THE RED BLOT .................................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. THE SHADOW'S QUEST ................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. WITHIN THE SAFE.......................................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. THE SHADOW SPEAKS..............................................................................................8

CHAPTER IV. THE LAW DECIDES..................................................................................................12

CHAPTER V. PLOTTED CRIME ........................................................................................................16

CHAPTER VI. THE BANK ROBBERY..............................................................................................21

CHAPTER VII. OVER THE WIRE ......................................................................................................24

CHAPTER VIII. ON THE SUBWAY ...................................................................................................27

CHAPTER IX. THE SHADOW'S CLEW............................................................................................30

CHAPTER X. THE CLUB JANEIRO..................................................................................................33

CHAPTER XI. AGAIN THE BLOT .....................................................................................................40

CHAPTER XII. THE RED BLOT SPREADS ......................................................................................45

CHAPTER XIII. THE ULTIMATUM..................................................................................................49

CHAPTER XIV. THE CRIME UNSOLVED.......................................................................................52

CHAPTER XV. IN THE LAIR.............................................................................................................57

CHAPTER XVI. THE SHADOW PREPARES....................................................................................60

CHAPTER XVII. THE PRELUDE.......................................................................................................64

CHAPTER XVIII. ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE ............................................................................70

CHAPTER XIX. FIVE MILLION DOLLARS .....................................................................................75

CHAPTER XX. FINAL PLANS...........................................................................................................79

CHAPTER XXI. THE RED BLOT STRIKES ......................................................................................82

CHAPTER XXII. ZERO HOUR...........................................................................................................86

CHAPTER XXIII. THE END OF THE BLOT.....................................................................................89

CHAPTER XXIV. THE COMMISSIONER EXPLAINS .....................................................................94

A swift, repeated ticking was audible amid a total darkness. But for that sound, intense silence would have

pervaded the thickness of absolute gloom. It was not until a sharper noise occurred that any sign of a human

A click came from a spot above the ticking. A blue light suddenly cast an eerie glow downward upon the

surface of a polished table. There, beneath the rays of the strange, shaded lamp, appeared the ticking object.

It was a clock of curious construction. Set at an angle upon the table top, this timepiece showed no hands

upon its large face. Instead, it had three circles, the innermost marked with twelve numbers; the outer circles

From grooves on the outer edge of each circle extended rings, so designed that they surrounded only one

number at a time. Just as the light came on, the rings of the outer circles moved. The extreme ring made

another jump a second later; but the intermediate one still remained constant, like the one in the center.

A clock that moved with intermittent precision, this odd dial was designed to mark the passing seconds by its

outer circle; the minutes by the second one; and the hours by the center circle. Although the mechanism was

regular in sound, the indications came at definite intervals, with an unusual psychological result.

To the eyes that watched this clock, a single second seemed like a prolonged space of time, not as an idly

moving series of moments. Each minute, formed of sixty such intervals, was episodic. An hour, as shown

upon this clock, was a tremendous stretch of time that allowed for limitless accomplishment.

SUCH was the clock that rested in The Shadow's sanctum. The weird blue light that glistened upon the

circled dial existed only in that secret room. This was the abode where the master who fought with crime

The appearance of the light marked the presence of The Shadow himself. He, alone, visited this mystic room,

located in some unknown section of Manhattan. In the midst of strenuous campaigns, The Shadow could

always seek the seclusion of this sanctuary, there to mock his enemies and devise new ways to end the

To gangdom, The Shadow was known only as a powerful being whose unseen hand reached everywhere.

There were mobsmen who claimed to have seen him but only at a distance. Those who had met The

Dying gangsters toughened characters of the type who died grimly had coughed out their lives through

trembling lips, gasping the name of The Shadow. Time and again, sneering big shots had been struck down

just as they were about to reap the profits of some heinous crime. Here, again, the hand of The Shadow had

None knew the identity of The Shadow. It was something that the underworld had long sought. All rats of

crime were eager to eliminate The Shadow. His power had caused consternation in other cities than New

It was known that The Shadow must be a master of detection, for he had uncovered the most ingenious of

crimes. It was known also that he could travel swiftly and unseen, for he had frequently appeared in the heart

As for his indomitable purpose that was understood. The Shadow showed no mercy to those who did not

It was believed that The Shadow was a master of disguise. That, alone, could account for some of the

amazing parts that he had played. It was also believed that he sometimes employed the aid of trained and

skillful agents, for the magnitude of his activities had shown that capable men had been present when needed.

Yet The Shadow had always managed to protect his temporary identities unknown; and his agents remained

within the cover of the shroud of mystery that constantly blanketed The Shadow from the eyes of his foemen.

Despite the efforts of those who sought to thwart him; despite the fact that he never invoked the aid of the

police in his own behalf; The Shadow roamed at will in his untiring search for men of evil. None had ever

managed to discover the location of his sanctum; in fact, the existence of such a spot was regarded as

Thus The Shadow found complete seclusion in that corner of the blackwalled room where blue light shone

upon a table top and a strangely dialed clock marked each passing second with a long, gripping throb.

THE light and the clock were not the only tokens of The Shadow's presence on this night. Into the circle of

illumination crept two objects that seemed like living creatures detached from the body to which they

Long and white, they showed a combination of velvety smoothness and great muscular power. These were

the hands that had fought so well against crime; and one of them bore the token, which was the positive

This mark was a gleaming gem which shone from the third finger of the left hand. It was The Shadow's

girasol, a rare fire opal, unmatched in all the world. Its color was a mingling of hues; the glowing depths of

the stone changed from brilliant blue to dull crimson, and all the shades between.

From the girasol came splashes of fiery light, like the glimmer of living sparks. A dying ember, ever emitting

The hands moved in a fashion that portrayed ease of operation. An envelope came into view; from it a thin

bundle of papers. The fingers unfolded a sheet; the hidden eyes behind the light made a brief perusal; then

Despite the ease of the hands, their speed and precision were amazing, when judged by the clock upon the

table. An observer would not have believed that those indications on the outer circle of the dial were mere

seconds. It seemed as though The Shadow, even when engaged upon the routine procedure of summarizing

The simple scene in the sanctum was an explanation of The Shadow's uncanny ability to come out best in his

wars with men of crime. He was a being who dealt in split seconds when he worked!

Another envelope a third. Papers removed, read, and replaced. Clippings, also; and when The Shadow's

summary was complete, a few remainders were left for careful perusal. Report sheets and newspaper items

Every one of these papers dealt with a single subject. The right hand of The Shadow appeared with a pen.

Upon a sheet of blank paper, it inscribed a phrase which summarized it in one title:

The ink which The Shadow used was crimson. It shone in vivid contrast to the light above. Eyes from the

A large blob of ink spattered upon the white paper. It spread irregularly until it formed a grotesquely shaped

No action could have been more significant. The words meant nothing now. There, beneath them, was the

WHILE the ink still dried beneath the light, a low, sinister laugh came from the darkness. That tone the

mocking voice of The Shadow was the feature of the master's presence that had struck stark terror into

The pen was laid aside. The fingers lifted the report sheets and the clippings, one by one. Alike, these items

A bank messenger shot down in open daylight. A chase of elusive assailants, who disappeared after a cordon

of police had closed in upon them. A huge blot of crimson upon the sidewalk at the spot where the man had

Three masked marauders had entered a club where gambling was in progress. They had extinguished the

lights; with flashlights, they had covered the players and threatened them with guns. They had reaped a

While they were robbing their victims, police had arrived. The crooks had fled and, despite the closeness of

the chase, had made an escape so effective that they might have actually melted. Upon the green baize of the

central card table in the club was discovered a huge dab of dulled crimson again the red blot!

A third crime the theft of a painting valued at many thousands had been perpetrated at the home of a New

York millionaire. Servants had arrived as the criminals were departing with the painting that they had cut

Again, the evil raiders had escaped. Behind them, in the empty frame, they had left their mark a red blot!

In the underworld, it was believed that a master mind of crime had chosen that mark. The Red Blot was a

name not a sign. Some supercrook had assembled a squad of daring gangsters, who would stop at nothing.

Then had come the fourth crime. A bigtime fight promoter supposed to carry a bankroll of more than a

hundred grand upon his person had been found strangled in his apartment. Upon the starched front of the

victim's dress shirt was that same dread sign of spattered crimson the mark of The Red Blot!

Men of wealth from legitimate commercial barons to those who dealt in hazardous enterprises were in

trepidation. The newspapers had called upon the police to apprehend this supercriminal. The police had not

Underworld and social swim alike neither revealed the presence of a master mind to whom these crimes

could be attributed. Police, with their stool pigeons at work, had covered all of gangdom's daring workers; the

ones who might be logically picked as henchmen of the supercrook. They had not brought in a single suspect.

The Shadow, too, had been seeking traces of The Red Blot. His agents had been at work. Their reports were

barren. These crimes which had emanated from the underworld, and had struck in higher places, left no trail.

But The Shadow's way was not to follow crime when it bore the mark of welllinked continuity. He had been

seeking the forebodings of crime that he might anticipate the next stroke of The Red Blot.

The clock upon the table was more important than all these clippings and reports of frustrated efforts to line

up the cause of past outrages. The Shadow, through his own investigations in the underworld, had been

Even whispered inklings had been lacking. Until tonight, each crime had given no preliminary sign. Often

had The Shadow thwarted crooks by prying into their games before the lid had been raised.

Now, amid the quiet of the underworld, he had caught the words he wanted. Here, he was biding his time

The ticking of the clock went on. A long second seemed to hover; then the indicators on all three dials moved

at once, That final second marked the completion of a minute which, in turn, showed the end of an hour.

Before the second indicator moved again, The Shadow's hand had swept up the scattered bits of paper. A

click sounded from the lamp. The room was plunged in darkness. Something swished through the gloom.

Then came a peal of laughter. The Shadow's mirth rang ghoulishly through the blackness. As his invisible

form moved toward the secret door of the sanctum, the master of the night sent forth his mocking challenge

Blackened walls caught up the merriment. Weird reverberations sounded as cries from goblin throats.

Those strange, terrifying sounds persisted long. When the last echo had faded into nothingness, only the

IT was exactly ten o'clock when The Shadow departed from his sanctum. A half hour later, a strange

phenomenon occurred at the intersection of two obscure streets on the lower East Side.

A moving patch of blackness passed along the sidewalk beneath the glare of a street lamp. It was one of the

many shadows that had crossed that spot during the evening. But in one respect, this moving splotch differed

A long streak of darkness, which terminated in a perfect silhouette. This was the only mark that betrayed the

presence of The Shadow. Somewhere in the darkness of the brick wall beside the sidewalk, the being whom

Some fifty feet from the corner stood a dilapidated brick building of threestory height. Beside it ran an

obscure alleyway. This structure, apparently an old residence that had seen better days, was actually a most

Three golden balls glimmered faintly above the dim front door. Blackened windows showed the outlines of

heavy bars. This building housed the pawnshop of Timothy Baruch, one of the oddest characters on this

Old Baruch's place was known throughout the underworld. The man had been a pawnbroker for many years,

and it was an adage among thieves and burglars that Baruch's bids on stolen goods could be accepted as

Baruch was not the usual type of "fence," who disposed of stolen articles. His place was termed a "hock

For Timothy Baruch was a canny individual who had ways of assuring police and detectives that his

transactions were legitimate; and the great proportion of his business was in keeping with the policies of

The old pawnbroker was unpretentious. He made no great show of worldliness. Nevertheless, it had been

noised about that his safe contained pilfered jewels and other rarities of great value.

These rumors had never gotten back to Baruch's ears, hence the old man dwelt in security. He was sure that

his pretense of poverty would suffice to keep malefactors from his property. Moreover, he relied upon his

connection with the underworld and the security of his safe as positive protection.

Underworld connections might fade; but the fame of Baruch's safe would remain. The huge strong box was

Various gangsters had viewed it; and they held to the opinion that there were but two safe crackers skilled

enough to open it. One was "Tweezers" Darley, at present retired from active practice; the other was

Perhaps Timothy Baruch knew of the inactivity of these two safe crackers; at any rate, his safe remained

inviolate, despite the fact that his barred doors and windows were not as formidable as they might have been.

THE SHADOW now stood in front of Baruch's pawnshop. There, within the fringe of darkness cast by the

old building, his tall form was invisible. No motion, no sound, betrayed The Shadow's presence as he glided

The invisible visitor did not continue to the rear of the building, the spot where access would have been most

likely. Instead, he stopped beside the wall and began a strange upward ascent in the midst of almost total

A low, squidgy sound was the only token of The Shadow's progress. It continued until the unseen figure

Here, the windows were barred with gratings only. Working in the darkness, The Shadow easily removed the

Silent inspection showed the room was empty. A tiny flashlight gleamed. Its luminous spot, no larger than a

First it glittered about the room to show a closed door that evidently led to a hallway. Then it gleamed upon

four peculiar, cupshaped objects of rubber that lay upon the floor. These disappeared into darkness as The

These were the devices which The Shadow had used to facilitate his precipitous climb rubber suction cups

Finally, the light twinkled upon the dial of a watch. The time was twenty minutes of eleven. A low whisper

crept through the room and stirred up vague, mocking echoes. The Shadow was ahead of schedule.

The light went out. A few moments later, the room was empty. Only the occasional glimmer of the flash

revealed The Shadow's progress down a stairway to the ground floor. When the light finally reappeared, it

shone upon the blackened front of Timothy Baruch's safe, in a back room on the ground floor.

Seventeen minutes of eleven. Again that whispered laugh. The flashlight, set upon some hidden object,

displayed a wider range of illumination as the gloves slipped from the hands of The Shadow.

Long, sensitive fingers began their work upon the dials of the safe. The burning girasol sent forth its amazing

The safe was, indeed, formidable. The turning dials seemed to defy The Shadow's probing touch. Slowly,

carefully, the fingers worked, while keen ears listened for the sound of falling tumblers. Minutes drifted by;

at last, a sound from the blackened door of the safe told that The Shadow's task was successful.

The light glimmered upon the watch. Eight minutes before eleven. The Shadow had accomplished his work

The numbers that it indicated upon the face showed that The Shadow had planned to begin at ten fortyfive

and end at ten fiftyfive. Starting two minutes ahead of schedule, he had gained another minute!

A hand turned the knob. The door of the safe moved slowly outward. Within The Shadow's grasp lay the

There could be but one reason. The close adherence to a scheduled routine proved that The Shadow was not

here to commit crime himself; his purpose was to forestall the efforts of crooks who were soon due!

SURPRISE would be in store for those who attacked this strong box. Instead of wealth, they would find only

what The Shadow might choose to leave for them. The Shadow had anticipated crime tonight. He was to

The door was open. The Shadow's light glimmered into the interior of the safe. It paused motionless, its glare

revealing an amazing situation that brought a momentary period of inaction. Even The Shadow had not

No money; no jewels; no articles of value. The interior of the safe was a blank, save for a single object. Yet

A piece of white paper lay upon the bottom of the safe. It contained no writing; but in its center was a

signature more potent than any inscription could have been. Its crimson hue and its grotesque shape told by

The sheet of paper which lay in the rifled safe bore the crimson splotch of crime the mark of The Red Blot!

THE flashlight moved again. Its probing ray was swift, yet thorough, as the keen eyes of The Shadow

commenced an inspection of the interior of the safe. A hand, now covered with a black glove, lifted the

crimsonspotted paper from the floor. The flashlight's gleam moved beyond the sheet so that the paper

Every detail, even to texture and watermark, was observed by The Shadow. At last, the hand replaced the

paper exactly where it had been found. The door of the safe moved sullenly shut. The flashlight shone upon

Clews were here for The Shadow yet there was no evidence of sufficient importance. The previous

crimes engineered by The Red Blot had not been covered well; in every instance, the elusiveness of the

The Shadow had come here to anticipate crime. The misdeed had already taken place. Nevertheless, The

Shadow remained. His tiny light showed the surface of the watch. Eleven o'clock. The glimmer disappeared.

The answer came a few seconds after the light was out. A vague, scratching sound began less than a dozen

yards from the place where The Shadow stood. The noise was from outside the building. Someone was trying

A curious paradox! The Shadow had scheduled his work to be finished by eleven o'clock, the time that the

crooks were due to arrive. He had found traces of completed crime; yet here was indication that the criminals

Silence reigned before the closed but rifled safe in Timothy Baruch's pawnshop. The outside scratching

continued. It changed to a series of muffled thuds. A pause; then boards creaked. The marauders were within

The beam of a powerful flashlight swept across the floor. It kept away from the walls, where its rays might

have shown through barred windows. Hence it failed to reveal the tall, motionless figure that stood in a

The torch was focused upon the front of the safe. Two hardened faces came into view. While one grim,

squarejawed ruffian held the lantern, the other, sharpfaced and blinking, thrust out a hand and grasped a

THE identity of these men was plain. Any mobster would have recognized the pair, well known in the

underworld. One the man with the lantern was Hurley Brewster, a dockwalloper, who had abandoned a

safeblowing career to organize gangs of mobsters. The other the man whose hand was on the safe was

"Take it slow, Tweezers," urged Hurley. "Remember you ain't been doin' this work for some time. Them

"Leave it to me, Hurley," growled Tweezers. "I hope the bulls think the same as you that a guy gets slow

"They won't be askin' nothin'," snorted Hurley. "When I set the time fuse, this old box will blow flooey after

"Less noise," retorted Tweezers. "I'll have this thing done inside an hour, if you leave me alone."

That ended the conversation for a while. Minutes dragged by while Tweezers worked on. Half an hour

"Say, Hurley" Tweezers's voice was irritable "this sure is a tough baby. I'll bet you Moocher Gleetz

"No. Give me time. You know what they've said. Moocher or me we're the only ones."

"Yeah?" Tweezers's tone was a snarl. "Maybe if he had been around, you'd have taken him in on the job

"I ain't sayin' that," returned Hurley. "Stick with it, bozo! I'm countin' on you!"

Twelve minutes more of silence while Tweezers worked. Suddenly the sharpfaced man emitted a low cry of

"Got it, Hurley!" he asserted. "We'll pull open the door and mop up the gravy. I told you it wouldn't take me a

full hour. I'd like to see anybody do it in less time than I took! You won't find the guy in New York, I'm

Hurley Brewster offered no argument. Tweezer Darley's boast stood. Yet even then, within fifteen feet of the

safe openers, stood one who had completed Tweezers's fortytwo minute job in nine minutes by the watch.

The door came open. The torch gleamed. A snarl came from Hurley Brewster. The dockwalloper was

"The Red Blot!" Hurley's words were a harsh growl. "He's beat us to this lay. Look at that, Tweezers! Can

The squarejawed man pulled back from the safe. In sudden apprehension, he swung his light toward the side

At the same instant, a slight click sounded, and the glare of another torch met that which came from Hurley

Hurley and Tweezers alike caught the glimpse of a strange, black clad outline the figure of a being who had

advanced from the wall. One black glove held the flashlight; the other gripped a huge automatic.

It was Tweezers, this time, who uttered a startled cry of recognition. Where Hurley had growled in anger at

the sight of the red blot, Tweezers gasped in fear when he saw the form that loomed ahead.

BOTH ruffians were armed; but they made no attempt to reach for their weapons. Their hands went up, and

With backs against the opened safe, the crooks faced the glare that betokened The Shadow. The expressions

upon their evil countenances showed plainly the effect which the arrival of The Shadow had created.

A low, sinister laugh crept through the room. The Shadow held these men of evil at his mercy. He had

captured them in the act of crime, and both knew the reputed methods of The Shadow when he dealt with

"You fear me!" The Shadow's tone was a scornful whisper. "You have cause to fear The Shadow! I came here

to thwart you in the act of crime. I found the trace of one beside whom you are mere novices!"

"The Red Blot," announced The Shadow, in his awesome tone, "has been here before you. That is fortunate

"I don't know nothin'," gasped Hurley Brewster, "Honest we ain't workin' with The Red Blot! Ain't that

"You planned this crime," The Shadow, invisible, was speaking sternly, "in a dive called Red Mike's. You set

Tweezers threw a scared look at Hurley. Neither man would have believed that their conversation could have

been overheard. The ears of The Shadow! How had they listened in? Tweezers and Hurley exchanged

"Therefore," ruled The Shadow. "I have questions which you must answer. Where else did either of you

Blank looks were exchanged between the two ruffians. Both understood the purpose of The Shadow's

demand. The safe had obviously been opened earlier in the evening. It was the work of the unknown criminal

known as The Red Blot. Through indiscretion on the part of either Hurley Brewster or Tweezers Darley, the

It was Tweezers who spoke, staring sidelong at Hurley; then toward the light which The Shadow held.

Tweezers's words came like a confession, drawn forth by his fear of the invisible enemy who had questioned

"SOMEBODY must have got wise when I called Hurley," said Tweezers in a sulky tone. "You remember,

Hurley" Tweezers was looking furtively toward his companion for corroboration "the night after we

made the deal? I was to call you to make sure the lay was all right and I may have said too much."

"Where did you call from?" came The Shadow's demand, in a tone that carried no interrogation, a tone that

Hurley was glowering at Tweezers. The squarejawed ruffian recalled the incident. He was incensed because

"I I don't know." Tweezers had caught Hurley's look, and was hedging. "Let's see it was when I "

The command came in a shuddering tone that made Tweezers Darley cower. Hurley Brewster, defiantly

facing the light, chewed his lips, and lost his nerve as he heard the sardonic sound of The Shadow's words.

"I didn't know any of them," pleaded Tweezers, "none except old Louie, who runs the joint. There was a

little, ratfaced guy hanging around, though. Louie couldn't have heard me on the phone, but the little guy

Tweezers threw another glance toward Hurley. The squarejawed dockwalloper was staring toward him no

longer. Instead, Hurley's eyes were directed toward a point to the left of the glaring light.

As Tweezers faltered in his admission to The Shadow, he saw a sudden look of determination appear upon

Hurley's tough face. Although Hurley made no move, Tweezers knew that something unexpected had

Trapped by The Shadow, forced to listen to his companion's blurted words, the hardfaced dockwalloper

was looking for a break which would enable him and Tweezers to engineer an escape.

The Red Blot had beaten Hurley and Tweezers to their job; The Shadow had surprised and captured them;

Tense, yet wisely restrained, Hurley saw the break coming. Tweezers caught the situation, also. Had The

Shadow been unwary, his position would have been a serious one. But The Shadow worked in split seconds.

His keen eyes were watching Tweezers Darley. They saw the look of sudden interest that appeared upon the

safe cracker's peaked face. Instantly, The Shadow noted Hurley Brewster's steady gaze the expression

Like a flash, The Shadow swung to face the direction in which Hurley was staring. His torch cut a swath as it

The glow revealed a group of uniformed policemen; the fraction of a second later, the powerful illumination

The Shadow's tall form was only momentarily revealed. The light in the gloved hand went out; the figure in

Revolvers barked as the invaders fired at the spot where they had seen the light. Futile bullets plastered

themselves against the wall. The police were firing at blankness. The Shadow was gone so rapidly that no

But amid the echoes of revolver shots came the rippling sound of a vague laugh a tone of undefinable mirth

To Hurley Brewster and Tweezers Darley, the intervention of the police was opportunity. Raiding bluecoats

had fired at the light. They had failed to clip The Shadow had failed, even, to recognize the elusive

The Shadow had been forced to meet the emergency; his swing toward the wall had carried him straight

through the door that led to the stairway. Wisely, The Shadow had posted himself at that strategic spot.

With the raid directed toward the door, Hurley and Tweezers dropped toward the floor in front of the safe,

A policeman saw them and opened fire. Crouching and sidling hastily toward the door that led to the rear of

A policeman fell, wounded. Others dropped behind odd articles of furniture that were in this back room. A

filing cabinet was cover for one; another entrenched himself behind a large chair. Two officers jumped

The man with the lantern was crouched by the front door of the room. The police had entered through the

pawnshop itself. This fellow kept the light in action; for the odds lay with the police. But Hurley Brewster

"Clear a path through the back door," he growled to Tweezers. "I'll take care of these bimboes."

