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

CHAPTER I. THE MAN WHO STARED ..............................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. THE SHADOW EXPERIMENTS ...................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. THE SHADOW'S ANTIDOTE ....................................................................................10

CHAPTER IV. CLUES FROM THE PAST.........................................................................................13

CHAPTER V. MILES OFF SHORE .....................................................................................................18

CHAPTER VI. BACK TO LAND .........................................................................................................22

CHAPTER VII. THE LAW INTERVENES.........................................................................................26

CHAPTER VIII. THE ESCAPE ............................................................................................................31

CHAPTER IX. THE CONFERENCE...................................................................................................34

CHAPTER X. CARDONA GAINS SUSPICIONS..............................................................................38

CHAPTER XI. WHEN TOMTOMS BEAT.......................................................................................43

CHAPTER XII. MOCQUINO DECREES ............................................................................................47

CHAPTER XIII. DEATH IN THE PENTHOUSE ................................................................................50

CHAPTER XIV. FLIGHT BRINGS RESULTS ...................................................................................53

CHAPTER XV. SAYRE RECEIVES VISITORS................................................................................57

CHAPTER XVI. DARK BRINGS THE SHADOW .............................................................................61

CHAPTER XVII. MOCQUINO ENTERTAINS..................................................................................65

CHAPTER XVIII. CARDONA FINDS A CLUE .................................................................................71

CHAPTER XIX. THE VOODOO CULT MEETS ................................................................................76

CHAPTER XX. THE HALTED ORDEAL ...........................................................................................79

CHAPTER XXI. OUT OF THE VOID.................................................................................................83

The words were uttered in a solemn, mechanical monotone, from lips that were expressionless. The speaker

was a rigid, staring man who stood in the center of a room that was obviously a physician's office.

The question was put by a swarthy, stocky man who was standing beside a small group of listeners.

Again the slow, mechanical tone. The man in the center of the room retained his rigid attitude. His eyes were

motionless, looking steadily at the farther wall. The swarthy questioner shook his head, then turned to a

"We must talk it over, inspector," he decided. "Perhaps it would be best for us to be alone."

The swarthyfaced man nodded. He motioned to the other listeners; they were three in number and all looked

like detectives. The three arose and took hold of the staring man. They started to walk him from the room. Dr.

"Leave him here," ordered the physician. Then to the swarthy inspector, "It might be better if he heard us talk,

The three detectives departed in a cluster. Sayre and Cardona remained in the office together; between them

Dr. Rupert Sayre possessed the proper attitude of a consulting physician. Though youngish, he was serious in

manner; and his air was one that created confidence This was in keeping with his reputation. Sayre rated high

Joe Cardona, ace detective of New York headquarters, was also a man of merit. Acknowledged as a leader in

his own profession, Cardona held the position of acting inspector. His dark eyes were keen; his firm jaw

As for the staring man, he possessed features which placed him above the common run. He was above

medium height, erect in carriage and handsome of countenance. His complexion was light; his hair a medium

"Give me the history of this case, Cardona," suggested Dr. Sayre, in a brisk fashion. "It is quite all right to

speak while the patient is listening. Your words might produce some thought that would arouse him from his

"All right," agreed Cardona. "To begin with, the fellow arrived in New York at three o'clock Sunday

"Yes. He came from a Jersey Central ferry, at Liberty Street. He had ridden into Jersey City on an express

"Yes; north of Atlantic City, south of Asbury Park. You reach it by Pennsylvania Railroad from Philadelphia;

by Jersey Central from New York. Well, doctor, when this fellow reached the New York side of the Hudson

River, the first thing he did was walk straight in front of a taxicab. The driver jammed the brakes; the man

"Another cab nearly bopped him. That's when a patrolman stepped in. He grabbed the chap and saw what was

wrong with him. He took him to the precinct. From there, he was shipped to a hospital for observation.

"Fortyeight hours ago. No change in his condition. He slept at intervals, but stayed rigid when he did. When

The staring man must have caught an inspiration from the words. He closed his eyes a moment after Cardona

spoke. There was no flicker of the eyelids. They plopped shut like clamshells and remained closed.

"Outside of a few dollars," stated Cardona, "all this fellow had on him were two railway tickets. Here they

are." Joe produced the items. "One is a Jersey Central receipt for a ticket purchased at Mannegat; we know

"The other is the return half of a ticket from Philadelphia to Mannegat, via the Pennsylvania Railroad. The

Sayre nodded. He was listening to Cardona and watching the rigid man at the same time. Sayre saw eyelids

"What he did," assured Cardona, "was board a Pennsy train at Philly, intending to return there. When he got

to Mannegat, he must have changed his mind and taken the Jersey Central into New York, instead.

"That's all we know about him. We've sent pictures to the Philadelphia police. No results. Nobody knows the

fellow. He won't say anything that helps. The doctors at the hospital can't figure it. That's why I brought him

"Why to me?" he queried. "I can scarcely be classed as a specialist in such cases as these."

"I'm not so sure of that," returned Cardona "You've seen some cases that others haven't. Particularly when

Dr. Sayre made a sudden exclamation. He arose and approached the staring man, to study the patient at close

range. He was trying to find a likeness between this man and others whom he had seen in the past. Sayre

"Veldon's automata!" he half whispered. "Living dead men, who moved about like mechanical figures!

Victims of operations that had made their brains mere machines in the hands of a master criminal!"

Approaching the standing man, Sayre pressed fingers to the back of the patient's head. He was searching for

incisions, some trace of a surgical operation. He found none. This man was a different case from those whom

"He may act like Veldon's machine men," declared Sayre to Cardona, "but he is not the same. Of one thing I

can assure you, inspector: This man's condition is the result of a nervous shock; not of a surgical operation."

"I cannot promise. I should like to keep him here a while. He is not dangerous, despite the fact that you kept

"I only brought them to move him along. He walks like a mechanical figure. You say you want to keep him

"Exactly." Cardona pondered for a moment. "All right," he decided. "This isn't a criminal case. I can leave

"You will hear from me by this time tomorrow." Dr. Sayre indicated a desk clock, which showed half past

"By this time tomorrow afternoon," reminded the acting inspector. "If I don't hear from you, I'll come here,

Sayre had risen. As soon as Cardona was gone, he stepped squarely in front of the staring man and met the

fellow's gaze. The electric lights were on in the office. The physician could see the staring optics plainly. He

knew that the man was observing him; but there was no motion or change in the patient's gaze.

A human automaton. A "machine man," as Cardona had described him. Sayre was not surprised that the ace

detective had classed this patient with those victims of Eric Veldon's. A flood of thoughts swept through the

Sayre remembered Eric Veldon. A criminal who had called himself a "master of death." A fiend who had

wanted Sayre to aid him in brain operations upon captured thugs and outlaws, that they might do Veldon's

Sayre, himself, had been a prisoner of Veldon's, subject to the evil master's bidding. Into that dilemma had

come a powerful fighter, greater than the insidious supercrook. The result had been Sayre's rescue. Veldon

and his minions had perished. Since then, Sayre had served the rescuer who had saved him.

That rescuer was The Shadow. A hidden being, a master sleuth, a fighter par excellence, The Shadow was

one who constantly warred against crime. He was an uncanny personage, whose ways were many, whose

very presence was a shroud of mystery. No matter what the mission might be, Sayre had never known The

Stepping toward the man who stared, Sayre placed his hands upon the patient's shoulders. He gave a turning

pressure; the staring man swung about without resistance. Sayre shifted hands and urged the patient toward a

Regularly, with slow, automatic pace, the staring man walked forward. When they reached the barrier,

Sayre's pressure stopped him. The physician stepped ahead and opened the door. He turned on a light to show

Coming back to the office, Sayre walked the patient forward to a chair in the reception room. Again, he

turned the human machine about, then pushed him downward. The rigid arms jerked sidewise and found the

Dr. Sayre locked the outer door of the reception room and pocketed the key. He went back into the office and

closed the adjoining door. He picked up the telephone and called a number. A quiet voice responded:

Sayre replied by giving his own name. Tensely, he stated facts concerning the strange patient whom Cardona

Dr. Sayre hung up the receiver. Anxiously, he opened the door to the reception room and again surveyed the

patient. The staring man was exactly as Sayre had left him, seated in the big chair, his face expressionless as

he looked straight toward the wall. Several minutes passed, while Sayre remained almost as rigid as the man

Sayre bobbed back into the office and closed the door. He lifted the receiver and announced his name. Again,

The call completed. Sayre hung up and smiled. He opened the door to the reception room; then went to his

desk. Thanks to the opened door, he could keep tabs on his patient, should the man make any motion.

No such indications came. Minutes ticked by without a stir from the staring man in the next room. Dr. Rupert

Sayre, however, wore a smile of absolute confidence. His chat with Burbank had given him assurance; for

Sayre's report had been relayed. A return statement had been received. While dusk settled above Manhattan,

Dr. Sayre could wait without a worry. Within the next two hours, the physician would have another visitor

The Shadow, master delver into unaccountable pasts, was coming to take charge of this unexplainable case.

Dr. Sayre's desk clock showed ten minutes after seven, when the physician suddenly chanced to notice it.

Sayre could not have explained the impulse that forced him to drop work that he was doing, in order to

Sayre had heard nothing; yet, after glancing at the clock, he looked directly toward the outer door of the

office. Tensely expectant, he expected it to open. Slow seconds passed; then the door swung slowly inward.

Sayre recognized the countenance that he observed. The smile was slight, formed by thin lips. The visage,

itself, was masklike, with a hawkish aspect. Steady, burning eyes gazed from the immobile face.

In his greeting, Sayre spoke the name instinctively. The physician, like others, knew that Lamont Cranston

was a globetrotting millionaire, who spent occasional periods at his estate in New Jersey. More than that,

Later, Sayre had learned that The Shadow was not Lamont Cranston. There was a real Cranston, who was

seldom at home. The Shadow, when he chose, used Cranston's residence and lived there, passing himself off

as the millionaire. This was with the real Cranston's knowledge and approval. But of the two, the only one

Sayre complied. He found his patient still seated in the adjoining room. He urged the man to his feet and

propelled him into the office. The Shadow pointed toward the desk. Sayre swung the staring man so that he

Leaning back against the desk, The Shadow motioned Sayre to join him. Together, they faced the staring

eyes. The Shadow nodded to Sayre. The physician understood. He tried the stock questions on the patient.

The Shadow was watching the expressionless eyes, as the staring man delivered the mechanical monotones.

"Some other experiments," remarked Sayre to The Shadow. "Ones that they tried at the hospital; and which I

The physician picked up a small book and held it in front of the staring eyes. Sayre asked:

"And this?" Sayre drew a fountain pen from his pocket. He held it close to the man's eyes. "What is it?"

He pushed the right hand toward the volume. "Take the book," he ordered. The staring man obeyed. "Open

"Look at the pages." Sayre forced the hands upward. "Read anything that you see there."

Mechanically, the man read a few words; then stopped. Sayre shifted the book. Slow lips spoke a few words

"His eyes are focused," explained the physician. "He can read only the few words that come directly in front

of them. That is why it is necessary to move the book. Incidentally, the man is colorblind also."

Sayre reached over and opened a desk drawer. He removed several pencils. He held one straight across in

Lips moved, but made no utterance. Eyes, though they did not shift, were strained as they continued their

stare. The Shadow picked up a blue pencil; he took the yellow one from Sayre. He held the two so that the

"Which one is yellow"' queried The Shadow. "This?" He moved the blue. "Or this?" He moved the yellow.

The staring man could see both. His lips moved. Each time they delivered a slow gasp. The Shadow put down

"This is green," he remarked, in the slow tone of Cranston. "Remember it: green."

He turned about, mixed the pencils, then raised them one by one before the straining, staring eyes

The staring man's lips moved as each pencil passed his vision. Nevertheless, no words arrived. Sayre made

"I disagree," returned The Shadow, with a slight smile. He tossed the pencils to the desk. "He has simply lost

his sense of color perception. It is a peculiar condition that accompanies his aphasia."

"A person who is totally colorblind," he declared, "should show one of two reactions. He will either think

that he knows colors and will therefore name them incorrectly, because of the shades that he sees; or he will

"This man has tried to identify the colors of the pencils. He has found himself unable to do so. Apparently, he

"It is puzzling," conceded the physician. "Your theory seems to strike the facts. I attribute the man's aphasia

"That opens a realm of speculation," he declared. "Sound could have produced this condition, as with the

cases of shellshocked victims. Brilliance might have done it. There have been cases of aphasia among

Sayre looked toward The Shadow, as he heard the quiet statement. The physician was stopped with

"Color!" he gasped. "That could account for it! Deafness after sound; blindness after brilliance! Loss of color

"Yes!" The Shadow pronounced the word with a sibilant hiss. "Color! That fact is known" his voice had

become a weird whisper. "Through it, we can grasp forgotten facts that dwell within this stilled brain."

As he spoke, The Shadow reached to the wall and pressed the light switch. Ceiling bulbs faded; the only glow

that remained came from a lamp upon Sayre's desk. Reaching for it, The Shadow tilted the shade upward. A

spot of light was thrown upon two faces: The Shadow's and that of the staring man who gazed blankly across

Dr. Sayre watched The Shadow's countenance move eye to eye with the face of the unknown patient. Sayre

caught the glint of fire sparkling from The Shadow's optics. The glow seemed to reflect into the bluegray

Again The Shadow whispered. His visage, like his voice, had altered. Sayre was transfixed, as if beholding a

visitor from another world. The expression of The Shadow's face was commanding, compelling. He was

There was something hypnotic in The Shadow's gaze. Sayre, being a physician knew its purpose. The

Shadow was gaining the full attention of the staring man, forcing him to forget all except those eyes which

glowed before him. Though the staring man gave no visible sign, it was apparent that his gaze was fixed.

"Your thoughts return to the past." The Shadow's tone was solemn. "Back to the time when memory was full.

No response from the staring man. Only sibilant echoes from the walls, reverberations of The Shadow's

Staring eyes bulged. Lips began to quiver, but gave no utterance. Again, The Shadow whispered:

"Lights!" hissed The Shadow. "Lights that glowed with color! You remember the color itself!"

"Red! Vivid red!" The Shadow's hands, rising, reached the staring man's chin. One hand on either side. The

Shadow used his fingertips to tilt the man's face slightly upward. Gazing deep into the other's eyes. The

Shadow delivered final utterance: "Glowing red! Red that gripped you, that terrorized you "

The Shadow's tone ended abruptly. His words were like a knife thrust into the thoughts of the man whose

memory he sought to jog. A wild cry ripped from gasping lips. Hands came up; the victim clutched the sides

"Red! Maddening red!" His voice was hoarse as he backed away. "Red there! Upon the walls!"

Eyes were staring no longer. They were rolling, terrified, as though viewing a horrendous scene. The man

was wheeling, pointing to one wall, then to another. His head tilted toward the floor.

"Red!" he shrieked. His head went back; his eyes rolled upward as his hand pointed to the ceiling. "Red!

The man recoiled, then drove forward with furious impulse. His face distorted, he leaped toward the desk

lamp. Young, powerful, he snatched the lamp from its resting place and swung back his arm, ready to deliver

With one quick grasp, The Shadow clutched the fierce man's arm. With his other hand, he wrenched the lamp

from the fellow's grasp. Eyes, no longer staring, were wild with frenzy. As The Shadow wheeled away,

carrying the lamp, the maddened man straightened and spun about, clutching at his hair.

He was focused in the glow, as The Shadow turned the light straight upon him. A frenzied scream; a

thwarted, desperate stare; then, with a choking gasp, the man crumpled and rolled crazily upon the floor.

"His frenzy has overcome him," declared the physician. "The memories that you induced have caused him to

"Results have been gained," responded The Shadow, in the calm tone of Cranston. "We must be prepared for

Together, they lifted the helpless man from the floor. One supporting each shoulder, The Shadow and Sayre

moved the patient toward the door. It was The Shadow who led the course; Sayre followed, puzzled. Out

through an entry, to the level of the front street. There Sayre saw a waiting limousine, a chauffeur by the

The Shadow urged Sayre toward further effort. Together, they placed the unconscious man in the car. The

Shadow stepped aboard; the chauffeur closed the door, leaving Sayre on the sidewalk. The face of Lamont

"Tomorrow," came the quiet tone, "I shall summon you. Be ready to join me, Dr. Sayre."

"But... but the patient," stammered the physician. "He was in my charge. You are taking him "

"Since I have found the cause of his condition," interposed The Shadow, quietly, "I shall be able to supply the

The chauffeur had taken the wheel. The limousine pulled away. Standing on the curb, Dr. Sayre gazed after

the departing car with a dumfounded expression that almost matched the blankness of the man who had

Through Sayre's mind echoed The Shadow's final words. The Shadow had learned the cause. He would find

the antidote. Tomorrow, the mysterious patient would be restored to a normal condition. Then would come

Tomorrow, Sayre was convinced, truth would be learned. The Shadow's words had been a prophecy. Sayre

wondered what the future would bring. Perhaps it was well that he could not guess.

For The Shadow, tonight, had crossed an unexpected trail of crime. One that was destined to produce strange

At four o'clock the next afternoon, Dr. Rupert Sayre stepped from a local train at a small New Jersey station.

An automobile was awaiting him. It was the limousine that he had seen the night before. The same chauffeur

was at the wheel. Sayre stepped aboard; the car rolled from the station driveway.

Settlingback in the cushions of the tonneau, Dr. Sayre felt that he had embarked upon adventure. He had

come to New Jersey in response to a summons from The Shadow. That fact indicated that results had been

The staring man must have recovered from his helpless condition. So Sayre reasoned; and with good logic.

Had the patient's state remained the same, The Shadow would have returned him to New York. The fact that

The journey from the station was not a long one. Soon the limousine had threaded its way along secondary

highways, to arrive at the gate of a large estate. The big car rolled between stone gateposts. It took a curving

This was the home of Lamont Cranston. A servant descended the front steps to greet the visitor. Sayre was

ushered into a quiet living room. The servant went away; a few minutes later, a calm voice spoke in greeting.

Sayre looked up to see the tall form of Lamont Cranston. Daylight from the opened window reflected a

"Immensely." Lips formed a slight smile. "Several hours of intensive treatment have proven of great benefit."

"'Not yet. It was preferable to await your arrival. A short while longer would be desirable."

The Shadow glanced from the window as he spoke. It was plain that he was considering the matter of

daylight. Afternoon was waning; the sun was on a level with high trees that fringed the grounds about the

"While we are waiting," remarked The Shadow, quietly, "I shall reconstruct a few items in the history of our

"'He was subjected to a strange ordeal. Some enemy placed him in a room that was entirely red. I picture

deepcrimson curtains upon every wall; a red carpet covering the entire floor; a glaring ceiling of the same

"He did not have to talk," interposed The Shadow. "His actions in your office were a clear indication of the

facts that I have stated. You will recall his cry: 'Redred, everywhere ' and his manner of pointing to all the

"Furthermore, the room in which he had suffered was flooded with red light. That, was plain because of his

final action, when he tried to seize your desk lamp to bash it against the wall. He had been unable to

accomplish such a deed in the red room itself. Therefore, we know that the lights in that chamber of terror

"This room of vivid red was located somewhere in New York. Probably in Manhattan."

The statement came quietly from The Shadow. Sayre looked puzzled; then shook his head and offered an

"Impossible!" he exclaimed. "The railroad tickets disprove that theory. The victim had one from Philadelphia

Sayre stopped. The Shadow was producing a small sheaf of papers, with timetables among them.

"At nine o'clock Sunday morning," he declared, "a roundtrip ticket was bought in Philadelphia. It read to

Mannegat and return, via the Pennsylvania Railroad. I have the number of that ticket. A newspaper reporter

"Cardona, of course, has only the return stub. which was found in the staring man's pocket. He took it for

granted that the victim had boarded a train in Philadelphia. It happens that the first train which leaves from

"The trip requires one hour and fifty minutes. Hence the train reaches Mannegat at twelve fifty. At Mannegat,

we know, the man boarded a Jersey Central express for New York. The trip takes two hours. The man arrived

"Then he left Mannegat at once," declared the physician. "He had only ten minutes to change from one train

"Exactly! Cardona estimated that he had a few hours. Cardona was wrong. Ten minutes was the full time. In

that ten minutes, the man would have to travel two miles, for the railroad stations are that distance apart.

After that, he required time to buy a ticket to New York, via the Jersey Central."

