. You'd

Going out to the elevator, Dixie doubled her trail and crept back toward Tormeon's office, keeping to the

shelter of the statuary in the room that held the curio collection. She had an idea that Tormeon wanted her out

of the place, and the hunch proved correct. She heard him pick up the telephone and call the manager of the

"Listen, Frank," said Tormeon. "Remember that goofy architect that wanted me to build the streamlined night

spot?... Yeah Fortner, that's the fellow. He's around there, isn't he?... Good! Tell him to get that book of

"Before he starts, tell him to keep his trap shut. He's not to talk to anybody. Tell him this: If he says anything

about the Excalibur Building, he's likely to get croaked. But if he brings the plans over here, I'll hand him a

"By the way, Frank," Tormeon was speaking in afterthought. "When Kay Kerry finishes her turn on the floor,

tell her to run up and find out how Dixie Mayland is... No, Dixie isn't feeling good. She went home a while

SNEAKING out to the elevator, Dixie made a rapid trip to the apartment that she shared with Kay. Arriving

there, she called Harry Vincent, gave him a breathless report of all that she had heard.

"You'd better get over to Tormeon's, use that duplicate key I gave you," concluded Dixie. "He suspects me,

all right; that's why he's sending Kay here. She's all right, except she's too snoopy and she's trying to make

"Don't worry, I can bluff Kay. But I've got to be undressed and in bed by the time she gets here. She's due in

If Dixie hadn't been skilled in changing costumes rapidly, she wouldn't have made it. She was barely out of

Snatching a nightie from the closet, Dixie swept it over her head and shoulders during the dive that carried

her into bed. Extinguishing the bed lamp, she dropped her head to the pillow just as Kay entered.

When Kay turned on the room light, Dixie sat up in bed and blinked. Kay was a tall blueeyed blonde, who

had a lovely way of showing sympathy, even when she didn't mean it. In fact, her real delight was making

In this case, she was actually disappointed. The best she could do was stall around awhile and pretend to be

From a cab parked opposite Tormeon's, Harry Vincent kept a close watch on the place. It wasn't Moe's cab;

like all the other agents, except Harry, Moe Shrevnitz was on special duty, checking one of the sensitive

detectors that Burbank had installed in the zone where Shag's mob had last disappeared.

Harry's cabby was all right, though. He couldn't possibly be allied with Tormeon, and he probably supposed

that Harry was watching some of the night clubs along the street. Tormeon's front door didn't attract much

All that Harry was worrying about was the doorman. The man on the night shift was somewhat lax in duty.

Though Tormeon hadn't found it out, Dixie had. In fact, Harry had a hunch that the redhead had probably told

Dixie was putting Tormeon to the test, exactly as The Shadow had predicted that she would before

introducing Harry to the girl. But tonight had been the first time that Dixie had managed to learn anything

While Harry watched the doorway, Tormeon's doorman suddenly appeared from a parked cab where he had

been chatting with the driver. The reason became immediately apparent. A lean man carrying a briefcase had

Harry knew that the man must be Fortner. The doorman spoke with him, then ushered him into the

After that, the doorman stayed at his post. Harry was chafing over the situation, when someone came out. It

was Tormeon; he spoke to the doorman, then walked along the street toward the Cafe de Paris. The doorman

immediately returned to chat with the cab driver, indicating that Tormeon would be gone awhile.

Handing his own driver a fivedollar bill, Harry told him that he wouldn't have to wait longer. As soon as the

cab had left the street, Harry slid over and sneaked into Tormeon's place. Using the silent elevator, he reached

FORTNER was looking at plans that were spread over Tormeon's desk. The architect gave a very funny bleat

The top sheet showed the finished plans of a tall, magnificent building, that rose like a giant monument to a

height of some sixty stories. Harry didn't try to count the exact number of the floors. He was busy keeping

Plain on the plan, however, was the name "Excalibur Building," but above it was the word "Proposed." The

riddle began to unfold itself. The building was just another of those architectural dreams that had vanished

with the boom days of the '20s. Harry took a look at the trembling Fortner, and demanded:

Dumbly, Fortner shook his head. He didn't want to talk; for that matter, he didn't have to. There was other

lettering on the plan sheet; Harry leaned forward to read it. He noted the proposed location of the unbuilt

The address was in the zone where Shag's mob had disappeared. But there wasn't any building on the

With that recollection, Harry's thoughts were jolted. Fortner had lunged from his chair, was making a frantic

grab for Harry's automatic. The fellow was fighting viciously, showing power despite his frailty. It was a

They reeled out toward the gloomy curio room; there, Fortner suddenly went rigid, after flinging his hands

upward with a gasp. Stepping back, Harry saw a revolver prodding Fortner's ribs. The gun's owner emerged

from behind an ornamental screen. As she stepped in sight, Dixie Mayland threw a smile to Harry.