The dockwalloper opened fire as he spoke. He had drawn a second revolver, and his huge smoke wagons

He had but one purpose; to keep the officers under cover. He succeeded. Then, with a malicious snarl. Hurley

Tweezers was shouting from the door, crying that the way was clear. Hurley ignored the call for the moment.

He was set to deliver death to a helpless victim. The other policemen recognized their comrade's desperate

position. but they were too late as they sprang from their places of safety. Hurley's finger was already on the

Then came a shot from the blackened doorway across the room the exit through which The Shadow had

departed! Unerring aim found its human target. As Hurley Brewster's lips mouthed a curse, the

dockwalloper's arm dropped, and his body sagged. Both revolvers dropped from numbed fingers.

The Shadow had winged a leaden messenger straight from the muzzle of his automatic into the crook's black

POLICEMEN were raising their guns. They were firing now adding bullets to Hurley's toppled body. Each

thought that one of his companions had fired the first good shot. Only one man knew what actually had

Tweezers Darley, just beyond the rear door of the room, had seen the blaze of The Shadow's automatic. He

knew who had dropped Hurley Brewster; and with eager frenzy, he made a quick effort to gain revenge.

Behind the doorway, he thrust out his revolver and aimed straight toward that blackened area where he knew

The automatic roared again. This time its target was not a body; it was a hand the fist of Tweezers Darley.

A cry followed The Shadow's second shot. Tweezers's gun fell. Grasping his mutilated fingers, the safe

Bluecoats were surging through the room. Some were helping their wounded comrade. Others were on the

trail of Tweezers, firing after the fleeing safe cracker. More were piling through the doorway from which The

Shadow had fired those telling shots, seeking vainly for one who had vanished in that direction.

A tall, powerful man in plain clothes strode into the room. He came from the front doorway; and he pressed a

wall switch which brought lights and made the bullseye lantern unnecessary. He was joined by another

At the same time, a stoopshouldered old fellow came into the room through the door from the stairway.

With faltering step, Timothy Baruch hastened to the open safe, and emitted a cry of anguish when he saw that

it was empty. He turned to face the big man who appeared to be the leader of the raiding crew.

"I'm Detective Hembroke," returned the other, "from headquarters. Got a tipoff there was something going

"The front door?" queried Baruch, in a dazed tone. "Sure, it was locked on the inside "

"Not tonight," returned Hembroke shortly. "Unless these birds came in that way, or opened it after they were

Timothy Baruch held his head in his hands. He stared at the dead form of Hurley Brewster.

"Two," said Hembroke. "One went out the back way; the other headed upstairs. We'll get them. My men are

The sleuth's assurance was gratifying to Baruch. The old man had heard of Merton Hembroke, the New York

detective whose swift and effective action had won high commendation. It was noised about that this new

crime trailer was gaining precedence over Detective Joe Cardona, hitherto regarded as the ace of Manhattan

Policemen were coming in to report to their leader. One brought the information that the man who had run

from the back door had been plugged; that he could not be far away. Officers were scouring the neighborhood

The others, however, had a barren report. They had been upstairs and down cellar; yet had found no trace of

WITH men close beside him, Hembroke strode to the rifled safe. He noted the sheet of paper lying upon the

floor. He picked it up and held it to the light. A stern expression appeared upon the detective's face.

"The Red Blot!" exclaimed Hembroke. "So that guy's in again, eh? Well" Hembroke laughed gruffly "we

did better than Cardona's ever done. We nabbed one of The Red Blot's workers. I know that mug!"

Still holding the paper, Hembroke was staring at Hurley Brewster's body. The detective pondered a moment,

As if in answer to the sleuth's question, two policemen appeared at the rear door, carrying the inert form of

Tweezers Darley. They deposited their burden on the floor. Tweezers, like Hurley, was dead.

"Good work, men I'm glad you plugged him. Tweezers Darley, the only safe cracker in New York who

Turning, the detective put a savage question to the officers who had searched the house.

"What about the other man?" he demanded. "He's the one that must have grabbed the swag! Where is he?"

"He couldn't have got out of the house," returned a policeman. "But he isn't in here, either."

"That's no answer!" growled Hembroke. "He's either here, or he isn't here. Which is it?"

"All right," declared Hembroke gloomily, "then he must have made a getaway. That's tough, men. Sorry,

Baruch." The detective turned toward the old man, who was seated pitifully in a large chair. "We did the best

we could. The tipoff didn't arrive in time for us to prevent the robbery. Nevertheless, we've landed two of

The old man made no response. Hembroke noted the tired look upon his drawn face. Half clad, in trousers

and shirt, Timothy Baruch had evidently arisen hastily after hearing the commotion.

Two policemen responded. They conducted the old man up the stairs. When they returned, a few minutes

later, they completed the entire raiding squad, for all others had assembled for new orders.

Hembroke was studying the bodies of Hurley Brewster and Tweezers Darley. He made no comment. The

During this interim, they heard the front door open and close heavily. Before anyone could make a move, a

stoopshouldered man came wildeyed into the room. He was clad in hat and overcoat. Hembroke uttered a

"What has happened here?" the old pawnbroker gasped. "I go away this evening. I think that all is well "

Baruch spread his hands and uttered a shriek as he saw the rifled safe. Perplexed looks passed among the

It was Hembroke who supplied the solution. The detective gave it in the form of a shouted order.

"Get upstairs!" he cried. "Grab the old man that's up there! He's the one we want a fake, playing the part of

TWO policemen galloped to the steps. Hembroke, after a moment's hesitation, followed at their heels.

The officers reached the room where they had left Timothy Baruch. Their flashlights played upon an empty

That was the new goal. The flashlights flickered from the window to the alleyway beneath. They showed

In the space of a few minutes, the pretended Timothy Baruch had made a prompt departure. Some amazing

master of disguise had not only evaded capture, but had actually been present to hear Morton Hembroke's

comments; for this elusive being had played the part of Timothy Baruch prior to the real pawnbroker's arrival.

Nothing in the alleyway; yet to the ears of one policeman came a faint echo that seemed like a weird whisper

in the night breeze. It was the strange tone of a mocking laugh the triumphant cry of The Shadow.

The policeman did not recognize the strain, for it came from a considerable distance. Morton Hembroke, by

the bed in the room, did not hear the eerie cry. The detective and his men knew only that they had been

No longer playing the part of Timothy Baruch, he had again become the creature of darkness. Garbed in the

folds of his black cloak, he was wending his silent, unseen way from this locality.

A whispered laugh lingered in a deserted street. The Shadow had played a part tonight. Too late to forestall

The Red Blot, who had acted at an early hour, The Shadow had found other men of crime and had stopped

From sullen lips, he had gained an inkling of the scheme behind tonight's odd episode. A bunchedup little

fellow, one with the features of a dope addict Tweezers Darley before he died, had spoken of such a man.

This was the person whom The Shadow now would seek; for that individual was, in all probability, a spy for

Many denizens of the underworld might answer to the description given by Tweezers. The Shadow would

eliminate them one by one, until he found the one he wanted. The Red Blot's purpose? The Shadow had

Some secret spy had informed The Red Blot of the work which Hurley and Tweezers had planned. The Red

Blot had ordered his minions to grab the swag. The police tipoff had been given later, so that Hurley and

Tweezers would be grabbed at the empty safe, where the sign of The Red Blot already lay.

The Shadow's laugh sounded vaguely in the darkness. When The Red Blot struck again, The Shadow would

be there to meet his minions. The Shadow had trapped Hurley Brewster and Tweezers Darley before the

He, The Shadow, held the clew he needed. It would not take him long to pick out the secret spy whom The

EARLY the next evening, a man emerged from a subway kiosk on the East Side, and strolled along until he

reached a cross street. He turned into that thoroughfare and continued his progress through a neighborhood

Underneath the massive structure of an elevated line, into an illkempt street that was scarcely more than an

alley, down a narrow space between two crumpling buildings, and into a dirty doorway, he went. These

maneuvers brought the man to a flight of tumbledown stairs. At the head of the steps he knocked twice upon

The portal opened. The visitor entered a room that was lighted by a single gas jet. Another man drew back

and grinned as he recognized the arrival. The visitor sat down upon a battered chair; his host took a seat upon

a flimsy cot that had an inverted bucket propped under one corner in lieu of a leg.

There was a marked contrast between the two men who were holding this meeting in the squalid room. The

visitor revealed a square, determined face that possessed a decided ugliness. Puffy lips, mean eyes, and

coarse, roughshaven cheeks, betrayed the identity of a man well known in the underworld "Socks"

The owner of the room was a little man, in comparison with powerful Socks Mallory. Seated on the cot, he

made a bunchedup figure, his pitiful frame rendered more pathetic by the weakness of his face.

Pasty, ratlike in expression, with all the characteristics of a drug addict, this skulking creature was one who

furtively roamed the underworld, too unimportant to gain more than contempt from the average mobsman. In

There was a significance about this meeting. Both men were wanted. The police had long been searching for

Socks Mallory, onetime racketeer, who was now known to be a murderer. But Socks Mallory had not been

Spider Carew, in turn, was wanted; but not by the police. He was wanted by The Shadow. For, within

twentyfour hours of eliminating effort, the master of darkness had come to the firm conclusion that The Red

BOTH Socks and Spider seemed quite at ease in the obscure hideout where they were now located. In fact,

Socks Mallory was gloating in expression, and Spider seemed to reflect the big man's satisfied air.

"How about last night?" questioned Socks, in a gruff voice. "It worked out O.K., didn't it, Spider?"

"Sure thing," grunted the pastyfaced individual. "I gave you the lay, didn't I?"

"Yeah. But that wasn't all of it. When Hembroke and the bulls made the raid; they fixed everything jake,

"About the raid? Why should I? I'm working for The Red Blot not for Spider Carew."

"I know that, Socks ain't I workin' for The Red Blot, too? But what I mean is this is different "

"I get you, Spider," nodded Socks, leaning back in his chair. "It don't pay to be curious, but since you're that

"You know the setup. You know that I'm working for The Red Blot. You know that I've got a gang of real

guys that beat any crowd of gorillas. Every man in my outfit" Socks swelled proudly "is wanted by the

bulls. Wanted bad, too. Like myself. They think we've all scrammed. But you know where we are right here

"All right," continued Socks. "When we pull a job, it's soft. We pick a lay bust in clean up and make a

"How?" queried Spider Carew eagerly. "Where? That's somethin' I ain't been able to figure out!"

"You'll learn tonight, Spider," interposed Socks. "Just keep quiet while I'm talking.

"As I was saying, we pull the jobs perfect, and we know how to duck out after we're through. Every time we

"Because this stuff we've been doing is nothing compared with the big jobs ahead. Nothing! Savvy that? We

want to make The Red Blot so important that we'll have people scared right. We've done it, too!"

Socks delivered a smile which showed an ugly toothed mouth in a grotesque contortion.

"But last night," suggested Spider, "you worked different. You ain't told me why."

"I'm getting there!" growled Socks. "Listen, and I'll tell you! First of all, old Baruch's hock shop wasn't in the

location we wanted. When you tipped us off that you heard Tweezers Darley talking to Hurley Brewster over

the phone, we were all set to do something about it. But we figured a smooth, quiet job was the best. So we

"Who do you think worked the main spring? Who do you think we've got in our outfit who would crack that

"Good guess," rejoined Socks, with a broad grin. "Well, where is Moocher supposed to be right now?"

"Sure. Well, if the safe had been found cracked, with The Red Blot to blame, the cops would have figured

one of two guys Moocher Gleetz or Tweezers Darley. We wanted them to figure Tweezers and nobody

"So, after we pulled the job when we knew that Tweezers would still be working on the safe, with Hurley

alongside of him we phoned a neat tipoff to Merton Hembroke. Told him what was up.

"He traveled there with a squad down to Baruch's. He found the front door open, like we'd left it for him.

You know the rest. The bulls got Tweezer and Hurley. The Red Blot got the swag!"

SPIDER CAREW nodded; but his wan face expressed anxiety. Socks Mallory noted it and grunted.

"Don't say that, Socks!" protested the stoopshouldered gangster. "I ain't yellow. But I got a right to be

"These lays I've been givin' you. Look at last night. Say there's plenty of gorillas who'd croak me if they

knew I was in on the frameup that wound up by Tweezers and Hurley takin' the bump!"

"They can't," greed Spider, "but there's other guys that may. If I keep spyin' for you "

"That's all over," assured Socks. "We're ready for the big works now. I'm using you tonight, Spider, and when

the job is finished, you travel along with us. Say we've been coming out of cover and getting back again,

haven't we? Well, after tonight, we're going to stay under cover all the time, and do the jobs, too. What do

"It can't, eh? Well, you'll see it done and you'll be helping us. You'll know plenty, Spider. You'll know

Socks Mallory sat back and laughed. He seemed to enjoy his companion's bewilderment.

"The Red Blot is some smart guy," commented Spider, in a wondering tone. "Some mighty smart guy. That's

"Here's the lay for tonight," declared Socks, in a businesslike tone. "You know where the old East Side Bank

is. Well, there's a sort of alley runs alongside of it. Straight across from the alley is an old building that's not

worth a nickel. You can get in there and watch from one of the windows but be close to the door while you

"We're coming up the alley from the opposite direction. We're going to smash into the bank. You'll see us do

it. Then we'll come out again the same way we went in and that's where you join up. Cut across the street

"Say" Spider's tone was apprehensive "you ain't chancin' that, are you, Socks? There'll be an alarm when

"Sure," interposed Socks. "We'll be making the getaway when they show up. They'll be all around us like

"Listen, Spider," interrupted Socks gruffly; "I know what I'm doing. First of all, the East Side Bank is an old

crib. Easy to bust into, though we can't dodge the alarms. All right. We've got the system for the getaway.

"Maybe somebody would have tried it before except that the East Side Bank is a dump that don't do big

business. But right now, there's a lot of dough piled in that joint cash that nobody knows about except The

SPIDER nodded to show that he had a glimmer of understanding. As the secret spy of The Red Blot, he knew

"So you be there," repeated Socks, "just like I told you. Scram when we scram. Then you're one of us.

Maybe" a malicious smile came upon Mallory's sullen lips "maybe I'll take you along with me tomorrow

Rising from his chair, Socks leaned close to Spider's ear and whispered harshly.

"The big guy that runs all the night clubs?" gasped Spider. "Say, Socks, he's a big shot! If you go after him,

"Don't I know it?" queried Socks. "Wasn't Loretti's racket my idea? Didn't I run the Club Janeiro until he

"That was my joint, and I'm going to get it back! The Red Blot wants me to do it there's a reason why. So

With this thrust, Socks laughed hoarsely and arose from his chair. He nudged Spider Carew with a short,

"I'm going back," informed Socks. "I'll be getting the mob ready. We'll be at the East Side Bank inside of two

The door closed upon Socks Mallory's departing form. Spider Carew remained seated upon the cot. The

pastyfaced ruffian's countenance went through a series of curious contortions. Through Spider's mind was

For weeks, Spider had been Socks Mallory's listening post. All that happened in the bad lands; comments

which concerned the activities of The Red Blot; other forms of useful news these had been given to Socks

Secure because of his unimportance, Spider had prowled through the underworld, peering into every hangout,

overhearing what was going on. His duties had been amplified; he had been deputed to watch for

Thus, Spider Carew had been responsible for The Red Blot gaining the spoils from Timothy Baruch's

pawnshop safe. But now, Spider realized that he was no more than a trifling member in The Red Blot's array

A tipoff to Merton Hembroke! That had been nervy. A raid upon the East Side Bank! That would add to the

Who was The Red Blot? Spider Carew did not know. He realized only that anyone who could govern such

powerful mobsters as Socks Mallory and Moocher Gleetz must, indeed, be a supercrook.

Immunity! That was The Red Blot's gift. Capable men of crime, handicapped by the fact that they were

wanted, had managed, somehow, to dwell in Manhattan, and to operate in security as long as they followed

Spider could feel the lure. He was fearful, now that he had betrayed Hurley Brewster and Tweezers Darley.

Not that Spider Carew had a conscience. He merely knew the law of gangdom and realized that he had

disobeyed it. He, too, wanted immunity. Socks Mallory had promised it, beginning with tonight.

SOME time after Socks had gone, Spider Carew stirred. He arose from the cot, donned a shabby coat and

cap, then extinguished the gaslight. With skulking progress, the hunched mobster descended the rickety

stairway. He reached the alley and shuffled along toward the street where the elevated ran.

Tonight, Spider thought, would be his last in this sector of the underworld. So believing, the shifty gangster

Furtively, with eyes frequently looking back over his shoulder, Spider pursued his timorous route. His

shadow made a peculiar, huddled blot, as it passed beneath the glare of a street lamp.

Spider Carew still looked back over his shoulder after he had left the illuminated area. If anyone was on his

Strangely, with all his caution, Spider was deceived. He had seen no sign of life beneath the street lamp, yet

the indication was there. While Spider stared, a long streak of darkness glided across that zone of

illumination. It was the elongated silhouette of a living person, yet Spider, looking for a solid body, did not

Spider Carew went along his way. He did not look backward again. His hunched form threw its huddled

blotch at every light; shortly afterward, that same long silhouette put in its inevitable appearance.

That patch of moving darkness had a sinister meaning. Silent and unseen, it was the sure indication of the

presence which every skulking rat like Spider Carew feared above all others. The Red Blot's spy would have

Where Spider went tonight, there would The Shadow be! Plotted crime was due to strike again. This time it

was not from Spider's suggestion, but the secret spy would be there to watch it.

Trouble loomed for The Red Blot's minions. Unwittingly, Spider was acting as a guide to the scene of crime!

WHEN Spider Carew left the dive known as the Black Ship, he headed off into a twisting course that

eventually brought him in the neighborhood of the East Side Bank. Following the sidewalk just below an

elevated structure, Spider made a final turn, and sneaked along a side street until he came to the building

This was an old house which had been empty for many months. Spider found a space at the side and wiggled

through a window. A few minutes later, he was peering through a grimy pane at the front of the house.

Back at the spot where Spider had left the sidewalk, a gloomy patch of blackness showed strangely on the

paving. There seemed to be no reason for that splotch of darkness. Motionless, it indicated nothing.

The Shadow, invisible in the semidarkness, was studying the path which Spider Carew had taken. Keen,

burning eyes were looking toward the window which the shuffling gangster had entered.

The Shadow knew that there could be no cause for crime within that dilapidated building. He readily divined

The front of the East Side Bank showed upon the other side of the street. The building was a brick structure

that had the appearance of a jail. An antiquated institution, the East Side Bank still continued to do business

with large wholesale concerns, which found its location a convenience. At the same time, the directors had

not seen fit to modernize the building. Of all the banks in Manhattan, this one was least equipped to

Spider Carew's presence in the building across from the bank was a good indication that the bank itself was

intended as a target for crime. The Shadow, moving silently along the street, below the level of Spider's

Picking a strategic point, the being of darkness crossed the street so artfully that his passage was indicated

only by a flitting splotch upon the asphalt. Gaining a place some distance below the bank building, The

SPIDER CAREW did not see The Shadow. Peering from his window, the squeamish little gangster was too

Dim light glimmered through from the street a block away; and against that glow, Spider saw the outlines of

As Spider watched, he saw the raiders turn toward the side of the bank. The surprise attack had begun. No

time was being lost. A little door, set in an areaway that opened from the passage, was the spot which had

Spider Carew thought that he, alone, was viewing these operations. He was wrong. The Shadow had reached

the entrance of the passage. His keen eyes were viewing the activity. Yet The Shadow, a silent, unseen shape,

remained motionless; then glided slowly away in the direction from which he had come, moving rapidly from

Keenly, he had sensed that an attack upon the mob would drive the criminals back along their chosen avenue.

In flight, the gangsters would head for that distant street. That was where The Shadow would forestall them.

Spider Carew could hear the muffled sounds of a breaking door. Steel jimmies had done quick work. The

henchmen of The Red Blot were breaking through. The dull ringing of a bell came to Spider's ears. The alarm

Spider knew the efficiency of bank alarms; and the quickness with which police could respond. Socks

Mallory and his marauders had entered. They would be returning shortly. It was nearly time to join them.

The little mobster unlocked the sash of the old window and raised it, ready to drop out into the street. Then,

as the report of an automatic reechoed through the space opposite, Spider dropped back to a spot of shelter,

A flash of flame from down the alleyway. Another reechoing shot! Someone had entered from the farther

block, to open fire upon the men who were guarding the broken door! Spider could hear a wild cry rising

Revolver shots burst forth. Spider Carew watched an amazing conflict. A squad of mobsmen were tumbling

into the space beside the bank, opening fire upon this unexpected enemy who had entered the path which they

THOSE within the bank had heard the surprise. Their work unfinished, they were coming to aid, thinking that

Well had The Shadow planned! He had waited until the crooks had broken through, and had started the

alarms. Now, by swift attack, he was harassing them while the law was on the way!

Spider Carew saw one mobsman collapse; then another. The rest were clinging close to the edges of the

passage, seeking refuge in the space that led into the rear of the bank, firing vainly at an invisible fighter

Blasts from the automatics came at unexpected intervals. When mobsters fired at a spot, The Shadow was no

longer there. The strange battle continued; then came the clang of a police car, swinging from the distance.

The mobsters under Socks Mallory could not have heard that noise, but their leader must have sensed that

police intervention was imminent. Spider Carew saw half a dozen revolver bursts at once; then another

Powerful blasts from the automatics wielded by the hidden fighter at the other end of the passage. The

mobsters began a sudden retreat toward the street from which Spider watched. They fired blindly; then broke

into a run. One of their number tumbled forward, to be dragged along by two of his companions.

The police car was coming down the street. Spider could see its lights. He saw the mobsters scatter. Socks

Mallory was among them, as they ran down the street, firing back at the police car as they fled.

The automobile jammed to a stop directly in front of the bank building. A mobster jumped up from nowhere;

leaping upon the hood of the car, he aimed straight through the windshield. Spider saw a flash of flame from

the very entrance of the space between the buildings. Simultaneously with the roar of The Shadow's

Four officers were out of the car. Two were running for the side of the bank. They passed the very spot where

Spider had seen the automatic flash. The other pair of officers were chasing Socks Mallory and his fleeing

Then, by a mere chance, Spider saw the sight that chilled his blood. In the midst of the momentary quiet that

reigned about the abandoned police car, a tall, mysterious figure came into the fringe of the light which the

Spider saw that shape and recognized its identity. The Shadow, garbed in black cloak and broadbrimmed

slouch hat. He was the being who had delivered that counterstroke to rout Socks Mallory and his crowd of

The Shadow! Spider Carew crouched in fright as his trembling lips formed the name of the dread avenger.

Sickening terror gripped the cowering crook who had served as The Red Blot's spy. Spider realized that his

The dread figure of The Shadow disappeared with amazing swiftness. Spider knew where it had gone. The

Shadow was doubling back through that passage to the other street, to again deter the mobsmen in their

SPIDER could see four motionless forms; these men had fallen from The Shadow's fire. Others had been

wounded, but were keeping on with Socks Mallory. Spider could offer no aid. His own skin was his only

Stumbling through darkness, Spider reached a back window of the old house, He tumbled through and landed

heavily on cement. He did not mind the bruising fall. He saw an opening between two houses at the rear, and

scurried through. He had only one design to reach his hideout before The Shadow could take up his trail.

Meanwhile, The Shadow was still in action. The blackclad fighter had doubled back through the passage.

Reaching the street behind the bank, his keen vision caught the sight of fleeing gangsters at the next corner.

Revolver shots sounded in the street. The Shadow dropped back out of sight. New police were in the game.

Had they not arrived, The Shadow could have carried on; now, with the officers taking up the chase, his

The noise of pursuit died in the distance. Revolver shots echoed from nearby blocks. Socks Mallory and his

men were in a jam. Their crime had been frustrated; their escape had been delayed.