"Close work," agreed Sayre. "I see the answer. To order a cab; to cover the intervening distance and then buy

a ticket, the man must have been in normal state. But then," he paused, puzzled "then his experience must

have occurred upon the train. That does not fit, especially with your statement that the red room episode took

"It fits quite well," smiled The Shadow. "It proves that the victim did not start from Philadelphia at all. He

Sayre found himself nodding in agreement. The Shadow was right. The man could not have been normal

when he took the train at Mannegat. Conversely, he would have had to be alert to accomplish so much in the

"As proof of these statements," added The Shadow, "I have learned two facts by longdistance calls to

Philadelphia. The first is, that the eleven o'clock train to Mannegat was late last Sunday. It did not arrive at its

destination until twelve fiftyeight The second fact is that the original portion of Ticket No. 6384 was not

Sayre blinked. This was double proof. Not only had the train reached Mannegat too late for the transfer, but

"The assumption, therefore, is this." The Shadow paused. "Someone went to Philadelphia and bought the

ticket at nine o'clock; then drove to Mannegat immediately. The victim was already at Mannegat, in the hands

of other custodians. The return half of that ticket was placed in his pocket. He was provided with a Jersey

Central ticket, purchased in Mannegat, and was put aboard the express to New York."

"To make it appear that the man had come from Philadelphia. That would have been unnecessary, unless the

victim happened to be going, to someplace where his captors wanted no search to be made."

"I see it!" exclaimed the physician. "You have uncovered a cunning device! You are right! The red room

must be in New York. The rogues were smart enough to send their victim right back to the city from where

"Correct," assured The Shadow. "The ordeal took place before Sunday; probably on Saturday night. Early

Sunday, one of the captors drove to Philadelphia, bought the ticket and came to Mannegat. The others had

"We have, therefore, traced the staring man's actions during the period while he was in his remarkable trance.

We cannot expect him to give us the details of that interval. He will, however, tell us what occurred

A glance from the window, The Shadow saw that the sun had dropped below the high treetops. He nodded to

Sayre. The physician followed him from the living room. They came to a secluded door on the ground floor.

"Since color caused the patient's lapse," remarked The Shadow, while his long hand rested on the doorknob,

"I have used color to aid his recovery. You will find him in a room like the one that I described; where walls,

"A bad mistake!" he uttered. "Since the red room, with its crimson glow, was responsible for the man's

condition, a repetition of the ordeal may have driven him totally mad. You have made a mistake "

"I ordered curtains and carpet last night," interposed The Shadow. "They arrived early this morning. The

ceiling was painted during the interim. I obtained lights and installed them. Our patient has been in this room

"Again, I insist!" exclaimed Sayre. "You should have told me all this before you acted. Such treatment may

A glow met Sayre's astonished gaze. Instead of the fierce crimson glare that the physician expected, his eyes

were greeted with a pleasing, mellow light. One that was restful from the first moment.

In the center of the room, half reclining upon the floor, was the man who had stared. His head was leaning

back upon his clasped hands. With wide opened eyes, he was absorbing the color and the glow that pervaded

Curtains, carpet, ceiling even the lights that shone from sockets in corners of the walls all were

deepgreen in color. Not another shade or tone disturbed the setting. The immediate impression was one of

The staring man's face showed delight, as if his eyes were drinking in the color that enclosed him. The bulge

had gone from his optics. He turned his eyes slightly; his face showed a smile of greeting as he observed the

two arrivals. Slowly, the man arose and stretched himself, like one who had enjoyed a long repose.

Dr. Rupert Sayre stood silent in admiration. Through use of the opposite color, the ravaging effects had been

counteracted. The red room, to the patient, was a forgotten nightmare of the past. This green room

The Shadow had divined the cause of the staring man's condition. The Shadow had supplied the antidote.

The Shadow closed the door of the green room. Dr. Sayre and the other man watched him while he

approached a wall and found a cord within the folds of a velvet curtain. The Shadow drew the cord; green

The Shadow repeated the operation farther along the wall. Daylight replaced the glow of greenish lamps. The

Shadow found a switch and extinguished the emerald lights. Green still predominated, but the aspect of the

Dr. Sayre was astonished to see cushions upon the floor at the spot where the patient had been reclining. He

blinked as he eyed chairs in corners, other objects that had mysteriously come into view. Cushions and chairs

were green. Against curtains of the same color, dyed by greenish lights, the chairs and cushions had been

The glare from the window disturbed the man who had occupied the green room. Although the sun had set,

though the outside scene was restful, the man began to shade his eyes. Beyond the window he saw green

Sayre saw the man stare suddenly. Looking from the window, the physician caught a glimpse of a cardinal

bird, as it fluttered from the branches of a small cedar. Sayre turned quickly toward the patient. He saw the

The Shadow, too, had observed. He approached the patient and motioned him to a chair that faced away from

the window. Sayre realized that The Shadow had made a test. He had learned the patient's sense of

As Sayre watched, The Shadow produced a pair of green tinted spectacles and gave them to the seated man.

"My name," stated The Shadow, quietly, "is Lamont Cranston. This gentleman is Dr. Rupert Sayre. You may

"In New York," replied the young man. "At the Dalmatia Apartments. I came to New York from Texas."

Lips moved, but made no utterance. Eyes showed through the greenish glasses. The Shadow divined the

"What you tell us," he declared, "will not be repeated. You were found in a dazed condition "

"Yes. But they have placed you in full custody of Dr. Sayre. At present, you are away from New York City."

Stanton Wallace nodded. He still seemed loath to speak, although his reticence had lessened.

"To aid you," remarked The Shadow, quietly, "We must know your full story. Specifically, the facts which

A gasp from the young man's lips. His eyes gazed toward The Shadow's. For a few moments, they remained

fixed; then confidence gripped Stanton Wallace. He was ready to accept Lamont Cranston as a friend.

"My story is an unbelievable one," Wallace began. "It involves incredible circumstances "

Wallace paused. His lips twitched. Again, he sought The Shadow's gaze. Eyes assured him. The young man

"I came to New York," he stated, "to handle special correspondence for a wealthy Texan named Dunley

Bligh. Among other matters, I arranged steamship passage for Bligh from New York to South America. That

completed my work. I mailed everything to Bligh, so that he might take passage immediately upon his arrival

"Not yet. But there was another point that I must mention. Bligh is a millionaire. He made his fortune from

oil. Once on the steamship, he is to receive a collection of valuable gems, which he purchased recently by

proxy. He is taking the jewels along with him, to use them in a few deals he has planned."

The Shadow nodded his understanding. He sensed that these statements were merely a preliminary account.

Stanton Wallace had given his reason for being in New York. His real adventures would constitute another

The tone was awed, as though the very mention of the name brought horror to Stanton Wallace. As the young

man paused, both The Shadow and Sayre could see his hands twitch and his shoulders shudder.

"Dr. Mocquino," repeated Wallace, slowly, "The Voodoo Master from San Domingo. A man with a friendly

smile, with eyes that search you. A man who commands trust, but whose words are lies. A man with a

The tone was quickening; Wallace's voice had reached a higher pitch. His eyes were darting furtively; they

showed terror. The Shadow caught the man's shoulder and forced him to meet a steady gaze. Fear faded as

The Shadow's command was a whisper, in the sibilant tone which he had used the day before. Sayre saw

"My meeting with Mocquino seemed a chance one," declared the patient "We were both strangers in New

York. We became friends. Mocquino spoke of his adventures. He discussed the voodoo rituals held in Haiti

Sayre saw that the speaker was depending upon The Shadow's gaze. The eyes before him enabled Stanton

Wallace to crowd out fears of the past. His voice had become a steady monotone. The Shadow, it seemed,

"One evening," proceeded Wallace, "Mocquino amazed me with the statement that a voodoo cult existed in

New York. He asked if I would care to attend one of the rituals. I was intrigued. I went. There, I gained new

astonishment. Mocquino was more than a privileged spectator. He was the leader of the cult!

"Picture it; a dozen persons about an artificial fire that was weirdly realistic! In a room arranged to resemble a

West Indian jungle, with natives beating tomtoms! I can hear the rhythm of those steady beats. Terrible

The Shadow's eyes were steady. Wallace hesitated; then a growing frenzy raced from his voice. Steadied, the

"Before that meeting ended, I had been seized by the lure. I, too, was willing to accept Dr. Mocquino as my

leader. I went to other meetings, a fullfledged member. Like the others, I recognized no one present except

"One night, Dr. Mocquino produced a wax effigy of a human being a tiny figure no more than six inches

tall. He named it. He said that it was Myron Rathcourt. One of our members stepped forward and claimed

recognition. That member must have been a friend or relative of Myron Rathcourt.

"Dr. Mocquino took a long pin and thrust it through the heart of the wax figure. He was fiendish and we

echoed his delight. All of us, including the man who had recognized Myron Rathcourt. Three days passed."

Wallace paused; his voice awed: "Then I read a newspaper account of Myron Rathcourt's death. Rathcourt

A pause. Sayre's brain was drumming. He, too, had read of Myron Rathcourt's death. But no newspaper had

"One week later," continued Wallace, "Dr. Mocquino produced another effigy. To this one, he gave the name

of James Lenger. A member of the cult claimed recognition. Dr. Mocquino opened a penknife. Savagely. he

"Two days afterward" the speaker's tone was sinking to a whisper "just two days afterward, the New York

newspapers carried a story of James Lenger's death. Lenger had made a lone trip up the Amazon River. He

was slain by native headhunters. His body, alone, was discovered by an expedition. He had been decapitated;

Stanton Wallace's face was tilting forward. The Shadow spoke a single word. Wallace's eyes came up to meet

"Like the other members of the cult, I gloated. We were proud of Dr. Mocquino's power. I looked forward to

the time of the next meeting; for I had imbibed the fiendish joy that predominated at those voodoo rites. Then

came the last time. The night that broke the terrible spell of the false jungle fire and the beating tomtoms.

"Dr. Mocquino had led us in a ghoulish chant, wherein our voices joined instinctively with his. He called for

silence. He produced a new effigy. He named it and called for recognition. His eyes were turned toward me

"I advanced. I looked in horror at the effigy! It was a miniature of the man I was serving in New York: my

employer, Dunley Bligh!! My mind filled with understanding. I looked at Dr. Mocquino. His smile was the

"Murder! His voodoo rites were a sham. Mocquino had urged me to talk of Bligh's affair. Mocquino knew

that wealth would be in Bligh's hands. Because of the information that I had heedlessly given, my friendly

"I was dumfounded! I watched while Mocquino thrust a long pin through the body of the wax image. A

jeering chant rose from the throng about me. Angered, I seized the effigy and smashed it upon the floor! I

Stanton Wallace was staring with fixed eyes. He was coming to his final recollection of that terrible night.

"I shall never forget what resulted," he stated slowly. "Dr. Mocquino became a demon. His frenzied followers

screamed for my blood. I expected terrible torture; but of a physical sort. Instead, I was subjected to a mental

"I had seen the horrible place before. Curtains walls ceiling all of that bloodred color. But when I was

placed, bound, within the walls of the terrible room, the ordinary lights were extinguished. Instead, crimson

"I remember Mocquino's devilish face, reddened by the glow. The gold cloth of his robe was bronzed by the

glare. The red scarf that he wore about his waist was blotted from my view. He looked like a living creature

in two sections. Then Mocquino left me. The red lights glared, more terrible with every passing moment! I

was frenzied, screaming for death in preference to such torture! When I closed my eyes, the red light

"Then came oblivion. I have only a hazy recollection of walking, of encountering crowds, of persons who

forced me or guided me. My thoughts regained alignment only after I found myself in this green room."

Dusk was streaking the outside lawn. Modulated light was soothing. Stanton Wallace again settled back in his

"You have told your story," he remarked in the quiet tone of Cranston. "Your memory is restored. Therefore,

you should remember the place where Dr. Mocquino holds his meetings with the voodoo cult."

"I do," nodded Wallace. "I cannot recall the street number; but the house itself is easily located. It is an old

mansion with closed shutters. The first house east of the new Europa Building. It is entered from the

basement of another house the next beyond. The meetings are held on the second floor of the empty house

"Not for a few days. To be exact, on the same day that Dunley Bligh sails from New York. His ship will

"Bligh must be warned! He will be in danger after he leaves for South America. There is still time to save

him. The cult meets on Wednesdays and on Saturdays. We still have until Wednesday, before Dunley Bligh

Dr. Sayre was staring, puzzled. Before the physician could speak, The Shadow intervened. Stanton Wallace

"Bligh will be protected," he assured. "I shall inform him of the danger. Meanwhile, you must rest. Remove

the glasses and enjoy the twilight. Dr. Sayre will visit you before it becomes dark."

With a motion to Sayre, The Shadow opened the door. The physician followed. Together, they went to the

"What does Wallace mean by 'until Wednesday'?" he asked. "Does he think that this is an earlier day?"

"He does," replied The Shadow. "His ordeal took place last Saturday. He does not recall the time lapse. He

"But today is Wednesday! And that means the Doranic will leave New York, with Dunley Bligh aboard "

"Not yet." Calmly, The Shadow picked up a telephone. He gave a number, then pressed a button on the wall.

"You will remain here, Dr. Sayre. Call Cardona; tell him that you wish to keep the patient awhile longer. Do

A servant entered while The Shadow was still holding the telephone, awaiting his connection.

"Go at once, Richards," ordered The Shadow, in the methodical tone of Cranston. "Tell Stanley to have the

coupe ready. I am going to the airport." Richards went out. The Shadow began to speak into the telephone.

He was connected with the airport. Dr. Sayre, listening, began to understand. The Shadow was right; there

The Shadow, himself, was preparing for a race against death. He, the master who stood for right, was setting

On the steamship Doranic, four hours out of New York harbor, sailing in a blackedout condition, a stocky

man with a black mustache entered the purser's office. An assistant purser was on duty.

"My name is Dunley Bligh," announced the mustached man. "I have come for a package which was left for

The assistant purser found the package. An envelope was with it. He drew out a folded paper and read a

"I understand," broke in Bligh. "The code word is 'aurora'; you will see it in the note."

The ship's officer nodded. He gave the package to Bligh, who signed the receipt and then walked away in the

On the deck of the Doranic all was quiet. Rather than put up with the restrictions required in wartime waters,

the passengers preferred to remain in the salons below, smoking, chatting and having their entertainment. The

blacked out portholes would not betray the presence of the ship to lurking submarines. Strangely, however,

queer blue lights were shown on the deck, visible only from the sky, and the ship's officers were tense as they

Then, out of the dark sky, guided only by the blue lights of the ship, came an autogiro, entirely wingless, its

great rotor blades dropping it gently to a cleared space on deck. Two passengers alighted, and were escorted

One man was slight of build, but wiry. He grinned as he nodded to the ship's officer.

"I'm your passenger," he stated. "My name is Clyde Burke. Reporter for the New York Classic. What cabin

The officer nodded and passed out the list. It was a logical request, coming from a reporter, particularly when

"This is a news stunt. I was going to South America to handle some goodwill features for the Classic. But

that wasn't to be for a couple of weeks. I had a lucky chance to catch the Doranic by a trip in an autogiro, so I

The assistant purser was nodding, while he still consulted the chart. At last he assigned a cabin:

As he looked up, the ship's officer noted Burke's companion. This second arrival was a tall personage, with

hawklike countenance. Burke had finished with the passenger list. His friend was scanning the list of names.

"This is Mr. Cranston," he explained. "Owner of the wingless autogiro. He's going back to New York. How

about it, Mr. Cranston?" He turned to his friend. "Have you time to take a look at my cabin?"

A steward accompanied the two arrivals to 411B. As soon as the steward was gone, Burke yanked open a

A quiet whisper interrupted. Burke looked up. Already, his tall companion had drawn garments from the

suitcase. Black folds of cloth were settling over shoulders, to form a covering cloak. A slouch hat was coming

from the bag, along with gloves. Clyde Burke eyed a brace of automatics. The Shadow, too, had noted the

number of Bligh's cabin from the purser's list; in addition, he had already been familiar with the deck plan of

Certain cabins on the C deck of the liner were arranged in connecting pairs. From the main corridor of the

deck were short side passages, dead ends that led to the deck wall. Entrances to the cabins were from the

small side passageways. Thus one side passage had doors 314 and 315 opposite. The next had 316 and 317 as

Cabins 315 and 316 formed a suite, with a connecting door between the two rooms. For this voyage the

In the darkness of 315, a man was listening at the connecting door. He could hear sounds of motion, which

Beside the listening man was another, who wore a white coat that showed in the gloom. The listener arose

"It's Bligh, all right," he whispered, hoarsely. "Get ready, Hoke, in case we need you."

"All right, Borey," returned the man in the white coat. "Only I can't work nothin' until we hear from

A slight tap at the outer door. Hoke started to answer it. Borey pushed him aside with a growl about keeping

"What about it, Hummer?" demanded Borey, in a harsh whisper. "Did he pick up the package?"

"Sure thing!" returned Hummer. "I was watching from around a corner. I trailed him until I was sure he was

"You're right, Hummer," he said. "Listen! The whole thing is a setup, the way it stands I planted the fixed

glass in 316. When Bligh takes a drink out of it, he's done. The only thing was, we didn't want him to plop

"That's why I had you here, Hoke. In case Bligh didn't bring the sparklers, it was your job to get him out of

the cabin before he used the glass. That's why you're wearing the steward's rig so you could give him a

"But since he's brought the package, all we've got to do is wait. When he keels over, we barge in and grab the

sparklers. Nobody's going to suspect us, on account of the regular medicine that Bligh takes."

"We'll gang him, in a pinch. Make him swallow it. Listen! Dill is in 317, across the passage from Bligh's

cabin. You go in there, Hoke, faking that you're a steward, in case Bligh's door is open. With two of us here

"Not a chance. Keep it closed, like this one. We don't want no snoopers. You'll hear Bligh if he comes out."

Hoke departed. He followed the short passage, rounded the pair of cabins and entered another passage that

brought him to the door of 316. It was closed. Hoke turned to the door opposite 317 and knocked softly.

"Just heard a gurgle," whispered the listener. He arose and stepped back from the connecting door. "Bligh has

In Cabin 316, Dunley Bligh was standing beside a table. He had opened his package. From it, he had brought

glimmering gems to form an array upon the table. Rubies, sapphires and emeralds formed a galaxy of

He had finished his preliminary survey. He had taken a drinking glass and a water bottle from a shelf above

the washstand. He had poured a glassful of water the gurgle that Borey had heard and he was placing the

Bligh corked the water bottle. As he did, he fancied that he heard a slight click. He turned toward the outer

door; then smiled at his own qualms. He had locked that door and left the key on the inside. No one could

So Bligh thought. He did not note that the key was turning, as if clipped by thin pliers, thrust through the

Bligh went to a suitcase. He brought out a small pill box and carried it to the table. He opened the box and

extracted two tiny pills. He put the box beside the glass of water, where the table lamp shone upon it. The box

The pills that Bligh held were grayish. He placed them on the tip of his tongue and swallowed them with a

gulp. He reached for the glass of water. His eyes were still upon the gems; he did not notice a change that had

occurred in the liquid. Bligh had let the water stand. A grayish scum was forming on its surface.

As his right hand fondled a brilliant emerald, Bligh raised the glass of water with his left. The tumbler came

toward his lips; but Bligh never quaffed the liquid. A hand shot forward into the glare of the table lamp. A

Standing before him was a shape in black, a being that could have been a spirit conjured from the sea. Silent,

unseen, this visitant had entered the cabin. He was cloaked in black; his eyes burned from beneath the brim of

Bligh, his own lips wavering, was conscious of a whispered tone that spoke from the folds of an upturned

cloak collar. The words the eyes both commanded silence. Though fearful, Dunley Bligh nodded.

The Shadow had arrived in time. Silently, he had entered Bligh's cabin almost through the midst of watchful

Dunley Bligh gasped the words; his voice was scarcely articulate. Heeding The Shadow's warning, he could

"A friend." The Shadow's tone was a low whisper. "One who has uncovered a plot upon your life. These

"So I understand." Bligh managed a smile. "They were prescribed for me by a specialist. They are safe, so

The Shadow's hand released its grip. Bligh lowered the tumbler. His eyes opened wider as he saw the grayish

scum, which the jogging of the glass had stirred further. Eyeing still closer, Bligh noted that the floating

"From pills of the sort that you have taken," interposed The Shadow. "Powder placed in the glass, which you

"You are a friend," acknowledged Bligh. "Tell me how did you learn of my danger?"

"Through Stanton Wallace," returned The Shadow. "He experienced an accident. Otherwise, he could have

warned you. Some enemies learned that you intended to receive jewels aboard this ship."

"They are. They intend to take your jewels. A prize that would net them at least two hundred thousand

"Possibly more. I value these gems at a quarter million. That is why I took precautions about their delivery.

You are right." Bligh mopped a perspiring brow. "Murder and robbery could both have been committed

"Men of crime are lurking," informed The Shadow, in his low whisper. "They will enter. If they encounter

trouble, they will have reserves. They are murderers. We must lure them to their own undoing."

The Shadow pointed to Bligh's suitcase, where a revolver glimmered. The man from Texas reached for the

"Let the gems scatter. Keep your revolver ready beneath you. Do not move until they have taken the bait."

