THE COBRA .......................................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. THE CRIME TRAIL .........................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. THE NEW AVENGER ....................................................................................................4

CHAPTER III. THE COBRA WINS .......................................................................................................8

CHAPTER IV. THE COMMISSIONER HEARS................................................................................11

CHAPTER V. MYLAND ADVISES ....................................................................................................15

CHAPTER VI. THE SHADOW MOVES .............................................................................................19

CHAPTER VII. THE COBRA'S LAIR .................................................................................................22

CHAPTER VIII. THE TRAIL ...............................................................................................................25

CHAPTER IX. THE SHADOW ENTERS ............................................................................................29

CHAPTER X. AGAIN THE COBRA ...................................................................................................33

CHAPTER XI. QUICK STROKES .......................................................................................................36

CHAPTER XII. WESTON ORDERS...................................................................................................39

CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW HEARS ...........................................................................................42

CHAPTER XIV. CLIFF PLAYS HIS PART ........................................................................................47

CHAPTER XV. AT KING ZOBELL'S .................................................................................................51

CHAPTER XVI. THE MEETING........................................................................................................54

CHAPTER XVII. THE SHADOW'S SKILL........................................................................................58

CHAPTER XVIII. THE DECISION.....................................................................................................61

CHAPTER XIX. THE SHADOW'S CLEW ..........................................................................................65

CHAPTER XX. CLIFF AWAKES.......................................................................................................68

CHAPTER XXI. THE SHADOW'S COURSE.....................................................................................71

CHAPTER XXII. PASS THE COBRA .................................................................................................74

CHAPTER XXIII. MEN AT BAY ........................................................................................................76

CHAPTER XXIV. THE DUEL .............................................................................................................79

CHAPTER XXV. VANQUISHED MINIONS.....................................................................................81

FOGGY darkness swirled beneath the superstructure of the East Side elevated. Dim lights, glowing through

the murk, showed the dingy fronts of dilapidated buildings. Shifty, skulking figures shambled along the

street. A bluecoat, twirling his club, watched them idly from the corner; then resumed his beat.

This was a bad spot on the fringe of the underworld. The officers who patrolled this section of Manhattan

were chosen members of the force. Always on the lookout for the paths of crooks, they kept a wary check of

Less than one minute after the patrolman had continued on his beat, a man stepped forward from the cover of

the elevated steps. Welldressed, but inconspicuous in his dark suit, he was of better appearance than the

A taxicab rolled slowly by. The man by the steps noted it with a sidelong glance. He saw a grayhaired man

of middle age peering keenly from the window, as though engaged in study of the district. The cab rolled on.

The flicker of the match revealed his face. It was a hardened countenance, with curling, ugly lips. A long scar

showed from chin to cheek. That scar was buried by the hand that held the match.

As he flicked the match away, the man by the elevated steps used his other hand to draw the collar of his coat

With head hunched slightly to the side, the man squinted up and down the street, then moved along by the

There was method in his wariness. This man was known in the underworld. "Deek" Hundell, leader of the

toughest holdup crew in Manhattan, was a person whom any lurker in the badlands could have spotted

THE strolling patrolman had missed an opportunity tonight. Standing openly at the corner, he had been

spotted by Deek Hundell. The holdup expert had waited for the policeman to depart; and there had been

A disdainful smile showed on Deek's ugly lips as the crook passed the front of a lighted shop. Deek had

dodged flatfeet before. Cops did not worry him. His caution now was for the benefit of chance passers.

Among the slouchers on this gloomy street, Deek knew that he might encounter enemies who would betray

Deek Hundell turned to peer at a display of cheap suitcases in a pawn shop window. His hand, rising to pluck

the cigarette from his lips, remained there, adding its hiding palm to cover the scar.

A ragged, stoopshouldered prowler was shambling from the fog. Moving close to the window, Deek caught

the reflection of a pasty face. The passing man was going straight ahead. Deek waited.

More footsteps. Two foreigners, jabbering in their own tongue, moved past the standing crook. Then came an

old woman, carrying a basket on her arm. Footsteps died along the sidewalk. Deek turned and resumed his

Twenty paces brought the gang leader to the entrance of an alleyway. Here, with head still hunched, Deek

gazed in both directions and flicked his cigarette to the gutter. Satisfied that no one was watching, he moved

Deek Hundell had passed the crossroads of the underworld. From now on, his course would be untraceable.

On this visit to the badlands, the notorious crook had taken no chances. His laugh was one of surety.

Silence dominated the street by the elevated. The swirling, chilly fog seemed to creep about the iron pillars

like a living monster. A thickened spot of darkish mist spread slowly away from the shelter of a pillar directly

BLACKNESS remained, but in the blackness glowed two spots that shone like coals of fire. Metamorphosing

Then blackness moved; a tall, uncanny shape stepped forward from the elevated post. The owner of those

A spectral being clad entirely in black a form shrouded by the folds of a sablehued cloak; above the eyes,

The strange figure paused momentarily, while the piercing eyes studied the course that Deek Hundell had

taken. Then, with a quick swish of the cloak, this watcher crossed the sidewalk and merged with the darkness

Deek Hundell had congratulated himself too soon. Convinced that he had reached the alleyway unnoticed, the

crook was continuing his course with no fear of pursuit. He did not know that his trail had been taken by the

A creature of the darkness, a phantom being whose guise of black rendered him invisible to the sharpest eyes,

The Shadow was on the trail of impending crime. He had picked up the course of Deek Hundell and he was

There could be but one reason for Deek's appearance in the underworld. Wanted for murder, the gang leader

had chosen other spots until tonight. His arrival here was a sure indication of a rendezvous between Deek

Motion in darkness; such was the only indication of The Shadow's presence. The swish of the black cloak

sounded faintly as the master trailer moved through the alleyway and took a turn into a passage between two

houses. He could not see his quarry up ahead, for Deek was moving cautiously through the gloom; yet The

When the mobster trailer reached the end of the passage between the houses, his keen eyes peered across a

narrow, gloomy street. They spied Deek Hundell entering the battered doorway of an old brick house, where

A weird specter, The Shadow crossed the narrow street and reached the darkened doorway. The opening of

the barrier seemed imperceptible. The black figure entered. The Shadow stood in a narrow, gloomy hallway

which terminated in a fight of rickety stairs. A gas jet, its flame turned low, furnished the only illumination.

Slowly, The Shadow advanced. His gliding progress ended at a door on the right of the hall. A creeping hand,

gloved in black came from the folds of The Shadow's cloak. It turned the knob of the door. Keen eyes peered

BEYOND was a small flight of stairs; then a stonewalled room where a few dozen men were seated about at

The Shadow knew this place; it was a sordid dive of the underworld where lesser mobsters were wont to

meet. The entrance was opposite the door through which The Shadow peered. It opened on a side alley that

Deek Hundell was not in the underground den. The door closed silently. A soft, whispered laugh sounded in

the gloomy hall. Its echoes clung there as The Shadow turned to the stairs and ascended. The steps terminated

Like the one below, this hall was lighted by a flickering gas jet. At the rear was another flight of stairs that

led down to the back of the building. The front of the hall terminated in a door.

The Shadow turned in that direction. He passed two doors on the right; just beyond the second one, he paused

to listen. A muffled, growling voice was sounding from the room beyond the barrier.

Swiftly, The Shadow continued to the end of the hallway. His hand turned the knob of the door at the end.

The door was locked. Muffled clicks sounded as The Shadow applied an instrument of steel. The lock gave.

Dark, deserted and illy furnished, this room extended to the right a fact which The Shadow had anticipated

by his study of the building itself. To the right was a connecting doorway that led to the room where the voice

The Shadow reached the intervening barrier and applied the pick. This time, there was not the slightest sound

of the yielding lock. The knob turned noiselessly; the door opened inch by inch until a narrow slit was

formed. Silent and motionless, his hand still on the knob, The Shadow gazed into the room beyond.

Five men were seated about a brokendown table. Their evil, sordid faces marked them as desperadoes of the

badlands. Their eyes were turned upon an individual who sat facing the doorway to the hall. In the

Glinting eyes and snarling lips; a scar that ran an ugly, jagged line from chin to cheek this was the quarry

that The Shadow sought. Deek Hundell, murderer, had reached his destination in the underworld. Joined by

The eyes of minions were on the gang leader. Attentive ears were drinking in Deek's growled words.

Gloating faces showed eagerness for evil deeds that lay ahead. Little did these crooks realize that another

listener was present; that eyes keener than their own were watching the sordid countenance of Deek Hundell.

The Shadow, master fighter against crime, was listening in on Deek Hundell's plans. With those schemes

learned, The Shadow would be prepared to strike from darkness. Criminals, confident in their security, were

"WE'RE pulling the job tomorrow night." Deek Hundell's growl had an emphasis that held his henchmen.

"Out on the Boston Post Road is a swell place where there'll be lots of palookas with dough. I've picked the

"Maybe," resumed Deek, leering, "some of you guys are wondering why I'm taking places outside of the city.

I'll tell you why. It's because these spots are outside. Don't get the idea that these New York bulls have me

Laughs from the mobsters indicated that they, as well as Deek, were contemptuous of the Manhattan police.

"I've been living here in New York," continued Deek, "in an uptown hotel and there ain't a bull that's had an

eye on me. Wanted for murder that's rich and that dumb dick, Joe Cardona, thinks he's going to grab me.

"Him? For two bits, I'd poke a gat in Cardona's ribs and take his badge from him. That's what I think of Joe

"Why are they hollering about me? Because I bumped off a flatfoot two weeks ago. That's not the only bird

I've plugged, but they're hollering because a dumb cop got his. Let 'em holler! When I feel like it, I'll go

A pause. Gloating smiles showed that Deek's confidence was impressing his followers. The very fact that

Deek was here in the badlands showed his disregard for the police who sought his trail.

Eying his companions in crime, the gang leader saw that he had gained his point. It was now possible for him

to proceed with cautious remarks without damaging the authority that he held over his band.

"The trouble here in New York," declared Deek, "is too many cops. They pile up on you before the job is

"That ain't all. There's too many stools here in town. They know me and they can spot this scratch I've got

on my jaw. It's O.K. for you fellows to lay around here until I want you but it's best for me to be out of the

Nods. One of the mobsters tapped the table with his knuckles; then ventured a chance remark.

"You got the right idea, Deek," he declared. "Between the cops and the stools, a guy's got to keep his mug

"The Shadow!" Deek snarled the name with contempt. "Listen to that, you fellows! Bulker, here, is talking

HEADS shook as Deek looked about the circle. The gang leader grunted new contempt. Before he could

make another statement, there was a rap at the door. A new mobster entered as Deek growled.

"Hello, Gringo," greeted Deek. "Sit down here and listen to the pipe that Bulker just made. He's talking

"Say who is The Shadow? I'll tell you a guy that goes around in a black shirt and mooches in on jobs. He

ain't never given us no trouble and he never will. Say have any of you bimbos ever seen The Shadow?"

"The guys that have seen him," protested "Bulker" weakly, "ain't around to tell it."

"Yeah?" Deek laughed, "Well, if The Shadow ever tries to cross me, he'll get his! What say, Gringo?"

The newcomer raised his hands for silence. There was something in his manner that betokened tenseness.

All sat silently Deek included as "Gringo" approached the table and leaned forward. A hardfaced

rowdy, the toughest of Deek's henchmen, Gringo's manner of unfeigned alarm commanded interest.

"Listen, Deek." Gringo was serious. "You've been out of sight for a while. You don't know what's been going

on and neither does the rest of the mob because they ain't in the know. What I'm going to give you now is

Gringo shook his head emphatically. "The Shadow is out he's a hasbeen compared to the guy that's in the

picture now. Say you know how The Shadow works. Lays back and watches then hits some big shot or

"The Shadow's tough all right, but while he's on one trail, the others are running wild. That's because The

"I'm not talking about The Shadow," interrupted Gringo. "Listen, Deek what would you say to a guy that

began knocking off big birds while they were laying quiet? Picking them before they had a chance to move?"

"A fellow that calls himself The Cobra." Gringo's tone was an awed whisper. "He spots his man when the guy

has a crowd about him. He walks in and bags the guy he wants. You know what happened to Hunky Fitzler,

"The guy with the apartmenthouse racket? Sure somebody gave him the works up in that swell joint of his

"That's right. And I'll tell you who put Hunky on the spot. It was The Cobra. What's more, he bumped Cass

Rogan, the guy that had the gambling racket sewed up. There were fellows that saw him do it!"

"You're right they ain't! I'll tell you why. When you see a big shot get his and know that that guy who did it

Deek considered. At last he nodded; his face was sober. Gringo added a pointed remark.

"I'm telling you this, Deek," he warned, "because you're big enough to have The Cobra on your trail. I'm

telling you The Cobra is lopping them off. They say The Shadow listens in well, The Cobra walks in

DEEK HUNDELL thumped his powerful fist on the table. His snarling growl broke off Gringo's discourse.

The wide flame of the gas jet wavered beside the door. Deek's sullen face gleamed viciously in the light.

"Forget this hokum!" he rasped. "We ain't got time for pipe dreams. The Shadow ain't never tackled this mob

"I'm going to give you fellows the dope on tomorrow night. I'm only waiting for Corky Gurk to show up, so

he'll be in on it, Then I'm sliding out that hall to the street and you birds can ease into the joint down in the

cellar. Onebyone get me? There's nobody ever wised up this meeting place yet and there ain't nobody

Deek stopped as a rap sounded at the door. Mobsters started. Deek laughed; then scowled as he saw them

"That's Corky," he scoffed. "Time he was here. Who did you think it was? The Cobra?"

The mobsters joined in the laugh as Deek, half rising from his chair had his hands upon the edge of the table

The door opened. It seemed to swing inward of its own accord. Each mobster, showing indifference, was

Suddenly wild gasps came from bloated lips. Deek Hundell alone gave no outcry. His scarred face was

IN the doorway was a grotesque figure that looked like nothing human, although it had the stature of a man.

Clad from head to foot in a closefitting, dark brown jersey, this individual was entirely masked.

The single garment formed thick wrinkles on the limbs and body. About the narrow jersey, it terminated in a

There was something snakelike in the costume; but the feature that gave it weird realism was the hood which

Two white spots appeared like eyes, about them, broad white circles that terminated in downward pointing

lines. The effect was that of a terrifying face which seemed to survey the startled mob with expressionless

There was no mummery about The Cobra's painted visage. The gangsters who saw it cringed as though it had

been a living countenance. It was a sign; an identity that brought instant recognition. Men of crime were

To each gazer, the eyes of The Cobra's hood seemed fixed in his direction. Then came The Cobra's warning

a hiss that sizzled from lips beneath the hood the perfect mimicry of a snake about to strike!