Policemen, entering the space by the front of the bank building, stopped as they heard a strange cry which

reverberated through the narrow passage. The tones of a triumphant, mocking laugh a weird burst of mirth

The policemen did not recognize it, but the cry filled them with alarm. Hesitating, they turned strong

flashlight beams down the open space. The glare revealed nothing. The only token of a living presence was

The Shadow was gone. He had met the hordes of The Red Blot, and had routed them in their grim game.

They had fled, like rats, for cover, behind their desperate leader, Socks Mallory.

Thwarted crime! That had been The Shadow's accomplishment tonight. A police cordon was closing about

the area which surrounded the East Side Bank. It might suffice to trap Socks Mallory and his men; it would

RALPH WESTON, police commissioner, was seated in a small office which was located in his luxurious

apartment. Here, twentyfour hours after the battle near the East Side Bank, he was studying the reports of

Weston was a dynamic sort of man. He had been a success as police commissioner because of his persistent

efforts to get at the roots of crime. To him, the menace of The Red Blot had been quite as real and as

Weston was grim this evening. On two successive nights, the police had encountered unusual crime. Weston

was apprehensive about tonight. He knew that the law had gained success; yet victory had been barren.

Two nights ago, Detective Merton Hembroke had made an effective raid. With a squad of police, he had

entered the pawnshop of Timothy Baruch. Two criminals Hurley Brewster and Tweezers Darley had

That was good; the unfortunate part was that Baruch's safe had been rifled, and the crimson splotch upon a

sheet of white paper had signified the evil hand of the unknown master mind called The Red Blot.

Last night, a squad of mobsters had attacked the East Side Bank. Police, responding to the alarm, had driven

them off. Five gangsters had fallen; others, wounded, had kept on. Two dead men; three who had died from

their wounds of the latter not one had spoken. Sullenly, they had kept sealed lips regarding The Red Blot.

No crimson splotch had appeared last night; yet Weston was sure that The Red Blot was in back of it. All five

of the dead mobsters had been men of crime whom the police had believed were out of New Yolk.

Commissioner Weston picked up an afternoon newspaper. His own picture appeared upon the front page,

together with his statement that The Red Blot must be found. Weston, in fact, had issued words which

savored of immunity to anyone who would put the police on the direct trail to the master crook.

WESTON began to pace his little office. He had talked with Inspector Timothy Klein not long before, the

Detective Joe Cardona, dubbed the ace of the New York force, was still investigating the first cases in which

The Red Blot had appeared. In the meantime, another sleuth had sprung into active prominence. Merton

Hembroke, whose surprise raid at Baruch's had marked the first success against The Red Blot, was working

Commissioner Weston had a marked respect for Joe Cardona's ability. At the same time, he was disappointed

at the ace's lack of results. On certain occasions, in the past, Weston had been harsh with Cardona. Every

Tonight, Weston had the same problem, but there was chance for a new solution. Instead of relying upon

Cardona, he could depend on Hembroke. No doubt about it: Hembroke was a comer. Klein had just reported

that Hembroke was at headquarters, sticking there, hoping for some break that would lead him closer to The

The ringing of the telephone interrupted Ralph Weston's soliloquy. The police commissioner picked up the

instrument and grumbled a short "Hello." A pause; then came a response in a whining tone that Weston did

"Say" the voice was nervous "is that straight dope you was givin' tonight in the paper? If there's a guy

"Yeah," said the voice. "But I ain't goin' to talk unless I can see you. I don't trust the bulls. I ain't "

"Say I'll give you some dope over the phone right now if you'll give me a chance to come up to your

place. You can have the bulls there. I'll tell you who I am before I come, if only you'll promise to give me the

COMMISSIONER WESTON was a sage individual. He sensed that he had a real informant on the other end

of the wire. To alarm the man might end the call; to give him too much assurance might mean a change of

mind on the fellow's part. Tactful and practical, Weston decided to learn what he could while the opportunity

"If this is no hoax," he said, in a calm voice, "I am quite ready to talk with you. It does not matter if you have

"I ain't done nothin', commissioner," the voice intervened. "Let me give you the low down. Are you

"I've been tippin' off a guy, understand? Talkin' with a fellow who works for The Red Blot. He wanted me to

"The Red Blot's goin' to pull somethin' big, commissioner. You can't stop him, but there's a guy that's goin' to

make trouble for him. The Shadow that's who, commissioner! The Shadow is out to get The Red Blot! I've

Commissioner Weston repressed a snort of disdain. He had heard of The Shadow a strange phantom garbed

This awed voice, speaking from somewhere in the underworld, was adding new testimony to prove the

existence of The Shadow, a thought which Weston had constantly tried to belittle.

"If The Shadow gets The Red Blot" the voice seemed more scared than before "he'll go after the whole

works. He'll get me, maybe, because I know about The Red Blot. That's why I'm tippin' you off."

"You've got to believe me," complained the voice. "Listen, commissioner put this down and you'll know

I'm right. There's a guy named Socks Mallory. He's supposed to be out of New York. He's here he was in

"I can't tell you no more," pleaded the informant. "I've got to see you. If Socks Mallory knew that I was

"Listen, commissioner. I'll come up there if you'll let me. I'll tell you how I'll come and you can cover me

all along the way. Send along some dicks they'll know me, an' they can stick close to me."

"An hour from now," said the voice, in a relieved tone. "Say you're on the level "

"O.K., then. I'll get on the Lexington Avenue sub at Fourteenth Street, an hour from now. Tell the dicks to

cover me. Spider Carew that's me. They'll know Spider Carew. I'm a little guy, wearin' a cap, an' sweater

under a coat. I'll get on a local to Thirtythird Street. Off there an' over to your place. Let the dicks trail me

"That's exactly right, Carew," said Weston, in a soothing tone. "Come right along. You will not be molested.

"I'm goin' back to my hideout,"' informed Spider. "Then I'll do a quick sneak over to the sub. I'll play

"One hour from now," Weston told the inspector, "a man named Spider Carew will enter the Lexington

Avenue subway at Fourteenth Street. He is coming here. I want him trailed, but he is not to be arrested."

"He is a small man, Klein," explained Weston. "He wears a cap, and a sweater underneath his coat. He will

Weston hung up the receiver after Klein had promised to make the arrangements promptly. A few minutes

"I told Detective Sergeant Markham to cover Spider Carew," explained Klein. "He was to leave with three

"Yes," returned Klein, "He gave me a valuable suggestion. The detectives will leave here separately; each

will arrive at Fourteenth Street within thirty minutes. They will post themselves so that they can watch each

Weston recalled his conversation with Spider. Normally, the commissioner would have mentioned the names

of Socks Mallory and Tony Loretti; but another name crowded those from his mind.

"This man Carew" Weston's tone became a bit ironical "said that he feared The Shadow. I am telling you

that, inspector, but there is no need to mention it to our men. You know my opinion regarding The Shadow.

The call ended, Commissioner Weston sat at his desk. He now recalled the names of Mallory and Loretti, and

jotted them on a pad. These could wait. Spider Carew had committed himself, and would surely come here

now. Direct questioning would bring more detailed information about The Red Blot.

As Weston pondered, he found himself thinking of The Shadow. Despite his disbelief in the activities of that

mysterious being who fought with crime, the commissioner could not forget the awed tone of Spider's voice.

The Shadow! Weston was doubting his own opinions. Spider Carew had said that he had seen The Shadow.

That would be one subject upon which Weston would examine the informant, when Spider Carew arrived for

APPROXIMATELY one hour after he had telephoned to Police Commissioner Weston, Spider Carew

arrived at the Fourteenth Street station of the East Side subway. The slinking gangster was more furtive than

Detectives were here, Spider was sure. He feared that they might not play the game. Spider was worried

about the double cross that he was perpetrating on Socks; yet Spider felt sure that there was nothing to fear

The great menace in Spider's mind was The Shadow. That fear dwarfed all others. Nothing so Spider was

convinced could stop the wrath of The Shadow. The little mobster feared that the blackgarbed avenger

Down the steps of the subway, to the platform where both local and express trains stopped on their way

uptown, Spider went. Forty or fifty people were here. Spider clung to a little cluster. He tried not to notice

Men were watching Spider Carew now. Detective Sergeant Markham, Detective Merton Hembroke, and

three other sleuths all five kept up a stern vigil. A local rolled into the station, Spider Carew sidled into the

third car. Hembroke, watching, saw three detectives follow. Then Hembroke boarded the train also.

Where was Markham? Hembroke, always keen, looked back to the platform. He saw Markham still waiting.

Hembroke frowned. Working independently, Markham had decided to stay for some special purpose.

The local pulled out. Hembroke shrugged his shoulders. He set an example for the other detectives by

keeping away from Spider Carew. The ratfaced little gangster was hanging on to a strap, staring out through

BACK on the Fourteenth Street platform, Detective Sergeant Markham was staring suspiciously at a man

who was resting against a post which bore a chewinggun machine. As Markham glanced in the fellow's

direction, the man turned his back and began to make a pretense of dropping a coin in the slot. Markham was

Markham's thoughts broke off as an express roared into the station. He saw the man start slowly for one car;

then, on an impulse, hurry down the platform and board the train at another spot. The doors were closing.

As the train started, the detective sergeant was on his way to the car where the other man had entered. There

were four watching Spider Carew; it would be well to watch this fellow also. There might be some

The detective sergeant reached the car where the man was just as the express was passing the Eighteenth

Then came the unexpected. Before Markham's eyes, a drama of crime crept into actuality, so subtly that the

detective sergeant did not realize what was about to happen until the actual deed occurred.

First, Markham recognized the profile of the man whom he was watching. A pair of bloated lips, a pudgy

nose, a bulging forehead; these and roughly shaven cheeks awoke the detective sergeant's recollections.

Socks Mallory! Onetime racketeer owner of the Club Janeiro a man wanted for murder! That was the

The local train had pulled out of Eighteenth Street, and at the very moment when Markham made his

discovery of Mallory's identity, the express was overtaking the local. The detective sergeant caught a peculiar

gleam in Mallory's eye. He realized that the man was watching for something as he stared from the window.

Markham looked in the same direction. He was near the front of the car; Mallory just beyond the center.

Thus, as the express slowly moved past the speedgaining local, Markham was the first to spy the occupants

Spider Carew was gripping a strap. Hembroke and the three other detectives were all at least ten feet away

The express moved slowly by; Markham looked through his own car, and suddenly realized that Socks

The trains were traveling at almost uniform speed. In the local, the detectives who were watching Spider saw

a hunted look come on the stoopshouldered gangster's face. They looked into the express. They, like

The hardfaced gang leader yanked a revolver from his pocket. With a sure, determined motion, he leveled

With the roaring trains side by side, in the midst of terrific noise, Mallory had a perfect shot at a range of no

The flash of the revolver was accompanied by a roar that was scarcely heard above the rumbling of the trains.

THE second bullet was not needed. The first found its mark; the next caught Spider Carew as he was toppling

The detectives in the local pulled out their revolvers. Markham, in the express, duplicated the action.

Socks Mallory was too swift. His next deed eliminated all but Markham. With his free hand, the killer

reached up and yanked the emergency cord which ran through the car. The air brakes whistled. The cars of

the local swept along in rapid succession as the express came to a jolting stop.

Socks Mallory was springing toward the end of the car. No one moved to stop him. Markham could not fire;

too many people were in the way. By the time the detective sergeant had reached the end of the car, Socks

Markham delivered bullets that flattened themselves against a post between the tracks. He leaped from the

train to follow the escaping killer. Somewhere along the tracks, heading back toward the Eighteenth Street

Markham kept grimly on. Socks Mallory was well ahead; the detective sergeant could see no trace of him. It

took Markham some four minutes to reach the Eighteenth Street station; meanwhile an uptown local and

At sight of the lighted station platforms, Markham paused. He realized that Socks could have scurried by this

point; but he knew that the killer would have been seen had he clambered up either platform.

Markham waited a full minute, undecided whether to keep on, or to take to a station platform. Suddenly a

flashlight glared from the uptown station. Markham heard a voice shouting his name. Cautiously, the

detective sergeant went across the local track and raised his arms, to be pulled up to the platform.

It was Merton Hembroke who had called. The detective was explaining how he had arrived back at

"Saw the express stop," he said. "Left one man at Twentythird Street when the local reached there. Another

to get on the telephone. Brought one man here with me. He's on the platform opposite. Man on the wire is

"The emergency exits?" queried Markham. "I passed one on the way here, but I didn't see the man I was

"Couple of policemen at Twentythird," responded Hembroke. "Sent them to cover the emergencies. They're

getting others. Headquarters will take care of it. I came here in a taxi in a hurry. Say, Markham, I saw the

"That's the bird!" exclaimed Hembroke. "I know him now! Say I've got to pass that word along quick."

"Go ahead," said Markham. "I'll take charge here and along the line. Leave it to me, Hembroke."

THE detective was momentarily piqued at Markham's assumption of command; then a thought occurred to

him. He spoke in the tone of a subordinate, even though his words were a suggestion.

"Suppose I hop up to the commissioner's," he said. "After I've passed along the dope on Socks Mallory. The

Detective Hembroke hurried to the street. He encountered two policemen as he reached the top of the steps.

"Detective Sergeant Markham in charge," said Hembroke. "Socks Mallory is the man we're looking for."

As Hembroke paused upon the street corner, a police car sirened up to where he stood. Inspector Timothy

Klein alighted. He saw the detective. Hembroke stepped forward and gave the information regarding Socks

All along the avenue, police and detectives were coming to the search for the escaped killer. Socks Mallory's

daring deed had been quick in its execution. The response of the law had not been lacking.

Detective Hembroke smiled grimly as he boarded a cab and gave Weston's address. Socks Mallory was

underground. Every exit of the subway for blocks was covered. Whether or not the killer was captured,

WHILE policemen and detectives were engaged in the swift and thorough search for Spider Carew's

murderer, another quest was under way one which Spider had dreaded, and had taken drastic measures to

The Shadow, moving through the underworld, had reached the end of a trail. He was at the threshold of the

The turn of last night's events had forced The Shadow to abandon his original course. The Shadow had used

Spider as a means of locating the spot where the minions of The Red Blot were to perpetrate their plotted

crime. Then, in order to rout the marauders, he had given no further heed to Spider.

After his battle with Socks Mallory's mobsters, The Shadow had again been forced to give up the chase. He

had left that to the police; they had failed. The Red Blot's henchmen had made another mysterious

Two courses lay before The Shadow. One was to study the vicinity of the East Side Bank; the other was to

locate Spider Carew's hideout. The Shadow had chosen the latter. Spider Carew, spy and informant, was a

The Shadow, however, was confronted with a most difficult quest. He had picked up Spider's trail outside the

hideout. To discover the place itself meant a deductive process beginning with the spot where he had first

The Shadow knew the bad lands well. He had waited until afternoon; then, in the guise of an obscure

mobsman, he had begun his survey. Gradually, he had eliminated different districts until he had centered

upon several blocks. In one of these, The Shadow was sure, Spider Carew must be located.

Fate had played strange tricks that evening. Spider Carew, seeking to avoid The Shadow, had left his hideout

while The Shadow, himself, was in the vicinity. By pure accident, Spider had taken a street which The

Shadow had just abandoned; had made his phone call, and had doubled back to the hideout.

Leaving again, he had once more prowled a lucky course that had enabled him to escape The Shadow's

search. Less than three minutes after Spider had gone from the alley by his hideout, The Shadow, unseen in

the garb of black that he had adopted after nightfall, had come to that exact locality.

Spider, to avoid The Shadow, had pleaded by telephone with Commissioner Weston. His interview granted,

Spider had given little thought to Socks Mallory. He had felt sure that Socks would never know his game.

But in eluding The Shadow, Spider had fallen prey to Socks Mallory's killing hand!

THE SHADOW understood the psychology of Spider Carew's ilk. He knew that the stoopshouldered

skulker would prefer his hideout as the best place of security. That was exactly where The Shadow would

have found Spider; but for the freakish idea which had entered the little mobster's mind the odd thought of

Thus, with Spider dead, with the hue and cry out for Socks Mallory, The Shadow was still on his set task.

Gliding weirdly through the alleyway, this master of darkness paused when he came to the battered door

This place impressed The Shadow because of its obscurity. Softly, the blackgarbed phantom entered the

doorway and flickered his tiny flashlight upon the rickety steps. There, he saw signs of use: a boarded hole in

In total darkness, the invisible investigator tried the door at the top. It opened; The Shadow's light again

glittered. It fell upon the gas jet. A match flickered; the room was illuminated. The Shadow, his form

grotesque and sinister in the wavering light, viewed Spider Carew's hiding place.

A newspaper lay on the cot. A sheet of paper was resting on the chair. A blackgloved hand plucked up the

second object. Keen eyes read a note which Spider Carew had scrawled. It was the little mobster's effort to

lull Socks Mallory, should the gang leader come here during the absence of Spider Carew.

The Shadow studied this laborious letter. On the surface, it appeared to be a genuine bid by Spider to give

Socks Mallory a helpful tip. However, The Shadow knew that it lacked sincerity. It would have deceived

Where would Spider have gone? This obscure hideout was the most logical place for him to have remained.

Knowing that The Shadow had spotted him, Spider would not have made a change. He was the type to rely

The last two sentences were full of meaning to The Shadow. They were unnecessary these words that

mentioned a specific event. There was but one excuse for them. Spider Carew had a reason of his own to

expect trouble for Socks Mallory when the latter went to get the person called Tony. A coward, Spider was

Perhaps Spider had fled to seek Loretti's protection. Keenly, The Shadow divined that Socks had revealed to

Again the laugh. The Shadow had rejected the theory that Spider had gone to warn Loretti. Had he chosen

such a course, Spider would not have mentioned the big shot's name. Doublecrossing Socks, Spider would

The Shadow's gaze fell upon the newspaper. It was folded; and as the gloved hands lifted it, the keen eyes

saw the crumpling marks of thumb prints. Spider Carew had gripped this newspaper lightly while he had read

THE photograph of Police Commissioner Weston; the statement which the high official had made: these were

the factors that had inspired Spider Carew. Again, The Shadow laughed. He had found the answer to Spider

Nothing more than a pawn in the game which The Red Blot backed, Spider had realized that the law would

welcome his revelations. His part as Socks Mallory's informant even though it had been spy work for The

Red Blot was not sufficient to put him behind prison bars. Spider Carew had decided to become a stool

The warning note was his ruse to keep in right with Socks, should Weston ordain that Spider must return to

the underworld to glean new information. By now, Spider would be telling what he knew provided that

The Shadow held the clew to The Red Blot's next stroke. The master plotter was using Socks Mallory as his

Was it to satisfy Mallory's grudge against the big shot? Or was there a hidden purpose behind the

Again, The Shadow's soft laugh made strange whispers come in tremors through that little room. The gaslight

flickered as though the ghoulish reverberations had swayed the flame. The purpose did not matter. The

A blackgloved hand extinguished the gas. Softly, The Shadow departed from Spider's hideout. Newspaper

and note lay in darkness, at the exact spots where The Shadow had found them. There was no token

A silent figure hovered along the darkened street. It crossed a thoroughfare beneath an elevated line. Nearing

a more prosperous avenue, the weird form paused beside a parked cab. The door opened so quietly that the

The taxi man's first knowledge that he had a fare came when a solemn voice spoke through the window. The

driver stared in startled amazement; then grinned when he heard the uptown address which the speaker gave.

A long ride ahead; a good fare to collect. That satisfied the driver. He nodded as he heard the final

"There are two entrances," explained the even voice. "One on the avenue; the other on the side street above.

Go past the first. Turn the corner. Stop at the second. You will see the words 'Club Janeiro' above the door."

The Club Janeiro! There, tonight, The Shadow would make use of his newest clew. At that pleasure palace,

The question came from Commissioner Weston. The police official was talking to Detective Merton

"One of us was there to seize him," responded Hembroke laconically. "Four of us were in the local; Markham

"Markham did quite well tonight," rejoined Hembroke. The detective seemed to be completely at ease in his

mild correction of the commissioner's statement. "He suspected trouble on the express. That's how he

happened to be there. He didn't prevent the murder; but he recognized the man who killed Spider Carew."

"Moreover," continued Hembroke, calmly seating himself on the opposite side of the commissioner's small

"Ah!" Weston looked up in surprise. From the moment that Detective Hembroke had arrived at the

apartment, there had been one startling statement after another. Merton Hembroke was an unusual sleuth. He

had the faculty of whetting a listener's interest; and he was unfolding a keen description of the subway

"Wanted for murder," repeated Hembroke. "A former racketeer supposed to be somewhere other than New

The name brought a prompt response. Weston was on his feet, pounding his desk. His voice sounded loudly

in that little office as he seized a piece of paper and thrust it into Hembroke's hands.

"Socks Mallory!" cried the commissioner. "Look at that, Hembroke! That's the name Spider Carew gave me

"Certainly!" exclaimed Weston. "The other is the man whom Mallory is out to get. Carew told me that, also."

"Tony Loretti!" Hembroke whistled. "Say you know who he is, don't you, commissioner?"

"He runs a night club," returned Weston. "I've been to the place. A shady character, this Loretti but one

"Yes," agreed Hembroke, "but there's more to it than that. Tony Loretti put Socks Mallory out of the running,

so far as the nightclub racket was concerned. No wonder Socks is out to get Loretti!"

"Up at the Club Janeiro. That's his headquarters. Socks Mallory tried to run that place until Loretti chased

"Because we've got Mallory bottled up in the subway. Maybe they've caught him by this time."

Commissioner Weston shook his head as he heard Hembroke's words. It struck him that this time the

"Suppose Mallory has made his escape?" suggested Weston. "He doesn't know that Spider Carew told me

about Loretti. If Mallory is free, the Club Janeiro will be the place where he will go. That's where we're

"Just one thing, commissioner," objected Hembroke cautiously. "If Socks has made a getaway and is

heading for the Club Janeiro, it wouldn't be wise to have too big a crowd laying for him when "

"Don't worry about that," returned the commissioner grimly, as he picked up the telephone to call

headquarters. "I'm taking charge of this expedition, Hembroke. You're my righthand man tonight. We'll post

TWENTY minutes later, Commissioner Ralph Weston and Detective Merton Hembroke alighted from a

As they entered the huge central room of the gay night club, the commissioner's quick eye noted five

detectives posted at tables just within the door. Motioning to Hembroke, Weston moved toward another table.

Hardly had the two seated themselves before a head waiter approached and spoke to Commissioner Weston

"Good evening, commissioner," said the man. "Mr. Loretti told me to welcome you here. He is in his office,

Weston glanced sourly at Hembroke. The detective responded with a similar expression. Coming here

The commissioner nodded to the head waiter. The man conducted Weston and Hembroke to the rear of the

large dining room. The trio passed through an archway. A short passage; then a corridor that led off in both

The waiter kept on, however, until he reached a door at the end. He knocked; a voice responded. The man

opened the door and ushered Weston and Hembroke into a fairsized room that had the appearance of an

There were two persons here. One was a middlesized, darkfaced man with black hair, who showed gold

teeth when he grinned. The other was a blackhaired woman attired in a gorgeous Spanish costume clothes

The smiling man arose and bowed. He extended his hand to Ralph Weston, and nodded to Merton Hembroke.

"It pleases me to welcome you here, commissioner," he said. "I am Tony Loretti. This lady is Senorita Juanita

"Very simply," responded Loretti. "About five minutes ago, my head waiter reported that two detectives had

come into the Club Janeiro. He heard them say something about watching for the commissioner. So I

The man's career was known to the police. Tony Loretti had muscled into the nightclub business the old

Loretti had been successful in his enterprise, and had managed to make it appear quite legitimate. Where

other racketeers had picked established business upon which to prey, Tony had wisely chosen a form of

Night clubs had been overrun by troublemaking mobsters until Tony Loretti had taken hold. Since then,

these gay spots had known a period of real prosperity, with Tony Loretti assuming the proportions of an

Juanita Pasquales owned and operated the Club Janeiro. Other persons handled different night clubs. Tony

Loretti, having chosen the Club Janeiro merely as a headquarters, let his subordinates make the rounds and

"I PRESUME," purred Loretti, while Weston still watched him, "that you are intending some sort of an

investigation? If that is the case, Mr. Commissioner, I shall be pleased to aid you."