Bligh saw the gloved hands produce a pair of automatics. Nodding, the Texan gave his agreement. He

watched The Shadow step to a darkened corner of the cabin. Then, with a sideward drop, Bligh sprawled to

the door. His gun hand was doubled inward; with his free arm he tipped the table.

The ruse was perfect. Above the rhythmic beat of the liner's engines, Bligh's drop combined both thud and

clatter. The table crackled as it fell. Gems skidded across the carpeting, to lie about like glittering markers.

Ten seconds passed. Then the connecting door opened. A face appeared from the darkness of Cabin 315. A

hand motioned. Borey crept into view, followed by Hummer. Both were sliding revolvers back into their

"Dead as a block of wood," voiced Borey. "But look at the sparklers! They've gone all over the joint! Come

Both men stooped beyond Bligh. Eager fingers reached for sparkling stones. Hands halted suddenly, as if the

gems were hot coals. Borey and Hummer spun about. Their lips coughed oaths. A creepy laugh had

shuddered to their ears. They saw the being who had uttered that whispered taunt. The Shadow!

Thugs by profession, Borey and Hummer recognized the figure that had stepped deliberately into the light.

They stared helplessly. Slowly, they shifted upward, raising their hands. Terror gripped their evil faces. They

Slowly, The Shadow circled, his gun muzzles looming toward the crooks. He neared the outer door. He drew

Peering along the floor, the Texan saw the move. He came up to a halfseated position, gripping his revolver.

The Shadow had left the outer door unlocked. He was approaching it, to hold his position there while he dealt

with those two murderous men. He was not quite to the door when he stopped. At that moment, the door

swung open. A whitecoated man appeared in the light. It was Hoke; behind him, another thug: the man

The pair had also heard Bligh's fall. They had come to join Borey and Hummer. The Shadow hissed a

command to Bligh. He was to pounce upon Borey and Hummer, while The Shadow dealt with this new duo.

Bligh misunderstood the order. He caught a motion of Hoke's gun. Quick on the trigger, the Texan aimed for

The revolver roared. Hoke staggered. The shot brought Borey and Hummer into action. Seeing Hoke fall,

their only thoughts were those of battle. Yanking their guns, they sprang in different directions: Borey toward

Bligh was caught flatfooted because of Borey's speed. Had The Shadow not performed amazingly, murder

might yet have been accomplished. The Shadow, however, took in the entire scene. He handled events with

The Shadow met Hummer's leap halfway, without firing a shot at the fellow. He tossed aside his lefthand

automatic and faded to the right as he caught Hummer's gun hand. With his right hand, he tugged the trigger

A sizzling bullet withered Borey's gun arm. The man's hand dropped as he sought to fire at Bligh.

The Texan, beaten to the shot, suddenly gained the advantage. He fired his revolver twice; both bullets found

In this melee, Bligh had forgotten Dill, who had dropped back to the passage. Dill could easily have picked

off Bligh; but The Shadow spoiled his opportunity. Grappling with Hummer, The Shadow drove his

The outside crook was snarling his rage. He could not reach The Shadow with a shot, for The Shadow had

Then, as Bligh scrambled toward a point of safety, The Shadow sprang another ruse. He jolted backward,

carrying Hummer with him. Dill thought that Hummer had gained an advantage. With a mad cry, the outside

crook plunged into the room. He learned his mistake as he saw The Shadow's right hand swing with a short

sidewise jab. The automatic cracked the side of Hummer's skull. The Shadow hurled his human shield aside.

Like a living arrow, he dived straight for Dill. His free left hand gripped the ruffian's gun wrist. His right fist

drove another sledgelike stroke that crashed down Dill's warding arm and reached the head beneath. Dill

sprawled sidewise and fell helpless. The Shadow stepped over and picked up his extra automatic.

"Take credit for the victory," he ordered, as he turned to Bligh. "I fired only one bullet. It will not be noted.

Call upon Clyde Burke, a reporter who has come aboard. He will declare himself to be your friend and will

substantiate any statements that you make. You have no other enemies on board. Rely upon Burke for aid and

Borey was dead; Hoke was gasping his last. Hummer and Dill lay stunned. The Shadow knew that excitement

would soon reign aboard the Doranic. He had no need to remain. Cutting through Cabin 31, he reached the

passage beyond. Peering from its end, he saw two excited stewards, who had heard the shots. They had

The Shadow reached a deserted companionway. In its gloom, he whisked off his cloak and placed it across

his arm, stuffing the slouch hat beneath it. He gained the deck, divesting himself of gloves. His automatics

were buried beneath his coat. His cloak appeared to be a light cape that he was carrying over his arm.

Quick pacing brought him to the autogiro. The plane was standing on a landing platform, its fanblades

turning lazily like the arms of a giant windmill. Beside it was the pilot, anxiousfaced, ready for the takeoff.

"Sorry, Crofton," he remarked, in the casual tone of Cranston. "I did not realize that I was delaying the

The Shadow stepped aboard; the pilot with him. Faced toward the ship's bow, the autogiro started forward. Its

wheels made no more that a double revolution. Aided by the headwind caused by the liner's speed, the plane

rose from the landing space. It poised in air, at the same speed as the Doranic; then climbed upward.

Within the gloom of the autogiro's cabin, The Shadow delivered the echo of a whispered laugh. He had

managed this mission well. Miles Crofton, his skilled pilot, had happened to be in New York, to test the new

wingless autogiro. By taking the trip to the Doranic as a passenger, The Shadow had been able to handle

Bligh, warned against future danger, would be safe, particularly with Clyde Burke as his friend.

The Shadow had chosen the first of important clues. Aid to Bligh had been imperative. The Shadow had

given it. He had thwarted death that had been ordered by the evil Voodoo Master, Dr. Mocquino. The time

Other agents of The Shadow had been posted in Manhattan. They were watching the headquarters of Dr.

The Shadow would have opportunity to reach New York long before the meeting ended. He was counting

upon a chance to deal with Mocquino before the Voodoo Master would guess that he was in the game.

Luck alone could balk The Shadow. Chance was the one element that he could not counteract. Oddly, fate

was tricking him tonight. While the autogiro sped shoreward, minor events were happening over which The

The Shadow's trail to Dr. Mocquino would be a quicker one than The Shadow had originally planned. But

because of haste that would soon prove necessary, the trail would become incomplete. Danger, struggles,

Dr. Rodil Mocquino, the Voodoo Master was destined to become a foe of formidable proportions. One who

While The Shadow was engaged in rescue of Dunley Bligh, he had left his friend Dr. Rupert Sayre in charge

of his patient, Stanton Wallace. With sunset, Sayre had turned on the emerald lights in the green room.

"Give me a break, doctor," he had insisted. "I'm feeling fit again. Let me sit around in a regular room.

Sayre had approved the suggestion. He had gone to Cranston's living room and had ordered Richards to

remove some red books and other small objects. Then he had taken Wallace to the new quarters. The patient

In Wallace's presence, Sayre made a call to Joe Cardona, telling the acting inspector that he would like to

keep the patient under further observation. Sayre had mentioned nothing about Wallace's recovery. He was

Leaving the living room, Sayre had met Richards and had quietly instructed the servant to make sure that

Oddly, the newspaper was the first thing for which Wallace asked, when Richards entered the room an hour

later. Wallace had finished looking at some magazines. He was leaning back in a comfortable chair, smoking

"Sorry, sir. There was only one newspaper here and Mr. Cranston took it with him."

A clock was chiming the halfhour when Richards returned. It was half past nine. Wallace received the

newspaper that the servant handed him. Richards walked out, smiling to himself. He had not mentioned this

matter to Dr. Sayre, who was at present in the library. Richards thought that he had followed the required

Wallace's reading of the newspaper was brief. Certain headlines puzzled him. He glanced at the date line and

saw the word "Tuesday." For the moment, he thought that Richards had given him a journal that was several

Realization struck him. With a startled cry, the young man crumpled the newspaper and threw it to the floor.

"Tuesday!" he exclaimed aloud. "Next Tuesday and yet the flunky said that it was yesterday's newspaper!

He rose to his feet and clutched his head, half mad as a myriad of thoughts overwhelmed him.

This was Wednesday night; Dunley Bligh had already sailed from New York. To Stanton Wallace came bitter

"Sayre has kept it from me," he groaned. "He knows that Bligh has met death. But he should have told me

"They fear Dr. Mocquino. I must call upon someone else to aid. Someone else I have it!"

Bounding to the telephone, Wallace raised the receiver. In a tense voice, he asked for a connection to New

York police headquarters. Soon a gruff voice spoke across the wire. Wallace asked for Inspector Cardona. He

"Give him this message," urged Wallace. "Tell him to hunt Dr. Rodil Mocquino. Yes, Mocquino. He is in the

first house east of the new Europa Building. On what charge? Murder! Yes, Mocquino is a murderer "

Footsteps sounded beyond the door of the living, room. Suddenly alarmed by his own action, Wallace hung

up the receiver. He dropped the telephone and settled back into his chair, just as the door opened. It was Dr.

Wallace, leaning back in the chair, began to mumble. Sayre looked worried, to find the patient talking to

himself; then Wallace's smile reassured him. Sayre sat down to have a chat. He did not notice the newspaper,

which lay beyond the table. Thus he failed to gain an inkling of the deed which Stanton Wallace had just

At New York police headquarters, Joe Cardona strolled into his office to find two detectives arguing over a

crank call that had just been received. They passed the news to Joe. The ace detective questioned the man

"It doesn't sound phony," decided Cardona. "I've got a hunch this means something. That moniker

Mocquino it sounds like an alias. What's more, cranks either cut off quickly or they stick a long while. This

fellow was interrupted. Come on; we're making up a squad. I'm going to take a look at the house."

The Europa Building was a towering structure that fronted on an avenue and extended a half block deep. The

street beside it was poorly lighted: most of the buildings in the rear portion of the block were old and

dilapidated. When Cardona and four detectives reached the place that Wallace had mentioned, they found the

Standing across the far side of the street, Cardona eyed the front of the first house. It was a fourstory

building with a brick front. All windows were shuttered; the front door needed paint. Joe studied it by the

"That place is supposed to be empty," he stated. "If we take it easy, we can pry the door without too much

noise. Nobody's got a right in there; and we're acting on a tip that prowlers are about the premises. Two of

The squad crossed the street. Immediately, a hunched figure shifted from a doorway on the side where they

had been. Unnoticed, this man scudded to an alleyway, some distance along. He dived into darkness.

"Cardona and a squad just showed up from headquarters! They're going to bust into Mocquino's house!"

Hawkeye's words made a profound impression on the listener. Cliff Marsland, agent of The Shadow, was

stationed here to watch the front of the house next door to Mocquino's, for Wallace had said that entry was

made through adjoining cellars. Harry Vincent, another agent, was at the back, in the next street. The arrival

"Put in a call to Burbank," whispered Cliff to Hawkeye. "Then duck around and tip off Harry. Slide in here

Hawkeye scurried through the alleyway. He found a cigar store one block distant. He entered a phone booth

and called Burbank. The contact man received the report. Hawkeye knew that it would go to The Shadow. He

did not guess, however, that the relay would be made by coded wireless to a wingless autogiro, at present

So far as Hawkeye knew, Cliff and Harry were on duty only to await The Shadow. No information had been

Somewhat assured by Burbank's calm acceptance of his report, Hawkeye took a circuitous course that

brought him to Harry's outpost. He told Harry about Cardona, then made another circuit and arrived back

"There goes the door," groaned Cliff. "Cardona and his bunch have wedged it open. If the chief had only

"It's been ten minutes since I talked to Burbank," returned Hawkeye. "Maybe The Shadow will be here soon."

Across the street, Cardona and his two companions had entered the gloomy first door of the empty house.

Flashlights showed the place to be deserted. Cardona went to the door and signaled for the other two

"Not much chance of trouble," he told his crew. "Close the door. We'll all stick inside. Five of us will be too

many for any bird that's got a hideout here. Let's take a look up those stairs."

They crept up to the second floor, with flashlights blazing the trail. They reached another deserted hallway.

Closed doors showed all along the line. Cardona opened the first and entered a small, deserted room. The

detectives were finding other doors locked. They came to the front and joined their leader.

Cardona gave the whisper for silence. A rhythmic beat was coming from beyond a doorway at the rear of the

front room. There was a sinister sound to the thrum. Instinctively, the five invaders crept toward the doorway.

"Sounds like a tomtom," said one detective, in a tense voice. "What's that doing here?"

"It don't sound human," came another comment. "Say this house gives you the jitters "

Cardona gave a growl for silence. His hand seemed numbed as he moved it toward the handle of his revolver.

He was about to order his detectives to copy his example, when an unexpected happening occurred. A click

sounded. The bare room was suddenly flooded with light. The glare arrived from sockets in the ceiling.

Two detectives wheeled. They stopped short. A pair of darkfaced men had bobbed in from that direction.

Each was holding a revolver. They had the detectives covered. Cardona was facing the inner door at the back

of the room, expecting it to open. Instead, a click came from another corner. A panel opened. Cardona and

They, too, were covered by a pair of revolvers. One was held by a darkfaced servant, who looked like the

ones at the other door. The second man was obviously the leader of the outfit. He was of medium height,

darkfaced and smiling. His visage was friendly, yet there was a dangerous sparkle in his blackish eyes.

Most remarkable was the man's attire. Though his servants were clad in old rough clothes, the leader was

splendid of garb. He wore a robe that looked like burnished gold. His waist was girded by a sash of deep, yet

vivid, crimson. Thrum of restless beats was drumming through the thoughts of the astonished headquarters

As a background to the opened panel, Cardona and the others could see a flicker that looked like the

reflection of a blaze. They heard the robed man give another cry. The flicker ended. Scuffling footsteps

sounded in the room beyond. Cardona realized that there were others beside the four who had trapped himself

The inquiry was musical. It came from the smiling lips of the robed man by the panel. Cardona saw fit to

"We heard that there were prowlers in this house," he stated. "We entered to make a search."

"You have spoken the truth," declared the robed man, suavely. "That was wise of you. Since I am the owner

Cardona regretted the question, the moment that he put it. A change came over the smiling face. Evil eyes

"You have learned my name! That changes every thing! Fools! To intrude upon me in my own abode! You

Before Cardona or his men could offer response, Mocquino and the man beside him had stepped back into the

next room. The panel clicked shut. As the headquarters squad looked toward the hallway door, the two men

Detectives ejaculated triumphant cries. Cardona alone called for caution. The others, staring, saw the reason.

Loopholes had opened in the walls three from the side toward the inner rooms, three from the wall to the

The detectives stood rooted, expecting instant death from foemen against whom they could not fight. The

guns, however, did not blaze. Cardona suddenly understood why. He could hear scraping sounds from

He knew Mocquino for a villain one who deserved the brand of murderer. But the fiend had a reason for

delaying slaughter. He was moving out of the room beyond. He was giving up this abode. Not until his

The best plan was to wait. Perhaps, if flight proved easy, Mocquino might decide to let the prisoners go. A

slight hope, at best. More logically, Cardona realized, Mocquino simply preferred to withhold the clatter of

guns. Nevertheless, there might be some intervention. Nothing could be gained by present action. Nothing

Outside, Cliff Marsland was still watching from the entrance to the alleyway. He was alarmed concerning

Cardona and the detectives. If their search had been barren, they should have returned. If they had captured

someone, or met with opposition, at least one detective should have appeared to summon police or call

Cliff sensed the truth. Though he had been deputed merely to watch here, he had learned through Burbank

that Dr. Mocquino might prove dangerous. Cliff was troubled. He feared to call police; Mocquino might well

Hawkeye was straining. He started to speak. Cliff stopped him. From high above, Cliff had caught an

Looking up, Cliff saw a whirling motion, faint in the reflected glow of city lights. Grabbing Hawkeye, Cliff

They dashed across the street. Cliff yanked open the basement door of the house next to Mocquino's. He sent

Glimmering a flashlight, Cliff searched along the wall toward the next house. He spied a closet door. He

yanked it open and ripped away a hanging mass of clothes. A yawning cavity gaped in the glare of his

flashlight. It was a passage through to the supposedly empty house. Tensely, Cliff waited for Hawkeye to

Above Mocquino's house, a spinning object had taken shape. With swift descent, a toylike plane enlarged.

Downward, almost skimming the granite wall of the fiftystory Europa Building came The Shadow's

The Shadow had taken the helm for this descent. His close scrape of towering walls was a stroke of perfect

piloting. He had allowed for air currents; his calculations were correct. With its windmill blades spinning

furiously, the autogiro edged away from the Europa Building and settled squarely upon the flat roof of

A blackened form dropped from the giro. With blades still whirling, the machine rolled forward. The motor

roared with sudden speed. At the edge of the roof, the autogiro took off and gained a vertical ascent, to clear

Crofton had taken the controls. He was whirling off to the airport. This brief descent amid Manhattan's

With the Europa Building as a sure landmark, The Shadow had arrived ahead of schedule. A cloaked shape

on the roof, he was ripping open the customary trapdoor that he found there. While his ready agents were

Within the barren front room, five men still retained their rigid attitude. Detectives were copying Cardona in

his lack of action. They were relying upon their leader to pull them from this trap. Joe knew it; and the

Scraping sounds had ceased. He guessed that rapid packing had been completed. Minutes alone remained

until the stroke of doom. Those gun muzzles from the wall meant marksmen stationed in the room beyond.

Joe had seen that hall; hence his visualization was accurate. But had he viewed the hall itself, he would have

found reason for new hope. There, three darkfaced servitors were peering above the muzzles at the

loopholes. A single ceiling light had been turned on; it showed their figures plainly.

The glow revealed something else. Blackness on the stairway to the floors above, where all rooms were

deserted. Blackness that moved, took shape. Blackness that formed a living figure as it crept downward. The

Hidden lips delivered a whispered laugh. The weird sound was spectral in that gloomy hall. It caused heads to

turn. Glaring faces met blazing eyes. A shout came from one of the marksmen, as The Shadow's laugh rose to

Madly, Mocquino's henchman yanked his revolver from the loophole and fired a wild shot at The Shadow.

As they fired, The Shadow's automatics answered. From his post, The Shadow had pictured the situation.

Doomed men in a trap. One way to save the them. That was by drawing away the entire trio of sharpshooters.

These minions of Mocquino were savage. But their very frenzy ruined them. Quick shots sizzled wide; but

The Shadow's did not fail. Spurts from the automatics sent the henchmen sprawling.

One managed a dive that carried him beyond the stairs. He pounded at a door which The Shadow could not

cover. The barrier opened. The man rolled through. The others lay where they were. The Shadow swung into

Before he acted, The Shadow had pictured the arrangement of the room where Cardona and the detectives

were trapped. He had done this by a simple deduction, based on the room's position in the house. He had seen

the marksmen in the hall. He had known that others would be aiming through another wall. But through one

By eliminating the sharpshooters in the hallway, The Shadow had given Cardona and his fellow prisoners a

perfect chance for safety. He was relying upon Cardona to take it; and The Shadow's faith in the acting

inspector proved justified. Cardona had been thinking things over during the wait for death.

The moment that shots had sounded from the hallway, Joe had noticed the disappearance of the guns on the

hall side. The departure of those muzzles meant that the fire could come from but one line: the wall of the

rear room. That wall, itself, offered safety. Cardona had shouted to his companions to follow him.

With a dive, Joe reached the wall between the outpoked revolvers. The muzzles began to blast, but

detectives were already on the jump. One dick staggered, wounded. Joe yanked him to safety. Gun muzzles

swung viciously; they could not make the angle. Cardona and his men were safe. The guns were jerked from

Evidently, Dr. Mocquino had not anticipated a happening like this. A twowalled trap had seemed sufficient.

It had proven otherwise. Joe Cardona voiced a grim chuckle, then snapped a command to his men.

A click. A harsh, venomous voice. Cardona wheeled. He saw his mistake. Mocquino had crossed them. For

this time, it was the rearroom doorway that had opened. Again Cardona and the detectives were caught

unaware. First they had covered the door to the rear room, not knowing of the panel. This time, they had

Two ugly, leering servitors were with Mocquino. Loopholes had dropped shut everywhere, impelled by a

switch that Mocquino had pressed. The Voodoo Master wanted them no longer. Slaughter in cold blood, face

"One move!" snarled the Voodoo Master, still resplendent in his golden robe, "one move and we fire "

His leer told that bullets were his intention, no matter what Cardona and the others did. His delay was merely

a bluff, a part of Mocquino's gloating, baiting game. This time, he had underestimated the situation.

Mocquino had not seen the power of the opposition that had stricken down his henchmen in the hall.