Like a flash, a hand swung from the central fold of the pleated brown jersey. A revolver glistened beneath the

gaslight. Deek Hundell, an answering snarl coming from his own lips, yanked a gun from a pocket to meet

The new avenger had hissed his warning. His swift revolver was the coming stroke. Deek Hundell,

Gangster eyes were bulging. Hands were trembling. The witnesses of the duel were powerless. Beyond the

door to the front room, other eyes were on the scene. Another hand was acting. The Shadow, sensing grim

Stern avenger who roamed the underworld, The Shadow had become the witness to the power of a new figure

THE sound of The Cobra's venomous hiss ended with the bark of the revolver. Deek Hundell, rising, stopped

short. The gun which he had whipped from his pocket dropped from loosening fingers. The gang leader

clapped his hand to his stomach; his snarling lips twisted in agony as Deek collapsed face forward on the

Deek's henchmen were stunned. Then came another hiss. Wild eyes stared at the smoking gun barrel in The

Cobra's hand. They saw a brown arm sweep upward to the gas jet; a twist the room was plunged in

The Cobra's form was blurred, except for its hood. There, against a darkened background, glowed the painted

eyes and their surrounding lines. Weirdly luminous, The Cobra's false face was peering toward the gangsters

Then came a sweeping barrier the closing door. A fierce hiss dwindled as The Cobra swung the portal

An oath came from Gringo's lips. A flashlight glimmered in the mobster's hand. It was followed by others, as

Deek Hundell's cohorts suddenly sprang to avenge the death of their murderous chief.

Gringo was the first to reach the gloomy hall. The action required a leap across the room; then the opening of

"I'll take the back stairs," he rasped. "You're with me, Bulker. The rest of you pile into that front room

There was a call from below. Gangsters in the underground dive had heard the muffled sound of The Cobra's

shot. They were coming to find out what had happened. Gringo shouted down as he headed towards the back.

The body of Deek Hundell lay sprawled upon the table where it had collapsed. The mobsters had piled from

the room; now the door that adjoined from the front was open. The Shadow, standing in the dim gloom, was

SWIFT had been The Cobra's work. The killing the departure both had been timed with precision. The

Shadow had come here to forestall Deek Hundell's plans for crime. The Cobra had gone The Shadow one

The Shadow held no grief for Deek Hundell. The man was a selfadmitted murderer. He had deserved to die.

The ringleader of a dangerous mob, his death meant the end of that gang's crimes; for Deek Hundell had held

For once, The Shadow had been forced to stand by as a mere watcher while another hand of vengeance had

Gringo, the gangster, had spoken well when he had described this new avenger as a rising menace to the

underworld. The Cobra had struck in the presence of a crowd of witnesses. His deed was one that would

A whispered laugh came from The Shadow's lips. It was a tense, foreboding laugh one that told of

The Cobra had made a perfect getaway. Maddened gangsters, augmented by those below, were turning this

hovel into a hornet's nest. The Shadow, silent witness of The Cobra's might, was left in the thick of it!

Mobsters were coming now back into the room where Deek's body lay. They were lighting the gas while

The Shadow had locked that door behind him. Swiftly, he was regaining the front room through the

connecting door. He closed the barrier as the gas came on. He turned the lock and stood silently in darkness.

Mobsters were working at the connecting door. They had hopes that The Cobra might be here.

The Shadow was faced by a dilemma. His choice lay between a quick departure or a futile struggle.

The Shadow was a fighter who did not deal in flight, save when it formed a portion of his strategy. Tonight,

He could gain nothing by remaining. Mobsters would fight The Shadow as quickly as they would The Cobra;

and the hordes of gangland would know that The Shadow had stood idly by while his new rival had delivered

Picks had failed on the door from the hall. Mobsters were battering the barrier as The Shadow swept to the

front window of the upstairs room. Up came the sash. The Shadow's tall form swung over the sill, just as the

Two gangsters tumbled as the door gave. Behind them was a third, holding a bull'seye lantern; beside him,

As chance had it, the rays of the lantern shone straight upon the open window. A cry came from the mobster

REVOLVERS barked wild shots as the gunmen responded to their companion's shout. Had The Shadow

continued his swing from the window, the next shots would have beaded him. Instead, The Shadow delivered

Clinging to the sill, he swung his right hand inward and pressed the trigger of a mammoth automatic. His

target was the bull'seye lantern. Darkness, crashing glass, and the howl of the wounded lanternholder was

Again, the automatic spurted flame. Tongues of fire; driving bullets that smashed hot against the walls of the

hallway sent mobsters ducking for cover. Amid the echoes of the gunshots came the strident tones of The

Time was precious. More than twenty mobsters were close by; should The Shadow remain, this room would

With a sweep through the window, The Shadow poised with one hand clutching the sill; then dropped catlike,

The plunge was timely. Mobsters had reached the street. They had heard the bark of guns from above. With

The Shadow's poise, flashlights glimmered upon the window just in time to reveal the huddled shape in

Down came the glimmers. Focused lights played on The Shadow's shape as it showed, halfsprawled upon

the sidewalk. Cries of recognition; shouts of triumph! These came as the men with the flashlights aimed

They had reckoned wrong. The Shadow, as he took the plunge, knew that split seconds would be precious.

The fall had neither stunned nor crippled him. He had chosen to use his guns instead of rising.

Automatics blazed. They were held by hands that were less than two feet above the sidewalk. Crouching with

back against the brick wall of the old house, The Shadow delivered an enfilading fire along the street.

Gangsters staggered or dived for cover. The Shadow, rising as he pressed the triggers, sent shots that

ricocheted from walls and paving. The street was cleared except for a trio of crippled mobsters who had

The Shadow's laugh came in ringing challenge. His emptied automatics dropped beneath the folds of his

cloak. Another pair of .45s fully loaded appeared instead of the exhausted weapons.

LEAPING from the wall, like a black projectile, The Shadow gained the center of the street in two quick

bounds; there, still moving toward the opposite side, he whirled and brought his automatics into play.

The Shadow did not choose men as his targets. Instead, he picked the spots where men must be. The doorway

through which he had trailed Deek Hundell; the entrance of an alleyway, thirty feet along the street; the front

windows of the old house one on the ground floor; the other on the second the very window through

These were the points upon which The Shadow rained his leaden hail. As The Shadow fired, shots came from

His retreating figure, weaving toward the gloom of the opposite side of the street, was a hopeless target even

Bullets sizzed past that phantom shape in black. Metal messengers flattened against old walls beyond the

further sidewalk. A single shot that seared The Shadow's shoulder with a trivial flesh wound was the closest

Doorways and windows these were the targets which The Shadow had chosen. It was purely through

superiority of numbers that the mobsters had gained their chance to open fire. The Shadow's shots, blazing

Quick shots sent mobsters scurrying back along the alleyway. Timely bullets picked two gangsters at the

door; one crumpled within the doorway, the other staggered back. Shots to the downstairs window dropped a

A gangster, leaning from the secondstory window, was aiming for the last spot where he had seen an

automatic spurt. He never found his target. The Shadow's bullet clipped the mobster's shoulder. His revolver

dropped from his hand and clattered to the sidewalk. Then, with a wild scream, the mobster lost his hold and

As this final enemy landed head first upon the paving. The Shadow's laugh came as a mocking peal.

The mobster's rolling form lay still. It was the last motion in the street. The Shadow had gained the passage

between the buildings opposite. Stanch warrior of the night, he had returned to darkness.

POLICE whistles were sounding in the distance. Cries rose from afar. Excitement was arising in this section

The Shadow no longer remained in the vicinity where confusion reigned. His was a fleeting figure, traveling

unfrequented byways. The swish of a cloak; the soft whisper of a laugh; these alone marked The Shadow's

The Shadow had fought well tonight, yet he had been forced to a struggle which he had not sought. Battling

for his own protection, he had borne the brunt of a conflict which another had precipitated.

Hollow victory had been The Shadow's gain. It was The Cobra who had won tonight. The new avenger who

had risen to strike down fiends of crime had not only gained the end which he had sought; he had left The

What Gringo had told Deek was true. The famed might of The Shadow was on the wane. One whom the

underworld had feared was giving way to a new and more destructive warrior The Cobra.

Terror swiftness action these were the weapons with which The Shadow had kept the hordes of

gangdom at bay. Another had adopted those very methods; The Cobra was using them with repeated strength

What was the meaning of this rivalry? Only The Shadow knew; and his whispered, fleeting laugh was the

It was The Cobra who had won. He had delivered vengeance while The Shadow tarried!

The headlines of Manhattan dailies screamed this legend. The killing of Deek Hundell, added to the deaths of

Yet rumors not facts were all upon which the reporters could draw. Men of gangdom, though they might

mutter among themselves, were loath to talk freely of the new scourge that had arrived within their midst:

Of all the readers of crime news, none could have displayed more interest than a dignified, grayhaired man

who was seated at the table in a large, wellfurnished study. This individual wore a quiet smile as he read the

wild accounts in the newspapers that were spread out before him. He seemed to be amused by the manner in

A telephone rang. Still reading a newspaper, the grayhaired man reached for the instrument and spoke

"This is Caleb Myland speaking... Yes... Hello, Townsend... No, I don't expect to be in town on Thursday...

Sorry, old man... Tonight? No, I'm staying here on Long Island. An important appointment..."

Caleb Myland hung up the receiver and continued his perusal of the newspapers. He looked up as the door

The servant left. A minute later the visitor entered. Caleb Myland arose to shake hands with Ralph Weston,

RALPH WESTON was a heavily built man of military bearing. His face was a firm one; a pointed mustache

added to its commanding appearance. A man of middle age, Weston had the vigor of youth and a dynamic

At the same time, his expression was a troubled one, and his eyebrows narrowed as he noted the newspaper

spread on Caleb Myland's table. Weston's first action, after seating himself, was to indicate the journals with

"Yes," returned the grayhaired host. "From what you told me over the telephone, Weston, I assumed that the

news reports would have some bearing on your visit here. I was looking for information, I found very little."

Weston helped himself to a cigar from a box which Myland placed beside him. The grayhaired man had

taken his chair beyond the table. There was something in his manner that gave him the appearance of a

counselor. Weston noted it. The commissioner's troubled look faded to some degree.

"Myland," said Weston, seriously, "you have given me excellent advice on occasions in the past. I need your

"Yes," admitted Weston. "Something is going on in the underworld something more baffling than any

phase of crime we have ever known. You, Myland, are a criminologist of international repute. Your books on

crime have formed a foundation for the study of the criminal mind. I want your opinions and your advice."

"Good. I want to ask you a question to begin with. Did you ever hear of a person called The Shadow?"

Caleb Myland stared solemnly. He made no reply for a moment; then nodded slowly.

"I do not know," declared Myland. "In a sense, The Shadow is a myth. He is supposed to be a master who

"Exactly!" interposed Weston. "That is why, Myland, I officially labeled The Shadow as a nonexistent

"Yes, I had a lot of trouble with my best detective Joe Cardona. He insisted upon working The Shadow into

his reports. He finally dropped that policy until now. Cardona is working on these mysterious deaths that

have occurred in the underworld. Yesterday, he came to me with the astounding statement that he could not

"Yes and more. I put that very question to Cardona and he came back with a most astounding answer. He

wants it to be conceded that The Shadow is a figure who enters the affairs of the underworld; more than that,

he wants me to accept the fact that there is another crime fighter of equal mystery a new fighter who calls

"The Cobra?" questioned Myland. "I have heard talk of The Shadow but never of The Cobra. This is indeed

"Either amazing or insane," corrected Weston. "Cardona had his nerve to bring up the matter of The Shadow.

When he added to that by introducing The Cobra, his boldness passed all belief."

"No. He requested a chance to convince me. He said that all the underworld is talking of The Cobra; that

Deek Hundell was killed by The Cobra in the presence of half a dozen mobsmen. He added that The Shadow

was seen in the same vicinity; that the sanguinary fray which followed Hundell's death was a fight between

"He is bringing a man to testify in his behalf. For several years, Myland, we have used the services of

undercover investigators who represent a higher group than stool pigeons. One of these is a man called

"Gorgan." Myland was thoughtful. "Ah, yes he used to run a small pawn shop. He sold out his business

after he became a dope addict. He deals in petty crime, spends all his money on dope, and is regarded with

"From my files," returned the criminologist, with a smile. "In studying crooks, I have gained sketches of

many characters in the underworld. Crawler Gorgan is one; I happened to remember his story as it looked like

an unusual case. It is news to me, however, to learn that Gorgan has served as a police agent. I suppose that

"It is," assured Weston. "Gorgan has played an excellent part. Always undercover, he forms contact only with

certain men from headquarters. Joe Cardona is one. Gorgan has given us some excellent reports, which I've

"Hence when Cardona told me that Gorgan could substantiate his statements concerning The Shadow and

The Cobra, I told him to bring Gorgan to me in person. That is why I arranged for them to come here

"Here," repeated Weston. "Myland" the commissioner leaned forward and brought his heavy fist

emphatically to the table "I want to settle this matter. No detective not even Joe Cardona has the real

insight into gangland. They all go by what stool pigeons tell them; by what they force out of smallfry

crooks. If Gorgan can amplify Cardona's statements, I can count on them. If not well Cardona can turn in

"A valuable man, Cardona," observed Caleb Myland. "I have heard much about his work. But why, Weston"

Myland was smiling dryly "did you arrange to have the interview here? You told me merely that you

"I'm not sure of anything, Myland," returned Weston, soberly. "I've fought against these rumors concerning

The Shadow, but I must admit that things have happened which made me believe that such a personage might

"So long as the efforts of this being mythical or otherwise were a retarding influence to crime, I felt that

the matter could pass. Imagine it, Myland! A weird creature crookhunting in the underworld, terrifying

"Now there are two! The Shadow and The Cobra! Crooks have been put on the spot. The underworld is in a

furor. Can I, as the highest police official in New York, stand by and view this turmoil as a mystery?"

"No," returned Myland, quietly. "You cannot afford to do so, Weston. You are wise to have arranged this

meeting here. I take it that you want my opinions on what Cardona and Gorgan have to say?"

"Very well. I shall aid you. I can promise you that my analysis will prove of value. If "

Myland paused to look toward the door. Babson was standing there. At Myland's wave, the servant entered,

"For Commissioner Weston, sir," said Babson, "Two gentlemen are here to see him."

Weston opened the envelope and read words scrawled on a card within. He nodded as he turned to Myland.

As Babson left, Commissioner Weston settled back in his chair. Caleb Myland copied the motion. Their faces

showed intense interest as they waited the entry of Joe Cardona and "Crawler" Gorgan.