Weston shook his head solemnly. He decided that Loretti must be in ignorance of the real reason for the

police visit; therefore, the best plan would be to give him the correct information, and note his response.

"We have come here to protect you, Loretti," announced the commissioner. "A certain murderer is at large.

We intend to capture him. We have learned that you are intended as his next victim."

A raucous laugh came from Tony Loretti. He turned to Juanita Pasquales, who responded to his mirth with a

"Someone out to get me?" queried Loretti, in an incredulous tone. "That is impossible! Tell me do you

"He killed a man tonight," returned Weston. "Murdered his victim in the Lexington Avenue subway."

"Socks Mallory!" Tony Loretti pronounced the name with a sneer. "He is a tough customer. He threatened me

once before, but lacked nerve to take a shot at me. Let me thank you, commissioner, for this information. I

shall assure you that if Mallory comes here tonight, he will do me no harm. I need no police protection."

"Perhaps not," said Weston dryly. "Nevertheless, you'll take it, Loretti. Is this office your headquarters?"

"My private office to the right," returned Loretti. "Senorita Pasquales has the office on the left. This is sort of

The two investigators entered each office in turn. The rooms were small ones. The one used by Loretti had a

mahogany desk and several chairs. The office which belonged to Juanita Pasquales was furnished with table,

chairs, filing cabinet, and broad, shelved cabinet with glass doors. The shelves showed only stacks of

"All right," announced Weston, when he returned to the central office, "we're going to watch this place,

"Suit yourself, Mr. Commissioner," was the reply. "Let me warn you, though, that it can only make trouble. I

know how to look out for myself. I need no police protection. If Mallory is coming here, you'll only scare

"I know it," agreed Weston. "That's why I wanted to make sure that no one else was in these rooms. There's

"And you, Miss Pasquales?" questioned Weston. "Where do you intend to be this evening?"

"On the floor," returned the woman. "The show goes on in about fifteen minutes. It will last one hour."

"Good," approved Weston. "You will come out with us, Miss Pasquales. Loretti, I'm going to post men in

those two side corridors just beyond the door of this suite. There will be others including myself in the

big room of the night club. If Socks Mallory comes here tonight we'll trap him."

A gleaming smile appeared upon Tony Loretti's lips. The nightclub governor approved this plan.

"All right, commissioner," he said. "Those side passages go to the dressing rooms, and they serve as exits,

"Hembroke," said Weston, to the detective, "I'm putting you in charge of those corridors. Take three men.

Make sure that all the entertainers have gone out to the floor. You and one man take a corridor; the other two

HEMBROKE nodded and left the office. It was several minutes before he returned to announce that all was

The commissioner nodded to Juanita Pasquales. The senorita left the office, and Weston watched through the

halfopened door as he saw her conduct a troop of entertainers out through the archway to the main room.

Hembroke had disappeared; now, while Weston still waited, the detective came from the corridor on the left

"My men are posted," he added. "Wait about two minutes, until I get set. Then you can go out to the main

room, commissioner. Look down the corridors as you go by. You'll see that we're well out of sight. Weems

Commissioner Weston waited the required period. He glanced at Tony Loretti, and the man smiled

confidently. Weston left the office, and closed the door behind him. At the crossing of the passages, he

The side corridors were gloomy. No one was in sight. The detectives must be hiding at the ends, beyond the

A screen hid the main room of the night club. Weston sidled past the edge and looked about for Weems. He

saw the detective at a nearby table. The man was watching the screen that concealed the archway.

"Keep watching, Weems," he ordered. "I'm going to take a table of my own, where I can watch, too. If there's

Looking for a vacant table, Weston found himself in a quandary. He felt that more men should have come;

but it would be unwise to summon them now. Weems was the only sleuth covering that archway. Weston

realized that he, the police commissioner, might have to do service if trouble occurred.

The thought made Weston smile; nevertheless, he was still a trifle worried. Hembroke and the other

detectives were posted. It was too late to make new arrangements. Ralph Weston glanced around, and in that

moment observed a tall man entering through a side entrance of the Club Janeiro.

INSTANTLY, Weston recognized the newcomer. That hawklike countenance, stern and impassive; those

keen eyes, and thin, determined lips! Here was a man whom Weston had met before; a unique character

Lamont Cranston, millionaire adventurer, globetrotter, whose travels had carried him to the wilds of Tibet; a

The head waiter of the Club Janeiro was not far from where Weston stood. The commissioner moved over

"Do you see the man who has just entered?" questioned Weston. "His name is Lamont Cranston. Go quickly.

Weston took a seat at a vacant table and waited. A few minutes later, he saw Cranston approaching. The

millionaire betrayed no expression of surprise. He merely came to Weston's table, drew back a chair, and sat

Cranston was immaculate in evening clothes. He picked up a menu, gave an order to a waiter, and looked

The police commissioner smiled and picked up a card himself. He gave an order, also. He looked around, saw

"You're a cool one, Cranston," declared the commissioner. "How did you know that I didn't want you to show

"I seldom express enthusiasm," responded Cranston quietly. "Moreover, I knew that the police commissioner

would not care to appear conspicuous at the Club Janeiro. What has brought you here, Weston?"

"Cranston," returned the commissioner, in a low whisper. "we are looking for a murderer tonight. A man

called Socks Mallory. He is scheduled to make an attempt upon Tony Loretti, the big shot of the night clubs."

"In his office," answered Weston, "past that screen. I have four men posted in side corridors. That man four

tables away from us is another detective. He and I are watching this end. There may be trouble. I could use

A faint smile appeared upon Cranston's lips. The millionaire bowed his head in acknowledgment of the

"I have two automatics with me," whispered the commissioner. "If you care to assist, one is ready for you.

The automatic changed hands. Commissioner Weston sat back in his chair with a satisfied smile. The waiter

came with the order. Weston and Cranston began to eat, conversing quietly while they watched the screen.

New confidence held the commissioner. He felt that he could rely upon Lamont Cranston. There was

something about Cranston's manner that made Ralph Weston realize that he had chosen an intrepid aid.

THERE was cause for the impression. Had Commissioner Ralph Weston known the identity of this person

who had agreed to aid him, he would have been amazed beyond recall. Had he known Lamont Cranston's

This calmfaced personage had come to the Club Janeiro for the same purpose as Commissioner Weston and

his band of sleuths. He was here to encounter Socks Mallory. The features of Lamont Cranston were a guise

Beneath that fulldress coat were two automatics, compared to which Weston's guns were puny weapons.

Again, the mysterious warrior had been forced to change his plans. Alone, he could have watched Tony

Loretti, unseen. But with police on hand, with Commissioner Weston calling upon him for aid, The Shadow

In the guise of Lamont Cranston, he waited. He, The Shadow, was the aid of Commissioner Ralph Weston

IN the center office of his suite, Tony Loretti was serene. A quarter of an hour had passed since Police

Commissioner Weston had left. The strains of music were coming in muffled tones from beyond the door.

Strolling into his own private office, Loretti opened a desk drawer and pulled out a revolver. He handled the

Tony Loretti recalled that he was under police protection tonight. Officers of the law might question his

Commissioner Weston's statement that Socks Mallory was in Manhattan was not a cause of great alarm to

Tony Loretti. Some months ago, Mallory had started the nightclub protective racket, beginning with the

Club Janeiro as his headquarters. Loretti had appropriated the idea; his power had driven Mallory out of the

Attempting retaliation, Socks had encountered gangsters secretly employed by Loretti. After a short fight,

Socks had fled in a taxi. He had killed the driver at the end of the ride; and was now wanted for murder while

Loretti had henchmen in the Club Janeiro tonight. He could have summoned them to stay on watch for Socks

Mallory. But, since the police commissioner had chosen to interfere, it would be discreet to rely upon the law.

Tony Loretti laughed. He was positive that Socks Mallory would make no attempt tonight. Socks was shrewd

enough to spot the presence of the police commissioner and five headquarters detectives.

Nevertheless, Tony Loretti was a rascal who played safe. The revolver in the opened drawer gave him a

Consulting a large sheet of paper, Tony read over the figures that told of the present week's receipts. Night

Tony's cut was a moderate one, considering the power that this racketeer possessed. That was the part of

wisdom. It kept the nightclub proprietors from becoming antagonistic. They were getting off cheap.

Engrossed in his study of the figures, Tony Loretti did not hear the creeping sound that came from the central

office. When he looked up, in sudden startlement, he acted too late. Loretti's hand stopped on its way to the

HARDENED ruffians they were; and the leader, a few paces in front of the others, was grinning as he

covered Loretti with a large revolver. A gasp of recognition came from the big shot's lips.

"Glad to see me, eh, Tony?" snarled Socks. "Get up out of that chair! Back to the wall. Come on move!"

Loretti complied. Socks grumbled orders to his men. With pale face, Loretti was standing across the room,

his hands up beside his head, his eyes staring beadily as Socks Mallory advanced.

"Thought I couldn't get you, eh?" grinned Socks. "Well, I'm here. I've got you. Let's see you take it!"

Fiendishly, Socks pressed the trigger. The revolver boomed quick, successive shots.

With the first discharge, Tony Loretti tumbled. Socks Mallory, driving the muzzle downward after each

Six bullets each delivered with equal venom. They were not directed with careful aim. Socks Mallory knew

well enough that Tony Loretti would not survive this cannonade. As the final report echoed through the little

Total darkness persisted through the suite, until one man opened the door that led to the corridor, and fired

wild shots like a paean of triumph. This was by Socks Mallory's design. He wanted the world to know that he

Music ended in the night club. Screams of women sounded from the big dining room. Then came shouts in

the darkened corridors. Answering gun shots, delivered by detectives, came in response to the challenge

Beyond the screen, Police Commissioner Weston had heard the first echoes of the cannonade. The official

Weems, at the other table, also pulled a revolver and stood in readiness. Lamont Cranston, however, was the

Rising with easy swiftness, the millionaire swept toward the screen and hovered there; holding the gun which

Weston had given him. His keen eyes peered down the corridor, where the new series of shots were now in

progress. With a motion of his hand, Cranston beckoned the police commissioner forward. With Weems at

Detectives were in the corridor. The door of the suite was open; Merton Hembroke was standing in the

central office. The detective had turned on the light. Looking back, he spied Weston and called to the

"It started in here!" was Hembroke's cry. "They must have gotten Loretti! Come on!"

Detectives flocked to Hembroke's aid. Commissioner Weston, with Lamont Cranston beside him, entered the

central office to find that the detectives had spread into the other rooms of the suite. Another call came from

WITH Cranston still beside him, Weston found Hembroke leaning over the prone body of Tony Loretti. The

"Socks Socks Mallory," came Loretti's gasping words, "He he and some others. They they "

Choking, his dark face twisted, the big shot coughed out his life. His body shook with a final tremor.

"There's nobody in here," came a voice at the door. It was Weems. "Where did they go, Hembroke?"

"Search everywhere!" ordered Weston. "The corridors the dressing rooms. Spread, men!"

Detectives hurried to do the commissioner's bidding. Weston snatched up the telephone from Loretti's desk.

He put in a call for headquarters. Within two minutes, he was talking to Inspector Klein.

"A squad of men up to the Club Janeiro," ordered Weston. "Just a moment, Klein what resulted in the

subway? The search there... Yes... No results, eh? Well, the answer is here... Yes, here at the Club Janeiro...

Socks Mallory came here after his getaway... He's murdered Tony Loretti... Get the men up here! I have

Hembroke had left the death room during the commissioner's call to Klein. The detective returned to discover

Loretti's body lay unwatched upon the floor. Lamont Cranston, calmly smoking a cigarette, was standing in a

"It beats me, commissioner," admitted Hembroke. "Socks and whoever was with him have made a clean

"We were posted at the ends," explained Hembroke. "Two of us one way; two the other, so we could keep

tabs on the outside. We heard the shots. We headed down together; had everything covered right."

"I was the first one on the job; I saw someone at the point where the corridors cross. I fired; but I had to be

"I figured," continued Hembroke, "that the killers were heading out into the night club. I ordered the others to

go that way, while I came in here. Then I saw you and Weems and this gentleman who was with you."

"We came in from the night club," explained Weston. "No one got away in that direction."

"It beats me," repeated Hembroke. "Socks Mallory got out of these offices. We covered every way out. He

may have headed for the night club; then doubled back and taken one of the side passages. That's the only

"But how did he get in?" questioned the commissioner. "We searched this place; you looked through the

"At the same time," went on Weston, "this is no more startling than the subway mystery. Mallory was trapped

SILENCE followed. Cranston puffed his cigarette while Weston and Hembroke stood in puzzlement. The

other detectives were still searching outside and trying to restore order in the night club. This room where

Weems came in to announce that the entertainers wanted to get back to the dressing rooms. Senorita

"Let them into the dressing rooms," ordered Weston. "You take charge outside, Hembroke. Keep the senorita

"An amazing mystery," repeated Weston, as he took the automatic from Cranston's hand. "Socks Mallory

wanted revenge. He had a grudge against Tony Loretti. I wonder, though, if there could be a further motive

"Perhaps," interposed Cranston, "it would be wise to examine that sheet of paper which is lying beneath your

Commissioner Weston looked in the direction indicated. He picked up what appeared to be a blank piece of

paper. When he turned it over, he saw that it was a page of figured tabulations. But the cash receipts of Tony

Loretti's racketeering were not the cause of the startled cry which came from Weston.

In the center of the sheet, the commissioner saw an inky, crimson blotch. It was the signature of new crime

Weston uttered the name with a gasp. The hand of the hidden fiend was in back of this new murder.

Grimly, the commissioner recalled Spider Carew's words across the wire. Socks Mallory was working for

"Cranston," declared Weston solemnly, as he turned the paper so the millionaire could see it, "I advise you to

stick to biggame hunting. Things like this are severe blows to those connected with the law. This is the sign

"We must investigate this. It will mean long, hopeless work. You have probably read in the newspapers how

"Interesting," was Cranston's quiet comment. "Of course, Weston, I would not dispute with one who knows

" that any crook clever enough to have perpetrated tonight's crime is merely at the beginning of his schemes.

Lamont Cranston extended his hand as a friendly token of departure. During that final grasp, he repeated his

"The Red Blot," remarked the millionaire, "will strike again soon and his next stroke will he more

COMMISSIONER WESTON found himself nodding as Cranston departed. There was a firm conviction in

the quiet tone to which Weston had listened. The words of Lamont Cranston awoke vague dread in the

When Inspector Timothy Klein strode into the room a few minutes later, he found Commissioner Ralph

"Inspector," ordered Weston, "post men here, and keep them on duty. Quiz every waiter; every one who

"Socks Mallory is the murderer so Loretti said when he was dying but The Red Blot is in back of this

Outside the Club Janeiro, Lamont Cranston, in evening clothes, was strolling along the side street. In

leisurely fashion, the millionaire flicked his cigarette over the curb; then stopped at a waiting taxicab. The

"Keep the ten dollars that I gave you," remarked Cranston quietly. "It will cover the ride uptown and the time

"But there's more than five dollars comin' back to you " The cab driver, hesitating, realized that mention of

"Never mind the change," smiled Cranston. "Drive me to Fortyninth and Broadway; then turn west, and

While the vehicle rolled down Broadway, the passenger undertook a surprising transformation. Lifting the

rear seat of the cab, he drew out black folds of cloth and the crushed shape of a slouch hat. The cloth became

a cloak as it slipped over Cranston's shoulders. The hat, implanted upon the millionaire's head, completely

Black gloves completed the metamorphosis. Lamont Cranston had become The Shadow. The tall form rested

in darkness; the cab appeared to be empty. It was empty, shortly after the driver swerved west on Fortyninth

As the cab slowed for traffic, the door on the right opened softly. A fleeting figure moved through darkness

A coupe was parked on the side street. With three long strides, The Shadow gained it unseen; a few moments

WHEN the cab driver stopped at Ninth Avenue and Fortyninth Street, he was amazed to discover that his

passenger was gone. Meanwhile, a trim coupe was wending its way southward down Eighth Avenue.

A whispered laugh came from the unseen lips of the personage who drove that car. An echo of the past, The

Shadow's mirth carried a strange foreboding. It might have been a warning for those who dealt in crime.

The Shadow knew what Commissioner Weston did not know; that the crimes of The Red Blot must be

dependent upon some plan of action that was unknown in the annals of New York police experience.

There was purpose behind each crime; this mysterious killing of Tony Loretti was more than a mere feud.

How was Socks Mallory evading the police so successfully? Where was Moocher Gleetz? The Shadow

Working in darkness, The Shadow had ignored The Red Blot in order to search for Spider Carew's hiding

place. He had found that spot too late. Once again, The Shadow would take up the trail of one who would

Socks Mallory! He was The Shadow's quarry now. His trail had ended at the Club Janeiro; from that spot,

New crimes might occur in the meantime, but The Shadow would not abandon this definite quest.

Again The Red Blot! That supercrook had become a colossus of the underworld. His identity was unknown,

The Shadow, past master in the war against crime, was ready to deliver a counterthrust!

THE menace of The Red Blot had become a hideous reality. The next day's newspapers were filled with

The two crimes had been linked; and the appearance of The Red Blot's crimson symbol at the Club Janeiro

was sufficient proof that the master crook had ordained the death of Spider Carew. For in each instance the

Public opinion seemed to grasp the very thought that Lamont Cranston had expressed to Police

Commissioner Ralph Weston. The crimes of The Red Blot had merely passed the preliminary stage. Some

The methods of The Red Blot were modern. Established as the most insidious criminal that New York had

ever known, he had spread a pall of terror throughout Manhattan. His crimes had been swift and varied; none

Speculation was rife. Men of important affairs felt unsafe. Some great crime was brewing, and the versatility

of The Red Blot was a pressing threat. Wherever people discussed current events, mention of The Red Blot

"Read about de Red Blot! Tony Loretti moidered by de Red Blot! Police still hunting for de killer!"

A newsboy's cry came to the ears of two men who were riding up Broadway in a taxicab. One of the hearers

an elderly, grayhaired gentleman, turned to his young companion and asked a question:

"What is The Red Blot, Crozer? That is the second newsboy who has been shouting about it."

"The Red Blot is a criminal, sir," responded Crozer. "The New York newspapers have been filled with

accounts of his activities. I was reading the latest news while we were coming in on the Limited this

"I have not looked at today's newspapers," remarked the elderly gentleman. "But I do not recall any mention

"That is readily explainable, Mr. Woodstock," rejoined the young man. "There were two bold murders

committed last night by a man believed to be in The Red Blot's service. It is sensational news today, sir."

The elderly man nodded; then his thoughts drifted to more important matters. Yet he could not help but draw

a contrast between what the newspapers accepted as news, and the factors which they ignored.

While an unknown criminal The Red Blot was receiving tremendous headlines, Selfridge Woodstock,

leading financier of the Middle West, had arrived unannounced in Manhattan, accompanied by his secretary,

to arrange a series of building operations that would involve one hundred million dollars.

Selfridge Woodstock smiled. Long after The Red Blot had been forgotten, the people of Manhattan would

stare in admiration at the tremendous structures created through the financial genius of this builder from the

IT was evening on Broadway. Early lights were blazing at Times Square when the taxicab turned right and

rolled toward a massive building which occupied an entire block. Crozer, the secretary, spoke to his

"This is the Hotel Gigantic, Mr. Woodstock," remarked the young man. "It is the latest building erected by

"An excellent place to hold our meeting," smiled Woodstock, as he alighted from the cab.

Within the gorgeous lobby of the Gigantic, Crozer made an inquiry at the desk; then announced to

Woodstock that the meeting was being held on the twentyfourth floor. The two men entered an elevator and

On the twentyfourth floor, they turned along a corridor and followed it until Crozer stopped at a door near

the end. A knock; the door opened; and the visitors walked in to receive a welcome.

A tall, grayhaired man in a gray suit gave Selfridge Woodstock a friendly smile and handclasp. Woodstock

had met this chap before. Dobson Pringle, the virile president of the Amalgamated Builders' Association.

There was only one who impressed the Chicago man. That was Felix Cushman, chairman of the directors.

Cushman was a stocky, blackhaired man with quick eyes and a protruding lower lip.

There was a large table in the center of the room. Pringle and Cushman together ushered Selfridge

Pringle, glancing about, noted a quiet, whitehaired man who had been standing at the side of the room. He

"Mr. Carlton Carmody," announced Pringle. "Our chief architect. A very capable man, Mr. Woodstock. Very

"I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Carmody," said Woodstock, in a friendly tone. "Any man responsible for the

plans of so excellent a building as this great hotel is indeed worthy of commendation."

"I did not design the Hotel Gigantic," remarked Carmody, with a smile. "It was the work of Hubert Craft."

"Indeed, yes!" exclaimed Woodstock, turning to Pringle. "I remember now. A wonderful architect, Craft.

Interesting chap, too, though eccentric. I understood he died a few months ago."

"He did," informed Pringle. "Overturned in a pleasure boat on Long Island Sound. Poor old Craft he was

our chief architect for more than seven years. Long experience before that. He was connected with the city

Felix Cushman was tapping lightly on the table. His dark eyes were directed toward Pringle. The president of

"This is a directors' meeting," declared Cushman bluntly. "Our time is very valuable tonight. You will excuse

me if I seem brusque, Mr. Woodstock. I believe in efficiency. You have our prospectus there, Pringle? Will

Dobson Pringle brought out a large document from his portfolio. He began to read aloud. Selfridge

Woodstock listened thoughtfully, his chin resting in his hand. Felix Cushman, firm in gaze, watched the old

THE document concerned the reorganization of the Amalgamated Builders' Association, dependent entirely

upon the cooperation of interests controlled by Selfridge Woodstock of Chicago. With the support of the

Western financier it would be possible to institute a building campaign on a vaster scale than any previously

When Pringle had finished his reading, Selfridge Woodstock turned to his secretary. He asked for notes

which Crozer had been making. Referring to these, Woodstock put forward questions.

It was Felix Cushman who gave answer. One by one, the chairman of directors defined the clauses, while

Crozer made new notations. When this discussion had been completed, Selfridge Woodstock eyed the

"What," he asked, "are the available funds of the Amalgamated Builders' Association?"

"The list," said Cushman to Pringle. The president produced it. Woodstock studied the figures.

"Fifty million dollars," declared Woodstock. "These are ready funds at least negotiable securities which can

"That is all I care to know, gentlemen," decided Woodstock. "Crozer, how much time do we have to catch the

Then Selfridge Woodstock arose and smiled. He noted the anxious look on the faces watching him. His smile

"I am going to my Maine lodge tonight, gentlemen," he said. "This appointment was planned as a little

"Perhaps you may be surprised to know that I do business in such short time; but that happens to be the way

of my choice. Your proposition suits me. I shall be glad to invest the fifty million dollars which you require

These men had expected a refusal from the financier, so quickly had his decision been made. Instead,

Words of appreciation were coming from all sides. Selfridge Woodstock, donning coat and hat with Crozer's

aid, was still smiling at the sensation which he had created. He shook hands around the group; then added a

"My word is my bond, gentlemen," declared Woodstock. "I shall be in Maine one week; then to Chicago by

way of Canada. Send the papers to my office there; send your representative. I shall go through with the deal

Nodding his goodbye, Selfridge Woodstock left the room, accompanied by Crozer. The financier's last

glimpse was one of beaming faces, among which those of Dobson Pringle and Felix Cushman predominated.

SELFRIDGE WOODSTOCK chuckled as he walked along the silent corridor with his secretary. When they

reached the elevators, Crozer pushed the button, and smiled at his employer's good humor. Selfridge

Woodstock loved the element of surprise, and he utilized it even in the most important transactions.