The door from the hallway swung open. Mocquino snarled; two reserve henchmen aimed pointblank at that

direction. But their murderous efforts were too late. They expected a foemen who would stop. Instead, a mass

Revolvers spoke in vain. Automatics tongued flame as The Shadow wheeled. One man sprawled; the other

The Shadow faded back toward the outer door. Detectives jumped out into the center of the room. Guns

Despite his valiant effort. The Shadow was faced by desperate odds. Mocquino and his men had swung back

too quickly for Cardona and the detectives to aid. Only a skillful, unexpected fling saved The Shadow in that

moment. Slugs whistled through the folds of his black cloak. One bullet slashed The Shadow's left forearm.

Mocquino hurled his henchmen back from the door. The Shadow blasted two bullets toward the Voodoo

Master. An intervening servitor saved Mocquino without intention. As the howling man spun about,

Mocquino slammed the door. The sagging henchman was hurtled headforemost to the floor.

Three men had come into the inner room: Cliff, Harry and Hawkeye. The valiant trio had found a secret

stairway up through the center of the house directly into the middle room. They had smashed open an

unguarded door at the head of the stairway, in time to begin firing upon Mocquino and his clustered men.

This middle room, like the front one, was barren, but its furnishings had been only recently removed.

Mocquino must have possessed a dozen servants, or he still had ruffians about him. The Shadow's aids had

dropped a pair before Mocquino turned. But before they could give further battle, a new door opened into the

middle room. The new door was from another room, the third farther back. Through it piled half a dozen

wildeyed men. Unarmed, they flung themselves upon The Shadow's agents. These unexpected attackers

were members of Mocquino's cult, come to aid their master when his servants failed.

Cliff and Harry sprawled to the floor. Guns were wrested from their fists. Hawkeye, twisting, managed to

retain his feet. He saw blows descending toward the heads of his companions. Wildly, he delivered

A shout from Mocquino. It saved the wouldbe victims. Not because Mocquino held mercy; his lips would

have snarled denial of such a thought. Self preservation was Mocquino's motive. Already the door from the

The cult members heard Mocquino's order. They sprang for the secret stairway, up which The Shadow's aids

had come. Behind them came Mocquino and his men. The Voodoo Master stopped as his henchmen took to

the stairs. The Shadow's agents were rising unsteadily from the floor, gunless. Mocquino prepared to

The door from the front room ripped clear of its hinges. Cardona and a pair of detectives surged through.

Even then, Mocquino would not have given up his vicious purpose had he not seen a blackclad figure hard

behind the invaders. The Shadow's .45s were looming. With a maddened roar of final venom, Mocquino

Two barriers slammed: one from the secret stairway, the other from the rear room. Detectives sprang to

pound at both. Half groggy, The Shadow's agents joined them in the effort. The stairway door was first to

give. Cardona and the sleuths surged downward, abandoning the other portal. The Shadow, alone in the

center of the room, hissed a command. His agents completed the work at the rear door.

They sprang into a lighted room beyond; this also was barren. The Shadow, however, knew the former

arrangement. The middle room had been the meeting place of the cult. The rear apartment had been the red

room. Across it was another door. The Shadow knew that it must lead to a rear exit. He watched his aids rip

This was the way through which the furnishings had gone. It explained why The Shadow's agents had not

The Shadow ripped open the window and leaped to the fire escape. Shouts, wild gunfire came from below.

Two trucks were speeding away from an alley behind the house. These had arrived during battle. The police,

coming on the scene at sounds of battle in the house, were too late to stop them. So was The Shadow. His

automatics blazed final bullets, but the range was too long to clip the tires, as the light trucks shot out to the

Dr. Mocquino had lost his prisoners. Doomed men had escaped, thanks to The Shadow. But Mocquino, in

turn, had managed his own escape. with the remnants of his henchmen and the members of his voodoo cult.

Sprawled men lay upon the floor of the front room. Those that lived would be prisoners of the police. As for

The cloaked fighter gave an order to his agents. They followed him hurriedly down the fire escape, knowing

that they would have time to depart from the vicinity. The law was off to a chase. Whining sirens told that

Perhaps the law would trap Dr. Mocquino. If so, The Shadow would be satisfied with the result. If not, the

quest would again become The Shadow's. There was a chance that Mocquino's flight would end in freedom.

For The Shadow still held another clue that Stanton Wallace had provided. The Shadow had met Dr.

Mocquino and had driven him to flight. He could find a new route to reach the insidious Voodoo Master.

At three o'clock the next afternoon, Dr. Rupert Sayre was seated in Lamont Cranston's library, perusing a rare

book that dealt with voodoo rituals. A streak of blackness hovered above the page. Sayre looked up quickly;

Again, Sayre knew that this was The Shadow; and with good reason. The Shadow's left arm was bandaged

and in a sling. Dr. Sayre himself had bandaged it, last night. The Shadow had come back to New Jersey after

The Shadow made the query in the quiet fashion of Cranston. Sayre placed his book to one side.

"When you left for New York this morning," stated the physician, "Wallace was still asleep. He awoke

"Yes. Red no longer annoys him. So I have allowed him to stroll outside. At present, he is in the living

Richards entered as The Shadow ceased speaking. The servant had come to announce a visitor.

"Good," spoke The Shadow. "Conduct him to the living room, Richards. Dr. Sayre and I will be there. After

that, you may dismantle the green room. Pack the draperies and put the lights with them."

The Shadow went to the living room, accompanied by Dr. Sayre. Just as they entered, Harry Vincent arrived.

The Shadow greeted him; then introduced him to Stanton Wallace, who had risen from the chair.

The Shadow eyed Wallace when the latter studied Harry. He saw that the patient was impressed by the

newcomer. That was as The Shadow had expected. Harry Vincent was a cleancut chap, whose frank

friendliness immediately commanded respect. The group seated themselves. The Shadow turned to Stanton

The unexpected statement brought an instant response. Wallace began to speak, then became confused. His

"I... I thought... that is, I guessed... well, today should be Monday. Perhaps, though, I was mistaken "

He paused, his words a giveaway. Dr. Sayre realized at once that Wallace had somehow learned the actual

day of the week. The physician was both startled and perplexed. The Shadow calmly pressed the button to

Richards went out and returned with a Thursday morning sheet. Eagerness replaced Stanton Wallace's

pretense. His eyes were avid, as he seized the newspaper and scanned the headlines. His lips phrased an

"Dunley Bligh is safe!" he exclaimed, gladly. "He defended himself aboard the Doranic! This is certainly

"Dr. Mocquino in flight!" cried the young man. "Sought by the police! For attempted murder! Mocquino and

"You warned Bligh," declared Wallace, seriously, as he placed the newspaper aside. "I suppose that you also

"Then I am to blame," confessed Wallace. "I learned by accident that yesterday was Wednesday. I called

New York police headquarters. I was the person who tipped off the law. I imagine that I injured your plans."

"You did." The Shadow's slight smile showed that he had already divined the source of the tipoff.

"Nevertheless, you are not to be blamed for the mistake. You can make amends by answering certain

"First," queried The Shadow. "tell me if you gave your name to the police when you called last night?"

"I heard Dr. Sayre at the door. I was afraid that he would disapprove my action."

A pause. The Shadow knew that Stanton Wallace had answered truthfully. Since the law had no clue to the

"Dr. Sayre is returning to New York." The Shadow's tone carried the semblance of a command. "You will

remain here, Wallace, while he requests further time to study your case. Vincent will remain here also.

"The Voodoo Master has proven slippery. Despite the swiftness of the police, he has eluded them. Through

quick action, the law covered every bridge, tunnel and ferry that offered departure from Manhattan. All trucks

"All garages have been questioned. Every parking lot has been searched. No trace has been gained. Mocquino

In reply, The Shadow produced a sheaf of papers. He flipped them open with his right hand and spread them

"The case of Myron Rathcourt," be remarked. "The Chicago millionaire who died of heart failure. In all

probability, his death was cleverly arranged by Mocquino, who profited thereby."

"All of Myron Rathcourt's estate was left to his nephew, Elridge Rathcourt. The latter lives in New York."

Wallace started to speak. He paused; The Shadow was pronouncing his very thoughts.

"Dr. Mocquino could profit only through Elridge Rathcourt," declared the calmvoiced speaker. "Therefore,

we may believe that Elridge Rathcourt is a member of the cult. He was the man who showed glee when

"Controlled by Mocquino, Elridge is furnishing funds to the Voodoo Master. He has come into a large

fortune. Mocquino will eventually acquire all of it. Elridge Rathcourt is his complete dupe. Similarly, Elridge

The Shadow removed one paper from the sheaf. Harry Vincent, close to the table, noted a telegram addressed

to Rutledge Mann. The latter was an investment broker, who served The Shadow as an agent. Mann had

"It proved possible," stated The Shadow, "to trace Elridge Rathcourt through an investment house in Chicago.

Through such a process, I learned that young Rathcourt is living in New York. His residence is the penthouse

"Elridge Rathcourt once purchased securities through a concern called Voder Co. That brokerage house is

now defunct. But Rathcourt would not be surprised if a former representative of the concern should call upon

him. Today, a telephone message went to the Hotel Delbar, stating that James Rettigue, formerly of Voder

A pause. Harry Vincent guessed that the supposed James Rettigue had been The Shadow.

"Elridge Rathcourt is out of town," resumed The Shadow. "He will not return until tomorrow night.

Presumably, he is in Atlantic City. His valet took the message. Hence Rathcourt will not be surprised when

"Until that time, the police are welcome to proceed with their futile search for Dr. Mocquino. Real results

The Shadow arose. He turned to Dr. Sayre and asked if the physician were ready to return to New York.

Sayre nodded his affirmative. It was apparent that The Shadow was also going to the metropolis. But before

"You have spoken frankly," approved The Shadow. "In return, I have given you a full outline of immediate

plans. Dr. Mocquino is still at large. You are in no danger while he does not know your whereabouts, nor has

"Therefore, you must remain here and hold no outside contact. Vincent will stay here also, for your own

protection. You will find him an agreeable companion. I know that you and he will become friends. This

"It is," declared Wallace, seriously. "I owe you thanks, Mr. Cranston. Also an apology for my folly."

Though progress was temporarily halted, The Shadow would soon begin a new endeavor. He had developed

his third clue, through an investigation of Elridge Rathcourt, who must certainly be a member of the voodoo

cult. The future looked bright to Stanton Wallace. He could see trouble for Dr. Rodil Mocquino.

The Shadow, alone, could have predicted the grim obstacles that still might rise along the trail to the evil

At half past six the next afternoon, Joe Cardona was absent from his office. The acting inspector had gone out

to dinner, leaving Detective Sergeant Markham in charge. Markham, a capable routine man, was pondering

The map was marked with pencil lines and dotted with circles that had been inscribed in colored crayon. It

represented Cardona's efforts of Wednesday night, when the ace had attempted to box the elusive Dr.

Mocquino. The dots were located at important ferry slips, at bridges, and at the entrance to the Holland

Markham was growling as he talked to a detective who was standing near the desk. While speaking, he

fingered a pile of report sheets. These referred to the search of Manhattan garages.

"This business don't click with me," was Markham's opinion. "There's too much chance for a leak. How can

"Yeah?" queried Markham. He pointed to the map. "Look at all these subway routes to Brooklyn and Long

Island. What's to prevent Mocquino and his bunch from going in and out of those lines? Answer that one,

"You can't load a couple of trucks on board the subway," returned Cassidy, promptly. "That's what the

"Humph! Maybe not. We had a good description of those trucks, too. Well, it beats me, Cassidy. Look. Here's

all the schedules of every regular ferry service. Men watching every slip. They've stopped cars going and

coming at the bridges and the Holland Tunnel. There's only one answer; Mocquino's still in New York."

Cassidy grunted his agreement; then looked at his watch. He had completed his hours on duty. The detective

Several minutes passed. Markham heard a footfall He looked up to see a slender, stoop shouldered man at the

door. The fellow's face was darkish; he looked like a Cuban. His head craned forward from his neck, and

The arrival was smoking a cigarette. Nonchalantly, he flicked ashes to the floor; then took another puff.

Markham scented the aroma of heavy cigar tobacco. The man eyed him more directly; then spoke an

"Ah! Too bad!" The man clucked. "It was Inspector Cardona that I wished to see."

"I am from Philadelphia," he stated. "I read the newspapers of that city. I learned of a man who had come

here to New York. His eyes were staring straight ahead." The darkish man paused and tapped his forehead.

"I am not quite sure," came the reply. "The picture of him was very poor. Unfortunately, I could not give his

"My name is Jose Arilla," explained the darkish man. "I once operated a roulette wheel in Tijuana. It was

there that I saw this man first. Months ago, I came to Philadelphia. I saw him there; twice again, in a

"Ah! There are names that I could mention. Persons who might be his friends. Perhaps, though, the

Markham picked up the telephone and dialed a number. There was no response. He hung up the receiver.

"Of seeing this bird that stares? I think you can, Mr. Arilla. "We placed him in charge of a doctor named

Arilla glanced at a wrist watch. Again, his rattish eyes gleamed. But his suave voice offset the expression of

"I, too, must have my dinner," he laughed. "I shall call back here, sir. In one hour."

With that, Arilla departed. Markham methodically made a notation to call Dr. Sayre at seven o'clock. As an

afterthought, the detective sergeant checked Sayre's number by the telephone book and found that he had it

Seven o'clock. Markham had accidentally guessed the hour of Sayre's return to his office It was precisely

seven when Rupert Sayre stopped at the street door and unlocked it. The physician went into his office; there

There was an aroma of tobacco in the room; not surprising, since Sayre himself smoked frequently.

But the doctor's preference was for cigarettes. This odor was that of a heavy cigar tobacco.

Sayre looked at the ash stand. There he saw nothing but cigarettes. He did not notice that one stump was

thicker and rounder than the others, that flakes of dark tobacco projected from it.

Sayre went to open the window. It was locked; but the catch turned loosely in his hand. As he opened the

window. Sayre decided that the catch would have to be repaired. The possibility that it might have been

forced loose did not occur to him at that moment. The sudden ringing of the telephone bell brought Sayre

"Hello, hello." Sayre paused. "What's that? Police headquarters?... Oh, yes. Sergeant Markham... About the

patient? I see... Yes, I can produce him if necessary... His condition? Somewhat improved... Better have

Sayre hung up. He paced the office. Previous thoughts were forgotten. A breeze from the window had cleared

the dankish odor of the room. The physician paused, musing. He did not notice that the door to the little

reception room was ajar. Had he turned, he might have seen a shrewd, ratlike face peering from that

Instead, Sayre picked up the telephone. Tensely, he put in a call to New Jersey. He pronounced the number

"Is this the residence of Mr. Lamont Cranston?... Good... Ah, yes. Richards, of course... Yes, this is Dr.

"Vincent!" Again Sayre was tense. "I have heard from detective headquarters. Yes. About Stanton Wallace...

I shall have to tell Cardona where he is... I can explain it satisfactorily... But perhaps Cardona will want to see

"Yes. Agree to any request that comes from police headquarters. Certainly... Bring Wallace there if they want

him. That is the idea. Tell him to act as if he were still dazed. Yes. It will conform with my story of his partial

Sayre sat down at the desk. The door from the reception room closed. Sayre had begun to drum with his

fingers. Otherwise, he would have heard the slight thump from the door. Suddenly, the physician arose and

The room was empty, but had Sayre looked at the window on the other side, he would have noted that it was

open an inch from the bottom. Someone had scrambled from that window and had not fully lowered the sash.

The lurker had reached a small courtyard that offered exit, by a passage, to the front street.

There was a clang from the doorbell. Sayre went back through the office and answered the summons. He

blinked in surprise as Joe Cardona shouldered in through the door. Cardona motioned Sayre into the office.

"I talked with headquarters," explained Joe, "right after Markham had called you. I was near here, so I hurried

"Markham pulled a boner," returned Joe. "A guy came into my office and asked about that stiffeyed patient

"Jose Arilla. Do you know what I think, doc? My hunch is that Mocquino sent Arilla to talk to me. This

chatter about the staring man was Arilla's bluff. Markham said that Arilla looked like a rat.

"I know what you're going to say: Why would Mocquino send a bird that looked suspicious? I'll tell you why.

He probably didn't have anyone else who was smart enough to send. Arilla had a good story. Good enough to

"Markham mentioned your name. There's a chance that Arilla might come snooping up this way. Maybe

there's some connection we don't know about, between your patient and Dr. Mocquino. Let's look around."

Cardona strode into the reception room. His inspection was brief. He wanted to satisfy himself on one point

only; that no one was at present on the premises. Not knowing of Sayre's call to New Jersey, Joe did not

Nor did Sayre enlighten him. The physician was in a quandary. He wanted to say as little as possible until he

had opportunity to communicate with The Shadow. Unfortunately, Sayre had seldom served The Shadow as a

regular agent. Most of the physician's aid had been concerned with medical matters. Hence Sayre, troubled by

Quick rings sounded from the doorbell, as Cardona and Sayre came back into the office. Someone was

jabbing the button hastily, Cardona answered. It was Markham. The detective sergeant had made a speedy

"I came in a car," reported Markham. "Just as we swung in here, I saw a guy doing a quick sneak for the

corner! I spotted him. It was Jose Arilla! He grabbed a cab of his own. I dropped off and showed my badge to

another hackie who was standing there. He'd heard the address that Arilla gave. Arilla has headed for Red

"That's where we'll travel," decided Cardona. "It's a cinch that Arilla sneaked up here. He saw you come in,

doc. He was watching for his chance to enter when he saw me show up. He beat it the first moment he could;

Sayre saw the logic of Cardona's theory. It destroyed all other inklings. The physician's chance to reconstruct

the recent past was gone. Sayre, himself, would have been amazed and unbelieving had he been told that

It was nearing eight o'clock when a sedan stopped near a corner not far from West Twentythird Street and

close to the Hudson River. Three men were in the back seat; Cardona, Markham and Sayre. They looked

toward a cheap restaurant on the other side of the street. Lights showed through lowered blinds on the floor

"That's Red Mike's," growled Cardona. "The hashhouse is the blind for his joint. He used to run a basement

A car rolled by and turned the corner. Hardly had its lights passed before a grimyfaced man sneaked up to

the sedan. Cardona spoke to the fellow through the window. The man shuffled away. The observers saw him

"That was Tyke Lugan," explained Cardona in an undertone, to Sayre. "He's a stoolie. A smart guy for a

pigeon. He's gone in to see if Arilla is there. The car that went by is going around the block to another street.

"Cassidy is in charge. We were lucky enough to get hold of him when I called headquarters just before we

started over here. Cassidy saw Arilla in the hall when the guy was on his way in. There's only two ways out

A few minutes passed. A sneaky form came from the hashhouse. Tyke Lugan crossed the street. Sidling to

"De guy's in dere," he informed. "A dead ringer for de mug you told me to look for. He's waitin' for a phone

"Let him get his call," decided Cardona. "Keep on going, Tyke. We don't want you mixed in it."

"Wherever Arilla goes, we'll trail him. See ahead there?" He pointed to a corner where a man was lounging

against a wall. "That's Dowley, from headquarters. Knows how to play the part of a bum. Parker is down at

the next corner, sitting in a parked cab. Nothing suspicious about it; over here the hackies work on

eighteenhour shifts. That's why they call them 'coolies'; and they're liable to stay in one spot for half the

"If Jose Arilla comes out the front door," he said, "Markham identifies him and we signal Dowley. If he

comes out the back. Cassidy spots him and flashes the tipoff to Parker. Either way, we have two cars

While Joe Cardona was watching at Red Mike's, events were beginning in another section of Manhattan.

Near Times Square, a tall stroller was walking along a crosstown street where occasional twentystory

The stroller was The Shadow. He paused to study one of the taller buildings. The lettering above the marquee

Keen eyes followed upward. Constructed in limited space, the Hotel Delbar was straightwalled almost to the

top. At one side only did it show a pyramid formation. The inward stepbacks were slight and narrow,

scarcely more than ledges, except for the nineteenth floor. That offered a wider margin.

The twentieth floor was the penthouse, and it had its own veranda. The penthouse walls were sheer, except at

that one end. There, the nineteenth floor was decorated with a row of clumpy trees. They looked like potted

The Shadow was considering the possibility of scaling the penthouse wall. His survey ended, he approached

the hotel from across the street. He paused to light a cigarette when he neared the lighted area beneath the

The Shadow was clad in street clothes. His attire was drab; his face, too, lacked impressiveness. It was less

hawklike than the countenance of Lamont Cranston. His features were long and dreary; his eyelids droopy.

No chance observer would have picked him for The Shadow. He was playing the part of a mythical

With a peculiar flick, The Shadow tossed his match away. The motion was performed with his right hand. His

left remained motionless. Though his arm was no longer in the sling, it was heavily bandaged from wrist to

A watcher saw the flip of the match. He shuffled forward, from beside the wall, an illclad, huddled man. It

was Hawkeye; as he approached the standing figure of The Shadow, the little spotter looked like a typical

With a panhandler's whine, Hawkeye asked for a dime. This was for the benefit of passersby. They shied

away, figuring that they would be touched if the bum failed to receive money. They saw a sour look on the

features of James Rettigue. Hawkeye was grinning, while The Shadow fumbled for a coin. With a wary dart

"Rathcourt is in," he whispered. "Cliff spotted him in the lobby. Slipped the news to me when I was touching

"Got in at eight," he added. "No messages for him. Nobody's been about. Cliff is gone."