THE two men who next entered Caleb Myland's study presented a marked contrast. To a criminologist such

One was a swarthy, darkhaired fellow of short, stocky build. His face, firmjawed and stern, showed his

bulldog characteristics. Myland needed no introduction to learn the man's name. This was Detective Joe

With the sleuth was a tall, stoopshouldered individual, whose pasty face and nervous twitch were suggestive

of the dope addict. The man's eyes were blinking in the light. In his scrawny hands, he held an old felt hat

Cardona made the introduction in gruff manner. He pointed to his companion as he spoke to the

Rising, Weston proffered his hand. Gorgan accepted it awkwardly. He showed a trace of firmness in his

grasp. Weston, turning, introduced both men to Caleb Myland. The criminologist merely bowed and pointed

"Cardona," announced Weston, "I have told Mr. Myland substantially what you told me. I said that you were

bringing Gorgan here to add his statements to your own. Mr. Myland is a criminologist of high repute. I want

him to hear Gorgan's testimony. After that, Cardona, you will be free to add further remarks of your own."

Cardona nodded as the commissioner ceased speaking. Weston and Myland sat silent. Cardona took this as

Gorgan licked his puffy lips. His blinking ceased momentarily as he turned his eyes back and forth from

Weston to Myland. The man seemed to be steadying himself to talk. When his voice came, it delivered direct

"I look like a hophead," declared Crawler Gorgan. "I ain't one, though. Joe here told you that,

commissioner. I used to run a hockshop; and when I saw I was likely to get listed as a fence, I made a deal

"I knowed the joints and I knowed the crooks. I wasn't one of them, but it didn't take much to make them

think I was. They all knowed Crawler Gorgan yeah, they thought they did, the scum!

"I wouldn't play no stoolie why should I? I'd never done nothing against the law. But when I got the chance

to work undercover, I took it. Down in the Tenderloin, they figured poor Crawler Gorgan had gone blooie."

Crawler paused to grin. He raised his right hand and rubbed it along his nose in the manner of a cocaine

"That's what they think I am," resumed Crawler. "A dope. The hockshop sold out; I hang around the joints;

and they figure I pull some small jobs every now and then. All the time I'm listening and what I get goes to

"I AM aware of that, Gorgan," stated Weston. "You have an inside knowledge of affairs in the underworld.

Therefore, I want you to answer this question. Have you ever seen a mysterious personage called The

"The Shadow!" Crawler blinked as he uttered the name. "Say, commissioner, it didn't use to be healthy to see

"But there's some that have seen The Shadow and I've heard what they've had to say. They were birds who

didn't get too close like them that was battling with The Shadow the other night, after Deek Hundell got

"No. I'll tell you who got Deek. It was another guy that's beating The Shadow at his own game. Listen,

commissioner. The Shadow don't pick the open. He stays in the dark and when he comes out of it, he's ready

for business. That's why he's a mystery. All in black with eyes that glitter like fire. That's The Shadow!

When he opens up with those big automatics of his, there's no stopping him. When he's through, he slides

"He's different." Crawler's tone was emphatic. "The Cobra is out for the big shots, commissioner. He picks

the guy he wants; then walks in and gets him. He don't wait, like The Shadow does, until there's some crime

being done. He lops off the big boys right when they don't expect it and he likes to have witnesses on

"Me? Not yet. But I've met a dozen guys that have seen him. When he bumped Deek Hundell, there was a

whole crew there. The Cobra comes in on them" Crawler paused to make his description graphic "right

through a doorway. He was dressed in a sort of sweater all brown with a hood over his head. Painted eyes

"They say Deek Hundell didn't have a chance. The Cobra plugs him and douses the light. Bang goes the door

and there's a bunch of scared guys sitting around with Deek laying dead. That's the way The Cobra worked."

"Cardona tells me," observed Weston, "that The Shadow figured on that occasion."

"Yeah," asserted Crawler Gorgan. "That was the part that came after. The Cobra made his getaway; and the

crew didn't have no chance to stop him. They were looking for The Cobra and they found The Shadow."

"Nobody knows. Some guys have figured it out that he was checking up on Deek Hundell. Maybe he was out

to get Deek, too. Anyway, the Cobra got in ahead of him and left The Shadow holding the bag. The Shadow

COMMISSIONER WESTON pondered. Crawler Gorgan's story was convincing. Despite the fact that the

undercover man had seen neither The Shadow nor The Cobra, it was evident that he was telling accepted

"Cardona," Weston addressed the detective, "I find myself forced to accept your theories. I have doubted the

existence of The Shadow. I doubt it no longer. As for The Cobra well, I can supply a statement of my own."

Weston paused to puff reflectively upon his cigar. When he spoke again, he addressed Crawler Gorgan.

"You have told me something, Gorgan," he said, "that Cardona did not mention. You have spoken of The

"Two nights ago," resumed Weston, "I received a mysterious phone call. I heard a hiss over the wire for all

the world like the hiss of a snake and then a voice. It said: 'I am The Cobra. Tonight, I shall strike.' That

"I took it for a hoax. I hung up the receiver. That night, Deek Hundell was killed. The next day, Cardona

"You didn't tell me about the phone call, commissioner," observed Detective Cardona.

"There was no use," returned Weston. "I wanted to know more before I mentioned the fact. I am convinced

now that The Cobra is a figure in the affairs of the underworld; and I have every reason to expect that I shall

hear from him again. I made a mistake to hang up without engaging in conversation with this mysterious

Weston threw his cigar in an ash stand. His reflective tone turned to one of challenge. He pounded the table

"What is the game?" he questioned. "Who is The Shadow? Why has he been mixing in the underworld? Who

"I can tell you plenty about The Shadow," declared Joe Cardona. "I've seen him even if Crawler here hasn't.

He's pulled me out of jams and you, too, commissioner. You didn't know it, but I did; and if I'd tried to put

"Crooks are scared of The Shadow. He nails them when they're working. Some of the biggest crimes have

"I'll tell you about him." It was Crawler Gorgan who volunteered. "He's muscled in on The Shadow's game;

and he's pulling stuff The Shadow never did. He's knocking off the big shots, commissioner. They haven't got

WESTON wheeled toward Caleb Myland. The criminologist had been a close listener to all that had been

"What do you think of all this, Myland?" was Weston's question. "What is the game behind it? The Shadow

"The Shadow," observed Myland, "has long made it his business to offset crime. His work has been notable

"It is apparent that The Cobra has chosen a similar purpose. He is outdoing The Shadow. From Gorgan's

statements, it seems obvious that The Shadow's fame will wane while that of The Cobra rises."

"Granted," agreed Weston, "but what should I do about it? So long as The Shadow seemed a myth, I took it

for granted that if he did exist, his purposes were to be commended. Now matters are different. Can I afford

to keep hands off while two unknown individuals take the law into their own grasp?"

"So long as men such as Deek Hundell are the victims," declared Myland, "it is to your advantage to let The

"To accumulate power," added Weston. "Then, if they wish, to turn crooked. I want evidence, Myland

evidence that these fellows are on the level. Why should they fight crime to no gain? Answer that!"

Caleb Myland laughed. He leaned forward on the table and began to speak in the tone of a lecturer.

"There," he said, pointing to Joe Cardona, "is a man who could head the detective force of a goodsized city,

with twice the pay that he receives in New York. He prefers to retain his present job. Why? Because he likes

"There is another." Myland indicated Crawler Gorgan. "He has chosen to live in the underworld, posing as a

dope addict, risking his life should his true status as undercover man be discovered. Why does he keep up that

"You, Weston, are a man of high social standing. You could head a huge corporation. Instead, you retain the

office of police commissioner. Why? Because you have felt the challenge that crime offers.

"Let me speak for myself. I have wealth. Look at this home. Behind that paneled wall, I keep thousands of

dollars in my safe. I have fifteen bank accounts; and a private yacht that could take me anywhere.

"Instead, I stay here in New York, or visit other large cities; I go to prisons and view their conditions; I stroll

through districts where crime is fostered; and I complete the chain by writing books on criminology. Why?

Because I like to battle crime. Not for money not for glory but for the fascination that such work offers."

"Four of us," testified the criminologist, "are here in this room. We are all inspired by the same motive. We

like to meet crime and defeat it. We can say the same for The Shadow; and for The Cobra. They are crime

"I mean that too close contact with crime may cause an individual to embrace it. There is always the chance

of a crime fighter turning crook. For that reason, Weston, I always considered The Shadow as a danger. I feel

"Because of The Cobra. There are two in the field. Should one of them turn crook, the other will combat

"Ah!" Weston exclaimed in satisfied fashion. "You have struck it, Myland! Your statement is an excellent

"Easily. Two nights ago, The Cobra struck against crime. We know, therefore, that his motive was a good

"We must, therefore, analyze each episode in which either or both of these strange characters figure. Should

conflict arise between them, we can then tell which one has turned to crime. The law can side with the one

"Excellent, Myland!" exclaimed Weston, rising. "Such shall be our course. There is your duty, Cardona; and

yours, Gorgan. Learn all that you can regarding The Shadow and The Cobra. We must be ready for the

"All right, commissioner," said Cardona, grimly. "You can count on me. I'll let Gorgan duck back where he

"You will bring him here again," ordered Weston. "We are going to follow Mr. Myland's advice throughout

"That's all right, commissioner," interposed Crawler Gorgan. "I've got my own hideout; and when I duck out

of sight, nobody knows where I'm at. They didn't hand me my moniker for nothing. When I want to see Joe

Cardona, I call him; and nobody sees him meet me. I'll keep him posted, commissioner."

The detective and the undercover man made their departure. Ralph Weston remained a short while, to talk

Caleb Myland, criminologist, remained alone behind his big table. A smile showed on his keen face. Myland

Brilliant student of crime, Caleb Myland scented the approach of a strange combat which would develop

A CLICK sounded in a darkened room. A bluish light appeared in a corner; its downward shaded rays were

Into that sphere of light came two longfingered hands. Upon the left gleamed a sparkling gem that showed

This was the hidden room which The Shadow had long used as his headquarters. Once men of crime had

penetrated here; they had not lived to tell the location of The Shadow's sanctum.

Somewhere in Manhattan there lay the sanctum. The bluish light told the place; the sparkling gem, a

Long fingers opened envelopes. Clippings dropped upon the polished table. These were the accounts which

Caleb Myland had been reading in his study; they were amplified by later items. A day had passed since

The Shadow studied news reports. They spoke of confusion in the underworld. Events were impending in the

badlands. Big shots were in fear of their lives. The clippings failed to give the reason, but The Shadow knew

Into the realm of gangdom had come a fantastic figure whose quick strokes had raised him to the summit. For

years, The Shadow had been the unseen factor who had held the balance between justice and evil. His stern

The Shadow's course had been a wise one. Well did he know the value of keeping crime at bay. The

Shadow's strokes were body thrusts to the undying monster called crime. A being of retribution, The Shadow

The Cobra, apparently, was attempting the impossible. He was out to lop off heads. Hydralike, new ones

would form where the old had been. To The Shadow, The Cobra's course seemed futile.

That was not all. The Cobra, through his sudden rise as a terrorist, had become a problem to The Shadow.

The menace of The Cobra had eclipsed that of The Shadow. The episode that had marked the death of Deek

IN all his battles against men of evil, The Shadow had taken advantage of the one phobia that lurks in every

human brain fear. Crooks noted for their steady trigger fingers had faltered when they faced The Shadow.

The scene had changed. The Cobra was the new terror of the underworld. He had struck down Deek Hundell

amid a squad of protecting henchmen. Those men who had sat stupefied had later risen to do battle with The

True, The Shadow had won a fight against great odds; but he had waged a futile conflict. He had been forced

to retreat under fire. Skulking mobsters who had feared the very name of The Shadow were now boasting of

what they would do should they meet him. The prestige of The Shadow was at stake.

Another envelope came between The Shadow's hands. It held a message, written in code. The Shadow

A report from Cliff Marsland, The Shadow's agent in the underworld. A low, weird laugh whispered from the

In his report, Cliff had emphasized the very pointers that The Shadow had realized. The underworld was

speaking in awed tones of The Cobra; and boastful threats against The Shadow were being uttered in the

A pen appeared in The Shadow's hand. The fingers wrote brief comments that showed the trend of The

Shadow's thoughts. The master sleuth was analyzing the situation which confronted him.

How had The Cobra learned Deek Hundell's meeting place? The Shadow had picked up Deek's trail through

Harry Vincent, who had long been one of The Shadow's trusted agents. Harry had watched Deek at the

But The Cobra had used no watcher. Somehow, the new crime fighter had learned of the meeting spot

What was the answer? The Shadow's whispered laugh showed that his keen brain had found an inkling.

A tiny bulb glimmered on the wall beyond the table. A hand moved forward and plucked a pair of earphones

from the wall. The Shadow spoke in whispered tones. A quiet voice came over the wire:

The Shadow's whispered order seemed to cling with weird echoes. Burbank's statement came:

"Report from Marsland. At the Black Ship. Members of Heater Darkin's mob waiting for orders from their

"Instructions to Marsland," responded The Shadow. "Remain on duty. Side door code message."

The Shadow's laugh sounded as a sinister whisper. Through Burbank, his hidden contact man, The Shadow

had received this special word from Cliff Marsland. It was the very type of information for which The

CLIFF MARSLAND, when stationed in the underworld, had frequent opportunities to gain advance notice of

impending crimes. Accepted as a gunman of importance, Cliff had the run of various hangouts, including the

During the past few days, Cliff had been roaming the badlands at The Shadow's order. His present

information, concerning "Heater" Darkin, a notorious gang leader, was exactly what The Shadow wanted.

Here was opportunity. The Shadow specialized in swift strokes dealt while crime was taking place. Heater

Darkin was recognized as a big shot who dealt in merciless tactics. It was time that his evil career should be

Gangdom was talking of The Cobra. It was time that such talk should end. The trend of gangland's fears must

return to the master whose prestige The Cobra had usurped. The Shadow! His fame would benefit through a

A sibilant laugh crept through the confines of the sanctum. Black gloves appeared upon the table. Thin,

smooth fitting cloth, they slipped over the longfingered hands. Clippings and envelopes were pushed aside.

The swish of The Shadow's cloak sounded in the pitchblack gloom. Then came a repetition of The Shadow's

The gibing mirth came to a sudden ending. In its place were echoes that reverberated from jetblack walls, as

though uttered by a myriad of ghoulish tongues. The creepy echoes died. Complete silence followed.