They marched Fortner into the office; there, Harry noted Dixie's attire. She was wearing a fur coat, though

the night was warm. Noting a pink border below the coat, Harry understood why the girl had put on the

"That snoop Kay stuck around too long," said Dixie. "When she finally found an excuse to call Tormeon, he

didn't answer. She left, and so did I, without wasting time getting dressed. I figured that with Tormeon out of

Harry pointed to the plans. He kept Fortner covered in his chair, while Dixie studied the picture of the

"This spills the works!" exclaimed the girl. "It's what they've all been after! It tells where Shag's mob is!

It wasn't Harry who interrupted, nor Fortner. The words came in Tormeon's silky tone. They were spoken

from the doorway of the office. Dixie nearly lost her fur coat as she spun about, trying to get her revolver

from the pocket where she had dropped it. Harry was prompt with his automatic, but it didn't help.

Tormeon already had him covered. In through the gloomy curio room stepped two other men, hardfaced

fellows who were also armed. Obligingly, Harry let his automatic fall. Tormeon smiled, as it bounced across

"That's better," he said, smoothly. Then, looking from Harry to Dixie, he asked the girl: "So you and this

"We weren't!" snapped Dixie, defiantly. "We just wanted to find out if you were on the level, like you always

said you were. If it turned out that you were, our idea was to help you. If not "

Tormeon stepped forward and patted the girl's shoulder. Turning to Harry, he held out his hand. Having no

"Thanks a lot, both of you," purred Tormeon, in the smooth tone that might mean anything. "Sit down, both

of you, and listen while I make some telephone calls. You won't mind, of course, if the boys keep you

With a glitter in his eye, a suave smile on his darkish lips, Philip Tormeon picked up the telephone. Grimly,

Harry and Dixie listened, knowing that their captor was going to show his hand at last!

A TRUCK pulled into a large Manhattan parking lot and backed to a corner stacked with empty oil drums.

Soon afterward, a rather battered sedan arrived, and was given a space near it. Meanwhile, the rear of the

truck had opened. Two men, sliding from the interior, pushed back the oil drums.

Their work was concealed by two blank, converging walls. The truck, too, was scarcely noticeable as it

moved back farther. Soon, a portion of the truck floor was descending through a trapdoor that had opened in

The trap was made of boards covered with gravel, that matched the surface of the parking lot. Men from the

sedan had joined the truck crew; after some curious machines had been lowered by the elevator, both crews

In a lighted room below, Shag Korman grinned as he introduced Red Garey to the underground domain. He

led the way to a room furnished with lounging chairs; to the men who were carrying the wounded, Shag

"Prex will like this when he gets here," affirmed Red, looking about the place. "What's the rest of it like?"

"Better," returned Shag. "We've had everything we needed, except guys to fill the joint. But we've got them

Red tossed a folded cloak upon a table. It clanked from the weight of guns, and a slouch hat rolled from the

"The guy must have crawled away somewhere," decided Shag. "Well, we've got other things to think about.

Let's go in and see what the sawbones has to say about those boobs that let The Shadow cripple 'em."

On cots in the underground hospital ward, the two lieutenants surveyed a row of faces. It was Red who

stared, quite amazed, at a pale, hawkfaced victim who appeared to be quite unconscious.

"Lamont Cranston!" exclaimed Red. "The stuffed shirt that they pinned the goods on! He wasn't in the know.

He must've been smart enough to beat it along with the rest of us. I guess he got slugged by The Shadow, too,

Shag began to rub his blocky jaw. The thing had him puzzled, as the squint of his eyes indicated. While he

"Come along, Red," said Shag. "I'll tell the chief about Cranston, along with the rest of it."

Shag's telephone conversation was a fairly long one. By the time he had nearly finished, Prex and the rest of

the escaped convicts were coming in. Shag reported that fact, then concluded the call. After telling Prex

"We're going to keep Cranston here," he said. "Only to make it worthwhile, somebody from outside ought to

"The best bird for us to pluck," continued Shag, "is a fellow named Morton Delcott. He owes us some

"Delcott is at the Cobalt Club," concluded Shag, "with the police commissioner. Get over there and grab him

when he leaves. Don't hurt the guy, because we want him to see Cranston when he gets here. Shove a

Shag had a good description of Delcott, and gave it. Red set out with a pair of husky pals. While they were

getting into their car, they saw the last of Prex's crowd descending through the trapdoor.

TWENTY minutes later, Morton Delcott was snatched from the doorstep of the Cobalt Club almost under the

eyes of Police Commissioner Weston and Titus Longarth. Delcott had stepped ahead while they were leaving

Two men seemed to spring out of the sidewalk, brandishing guns that they poked against Delcott's ribs. They

quicktimed him into a sedan that pulled up to the curb, its rear door swinging wide.