As he heard The Shadow's whisper, Hawkeye mumbled thanks for the money. Jingling the coins, the spotter

slouched away, looking back and forth as if fearful that some policeman had seen him make the touch.

The Shadow strolled into the lobby of the Delbar. He approached the desk, announced himself as James

Rettigue and asked for Elridge Rathcourt. The clerk put in a call to the penthouse; then nodded. It was all

The Shadow knew that Elridge Rathcourt was a man controlled by Dr. Mocquino. Because of that, The

Shadow had considered the plan of making a cloaked entry, coming from outside the penthouse. Such a

system would certainly have proven a mental jolt to Rathcourt. He would have found himself faced by a

Contrarily, The Shadow had pictured Rathcourt's present mental condition. The Shadow was sure that

members of the voodoo cult must be having qualms because Mocquino was, at present, a hunted villain. A

worried man would be apt to seek confidence in anyone who came to him as a friend. As James Rettigue, The

Shadow might play such a part with Elridge Rathcourt. Hence The Shadow had finally decided to utilize the

Arriving at the penthouse, The Shadow stepped into a small reception room to find a stocky, solemnfaced

menial awaiting him. This was Rathcourt's valet, the fellow with whom The Shadow had talked by telephone.

While the elevator door was clanging shut, The Shadow inquired for Mr. Rathcourt. Before the valet could

The Shadow entered a living room to be met by a longlimbed, peakfaced man whose eyes blinked

nervously. Elridge Rathcourt was chinless, his handshake flabby. With a shaky gesture, he urged his visitor to

an inner room, which was larger than the first. Beyond it were curtained French windows that led to the

Rathcourt closed the door of this private living room. Still shaky, he produced a box of imported cigars.

"Have a corona, Mr. Rettigue. Then we can talk business. About bonds. You used to be with Voder C Co.?"

"'I see, I see." Rathcourt was biting at the end of his cigar. A match went out as he tried to light it. "You must

excuse me, Mr. Rettigue. My nerves are bad. I need a rest. That's why I went to Atlantic City."

"Yes. No... no, it was the day before. I wanted to stay there a while. But I had to come back. I rode in late this

Though his own attitude was listless, The Shadow could easily separate truth from falsehood as he listened.

He knew that Rathcourt had actually gone to Atlantic City yesterday; not the day before. Fear that he might

"I had dinner on the train," continued Rathcourt. "I came here from Liberty Street. Manuel told me of your

message. Of course I wanted to see you. But tell me one thing, Mr. Rettigue" he paused, eyeing The

Shadow quickly "Tell me just one thing. Your business concerns nothing other than investments?"

"Since I sell securities and you buy them, I could scarcely have another reason for coming here."

"I felt privileged to visit you," he stated in a precise tone, "because I previously had negotiations with your

"Your uncle's death was most unfortunate," added The Shadow. "It was heart failure, I believe?"

"Many persons die of heart failure. This is, supposedly of heart failure. It is a fact, however, that many cases

are not heart failure at all. Since a man's heart naturally fails when he dies, it is easy to attribute a death to

"But my uncle's heart was weak! Very weak! He was ordered not to exert himself "

"Indeed!" The Shadow's tone changed suddenly. "Then perhaps his death was actually due to overexertion."

"It was. No... no it wasn't! That is, well, he should have remained in his bed. He was not well. A paroxysm

must have seized him. Of course, you understand I was not in Chicago at the time."

The Shadow's eyelids had lost their droop. Steadily, keenly, they were staring at Elridge Rathcourt. The

young man's weak lips were quavering. He was caught by the glow of the optics before him. The Shadow's

"There were servants," protested Rathcourt. "They... they found my uncle. If he... "

"No... no! That couldn't have happened. Yes, it could have happened!" Wildly wavering his head, Rathcourt

was denying his own statements. "I thought of that at the time. But there was another reason "

The Shadow had risen. His eyes were coming closer. His voice, though lowered, still carried a semblance of

Rettigue's tone. But it also held a sinister touch that drilled deep into Rathcourt's brain.

"Yes!" Rathcourt gasped the word. "It could have been... have been the spell... the voodoo spell! I saw... I

He broke off; then sinking back, delivered a hopeless cry. As The Shadow, advancing, stood above him,

Rathcourt stared straight upward into the burning eyes. The Shadow's right hand clamped the young man's

"It began when I met Dr. Mocquino." Rathcourt spoke mechanically. The Shadow's burning gaze, no longer

tempered, was drawing forth the man's true story. "Dr. Rodil Mocquino the Voodoo Master. He took me to

"My thoughts my ambitions my very life all seemed to tune with the rhythm of the chants I heard. The

glow of the fire the beat of the tomtoms they made me obey. I gloried in evil! I rejoiced when I saw Dr.

A pause. Rathcourt breathed in short, quick fashion, as though his statements had cost him great exertion.

"My uncle died. I believed that Mocquino's charm had caused his death. Away from the voodoo meetings, I

wondered. Servants paid murderers of Mocquino's could have dragged my uncle from his bed. He could

"But when I returned to the meetings, my doubts faded. I believed again in Mocquino's power until two

nights ago. It was then that Mocquino fled. He carried all of us with him. Later, he sent us on our separate

Panting, Rathcourt showed terror. His hands came up and clutched The Shadow's arm.

"Mocquino does not know!" gasped Rathcourt. "He does not know that I doubt him! But he does know that I

would fear to talk to anyone except... except to someone like yourself. He has bled me of nearly all my

inheritance! Though I learned, two nights ago, that Mocquino's strength could fail; still, I cannot disobey his

"Tomorrow night! Then the cult will meet again, at the new place that Mocquino has chosen. I must go, to

calm Mocquino's suspicions. Once I am there, I shall fear him as I did before! When tomtoms beat "

Rathcourt was wildeyed; his chin was shaking. He was chewing at his lips, trying to avoid repetition of the

The Shadow's grip tightened. His eyes came closer. His lips spoke whispered words:

Elridge Rathcourt started to reply. Words failed to reach his lips. His clutch became clawish upon The

Shadow's arms. When he found speech, Rathcourt reiterated his former statement; but this time, his voice was

"The tomtoms! I hear them! Drumming... drumming... beat... beat! Like the rhythm of the savage jungle

For an instant The Shadow believed that the man was the victim of his own imagination. Then, suddenly,

came a different answer. Rathcourt, in his strained, wild state had heard a sound before The Shadow caught

The beat of tomtoms from the walls of this very room! From walls that were undraped. A rising thrum,

like the beat beat beat that Cardona had heard two nights before. It came from all about from the

ceiling, as well as the walls. Steady in its beat, but quickened in its loudness, the pound of the tomtoms

The doors from the roof veranda trembled. The Shadow saw them, yet he wheeled instinctively, to face the

door of the outer room. It was opening. The Shadow swung his right hand toward his side.

At that instant, Elridge Rathcourt emitted a terrorized scream. With terrific frenzy, he doubled his arms, to

The pull was a maddened one. The Shadow could not wrench his arm free. Nor was there time to hurl

Rathcourt aside. Instead, The Shadow sped his left hand toward a hidden gun. Instinctive in action, he forgot

his wounded forearm. A stabbing pain jabbed above his wrist. The Shadow's fingers numbed. They faltered

Then action was too late. The outer door had swung wide. Upon the threshold stood Dr. Rodil Mocquino.

Arms folded, he was backed by two darkvisaged henchmen who held leveled revolvers. At the same

moment, the doors from the porch ripped open. Another pair of grinning servitors aimed with ready guns.

Thrum thrum thrum the drumming continued from all about. Mocquino, though clad in Tuxedo instead

of his golden robe, was as evil in appearance as when The Shadow last had seen him. Gloating, the Voodoo

Master gazed upon the rigid figure of The Shadow and the cowering, clutching form of Elridge Rathcourt.

Dr. Mocquino had gained a triumph, while the hidden tomtom beaters drummed their fiendish cadence of

Luck had tricked The Shadow. Elridge Rathcourt's sudden, frenzied clutch had stayed his right hand. An

unexpected twinge had halted his left. Covered by four weapons, The Shadow was too late to offer immediate

An ugly chuckle came from the Voodoo Master. Surveying The Shadow, Mocquino saw the soured features,

the droopy, tired eyelids of James Rettigue. He knew that this was The Shadow. But Mocquino believed that

After a contemptuous leer toward Rathcourt, Mocquino advanced. Reaching The Shadow, the Voodoo

Master thrust his hand beneath the latter's coat. He found two automatics. He brought them forth and tossed

All the while, tomtoms pounded in their torturing rhythm like beats of doom upon throbbing ears. Mocquino

uttered a sharp command. The throbs ceased. The silence of the room was charged with menace. Dr.

"One fool," he sneered. "has lured another. Both unwittingly. You, Rathcourt you were the first fool! I

"He... he made me talk!" panted Rathcourt, "He did it; I'm not to blame! Take his life, Mocquino, not mine!"

"Silence!" hissed the Voodoo Master. Then, his tone becoming suave: "You were the bait, Rathcourt. Good

bait only because you did not know my plans. I sent you to Atlantic City yesterday. Why? So that I could turn

The Voodoo Master clapped his hands. His four henchmen moved in closer from their opposite doorways.

Then two others appeared; one was Manuel, the valet; the other, a rogue who might have been the fellow's

"Manuel and Fernando," chortled Mocquino. "They prepared this trap. They admitted my servants and

Mocquino went to the wall and pulled away a forwardtilted picture. Behind it was a disk, a loudspeaker.

The Voodoo Master wrenched the device from its socket. He strode to a corner and whisked the cloth

covering from a small table. He produced another amplifier. From a bookcase, Mocquino yanked two

massive volumes. A cord came with them. The books fell apart, to show a third loudspeaker.

Manuel and Fernando had laid aside their tomtoms. They had pocketed The Shadow's guns. They gathered

the amplifiers and Mocquino added a fourth that he brought from behind a radiator. He pointed to a telephone

that stood on a table in the corner. The instrument had a wire that terminated in a wall socket.

"Some time ago," purred Mocquino, "you had special wiring placed in this penthouse, Rathcourt. You were

pleased by the idea of a telephone that could be detached and plugged in elsewhere. Quite a convenience."

Picking up the telephone, Mocquino removed its cord from the wall. He carried the instrument to a table in

"While the place was torn out for the wiring," remarked Mocquino, "Manuel and Fernando added sockets of

their own. Those were the hidden plugs for the amplifiers. I knew that some day I might need to terrify you,

Rathcourt, with tomtom beats from everywhere. Tonight was the time. Manuel and Fernando drummed their

tomtoms from another room. A microphone picked up the sounds and brought them here."

Mocquino had raised the cradletype telephone. He was dialing a number. A voice came over the wire.

Mocquino showed a suave smile as he spoke: "Ah, Jose! I knew that you would answer... You are ready?...

What?... Yes, there is time to tell me.. Ah, you went there? Good! And afterward?... Ah! Even better! Bueno,

"You have already called Cordez??... Good! That was right... He is to be ready with the automobiles... Yes, I

am at Rathcourt's. I want you here, Jose... When you have joined us, we shall be ready for departure."

Mocquino laid the telephone on its stand. He looked toward The Shadow, who was standing close by.

"Sit down!" snarled Mocquino. "We have fifteen minutes yet. I wish to talk with you."

The Shadow complied in a fashion that befitted his character of Rettigue. Once in a large armchair, he

relaxed and let his hands rest upon the arms. Dr. Mocquino stepped back from the center table.

"You are The Shadow," sneered the Voodoo Master. "I saw you two nights ago. I listened through an

He opened the front of a humidor stand and revealed a microphone. The instrument had picked up sounds

through holes bored in the door of the square stand. Mocquino chuckled, as he detached the mike.

"I ordered the tomtoms," he purred, "because Rathcourt could say too much. You were asking him where I

have my new headquarters. I shall tell you. In a place that you will never guess or find.

"By that I mean a place that you never could find, because you will have no further opportunity to search for

Hideous gloats showed on the faces of Mocquino's henchmen. Rathcourt gasped pleading words.

"You will not die." Mocquino wheeled to Rathcourt. Then, as the weakling raised his hands in gratitude, the

"You saw a zombi once," gloated Mocquino. "A man who stared. One who lived no longer, except as a

walking corpse! I made that man a zombi" Mocquino's tone was fierce "because he was ready to betray

Hopeless terror dominated Rathcourt's chinless face. The man's gawky form was hunched. He gibbered

Mocquino looked toward The Shadow, whose features had retained their listlessness. Apparently, the Voodoo

"In Hispaniola," purred Mocquino, his tone insidious, "the masters of voodoo control beings whom they term

'zombis.' A zombi is a living dead man, whose body has been disinterred from its grave, then imbued with life

"The zombis are slaves, vitalized corpses that behave like mechanical figures. But I hold spells and

incantations more powerful than those of ordinary voodoo workers! I can transform a living man into a

zombi!! It is too bad" he paused, an evil twist upon his lips "too bad that you cannot live to witness the

Mocquino hoped to learn whether or not The Shadow would recognize the name. He was disappointed. The

Shadow's face returned its dreariness. Mocquino's lips fumed; his jaws tightened.

"Enough!" he gritted. "Jose will be here soon. Then you will die and we shall depart! Come, Manuel!!

Fernando!" The Voodoo Master wheeled. "Carry away those amplifiers and the other apparatus. Pack them;

Manuel and Fernando complied. Rathcourt, hunched against the wall, was wildeyed as he watched their

departure. Then, half shrieking, the future zombi crept forward. He managed to mouth words as he

"Spare me," he wailed. "You have one victim! Kill him make him a zombi do what you will! But let me

"I have declared your fate," rasped Mocquino. "My decisions never change; nor do my purposes fail!"

Rathcourt fairly shrieked the words. He had read the newspaper accounts of the fray aboard the Doranic. That

Savagely, Mocquino thrust his face toward Rathcourt's. His tone became a disdainful snarl, as he issued his

As Mocquino hissed the word "zombi," all reason left Elridge Rathcourt. Stark fear accomplished more than

if the man had gained a newfound courage. With a frenzied bound, Rathcourt sprang forward. His clawing

The Voodoo Master had baited his dupe too long. A maddened man had turned upon his persecutor.

Scattered thoughts had suddenly gathered within Elridge Rathcourt's brain. The dupe had realized that Dr.

Mocquino was not infallible. In addition, he had found an answer to a problem which had terrified him.

Though Rathcourt had pleaded for his life, he had gained the belief that death itself would be preferable to the

fate of a zombi. Rathcourt had seen Stanton Wallace; after the latter had visited Mocquino's red room.

Death! In a sense, Rathcourt wanted it, and he had tried a way to force it. If he could not kill Mocquino, he

would at least compel the guards to slay him, Rathcourt, instead. Yet none were moving forward, and The

Those four thought that Mocquino would overpower Rathcourt. They awaited their master's call before they

acted. Even should it come, they would not try to kill Rathcourt. Mocquino wanted him for a zombi. His

The struggle was fierce between Rathcourt and the Voodoo Master. Out of the midst of the scuffle came an

articulate gurgle. It was the only cry that Mocquino could utter: a call for aid. Rathcourt, strong in frenzy was

The two guards from the outer porch sprang forward. The pair at the inner door hesitated; they were covering

The Shadow. Both could not give up that vigil. One man grunted to the other, then sprang in to give new aid

Elridge Rathcourt was a madman, wrenching away from the three guards who seized him. A lone gun was

covering The Shadow; above the revolver, the scowling face of the darkish man who held it. A quick move

The lone guard leered contemptuously. He heard a shriek from Rathcourt, as the maddened prisoner went

down beneath a sudden surge. At the cry, the single guard darted a quick glance toward the melee, where

Mocquino had come free, puffing as he rubbed his throat. The guard looked back toward The Shadow. He

The Shadow had sprung to his feet. His right hand had swung to the table. Quick fingers were clamping the

telephone, swinging it from the table, yanking the wire from the plug beneath. As Mocquino's henchman

dropped back to gain new aim, The Shadow drove the telephone downward with a long, swift stroke.

The guard's revolver barked. The bullet sizzled just beneath The Shadow's swinging arm. That was the only

shot. The Shadow slugged the scowling rogue with the finish of the driving swing. When the telephone met

The guard's revolver clattered. The Shadow made a feint to gain it, then twisted amazingly in the opposite

direction. The move was masterful. Mocquino's other henchmen had suppressed Rathcourt. They were

turning hurriedly. They fired in the direction of The Shadow's feint. Their whistling bullets thudded the wall.

The Shadow was whirling away in an amazing spring toward the penthouse roof. One guard alone was close

enough to dive across his path. The others aimed, expecting The Shadow to clear the blocker. Instead, The

Shadow made a sharp stop by the outer door. His right fist jabbed upward and caught the blocker's chin, just

The guard's head went back; but his revolver sped on, through the French windows, to clatter on the porch.

As the guard sagged, The Shadow made a sidewise dive to the outer porch itself, pounced on the gun.

Mocquino's two remaining henchmen fired just too late. For a moment, they hesitated; then Manuel and

Fernando dashed in to join them. Four in all, Mocquino's minions sprang forth to the chase.

The Shadow had sped to the side rail of the roof. He jabbed two quick shots as he turned about. One pursuer

gave a cry and dropped his gun arm. The others spread. Their revolvers were barking; but The Shadow was

Seeing the move, the three converged, piling in to trap The Shadow from different directions.

Diving straight into the throng. The Shadow met the middle man, Fernando. With a slash of his revolver, he

disarmed the rogue; grappling onehanded forced himself to use his injured left arm he dragged Fernando

back toward the outer rail. At the same time, he jabbed quick shots that sent the other two killers diving for

The Shadow had numbed Fernando's hand with the heavy blow. He was grappling with his right; Fernando

with his left. But the rogue's hand recovered. His right fist shot to his belt; came up wielding a longbladed

The Shadow twisted away; he hoisted himself half across the rail, in order to avoid the coming slash.

Fernando made a balk; then changed direction. His arm stabbed downward. The Shadow's gun tongued up.

With the flash, Fernando jolted. His arm swung wide; his knife clattered from the railing. His body sagged

Poised on the rail, his right arm down, The Shadow saw Dr. Mocquino. The Voodoo Master had recovered.

He was ready with leveled revolver; finger upon trigger. The Shadow gave a roll. Mocquino fired.

Timed with the shot, The Shadow sprawled beyond the rail. Mocquino's revolver blasted at vacancy. He

ceased his fire; his lips phrased a triumphant cry that was echoed by his last two henchmen. Mocquino

pictured The Shadow on a final, headlong plunge to the ground two hundred feet beneath.

Motioning to his henchmen, Mocquino started back into the penthouse. There he encountered an excited

"The police!" he ejaculated. "They trailed me here! I could have slipped them but they heard the shots, just as

Mocquino started toward the front portion of the penthouse. He would have forgotten Elridge Rathcourt, but

the rescued man came bounding suddenly from behind a chair, brandishing a revolver.

Mocquino snarled. He pumped four shots into Rathcourt's body. As Rathcourt slumped, Mocquino fled.

He and his followers gained a stairway just as an elevator arrived at the penthouse level. Joe Cardona and a

squad of detectives began a hurried chase. Downstairs, floor after floor, through an echoing fire tower, where

The Voodoo Master and his men gained the rear street. Cardona and the squad arrived too late to stop them,

When Joe Cardona returned to the penthouse, he found Dr. Rupert Sayre upon the roof. Cardona growled the

"We ought to nab them, though. The radio patrol is on the job. The bridges and the ferries are still covered.

While Cardona was ordering the removal of bodies, Sayre stopped by the farther rail. He had seen detectives

carry away the body of Fernando. A thought had struck Dr. Sayre. Casually, the physician looked over the

rail. He saw two cedar trees tilted outward from the ledge of the nineteenth floor. He noted something

Dr. Sayre strolled through the penthouse. He took the stairs down to the floor below. He found a window at

the end of a corridor. He stepped out to the ledge. There, he found The Shadow. The cedars had partly broken

Sayre propped The Shadow against the inner wall. He began measures to revive the injured fighter; but he

worked slowly, for he wanted to keep The Shadow here until the law had gone. Mocquino had gained another

For Sayre had already dodged explanations to Joe Cardona, and he wanted to avoid another complication. He

preferred that the acting inspector should not know of this discovery on the nineteenth story ledge. But while

Sayre was keeping up a bluff with Cardona, he was also making trouble for The Shadow.