The sanctum was empty. The Shadow had departed. Faring forth on a new mission, the master fighter was out

One was the cause of right: The Shadow's unceasing desire to bring disaster to crooks whom the law could

not forestall. The other was a vital point that concerned The Shadow's future dealing with affairs of the

Upon his success in frustrating Heater Darkin's culminating crime, The Shadow was staking his reputation as

SOMEWHERE in Manhattan. Such was the location of The Shadow's sanctum. The same phrase alone could

A stonewalled room, its musty, cobwebbed crevices gaping where plaster had fallen; a low ceiling from

which glowed a single frosted incandescent this was the spot which The Cobra had chosen for his

The furnishings of this room consisted of a table, a cot and two chairs. A rounded wicker basket of Oriental

design rested in one corner. At one side was a battered door, raised above a single stone step. Opposite,

One chair faced the wall. Directly in front of it was a projecting box that looked like a radio cabinet. This was

fitted with numbered holes, from one to thirtysix. Hanging in front were wired plugs. Wires ran from the big

Muffled footsteps clicked outside the room. The door opened above the step. The Cobra, clad in wrinkled

garb of brown, stepped into his lair. Behind him showed a dim stone stairway which he had used to reach this

The Cobra closed the door behind him. He moved toward the basket in the corner. He raised the lid and

uttered his strange hiss. An answer came from the basket; the hood of a snake rose into view.

The reptile was a cobra; its brown skin made it appear like a miniature of its master. A forked tongue darted

from the head above the hood. Again, The Cobra uttered his fierce hiss as he leaned toward the basket.

The venomous snake lowered its hood. The Cobra clapped the cover on the basket. His hiss had cowed the

THE COBRA seemed to enjoy this bit of byplay. His hiss became a chuckle as he approached the chair in

Seating himself, The Cobra waited. His weird hood with its painted front gave him a fierce appearance in the

dull light of the underground lair. A low buzz sounded from the box. The Cobra inserted a plug in an

The Cobra's hiss was the signal that connection had been formed. A voice came from the box on the wall; its

As he concluded the conversation with the hiss, The Cobra pulled the plug from the hole. He then moved the

plug along the line above and pressed it into a hole numbered eight. There was a short pause; then a voice:

The Cobra moved the plug to another hole. This time a voice reported as Fang Four. The speaker received the

same instructions as Fang Eight. Again, The Cobra plugged and gave the identical word to Fang Eighteen; his

Fangs of The Cobra! These were agents reached in some mysterious fashion through the telephone

connection of The Cobra's plugbox. In touch with workers in the underworld, The Cobra was utilizing a

Tonight, The Cobra was on the move. From his lair, this new power in the underworld was planning another

stroke. His men had been posted; the statement from Fang Eleven had caused The Cobra to order action by

The Cobra remained in his chair. He opened the bottom of the plugbox and drew forth an instrument. It was

A browncoated finger turned the dial. The sound of a busy signal came from the plugbox. The Cobra

This dial represented a portion of regular telephone equipment. By using it, The Cobra was connecting his

own apparatus with the regular telephone line. The person whom The Cobra had sought to call was evidently

AFTER a short wait, The Cobra again dialed the number. This time the connection formed. The sound of

ringing came from the plug box. Then a click; a brisk voice came from the cabinet.

The Cobra's prolonged hiss brought a startled gasp over the wire. There was a pause. Then, in a low voice,

"Follow instructions," hissed The Cobra, "and you shall be there. One false step your chance shall end. Do

"Fortyseventh Street west of Seventh Avenue," hissed The Cobra. "Ninethirty o'clock. Enter the gray

sedan that you will find waiting there. Bring one companion. That is all. Ssssss!"

The Cobra pressed the switch. The call was ended. The brownclad figure arose. The snakelike hiss sounded

He opened the door on the opposite side of the room. A large closet was revealed; hanging from hooks were

various garments, among them two other costumes that were identical with the one which The Cobra wore.

Pushing these aside, The Cobra reached to a shelf and obtained two articles: one a large revolver, the other a

The Cobra left the closet and closed the door. He went back to the switchboard and inserted a plug. A voice

"Ready!" warned The Cobra. "I shall want the coupe in fifteen minutes. At spot three."

The Cobra removed the plug. He strode to the door at the steps. The door closed behind him as he ascended

from the lair. Clicking footsteps came muffled from the stone stairs. The light in the lair went out.

LIKE The Shadow, The Cobra was moving to strike crime. Bold in the past, he had evidenced a new

disregard of hazard. The Cobra had extended an invitation to the police commissioner to witness the stroke

With the aid of those workers whom he had termed his fangs, The Cobra had prepared for this event. More

This night was destined to produce a new and startling chapter in the strange rivalry that had arisen between

Detective Joe Cardona nodded as heard the police commissioner's statement. Cardona was seated in the little

office of Weston's apartment. He had just heard the commissioner's account of the call from The Cobra.

"It was eightthirty when the call came in," continued Weston. "Just after I had hung up from my talk with

you. I knew that you were on the way here, so I didn't call back to headquarters. Instead, I telephoned to

"He was not at home," declared Weston. "Out of town, his servant said. I wanted to get Myland's advice.

However, I feel sure that he would recommend the course that I intend to follow."

"Exactly. Taking one man along with me. You, Cardona, are the man that I have chosen."

"You're running a risk, commissioner," declared Cardona, gravely. "This looks like a phony game to me. Let

"And ruin it?" The commissioner laughed. "No, Cardona, that would be futile. I have made arrangements for

our protection. I called Inspector Klein at headquarters, just before you arrived. He is sending men to act as

"Yes. I am in charge tonight, Cardona. I have made my plans. Come. We are going to Fortyseventh Street

As the two men rode in the commissioner's car, Weston recalled a question which he had intended to ask

Cardona. He put it eagerly, realizing that it might have a bearing on tonight's expedition.

"Yes, commissioner. About an hour before I called you. He hasn't learned anything new as yet. They're still

"This is no rumor, Cardona." Weston spoke with assurance. "That voice over the wire tonight was the same

one that spoke to me the evening that Deek Hundell was slain by The Cobra. Ah here we are. Come on;

WESTON and Cardona alighted near the spot appointed by The Cobra. There was no sign of the gray sedan.

Cardona noted two men standing a short distance from the curb. One was Detective Sergeant Markham; the

other, Detective Logan, both from headquarters. They had evidently been dispatched here by Inspector Klein.

It was exactly half past nine, by the big clock on the Paramount Building. Cardona turned to the

Weston stopped Cardona with a wave of his hand. Joe turned in the direction of the commissioner's gaze. A

gray sedan had pulled up by the curb. Weston stepped forward and accosted the driver; at the same time, he

made a beckoning motion which brought Markham and Logan from their spot of obscurity.

"Came here to get two passengers," returned the driver. "I guess you're the ones who are waiting."

"New Era Garage, over on Tenth Avenue. Fellow came in there tonight and hired this car."

"Down Sixth Avenue. The fellow that hired this car said a cab would pass us on the avenue. I'm to follow the

Weston turned toward Markham. The detective sergeant nodded. He and Logan hurried away. Weston

"Clever," mused Weston. "This driver knows nothing. Paid to take us down Sixth Avenue. Hmm. Wait until

The sedan had reached Sixth. It was rolling beneath the superstructure of the elevated. Past Thirtyfourth

Street, a cab swung by on the left. The taxi driver blew his horn; then slowed speed. Weston leaned to the

rear window of the sedan and drew a flashlight from his pocket. He flicked the light twice.

A black sedan swept past the gray. Cardona grinned. In the black car were Markham, Logan and other

detectives. Weston and Cardona watched the police sedan overtake the cab and order it to the curb.

"Pull up in back of the taxi," ordered Weston. The driver of the gray car complied.

Markham was quizzing the cab driver when Weston alighted on the sidewalk. The detective sergeant

The cab driver looked startled. The word "commissioner" had given him the identity of this big man with the

"I haven't been doin' nothin', commissioner," he said, "A bloke give me a ten spot an' told me to stick here on

"Down Fourth Avenue, commissioner," responded the cab driver. "Another cab is supposed to be waitin'

WESTON turned to Markham. He motioned to the detective sergeant and drew him aside. He called Cardona

"A clever game," asserted the commissioner. "There may be one cab after another. These chaps know nothing

"Follow us, Markham, until we reach our destination. Keep in the offing. Form a cordon and be ready for a

whistle. If it looks safe, Cardona and I shall go ahead alone. Do not approach unless you see my light; if we

The cab headed for Fourth Avenue. The gray sedan, with Weston and Cardona as occupants, took up the trail.

On Fourth Avenue, near Fourteenth Street, another cab rolled by and honked. The first cab pulled to the curb.

This vehicle headed eastward. The driver seemed to be following a charted course as he turned from street to

avenue. Suddenly another cab passed. Its horn blew. The second cab pulled to the curb; the third took up the

The course led to a dingy district. They had reached the fringe of the badlands when the cab came to a stop.

The sedan rolled up behind it. Weston bounded to the curb and spoke to the taxi driver.

"Is this where you were supposed to lead us?" he questioned. "How did you know where to stop?"

"I didn't know until just now," returned the cab driver. "I was told to come along this street until I saw a cab

Joe hurried ahead. He flashed his badge as he reached the cab. The driver growled.

"I figured it," he said. "Parked the wrong way, I knew somebody would land on me. I thought it would be a

"Forget it," rejoined Cardona. "What I want to know is how you came to be here."

"Don't think I'm cuckoo," said the driver. "A guy gave me ten bucks to pull up here and park with only one

light. He said if anybody asked me any questions, to tell them to go in that house over there."

The driver pointed to a dilapidated building on the other side of the street. Its windows were unlighted.

Cardona went back to where Weston was standing. He told the commissioner what he had learned. Weston

"These men know nothing," he again affirmed. "Check on their cab cards and order them to report to

While Cardona was doing this, Weston returned to the gray sedan and told the driver that he could go back to

"I was hired to wait here, sir," he said, "I guess they figured you would be going back. I'm to take you

THE cabs were pulling away. Weston beckoned to Cardona. The commissioner and the detective crossed the

"Ring the bell," ordered the commissioner. "We're going in here. We can summon Markham and his men if

we need them. There's a second police car with them; they'll surround the place after we enter."

The bell button failed to push. Cardona struck a match and examined it. He whistled softly.

"Say, commissioner!" he exclaimed. "I ought to have known this place. That bell's out of order, but there's a

"Yes, Old Growdy. This is where he lives. Worth a million dollars, they say. Owns a lot of real estate down

Cardona obeyed. The door was locked. Cardona produced a flashlight and examined the fastenings. He

"I can open this," declared Cardona. "It's an old lock I always carry a bunch of keys."

Cardona turned locksmith. He drew a ring of keys from his pocket and worked on the lock. He was

"Leave the door open," ordered the commissioner. "Come inside, Cardona. We'll wait here for five minutes,

The commissioner drew back his cuff to show the dial of his wristwatch. It showed the time as exactly ten

Standing in the darkened hallway, the police commissioner and the star detective tarried before keeping the

WHILE Commissioner Ralph Weston and Detective Joe Cardona were following The Cobra's lead to the

dilapidated abode of Old Growdy, Cliff Marsland was on the job at the Black Ship.

The Shadow's agent had picked a hot tip. When Heater Darkin and his crew forged forth on crime, the

underworld invariably found much to talk about. Buzzing rumors usually preceded Heater's expeditions; and

Heater Darkin, himself, avoided the Back Ship, but the notorious dive was a rendezvous for his henchmen.

Cliff Marsland, seated near the side door, had spotted four gangsters whom he knew were with Heater

This perplexed Cliff. It began to worry him. This quartet of mobsters represented less than half of Heater

Darkin's contingent. None of the others had appeared. Cliff wondered where they could be; and he decided to

There was something in Cliff Marsland's bearing that marked him apart from the crowd seen in the Black

Ship. Cliff was as firmjawed as any gangster; but there was an intelligence in his expression that placed him

This had its effect upon the mobsmen whom Cliff Marsland met. They recognized him as a superior.

Hence when Cliff arose from the table where he was sitting and sauntered across the room, the men whom he

approached looked up in greeting. Puffing at a cigarette, Cliff did not appear to notice any of them until a

Cliff had anticipated this. Nevertheless, he turned with feigned surprise. The man who had caught his arm

was "Bullet" Conray, one of Heater Darkin's lieutenants. He was the very man whose attention Cliff had

"Hello, Bullet." Cliff spoke in a matteroffact tone, "Didn't notice you sitting here. How's everything?"

"Taking it easy," returned Cliff, seating himself at Bullet's table. "Looks like you're doing the same."

Bullet laughed. The man showed the effect of liquor that he had been drinking. Cliff's reminder caused him to

"I've had enough," he grunted. "So've the other boys sittin' around here. I may get the word any minute now

an' it ain't good judgment to show up crocked when you're workin' for Heater Darkin."

CLIFF made no comment. He was lighting a fresh cigarette from the butt of the old one. His silence seemed

"I lay off the grog," he said, "when I go out on a job. But tonight's kinda different. Me an' these other guys

we're just waitin' here until we get a call from Heater. He ain't usin' a full crew tonight."

Cliff nodded as though he understood. Bullet reached for glass and bottle; then pushed the articles aside.

"Had enough," he insisted. "I don't want Heater to be sore. Maybe he's goin' to call me maybe he ain't. It all

depends on how much swag he gets. These gorillas here are waitin' for word from me. They don't know

"Raiding a warehouse, eh?" prompted Cliff. "Say when you've got to call in a fellow to lug away the swag,

"Warehouse?" Bullet snorted. "Say, Cliff" the tone was becoming confidential "you ought to know that

Heater Darkin don't go in for rackets like that. He's got somethin' big on tap. I'm tellin' you."

Bullet was reaching for the bottle. Cliff, in matteroffact fashion, plucked it away to pour himself a drink.

Bullet grinned. Cliff had saved him the trouble of denying himself another drink. Impressed by Cliff's

"Well, he's the guy that Heater's takin' tonight." Bullet's grin widened as the gangster spoke. "Nobody ever

"Yeah?" Bullet laughed. "Well, that's where you've been fooled, Cliff. Fooled like the rest of 'em. It took

Heater to get wise. Old Growdy's got a gold mine in that shack of his. Heater's goin' to get it."