"They didn't know," said the financier, "that I was sold on their proposition before I came here. Fifty million

dollars! No wonder it took their breath, Crozer. They have that amount themselves, but it represents the

A man had stepped from another corridor while Selfridge Woodstock was speaking. His hat was pulled low

The metal door of the elevator shaft slid open. Woodstock and Crozer boarded the car; the stranger followed

them. The door slid shut. The stranger brought his hand from his coat pocket. Something glimmered as he

As the attendant fell, the ruffian turned and covered Woodstock and Crozer with the weapon he had used. It

Instinctively, the financier and his secretary raised their hands. They saw a fierce, unshaven face confronting

them features which marked this man as the daring criminal whom the New York police now sought

With his left hand, Socks managed the elevator control. The car shot down the shaft, floor after floor. The

swift descent decreased in speed. Socks Mallory brought the car to a stop and opened the door.

Woodstock and his secretary found themselves staring into the muzzles of three more revolvers. They

realized, from the darkness outside the car, that they were at the very bottom of the shaft,

The two men walked from the car, stepping down to a cement floor. A small opening yawned ahead of them.

With mobsters jostling them with guns, the prisoners were thrust into a narrow, descending passageway.

They could hear Socks Mallory talking to another man behind them. The gang leader was giving instructions.

The Red Blot had spread tonight. The minions of that mighty crook had spirited away the richest financier of

THE departure of Selfridge Woodstock and his secretary had left the directors of the Amalgamated Builders'

Association in high fettle. Felix Cushman, the sharpvisaged chairman of the board, was prompt to state the

"Gentlemen," he said, "this means absolute success to our projects. By acquiring the cooperation of Selfridge

Woodstock, by gaining his consent to duplicate the amount of our resources, we have assured ourselves

"Yes," he asserted, "there is every reason to believe that Woodstock intended to put his money into building

operations, here in New York. I have dealt with Woodstock before; I knew him to be a man of quick and

definite decisions. We have gained Woodstock's support; moreover, we will not lose him, now that he has

"We have made millions here tonight," added Cushman. "Pringle says that he will not lose Woodstock. I tell

you that we cannot afford to lose him. We have large resources, but they would not be large enough to offset

any combination that might be formed to compete with us. Woodstock, however, has settled everything in

"I tell you again, gentlemen, those few minutes that he was here were worth millions to all of you who have

The directors, men of many millions, responded warmly to these statements. Cushman, the wealthiest of all,

came in for strong approval. Pringle, too, was given his share of commendation. Although a comparatively

small holder of Amalgamated securities, Pringle's position as president made him important.

Pringle had for years been connected with New York building promoters. He had, in a way, been inherited by

Amalgamated Builders when a smaller concern had been absorbed by the large association.

Next to Pringle, Amalgamated had possessed Hubert Craft, the celebrated architect who had designed the

"This would have been glorious for Craft," remarked the president. "Gentlemen, our new projects will include

This was the first reference to the architect who now served as successor to Hubert Craft. Still standing by the

A retiring, noncommittal sort of man, Carmody had plodded on to his present position of importance.

Nevertheless, his ability in building design had gained him merited recognition.

A TELEPHONE began to ring. Noting that the directors were again engaged in conversation, Carmody

"Mr. Pringle?" queried Carmody. "He's here... Yes... I understand... Wait a moment you say it has been

waiting for him, and should be delivered now... At the desk... One moment, please..."

"An odd message for you, Mr. Pringle," the architect announced. "Someone says that he left a message for

you at the desk, in the lobby; but it was not to be delivered until you call for it."

"I don't know," returned Carmody. "A voice that I never heard before. Insisting that you get the message at

Pringle arose and came over to the telephone. He took the instrument from Carmody, and began to speak. He

Pringle looked puzzled. He jiggled the hook. The hotel operator responded. Pringle began to complain that

his call had been cut off; then changed to tell the operator to give him the desk.

"Hello," he said. "This is Dobson Pringle. You have a message there for me?... Very good... I was to call for

it, eh?... Send it up to the twentyfourth floor... Yes, where the Amalgamated Builders' Association is holding

PRINGLE put down the telephone and went back to the table, He resumed his conversation with the

directors. Between three and four minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Carmody answered it, and

received a square envelope. He tipped the attendant, dismissed him, and brought the message to Pringle.

The building president uttered an ejaculation of surprise, as he showed the envelope to Felix Cushman.

Although it bore the name of Dobson Pringle on the wrapper, it was also marked in the corner, with

Both Pringle's name and this notation were inscribed in red ink. The president opened the envelope and

With Felix Cushman looking over his shoulder, Pringle slowly read these words, in an astounded voice:

"To Dobson Pringle and those concerned with the management of the Amalgamated Builders' Association:

"You have just completed a fifty milliondollar agreement with Selfridge Woodstock of Chicago. You hold

"He will not be released until you have made the arrangements which I require. My agent will call at your

"At that time, you will deliver to him the sum of five million dollars, in cash or negotiable securities of which

no record has been kept. In return for this payment, Selfridge Woodstock will be released.

"The presence of police officials in the conference room, or any attempt to violate the terms provided above,

Dobson Pringle stared aghast as he completed the reading of the message. The others were on their feet,

Neither Dobson Pringle nor Felix Cushman answered. As though in reply, Pringle let the paper flutter from

his fingers. It became a target for anxious eyes as it rested upon the table. Astonished gasps followed.

Beneath the redinked lines was no signature; yet the paper contained a sign of identity that every witness

recognized. Splattered there was the crimson blotch of which all had heard the sign of The Red Blot!

MEN looked at one another in bewilderment. This amazing message, coming so soon after the departure of

Selfridge Woodstock, was a veritable bombshell. It was Dobson Pringle, the voluble, grayhaired president

of the association, who first broke the tension with a statement that expressed the feeling of most of the men.

"This must be a hoax!" he asserted, with a weak attempt at a belittling laugh. "Selfridge Woodstock was here

"Hoax or no hoax," interjected Felix Cushman sternly, "it is both a threat and a demand. It may mean danger

With mingled anger and apprehension upon his sharpfeatured face, Cushman strode to the telephone and

"Felix Cushman calling," the man said. "Chairman of the Amalgamated Building directors, meeting on the

twentyfourth floor... Yes, this is Mr. Cushman himself... A gentleman has just left our meeting... Yes, going

down in the elevator. His name is Selfridge Woodstock, of Chicago... Accompanied by his secretary. He may

Still maintaining his anxious expression, Felix Cushman faced the other men while he stood with the

telephone in his grasp. Long minutes moved by; there was no further response across the wire. It was obvious

The feeling of uneasiness was becoming an expression of alarm. Worried looks passed among the assembled

group. These men realized that some unseen enemy might be at work; that on the eve of success in their

Instinctively, eyes were lowered toward the table. There, with its insidious inscription, lay the message that

None believed it now. With the increased tension of the dragging minutes, every man realized that the

The bell boy's repeated cry was passing through the huge lobby of the Hotel Gigantic. It was echoed, now, by

other callers; for the urgency of Cushman's request had caused the clerk to use every possible effort in finding

The paging was unnoticed by a short, solemnlooking man who was standing in a corner of the lobby.

Although it was this individual's duty to watch for unusual events in the hotel lobby, he saw nothing out of

the way in a bell boy's call. The solemnlooking man was Belville, senior house detective of the Hotel

This quiet greeting was more important to the house detective than the loud paging of Selfridge Woodstock.

Turning, Belville recognized the keen, firmchiseled countenance of Detective Merton Hembroke.

"The killer that's working for The Red Blot?" queried Belville, in an awed tone.

"That's the guy," answered Hembroke. "I've got a hunch, Belville, that he's living high. Joe Cardona's after

him, too; but he's got stools working in the East Side. That's not my idea. I figure that Socks Mallory is

Belville nodded. He held a great respect for Merton Hembroke, coming ace of the New York City detective

"This isn't the first swanky hotel lobby I've been in tonight," added Hembroke. "You can believe it or not,

"What's going on?" he asked. "They were paging that fellow Woodstock when I came into the lobby. Rather

As if in answer, a bell boy approached and spoke to the house detective. Belville was wanted at the desk.

"Something's happened," the clerk told Belville. "We just got a call from the twentyfourth floor to get hold

of a man named Selfridge Woodstock. Now there's a report that Elevator No. 9 is stopped on the eighth "

Belville nodded and started toward the elevators. Hembroke kept with him. Another house detective joined

them in an empty elevator. Belville ordered the operator to make for the eighth floor in a hurry.

WHEN the trio stepped from the car, they found four hotel guests clustered in front of the open door of

"Saw the boy lying here," responded one of the guests. "Knocked out. Look at him."

"Take care of this, Belville," ordered Hembroke, "I'm going up to the twentyfourth to find out about this

The detective entered the waiting elevator and was whisked upward. One minute later, he strode into the

room where the directors of the Amalgamated Builders' Association were still gathered. He spied Felix

"No. There was trouble on an elevator. I'm Detective Hembroke from headquarters. What's the trouble?"

The detective's eyebrows furrowed. "The Red Blot!" he exclaimed. "How long ago did Selfridge Woodstock

"To the Grand Central Station," declared Pringle, "To take the Bar Harbor Express."

Hembroke seized the telephone. He jiggled the hook, gained the operator's attention, and put in a call for

"Abduction suspected at Hotel Gigantic," said Hembroke tersely. "Selfridge Woodstock, of Chicago, on way

He paused to gain a quick description of Woodstock from Cushman; also to learn that the financier was

"... Elderly man," added Hembroke, over the telephone. "Gray hair... Accompanied by young man...

Secretary... Send squad to Gigantic Hotel... Elevator operator found unconscious."

HEMBROKE'S call was the beginning of a swift investigation. One hour later, the directors of the

Amalgamated Builders' Association still sat in session; but a new man was at their head. Police

Three other representatives of the law were present. Inspector Timothy Klein, fullfaced and solemn, was

seated beside the commissioner. Detective Merton Hembroke, alert as ever, was standing near the table. A

new figure had appeared: that of a stocky, swarthy man whose visage was firm set and determined.

This was Detective Joe Cardona, whose reputation as a gogetter was fading in favor of Merton Hembroke.

The door of the room was closed. Police Commissioner Weston spoke freely as he fingered the redinked

"There is no doubt about it, gentlemen," asserted Weston frankly. "Selfridge Woodstock has been abducted

by The Red Blot. The elevator operator has given us full proof of that. He was struck down when Woodstock

and his secretary entered the car on the twentyfourth floor. He was unconscious when he was removed from

"We have searched every floor of the hotel, from basement to roof garden. The search is still on, but we have

gained no trace of Selfridge Woodstock. In spite of Detective Hembroke's fortunate presence in this very

hotel, and the promptness with which this case was handled, we are forced to admit that The Red Blot has

"This, gentlemen, is a terrible climax to a series of bold crimes. Nevertheless, its very magnitude has given us

an opportunity to treat with the supercriminal who is known as The Red Blot. The abduction of Selfridge

Woodstock is but his first step. According to this message, he plans another the collecting of five million

The commissioner paused to read over the terms of the ultimatum. Then, in a serious tone, he set forth a

"Gentlemen," he said, "The Red Blot demands that you hold a meeting in your conference room tomorrow

evening at nine thirty, there to deliver the required sum to his agent. That meeting is as important to the law

as it is to you. Before I decide upon my action, let me ask what you would intend to do about it."

Weston looked from one director to another. He singled out Felix Cushman and Dobson Pringle as the ones

"Five million dollars is a large sum, commissioner," he said. "Nevertheless, it is but ten per cent of the

"With Woodstock, we gain fifty million; without him, we lose that amount. Somehow, The Red Blot knows

our situation. If we could guarantee Selfridge Woodstock's release, I would say that the accomplishment

Audible gasps followed Cushman's statement; nevertheless, the directors were forced to give their nods of

"Cushman is right," declared Dobson Pringle. "He is right, so far as monetary consideration is concerned. But

how are we to assure ourselves that this is not a hoax; that Woodstock will actually be released?"

COMMISSIONER WESTON drummed the table thoughtfully. At last, he spoke in a decided tone.

"This case," he announced, "involves the most amazing method of demanding ransom that I have ever

known. Usually, people are told to put money in some outlandish spot. But here is a criminal who announces

"Obviously, The Red Blot's agent will walk into a trap. I would suggest that you assemble to meet him, as

"An excellent suggestion," observed Dobson Pringle. "You mean that you will have men stationed close by."

"Exactly," affirmed Weston. "We shall make no attempt to scare away The Red Blot's agent. Your

"One moment," objected Felix Cushman. "Please read that last paragraph, commissioner. Remember what I

have said; that we must assure the release of Selfridge Woodstock. If we assemble without the money, we

will not be fulfilling the required terms. That according to The Red Blot's statement will mean the end of

"You are prepared to have five million dollars?" questioned Weston, in astonishment. "You would place that

"I would not care to do so," interposed Cushman. "Nevertheless, I adhere to my original statement. The

"Gentlemen" Cushman spoke to the directors "we all know that Selfridge Woodstock is a man of

immense wealth. His release would not only assure the success of our enterprises; it would also gain us the

heartfelt thanks of the man himself. To Selfridge Woodstock, five million dollars is not an immense sum."

"At the same time" Cushman was back to Weston "it would be folly to deliberately sacrifice five million

The situation seemed to be reaching the stage of a dilemma. Commissioner Weston tried to offer new

"Your meeting tomorrow night," he declared, "will be well protected. I have already advised that you meet

The Red Blot's agent. I do not approve of the delivery of ransom money. Still, I would like to have these

negotiations bring results not only the arrest of The Red Blot's agent, but the capture of the criminal

"Exactly," decided Weston. "Therein lies the difficulty. On the contrary, if you could demand to see Selfridge

"Why not?" exclaimed Dobson Pringle, leaping ahead of the commissioner's suggestion. "Let us have the

money for the agent. Cash or securities to the extent of five million. Perhaps the agent will be prepared to

"What about your police?" questioned Cushman angrily. "A few minutes ago, you told us they would be

prepared to seize The Red Blot's agent. Would they be paralyzed if the man tried to run away with our

"They would not!" retorted the commissioner, rising to his feet. Then, in a quiet tone, he added "There is

nothing to be lost by the action which you suggest. I have advised the meeting tomorrow night, under the

conditions which are proposed in this demand from The Red Blot. I did not expect that you would have the

required amount available; if you are willing to take chances with five million dollars, I have no objection."

"Drastic, yes," agreed Cushman. "But I favor it. Our conference room is an isolated spot. I can readily see

how some emissary unknown to us can come there. We could not possibly recognize him as The Red

Blot's agent until he demands the money. That moment, I believe, will be the vital one to our hopes. We can

arrange to have the funds on hand but if you disapprove, gentlemen, I am willing to forgo the plan."

While the directors sat in consideration of the proposal, Dobson Pringle interjected a severe note of

"I am the president of this association," he asserted. "It seems to me that you are taking too much upon your

own shoulders, Cushman. Suggestions, in this matter should come from me, not from you!"

This outburst of personal objection had an electric effect upon Felix Cushman. The darkhaired man faced

"So far as we are concerned," he retorted, "you are nothing but a figurehead, Pringle! The appropriation of

funds lies in the hands of the directors not the president. Your duties concern actual building operations.

Objections from you are not likely to be sustained. I trust that the directors will remember that fact."

Cushman turned to the directors as he finished speaking. Commissioner Weston saw immediately that this

man held the whip hand over the others. Pringle's interjection had awakened what appeared to be a feud over

THE result was an immediate reaction on the part of the directors. One by one, each voiced his approval of

Cushman's plan. When the vote had been taken, Dobson Pringle arose and spoke with a subdued spirit.

"I accept your decision, gentlemen," he declared. "It was merely my desire to offer sound advice. I stand

rebuked; therefore, I shall cooperate in full. Nevertheless, I still feel that we are running too great a risk, now

"Your apology is accepted, Pringle," returned Cushman testily. "As chairman of directors, I shall arrange the

appropriation of five million dollars to have on hand tomorrow night. I shall confer with you, Commissioner

Weston, so that we may have the funds brought to our conference room under police guard."

"If we search the premises before the money is brought in; if we have every outlet guarded so that no one can

leave the place, I can see no risk involved. The primary objective is to effect the release of Selfridge

"Nothing must be said about this arrangement," warned Commissioner Weston. "I shall attend to the details. I

shall come to your offices in the Amalgamated Building tomorrow morning, and make the necessary strategic

Thus came the final arrangements for the next night. With five million dollars as the bait, Commissioner

A MAN was seated in a curious, stonewalled office. The room was windowless; a single light hung from the

ceiling between the door and a desk on the opposite side. The man's back was toward the door; he was

A buzzer sounded. The man at the desk folded the newspaper. He arose and turned toward the light. The

action revealed his face. It was the hardfeatured, unshaven countenance of Socks Mallory.

Opening the door, Mallory stepped into a narrow, stonewalled passage. This corridor, like the little office,

had but a single light. It terminated in steel doors one at either end. Mallory went to the door at the right

A lanky and sidejawed individual stepped through the opening. His greeting to Mallory was a twisted grin.

The newcomer's face was one well known in the underworld of New York, although it had not been seen

Socks Mallory closed the steel door and conducted Moocher into the little office. The visitor spied the

"Say," be exclaimed, "where'd you get this? The gang has all been wanting to lamp a paper ever since last

"Let them wait a while," growled Socks. "Look it over, Moocher. It's got good news."

"How'd you get it?" inquired Moocher, as he picked up the sheet. "You been talking with The Blot?"

"What do you think I'm doing in here?" queried Socks, with a rough laugh. "Playing solitaire? Sure, I've seen

Moocher read the headlines and began to devour the story beneath them. He chuckled as he perused the

"Five million bucks!" he exclaimed. "The news hounds got that part of it, didn't they? But look here, Socks;

there's nothing here about the delivery of the dough. You told me that was fixed "

"The police managed to keep that part out," grinned Socks. "Weston thinks he's going to pull a fast one on us.

Don't worry. I'll pick up that dough, in person tonight! I just need a couple of the gang to help me, that's

"Five million tonight, Moocher. The other big job comes tomorrow night. After that, we can blow."

"Resting nice, up at the other end of the hall. But he's not going home, just yet. He knows too much of the

A TICKING clock on the desk showed eleven. This was indication that it was the morning following the

episode at the Hotel Gigantic. Moocher Gleetz finished his study of the newspaper, and turned to Socks

"Say," he questioned, "am I going with you tonight? Maybe it wouldn't hurt to have me along."

"I know that. They moved out this morning. But I got a note from Juanita and if she's got the right dope,

"No. They're dumb. But there was a guy in the place last night who may be smart. You know that the police

commissioner was there two nights ago, when I knocked off Tony Loretti. Well" a sneer appeared upon

Mallory's ugly face "he had a friend with him a highhat guy named Cranston. He's the bird we're

"I get you. One of those smart babies that thinks he's an amateur dick, eh? Going to wise up to something that

"Right. That's the way we figure him. Just the sort of bird who might fall into something. Well, we're not

taking any chances, Moocher. The place is clear now; and if he snoops around tonight, we'll get him sure."

"From the inside. Dynamite Hoskins is coming through tonight. We'll need him for the big job. He's got three

gorillas with him, and they're going to join up but they'll follow him. They'll hold back; and if this bird

"Say, Socks," he remarked, "maybe you pulled a boner knocking off Tony Loretti."

"That shows just how much you don't know. Loretti was a wise guy, Moocher. He had Juanita worried. She

was afraid he'd find out the lay. That's why The Blot said I could bump him. I wanted to get him, anyway."

"What of it? They've gone away, haven't they? They're thinking about the Hotel Gigantic instead. Don't be

dumb, Moocher. When I started this racket with The Blot, the Club Janeiro was our best bet. It was the joint

"Along comes Loretti. Muscles in on my nightclub racket I was going easy on it, too, because it was only

"Here, tonight, we're waiting for Dynamite Hoskins. He had the date all set, long ago. He's been out of New

York. His orders were to come to the Club Janeiro and get the instructions there. I can't give them to him

but Juanita can. Suppose Tony Loretti was there tonight? How would we tip off Dynamite?"

"It's time you did. I handled things right when I gave Loretti the works. Slide along, Moocher. Tell the mob

I'll be out there soon. We've got them in a good humor. Let's keep them that way."

"No trouble about that, Socks. There's nowhere for them to go, Say this is a great racket. Wouldn't Joe

AFTER Moocher had departed, Socks Mallory went to the left end of the corridor and opened the steel door

that was located there. The gap revealed a passage that led to the right; also, a steep flight of steps that led

downward until they disappeared in blackness. Socks followed the steps. He returned several minutes later,

From a drawer in the desk, Socks produced a folded sheet of paper. He spread it out before him. It was a large

map of Manhattan; upon it were traced lines in inks of different colors. Socks gave a satisfied grunt as he

surveyed this chart. Finally, he replaced the map in the drawer, a satisfied look on his features.

A buzzer sounded; its note was different from the one which had announced Moocher Gleetz. Socks picked

up a telephone from beside the desk. He was eager as he placed the receiver to his ear.

"Hello," he said. "Yes... Sure, I was just talking to Moocher... Yeah he'll take care of the Club Janeiro

tonight... Right. I'll stick here all day any time I go out, I won't be gone more than three or four minutes...

Yeah, I can count on Moocher. He was O.K. the time we got the lay on Spider Carew. He passed the word to

Socks Mallory hung up the receiver. He leaned back in the chair, and grinned as he lighted a cigarette. This

was the call he had been awaiting word from The Red Blot the master mind whose identity Socks Mallory

All set for tonight. That had been the message. Much might happen between now and then, yet Socks felt no

alarm. Success had been the watchword for The Red Blot's crimes; once only, during the raid on the East

There was only one person who could have been responsible for that partial failure The Shadow. Since

then, however, there had been no further intervention. At last Socks Mallory relished the thought crime

Moocher Gleetz, a squad of wanted men, all able criminals they were The Red Blot's mob. Under the

direction of Socks, they had proven themselves a scourge. "Dynamite" Hoskins was joining them tonight, as

Socks enjoyed a laugh as he thought of how little these mobsmen knew. To them, Socks Mallory was the

leader, although they understood that an unknown chief The Red Blot stood above.

Socks Mallory The Red Blot's right arm! But The Red Blot was not onehanded in his strokes against the

Socks relished that thought, also. While he delivered the open blows, the man who served as left hand was

Right and left they had worked together. They would do so again, tonight. Should emergency arise before

them, those aids of The Red Blot would cooperate whenever their services were required.

Socks Mallory was wearing an air of gloating triumph when he left the little office and headed for the door at

the right of the corridor. Satisfaction dominated his malicious mind. He was thinking again of the only

menace whom the underworld feared yet one who had failed to thwart The Red Blot.

AT the very time that Socks Mallory was thinking of such important personages as Ralph Weston and The

Shadow, a visitor was being ushered into the office of the New York police commissioner. Weston, seated

behind the huge glasstopped desk in his downtown office, was looking up to meet the keen eyes of Lamont

"Hello, Cranston," greeted Weston briskly. "You caught me at a very busy time. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing, since you are busy," returned the millionaire, with a quiet smile. "I merely dropped in to learn if

you could lunch with me at the Cobalt Club. I have not forgotten" Cranston's voice had a reflective

"At the Club Janeiro," responded Weston, "Quite a difference between that place and the Cobalt Club. If you

crave the unusual, Cranston, I should advise you to choose a more likely spot than an exclusive meeting place

Weston smiled grimly, Cranston had given a keen refutation to the commissioner's suggestion. The reputation

of the Hotel Gigantic allied it more closely with the Cobalt Club than with the Club Janeiro.

From a man other than Lamont Cranston, Weston might have resented the inference. The police

commissioner, however, had a respect for Cranston; and also recalled the aid which the millionaire had given

"You have me this time," admitted Weston. "Frankly, Cranston, this matter of The Red Blot is one which

Weston paused. He was on the point of discussing affairs with Cranston. The police commissioner had just

returned from a visit to the offices of the Amalgamated Builders' Association. He had warned all concerned

Lamont Cranston was lighting a cigarette. His keen eyes, peering past the illuminated lighter in his hand,

were reading a penciled notation that lay upon the commissioner's desk. A clever ruse, this. With the flame

between himself and Cranston's face, the commissioner could not detect the direction of the millionaire's

"We may be getting somewhere," remarked Weston, in a noncommittal tone. "Doubtless, you have read of

the latest outrage perpetrated by The Red Blot. This time, we are awaiting a definite followup on the part of

"Exactly. That in itself, will be another crime if The Red Blot attempts it. Until then whenever it may be

I am too tied up to arrange luncheon engagements. Thanks for the invitation, Cranston "

"Don't mention it," interposed the millionaire, rising and extending his hand. "The invitation remains open,

Weston. Let us set it for the day after The Red Blot has been brought to justice and let us hope that the day

LAMONT CRANSTON betrayed no smile when he descended in the elevator. The brain behind that

impassive, masklike face was considering the very definite facts which this casual visit had revealed.