Dr. Mocquino, in flight, could prove as dangerous as in battle. With the Voodoo Master, even a retreat could

be a forward move. The Shadow had guessed that Mocquino would find a new objective. That was why he

had chanced the plunge to the cedars that he had noticed beneath the penthouse wall.

Unfortunately, the fall had brought temporary oblivion to The Shadow. Had Sayre revived him hurriedly, The

Shadow could have told the physician what to do. Sayre, in delaying, had become the unwitting aid of Dr.

Again, The Shadow would be forced to seek the Voodoo Master; this time, without a clue. Elridge Rathcourt

Moreover, when The Shadow once more began his search, the tracing of Dr. Mocquino would be doubly

imperative. It would involve the lives of men who had served The Shadow! For Harry Vincent was still at

Harry Vincent clicked off the radio in Lamont Cranston's living room. It was a shortwave set; Harry had

been using it to listen in on New Jersey police calls. There was a reason why Harry cut off the call before he

heard the license number of the gray sedan. Stanton Wallace had just entered the living room.

"Yes," replied Harry, quietly. "But don't let it worry you, Stan. The police are after him again."

"It is murder, this time," he stated. "Not merely armed resistance of the law. Mocquino has killed Elridge

"He entered Rathcourt's penthouse," resumed Harry. His tone was reassuring. "The police trailed him there,

but he made a getaway. I caught snatches of the story tuning in by short wave They were starting to

"They've boxed Mocquino in Manhattan. This time, he shouldn't have a chance. The outlets are already

watched. I don't see how he can leave the Island. Nevertheless, the New Jersey State police are watching this

"Mocquino made a getaway with the trucks, two nights ago," mused Wallace. "Bridges and ferries were

"I know. But he may have been lucky, Stan. This time, the police are already covering. Mocquino is more

likely to head for Long Island. Still, he'll be blocked at any of the East River bridges."

"Buck up, old man," he said. "Forget Mocquino. We've got something else to think about Remember that call

"It's after nine, right now," observed Harry, glancing at the clock. "From the way Sayre spoke, we're liable to

"I'll act dumb," assured Wallace. "I'll keep staring and pretend that I'm dazed "

"A car has just arrived, Mr. Vincent," said the servant. "I thought it was Stanley, so I went out to the

"From New York," answered Richards. "He said that Inspector Cardona sent him. He wants to see Dr. Sayre's

"He said he would wait outside. Inspector Cardona prefers the visit to be kept a secret."

Harry turned to Stanton. He gave a nod which the other understood. Mechanically, Stanton arose from his

chair. Richards looked puzzled as Harry guided him to the door. Still wondering, the servant followed

Harry shook his head in response to the inquiry from Richards. He opened the door and guided Wallace out

"The bluff will be easier in the darkness," he remarked. "I'll introduce myself and go along. I'm your

A car was standing in the driveway. In the gloom of night, the automobile was no more than a long, colorless

shape. Dimmed headlights; red sparkles at the rear. Those were the only distinguishing marks. The motor was

A man was barely discernible beside the car. He stepped forward as Harry and Stanton approached.

"I am bringing him," replied Harry. "My name is Vincent. Dr. Sayre left me in charge of the man. You are

"Yes. I'm Detective Sergeant Berrani. Inspector Cardona sent me. I've got a squad with me. On account of

The door of the car was open. Harry and the other man helped Stanton aboard. They pushed him to the rear

seat, past another man who was hunched on a folding seat Harry climbed in beside Stanton. Berrani took the

Harry noted two men in front; the driver and the man beside him. The presence of four detectives gave him

confidence. Harry gained a feeling of greater security as they swung to the roadway outside the drive. This

"Another car is coming with us," informed the gruff speaker. "Look back and you'll see it. I had it waiting

Harry looked back. He saw the headlights of a second automobile. The two cars were driving eastward.

"We're keeping off the main roads," continued Berrani. "The inspector wants us to come into town quietlike.

There's too much excitement on the other side. They've got a new trail on this murderer, Mocquino."

"What has he done?" queried Harry, feigning anxiety. "I thought the fellow had disappeared."

"He bobbed up again. Bumped a guy named Rathcourt at the Hotel Delbar. They're hunting all over

Berrani paused to stare ahead. They had pulled away from the car in back and had come to a wellpaved

highway. Up ahead a man was standing in the center of the road, signaling for the car to stop. Harry

The big car halted. The trooper stepped in from the glare of the headlights. Berrani leaned from his window

A second trooper interrupted. He had stepped up in back of the car. His fist came up from a holster, carrying

"Yeah?" he queried. "What are you doing in this gray sedan, with the license number we're after? Where did

"Without notifying the local authorities? That doesn't listen good to me. Come out all of you! Pile out while

A fierce hiss came from the man seated beside the driver. Like a whip, the big, car snapped forward. The low

gear whined as the machine whisked away from the astonished State policeman. A revolver spoke too late.

A gasp had come from Stanton Wallace. Forgetting his pretended daze, Stanton was declaring his recognition

Harry heard the gasp. He lashed forward to strike down Berrani. A revolver muzzle jabbed Harry's ribs. At

the same instant, the other folding seat leaned back to cover Stanton. Berrani spoke harshly. By the glare of

"Very good, Jose," purred the man from the front. He had turned. Harry saw Mocquino's gloating visage.

"Ah! We have two prizes! I have seen your face before." He leaned over the seat to eye Harry. "Yes. You

The flash of light had passed. Mocquino's purr continued while gun muzzles held Harry and Stanton at bay.

"So you came along with Wallace," chortled Mocquino. "And Wallace is a zombi no longer. More of The

Shadow's doing. The Shadow! Bah! He will trouble me no longer. He is dead! At least, he should be dead. He

"He tried to balk Mocquino. He failed! Yes, failed! like all who believe that they can offset my power. I

Shots were popping from behind the fleeing car. The troopers were pursuing in a sidecar motorcycle.

Mocquino delivered a sharp command. Brakes crunched; the big sedan veered sharply and skidded to a side

A siren whined. The motorcycle wheeled to complete the chase. From the side window, Harry saw a car that

Mocquino had spotted before he gave the order to turn off. It was a police car coming up the main road. It

The gray sedan was stopping. Harry wondered why he could not picture Mocquino in the act of sudden

surrender. The State police had ceased their fire. Harry saw Mocquino's hand extending a white handkerchief

They dropped from sidecar and automobile. Half a dozen strong, they started to deploy. They intended to

surround the gray sedan, to approach it from all angles. Suddenly, Mocquino rasped another order. The sedan

Revolvers spoke. The police car started forward; Harry could see its headlight in the mirror. Two officer had

remained in their automobile. A machine gun began its drill, as others leaped to the running board. In a

minute, the gray sedan would have been crippled and overhauled. But Mocquino had allowed for that.

Just as the police barrage began, headlights blazed from the entrance to the side road. Mocquino's second

sedan had arrived. His rear guard was taking up the battle. Submachine guns rattled, as the reserve crooks

The gray sedan was swinging another turn. Again from the side window, Harry saw developments. The

police had quickly ceased their fire. A brilliant searchlight from Mocquino's second car enabled Harry to

The driver of the police car ditched his machine. Troopers dived from doorways and rolled beneath the rails

of a fence. Those who had deployed were quick to drop for cover. Riddling bullets from machine guns found

Mocquino's reserves roared onward, to follow the gray sedan. Troopers sprang up from cover, to blaze with

their revolvers. The gray sedan was well out of range. The second car was speeding rapidly enough to escape

the hurried shots. Pursuit was ended; for the motorcycle and the ditched police car had been rendered useless.

To Harry, the sequence was amazing; but it aroused him to a fit of fury. Catching a sudden opportunity, he

snatched at Jose Arilla's gun. He wrenched away the pretended detective's weapon.

Stanton Wallace saw the move. He jabbed a punch to the jaw of the man who had him covered.

Wildly, Jose hoisted Harry upward. Dr. Mocquino, snarling, dived over the back of the front seat. His fierce

hands caught Harry's throat. Choking, The Shadow's agent subsided. At the same moment, Stanton's

adversary managed a return punch. It was a squarer, harder stroke than the one that Stanton had given. With a

A few seconds later, the prisoners were suppressed. Dr. Mocquino had gained a bottle from the front seat.

The odor of chloroform filled the car. Flapping cloths were pressed to the faces of the prisoners. Struggling

A gloating chuckle came from Dr. Rodil Mocquino. The Voodoo Master had suppressed all opposition. His

prisoners were helpless; his cars were speeding on to safety. Mocquino's flight had brought him new success!

But in Manhattan was The Shadow, winged temporarily, under the care of a physician, but gaining new

Saturday morning was a busy one for Dr. Rupert Sayre. He had postponed appointments from earlier in the

week. The result was a flood of patients. It was after two o'clock when he stepped into his reception room to

find a lone patient waiting. This was a chubbyfaced man, whose expression was serious. Sayre invited him

Sayre showed a relieved smile. He had expected a visit from this gentle man, ever since his last call to

Burbank. Over the telephone, the quietvoiced contact man had stated that Sayre would soon have a chance

for conference. Like Burbank, Mann was one of The Shadow's passive agents. But where Burbank made

Mann's slow, deliberate query roused Sayre. The physician arose and conducted his visitor through a short

passage. He opened a door and showed a darkened room. A figure was stretched upon a cot. Steady breathing

"He is asleep," whispered Sayre. "It would not be wise to awaken him. He has a slight concussion."

"I believe so. He struck his head when he fell to the tiles beside the cedar trees. The blow was not severe, but

Sayre and Mann returned to the office. The physician felt that he could rely thoroughly upon this

solemnfaced investment broker. Burbank had assured him that he could speak in detail. Mann's appearance

"Cardona knows nothing of this," informed Sayre. "He called me an hour ago and stated that he was busy

"None. Mocquino's appearance in New Jersey, an hour after the fight at the Delbar, has left Cardona baffled."

"Merely that he could not spare time to examine the staring man. He wants me to keep Stanton Wallace for

further treatment. Cardona, of course, does not know Wallace's name. Nor does he definitely connect the

"I have just come from New Jersey," he stated. "I went there as Mr. Cranston's investment broker. I talked

"Men came for them. Detectives from New York headquarters. They said Cardona wanted to see Wallace.

"But Cardona could not have sent for them! Cardona was hot on the trail of Mocquino "

"It was Mocquino!" gasped the physician. "He trapped Vincent and Wallace! That is why he was in New

Sayre sat drumming the desk. Mann retained his calmness. When the contact man spoke, his words were

definite. "Every emergency offers a solution," declared Mann. "Fortunately, Burbank and I are well supplied

with details. We can face the facts. Vincent and Wallace are prisoners. The Shadow is unable to aid them."

"Good! That brings us to another fact. Tonight, Mocquino meets with his voodoo cult."

"I have no idea. Nevertheless, The Shadow may learn, once he has recuperated. If Vincent and Wallace are as

Sayre nodded. The statement was convincing. He knew Mocquino's flare for the theatrical, the way in which

"Of course," agreed Sayre. "Mocquino must impress the members of his cult. Whatever he does to Vincent

and Wallace will be in the presence of the circle. I think I know what it will be. I delved into the study of

"Moreover," Sayre paused and stared toward the room where The Shadow rested "last night, coming here

from the Hotel Delbar, The Sha that is, my present patient repeated that one word: 'zombi,' time and

"Then all depends upon his prompt recovery," announced Mann, rising. "If he can locate Mocquino's present

headquarters, he will be able to strike at once. He ordered certain equipment for such an expedition."

"Yes," replied Mann, "It is at present in my office at the Badger Building. That is where I shall remain until I

receive further word. You will give this information to The to your patient as soon as he awakens.

"Meanwhile. I shall arrange for your protection. Since it is possible that Mocquino has connected you with

Wallace, we must make provision. It would be unwise for you to appear to Cardona. So I shall notify

Sayre shook hands with his visitor. Mann departed. Returning to his desk Sayre methodically made a

notation on a memo pad: "Equipment ready at Mann's office." That done, Sayre began to ponder upon

He realized that The Shadow possessed an organization of efficient workers; that Burbank and Mann could

supply orders for active agents to follow, even while The Shadow was incapacitated. Routine performance,

Where was the missing voodoo doctor? His name was emblazoned in headlines. His description was known

to a T. After his escape from Manhattan, he had reappeared in New Jersey, but there he had been hounded

eastward. His only refuge seemed to be New York, where the hunt still persisted. Did the Voodoo Master

actually possess some witchcraft? Sayre actually paused to consider that outlandish theory.

Trucks automobiles henchmen these were gone with Mocquino. As for his cult members, none were

known. They were probably all persons of supposed repute, like Elridge Rathcourt. But they could not speak,

A creeping sound halted Sayre's reverie. The physician looked up from his desk. Alarm seized him as be

observed a man who had entered the office. The fellow was darkish; his features ratlike. Sayre pushed his

right hand toward a desk drawer. A warning came from the intruder's lips. A revolver glimmered in the man's

The ratfaced visitor pocketed his gun as he spoke. He had no further need of it. Two others had appeared at

"Allow me to introduce myself." The darkish intruder smiled in ugly fashion. "I am Jose Arilla. You have

Arilla paused to extract a cigarette from his pocket. He lighted the cigarette and puffed. Sayre scented the

aroma of heavy tobacco. He recalled the odor from yesterday. He had noted that same smoke here in this

office. For the first time, Sayre realized that Arilla had been here, listening to that call to New Jersey.

"I come from Dr. Mocquino," announced Arilla, smoothly. "He is very clever, Dr. Mocquino. He told me that

I would find no police here. He was right. He said that you had not told Cardona of Wallace's recovery; on

"Dr. Mocquino extends his respects," he added. "Since you found some way to restore his zombi, he would

like to know the details. He regards you as a man worth meeting. He would like you to be his guest."

"Ah! You cannot refuse. Dr. Mocquino would not hear of it. You see, he intends to make Wallace a zombi

once again, along with another man who is also a prisoner. A man named Vincent. You must come, Dr.

"You must also be prepared to stay a while. Dr. Mocquino does not care to have his zombis restored to

regular life. Since you have found some method of changing a zombi's condition, you belong with Dr.

Arilla motioned toward the door. The others aimed their revolvers. Sayre had no choice. Slowly, he walked

forward. He realized two points: first, that he might treat with Dr. Mocquino when he met the Voodoo

Master; second, that The Shadow must be kept free. Otherwise, all hope would be ended.

By prompt submission, Sayre fancied that he would draw his captors from these premises without further

search. His hopes sank, however, after he had allowed himself to be conducted to the street.

There, he was urged into a taxi manned by a darkfaced driver; another of Mocquino's West Indian servitors.

The two departed. Sayre realized that Arilla's companion was Rathcourt's former servant. Would they find

The Shadow? Sayre could only wait, tense, as he hoped that their search would not cover the entire place. He

Sayre was counting, too, upon the protection promised by Mann. If those aids would only come! The future,

Mocquino's men of murder were at large. The Shadow, helpless, might become their prey!

Jose Arilla chuckled when he returned to Dr. Sayre's office. He glanced at the desk clock; then toward the

"Nearly three o'clock. Bueno! That is a time when this office should be shut on Saturday. It is well that we

waited until the last patient had left. This place should look as if closed. Draw the curtains, Manuel."

Manuel complied. The room became gloomy when the shades were drawn. Arilla opened the door to the

Manuel entered the reception room and darkened it. Arilla indicated the doorway to the passage.

Arilla went to Sayre's desk. He opened a drawer, found a revolver and dropped it in his pocket. He tapped his

own gun with his right and Sayre's with his left. He turned about to see Manuel returning. There was just

enough light for Arilla to discern the other's face. Manuel closed the door of the passage.

"I looked into a darkened room," stated Manuel. "There I saw a cot. I thought that I heard breathing, as of a

"I do not know. Since the shades were drawn. I thought that the room was as you wanted it."

"You fool!" spat Arilla. "Go back! Find what is there! Wait! I am going with you."

Manuel was opening the door. As Arilla stepped to join him, the fellow dropped back. In the gloom. Arilla

saw a figure; a tall shape that leaned against the door frame. Manuel, closer than Arilla, recognized a face. He

Rathcourt's servant had seen the features of James Rettigue. The Shadow, weary of countenance, looked

weakened. He was clad in slippers, dark trousers and white shirt, open at the collar. His face was pale, but his

Manuel's trip to the darkened room had awakened The Shadow. He had heard the intruder leave. Though

weaponless, he had come to investigate. As Sayre had hoped, The Shadow's brain had cleared. Weakness was

Arilla spun toward the outer door, whipping out his revolver. Manuel, rooted, yanked forth his own gun,

which he had previously pocketed. His hand came snapping upward, straight for The Shadow's body.

A strange laugh escaped paled lips. With that peal of mockery, The Shadow drove his right arm downward,

while his left shoulder hooked the door frame. His clutching hand met the upswing of Manuel's revolver.

Fingers clamped the gun barrel. The Shadow's sweeping hand wrenched the weapon from Manuel's grasp.

The Shadow wrenched backward, just as Arilla fired. The revolver bullet pinged the wall beside the doorway.

This time, The Shadow's left hand, though still stiff from the bullet wound, had not failed him. A quick grip,

The Shadow's right hand was not idle. As his body rolled, that hand performed a maneuver. Fingers flipped

the revolver in the air. Instantly, the waiting hand caught the weapon. The Shadow's forefinger found the

trigger. Arilla saw the gleam of the gun. He fired as he dived through the outer door, following Manuel.

A bullet whistled past Arilla's neck. The Shadow, too, had missed, but only because he had fired the first shot

Seeing Arilla's flight. The Shadow bounded forward. His foot caught the telephone cord beside the desk.

With a long sprawl, The Shadow flattened upon the floor, still gripping Manuel's revolver.

Outside, listeners had heard the shots. An instant later, they saw Manuel and Arilla come bounding across the

sidewalk. Dr. Sayre was already covered by a revolver. He could not budge. Manuel and Arilla piled aboard.

Dr. Sayre managed to glance through the rear window as they rounded the corner. He saw no sign of a

pursuer. Arilla was growling to Manuel in Spanish. Sayre could not tell whether they had fled to avoid a

challenger or because they had committed murder. He feared that it was for the latter reason. For Sayre's last

The physician set his lips to suppress a groan. Three guns were jabbing him. There was no chance to return.

The shots from the office had been muffled. No passerby had been present to hear them. Sayre could picture

The first portion of Sayre's picture was correct. The Shadow still was prone; but he lay unwounded. The jolt

of his fall had weakened him. Dizzy, he preferred not to rise. There was still a chance that invaders would

return. From this position, with gun thrust forward, The Shadow could meet them most effectively.

Slowly, his upraised hand began to lower. Even this effort was wearisome. The Shadow let the revolver

clatter to the floor. Raising up on both hands, he found the edge of the desk. He reached for the telephone,

still intact from The Shadow's tripping on the cord. His hands missed it. Head swimming, The Shadow

At the end of thirty minutes, footsteps sounded softly from the outer passage that led in from the street.

A few moments later, Cliff and Hawkeye were stooping above The Shadow's prone form. Together they

lifted their chief and carried him to the inner room. They placed him on the cot. Cliff produced a glass of

Hawkeye was about to raise the window shade; Cliff stopped him. The Shadow spoke in a tired tone. He

Cliff found a tiny bottle and uncorked it. He brought it to The Shadow, who took it and carried it to his lips.

A purplish liquid showed in the gloomy light. The Shadow swallowed the entire potion. Slowly, he began to

"I must rest," he decided. "A short while only. After that food. Bring it while I rest."

The Shadow's head settled back upon the pillows. Cliff left Hawkeye in charge and went outside. He stepped

aboard a waiting taxi, driven by Moe Shrevnitz, another of The Shadow's aids. Cliff went to a restaurant. He

The Shadow stirred when Cliff arrived. He managed to prop himself against the pillows; then he began to

partake of nourishment. Cliff and Hawkeye sat by in the increasing darkness. It was after four o'clock; heavy

The Shadow rested after he had eaten. Minutes ticked past, while his agents waited. At last, The Shadow

"Rathcourt was murdered by Mocquino," stated Cliff. "Dr. Sayre found you on the nineteenth floor of the

"Cardona pursued Mocquino. The Voodoo Master slipped him. Every outlet was covered, but he got away to

"Yes; an hour later. He fought a battle with the State police. They forced him toward New York. Once more,

"How do I know? Their capture would have been the only reason for his appearance in New Jersey. Tell me,

"They had none," replied Cliff, "until a few hours ago. On our way here, I bought an extra. Mocquino's two

trucks, used to escape from the house next to the Europa Building, have been found abandoned in New

Again Cliff was amazed. The Shadow had stated the exact case. The police had found the sedans in a New

"New York and New Jersey," declared The Shadow. "Stanton Wallace was taken from New York to New

Jersey; then sent back to New York. Elridge Rathcourt was in New York with Mocquino. He was sent to

"Last night, Mocquino left New York. He arrived in New Jersey. He has not been seen since. Perhaps it is

because he believes that I am dead. That is something that Dr. Sayre could answer. But Sayre is no longer

"By those who served Mocquino. They, too, move fast. From your account, they must have gone to New

Jersey last night, along with the Voodoo Master. Mocquino has played his trump too often!"