"Gold hoardings, Cliff. A lot of silverware, that's real stuff. Heater's wise to plenty. Old Growdy's got a

regular mint in his cellar. When Heater finds the storeroom, he's goin' to call here over Old Growdy's own

Licking his lips, Bullet reached for bottle and glass. This time he poured himself a drink. It steadied him for

"Well" Bullet was speculative "maybe it ain't wise to talk the way I just done. That's all. I wouldn't have

"Listen, Bullet." Cliff's tone was firm but low. "I didn't ask you to talk. What you told me doesn't mean

"I'm here for the night," resumed Cliff. "If Heater's job goes blooie, it won't be on my account. But I'm giving

you some advice. If you're going out to haul swag, you'd better be sobered up. Take a walk you and the rest

WITH this statement, Cliff arose. He clapped Bullet on the shoulder and laughed. Apparently, he and Bullet

From the corner of his eye, Cliff noted the others who were members of Heater Darkin's corps. Like Bullet,

Strolling across the room, Cliff neared the side door and sat down to chat with a flatnosed mobster whom he

recognized. This fellow was not one of Heater Darkin's men. While he talked, Cliff watched Bullet Conray.

The gang lieutenant had remembered Cliff's advice. He was on his feet. Staggering slightly, he was

Bullet and two others arose and made for the side door. Cliff knew that Bullet must have instructed the fourth

member of the crowd to be on hand for the phone call. Bullet and the other pair were going out for air.

Cliff's right hand was in his side pocket. His fingers gripped a short, twoinch pencil and pressed its point

against a tiny pad. Secretly, Cliff was writing a brief, coded report. He released the pencil. He pulled the top

sheet from the pad and crumpled it into a pellet. Holding the tiny ball between his fingers, he arose from the

Bullet and his companions had gone outside. The last man was staring stolidly across the room. He was not

noticing Cliff Marsland. Lighting a cigarette, Cliff strolled to the side door and opened it. He stepped into the

Bullet and his companions were forty feet away, Cliff could hear their voices down the alley; by peering from

the edge of the doorway, he could glimpse the glowing ends of their cigarettes. To the right of the doorway

was the blackened niche of a boarded window. Glancing in that direction, Cliff saw nothing but darkness.

Yet he sensed that a personage was waiting in that gloom. Cliff raised his cigarette to his lips with his left

hand and gave short, quick puffs as a signal. In his right hand, he held the burnt match; with it the little paper

Beneath his hand, Cliff felt a slight swish of air. It was the only token of an unseen presence. Cliff knew that

his coded message and the match had dropped into the hand of an invisible watcher. In accord with Burbank's

Cliff swung back into the Black Ship. He dropped at the lone table which he had first occupied. He poured

out half a glass from his bottle and held the little tumbler in his hand. Slowly, his shoulders began to slouch.

A few minutes later, Bullet Conray entered. The sojourn in the fresh air had steadied the gang lieutenant and

The Shadow's agent was hunched in his chair. His left arm was stretched across the table. On it lay Cliff's

head, twisted sidewise. With outspread fingers, Cliff's right was clutching its halfemptied glass.

"Look at that guy," he snorted. "He told me a walk would do me good. He needs one himself but he don't

Ceasing his banter, Bullet drew his men to the table where the fourth member of the crew was sitting.

"Outside, Curley," he ordered. "Time you sobered up, too. Lay off the booze, you guys. I'm waitin' for a call

Another glance at Cliff. Bullet leered contemptuously. To all appearances, Cliff was out. Bullet's suspicions

were completely ended. He believed that Cliff had probably forgotten all that he had heard; of a certainty,

Cliff was in no condition to repeat or make use of anything that Bullet had told him.

If Heater Darkin should encounter trouble tonight, it could not possibly be of Cliff Marsland's making. So

Bullet Conray reasoned, totally oblivious to the fact that Cliff had already passed the word!

ONE block from the Black Ship, a fleeting patch of blackness passed beneath a blinking street lamp. A cloak

swished as a living form sought the shelter of a doorway. A tiny flashlight gleamed upon a crumpled scrap of

The keen eyes of The Shadow were reading Cliff Marsland's coded message. The flashlight went out. A

Each lamp along that street showed a passing splotch of black. The Shadow, informed of the spot where

It was a dozen minutes after ten o'clock when keen eyes peered toward a block of old and dingy buildings.

Between these dilapidated structures was a passage of cracked cement. As The Shadow watched, he saw a

squareset man pause at the entrance to the alley, then pass on toward the other side of the block.

The Shadow knew the identity of this watcher. A detective from headquarters. Some tip must have been

received there that Old Growdy was in danger. The Shadow was unperturbed. The forming of a police cordon

Swiftly, the tall form glided across the street. It reached the cement passage. The Shadow moved noiselessly

through the dark. He reached the back of a house which he knew to be Old Growdy's.

A squidgy sound came from the wall. The Shadow, equipped with suction cups attached to hands and feet,

was rising to the second floor. Crawling upward, The Shadow reached his goal. His form showed like that of

Window fastenings yielded noiselessly. The Shadow's form moved over the sill. From the second floor of Old

Growdy's obscure home, The Shadow was ready to begin his exploration in search of crime.

Somewhere in this house, Heater Darkin was at work. The Shadow was out to find the spot. He was planning

Yet even The Shadow did not know the surprising events that were already in the making!

THE SHADOW had chosen to enter Old Growdy's by the second floor because of the presence of the loose

police cordon. From Cliff Marsland's brief report, The Shadow knew that any hiding place of wealth would

doubtless be below ground. Hence his cautious course rendered so because police were in the offing was

The cordon which caused The Shadow to exert caution had a directly opposite effect upon two others who

were already in the house. Commissioner Ralph Weston and Detective Joe Cardona had begun a rapid

While The Shadow was coming in the secondstory window, Weston and Cardona were descending a flight

of steps that they found leading to the basement. They had spent several minutes on the ground floor before

The commissioner's flashlight was blazing its path to the darkened cellar. Cardona, close behind, was

whispering a protest against Weston's speed: one that the commissioner did not choose to heed.

"Come along, Cardona," ordered Weston, briskly. "I'll handle the light; you be ready with the whistle. We can

Weston was handling a revolver as he spoke. Cardona also had a gun in readiness. There was no arguing with

A passage stretched off to the right. It showed a door, opened inward. Weston moved forward and reached

A light showed dimly as the two peered past the doorway. It came from the right. This doorway was the

entrance to a second passage that led in that direction. Beyond was an illuminated room. Weston and Cardona

Near the door, the commissioner paused. Then, with Cardona, he began to edge forward. He whispered

instructions; Cardona began to nod in reply. Suddenly both men stopped short as a footstep clicked behind

"I got 'em!" snarled a rough voice. "Drop them gats, youse mugs, before I plug you!"

INSTINCTIVELY, Weston and Cardona let their revolvers fall. Their hands came up in response to the

menace from in back. At the same time, a grinning, hardfaced man popped into view beyond the door.

The big shot held a revolver with which he covered Weston and Cardona from in front. His grin turned to a

The scene that greeted commissioner and detective was a strange one. This room, buried below the level of

the street, was fitted like an office. Quivering in a chair behind a battered, flattopped desk, was an old man

Cornered by one wall was a trembling young man whose hands were upward. He was covered by a gangster,

who was also watching Old Growdy. This prisoner was evidently Old Growdy's secretary.

As Cardona and Weston backed against the wall at Heater Darkin's order, they saw the man who had covered

them from the passage. He was a twogun mobster who flourished his gats in businesslike fashion.

The twogun gorilla obeyed. Heater Darkin chuckled. Pocketing his own revolver, he strolled across the

"Visitors, eh?" he scoffed. "Joe Cardona the smart dick and say! Well, if it ain't the police

"Come here to make trouble, eh?" he snarled. "Well, you'll see it but you won't make it. You know who I

am. They call me Heater Darkin. I'm the boy that gives the heat. I'll let you watch me hand it.

"Dumb clucks! Coming down those steps with a flashlight. Luke here saw the flash. That's why I stuck him

behind the door in the passage just to trap you guys. If there's any more of you, it'll be bad for them. I've got

Heater laughed raucously. Then, continuing to relish this situation that had brought the police commissioner

"I guess Old Growdy suspected trouble," he scoffed. "Sent word out and you came down here to see what

was the matter. Well there's one thing Old Whiskers kept to himself. That was his own private entrance to

"That door you just came through has a steel front. It was locked and Old Growdy and this bird Tomkins, his

secretary, were here in this room. Going over accounts. Safe behind a steel door and very safe because of

Heater Darkin pointed to a panel at the side of the room. Weston and Cardona could see that it might be the

"You guessed it," jeered Darkin. "An underground passage that leads a block away. If you've got any smart

"I learned about that passage. I brought my crew in from the other end. I got a guy waiting back where we

"Do you know what's coming off here? I'll tell you. I'm going take Old Growdy's swag out through that

"What's more, nobody's going to stay around to squawk. Old Growdy gets the works and so does Tomkins.

Maybe you two get it, too. Maybe you'll go along with me. But there's no shooting coming until Old

WHEELING, Heater turned to Eliaphas Growdy. The old man trembled as he saw the viciousness of the

"Listen." Heater's tone was hard. "Just because two mugs blew in here, don't think you've got a chance. You

saw what happened to them. That's why I opened the steel door; just to nab any smart eggs who might come

"I shall tell you nothing," quavered Old Growdy. "If you intend to kill me, why should I speak?"

Striding past the desk, Heater reached to the floor. With one hand he seized both of Growdy's legs. He gave a

twist that sent the old man revolving in his swivel chair. The turn ended as Heater plopped Growdy's feet

"Look at those old shoes!" scoffed Heater. "Saving every penny, you old miser. Well, Whisker Face, here go

Roughly, the crook tore the shoes from Growdy's feet. The old man's toes showed through holes in the ends

"That makes it simple," he asserted. "All set. Here's where I give the heat. Ever have your toes singed, Old

Bringing his left arm down on Growdy's ankles, Heater produced a matchbox. He held it in his left hand. He

extracted a match with his right. He lighted the match. He brought the flame close to the old man's toes and

"Want more?" snarled Heater, as he struck another match. "Want more? Or are you going to squawk?"

Old Growdy tried to squirm away. He was helpless. He shrieked as the second match approached his toes. He

was clasping his hands in agony, swaying back and forth in the swivel chair, while Heater watched him

WESTON and Cardona stood helpless. The commissioner was wild with repressed fury at sight of this

preliminary torture. Cardona was grim. Yet neither could make a move, in the face of the two revolvers that

Biting his lips, Commissioner Weston turned his head away as the second match went out. He knew that this

first torture was but a taste of what was to come. Heater had not commenced to work. He was bringing out a

Futilely, Weston stared toward the panel on the opposite side of the room, as though expecting aid from that

quarter. The commissioner, alone, was gazing toward the secret exit. Hence he was the only person to witness

With a slight click, the panel slid open. Framed before a dim background stood the most fantastically garbed

man that Weston had ever seen. Clad from head to foot in a wrinkled brown jersey, this tall arrival was

Part of the brown garment, the hood was painted in fantastic fashion. Circles of dull white; tapering lines

below them these gave the head the exact appearance of a cobra's hood, with a topping bulge above it.

A gasp came from the lips of Commissioner Ralph Weston. Into this scene of terror had come the man whose

EVEN as Commissioner Weston gasped, The Cobra took action. He had walked into a setup. All that he

needed was promptitude and nerve. His revolver spurted as he whipped it from his jersey.

The Cobra had picked Luke. His bullet found its mark in the gorilla's body as Luke turned to learn the cause

The gangster who was guarding Tomkins swung also. He did not have a chance. Before he could aim, The

Cobra had swung the revolver in his direction. Again the brown finger pressed the trigger. The second

Leaping up from the table where he was holding Old Growdy by the ankles. Heater Darkin turned to face this

foe. His plight was worse than that of his henchmen. The Cobra had caught them unaware. He now had

Heater Darkin unarmed. The big shot fumbled in his pocket, seeking his revolver.

The Cobra had reserved his warning hiss for the one man whom he had come to get. He had shot the others

The hiss ended while Heater was still striving to yank out his gun. Deliberately, The Cobra fired. Heater

For one long moment, The Cobra stood watching the body of his victim. Then, with a backward step, he went

Weston turned as he heard the cry from Joe Cardona. Luke, the big twogun gorilla, was swinging a revolver.

The Cobra's shot had wounded his left arm; his right was still ready with its gat.

Cardona was leaping for Luke as he cried his warning. The detective delivered an upward swing that sent

With a snarl, the big gunman dived for the passage. Cardona snatched up the gun that had dropped from

Luke's left hand. Weston seized the revolver that had been held by the gangster who had covered Tomkins.

The secretary had rushed to aid Old Growdy, who was now slumped helplessly in his swivel chair.

Cardona fired down the passage. His aim was wide. Bullets ricocheted past Luke, who was fleeing to the

other end. Cardona hurried after; Weston followed. They reached the door where the passage turned.

Cardona was first. The detective stopped short. As he clicked a flashlight toward the cellar stairs, he realized

that he was trapped. Luke had turned; with the big man was a second mobster. For the first time. Cardona

remembered what Heater Darkin had said about another gorilla stationed in the cellar.

SEEKING safety, Cardona dropped to the floor, firing wildly. He slipped as he tried to dive back along the

Then came a roar from the cellar stairs. It was repeated with quick precision. Cardona's flashlight, turning

upward, showed the mobsters toppling. For a brief instant, it revealed a form in black; but Cardona did not

Weston was standing above Cardona. The commissioner was following Cardona's wild shots with bullets of

his own. His own flashlight gleamed as Cardona's dropped. Weston ceased firing as he saw the two bodies of

The commissioner's words reached the darkened stairs. They brought a faint, whispered murmur of a laugh

The master fighter had reached the cellar stairs just as The Cobra was making his departure from the room

below. Before The Shadow had gained the bottom of the steps, Luke had come dashing forth from the

Waiting, The Shadow had seen the arrival of Joe Cardona. With timely precision, he had saved the life of the

detective; and probably that of Commissioner Weston, for the latter had come blundering after Cardona.

As The Shadow lingered to make sure that all was well, the door swung open at the top of the cellar steps.

The Shadow pressed against the wall. A flashlight glimmered past him. The voice of a detective came down

It was Commissioner Weston who shouted in reply. His words were an order to the man above.

"Search the house!" he cried. "There may be more of these crooks. Let no one out! Close the cordon!"

The detective shouted the order to those on the ground floor. Then he began to descend the stairs. He twisted

his flashlight as he came downward. Its rays flickered squarely on The Shadow. The detective let out a shout

The sleuth failed to fire the shot that he intended. Like a flash, The Shadow sprang forward and upward. His

powerful hands caught the detective's wrists. Flashlight and gun went bouncing down the steps as the startled

A twisting hold sent the detective sidewise. The man gripped the rail of the cellar steps to save himself.

Dazed by the swift attack, he clung there, as The Shadow sprang upward to the door above.

Detectives were in the hallway as The Shadow appeared. They whipped out revolvers, in accordance with

Weston's instructions to let no one escape. The Shadow was quicker; an automatic showed in his right hand.