To an ordinary person, the notations on Commissioner Weston's pad might have meant nothing. To The

Shadow guised as Lamont Cranston they had supplied all missing information needed in this case.

Abbreviated references to "conference room," "Amalgamated Building," a time notation of nine thirty, the

names of Hembroke and Cardona these were clews to the very matter which The Shadow wished to learn at

Taking a cab, Lamont Cranston rode to the vicinity of the Amalgamated Building. This was the skyscraper

which housed the offices of the Amalgamated Builders' Association. Of recent construction, the building was

modernistic in design. Its mighty mass pyramided from the street, in tapering, setback fashion, which was

Leaving the cab, the millionaire entered the building and rode up to the fifth floor. He entered the anteroom

of the Amalgamated Builders' Association. He inquired for Dobson Pringle. The girl informed him that the

president had gone out to lunch. It was now twelve fifteen, and he had gone out at noon.

The observant eyes of Lamont Cranston were busy as the girl spoke. Peering through the glass partition that

separated the anteroom from the office itself, Cranston noted the simple arrangements.

There were many desks upon the floor, and the farther end of the room was divided into smaller offices,

which served for the chief officials of the organization. In the corner directly opposite the anteroom was the

solid wall of a room which cut a square chunk from the floor space. There was a single door to this

Lamont Cranston idled toward the elevators after remarking that he would call to see Dobson Pringle at some

other time. He rode down to the street and strolled along for half a block, before he turned to study the

He noted the exact location of the office which he had left. A thin, wan smile rested upon his lips. Lamont

Cranston suddenly joined the throng of people who were passing. From then on, his course was untraceable.

SOME time afterward, a light clicked and darkness was dispelled from a solemn, hushed abode. Blue rays

flickered upon a polished table top. White hands appeared beneath the focused glare. The brilliance of the

The Shadow was in his sanctum. The clock was not upon the table this afternoon. There was time for

deliberation. Envelopes opened; clippings and reports fell beneath The Shadow's hands.

Most of the latest data dealt with the mystery that had occurred in the Hotel Gigantic. The Shadow laid these

clippings aside. They told the same story an amazing abduction; a demand for five million dollars. They

cried out the name of The Red Blot, and shouted for the capture of the supercrook.

But not one report carried the essential information regarding tonight's meeting at the Amalgamated Building.

The Shadow laughed. His hand began to inscribe words in bluish ink upon a blank sheet of paper. These

The words remained in view for a short while; then, like fleeting thoughts, they began to disappear. One by

one, in the order of their writing, the words vanished and left the pure blank sheet. Again, the whispered

The words vanished as The Shadow again indulged in a burst of sinister mockery that came back in vague

Another envelope was opened by the hands. It contained a report sheet, written in coded words. The Shadow

read the message as quickly as if it had been in ordinary writing. The blueinked inscription disappeared.

That was the way with The Shadow's messages. By use of a special fluid, the ink, after drying, vanished from

contact with the air. This was a note from Harry Vincent, one of The Shadow's agents.

OLD clippings were handy with the message. They referred to one event: the strange disappearance of Hubert

Craft, prominent architect, whose upset boat had been discovered in Long Island Sound some weeks ago.

Harry Vincent, investigating, had learned nothing. Craft frequently went to his Long Island boathouse and set

forth upon the Sound. One night the boat had gone out. It had not returned. Craft had been in New York

The Shadow answered the question in enigmatic fashion. His hand appeared with a pen, and the fingers, with

a quick shake, sent a blob of crimson ink upon a blank sheet of paper. The ominous fluid spread in grotesque

The disappearance of Hubert Craft had preceded the appearance of that insidious symbol. The discovery of

The Red Blot, himself, would answer the other question. Hubert Craft and The Red Blot! There was an

Mystery had thickened; five million dollars was at stake. Two men had been abducted: Selfridge Woodstock

and his secretary, Crozer. This meeting at the conference room of the Amalgamated Builders might hold the

The hand wrote with the blueinked pen. But the thoughts which it inscribed were in direct opposition to

what might well have been expected. There was no mention of the meeting to be held tonight. The duty of

Instead, The Shadow announced his secret intention of investigating a spot where he had been before; of

going back upon a trail which the law had now abandoned. In carefully shaped characters, the hand inscribed

The writing remained while silence persisted. The inked lines faded. The girasol sparkled as the left hand

Amid the thick gloom of heavy darkness came a long, eerie laugh. The Shadow's mockery sounded with its

note of sinister understanding. It was a token of the unexpected; the cry of one who prepared a thrust into the

Grim echoes caught up the awesome mirth and lisped the sound in sobbing whispers that persisted long.

When the last touch of merriment had died, deep, solemn silence reigned undisturbed.

The Shadow, man of the night, had gone. From the depths of this mysterious abode his unknown sanctum

While others chose to meet the menace of The Red Blot face to face, The Shadow planned a different course.

Where The Red Blot least expected serious difficulty, there would The Shadow be!

Ominous had been the Shadow's laugh. The tomblike stillness of the deserted sanctum carried a touch as

sinister. A weird lull lay within this room. The weird presence of The Shadow had left its mystic spell.

IT was after two o'clock when Dobson Pringle returned to the offices of the Amalgamated Builders'

Association. The girl in the anteroom informed him that a man had called, and left without giving his name;

but that bit of news was not regarded as important by Pringle. The girl made another announcement, that was

much more vital; namely that Felix Cushman and a friend were waiting Pringle's return in the president's

Hurrying across the floor, Pringle reached his own room, and found Cushman there. The man with the chief

director was one whom Pringle immediately recognized Detective Merton Hembroke, from headquarters.

As soon as Pringle had closed the door, Cushman motioned him to his desk and began to speak in a tense

"I have brought Hembroke here," he announced. "by arrangement with Commissioner Weston. Hembroke is

the principal detective on this case; and he suggested that it would be well to make an inside inspection of

"An excellent idea," agreed Pringle. "You mean that Hembroke will remain here after the office is empty?"

"For a short while," returned Cushman cannily. "Every one will be gone by six o'clock. Hembroke can stay

for an hour longer. But I would not deem it advisable for him to remain after seven o'clock."

"Because we must adhere closely to the terms of the demand. I am convinced, Pringle, that an emissary is

coming from The Red Blot. As the hour for the meeting approaches, everything must be clear."

"I can see no harm in Hembroke staying, "declared Pringle, in opposition to the director's statement.

"The funds are arriving at half past eight," resumed Cushman, summarily ignoring Pringle's objection. "We

must all be here by then you and I and the directors. Right there is where we have scored against this

criminal with whom we are dealing. If his spies are watching outside of this building, we shall be able to

"Commissioner Weston figured it out," broke in Hembroke. "He has a great idea, Mr. Pringle "

"Which is partly your suggestion, Hembroke," interrupted Cushman in a commending tone.

"Credit belongs to the commissioner," declared Hembroke. "I was there to talk it over with him that's all.

Figure it this way, Mr. Pringle. How would anyone transport five million dollars?"

"That's it. Well, the cash is coming up in an armored bank truck. There'll be police all around the place. As

soon as the dough is in away they'll go. That will leave nearly one hour before the scheduled time."

"But we aren't all going, see? There'll be me and Joe Cardona and a dozen other detectives all around this

"Do you understand, Pringle?" questioned Cushman. "Our directors' meeting will be in the conference room.

No police in there at all. Everything in accordance with The Red Blot's terms. But unless we get Selfridge

Woodstock there will be no negotiations completed. The agent will walk into a trap. The money will be

"Well planned, Cushman," stated Pringle. "Nevertheless, I still persist in my final decision of last night. Mark

my words, Cushman; and I call you, Detective Hembroke, to be witness. We are placing five million dollars

"We are chancing it," said Cushman shortly, "and the odds are all in our favor. That's final, Pringle."

"It is a very good plan," nodded the president. "It is quite natural that the money should be brought up under

strong guard. Nevertheless, we might use blank paper, instead of real money. However "

Pringle broke off and shrugged his shoulders as he saw an antagonistic glare in Cushman's eyes. The

chairman of the directors arose and conducted Merton Hembroke through a door at the side of Pringle's

office. This was a connection with a room which the directors used as an office.

The door closed behind Cushman and Hembroke. Pringle rang a bell for a stenographer.

IT was half past the hour before Dobson Pringle had finished with a mass of detail work. Pringle knew that

by this time Cushman must have left, with Hembroke remaining in the adjacent office.

While resting in his large swivel chair, Pringle heard a rap at the outer door. He spoke; the door opened, and

The whitehaired architect closed the door behind him and sat down in a chair by the desk. He looked at the

"I'm thinking of your worries, Mr. Pringle," declared Carmody. "Last night troubled me a great deal. It wasn't

"Things aren't right, sir," protested Carmody. "It impressed me that your opinions should at least have been

"I know that, Mr. Pringle. Just the same, this situation has been bothering me all day. Of course, I can't say

anything I was only at the meeting in case Mr. Woodstock had wanted to put questions that I could answer.

"I'll try to, Mr. Pringle. I've been working on those halfcompleted plans for the Soudervale Building

maybe they'll take my mind from all this trouble. But it seems as though I can't think of anything now but

"Don't read the newspapers," commented Pringle dryly. "Rather a hardship, Carmody, but advisable under the

After Carmody had gone from the office, Pringle prepared to leave for the day. The president could not forget

the architect's solicitude. A good worker, Carmody; one who could scarcely hope to be the equal of Hubert

Craft; nevertheless, Carmody's close attention to detail made him a valuable man to carry on the work of one

Dobson Pringle's departure before five o'clock was a signal for early leave on the part of the employees.

Usually the genial president set an example by staying until five thirty. A gradual emptying of offices began

THE door of the directors' office opened cautiously; into the floor space now illuminated only by emergency

lights stepped Detective Merton Hembroke. The sleuth strolled about the large central office, making a rather

A closed door caught his eye. A light glimmered from beneath it. The door bore the title:

Carlton Carmody was still at work. Hembroke remembered the fellow from last night. A rather

eccentriclooking character, Carmody. Hembroke decided to wait until the man was gone.

Instead of going back to the office where he had stayed in wait, the detective sought the seclusion of the

In his office, Carmody was trying to concentrate upon the plans for the new Soudervale Building. Studying

the ground floor, in a space intended for a banking office, he noted a peculiar alcove arrangement, which was

Could it be a special vault space? Such was unlikely. No banking institution had arranged to take the ground

floor of the proposed building. This alcove was not conventional; why had Hubert Craft designed it?

Thoughtfully, Carmody dipped a pen into the red ink with which he was accustomed to mark these plans. The

pen sank deeper than the architect noticed. When he held the lettering instrument above the plans, a drop of

ink fell free and splattered upon the very space that had caused Carmody's perplexity.

The splotch of ink resembled the strange signature that Carmody had seen upon the ransom note! The

peculiar coincidence caused a strain of fleeting thoughts in the architect's bewildered mind.

An unexplained alcove in a groundfloor plan; a feature which Carmody, methodical to the extreme, had

been going over with mechanical precision and now, upon it, appeared the sign of The Red Blot.

Details impressed Carlton Carmody more than important matters. That had been the chief reason for the

architect's slow rise to prominence. Yet Carmody had hidden qualities of imagination; and this stimulus

He recalled last night's episode in the Hotel Gigantic; with sudden impulse, he went to a filing cabinet and

Going through the floor plans, Carmody noticed an unmarked spot that made him pause. He dropped the

The Red Blot! Carmody's mind went back to the reports that he had read of Tony Loretti's murder the deed

that had brought The Red Blot into such tremendous prominence. Loretti had been killed in the Club Janeiro.

The night club was located in the Stellar Theater Building an edifice which the Amalgamated Builders had

Back at the filing cabinet, Carmody discovered the floor plans of the Stellar Theater Building, and began to

study the diagrams of the first floor. A new impulse seizing him, he laid this plan beside that of the Hotel

Gigantic. With his reddipped pen he shook one blot upon each diagram. Grinning wildly, he stepped back to

Then, with the eagerness of a madman, Carmody went through the files, until he produced the plans of the

building in which he now stood. He studied the fifth floor of the Amalgamated Building, and placed his

finger tip upon the conference room, where tonight's meeting was to be held. With a gleeful chuckle,

A CLOCK on the window sill showed half past six. Gathering the plans which he had marked, Carmody

clutched them close to his body, and went from the little office. He crept across the large floor until he

reached the door of the conference room. It was unlocked. Carmody entered and switched on the light.

The room had a peculiar entrance a sort of an anteroom of its own a space much narrower than the

conference room itself. The entrance was at the outer corner of the inset square. At the left of the anteroom

Carmody went through to the large conference room. It spread to the left, where the windows were located.

The architect laid his plans upon the large table in the center of the room, and began to spread them out.

He stopped, looked up, and quickly shoved the plans into a compact pile. A man had entered after him;

Carmody now recognized the face of Detective Merton Hembroke. The sleuth had evidently not intended to

disturb the architect. Now that Carmody was aware of his presence, Hembroke put a prompt question.

"What's the idea?" he quizzed. "No one is supposed to be in this room. What are you doing here?"

"I I I have discovered something," stammered Carmody. "Something very important. Yes it may be

Carmody hesitated. He did not care to discuss this matter with the detective alone. He preferred to talk to

There was a peculiar challenge in Hembroke's gaze; and Carmody suddenly repented of his action in dabbing

these plans with red blotches. What would a police detective know about building diagrams? Carmody

"I must talk to Mr. Pringle," he asserted. "It is very important that I should do so."

"Mr. Pringle has gone home," returned Hembroke. "I was just looking around here to see that the place was

"I can call Mr. Pringle," pleaded Carmody. "Really I must discuss a most important matter with him. Very

"I'll have to go out to the switchboard," he decided. "Come along. I'll call Pringle."

Clutching his precious plans, Carmody preceded the suspicious detective. As he saw Hembroke pick up the

"It's unlisted," he explained. "Call Mr. Pringle right away. It's very important."

Hembroke put in the call. Within a few minutes, he was talking with the president of the Amalgamated

"This is Detective Hembroke," explained the sleuth. "I'm in the office in the Amalgamated Building... Just

ready to leave... One of your men here Carmody, the architect... I found him in the conference room...

"Tell him I must see him before the meeting!" exclaimed Carmody, in a tense voice. "I want to see him in the

"Wants to see you personally," resumed Hembroke. "Says he wants to see you in the conference room

before tonight's meeting... No, he hasn't told me what it's about. He's all excited, and he's got a whole stack of

diagrams with him... Say maybe I ought to take this bird down to headquarters... What's that? No... Yes, I

Hembroke hung up the telephone and turned toward Carmody with a disgruntled air.

"This is a poor time to start acting loony," observed the detective, "but your boss gives you an O.K. Says he

knows you're all right. He's coming down here as soon as he finishes dinner. Says for you to wait for him in

"I'm leaving here," observed Hembroke. "I'm supposed to be out by seven. I don't like the idea of you staying

Hembroke conducted the architect back to the conference room. He pointed to a chair by the table. Carmody

seated himself; Hembroke stalked about the room, and stared suspiciously at every corner. Satisfied that all

The detective paused to listen for a few minutes; then shrugged his shoulders and continued on his way. He

left the offices of the Amalgamated Builders' Association, and took an elevator to the ground floor.

In the conference room, Carlton Carmody waited until he was sure that the detective was really gone. Then,

with an eager smile, the architect spread the plans on the table before him. His eyes were agog as he surveyed

Minutes dragged by. Carlton Carmody was like a man in a trance as he noted the features of the plans. He

was unconscious of the passage of time, concentrated solely upon the diagrams before him. Forty minutes

Suddenly, the lights of the conference room went out. After that event, Carlton Carmody knew no more.

This was the prelude to crime that was to follow, elsewhere as well as in this very room.

IT was precisely nine o'clock when Lamont Cranston appeared within the portals of the Club Janeiro. There

was something mysterious about the millionaire's arrival. The head waiter, watching the usual entrances, did

not see him until after he was seated at a table far from the screened archway that led to the offices.

There was a reason for this phenomenon. Cranston had come in by one of the side corridors a route which

the police had searched in the belief that Socks Mallory had escaped by such an exit on the eventful evening

In fact, Cranston had done more than simply enter. He had paid a brief visit to the center of the three offices;

The millionaire had not lingered long, however. The voice of Juanita Pasquales, speaking over the telephone

in an adjacent office, had caused him to stroll away before the call was completed.

When he noted Cranston, the head water immediately started toward the screened archway. He must have

met Senorita Pasquales before he reached the office, for the man returned quite promptly; and the proprietress

Five minutes went by; then the events of a slowly unfolding drama began their occurrence. The head waiter,

stopping at a table where four men were seated, passed a card to one of them. This fellow, a heavy, fullfaced

man, who looked like an oldline political boss, nodded his head. He spoke in a low tone to his three

Lamont Cranston, calmly puffing at a cigarette, observed the happening with an eagle gaze. Impassive,

betraying no interest whatever, the hawkvisaged millionaire understood what was transpiring as clearly as if

The blufffaced man was "Dynamite" Hoskins, a former denizen of New York's underworld, whose

persistent use of fuse and bomb had caused him to depart for places unknown. Back in Manhattan, Dynamite

At the end of the interval which followed the head waiter's message, Dynamite Hoskins arose and strolled

past the fringe of tables that surrounded the dance floor of the night club. The spotlight was on the floor;

couples were dancing there; and the passage of this one man was unnoticed with one exception.

Lamont Cranston, his keen eye watching through the semigloom, saw Dynamite pass behind the screen that

led to the office archway. A few moments later, Juanita Pasquales left in the same direction.

More minutes passed; then Cranston himself arose. Quietly, he strolled to the edge of the screen, paused, and

THE action brought an immediate response from the three men whom Dynamite Hoskins had left. They arose

together, slunk toward the side of the big room, and sneaked in file toward the spot where they had last seen

Short, crouching forms; tight, tough fists that gripped stubnosed revolvers; these were the three that took up

Cranston's trail. Smooth and shaven faces had given a very flimsy gloss to these thugs. A stalking trio, they

were now displaying themselves as hardened gorillas paid assassins of the bad lands.

Meanwhile, Lamont Cranston had passed the crossing of the corridors. In fact, he had paused there a moment.

Eyes from one hallway had seen his standing form. As Cranston went on toward the central office, Juanita

Pasquales slipped into an empty dressing room and pushed back a cloak that hung in a corner of the wall.

Hesitating almost fearful of the deed she was now to perform the woman pressed the button and let the

cloak fall back in place. Hastening to the door of the dressing room, Juanita was just in time to see the three

Lamont Cranston had gone straight into the center office. The three men were on his trail. Juanita stole to the

crossing; she noted the stooped forms waiting at the door down the hall. With trembling step, the woman

hurried toward the archway, back to the night club where the entertainment was scheduled to begin.

A gorilla's hand was on the door that led into the suite of offices. The barrier moved inward as the man turned

the knob. Peering cautiously into the lighted room, yet seeing no one, the first of the assassins beckoned to

The leader of the trio had opened the door with his left hand. Peering past the edge, he had looked toward the

office which had once been Tony Loretti's, while the others had headed toward the little office on the right.

As the first man stepped just beyond the edge of the door the barrier was swung shut by the quick thrust of a

figure that had stood behind it. The slam caused the three gorillas to swing in that direction.

Between them and the door was the sinister figure of a blackclad being that had appeared as suddenly as a

ghost. A long cloak hung from hidden shoulders; an upturned collar obscured the lower portion of the face

Topped by a black slouch hat, the upper portion of the countenance was concealed by the broad,

turneddown brim. Two blazing eyes optics that burned with a glaring sparkle were the only visible

Blazing eyes! Threatening eyes! But they were not the only menace which the startled gunmen faced.

Blackgloved hands projected from the folds of the cloak; each fist grasped a huge automatic, and the

muzzles of the .45s were covering the trio who had come to slay an unsuspecting victim.

The gasp came from three husky throats; and the echo of those words was a whispered, mocking laugh that

issued from beneath the brim of the slouch hat. By a ruse as simple as it was daring, the terror of the

THE taunt of The Shadow's mirth was a command. The gesture of those looming automatics brooked no

The Shadow's back was against the door; his enemies were at his mercy. One second more his opponents

But in that fleeting instant, The Shadow's keen eyes caught a sign that came as a strange satire to his own

mighty presence. Across the center of the room, The Shadow's silhouette lay in ominous blackness. Now,

from the doorway of the dimly lighted office on the right, The Shadow saw a shadow!

Someone was creeping to the edge of that door; someone lying in wait until the three assassins had acted. The

Shadow had no choice. Another moment spent upon the three men before him would mean a menacing attack

The Shadow was prepared. In that split second, he performed the unexpected. His position against the door

was one of clever design. The elbow of a right arm moved beneath the folds of the enveloping cloak. It

Darkness. With it, two men sprang forward from the other room. As quick fingers pressed revolver triggers,

the blackened form of The Shadow dropped into total darkness. That fadeaway came just before the shots

Guns roared, and leaden slugs shattered the woodwork at the spot where The Shadow had been standing. In

response came fierce tongues of flame, and terrific thunder blasts, as The Shadow's righthand automatic

As one man hurried forward into the darkness of the center room, the other seemed to crumple in his tracks.

Going down, he tried to rattle off further shots. His trigger finger faltered after the first wild bullet was

To the three gorillas in the darkened center office, these amazing events had happened with whirlwind

rapidity. Accustomed to critical situations, they managed to respond after a momentary loss of action.

A rescue had been launched and thwarted all in the space of one long, momentous second. The Shadow, he

Now, revolvers about to slip from yielding fingers were caught with a new grip. Stabs of flame shot through

the darkness as the three gorillas, dropping to the floor, aimed for the spot where The Shadow had been.

A master of strategy, The Shadow had expected this step. Knowing that his enemies would fire quickly,

hoping to down him by spreading shots, he had not given his location by a lefthand fire against a trio of

Instead, his lithe form had whirled across the room toward the door at the left. Three revolver shots four

five six had come from gangsters' weapons before The Shadow's automatics barked their grim return.

With two guns, not with one, The Shadow aimed for those telltale jets of flashing light. Burning bullets

rocketed through blackness. A scream told that one man had received a leaden messenger; an oath came as a

Quick seconds in which more than a dozen roundnosed slugs had seared their way through that gloomy

atmosphere. Burning powder bore silent evidence of the conflict. Four men were down; each a victim of The

Not only in the perfection of his aim had The Shadow succeeded. The timeliness of his shots was the factor

that had climaxed his success. His speed, his swiftness in shifting to a new position, had enabled him to foil

Well did The Shadow know the futility of trying to outdo a bullet's speed; just as certainly did he understand

In the space that others had leveled their guns at the spot where they believed the blackened target to be, The

SHATTERING echoes of the shots died in quick reverberations. Well did The Shadow know that one among

his foemen was still active one who was crouching in the darkness waiting for The Shadow to reveal

There was one way to meet that hidden enemy. The Shadow's hidden form stalked silently until it stood three

With his left hand, The Shadow fired a single shot into the room. A burst of flame; hidden behind its sudden

light, The Shadow's form made another fadeaway. Not to the left, as the waiting gorilla would expect; but

toward the right away from the security of the inner office out in the direction of the door that led to the

The ruse was doubly effective. Not only did the lurking gunman suppose that The Shadow would dive back

toward the inner office; he had also accepted the gun burst as a righthand shot.