The Shadow's voice had taken on a sinister tone. His eyes were no longer wearied. Cliff could see them

"Once twice that would have been enough!" pronounced The Shadow. "Mocquino was prepared for flight

from which he could strike when occasion called. But he has counted too much upon his unique situation.

"He has baffled the law; but I can name his method. Simply because it allows but one solution. All that I need

is information. I can use whatever the law has gained. Go, Marsland, telephone to police headquarters. Ask

"Tell him that you are speaking for Dr. Sayre," replied The Shadow. "Mention that Sayre has been called

"Learn when he will be. It is best to call from here, instead of through Burbank. Then you can answer

"I talked to Markham," he explained. "He says that Cardona is in conference with Commissioner Weston. He

"I found a notation on a memo pad on Sayre's desk. It says that the equipment is ready in Mann's office."

"Instructions!" The sibilant tone carried command. "Send Shrevnitz for the equipment. Bring it here. Arrange

A pause. The Shadow's tone had changed; he was quiet in speech as he leaned back upon his pillow:

The Shadow's eyelids closed. His breath came with a deep sigh. A few minutes later, he was sleeping, while

Worriment, too, wrinkled their features, for in the minds of both was the question whether The Shadow was

Harry Vincent responded to the growled order. He blinked as he arose from the door. He was in a square

room with plain walls; a single light was dazzling his eyes. Coming to his feet, he stared at two of Dr.

The repeated growl was not for Harry. It was addressed to Stanton Wallace, who was also coming to life.

Harry saw his friend rise drowsily. He was not surprised. He felt dopey; he knew that he and Stanton had

Harry could remember intervals in the past. All had been hazy moments of blackness. He realized that he and

Stanton had been kept in this windowless room, without light. Harry could not guess how long.

One of Mocquino's men opened a door and led the prisoners through a narrow passage. Harry noted a smooth

wall on the right, other doors on the left. The smooth wall was slightly curved. At last it ended, but the

passage still continued. The smooth, curved wall had been replaced by a straight, rough one.

At last they came to a door. A servitor opened it. Harry and Stanton stepped into a widened room, that was

large in size but odd in shape. It had three doors, all in one long, straight wall. Harry and Stanton entered by a

The remaining walls were curved and paneled. In a sense, they formed a single wall, like a semicircle. The

woodwork on the curving wall appeared like a barrier that was hiding something beyond. Another oddity

There, Harry saw two upright posts, several feet apart. Beyond them was a larger support, much thicker than

an ordinary post. It was at least four feet in diameter. It made the nearer posts look flimsy.

A man was seated in a chair placed between the two thin posts, his back toward the huge pillar. It was Dr.

Rodil Mocquino, attired in golden robe and crimson sash. In front of the Voodoo Master was a table, set for

four. The servants ushered Harry to one end of the table; Stanton to the other. The prisoners sat down.

"Dinner will be informal," purred Mocquino, glancing at his unshaven visitors and noting their rumpled

"Exactly six o'clock," replied Mocquino, "and this is Saturday evening. You have shall we say slept?

"And you, Wallace?" queried Mocquino, focusing his eyes upon the other prisoner. "Come! Speak up!"

"Of course," chuckled Mocquino. "Yes, Wallace, you will again hear the tomtoms. But forget them for the

Stanton Wallace pulled himself together with a shudder. Harry saw it, and experienced an odd sensation. He

would have sworn that the room shivered with Stanton's action. Then, muffled, Harry heard a beat. He could

not guess the source of the slow thrum. It was not the stroke of a tomtom. But it seemed to add force to

The physician was calm as he approached the table. He smiled encouragingly to Stanton, then nodded to

Harry. At Mocquino's suggestion, Sayre took the chair opposite the Voodoo Master. Mocquino clapped his

hands. Two servants arrived, bringing food. Mocquino and his enforced guests began their repast.

"Our companions," observed the Voodoo Master, "do not know their present whereabouts. It would be

"Nor do I," returned Sayre, finishing a plate of soup. "Where they are will not help them."

"Wisely spoken." Mocquino's chuckle was malicious. "Their status is quite different from yours. But we can

discuss that later. By the way, doctor, may I ask what mode of treatment you used to restore Wallace to his

"By your method," said the physician, "I suppose you mean the red room. Am I correct?"

"My antidote," resumed Sayre, "was a green room. With green lights. I installed it in New Jersey, simply to

"Of course not. But you must have acted upon his advice. Too bad about The Shadow. I should have liked to

Mocquino broke off. He looked beyond the table. He saw Jose Arilla standing by the door. The ratfaced

"What?" Mocquino glared as he came up from his chair. "The Shadow still lives? After that twentystory

Mocquino stared at Sayre, expecting an explanation. The physician stopped eating and gave a cryptic

"The Shadow did not fall twenty stories," he said. "He fell a considerable distance, though. Enough, perhaps,

"Yes. He was not seriously hurt. He was quite improved when your servants came for me."

"That is true, master!" cried out Arilla. "He came upon us like a ghost! He snatched away Manuel's gun! He

Mocquino was threatening. Arilla looked about. Manuel had entered and was close beside him. With

"The Shadow is not human!" he gasped. "He is what I say a ghost! Bullets pass through him like a vapor!

"At the old house!" he panted. "I have talked with those who fought there. No bullets could harm The

Shadow! He advanced in the face of guns! At Rathcourt's I have talked with Manuel let him speak "

"I saw The Shadow at Rathcourt's," put in Manuel, promptly. "I saw guns pointed toward his heart. I saw

"And today," added Arilla, "I fired pointblank. My aim was perfect! My bullet did not even stop The

Mocquino was glowering. Sayre, turning, saw the fearful expression on the faces of the Voodoo Master's

minions. Harry and Stanton were looking on, elated. Sayre saw a chance for a conclusive statement.

"They are right, Mocquino," expressed the physician. "Scientifically and from a medical standpoint, The

Shadow is superhuman. When he fell four stories from the penthouse roof, last night "

Sayre's bluff hit home. He knew that Mocquino had no knowledge of the fact that The Shadow had dropped

but one floor. Sayre specified four floors, as just enough to make Mocquino ponder. Had he said more, the

"The Shadow is a voodoo also!" cried Arilla. "You must believe it, master! We know the truth. Your spells

"The Shadow is not your equal, master," added Manuel, anxious to temper Arilla's words. "But he has power

of his own. He cast a spell upon Elridge Rathcourt! That was why Rathcourt failed you."

"Yes!" exclaimed Arilla. "And there will be others like Rathcourt here tonight. When the cult meets, master,

Sayre, watching, saw pained expressions show upon the faces of Arilla and Manuel. Dr. Mocquino had made

a bad slip. His promise of a false statement made his henchmen waver. Their confidence had ended. Sayre

Here was opportunity. A mad attack upon Mocquino! There was a chance that his two henchmen would

desert; that they would cry out their master's lie to others who might enter. But before Sayre could move,

"I shall tell them that The Shadow is dead!" he repeated. "Dead, because he is a spirit. He is a ghost, who has

taken on a human form. Look!" He pointed to Stanton Wallace. "This man was a zombi once! Who but a

"Tonight," he promised, "I shall state the facts about The Shadow. I shall prepare the silver bullet and load it

Sayre's hopes faded. Mocquino had clinched the argument. In his reading of voodoo lore, Sayre had noted the

potent claims attached to silver bullets. Those who followed voodoo rituals believe that such a charm could

Sayre saw Arilla and Manuel serenely fold their arms. They were in the know. First of all Mocquino's

"Nothing, master," replied Arilla. "I delayed coming here only because I feared the place was watched. That

is why we kept Dr. Sayre in the taxicab until nearly six o'clock. We stayed in the old garage, which the police

"Good! They will not be suspected, even if they are observed. The meeting will begin soon afterward."

Harry and Stanton had resumed eating. They had gained enough encouragement to continue. Arilla and

Manuel stood by with folded arms. Mocquino clapped for service; other henchmen entered and cleared the

The meal ended shortly afterward. Mocquino ordered Arilla and Manuel to return the prisoners to their little

room. The Voodoo Master kept Sayre as a guest. As soon as they were alone, Mocquino smiled.

"My congratulations, doctor," he purred. "You are clever. You would prove useful as a member of my cult.

No?" He laughed gloatingly, as he saw contempt in Sayre's expression. "Ah! You must wait until you hear

"The silver bullet?" Mocquino raised his eyebrows. "Ah! A silver bullet can prove quite as deadly as any

other. Provided that it comes from a gun held by a steady hand. Such a hand is this."

"You shall choose your own fate, Sayre," decided the Voodoo Master. "I can use your knowledge; therefore I

shall treat you well provided that you pretend to believe in my powers, even though you may not actually

"Or you may die, if you wish. Pleasantly, of course, since I bear you no malice. And if you prefer" the last

words were accompanied by an insidious chuckle "you may become a zombi. But my zombis will no

"He will die, The Shadow! Whether he comes to find me, or whether I am forced to seek him. That, however,

is a matter to be considered later. Let me show you something that will interest you more. The place where I

Advancing from the table, Mocquino crossed the room and opened the center door in the straight wall. Sayre

saw the room he expected: one with walls, floor and ceiling entirely of red. The background was plain, for the

room was lighted with ordinary bulbs. Mocquino pressed a hidden switch. The glow changed. Fierce, crimson

Background deepened. The room became a setting for a nightmare. From high up, at unreachable spots,

Mocquino stepped across the threshold. His face became the ruddy countenance of a demon. Only his golden

robe showed in the light. His red sash vanished with the background. As Stanton Wallace had once described

The Voodoo Master stepped from the chamber of horror. He let the red light burn and closed the door. Once

"Within that room, all but red vanishes. With it goes all reason. Red dominates. Red maddens. You shall see

Grim dread gripped Dr. Rupert Sayre as he thought of the fate reserved for Harry Vincent and Stanton

Wallace. All chance seemed feeble when confronted by the machinations of Dr. Rodil Mocquino.

Cardona and his men were undoubtedly still on the lookout, but they had no trail to follow.

It was quarter past seven when Joe Cardona arrived back at headquarters. The ace was disgruntled when he

entered his office. Detective Sergeant Markham was seated there. Joe growled in disgruntled fashion, while

"You can talk all night to the commissioner," declared Cardona. "but sometimes he won't listen. I didn't get

any further at the finish than at the start. It all comes back to the same argument: Why haven't we grabbed

Joe opened a small briefcase. He drew out envelopes, pulled back the flaps and let an assortment of small

"Look at this junk," he remarked. "Stuff that we found up at Rathcourt's. Voodoo charms, or whatnot. Here's

a goldink talisman, inscribed on parchment. Lamp the threeheaded dame looking in different directions."

"It proves that Mocquino has buffaloed a bunch of saps, and that Rathcourt was one of the dumbest. Reading

up on this business would make any guy believe that Mocquino was a big shot in the voodoo line. Say if I

called these things clues, I'd start to believe that Mocquino had disappeared into a cloud of smoke!"

"It wouldn't be a tough job to believe it, either." He produced a big map of Manhattan and spread it on the

desk. "Because there's not a loophole that we haven't covered. How did those trucks get over to New Jersey?

"And where's his hideout? It's not in New York; it's not in New Jersey. But he's got one. He's got to have

one. He needs it to hold the outfit of his together. Some place somewhere for that cult of his to meet. But

as far as I can guess, the point may be in one of those spirit planes that these goofy books tell about."

Blackness appeared upon the desk. Cardona looked up; he grinned when he saw the cause. A tall,

pastyfaced janitor had entered the office. Stoopshouldered, he was approaching the desk. Cardona looked

With that comment, the janitor unlimbered mop and bucket. He tightened the straps of his overalls, and began

"What's the idea, Fritz?" asked the detective sergeant "You cleaned this place at noon."

"People." Fritz paused and leaned listlessly on the mop handle. "Too much people. Job no goot."

"I get it," laughed Joe. "Too many of us coming in and out. The place needs cleaning again. Well, that's not

your fault, Fritz. Maybe you'd better have a helper. I'll see about that. Anyway, forget it for today. Go along

Fritz made the statement in dull fashion, but he did not budge from his position.

"All right," put in Markham. "Go along home. Why don't you get started? What are you standing around

"You mean you went home?" demanded Cardona, suddenly interpreting the janitor's remark. "You went

"Say, Fritz," suggested the detective sergeant, "where do you live, anyway? Tell us about the place."

Fritz placed the mop in the corner. He came to the desk and began to study Cardona's map. He was muttering

to himself, apparently puzzled. Cardona and Markham exchanged grins. Suddenly Fritz extended a long

"Don't tell us that's where you live," guffawed Markham. "That's a ferry slip, Fritz."

"He doesn't mean he lives there," put in Cardona. "He's wondering what the green pencil mark is about."

Fritz nodded. His finger was touching a green circle, Cardona winked at Markham.

"I'll explain it, Fritz," volunteered Joe. "First off, we're after a crook named Mocquino. Have you heard about

"Mocquino good? I'll say he's good!" Joe's tone was sarcastic. "He's good enough to keep us guessing. He's

"That's drilled through your bean. All right, Fritz. That brings us to the circles. We're trying to trap

Mocquino. So we've got men stationed everywhere. See these red circles, up at the top of the map?"

"Those are bridges out of Manhattan. Keep following, along down the East River. More red circles. More

bridges. Queensborough Williamsburg Manhattan Brooklyn all bridges. Over here, crossing the

"See those blue circles? Those are tunnels. The Holland Tunnel and the Lincoln Tunnel! But we've been

"That brings us to the green circles. They mean ferries. West Shore. Lackawanna. Erie, Pennsylvania, Jersey

Central mostly railroads own them. But there's some others beside. One over here on the East River, near

"Then there's the Bay ferries, to Staten Island and Brooklyn. No use going into a list of the lot. They're all

"He got you there, Joe!" laughed the detective sergeant "All green, you said, but Fritz slipped one past you.

"Sure," acknowledged Joe. "There's a hunch of them. But take a look at them. The one Fritz is pointing to, for

instance. Look where it runs to. Up the East River, from Twentythird Street to Welfare Island. Can you

Fritz had moved his finger to another black circle. Cardona shook his head. He was enjoying the game.

"Take another guess. Fritz. That ferry has been abandoned. The black circles are the ones that don't need

Another black circle on the East River. With his other hand, Fritz tapped a final black circle, located on the

"That's funny," remarked Cardona. He turned to Markham. "Fritz picks what's left and he gets two that are

"What do you mean?" demanded Markham. "Don't tell me there's a ferry that runs around the island, from

Markham looked blank. Cardona pushed Fritz aside. He wanted to explain it to the detective sergeant.

"One line starts here on the East River," he explained. "It runs around lower Manhattan past the Battery then

up the Hudson, clear to Weehawken. Takes it pretty near an hour to make the trip."

"A few trucks under sort of a contract arrangement, That boat is an old Hudson ferry, a twodecker, but the

"No. It's irregular. Contractors bring their trucks down to the East River pier. So do a few vegetable truckers.

When there's any trucks to go, the old ferry takes them from the East River, down around Manhattan, up to

Markham nodded his understanding. Then a question popped into his mind. He pointed to the ferry slip on

"There's an old ferry company," explained Cardona, "called the MidHudson. It's got a franchise and wants

to keep it. The company has to run at least one ferry a day. It had an old tub and a crew, but the boat got

"So the MidHudson made a deal with Captain Juggers. He's the old guy who runs the boat from the East

River up Weehawken. They pay him a regular sum every month. Once a day whenever it suits him he

"He pulls his tub into this Hudson River slip; then goes across the river and stops at a junky old pier on the

New Jersey side at Hoboken. After that, he comes across the Hudson again. He makes another stop, then

"I get it," nodded the detective sergeant. "He goes through the motions, just to keep the franchise alive. Say I

"Neither did I," stated Cardona, "Until I talked with old Cap Juggers. When I found out the kind of business

he does between the East River and Weehawken, I figured there was no use detailing a man to watch his boat.

Juggers knows all his customers. If any strange trucks or cars came aboard, he'd simply stay hitched to the

pier. Then he'd come ashore and call us here at headquarters. That's the arrangement I made with him.

"As for this MidHudson trip that Juggers takes when it pleases him, he doesn't pick up any loads. The

franchise specifies that the boat must run; that's all. Juggers keeps a log for the owners. He doesn't want to be

"He is. He's an old duck with side whiskers and his boat is called the Cantrilla. He told me he used to handle

another franchise job across the East River; but the owners of the franchise called it off. Juggers said they got

"That's all there is to it," he stated. "there's a chance, though, that Mocquino has managed to slip across an

East River bridge and reach Long Island. I'm having the Long Island Sound ferries watched. Mocquino might

"And that's where he may be. Trucks abandoned in New Jersey; cars left in Manhattan. My hunch is that

Seeing Cardona look in his direction, the janitor apparently remembered Joe's suggestion to stop work. Fritz

picked up mop and bucket. He shuffled from the office. From that moment on, Cardona put the fellow from

Out in the corridor, Fritz shambled to an obscure locker. He drew out folded cloth. Blackness enveloped him

as a cloak slipped over his shoulders. A slouch hat settled on Fritz's head. A whispered laugh escaped hidden

A half block from headquarters, The Shadow paused beside a parked taxi. It was Moe Shrevnitz's cab. The

Shadow whispered an order. Hawkeye scrambled from the taxi and headed for a cigar store, to put in a

Moe, the shrewdfaced driver, was quick to hear another order. The taxi pulled away. The Shadow picked up

an oblong package that lay upon the floor. This contained the equipment that Moe had brought from Mann's

office. Its contents had been prepared for the time when The Shadow would deal with Dr. Mocquino, in the

In The Shadow's own presence, Joe Cardona had found a clue. But the ace sleuth had unwittingly dropped his

Shortly before eight, the ferryboat Cantrilla jogged into its East River slip. The ferry had left there at six for a

trip to Weehawken. It had consumed nearly an hour in each direction. Ordinarily, this trip would have been

But tonight, the Cantrilla was receiving passengers. A dozen persons were waiting upon the almostforgotten

pier. They crowded into the long passenger compartment on the left side of the ferry. Oddly, that lengthwise

Hence crew members caught but momentary glimpses of the passengers. Most of them were men, but there

were a few women among the dozen. All were wellattired. Apparently, they were a fashionable party on a

Once inside the long, darkened cabin the passengers whispered among themselves. Then came footsteps,

A clumsy truck rumbled over the cracked boards of the ferry dock. A rougefaced driver leaned out and

"Wait'll I see Captain Juggers. Maybe he ain't goin' to make a trip, after all."

While the big truck waited, a light truck drew up behind it. The driver alighted. He was Cliff Marsland. The

"Guess so," he said. "But they're kind o' particular on this packet. Looks like you gotta have credentials. They

"Sure thing," Cliff chuckled. "Say, it was Benny told me to come here. He must have an interest in this line.

Cliff broke off. A whiskered man had arrived. He was wearing rough overalls; but his weatherbeaten cap

bore the frayed gilt statement: 'Captain." It was Juggers. The skipper had heard Cliff's words.

Cliff nodded, pointing back to his own truck. Then he indicated the driver of the big truck.

"All right," decided Juggers, gruffly. "Haul aboard. Reckon I can make another trip, Seein' as there's two of

you. We do contract business on this boat. That's why we don't take strangers. But Tuppen is one of our

The big truck rolled aboard the Cantrilla and took the vehicle passage on the right. Cliff returned to his truck,

drove onto the ferry and ran through the left passage. The two trucks parked side by side; forward Captain

Juggers had gone to the pilothouse. Chains clanked. The ferry glided from its slip.

Hawkeye was seated beside Cliff, huddled and inconspicuous. Both heard a whispered order from within a

truck. Then a figure dropped to the vehicle passage. Creeping through darkness, The Shadow made for the

Trucks had stopped their motors. The driver of the big truck leaned out and spoke to Cliff.

"It's nothing," he decided. "Just something cuckoo with the machinery. This scow is lucky it hasn't sunk.

The truck driver was satisfied with the explanation. But Cliff and Hawkeye sat tense.

The Cantrilla, being a conventional ferryboat, was double ended. Most of the crew were at the end which at

present served as front. None were about to witness happenings at the back. There, a blackened figure had

stepped upon the rail of the open deck at the end. Arms stretched; gloved hands wedged a package beneath

The cloaked figure followed. The Shadow hoisted himself across the rail and reached the upper deck that

completely circled the boat. He studied the windows of the huge, ovalshaped cabin as he made a circuit of

Back at his starting point on the left side of the ship, The Shadow picked up the oblong package. He went to a

steep, outer stairway and ascended to the roof of the upper deck. He was close beside a vacant pilothouse,

Captain Juggers was in the pilothouse at the other end. The tall, smoking funnel lay between, softly chugging

forth volumes of black smoke. The Shadow recognized that both pilothouses would be identical. He decided

The Cantrilla was rounding the Battery. The bulky skyscrapers of lower Manhattan showed spotted gleams

from offices where night workers were on duty. Beyond those buildings was the glow of the uptown district.