The car, the kidnapers and their prisoners were gone by the time Weston was on the sidewalk. Hearing the

testimony of the doorman and other witnesses, the commissioner rushed back into the club and gave the

While the sirens of police cars were wailing from the street, Weston called headquarters to talk to Joe

Cardona, who had been due back at the office. He learned that Cardona had arrived there ten minutes before,

From then on, Weston was busy dispatching patrol cars and doing everything else to find Delcott. None of his

measures helped. The missing man had already reached the underground destination.

His blindfold off, Delcott was seated in a comfortable lounge chair, viewing the leering face of Shag Korman.

Shag waved; a door opened. In stepped stoopshouldered Simon Zurm. Delcott rose, to give glad greeting to

A few minutes later, Shag arrived with Cranston, who was walking very slowly. Delcott sprang up with

"The commissioner tells me that you have been exonerated," began Delcott. "My congratulations, Cranston

Cutting himself short, Delcott began to mop his baldish brow, fearing he had said something that the listening

crooks were not supposed to know. None of them, however, seemed to recognize what the word "exonerated"

"Can the chatter," growled Shag. "We're going to show you through the joint. We're going to let you see what

there is of the Excalibur Building, four floors underground, waiting for sixty more to pile on top of it."

FROM then on, the prisoners were treated to a most remarkable trip. The four basement floors of the

Excalibur Building were by no means barren. Instead, they were furnished in a lavish style. At last it was

known why crooks had gone in for silks, tapestries, silver plate, and even furniture.

The costliest of hangings adorned the walls they passed; the rooms were well, though thinly, furnished. Shag

"Give us time," he promised. "We'll have the whole joint the way the bigshot wants it! He says he's going to

"Did you ever see anything like it?" Delcott asked Cranston. "I mean for lavishness, with lack of taste?"

"Only in one place," replied The Shadow, in his calmest tone. "The apartment where Philip Tormeon lives."

Ascending to the top floor of the four, they passed a room to which Zurm pointed and gave his first utterance:

a groan. Beyond the open doorway, they saw Zurm's largest ray machine. Shag gave a chuckle.

"We took the others up to the truck," he said. "Maybe we'll be using them again soon, when the chief gives

the word. Right here" he thrust open a door at the end of the passage "is where this trip ends."

He conducted the three into a small but comfortably furnished room, which was evidently to be their

temporary prison. As he motioned them to chairs, Shag reached to a table and picked up a black cloak that he

"These belonged to a guy that got too smart!" announced Shag. "He called himself The Shadow! One of those

heaters is loaded" Shag tapped the gun in question "so don't get careless with it. The Shadow didn't have

a chance to use it; and so you guys won't. We're too many for you like we were for him."

Delcott finished with a gasp; Zurm, hearing it, added one of his own. Instead of Cranston, they saw a being

cloaked in black, a slouchhat on his head. In one fist, their transformed companion held the one loaded

automatic. There was something in his pose that proved the garb was his own, not borrowed property.

EXUBERANCE swept Delcott and Zurm, they danced like happy children, as they expressed their hope of

The Shadow curbed that enthusiasm with a sibilant statement that made them halt, rigid.

"Save your sham for your friends!" he told them. "For Shag Korman, Red Garey, Prex Algus. They are your

Keeping the pair covered with the loaded gun, The Shadow picked up his empty automatic and thrust it

"Clever of you, Delcott," said The Shadow, "to pose as victim, and hide the fact that you ruled crime! But it

meant no more than your attempt to thrust the blame on Tormeon. In a way, Tormeon was too obvious a

choice. He had a past too questionable for him to risk the things that you did."

Burning eyes roved from one culprit to the other. The Shadow's laugh was sinister. He was glad to have this

"You arranged your own abduction, Zurm," The Shadow told the inventor. "Burke's testimony proved it.

There was only one way that Shag could have entered your locked laboratory; that was for you to unbolt the

"You faked that gargly choke you gave. You switched the lights off and attacked Burke yourself. Then you

let the mob in, to help you get the big machine away in a hurry, at Delcott's order. He had arranged that once

your device was known to exist, it would be best for you to join the criminal band."

Zurm's own expression showed the truth of The Shadow's words. The inventor gave a snarl, then subsided as

"You actually called Zurm and tipped him off," declared the blackcloaked accuser. "That night, Shag nearly

crashed the commissioner's car while you were in it, but that was merely Shag's mistake. You gave yourself

away again, Delcott, when you ordered the murder of Squeak Wembry, after learning that he was a stool

"You suspected him, but you weren't sure. You learned it from Cardona, when he talked to Weston. I heard

about that conference, from the commissioner himself, before I went to prison. You had a chance to call

Shag, and you did; again, you tried to blame it on Tormeon. But by that time, Delcott, you were labeled!"