The Shadow made the stairs to the second floor. As he swept rapidly upward, the balked detectives fired.

The Shadow reached the rear window on the second floor. As he raised the sash, a flashlight gleamed from

the alleyway beneath. The shout of a detective came from behind the light. The Shadow hurried back to the

THE inside detectives were at the top of the stairs. One shouted as he spied The Shadow. He fired again too

late. The Shadow was on his way, still moving upward; this time to the third floor of Old Growdy's home.

The Shadow reached the top of those steps as the detectives neared the bottom. His flashlight glimmered. It

Out went the flashlight. Turning deliberately to the steps, The Shadow fired two quick shots, aimed high.

They served their purpose. The detectives dived away from the bottom of the stairs. They shouted below for a

A whispered laugh came from the dark. The Shadow's cloak swished as its wearer swung himself upward

upon the newel post at the top of the steps. Firm hands pressed against the trapdoor in the ceiling.

The barrier was locked. A rusted bolt shrieked as The Shadow forced it open. Pressing with amazing strength,

The Shadow forced the trapdoor free from its catches. A puff of fresh air entered as the trap toppled on the

Cries from below. Other detectives had arrived. The voice of Detective Sergeant Markham issued a

Detectives surged upward. Their course was unwise. They would have been easy targets in the darkness.

But there were no shots to receive them. The Shadow had no quarrel with the law. As the detectives rushed,

The Shadow's strong arms gripped the edges of the opening in the ceiling. His body swung upward. An

A flashlight from a detective's hand picked out the opening just as The Shadow drove the trapdoor shut. The

The Shadow was already on his way. By the time the detectives had raised the trap and had reached the roof,

The passage between Old Growdy's row and the string of houses in back was more than a dozen feet in

width. The Shadow, however, did not need to bridge that chasm. His swiftly moving form leaped forward as

it reached the rear of the roof. With a perfect broad jump over a space thirty feet deep. The Shadow reached

More than a block away from Old Growdy's, The Shadow picked a wall that was to his liking. Its side,

descending to a narrow street, was dark and obscure. A short wait; then came the squidge of rubber suction

A police whistle sounded. The cordon was tightening. An officer, throwing his light along the street, caught a

momentary glimpse of a shadowy form that was heading for a passage opposite. The policeman fired too

THE SHADOW had passed the cordon. Like The Cobra, he had departed from Old Growdy's. But where The

Cobra had gone in triumph, recognized as one who had saved helpless victims of crime, The Shadow, trapped

in a situation that could not be explained, had been forced to flee in order to avoid a battle with the law.

The Cobra that night when he had slain Deek Hundell had left The Shadow to bear the brunt of surging

Instead of regaining his lost prestige, The Shadow, tonight, had discredited himself with the police. First with

the underworld; now with the law. For the second time, The Shadow had been belittled by the craft of The

The speaker was Ralph Weston. The police commissioner was seated in Caleb Myland's study. Before him

were Joe Cardona and Crawler Gorgan. Behind the desk sat Caleb Myland. The criminologist was listening

"Not much, commissioner," replied Crawler Gorgan. "I've been listening down in the badlands. News travels

fast down there. They're all talking about The Cobra. But there ain't none that have spotted him."

"They got the details of that, all right, commissioner. Say everybody knows that you and Joe were there.

The Cobra plugged Heater Darkin the toughest crook in the business! That's what they're saying.

"And they're talking about The Shadow. How the cops went after him. I'm telling you something,

commissioner if The Shadow shows up again, he's liable to get his. There's plenty of tough birds that are

"The Shadow," decided the commissioner, "is a doubtful character. Cardona still persists that he is fighting

on the side of the law. I insist that his behavior at Growdy's points to the contrary."

"Don't condemn The Shadow, commissioner," protested Joe Cardona. "He has stepped in plenty of times to

make trouble for the crooks. I think he was at Growdy's in order to stop Heater Darkin. The only reason that

"Because they drove him away. He was in flight. The Shadow's bullets were wide."

Weston pounded the table in angered interruption. He glared at the detective, then turned to Caleb Myland.

"Cardona has propounded a preposterous theory," explained Weston. "Down in the cellar of Old Growdy's

home, Cardona and I trapped two thugs. We riddled them with bullets. Cardona, however, thinks that The

"I saw no such shots. I believe that Cardona's imagination was at work. I have told you all that occurred the

night that The Cobra so valiantly came to our rescue. What is your opinion, Myland?"

"I REGRET," declared the criminologist, "that I was not at home that night. I should have liked very much to

have been with you commissioner. Unfortunately, I was delivering a lecture in Baltimore.

"It appears to me, however, that your analysis is correct and Cardona's is wrong. I shall tell you why. We

"On one, The Cobra slew Deek Hundell. On the other, he disposed of Heater Darkin. Both were murderous

characters. Hundell was a selfadmitted killer. Darkin had stated that he intended to deal death. Therefore,

"On each occasion," resumed Myland, "The Shadow was also present. Why? To deal with criminals also?

Perhaps. But we may also consider the possibility that The Shadow was there to offset The Cobra. He

"Therefore, I am inclined to revert to my original opinion. Crime battlers sometimes turn crook. The Cobra

The interjection came from Joe Cardona. Commissioner Weston stopped it with a wave of his hand.

"You cannot prove otherwise, Cardona," he declared. "Therefore, you should not interrupt Myland's theory.

"Watch events in the underworld," advised Myland. "Do not molest The Cobra in his excellent work. But at

the same time, be on the lookout for The Shadow. Should you gain proof that he has gone crooked, you can

"Good advice," nodded Weston. "You are to follow it, Cardona. In the meantime, Gorgan, do your best to get

information on both The Cobra and The Shadow. I am disappointed because you have learned so little."

"I've heard a lot, commissioner," protested Crawler. "The only trouble is what's phony and what isn't. I'll

tell you what's been said about The Cobra. They figure he's working a game that'll put crime on the fritz."

"The big ones yes. But not the little ones. The Cobra's got them scared. He's making some of them work for

"More power to him!" exclaimed Weston. "The Cobra is showing masterful tactics. Undermining the

structure of gang organization. Wonderful! Who are these henchmen whom he has drafted?"

"That's what I can't get," replied Gorgan. "You ain't going to find any guy admitting he's with The Cobra.

That would be suicide, commissioner. You can take it from me The Cobra is wise enough to tell nobody

"Everybody thinks he's laying low. I told you that, commissioner. The Cobra has made him look cheap. But

"I think The Shadow will try to stage a comeback. I heard what Mr. Myland just said about The Shadow

going crooked. I ain't ready to agree with that, commissioner. Not just yet, anyway. The Cobra's got him

licked though beating him at his own game. If The Shadow ain't on the job pretty soon, they'll all be

laughing at him. And any guy that gorillas get a laugh out of don't amount to much you can see that, I

"Good theories, Gorgan," commended the commissioner, briskly. "However, I should like facts. Return to

your hideout and learn all that you can concerning both The Cobra and The Shadow.

"I promise you that you shall be rewarded for any tangible information that you can produce. At the same

time, you are too valuable a man to run serious risks. Gain your information in your own manner."

This was the final comment. Cardona and Gorgan were dismissed. The commissioner sat alone with the

"CARDONA is efficient," commented Weston, "and Gorgan is useful. But, after all, their abilities are

"Quite so," agreed Myland. "Nevertheless, Weston, I believe that these problems in the underworld will solve

"Through the actions of The Cobra. He has shown the fairness of his purpose. His willingness to have you

"There is the doubtful quality, Weston. I foresee a struggle between these two factors who have made it their

"The Shadow. His prestige is at stake. He may reveal new traits criminal ones, perhaps in his efforts to

"We shall see. The time will come when you will find it necessary to side with either The Shadow or The

Caleb Myland said no more. Commissioner Weston, however, remembered the criminologist's words when

A combat was impending. The Shadow and The Cobra both could not follow the parallel course

Myland had not specified which, but Weston had caught the criminologist's innuendo and the police

commissioner agreed with it. With one of these fighters beyond the pale, the other would deserve the

Commissioner Weston had his answer. It was induced by his own experience; it was backed by the opinion

Commissioner Weston was convinced that when the showdown came; when the duel between The Shadow

and The Cobra was actually in view, the one with whom the law would find it best to side would be The

DAYS had passed since The Cobra had ended the nefarious career of Heater Darkin. Since then, The Cobra

had struck again. His victim had been "Smokey" Bragland, head of a big gambling racket. Smokey had been

Although the public did not know it, Police Commissioner Weston had received advance notice of The

Cobra's deed. On this occasion, the hisser who spoke over the wire had not invited Weston to be present.

But The Cobra's action had satisfied the commissioner. Smokey Bragland was an unconvicted murderer. His

The Shadow had not appeared on this occasion. That had caused new comment in the badlands. It produced

the general opinion that The Shadow had admitted his own inability to keep up with The Cobra's prowess.

Night had come to Manhattan, and among the hordes of scumland, The Cobra was again the topic of awed

conversations. At the Blue Crow a hangout where the most disreputable of rowdies met uncouth mobsters

were speculating on The Cobra's next victim. While they were talking, a mobster entered. It was "Duff"

"Hi, Duff!" called a sweatered gangster. "We was just wonderin' who The Cobra was goin' to get next."

"Don't talk about that guy," growled Duff. "He's going to get the works himself, someday."

"Yeah?" the first speaker was sarcastic. "Who from? Say he knowed more about what Heater Darkin was

"I'll bet you was," grinned the gangster. "You oughta have been coverin' up for Heater. Yeah that's where

Duff Berker made no reply. He shuffled from the joint. Buzzing comments followed.

"You bet he could, but he's wise enough to lay low. He ain't goin' to get what Heater got."

OUTSIDE, Duff Berker was shuffling along the street. He come to an old house and entered. He went

through a hall to a little back room. He entered, turned on a light and closed the door. A pay telephone was on

Duff picked up the receiver. He turned the mouthpiece with his other hand. A hissing sound reached his ear

A hissing voice responded. Duff spoke in reply. His conversation ended, Duff twisted the mouthpiece and

Duff Berker's action was a justification of Crawler Gorgan's theory that The Cobra had gained the services of

mobsters in the underworld. More than that; it showed how The Cobra had been able to move more swiftly

The Cobra's agents were minions of the big shots whom The Cobra had eliminated. Thus had The Cobra kept

BACK at the Blue Crow, mobsters were still talking of The Cobra. An hour passed while gangsters sipped

These lesser minions of crime felt themselves to be fish too small for The Cobra's net. At the same time, they

were visibly impressed by The Cobra's power; more so than if he had been warring on such small fry as

A sweatered, dullfaced creature shambled into the dive. Questioning eyes turned in his direction. No one

recognized the newcomer, but his appearance was sufficient to grant him entrance.

This arrival slouched into a chair by a table and threw a grimy dollar bill into view. A hardfaced waiter took

the money, and plunked bottle and glass upon the table. With trembling hand and bulging eyes, the newcomer

tried to help himself to a drink. The effort was too much. He sprawled out on the table.

The waiter raised the man's head and stared at the grimy face with its closed eyes. He let the man's head drop

on his arm, where it rocked like a pendulum and finally became motionless. The waiter picked up the bottle

"Hophead," he said. "When dose birds get looney, they start out for a drink. When dis guy wakes up, he'll

t'ink he's finished de bottle. Leave him lay. I'll t'row him out when we close de joint."

Mobsters resumed their conversation. Another man appeared. This fellow was recognized. It was Crawler

Slouching to a table, Crawler called for a bottle. He received it. Staring straight ahead, he poured one drink

Mobsters resumed their conversation. They paid no attention to Crawler until he had swallowed a third drink.

Then, when he arose with fixed stare and moved dopily through the door, a gangster made comment:

The speaker pointed to the sweatered man who still lay sprawled upon the table. Listeners laughed. The

A SHORT while later, a new arrival appeared. This was a frail little mobster, whose face showed a crafty

look. His appearance brought greetings from seated mobsters. Glasses of liquor were offered to the

"If anybody knows what's blowin'," declared a third, "it's Ears Findler. Come on, Ears. Let's hear your spiel."

"Come on, Ears," asserted one tough character. We know you ain't wid de Cobra. We was just figurin' maybe

"I know who's dodgin' him," declared Ears, warily. "When a guy's dodging The Cobra, it looks like he was on

Grunts of astonishment greeted this assertion. One mobster, a scarfaced individual, voiced his disbelief.

"Say," he growled. "King Zobell is the real big shot. How's The Cobra goin' to get at him?"

"Don't ask me," retorted Ears. "I'm only tellin' what I've heard and I don't go around listenin' to nothin'.

"The Cobra knocked off Hunky Fitzler an' Cass Rogan, didn't he? All right who did he get next? Deek

"Yeah, but King Zobell is the best bet. I ain't givin' you just my own idea I'm talkin' what I've heard from

guys that are in the know. I'm tellin' you somethin' the big shots are duckin' out of town. There's only one

"Say he's got a half a dozen rackets, King has. He wouldn't duck. You're right, though, Ears. King's the bird

"An' King knows it." Ears grinned as he gave this information. "I'll tell you why. This is the hot stuff.

"Two," said a mobster. "He had Duster Corbin an' he's just taken on Diamond Rigler "

"He needs another. Duster Corbin is out to find one. An' you can bet that the guy Duster picks will be a tough

"Whew!" One mobster drew his breath. "One grand a week that's what King Zobell pays for a body. Say

he must be scared if he's hiring a new one. Who do you think he's going to get?"

"Whoever Duster Corbin picks," returned Ears. "An' I'm tellin' you this Duster ain't goin' to pick any guy

"When I seen him," informed Ears, "Duster was on his way down to the Nugget Club. You know that joint

over the old garage. Say there ain't any guy gets in there that ain't known an' he's got to have a roll on

"If Duster is lookin' for a bird that's in the money an' is worth one grand a week, he'll find him there. I don't

know who he's goin' to pick; but I'll tell you this. King Zobell will have a new bodyguard by tomorrow night

WITH this final reiteration of his former statements, Ears Findler polished off another drink and slouched

from the Blue Crow, leaving the mobsters talking among themselves. It was a few minutes before the

Eyes turned toward the neighboring table. The sprawled figure was moving. A shaky hand was reaching for

the bottle. The sweatered man was staring with wild eyes, while his fingers slipped against the smooth glass.