Manhattan was on the right; to the left were the lights of Governor's Island. Tiny lights of other boats showed

from blackening waters through wisps of gathering fog. Above the mist, Liberty's torch shone as a distant

After a brief notation of the present location, The Shadow entered the vacant pilothouse. A tiny flashlight

glimmered below the windows. It's beam settled on the floor. It showed the outline of a small trapdoor. The

The Shadow had counted upon such a discovery, with definite reason. He knew that the Cantrilla must be

Mocquino's boat; that Captain Juggers was in the game. The usual route in descending from a pilothouse was

by way of the outer stairs to the upper deck; then through the upper cabin and down the inner stairs.

But with this boat, the upper cabin was completely boarded, its doors blocked along with its windows. The

Shadow had learned that from his tour of inspection. There was only one way for the captain to reach a

The trapdoor furnished such passage; but the trap was bolted from below. The Shadow placed his package to

one side. He produced a portable jimmy and set to work. Boards resisted, then yielded. The bolt loosened.

His flashlight showed a narrow, circular stairway; a metal spiral within a sheetiron cylinder. The Shadow

descended. The stairway ended at the back of the cylinder. The Shadow found a sliding sheet of metal. He

From far away, he heard the muffled beat of tomtoms. The Shadow edged out through the opening and

The Shadow had reached the room wherein Dr. Mocquino had dined. He had come from the big pillar near

the end. Originally a support for the pilothouse above, that pillar had been made into a tubular shell for the

Like most ferry boats, the upper section of the Cantrilla consisted of three ovals, one within another. The

outer was the deck; the middle one the cabin; the innermost the engine space, extending up between the

Dr. Mocquino had altered the interior arrangements of his squatly ship. He had cut it into various rooms, with

partitions between. This dining hall, with its hollow pillar and tiny posts, took up but half the cabin's end.

Looking toward the front, The Shadow saw the straight, blockading wall with its three doorways.

Those at the sides must lead past the inner, solidwalled oval. The Shadow knew their purposes. The central

door indicated the existence of a special room between the passages, since a portion of the cabin's end had

The red glow met The Shadow's gaze. He eyed the crimson depths of the walls, which seemed to lead to

limitless space. The Shadow entered the red room and looked for the lamps that Mocquino had left burning.

The Shadow was carrying the oblong package. He laid it upon the floor as he looked about.

The menace of the red room was apparent. Flooding lights produced heat; the atmosphere was stifling. The

Shadow formed a figure of deep maroon; his garments dyed by the reddish glow. He was plainly visible in

Minutes passed while The Shadow surveyed his surroundings. He knew that this room was prepared for

Outside, all was quiet in Mocquino's wide dining hall, except for the distant thrum of tomtoms. The Shadow

had closed the door of the red room. At last, he opened it again and stepped forth, carrying the crumpled

Closing the door, The Shadow went to the hollow pillar and stowed away the wrapping. He could feel the

motion of the ferry, as he returned and opened one of the doors at the side of the long wall. The Shadow

On the right, he had come to a smooth surface that curved. It was the central oval wall of the ferry. On the left

were doorways, set in partitions. These represented small rooms which Mocquino had fashioned as living

quarters for himself and his servants. One space of wall, wide between two doors, was indication of the

The Shadow paused, opened a doorway and found a blocking door to the steps. He unbolted the barrier, then

returned to the passage and continued forward. The beat of tomtoms sounded closer. The Shadow reached a

door at the end of the passage. It slid sidewise. The Shadow peered through curtains.

The room into which The Shadow gazed was large, for it occupied the entire front of the ferryboat's cabin.

Like the other end of the boat, it had a huge pillar to support a pilothouse; and on the near side of the pillar

were the same slender posts. Between these was Dr. Mocquino, seated upon thronelike cushions.

Clad in his golden, redsashed robe, the Voodoo Master formed a contrast to his surroundings. The room was

fitted to resemble a jungle. Palm trees sprouted from clumps of artificial grass. All about were masses of

dense foliage. Scenery hung from the walls, half obscured by the palm trees; the painted backdrops looked

Brawny, barearmed servitors were at either side of Mocquino, beating tomtoms. One grinning, darkfaced

fellow toyed with snakes that coiled about his arms. The Shadow recognized one reptile as a ferdelance,

Before Mocquino, seated in a semicircle, were the members of the cult. They had changed their attire to West

Indian costumes. This accounted for their departure along with Mocquino, the night when Cardona had

attacked the cult's headquarters. The cult members had been carried to the ferryboat, there to resume their

Well had The Shadow reconstructed Mocquino's past. The Voodoo Master had first used this ferry to convey

Stanton Wallace to New Jersey, along with automobiles. On the night of Cardona's raids, he had brought

Some Elridge Rathcourt, in particular had been dropped on the Jersey side. The trucks had been driven

off and abandoned, far from the Weehawken landing. Last night, Mocquino had ordered the Cantrilla to

remain at the New Jersey side the MidHudson Ferry. He had driven there with his two sedans. Juggers had

kept the boat waiting for him, during the expedition to capture Harry and Stanton.

Returning, Mocquino had brought the cars aboard. They had later been driven off on the Manhattan shore.

All the while, Mocquino had kept a perfect hideout, a headquarters aboard the Cantrilla itself!

Joe Cardona had unwittingly described the game, when he had said that Mocquino could be in neither New

Jersey nor New York. But Cardona had not suspected that the Voodoo Master could be between both shores.

Mocquino's jungle set was portable. The Shadow noted that fact as he watched the voodoo doctor's followers

sway to the rhythm of the tomtoms. Like theatrical equipment, the scenery could be packed in a hurry. That

accounted for Mocquino's quick departure on Wednesday night. But The Shadow did not speculate long upon

His eyes were focused upon the center of the semicircle, directly opposite Mocquino. There sat Harry

Vincent and Stanton Wallace, bound hand and foot. Dr. Rupert Sayre was with them. The physician was free,

Counting Arilla and Manuel, Mocquino possessed a full dozen henchmen. His original crew must have

numbered more than a score. The ranks had been thinned in battle; therefore, Mocquino had none left for

outside guards. He could probably have spared a few of the present quota; but obviously the Voodoo Master

The chant was rising. Cultists were on their feet, swaying while the tomtoms beat with added fervor.

Imbued with frenzy, faces were leering. A mad dance was beginning. Arms were beating; hands were

clawing. Mocquino, his face demonish, was keeping time to the wild ritual. The scene matched all

Dr. Mocquino clapped his hands. The effect was magical. Chanting ceased. Tomtoms died. Frenzied

"My followers," spoke Mocquino, amid silence, "I have brought you here with purpose tonight. Listen while I

"I have much to tell you," purred Mocquino. "Questions have come to your minds. Some of you have

wondered why death did not befall a certain man whose effigy I stabbed. I refer to Dunley Bligh."

"Bligh did not die," explained Mocquino, "because his effigy was broken. There you see the man who

He pointed to Stanton Wallace. Harsh cries came from many throats. Again, Mocquino clapped for silence.

"I punished Wallace," rasped the Voodoo Master. "I made him a zombi! I paraded him, staring, here before

the fire! He does not remember; but you who saw remember. I sent him helpless out into the world!

"My spell was offset by an enemy who found him. That enemy is called The Shadow! He is one against

whom my servants battled. Their bullets failed. Therefore, they fear The Shadow!"

Buzzes of consternation. Mocquino drew an old fashioned pistol from beneath a cushion. He brandished the

"I do not fear The Shadow!" stormed Mocquino. "My bullet will not fail! No human hand can thwart me

when I meet The Shadow! Nor can he remain immune to the shot that I shall fire! This gun contains a silver

"My power is vast," he croaked. "Look! Here is an image of The Shadow." He brought a blackened effigy

from beside him. He stabbed a long pin through the waxen statuette. "Through the heart! The Shadow's heart!

A pause. Mocquino placed gun and effigy aside He eyed the group, then spoke coldly.

"Perhaps some still doubt my power. Watch! I shall perform a test. Bring the caldron."

Two servants advanced, bearing a large glass globe filled with water. Another approached with a tripod. The

bowl was placed upon the stand. Mocquino ignited a burner beneath. Gas hissed, while the voodoo cultists

Mocquino droned a chant. The Shadow, peering from the curtains, remained motionless. Though he was

armed, he saw the danger of attack. Mocquino commanded the loyalty of a dozen ferocious servants, who

were fully convinced of their master's power. With their native costumes, all were carrying revolvers or

knives. They would intervene to block an attack upon Mocquino. The Shadow wanted to reach the Voodoo

Moreover, Harry and Stanton were powerless, in the very center of the floor. Cultists, frenzied, would seize

them if a fight began. The Shadow had other, better, plans which offered later opportunity.

The water in the caldron began to boil. Mocquino extinguished the burner. Still the water bubbled. The

Voodoo Master plucked a palm leaf and thrust it into the liquid. Water drops sizzled as he flicked them to the

floor. Again he thrust the palm leaf into the bowl and stirred the water. Then he cast the leaf aside.

With a loud cry, Mocquino dipped his hand deep into the caldron. He swished it back and forth, while his evil

face gleamed triumphant. He stilled his hand and grinned; then slowly drew his arm upward. He let the water

"Proof!" spoke Mocquino. "Proof that no physical pain can annoy the Voodoo Master! My life, like my hand,

The Shadow knew the trick which had amazed the gullible onlookers. Hot water had risen; it had boiled at the

top while the bottom liquid still was cold. Mocquino's stirring with the palm leaf had mixed the liquid. His

hand thrust had completed the job. Stirred together, hot and cold had produced a temperature that was more

Yet the believers had accepted Mocquino's miracle. They were ready to serve this savage master. The voodoo

doctor could depend upon his deluded band. The Shadow could see a troubled, hopeless expression upon the

"I have withstood an ordeal!" grated Mocquino. He pointed to Harry and Stanton. "Can these men do the

same? I say 'No!' and I shall prove my statement. They will be placed where they can undergo a test.

"There they will lose all knowledge of time, all sense of space! They will become men who walk, but who no

longer live. Each a zombi! One who was a zombi before; the other a man to whom the experience will be

Mocquino was rising. His handclaps brought servants. Others arose, Sayre silent among than, while two of

Mocquino was pointing to the very curtain from which The Shadow watched. He was holding his pistol in his

other hand; it was apparent that the Voodoo Master intended to carry the gun, hopeful of an encounter with

Before men could advance to the passage, The Shadow glided quickly away. In the dim light of the corridor,

he was peeling off his black cloak, his gloves and his slouch hat. He opened the last door on the right and

hurled the garments into a darkened room. He hurried into Mocquino's dining hall and closed the door behind

Lacking his cloak, The Shadow appeared long and lithe. He was clad in dark, tightfitting clothes, which had

previously been covered by Fritz's overalls. He had dropped the janitor's garb when he had donned his black

cloak. At present, he looked like a gymnast. Rubbersoled shoes made his quick tread silent, as he sprang

The Shadow was gone when Mocquino and the others arrived. The Voodoo Master ordered the cult members

to form a semicircle, facing the door of the red room. Clutching Sayre's arm in clawlike grasp, Mocquino

held the physician beside him, then commanded servants to carry Harry and Stanton into the room of horror.

The door was opened by Arilla. Four bearers hoisted the prisoners into the midst of the red room and

sprawled them, still bound and helpless, upon the floor. The glow made the captives look pitiful. They were

Mocquino clapped his hands. The servants emerged. Arilla closed the door. Cushions were placed for the

Voodoo Master; he drew Sayre to the floor beside him. With croaking gloat, Mocquino awaited

"A dozen minutes," was his prophecy. "Then they will begin to weaken. After that, we can open the door and

watch their final throes. They will be too far gone to gain relief by staring toward us. This will interest you,

A man came bounding in from the passage. It was Manuel. His face was wild; in his hands, he carried

"This cloak!" cried Manuel. "I found it in one of the dressing rooms! It... it is The Shadow's. He is here

Mocquino snarled. He came to his feet, clutching the pistol that held the silver bullet. Fiercely, he studied

every face in the throng. He recognized all as followers and servants, with the exception of Sayre. A vicious

"Open that door!" Mocquino pointed to the entrance of the red room. "At once! Be ready with your guns!

Shoot down the prisoners if you find them free. The Shadow may have aided them!"

Arilla leaped to the door, prepared to open it. Sayre tightened his fists as he watched the move to halt the

ordeal. The torture of the red room might be ended for Harry and Stanton; but its finish would be death.

Again, Sayre could find but one possible form of hope. The Shadow had come at last. Perhaps the master

The door of the red room swung open. Jose Arilla stood staring into the chamber. Beside Arilla was Manuel;

behind the pair, a cluster of Mocquino's crouching henchmen. The Voodoo Master himself was stalking

A cry from Arilla. The fellow pointed. Others saw Harry and Stanton. The prisoners were no longer prone.

Halfway to their feet, they were struggling to release themselves from bonds which had somehow become

As gun hands came up, a fierce laugh burst from within the red room. It seemed to come from the vast spaces

of that weird chamber, where Harry and Stanton were the only visible persons. The room itself was mocking.

Arilla panted the word, in defiance of the laugh. Revolvers turned toward Harry and Stanton, who were

several feet apart. Mocquino's marksmen were divided in their aim, but they were prepared to deliver death,

Then, in the very center of the red room, two guns appeared as if by magic. Those weapons were automatics;

they were conjured in midair, at a spot where none of Mocquino's henchmen were aiming. Before a single

Each .45 was withering. The aim of those weapons was incredible. They must have been held by living

hands, even though such fists were invisible, for bullets found the bodies of Mocquino's henchmen. Arilla

Others, driving forward, forgot the prisoners and aimed for the floating guns instead. The automatics had the

bulge. Like living creatures handling themselves, they pointed, fired, then recoiled.

The doorway cluttered with Mocquino's henchmen. Half a dozen were flattened before the others dived away

Mocquino knew it, and his hiss was venomous. The voodoo doctor had also leaped aside. But he had reached

The lights of the red room were controlled from either side of the wall. Mocquino's action changed the glare.

Ruddy bulbs faded, ordinary light replaced them. The red room was a void no longer. It had become a

Sayre, the only one in position to see within, was astonished by the sight before him.

A figure stood in the very center of the room a cloaked shape, with collar upward. A shape that wore a

downturned slouch hat, with gloved hands that gripped those dread automatics. It was the figure of The

A red Shadow! One whose whole attire matched the walls of the crimson torture cell. This garb had been the

"equipment" in The Shadow's package. He had left his outfit in the red room. That was why he had thrown

The Shadow had prepared for a meeting with Mocquino. In hope of finding the Voodoo Master's lair, he had

ordered these garments of red. A garb that he was wont to wear; but of a different color.

The Shadow's strategy had worked. Reaching the red room, he had donned his deceptive garments. The lights

Mocquino had regarded the red room as his greatest weapon. It had become a boomerang. The horror

chamber had served The Shadow. He had been releasing the prisoners, but had been forced to desist when

Arilla opened the door. A few minutes more and The Shadow could have sallied forth with Harry and

Instead, The Shadow had been forced to fight alone; but the consequences had been even worse for

Mocquino's band. Mocquino had lost half his crew. He had saved the balance only by altering the lights.

With a wild bound, Mocquino leaped straight in front of the red room door, twisting about as he sprang.

Clicking his heels as he stopped, the Voodoo Master had his pistol leveled. His frenzy had given him a lucky

Timed almost with Mocquino's shot, was a blast from The Shadow's righthand gun. Again, a laugh came

from lips above the red collar. It was a taunt that spelled the end of villainy. The Shadow's red form never

Crimson splotched the front of Mocquino's golden robe, as the Voodoo Master stretched upon the floor. Red,

the color that Mocquino had chosen for his own: but this red was blood! A waxen effigy clattered from

Mocquino's red sash and broke asunder, when it struck the floor. It was the blackened image of The Shadow,

The Voodoo Master's prophecy had been reversed. His silver bullet had never reached The Shadow. Instead,

With long strides, The Shadow sprang from the red room, leaping over sprawled bodies. Screaming, the

members of the voodoo cult dived to the walls and threw up their arms in surrender. But Mocquino's

remaining servitors were maddened by their master's death. A trio aimed with revolvers; the rest flashed

The Shadow was firing when Sayre grabbed up a revolver. Then came other shots, just as Sayre joined in.

Harry and Stanton were free. They had followed The Shadow. Gaining revolvers from the floor, they had

Snarling foemen pitched to the floor. Revolvers fell; knives clattered. Mocquino's last henchmen were routed.

Two of Mocquino's servitors rallied to a strange task. Leaping away from their sprawling companions, they

snatched up Mocquino's flattened form and dragged the Voodoo Master to the pillar. Shoving the cylindrical

panel upward, they gained its interior before The Shadow could fire to halt them.

To them, Mocquino was a fetish. They had obeyed the Voodoo Master in life; though his body had the rigid,

motionless attitude of death, they wanted to carry it from the scene of fray. They were unwilling that even

The escape of those two murderous henchmen was something that The Shadow would not allow. He reached

the panel as it fell. Wedging it up, he gained the spiral steps. Clatter told that Mocquino's carriers had arrived

Madly, Mocquino's men had made fast progress. When The Shadow reached the deserted pilothouse, he saw

them. They were on the roof of the upper deck, with Mocquino's stretched form at the edge, ready to leap into

the river. The searchlight of an approaching boat outlined the henchmen as they dropped their burden and

The Shadow fired simultaneously with his automatics. He clipped his foemen; their revolver shots were wide.

Bullets shattered glass windows of the pilothouse but The Shadow stood unscathed.

One enemy plunged headlong into the river. The other rolled; convulsively, he grasped at Mocquino's form,

dragged it with him, then lost his hold. The henchman rolled off the edge of the roof.

Mocquino's robed form was a grotesque sight. Its golden garb glistened in the yellow light; the crimson

splotch showed a larger blotch of life blood. Balanced on the edge of the deck roof, the Voodoo Master's

form swayed mechanically; jarred by some motion of the ferryboat, Mocquino's body teetered and slithered

A dull splash sounded from below. The Voodoo Master had joined his dead henchmen in the river.

The Shadow had seen no need to gain Mocquino's body as a prize. Already, he was dashing down the spiral,

to rejoin his own men. When he reached the room below, he found matters as he had left them. Harry and the

others were in full control. Stepping into the room, The Shadow closed the sliding door of the pillar.

Shots sounded from below. Harry heard them; he was dashing for the stairs at the moment of The Shadow's

The members of the voodoo cult were cowed. Calmly, The Shadow picked up his garments of black. Sayre

The shots had been fired by Cliff and Hawkeye. It had been their task to come up from below. The Shadow

had unbarred the stairs for that purpose. Cliff had heard the muffled shots, but when he and Hawkeye had

The Shadow had sized the situation. Cliff and Hawkeye could take care of themselves, for they were

competent fighters. He wanted them to keep the battle below. Harry, dashing down the stairs, found his

fellow agents in the cabin on the left, firing at crew members who were trying to duck in from the front deck.

When Harry arrived, the trio made a sortie. Crew members scattered, throwing up their hands. The Cantrilla

had stopped in the center of the Hudson. The ferry was drifting, while shrill whistles announced that police

Shots from high above. Captain Juggers had spied The Shadow's agents. He was firing from the front

pilothouse. Cliff and Harry dived for cover; Hawkeye was already out of danger. The crew members rallied;

The Shadow had arrived. Again in black, be had dispatched a single bullet to the pilothouse. The shot had

clipped the skipper. Captain Juggers was sagging, wounded. The Shadow turned. He fired other shots. Crew

The agents started to the chase. The Shadow's hissed order stopped them. Shouts were sounding from the rear

of the ferry, which had stopped in midstream and was pointing toward New Jersey The police boat had

The Shadow pointed forward. His agents saw the long, trim shape of the speed boat that Harry had heard.

Following The Shadow, the agents clambered aboard. Miles Crofton was at the helm. The motor roared as the

trim craft shot away from the Cantrilla. The police had invaded the inner stairway of the ferry. They would

take over the prisoners. Explanations would rest with Dr. Sayre and Stanton Wallace.

A parting laugh came from The Shadow. Harry Vincent heard it, as he had often in the past. Triumphant

mirth that sounded like a knell. A mockery that told of right, triumphant. Men of evil had recognized that

But of all who had failed before the might of The Shadow, none had been more venomous than the villain of

The Voodoo Master's evil career was halted. Dr. Mocquino had met The Shadow in red!