This last enemy was a desperate marksman. Three times his revolver coughed forth its message, directing

wellsprayed shots toward the corner opening, following the course which The Shadow should logically have

The answer came from the main door the spot from which The Shadow had begun his original attack. An

automatic thundered the single shot that brought quietus to the last of the three assassins.

Three jabs of flame had given The Shadow his target. A whimpering gasp announced the accuracy of his final

The way to escape was open. The Shadow did not take it. Instead, he aimed an automatic toward the office on

Splintering shots crashed into desk and chairs. A lull; the door of the center office opened and closed with a

A long moment elapsed. Then, from that light on the right, came the figure of a man. Moocher Gleetz stood

outlined in the door frame, above the bodies of his fallen gunmen. He was a safe cracker, not a gunman. From

Moocher Gleetz scowled. He shoved a body aside with his foot, and moved in long strides to the outer office.

He did not turn on the light of the central office; hence he never saw the tall shape that loomed in the

darkness a scant six feet away. Moocher softly opened the exit door the opening which he believed the

The sound of bedlam was coming down the corridor. Moocher's cautious eye saw figures huddled by the

screen. People were coming here; the quarry had escaped. Now was no time to linger. With long leaps,

The Shadow moved. A long arm stretched to the closed door that led to the corridor. A firm hand silently

turned the key; then softly withdrew it. Stooping, The Shadow slid the key out along the corridor.

It would be found there apparently dropped by one who had escaped and fled, locking the door on the

With an automatic in his left hand, The Shadow swept boldly into the lighted office on the right, striding over

the bodies of the men who lay before him. This was the way that Moocher Gleetz had taken; now, the room

The Shadow's laugh was a low, barely audible whisper. Like a creature from another world, the blackgarbed

phantom stalked across the room and reached the farther corner. There, against the wall, was the cabinet with

its shelves. His automatic dropped beneath his cloak, The Shadow sought for the combination to this

PANDEMONIUM was coming from outside the door of the center office. People, in the corridor, were trying

The Shadow's hands reached within the cabinet and joggled the uppermost shelf. It shifted downward.

Pressing firmly, The Shadow pushed the shelf steadily. It descended, taking the next shelf with it. Small

The series of shelves, jammed down together, left a large space above them. Upon this, The Shadow rested.

A lull was apparent from the corridor. A shouting voice replaced the confused babble of excited tongues:

"Here's the key! Here's the key! We don't have to break through! Give me room stand back!"

A blackgloved hand had gripped the back of the cabinet behind the shelves. With a quick sweep, The

The black form scaled into total darkness. The back of the cabinet slid shut; the shelves came up

Men were in the suite of offices. They were surveying the forms of sprawled gangsters. Two those who had

come with Moocher were dead. To meet their desperate attack, The Shadow had fired for their hearts as

The other three were wounded. They were the ones who could tell nothing. Crippled, they had known nothing

but confusion after they had fallen. They were aids of Dynamite Hoskins. Their leader had gone; their enemy

Police were coming in to learn the details of this new gang feud. The key that had been found upon the floor

Senorita Juanita Pasquales, nervous and approaching hysteria, could tell nothing. She had been on the

But in her heart the woman knew that another man had disappeared tonight. Lamont Cranston, millionaire,

had passed from view. Had he escaped? Even though she had signaled for those in ambush to arrange his

The menace of The Red Blot fear of it had made the nightclub proprietress obey the bidding of Socks

Mallory. She knew the secret of that inner office; but she had stood the test of silence.

Police would come as they had come before. Nothing would be learned. Yet tonight, another man had

disappeared. Lamont Cranston had left the Club Janeiro. If he had not escaped, he must be dead by now; slain

Dead or alive, he had given an amazing accounting for himself. Yet Juanita Pasquales felt positive that

Cranston must either be a victim of murderers or a fleeing man who knew nothing of the mystery which

Senorita Pasquales did not know that Lamont Cranston had become The Shadow. Not for one moment did

she suspect that he, as an invisible master of darkness, was now upon the trail that would lead to the heart of

The disappearance of Lamont Cranston was of The Shadow's making. The master of detection had not only

won a mighty fight. Silent and unseen, he was on his way to the lair of The Red Blot!

IT was nearly half past nine. Far from the area where The Shadow's automatics had roared their deadly retorts

to the revolvers of those who had sought to slay him, the directors of the Amalgamated Builders' Association

They were gathered about the large table of the conference room. Five stories above the street, in a secluded

corner of a mammoth building, they were uneasy despite the security which reason told them was theirs.

The room was lighted. Upon the center of the table lay a long box; beneath its cover was the wealth which

had been brought here by Felix Cushman's order. Like a grim guardian, the blackhaired man sat scowling at

Dobson Pringle, his gray hair giving an aged look to his peaked face, sat at the opposite end of the table.

During this final lull when all were tense, he put a question which he had propounded previously.

"Will you stop asking that question?" queried Felix Cushman. "What has Carmody to do with this meeting?

"Let me explain," persisted Pringle. "Carmody stayed late this evening. The detective Hembroke found

him in the office. Carmody insisted that he must see me here in the conference room regarding plans for

"Plans for buildings!" snorted Cushman, in contempt. "A fine time for such trivialities. Carmody must be

"From what Hembroke said," declared Pringle, "the matter must have been urgent. It might have had a

"On tonight? Nonsense. Let us discuss more serious matters. Gentlemen" Cushman glanced at his watch

and turned to the directors "it is nearly half past nine. The outer door of this conference room through the

little entrance there is closed. Any emissary of The Red Blot must open it to appear here."

"Detectives are planted outside. In the offices at the end of the large central room are three men. Detective

Hembroke is one. Others, headed by Detective Cardona, are outside in the long corridor by the elevators and

"They slipped in when the money was delivered. Commissioner Weston himself is with them. They are

spread out peering from side offices. They are allowing every opportunity for a man to enter none for a

"We must be calm" all attention was now upon Cushman "and we must treat with The Red Blot's

emissary. I shall be the spokesman. We have the money here; we can rightfully demand the release of

Cushman paused to stare at Dobson Pringle. The president of the association was staring beyond Cushman's

shoulder, his face aghast. Other directors saw his look; they swung in the same direction toward the

FOUR men, each holding a heavy revolver, had entered the conference room! The leader, who stood a pace

ahead of the others, was a pudgynosed, uglyjawed individual, whose roughened cheeks made his

A thrust of the revolver caused all hands to raise. Gasps came from trembling directors; another growl

"No noise, get me?" said the roughfaced man. "If there's going to be noise, I'll make it, with this gat! I'm the

guy you're expecting. Socks Mallory working for The Red Blot. Shove over that kale!"

Before any of the astounded men could respond, Socks acted for himself. He stepped forward and upset the

box; his big paw spread out treasury certificates of thousanddollar denominations.

"We'll count it later," laughed Socks. "If there's any short of five million, you birds will pay the difference.

He beckoned to his men; as they approached, Socks replaced the stacks of bills that he had disturbed. He

pocketed his revolver, closed the box, and hoisted it under his arm. With an ugly leer, Socks sidled away

"If you stick where you are," warned Socks, "nobody's going to get hurt. We've got the dough that's all we

want. But we're going to blast our way out of here and we don't want trouble from the inside. Get me?"

Socks reached the little anteroom. His men, retreating as a protecting cordon, followed. The light switch was

at the door of the conference room. A growl came from Socks. One of the mobsters extinguished the lights.

Bullets ricocheted against the walls. The outer door was opened. Heavy fire was breaking loose. Of the

directors, Felix Cushman was the only one who kept his nerve, while the others dived for the shelter of the

table. In the darkness, Cushman leaped to his feet, pulled out a revolver, and blazed away blindly through the

Cushman reached the door of the anteroom. Beyond, he could hear the shots of the detectives as they took up

Lights came on in the outer office. Cushman saw them as he opened the door. Out at the entrance to the

corridor, Detective Morton Hembroke was firing his revolver. Answering shots reechoed from the distance.

"Come on, men!" shouted Hembroke. "They've got to double back this way! We'll hold it here!"

The other detectives joined Hembroke. Cushman stood grim, while Pringle and the directors came crowding

up in back of him as their protector. Shots outside; then came the swarthy face of Joe Cardona, in from the

Lights were on in the corridor now; detectives came around the turn at the opposite end. They stopped in

Police Commissioner Ralph Weston appeared suddenly from an office doorway. He saw the signs of

SHOULDERING his way through the detectives, Weston reached the office of the Amalgamated Builders'

Association. Hembroke was standing there; he joined the commissioner as Weston strode up to Felix

"What started it?" Cushman raised his voice to a snarl. "I'll tell you what started it! Four men marched into

this conference room and grabbed five million dollars! What's the matter with your crowd of flatfeet! Where's

Weston stared incredulously. He could see by the expressions of the other directors that Felix Cushman was

"They came out this way," returned Hembroke. "We were way up at the end pretty far, but the only place

we could be. They must have suspected we were there. They started shooting toward us. What about it,

"I hopped out," asserted Hembroke. "Dropped behind a desk had it all picked and fired back. The crooks

"I figured they'd head for the corridors," resumed Hembroke. "If they doubled back into the conference room,

we'd have them sure. So we came up to cut them off expecting Cardona would be on the job outside. I saw

"They left the conference room," asserted one of the directors. "They did not come back."

"There was a lot of fireworks in the hall," said the commissioner coldly. "It looks as though Hembroke drove

"They didn't come my way," returned Cardona. "I had good men posted at the other end of the hallway."

"This has been a big mistake," said Commissioner Weston sadly. "Four bandits run out into a corridor. They

"It's not the first time The Red Blot's men have pulled a slip like that," declared Cardona. "I don't know how

"Except the time when Hembroke got two of them in the pawnshop," broke in Weston furiously. "I put the

wrong man on the outside; that's all. Hembroke should have had that job not you, Cardona! Get going,

men! Through the building! Search everywhere! You're in charge from now on, Hembroke. You stay here,

Four armed bandits. Five million dollars. The Red Blot. Such were the thoughts that flashed through Joe

Cardona's brain as he dejectedly heard Commissioner Weston argue the situation with Felix Cushman.

Well did Joe Cardona know what the result of this episode would be. Once again, he had been totally tricked

by the cunning of The Red Blot. This would be the end of Joe Cardona's career as a detective.

There were other times when Cardona had experienced failure. But never before had a rival such as Merton

Hembroke shown superior craft. Hembroke had gained some credit tonight. He had done all that could have

Cardona felt that he was helpless before the machinations of that supermind of crime. Failure tonight.

How could one cope with amazing mobsters who vanished within the tightness of a cordon? Cardona heard

Cushman giving Weston the name of Socks Mallory. So that murderer was in again and Cardona had failed

Dully, Cardona knew that he was beaten. There were times when aid had come for him from a strange source

from a personage in whom Commissioner Weston expressed disbelief, but whom Cardona knew to be real

This time, there had been no such aid; could be no such help. The Red Blot was a master crook beyond all

credible belief. Even The Shadow, Cardona decided, could not salvage the hopeless cause that now existed!

A DOOR opened at the end of a stonewalled corridor. An ugly laugh sounded as Socks Mallory, chuckling

to men whom he had just left, entered and closed the heavy door behind him. The Red Blot's mob leader was

back in the passage that led from door to door with the stonewalled office at the side.

Under his arm, Socks was lugging the box that contained five million dollars. He strode into the underground

office, and plunked the container upon the desk. Then, pushing that article of furniture aside, he drew a steel

A click; Socks gripped a slab with his fingers, and raised the blocking stone. A large cavity lay beneath; into

it, Socks dropped the box of wealth. The murderer chuckled as he replaced the closely fitting slab.

Something was creeping along the floor; something that Socks did not see. It was not a solid object, although

it moved as though imbued with life. It was a spreading black blotch that came from the door to the

That patch of darkness was the token of a living presence. It told that The Shadow was close by! Socks,

unsuspecting, arose and pushed the desk back into its place. He sat down in the chair and indulged in an evil

A buzzer sounded. It was the signal from the outer door. Socks arose. Before he had turned, that long stretch

of blackness faded with magical speed. It withdrew not only to the corridor; it continued clear to the end.

Socks, stepping through the doorway, headed in the opposite direction. He admitted two men: Moocher

Moocher Gleetz hesitated. Socks eyed him narrowly. Both men were intent; so was Dynamite Hoskins, who

None of the trio noted the phenomenon which had occurred before; the approaching blackness of a silhouette

that crept in from the doorway. "Well," declared Moocher, "here's Dynamite Hoskins."

"I can see that," retorted Socks. "What about the guy you were supposed to finish?"

"I went up to the Club Janeiro," stated Moocher. "I had two gorillas with me. Dynamite came through. I sent

him on ahead. Then came the buzzer. Juanita's signal. I knew that Cranston was snooping, and that

"Somehow, that guy must have cornered Dynamite's mob. That's the only way I could figure it. First thing I

knew I was back in the corner my two men pile through the door, and this guy Cranston shoots them

down. I didn't see him do it. I just saw the lights go out heard the old gat do its work. Saw them flop, too!"

"Everything broke loose. Some guy made a getaway out through the door of that middle office. I hopped out

there and started to open the door. People were coming in from the night club. I dived back to the corner and

"Fine stuff," ejaculated Socks. "Five gorillas against one silk hat. Say the way you talk, you'd think that guy

"I'm not saying he got away," retorted Moocher. "I'm just saying I don't know whether or not they got him.

He bumped my two gorillas I know that. But maybe Dynamite's crew got him. Maybe it was one of those

"Let it ride," growled Socks. "If it was Cranston who got away, he's probably still running. He'll be too scared

to come back. Those boiledshirt boys seem to fall into luck sometimes. I thought you'd bring him in here,

dress suit and all. We've got a good graveyard for stiffs like him. Forget it; if he shows up again, I'll get the

THE matter settled, Socks Mallory turned to Dynamite Hoskins and gave the fullfaced man a friendly poke

"What do you think of our layout, Dynamite?" grinned Socks. "Didn't expect it to be as sweet as this, did

"You've got a lot to see yet," declared Socks. "They talk about the underworld. We've got the real underworld

right here. It's the works. Pick your spot anywhere around Manhattan. I'll tell you whether or not we can

take a crack at it. Say we've been running the bulls around in loops. I'll bet Joe Cardona will be ready to

"Him?" Socks grinned, then changed his expression to a serious one. "Say I'm telling you straight he's the

one guy who could make trouble for us. But he won't get the chance. Leave that to The Blot, Say he knows

After this reference to the hidden chief, Socks quickly changed the subject. He came down to definite

"We've got you in for the big job, Dynamite," declared Socks. "Tomorrow, we'll fix up the lay. You've heard

Socks grinned as he made his reference to a huge jewelry concern that was known throughout the world.

"Well," continued Socks, "that's the nut we're going to crack. In again out again; and you're going to help

"Galladay's!" exclaimed Dynamite. "Say, Socks, have you gone cuckoo? You can't crack that joint. Since

"That's just it," interposed Socks. "It's our gravy that place. It's going to take two nice socks of TNT, though

"Sure," returned Socks. "One to get into the joint; the other to cover up after we come out. This is one time

we're going to make a straight getaway and we're going to leave nothing behind us."

Socks paused to let his words sink in. Then, as an encouraging thought, he added:

"Listen, Dynamite Hoskins you, too, Moocher. This is going to be up in the millions, this job. Galladay's

have got a lot of European crown jewels in that place of theirs. Say we can all call it quits after this haul."

"That's the way The Blot figures. He's going to be in on this job himself working with us. You get your

charges set when The Blot is ready, we'll start. Then well, the whole world is where we'll go!"

"What about old Million Nibs from Chicago?" questioned Moocher. "Him and the others like that fellow

"There'll be a sweet fadeout for them," laughed Socks. "Don't worry about that. Come on" Socks rose as

he spoke "we'll go out with the boys. I won't hear from The Blot for a while yet."

THE long streak of blackness faded from the floor. Socks Mallory and his companions left the office, and

It was after their departure that the black blotch again manifested itself. This time it crept farther and farther

inward, until it had assumed unusual proportions. Then, in the doorway, loomed the figure that had caused

The Shadow, amazing as a specter, stood within the confines of the stonewalled room. His black cloak drawn

close about him; his features hidden by the brim of the slouch hat, the master of mystery was alone.

This room had resounded with Socks Mallory's gleeful chuckles. It was due to reverberate with a more

sinister sound. Weirdly, the laugh of The Shadow cast its eerie whisper among the echoing walls.

The tall figure moved toward the desk. The Shadow made no effort to push the object aside. The millions

His gloved hand picked up the telephone. The same hand replaced it. The desk drawer opened at The

Shadow's touch. Out came the folded map of Manhattan which Socks Mallory had consulted on the previous

With it were other papers. The Shadow spread them before him. They were the plans which Carlton Carmody

had brought into the consultation room. The Shadow noted the splotches of red drawing ink which the

The plans went back into the drawer. It was the map of New York which intrigued The Shadow. His gloved

The Shadow was following the very thoughts which Carlton Carmody had expressed. The Stellar Theater

Building; the Hotel Gigantic; the Amalgamated Building. The Shadow kept on. His finger marked a red line

that led to the new Galladay Building. Then, with final action, it pointed to a short line that terminated in a

The Shadow knew that location. The Falconette Apartments one of the most exclusive places on Park

Avenue. Like the Galladay Building, the Falconette Apartments had been built by the Amalgamated Builders.

The Shadow's laugh was like a dying whisper. Its echoes clung to stone walls even after the map had been

folded and replaced in the drawer. Those sounds persisted after the departure of that blackgarbed phantom.

They continued when the final traces of his silhouette had vanished, in creeping fashion, from the floor.

The Shadow followed the corridor to the end; not the way that Socks Mallory had gone that offered nothing

new to The Shadow but in the opposite direction. The door opened; the black form then disappeared down

Minutes later, the vague swish of a cloak announced The Shadow's return. There was a passage to the right.

Some time later, a man in evening clothes appeared in the quiet lobby of the Falconette Apartments. He

carried what appeared to be an opera cloak upon his arm. Its folds concealed the odd shape of a slouch hat.

The lights of Park Avenue glittered in the drizzly night as Lamont Cranston hailed a passing taxicab. A soft

It was Detective Sergeant Markham who spoke from the door of Inspector Timothy Klein's office. Cardona,

"I don't care who it is," he exclaimed. "Tell them there's nobody here by that name "

"Easy, Joe," interposed Inspector Klein. "Don't give up yet. I haven't had orders to put you on the sliding

"Some fellow wants to talk to you pretty bad, Joe," stated Markham. "Funny sort of voice over the wire. Kind

Cardona sprang from the room and entered his own office. He seized the receiver and spoke quickly in the

The voice that replied came in a strange monotone which made Cardona grip the telephone. He knew that

"Inform Inspector Klein," came the voice, "that you plan a final raid in the underworld. Request him to have

"Take three men of your own. Ten o'clock is the zero hour. Be at the Hotel Gigantic. Occupy Elevator No. 9.

Descend to the level below the basement. Enter passage. Advance one hundred paces. Await distant flare."

"Elevator No. 9" Cardona was repeating the instructions "Hotel Gigantic ten o'clock "

"Advance after you see the flare. Reach large central room. Through open doorway. First room on left.

The Shadow's call was ended. But the detective knew that this was no fantastic summons. The Shadow's

instructions could mean but one thing: that the master of darkness has found the way to offset the terror of

WELL did Cardona know the need for secrecy. He glanced at his watch. It was five o'clock this was the

afternoon following the theft of the five million dollars from the office of the Amalgamated Builders. Five

Assuming a pokerface expression, Cardona strolled into Timothy Klein's office. Another detective had

come in during his absence Merton Hembroke. The rising sleuth welcomed Cardona with a friendly smile.

"Well, inspector," remarked Cardona, "I think I'll stick it through until I get the bounce. If I'm slated for the

skids, I might just as well make one last effort to redeem myself. I might get a break."

"I've been doing a lot of investigation down in the bad lands," continued Joe; "Never found anything yet. Just

the same, something might come of it if we swooped in on those dives and hangouts."

"That's right, inspector. I figured The Red Blot was too wise to be anywhere that we might be liable to get

him. But he uses a bunch of mobsters who are hiding out. Another shooting up at the Club Janeiro last night.

Talk about Dynamite Hoskins being in town. Socks Mallory is around we're sure of that. Maybe the dragnet

"I'll start out with a few men. Have the raiding squads ready when I give the call. That's my suggestion."

Klein began to make the arrangements. Cardona stalked from the office. When he reached his own desk, the

detective turned to see Merton Hembroke beside him. The younger sleuth had followed him here.

"Say, Joe" Hembroke's tone was straightforward "I wish you all the luck in the world tonight."

"I've been lucky," observed Hembroke. "You haven't. But if you think you're on the skids, Joe, I can tell you

that I'm headed the same way. The Red Blot has got me buffaloed. If I'm up against him alone, I'm licked."

"The commissioner called me in today," continued Hembroke. "Told me you were through that I'd have to

carry on. I came right back at him, Joe. I told him frankly that if I'd been on the outside last night, I'd have

"Sure thing. Why should I try to look big then be made small afterward? Say, Joe, I'll bet if we'd been

teamed up together from the start, we'd have got The Red Blot by now! This independent working doesn't get

"Maybe you're right, Hembroke," agreed Cardona. "I like to talk with a fellow that's on the level. Maybe

"I got a break down at Baruch's hock shop," put in Hembroke, "but what did it get me? Nothing. All I can say

is that I've been on the job. But I didn't land my man at the Club Janeiro or at the Hotel Gigantic or last

night, for that matter. Say, Joe, I need a fellow like you to work with me; and maybe I could give you a slant

"That's fair enough," commented Cardona. "You were up at the Gigantic pretty quick, weren't you,

"It began on the twentyfourth floor. Someone crowned the elevator operator. Then dropped to the eighth."

"Anywhere along the line. Maybe below the eighth then up again. Maybe between the eighth and the

"No. 9. Say, Joe what's that got to do with it? Have you got a line on something?"

"Say, Joe Hembroke's tone was eager "if you're wise to something, let me in on it! I'll give you all the

"Why tonight? It you're on the trail of something real say, Joe, have you been up to the Gigantic?"

"I can fix that, Joe. Through Belville, the chief hotel detective. Say I can have Elevator No. 9 off duty

CARDONA considered. Here was a chance to prove the authenticity of The Shadow's call. Cardona did not

doubt The Shadow; but he did respect The Red Blot's prowess. Perhaps that supercrook knew that Cardona

had received messages from The Shadow in the past. Perhaps the call had been a cleverly perpetrated hoax.

Detective Sergeant Markham was coming in the door. Hembroke strolled out and returned in about five

They reached the Hotel Gigantic, and took an elevator to the fourth floor. Here they found the door open in

"I'll take care of it, Joe," asserted Hembroke. "I can run this buggy. Which way down or up?"

Hembroke clanged the door and dropped the elevator to the basement level. He turned questioningly to

"Try it," asserted Cardona. Hembroke ran the elevator downward. It descended another level. The detective

"Say, Joe!" gasped Hembroke, "How did you get wise to this? This must be the only shaft that comes down

"Go easy," ordered Cardona. "We'll only move in far enough to get the lay. Ten o'clock tonight is the time

Cardona stepped into the passage. His flashlight glimmered on the stony flooring. Then, before the ace

detective could emit a cry, men were upon him. Stealthy figures crouching in the blackness leaped forward

Vainly, the sleuth tried to call for Hembroke. He realized dully that the other detective would be unable to

A pungent odor filled Cardona's nostrils as a chloroformsoaked rag was clapped against his face. All went

The ace detective had failed to do The Shadow's bidding. This premature investigation had been against

IT was nearly ten o'clock. In the light of a gloomy cavern, a horde of mobsters were slowly moving toward a

passageway that cut through solid rock. The outlet which they were choosing was not the only one from this

spot. Rounded holes, large enough for the accommodation of a human form, led off like burrows in other

Socks Mallory was in charge of this mob. Back, at the side of the cavern, were two other men. As the crew of

The Red Blot and his second lieutenant! Both were here tonight. Only their backs were visible as they

followed the mob led by Socks. Those backs were seen by peering eyes that keenly searched the cavern.