The bottle eluded the man's clutch. It toppled and rolled from the table. As it broke on the stone floor, a

hoarse, distorted scream came from the lips of the wildeyed man. The waiter approached and grabbed the

The mobsters caught a glimpse of a drawn face with sharppointed features. Dull eyes peering from each side

of a beaked nose stared at the waiter. The man staggered through the door and slouched off into the night as

Had any of those mobsters trailed the departing man, however, their mirth would have changed to awe. Half a

block away from the Blue Crow, the shambling dope changed his gait. His figure straightened as he paused at

Beneath the fringe of a streetlamp's glow, his distorted face changed. His hawklike visage took on a stern

expression. His dull eyes seemed to brighten until they glowed with the intensity of fire.

As the visitor who had left the Blue Crow turned to merge with darkness, a sardonic laugh came from his

firm, unyielding lips. That burst of repressed merriment was a sign of identity. The pretended hophead was

Into the underworld, The Shadow had come to listen for information that concerned The Cobra. He had

Duff Berker, fang of The Cobra, had left too early to hear the utterances of Ears Findler. Crawler Gorgan,

undercover man for the police, had also departed before the proper moment. But The Shadow had remained.

"King" Zobell feared The Cobra. That was sufficient. It gave The Shadow the inkling that he required. He

The eerie laugh trailed in the distance as The Shadow, still guised as a chance prowler, moved rapidly

ONE hour after The Shadow's departure from the Blue Crow, Cliff Marsland entered an obscure cigar store

and found a telephone booth in a deserted corner. The night was yet young. Cliff, despite the fact that he had

Cliff dialed a number. He heard the ringing over the wire. Then came a click; after that, a quiet voice:

"Instructions." Burbank's tone was solemn. Cliff listened to the words that followed.

As Cliff heard them come in Burbank's quiet tones, he stared in amazement. In all his career as an agent of

As Burbank continued, Cliff's eyes brightened. He began to see the purpose behind it. His head was nodding

Walking from the cigar store, Cliff thrust his hand in his trousers pocket and brought forth a roll of bills. He

had a good supply of cash with him tonight sufficient to command respect at the Nugget Club, where only

With his other hand, Cliff reached to his hip, where he had an automatic in readiness. Shoving the bankroll

back in his pocket, he strolled along to a busy street on the fringe of the badlands. There he hailed a passing

The cab pulled up beside an old garage. Cliff entered. A watcher eyed him. Cliff paid no attention to the

fellow. He strolled to the rear of the garage and reached a door. He pressed a pushbutton. A buzz sounded;

Cliff went up. He reached a door where a little peephole opened. An eye surveyed him. The door opened.

CLIFF grinned as he entered a swanky, wellcarpeted room with luxurious furnishings and hanging curtains.

Despite the precautions here, this place could be easily entered if one used craft.

The Shadow, for instance, would have no trouble eluding the watcher in the garage and picking the locks on

Voices were coming from an archway on the right. Cliff entered to find a dozen men assembled along a long

Two men who recognized Cliff waved a greeting. Cliff responded. He strolled to the far end of the bar and

The Nugget Club was a gambling joint frequented only by mobsters of class. No ordinary gorilla could

wander into these preserves. The passport was money. Cliff could see the barkeeper eying him. As Cliff

Slot machines were in operation at the end of the room. Silver dollars were in play. Cliff smiled to himself at

While he stood at the end of the bar, Cliff took in the layout of the room. There was a door at the further end;

that door was seldom used. It could be reached from the big room, close by the spot where Cliff had entered

After a brief study of the door, Cliff turned is attention to three men who were standing near the center of the

bar. One was "Duster" Corbin, bodyguard and right bower of King Zobell, the bigshot racketeer. Despite the

The two men to whom Duster was talking were applicants for the job that Duster wanted filled. King Zobell

needed a new bodyguard. Duster was demanding qualifications. He was getting boastful replies.

"Say" one of the men raised his voice "who do you think it was that put away Crazy Louie? I was the guy

"Crazy Louie?" The other applicant snorted. "Say he was bugs. Listen, Duster. If you're looking for a guy

that's worth a grand a week, you'd better talk to me. I'm worth twice that dough, easy but because it's you,

"Ease up," ordered Duster. He was a stocky, heavybrowed fellow whose scowl was a warning. "I'm not

figuring on what you've done. What I'm after is a guy that's not scared of anybody. Get me? That includes

"You mean The Shadow?" quizzed one of the applicants. "Say that guy would be my ticket. Show him to

"Phooey," interposed the other jobseeker. "The Shadow is a hasbeen. Nobody worries about him anymore.

"I mean anybody," asserted Duster, with a growl. "I want a guy that's got nerve like I've got. I passed a job

DUSTER'S voice broke off. With it came a lull throughout the room. To the ears of the dozen men assembled

It was a weird utterance long feared in the underworld; one that had been derided of late. But as that token of

sardonic mirth manifested itself, Duster Corbin, along with the two behind him, dropped away from the bar in

Fierce mockery, delivered with a sneering whisper, it rose to a shuddering crescendo. All eyes turned toward

the spot from which the laugh had come. That was the door at the end of the long barroom. With involuntary

Guns lay ungripped in ready pockets. Not one man tried to draw. A dozen paling faces showed twitching lips

With burning eyes that peered from beneath the brim of his lowturned slouch hat, The Shadow was

watching every man in the room. From his black glovedhands projected huge automatics. The very sight of

The Shadow's laugh ended. Weird echoes seemed to linger. Then came a sneering voice, in a tone that

"You speak of The Shadow." The words were mocking. "I am The Shadow! I am here to meet those who

With this statement, The Shadow moved slowly forward. Boastful mobsters cowered. Braggarts were silent.

"Who dares to meet me?" The Shadow's tone was scornful. "Now is his opportunity. Let him speak for

As The Shadow paused, Cliff Marsland calmly edged one hand below the level of the bar. He drew his

automatic from his pocket. He hunched his body backward as he rested the barrel on the woodwork. With

WITH the unexpected roar, The Shadow staggered. His gloved hands dropped as his tall figure broke toward

the door. Rising to full height, Cliff Marsland flashed his gun and fired a second shot that burst with a long

Cliff delivered two quick shots that splintered the woodwork of the door. Then, with a ferocious leap he

cleared the bar, thrust the barkeeper aside and dashed in pursuit. He yanked open the door and emptied his

The room was in a clamor. Every petrified mobster was leaping to action. Revolvers were flashing. Men

reached the spot where Cliff was on guard; others dashed through the archway that led to the head of the

stairs. There they found the watcher groggy as he lay slouched against the wall.

Pursuit was too late. The Shadow, though obviously wounded by Cliff's first shots, had made his escape.

Wouldbe pursuers were returning to the barroom. There they found Cliff Marsland reloading his automatic.

"The Shadow!" jeered a gang leader. "He was trying a comeback. Say here's the guy that showed him

Others were offering their congratulations. Cliff received them in indifferent fashion. Among those to shake

his hand was Duster Corbin. King Zobell's right bower turned his head toward the two men with whom he

"Scram, you punks," he ordered sourly. "Afraid of nobody, eh? Why didn't one of you take a chance when

The rejected applicants sidled away. Duster gripped Cliff by the arm and drew him away from the

"I've heard of you, Marsland," declared the heavybrowed gun handler. "Now I've seen what you can do.

You had me beat. I was standing there like a dummy while you took a plug at The Shadow!"

"You nicked him," asserted Duster, "and you're the first bimbo that ever beat him to a shot. Put it there and

listen" Duster's voice became a buzz "how would a job with one grand a week suit you?"

"It's yours," rejoined Duster. "You're on new body for King Zobell. You're going over to his place with me

FIFTEEN minutes later, Duster Corbin and Cliff Marsland sauntered from the Nugget Club. Acclaim from

The Shadow, jealous of The Cobra's rising power, had attempted a comeback. Cliff Marsland had achieved

Cliff grinned grimly as he clambered into a cab with Duster Corbin. He had reason. At The Shadow's

bidding, he had aided in the duping of a dozen witnesses. Cliff had played his part to perfection.

The carefully aimed shot that he had delivered was well calculated. Cliff had sent it a full foot wide of The

The second shot, delivered to the top of the door through which The Shadow was passing was another token

of Cliff's ability to miss the mark which others thought that he had hit. Again, The Shadow had made a

Tonight, The Shadow had deliberately arranged to injure the fame which he had gained. There had been

method in his action. What The Shadow had lost, Cliff Marsland had gained. Through his sudden fame, he

King Zobell would be The Cobra's next prospective victim. Through some crafty plan, The Cobra would

Two could play at that game. With Cliff Marsland working for King Zobell, The Shadow could match The

What was The Shadow's purpose? Why did he desire a direct meeting with this strange character whose

TWO nights had passed since Cliff Marsland had played his role. The Shadow's agent, new hero of the

The big shot lived in an oldfashioned apartment house in a decadent neighborhood. There was reason for

this choice of residence. King Zobell, controller of half a dozen rackets, had purchased the building outright.

Zobell's apartment was on the fourth floor. It could be reached only by a private elevator which opened in a

little anteroom near the rear of the apartment. Crossing the anteroom, one reached Zobell's living room, the

Barred windows sheer walls four stories to the ground these were the protections which King Zobell

demanded. The fourth floor the top story of the building was above the level of the neighboring

King Zobell, himself, was a portly, fatfaced fellow who looked like a cross between a politician and a

corporation president. It was business ability, a well as nerve, that had enabled him to merge some of the

Wary as well as enterprising, Zobell had learned to play his hand in crafty fashion. Lesser racketeers did duty

for the big shot. They were on the firing line; King Zobell pulled the strings. It was seldom that the big shot

left his apartment. Most of his business was conducted by telephone. When personal interviews were

Of late, however, King Zobell had not been at home to visitors. Duster Corbin, his chief lieutenant and

ranking bodyguard, fared forth to treat with those who had business with the big shot.

This explained why King Zobell had chosen to have two lesser bodyguards. He wanted one on constant duty;

CLIFF MARSLAND had quickly recognized the fact that King Zobell was a nervous, troubled man. The big

shot could have surrounded himself with a whole corps of henchmen; instead, he preferred to trust to picked

bodyguards. He was afraid of traitors. He knew that his secluded abode, guarded by capable gun wielders,

As for the cause of his fears, the big shot was prompt to make that known immediately after Cliff Marsland

entered his employ. The facts came out during a conference between King Zobell and his bodyguards.

Duster Corbin stocky, glaring and heavybrowed; "Diamond" Rigler, a rangy, longlegged fellow with

sharp, ever roving eyes; Cliff Marsland, keenfaced and determined these formed the trio that King Zobell

"I'm sticking it out," informed the big shot. "Staying here in town, while others scram. The Cobra wants me

"Don't kid yourselves, boys. The Cobra is tough. Those mugs that he picked off were no softies. I thought

that maybe it would be a while before he slated me. But when other guys that he's due to gun for began their

"Duster Corbin, here, is an ace. He picked you, Diamond, or you talked him into it I don't know which.

Anyway, you've got the goods. As for you, Marsland, you showed your stuff when you took pot shots at The

"But we're not dealing with The Shadow now. The Cobra has The Shadow licked. The Cobra is after big

shots. That's why I'm worried. The biggest boys in New York now are the ones that are working for me.

"That's why they're safe. The Cobra goes to the top, every time. I'm the one he'll pick and I'm telling you, if

he gets me, there won't be a big gun left. Not one and there won't be anybody with nerve enough to try to

"But The Cobra isn't going to get me not so long as I count on three like you, and no more. This place of

mine is as good as any castle. Keep your rods ready and The Cobra won't have the chance he wants."

Cliff, when off duty, had reported these statements to The Shadow. Nor was that all. At other times, King

Zobell had chatted with Cliff alone; and the big shot had shown a keen insight into the affairs of the

It was Zobell's firm belief that The Cobra worked through traitors. In his campaign against the big shots, he

enlisted the services of smallfry lieutenants who were close to their superiors. It was probable that he

dominated these men by fear; whatever his way, it was a fact that not one trail had been gained to The Cobra

CLIFF could feel the tenseness of the atmosphere at King Zobell's. Here, on this second night that he had

been stationed on duty, Cliff was beginning to sense the strain. He had reasoned one fact to his own

If as King Zobell feared The Cobra intended to get the big shot, there was only one place where the job

could be accomplished. That was in this living room, where King Zobell dwelt in confident security.

A startling thought, however, occurred to him. The Cobra must certainly know that he could reach King

Zobell by cracking this stronghold. Was The Cobra trying to figure out a way to do it or was he biding his

Cliff felt a strong inclination to the latter belief. Had he witnessed anything like a manifestation of The

Cobra's interest in King Zobell's abode, he would not have gained his hunch. But the fact that The Cobra had

Cliff was seated in Zobell's living room when the idea struck him. Duster Corbin was also present. King

Zobell was giving instructions to his chief lieutenant. Duster was to visit racketeers tonight.

"You can go off duty, Marsland," declared Zobell, suddenly. "I'll keep Duster here until Diamond Rigler

Cliff nodded. This was a change from the regular routine. According to schedule, Cliff was to stay here until

Diamond arrived. As bodyguards, Cliff and Diamond took separate shifts. Rising, Cliff started toward the

"Say, King," he said to the big shot. "It'll be O.K. if I stay here for the night, won't it?"

"Right," acknowledged King. "You can stay here anytime you want, Cliff. I've got no kick to having two men

ready. At the same time, you're welcome to the night off. You don't have to stick while Diamond's on the

"I've got nowhere to go," declared Cliff. "Might as well be around here. I'll be back in a little while, King."

"Good idea," decided Duster Corbin, as Cliff headed for the elevator. "It won't do any harm, King, to keep

Marsland sleeping here at nights. He's got the easy shift the day one and I'm here most all day. But at

night well, that's the time to worry and you've only got Diamond Rigler to depend on. Diamond's good

Cliff Marsland had reached the ground floor of the apartment house. He stepped from the elevator and closed

the door behind him. This lift, traveling upward through a solidly walled shaft, was a specially designed

Once the elevator had descended, it could not rise again unless a special switch was pulled from above.

When King Zobell's bodyguards reported, they gave a special signal by ringing a bell beside the shaft. Each

man had his own call. Thus a bodyguard on duty could either send down the car or turn the switch so that the

CLIFF sauntered from the lobby of the old apartment house. He strolled around the corner and followed a

narrow street at the rear. Looking up, he could see the lights of King Zobell's barred living room. The sheer

Cliff reached a drug store a block from the apartment house. He entered a phone booth and called a number.

In brief, steady phrases, Cliff reported his opinions. He told Burbank of his apprehensions regarding The

Cobra. Then, by way of a checkup, he described the working of the elevator that went up to Zobell's abode.

"It's the only way of getting there," explained Cliff. "It would be easy enough to get up to the roof of the

apartment building through one of the regular apartments but that wouldn't help to get into Zobell's.