Delcott's face had turned as ugly as Zurm's. Yet behind their anger, The Shadow detected a confidence which

"I tricked your crew tonight," taunted The Shadow, "when I crawled into the truck and lay among the injured!

You suspected the truth, Delcott, when you heard from Shag. That was why you decided to stage this little

"Yes, I am The Shadow! No longer do I need to crawl from danger. You obligingly gave me time to

recuperate. I am going out of here alone through the mob of crooks who serve you!"

WHEN The Shadow yanked the door open, Delcott yelled. Outside, waiting mobsters dropped back,

expecting the cloaked fighter to pull a gun trigger. Instead, The Shadow whisked out his second automatic

He was halfway along the passage before he flung away his automatics, to snatch up revolvers that crooks

had dropped. Wresting from the flaying mob, The Shadow opened fire as he wheeled.

Amid the roar of gunfire came the explanation why The Shadow had flung away his one loaded automatic. A

half groggy thug picked up that .45 by mistake and aimed it. The moment he tugged the trigger, the gun burst

into fragments, blasting the man who used it. By Delcott's order, the automatic had been loaded with

Before increasing shots could clip him, The Shadow had the goal he wanted. Wheeling into the room where

the big ray machine stood, he jabbed a few shots, then disappeared from sight. It was Delcott who yelled a

"He's starting the machine!" shouted the bigshot. "Don't get too close he'll ruin your guns! Keep baiting

At last, the cartridges were all accounted for. A good percentage of them had scored minor hits, but those

didn't matter. Delcott and his lieutenants were used to taking care of crippled thugs. They wanted The

They surged for the ray room. Beyond the machine, The Shadow was diving for a far corner. He was trapped

The Shadow had not directed the ray machine toward the mob. It wasn't necessary. He knew that all of them,

Delcott included, would figure the device was turned upon them. So The Shadow had tilted it toward the steel

girders that supported the roof, taking care, of course, to choose an angle that would protect the corner where

Disintegrated by the ray, a huge mass fell, bringing cars from the parking lot with it. Delcott's fighting

lieutenant, and a dozen thugs besides, were buried under a pile of powdered steel, cracked masonry and

THROUGH the enormous cavity came the shrill blast of a police whistle blown by Inspector Joe Cardona. He

had received a call from Philip Tormeon and had gone to see what it was all about.

Tormeon had shown Cardona the plans of the Excalibur Building and had offered to help find the place, with

It happened that Tormeon knew Fortner, who in turn had known the architect who planned the unbuilt

Excalibur Building for Morton Delcott. But until tonight, when he saw the letter that Weston gave the

newspapers, Tormeon hadn't known that the Excalibur Building even figured in the case.

Cardona had politely decided to let the law handle the matter alone. He had thanked Tormeon, though, and

had left the smiling nightclub owner receiving congratulations and apologies from Harry Vincent and Dixie

While Cardona and his raiders were staring into the dustcluttered hole, a truck started from a corner of the

parking lot. Delcott and Zurm had reached the trapdoor, four mobsters along with them.

The truck zigzagged across the parking lot, its ray machines in full action. Zurm's intensifiers were withering

They found out when they reached the parking lot's one outlet. New opponents rose to meet them; they were

The Shadow's agents, who had located crime's scene through Burbank's recording ray detectors. To a man,

Those firearms of a former day remained intact despite the approaching ray. The Shadow had supplied his

agents with guns that were made of brass, not steel. The slugs that served as ammunition were lead, a metal

which did not melt when the ray struck it. The volley that the truck received had all the power of a

Tires, wheels and motor, even the truck's thick walls, were ripped by that mass of flying lead. As the truck

Zurm, his ray machines broken, became a howling madman who fired wildly with a revolver until they had to

But no one needed to bother with Morton Delcott. The master crook was mangled behind the truck's steering

CLIMBING atop a twisted pile of automobiles that had dropped ten feet into the space that he had opened

beneath them, The Shadow witnessed crime's finish. A strident laugh, a peal of weird mirth, echoed long

From the spot where Morton Delcott had once planned to rear a tower of commerce. The Shadow had

There was later evidence of The Shadow elsewhere, though no one recognized the fact.

At Graykill Prison. where order had been completely restored, the guards who watched the shattered gateway

heard the throb of an airplane motor, that cut off very suddenly. Then from the darkness beyond the

Big searchlights trained upon the spot, picked out an autogiro rising from the ground. The strange craft had

evidently made a landing, only to follow it with an immediate takeoff. The lights followed the ship with the

spinning blades until it disappeared. No eyes detected the cloaked passenger who had dropped off during the

Tomorrow, Lamont Cranston, the almostforgotten man of Graykill Prison, would be present to receive the

governor's pardon for crimes which The Shadow, tonight, had placed where they belonged!