A hidden watcher was looking from the crevice of a partly opened door. The Shadow was behind the barrier

that blocked off the corridor to The Red Blot's office and the passages beyond. He had come through from the

Slow minutes passed. It was precisely ten o'clock. The door opened; the tall figure of The Shadow stalked

across the gloomy cavern and entered a passage opposite the one which The Red Blot and his hordes had

The Shadow followed this blackened corridor until a turn put him completely out of sight from any who

might have returned to the central cabin. A tube was in The Shadow's hand. It clicked. A red flare threw a

The signal to Joe Cardona and his men, waiting in the cavity beneath the Hotel Gigantic!

Rapidly, The Shadow retraced his course. He crossed the cavern, left the door of the corridor open, and

reached the little stonewalled office. There, he produced the map of Manhattan. Upon it, he placed an

unsealed envelope. Retiring, The Shadow reached the gloom of the corridor and slipped beyond the door at

One minute two minutes still The Shadow waited in darkness. His keen eyes could see through the

corridor; into the cavern; across to the blackened hole that led to the Hotel Gigantic.

No sign of the approaching detectives. Sufficient time had elapsed for them to be here. The Shadow's laugh

came low and tense. More seconds drifted by; a flashlight clicked behind the door where The Shadow was

A disk the size of a silver dollar shone upon the topmost step of the downward flight. The Shadow had not

been here tonight. He knew what was below; now, he had an inkling of a disaster which had fallen.

THE black cloak swished as The Shadow swept downward. His invisible form stopped at a heavy barrier,

The light focused on a padlock; then moved up to a wicket. A gloved hand slid the little opening aside.

Light from within revealed a gloomy room. The Shadow's eyes, staring through bars, saw the forms of

The Shadow had noted that collection of prisoners before; now, his quick gaze saw a new addition. On a cot

A steel pick worked while the flashlight glimmered on the padlock. A second click a third the padlock

sprang open. The Shadow softly slid the door into the stony wall. His spectral figure swept into the dungeon.

Joe Cardona was the first to realize The Shadow's presence. Groggy, the detective felt himself lifted bodily

from the cot. As other men raised their heads to stare at the spectral form, the figure was blotted out behind

Cardona's body. The Shadow dragged the halfconscious detective from the prison, and shoved the door shut.

The Shadow had rescued Cardona alone. There were other prisoners; they were safer here at present. In

blackness broken only by a silvery disk that lighted up the steps above, Joe Cardona felt himself being forced

The detective was too groggy to resist. Puffs of fresh air were reviving him; yet he kept on blindly. He knew

that someone was aiding him. Dimly, he thought of The Shadow. Then came the lighted corridor, as an

Joe Cardona wavered. Powerful hands came under his armpits. With rushing stride, The Shadow swept the

detective forward into the stonewalled office, and plopped him in the chair by the desk. The jar brought

Then came a momentary relapse. As Cardona caught himself toppling to the desk, a blackgloved hand

picked up the telephone that rested there. A whispering voice spoke in the mouthpiece.

"Unavoidable delay," returned The Shadow, to his agent. "Is connection still established between this wire

"Connection established with telephone in Apartment 4C," came Burbank's response.

The Shadow hung up the receiver and produced a small vial. He placed it to Cardona's nostrils.

The detective's frame shook. His grogginess was dispelled. As he gripped the arms of the chair, Cardona

fancied that he heard the sound of a fleeting laugh. He turned quickly, but saw only a fading splotch of

The detective's eyes went to the map upon the table. His fingers picked up the envelope. They tore it open.

With startled gaze, Cardona read blueinked lines. He dropped the paper and began to tap the map with his

He referred again to the note. To his amazement, the writing had vanished! The momentary surprise faded.

GRIMLY, the detective seized the telephone. He clicked the hook and heard the operator's response. He

called for detective headquarters. He heard the voice of Inspector Timothy Klein.

"I'm in The Red Blot's hideout!" growled Cardona. "His mob has gone to raid Galladay's jewelry store.

"Get men there quick! Surround the place. No... No... Not from the outside... They're blowing their way up

through the cellar... Dynamite Hoskins is with them... Smash in from the outside..."

Cardona paused. Over the wire he could hear Klein barking out instructions to detectives who were near at

"There's places where you've got to block them!" he exclaimed. "Club Janeiro in the office an outlet

there. Hotel Gigantic Elevator No. 9... Got that? Wait... There's more... Conference room in Amalgamated

Builders' office... Now get this one most important of all emergency exit East Side subway, one hundred

yards south of Eighteenth Street station... Yes... Yes... Get those places. Hold them!"

The receiver clattered on the hook. Cardona sank exhausted. There was one spot which he had not mentioned;

that was the lobby of the Falconette Apartment. There was an answer. The Shadow's hand had obliterated that

Minutes went by. Cardona's relapse was followed by a slow revival. Half rising, the detective heard a sound

which brought him to his feet. It was a distant blast the boom of an underground explosion.

The raid had begun! Soon The Red Blot's cohorts would be returning! Cardona had been told to bring other

men with him, that they might hold this spot. Cardona realized that he was alone! He reached for his pocket,

realizing as he did that his revolver must have been taken from him. To his amazement, his fingers brought

On his feet, Cardona found his other coat pocket heavy. He brought out a second automatic! Doubly

equipped, Cardona knew his duty. He was to defend this outlet! He was to drive the returning hordes into

The Shadow, returned to darkness, had equipped Joe Cardona for the fray that was to come!

CROUCHING mobsmen were waiting in a widened portion of an underground passage. The report of an

explosion was still ringing in their ears. Smoke and fumes were dispelling up ahead, where the gleams of

The words came from Dynamite Hoskins. They meant that the explosion was over; the way was clear ahead.

"Come along!" he ordered. "Inside there; cover the doors while we grab off everything. It will be twenty

The horde followed Socks. Three men remained; Dynamite Hoskins stood in darkness; behind him, the

bomber knew, was The Red Blot and the other lieutenant who ranked with Socks Mallory.

Little did this waiting trio realize that already a raiding squad of police was arriving at Galladay's jewelry

Silence persisted for long minutes. The trio waited patiently. Then a flashlight glimmered from along the

passage. A frenzied mobster came staggering forward. He fell as he reached the widening of the passage. His

A light glimmered from the waiting trio. It was held by the man who stood beside The Red Blot. The

searching rays seemed to ask regarding this sudden return; but the man whose form that light illuminated

Cries revolver shots into the widened space came more men. With them was Socks Mallory, and the mob

"The bulls!" cried Socks. "They busted in on us! We had to scram! They're coming along never mind the

A stern voice came from the darkness. The Red Blot gave his order to Dynamite Hoskins.

Less than ten minutes ago, he had released a charge to blow an upward hole at the end of the passage which

An explosion thundered in the curving passage. Walls caved in, entombing luckless gangsters who had

Powerful fumes, driving dust. The Red Blot and his defeated remnants of a gang staggered away from the

widened space, heading back to the central cavern. They had effectively stopped any progress on the part of

SOCKS MALLORY heard commands as they hurried along. He understood The Red Blot's order. He was to

lead the dozen men who remained; to conduct them through the best avenue of escape from the cavern.

The word went to the gang. The mobsters hurried ahead, while The Red Blot and his other lieutenant

followed at their leisure. Reaching the central cavity, Socks chose one of the passages and ran in that

The long drive ended at a barricading wall. Socks turned his flashlight on the crowd. His horde had numbered

nearly twenty; of these, twelve remained. They were ready to do their leader's bidding in this getaway.

Calling another man, Socks pried at the wall. It slid to the right; the mobsmen scrambled through the

opening. They were in the subway, where they crouched as a local thundered past. This opening was the back

wall of a flight of steps which served as the emergency exit below Eighteenth Street.

The subway was strangely silent as Socks and his men invaded it. Had service been suddenly suspended after

the passage of that uptown local? The train had just had time to get to the next station.

The glares of bullseye lanterns swept through the gloomy depths of the subway. Shouts arose from

everywhere. The mobsmen realized that they were trapped. Leaping for pillars, they began to fire at the

Bullets whined from echoing revolvers. Leaden missives ricocheted against subway walls. Scattering

Well had Inspector Klein responded to Cardona's word. The squad of police and detectives was a small one,

but there had been time to lay a perfect ambush. The mobsters, clustered in a group, were spreading wildly;

Groveling gangsters cursed as they coughed out their lives. One group four together ran the gamut and

drove on toward the Eighteenth Street station. As they approached, policemen leaned from behind pillars to

Face to face, the forces clashed. One officer went down from a bullet which ricocheted from a post. But the

mobsters had no chance. One was dropped as he sprang to the safety of the wall. Another fell, pulling a

trigger vainly upon emptied cartridges. A third staggered while leaping toward a pillar. Only the fourth,

already wounded by a glancing shot, preserved his life by dropping his emptied gun and raising his hands in

So far as the dozen mobsters were concerned, it was a complete triumph for the law against these wanted

men. There was a thirteenth member of the group, however. He, alone, had effected a swift escape.

THE first to open the door from the secret passage beneath the emergency steps, Socks Mallory had been the

last to leave. When police shots had been loosed, the leader of the mobsmen had chosen the one way to safety

back over the route toward that hidden cavern which had served as headquarters for The Red Blot's mob.

As Socks scrambled along at top speed, he heard the sound of shots. Stopping at the entrance of the cavern,

A wisp of smoke was trickling through the crevice of the door that led to the Red Blot's office. Detective Joe

Madly, Socks Mallory answered the challenge. His revolver burst forth toward the crevice. A lucky shot! It

found the opening and clipped Cardona's shoulder. Hearing a sour grunt beyond the door, Socks Mallory

It was the gang leader's last deed. Joe Cardona, wounded, still could fight. The detective had staggered away

from the door; but as the barrier opened, he fired a shot with a hand that was pressed close to his body. The

bullet felled Socks Mallory. The gang leader's form fell forward, and jammed between the door and the wall.

Cardona was in retreat. His left hand supporting his crippled right arm, the detective staggered back into the

He was just in time. Two figures leaped from passageways where they had fled. Together they invaded the

The first one stopped at the office door; then entered. Joe Cardona, slumped in the chair, his right arm

For a moment, Joe was dazed. He thought that this was a rescue; then he realized that he was mistaken. There

was an evil look upon Hembroke's countenance; a look that was by no means friendly.

"Thought you'd spring one on The Red Blot, eh?" jeered Hembroke. "Well, you got away with a lot but you

didn't know I was working for him, did you? Socks Mallory and I we were the boys who put the idea across

Hembroke held a gun, but he made no effort to cover Cardona, who was helpless. Instead, Hembroke turned

to the doorway and pointed to a man who was entering a grayhaired individual, whose eyes glared

Joe Cardona gasped as he recognized Dobson Pringle, president of the Amalgamated Builders' Association.

Pringle was holding an automatic. Cardona realized that only his helpless state had prevented these two

villains from taking his life immediately upon their entrance. They were now prepared to make up for that

Cardona's automatic was lying on the table, where it had dropped from his weakening fingers. With a

determined effort to go out fighting, the detective made a mad effort. He grasped the gun with his left hand,

Dobson Pringle had stepped within the doorway. He was on one side of the room, Merton Hembroke on the

other. As both men raised their weapons to end Cardona's life, a strange sound from the doorway made them

turn. A whispering laugh an uncanny announcement of a sinister presence this betokened the arrival of

With an automatic in each blackgloved fist, The Shadow was here to prevent the murder of Joe Cardona.

His powerful guns covered Dobson Pringle now known as The Red Blot and Merton Hembroke, the

With a savage cry, Hembroke hurled himself upon the tall figure at the door, raising his revolver to fire as he

leaped. Swift, vicious, and determined, the false detective hoped to end the menace who had blighted The

An automatic spoke, as Hembroke tried to press the trigger of his revolver. The detective's leap ended in

collapse. Half rising to his knees, Hembroke again attempted to use his wavering finger. The effort was in

NOT for one instant had The Shadow's keen gaze lost track of Dobson Pringle. As a plotter, the Red Blot had

shown amazing prowess; as a man of action in this crisis, his powers were not so apparent. Pringle had

halted, counting upon the success of Hembroke's onslaught. Seeing the detective fall, The Red Blot backed

The Shadow had him covered. Tauntingly, the blackgarbed master awaited Pringle's action. The

grayhaired man was afraid to fire; he could not beat that looming weapon which faced him. But as he

Joe Cardona, his automatic successfully gripped in his left hand, rose from his chair and leaped toward The

With a harsh cry, Pringle acted. He leaped to the right to gain the cover of Cardona's body. His hand, its

forefinger upon the trigger, thrust outward, to put an end to Cardona's clumsy effort.

Whether Pringle or Cardona would have gained the first shot, none could ever tell. For while their fingers

Its target was Pringle's arm. The gun fell from The Red Blot's hand. A moment later, Joe Cardona's shots

A sardonic laugh awoke vague echoes. Cardona turned as he heard the creepy, chilling sound. He saw no one

at the door. The Shadow had departed. The detective bent above the body of The Red Blot. Dobson Pringle's

"I I am dying." Pringle's gasp came wearily. "I I am beaten. You will find find the millions in the

Cardona could see that the man was speaking the truth. Mortally wounded by Cardona's haphazard shots,

Rising, Cardona thrust himself against the desk and pushed it toward the side of the room, The effort was

weakening. Cardona's head began to swim. He steadied himself and stared at Pringle.

The man who had termed himself The Red Blot was propped upon an elbow. His trembling finger was

"There!" gasped Pringle. "Beneath beneath that stone. You you have won. The money "

The exhausting effort was too much. Pringle's elbow gave way. Falling upon his side, the defeated villain

Cardona noticed Pringle's attempt to point. The lever which the grayhaired man indicated was just below the

spot which the top of the desk had covered. Reaching up, Cardona pulled the lever.

No longer placid and weary in expression, Pringle was glaring with malicious eyes. The evil personality of

The Red Blot was in his gruesome stare. His lips, foaming, spat insidious words of hateful triumph.

"Your friends" The Red Blot's voice was spasmodic in its insidious tone "the prisoners the ones you

As the voice broke off, Cardona could hear the roaring surge of a cataract far below. He realized the malice

of The Red Blot's last action. Dying, Dobson Pringle had tricked him into loosing a hidden torrent of water

Cardona staggered away from the wall. He slipped to his knees, weakened by loss of blood from his wounded

shoulder. He could hear The Red Blot's death rattle a gargling sound that carried a tone of glee.

As if in answer came a whispering echo a sinister challenge that sounded from beyond the outside corridor.

It was The Shadow's triumph laugh the symbol of the departing victor. Cardona, resting upon his left hand,

A clatter in the corridor. The voices of men. Four persons came into the room. Cardona did not recognize

The detective had been groggy during his imprisonment in the pit beneath; these men had not. They were the

prisoners, freed from the dungeon on their way up the steps at the moment when Cardona had unwittingly

Selfridge Woodstock; his secretary, Crozer; Carlton Carmody with them was a tall, elderly man, with pale

face and stooped shoulders, whose facial muscles twitched as he observed the scene in this bloody room.

They helped Cardona to his feet. Then came other rescuers; Detective Sergeant Markham and a squad which

had come in from the corridor to the East Side subway. Markham recognized that these were friends.

The tall, eccentric individual spoke. His statement cleared the confusion as he named his identity.

"I can explain everything," he said. "I am Hubert Craft, chief architect of the Amalgamated Builders'

Craft pointed toward the inert form of Dobson Pringle. Joe Cardona, still game, added the final words.

Dobson Pringle's form was now on its face. Markham raised the body to learn that the man was dead.

Where Pringle's body had lain, the floor was stained with a pool of crimson blood. Spreading slowly, gushed

In death, as in life, Dobson Pringle had left the signature which he had chosen for the key mark in his

villainous campaign of crime. That pool of blood remained as the final signature of The Red Blot!

"THE most astonishing case of criminal activity in the history of the New York police!"

This assertion regarding The Red Blot came from Police Commissioner Ralph Weston. It was uttered with

emphasis as the commissioner sat with his millionaire friend, Lamont Cranston, in the grill room of the

They were keeping the luncheon engagement which Cranston had jocularly arranged a few days previous.

When the newspaper had blazed forth the triumph of the law over The Red Blot, Cranston had telephoned

"I have read the newspapers with great interest," observed Cranston, after he had heard Weston's

allinclusive definition, "My own experience observations at the Club Janeiro made me understand the

"That was but the surface, Cranston," interposed Weston. "The whole affair was incredible. The motive was a

relentless scheme for ill gain. A criminal intelligence masked by a most disarming exterior.

"Who could have suspected that Dobson Pringle, kindly and prosperous gentleman, was The Red Blot? Yet,

once the scheme was uncovered, the machinations became as plain as day. Let me give you a summary of it,

"Dobson Pringle was a man long experienced in building. He gained access to old city maps and records; to

facts that had been forgotten. He noted that Manhattan was honeycombed with abandoned conduits; with

blockedoff excavations. Below the surface of the city streets were the nucleus for a remarkable underground

system of passages not to compare with the catacombs of Rome or the sewers of Paris, yet an arrangement

"Pringle was in a position to develop that system. He saw in it the making of a real underworld. The

Amalgamated Builders' Association was erecting skyscrapers, all within a short radius of Times Square. By a

tieup with Socks Mallory, then an enterprising racketeer, Pringle peopled his catacombs with a squad of

wanted men chosen ruffians who stayed below ground gladly, and who served as the advance workers.

"Pringle made Hubert Craft, the architect, his unwitting aid. In the plans for new buildings, he urged special

arrangements for hidden outlets from the structures. He explained to Craft that these might later be used for

connecting links with other buildings subways and the like and that they would prove of value in the

"For a while, only," returned Weston. "The first of these hidden entrances to the cavernous domain was

placed in the office of the Club Janeiro beneath the Stellar Theater Building an Amalgamated enterprise.

"That enabled Socks Mallory to go in and out; to add replenishments to his workers. Each new building had

another outlet to be tapped. In the Hotel Gigantic it was an elevator shaft that descended more deeply than

"The most artful of these secret openings was in the fifth floor of the Amalgamated Building. The structure

pyramids" Weston began making a diagram upon the back of an envelope "and the first setback comes

above the fifth floor. For five floors, there are corner rooms like the conference room of the Amalgamated

Builders, shaped thus. A narrow anteroom allowed for a hidden wall space, like a large air shaft. Pringle's

hidden workers installed an elevator there; one which could be reached through a secret panel in the anteroom

"Galladay's jewelry store was neatly designed so that one spot would allow access to all parts of the ground

floor. That, of course, was protected by installed alarm apparatus; but Pringle had made full allowance. Craft

was not suspicious even then it was when Pringle made him put in a secret entrance to the ground floor of

the Soudervale Building that the architect raised an objection. He knew that the space would give access to a

"Yes," allowed Weston. "That was the deed that started The Red Blot into action. Mobsters abducted Craft.

Pringle framed what looked like a disappearance of the architect. Then trouble broke loose.

"From the central cavern of his underground realm, The Red Blot had taken a large conduit as a course to the

East Side subway. Other old underground passages, considerable distance from Pringle's domain, were

tapped from spots along the subway line. To build up a reputation, to gain funds which he needed, The Red

Blot launched crime attacks in parts of Manhattan where his men could escape by hidden outlets to these

"Besides Socks Mallory, The Red Blot had another capable aid Merton Hembroke. Where Mallory served

as lieutenant of the underground forces, Hembroke was a secret agent working as a detective. That was to

prove vital in The Red Blot's plans. As we have pieced it, here is what happened.

"First: Spider Carew, a henchman of Mallory, who was stationed above ground, tried to squeal. We sent

detectives to cover him as he rode up on the East Side subway. Hembroke tipped off Mallory to get the man.

"Then Mallory slew Tony Loretti, who was a menace to The Red Blot's schemes. Juanita Pasquales has

confessed that she was forced to do Mallory's bidding. Hembroke was present at the affray in the Club

Janeiro. He made it look as though the killer might have escaped outward. He effectively covered the secret

"Then came The Red Blot's master stroke," continued the police commissioner. "Socks Mallory slugged an

elevator operator and abducted Selfridge Woodstock, Chicago financier, with the secretary, Crozer. Down to

the level below the Hotel Gigantic, in an elevator. There so we believe Hembroke took the elevator up;

left it and reached the lobby, where he was on hand to gain credit for a quick investigation.

"Dobson Pringle, as president of the Amalgamated Builders, had very little money invested in the concern.

He knew the psychology of the directors. He had a fake note. Its delivery caused consternation. Pringle was

ready to urge the raising of the five million dollars. When Felix Cushman proposed that radical act, Pringle

"Then came an unexpected event. Before the meeting, set in the Amalgamated conference room, Carlton

Carmody, architect, who had succeeded Hubert Craft, discovered the faults in the plans. He was seen by

Hembroke we have Carmody's own testimony for this and the false detective tipped off Pringle. Socks

Mallory came up and seized Carmody, who was held prisoner with Craft, Woodstock, and Crozer."

"THAT'S coming," smiled Weston. "Mallory raided the directors' meeting and took five million dollars.

Again, Hembroke covered by making it look as though the crooks had run out. Hembroke was commended.

All was set for The Red Blot to pull his final coup blowing up through Galladay's floor, the jewel robbery,

and an escape along a passage which would be blocked after the marauders had passed."

"Detective Joe Cardona gets the credit," interrupted Weston, in an admiring tone. "He investigated the Hotel

Gigantic. He was doublecrossed by Hembroke, and was captured. He escaped. He found The Red Blot's

secret office. A special passage off behind a door that was always closed led up to the Falconette

Apartments, where Pringle lived. Cardona discovered a map; it showed all the strategic points except that

one, which had been obliterated. Cardona also found a telephone that was hooked up with Pringle's

"Through some lucky freak how, we have not yet ascertained the wire of the secret phone was

temporarily connected with an outside line. When Cardona called, he got detective headquarters. Our men

interrupted the robbery of Galladay's. They covered everywhere and the crooks were shot down by the

"Odd," remarked Cranston, "that The Red Blot did not escape through his own private exit "

"Cardona stopped him!" Weston was triumphant. "Cardona shot down both Dobson Pringle and Merton

Hembroke. He found the hiding spot of the stolen five million dollars, which The Red Blot had returned to

"Inadvertently, Cardona released a flood of water a tapped dry pipe line which The Red Blot had arranged

to sweep the dungeon where he kept his prisoners, should he deem their death necessary. Luckily, they

Police Commissioner Weston glanced at his watch. He arose hastily and announced that he must be back at

A STRANGE smile appeared upon Cranston's face as he recalled a parting invitation from Weston. The

police commissioner was anxious to have Cranston pay a visit to those underground passages to see, for

It was after the usual luncheon hour; the gloomy grill room of the Cobalt Club was empty save for Lamont

Cranston. By the light of side lamps on the wall, the millionaire's body cast a long, sinister blotch upon the

The mark of The Shadow! That uncanny stretch of darkness was the power which had obliterated The Red

Blot. It betokened the master who had alone detected and conquered the hordes of the supercrook.

Cardona had been a pawn in The Shadow's game; but to the sincere detective, The Shadow, always preferring

The shuddering whisper of a mocking laugh crept through the gloomy room. Its eerie reverberations

continued as Lamont Cranston, moving forward with steady, even stride, left the spot. The ghostly sounds

were heard by a waiter who paused and quivered as he stood at the entrance from the kitchen. The last echoes

The room was empty as the waiter stared. Lamont Cranston had left, unseen. The laugh of The Shadow had

broken from his impassive lips as a recollection of the story which Commissioner Ralph Weston had told.

For The Shadow had triumphed. With that weird being who dwelt in darkness save when he appeared in

The Shadow, still unrevealed, was ready for new conquests. That final laugh was his last token of triumph in

The Shadow with no need for other aid had obliterated the crimson scourge of The Red Blot!