"The livingroom windows are barred. Top floor, back, under a cornice. Thick, heavy gratings. Zobell talked

about putting in bulletproof glass, but it wasn't necessary. There's no building anywhere near that would

He strolled from the drug store, reached the street in front of the apartment building and sauntered along. He

noticed a man in front of him. The fellow turned into the apartment house. Cliff caught a glimpse of his face.

As Cliff reached the entrance, he spied Diamond at the far end of the lobby. Cliff stopped short. He saw

Cliff was outside; Diamond did not see him. Then, still watching, Cliff saw Diamond go past the elevator

Quickly, Cliff bounded through the door. He had an immediate suspicion of Diamond's action. Why was the

man going downstairs? The basement had once held a barber shop. That room was closed; its equipment was

Cliff reached the stairs. He moved downward. He observed a light in the old barber shop. He stole close to

the open door. There he saw Diamond Rigler lifting the receiver from the hook of a pay telephone.

Cliff stared as Diamond adjusted the mouthpiece. Then came a strange sound from the receiver a faint hiss

"Fang Nine." Diamond Rigler was speaking in a low voice. "All set to report at Zobell's... Yes... When

Marsland goes off duty... Yes... The arrangement works if Duster Corbin is still there..."

Cliff edged back toward the stairs. The truth hit him with bewildering force. There was merit in his hunch.

The Cobra, indeed, was ready to strike. Diamond Rigler, one of King Zobell's bodyguards, was a henchman

DIAMOND had paused in his conversation. Cliff reached the steps just as he heard the man's footsteps

coming toward the door of the barber shop. Evidently Diamond suspected a listener. Cliff managed to get out

There was no reason to wait here. Cliff knew that it would be unwise to rouse Diamond's suspicions. At the

same time, he realized that prompt action was essential. The Cobra was planning a stroke for tonight!

Moving up the stairs, Cliff quickly formulated a plan. He must get word to The Shadow. At the same time, he

could not afford the time that would be required by a trip to the drug store a block distant. Cliff wanted to be

Cliff saw the way. With a grim smile, he stopped at the door of the elevator shaft. He rang the bell twice; then

once his call. Cliff tried the door. It remained for a few moments, then yielded. Duster Corbin had pressed

Entering the lift, Cliff closed the door and pushed the button that drove the car upward. He still retained his

Tonight, The Cobra would strike again. This time, The Shadow would know before The Cobra struck!

CLIFF MARSLAND was no longer smiling when he entered King Zobell's living room. The Shadow's agent

seemed quite unconcerned. He plucked a cigarette from a box on Zobell's table and lighted it with a match

With no other explanation, Cliff strolled in nonchalant fashion through the door at the front of the living

room. Neither King Zobell or Duster Corbin evidenced any suspicion of the action.

The front room to the left of Cliff's belonged to King Zobell. There was a telephone in the room an

extension of the one which Zobell had in the living room. Cliff felt sure that neither King Zobell nor Duster

Entering Zobell's room, Cliff raised the receiver and dialed Burbank's number. The Shadow's contact man

"Marsland," declared Cliff, in a low tone. "Diamond Rigler is working for The Cobra. Called him from

"Diamond is coming up to relieve me. I'm staying. Duster going out. The Cobra is due to strike."

Cliff was about to give further details when a shaft of light appeared upon the floor of the room between this

bedroom and the living room. Evidently King Zobell was coming in this direction.

Cliff hung up with promptitude. He made a quick dive through the door. As Zobell appeared from the door of

the living room, Cliff was apparently coming out of the little room which the big shot had assigned to him.

"I'll give you those papers, Duster." Zobell, half turned toward the living room, was speaking to his

Cliff walked by King Zobell. He reached the living room, dropped in an easy chair and picked up the

cigarette which he had placed on an ash stand. As he puffed in silence, Cliff began to analyze the situation.

HE was sure that he knew The Cobra's game. Cliff's reasoning was precise. Since Diamond Rigler was The

Cobra's minion, why had not Diamond opened the way for The Cobra in the past on some occasion when

Cliff saw the answer, The Cobra did not want it to be known that Diamond was a traitor. Tonight's scheme

First, Diamond would probably wait until Duster Corbin had departed. Then Diamond would come in to

relieve Cliff. The Cobra would follow. The purpose would be to kill both King Zobell and Cliff.

Diamond would make his getaway with The Cobra. Duster Corbin, returning, would find the bodies.

Perhaps Diamond would stay instead of leaving! At any rate, the scene would indicate that The Cobra had

A perfect scheme one that would keep Diamond as valuable to The Cobra as before. Cliff settled back into

his chair. All was well for the present particularly as long as Duster Corbin remained in the apartment.

King Zobell was returning with a stack of papers. Duster received them and began to go through them. At

Cliff went to the elevator shaft and pressed the switch. He could not withhold a grin. To his way of thinking,

Diamond had made a bull. Sauntering back to the living room, Cliff took his seat and lighted a fresh cigarette.

Diamond Rigler had evidently tired of waiting and had taken it for granted that Duster Corbin was already

A minute later, Diamond Rigler appeared from the anteroom. Cliff watched his face, looking for signs of

There were none. Diamond had a poker player's countenance. Nevertheless, Cliff figured that Diamond was

For if Duster went out leaving both Cliff and Diamond with King Zobell, each of the secondary bodyguards

would share in blame should The Cobra appear and slay King Zobell. Cliff's feelings were those of mingled

elation and disappointment. He was pleased because a block had apparently stopped The Cobra's plans; he

Ten minutes passed. Duster Corbin completed his examination of the papers. He pocketed them. He arose to

Cliff felt calm security as he puffed his cigarette. Duster passed the door of the anteroom. Diamond seemed

dejected as he slouched in a chair. Then, with quick succession of events, came the unexpected.

CLIFF heard the sliding of the elevator door as Duster Corbin opened it. A sharp, startled exclamation; then a

revolver shot. Staggering with long, convulsive bounds, Duster Corbin appeared from the anteroom. His

Cliff was on his feet as Duster Corbin sprawled upon the floor and rolled over dead. As Cliff reached for his

gun, an order stopped him. Diamond Rigler had risen; he had drawn a revolver. He was covering Cliff. The

Cliff's arms raised at Diamond's command. Cliff was staring toward the doorway through which Duster

Corbin had staggered. There he saw the author of the shot that had felled King Zobell's chief lieutenant.

Clad in wrinkled brown, his painted hood a monstrous sight, The Cobra stood with smoking revolver in his

hand. His painted eyes; the muzzle of the gun which he held both were directed toward King Zobell. The

Cliff Marsland saw his own mistake. He had not calculated on this. He remembered Diamond Rigler's words

This was the arrangement! Diamond Rigler, upon leaving the elevator in the anteroom, had pressed the

switch so that the car would be ready for The Cobra! The snakelike slayer had come up in the elevator. He

Cliff saw death. He could picture himself slain with Duster and King Zobell. The big shot and two dead

bodyguards. That would be a perfect smoke screen for Diamond Rigler's treachery!

King Zobell cowered as he heard The Cobra's hiss. Trapped, the big shot was a pitiful figure. His big, bluff

The Cobra showed no mercy. Upright at the door, he pressed the trigger. The revolver barked. King Zobell

The big shot crumpled in his chair. His hands slipped from the sides and dangled loosely. A red splotch

began to form upon his white shirt front the life blood drawn by The Cobra's bullet!

THERE was no hiss as The Cobra turned toward Cliff Marsland. But those painted eyes formed a merciless

expression. Cliff was due to die. Fiercely, he took the only course that offered life.

With a wild leap, Cliff flung himself on Diamond Rigler. He caught the man off guard. He grabbed

Diamond's right wrist with his left hand; with his right arm he seized his foeman's body. Grappling, Cliff

drew Diamond back across the room, using the man's body as shield against The Cobra's fire.

Coldly, The Cobra watched the struggle. It could be no more than futile. Sooner or later, the pair would

break. Cliff's unprotected body would be an easy target for The Cobra's aim. Cliff realized this as he fought.

Diamond, lunging his left hand free, delivered a blow to Cliff's jaw. Cliff staggered and sprawled against the

The Cobra was watching from the door. His revolver was idle in his hand. Cliff saw why, as he turned to gaze

at Diamond Rigler. With a vengeful snarl, Diamond was raising his own gun to end Cliff Marsland's life.

Calmly, Cliff closed his eyes. He could not stop the shot. Murder was in the making; Cliff was to be its

victim. Surging thoughts swept through Cliff's brain. They ended with a surprise that opened Cliff's eyes.

A crash came from beyond the spot where Diamond Rigler stood aiming. Impelled by a terrific smash from

Beyond the shivered pane were a pair of blazing eyes, peering from blackness. A gloved hand gripped the

bars beyond the window; from another fist projected the muzzle of a mighty automatic.

The Shadow had arrived! He had come by the roof of the apartment house over the precarious cornice to

Though too late to witness the death of King Zobell, The Shadow had come in time to fight for Cliff

Marsland's life. Out of the night had The Shadow come for his meeting with The Cobra!

THE SHADOW'S turn had come. That looming automatic, thrust through a shattered glass, was a weapon

that could mean The Cobra's woe. The Shadow had gained his opportunity to cover The Cobra and demand

But the desired meeting held one flaw. To deal with The Cobra, The Shadow would have had to disregard the

safety of his agent, Cliff Marsland. Diamond Rigler, vicious and frenzied, had finger on revolver trigger. He

The Shadow's automatic thundered in the confines of the room. The flash of flame was not directed toward

The Cobra. Its spurt was made toward Diamond Rigler. There was not time to stop that pressing trigger;

Diamond Rigler's body twisted as his hand fired. Sprawled by The Shadow's shot, Diamond's aim went wide.

Deliberately, The Shadow had given opportunity to The Cobra. The blackclad arrival was risking his own

life to save that of Cliff Marsland. As The Shadow dropped Diamond Rigler, The Cobra wheeled. His

A fighter who worked in split seconds, The Shadow had foreseen this quick reply. Even while he fired at

Diamond Rigler, The Shadow was working to thwart The Cobra's aim. His black form was dropping as the

automatic spoke. Eyes and right hand fell from view while the left hand slid down the vertical bar which it

The Cobra's shot, aimed for The Shadow's eyes, whistled through the top of the slouch hat and zimmed on

The Cobra aimed a second shot. This one was for the hand that clutched the bar. Again, The Cobra was a split

second late. The Shadow had caught the window ledge with his right hand. His left dropped as The Cobra

pressed the trigger. A bullet from The Cobra's revolver clanged the upright bar which The Shadow's hand had

The roaring gunplay had brought Cliff Marsland to his senses. Leaning against the wall, The Shadow's agent

was pulling his automatic from his pocket. As The Cobra's gun delivered another futile bark, Cliff aimed for

SOMEHOW, The Cobra sensed the menace. He wheeled. Cliff fired hastily; his shot went wide. The Cobra

did not fire in response. He had no time for aim, as Cliff was steadying for a second shot. Still whirling, The

With the bark of Cliff's gun, The Shadow had reappeared beyond the window. His automatic, resting at the

bottom of the bars, with his blazing eyes beside the muzzle, loosed new fire just as The Cobra leaped from

Cliff, still a trifle dazed, missed a second shot; then clambered to his feet. With automatic in hand, he dashed

Cliff hurried back into the living room. The Shadow was gone from the window. Cliff stood looking at the

bodies on the floor. Duster Corbin Diamond Rigler both were dead. The form of King Zobell lay slumped

This was one of those emergencies in which The Shadow relied upon his agents to use their own ability. The

Shadow had saved Cliff's life. He had balked The Cobra. The Shadow's rival was in flight.

The iron bars, set in the wall beyond the window, were a barrier that would have taken too long to break.

Cliff realized that The Shadow, forced to depart by the precarious way up to the roof, would be delayed.

It was, furthermore, unwise for Cliff to remain. He saw how he could aid The Shadow! There was still time to

bring up the elevator and descend to the street before The Shadow could arrive there. Cliff had a slender

Dashing back to the elevator shaft, Cliff pressed the button to raise the car. He entered the lift and descended.

He hurried through the lobby to the street. As he paused there, he fancied that he heard the distant sound of a

A cab was standing by the curb, Cliff approached the driver. The man reached to open the door.

Cliff bounded into the cab as he spoke. The driver slammed the door. As Cliff leaned through the front

Something moved in the darkness of the cab. Cliff turned, startled, as he heard a hiss beside him. He was

staring squarely into the muzzle of a revolver; behind it, luminous in the gloom, loomed the painted hood of

CLIFF rolled against the door as the cab whirled the corner. The form of The Cobra fell upon him. A cloth

was pressed over Cliff's face. The pungent odor of chloroform was overpowering. Cliff slumped helpless.

The Cobra had tricked The Shadow's agent. The man at the wheel of this cab was one of his trusted fangs.

Lurking in the taxi, The Cobra had been ready to trap Cliff should he arrive in pursuit.

Rescued by The Shadow, Cliff had thrown himself into the net. He was a prisoner of The Cobra!

As the cab passed around the corner, a figure appeared at the door of the apartment building. The Shadow had

arrived. Up to the roof; across and down through an apartment window, he had come in pursuit. He was too

late to see the fleeing cab. Yet his keen eyes seemed to sense what had occurred.

Another whistle this time from the avenue. A reply at the other end of the street. A whistle from the back

of the apartment house. Police had heard the shots from high up in the building. They, too, had arrived.

The Shadow sprang from the doorway. His tall form swept forward like a phantom figure as he headed for a

passage beside a garage across the street. Shots came from the corner. An officer raised a shout. Policemen

With swift strokes from the darkness, The Shadow had broken The Cobra's power. Fighting from

disadvantage, he had thwarted the killing of Cliff Marsland and had driven The Cobra into flight.

But The Cobra, realizing his own advantage, had used cunning when he fled. He had slain King Zobell as he

had intended. He had left Duster Corbin dead. His own man Diamond Rigler had been blotted; but in

return, The Cobra had captured the man whom he had sought to slay with the others: Cliff Marsland.

The underworld would never know of The Shadow's counterstroke. New credit would be The Cobra's.

Defeated, The Cobra had turned events to his own advantage. The Shadow, as at Old Growdy's, had been left

Far from the apartment house where bluecoats now had charge, a grim laugh sounded in the darkness of a

silent street. It was not a laugh of defeat; it was a laugh of determination. The laugh of The Shadow!

Whatever opinions might be formed, The Shadow knew the vital facts and The Cobra knew them also. Let

the underworld gasp in awe about The Cobra's prowess; let them deride The Shadow. Such did not alter the

The Shadow's skill had prevailed. Only circumstances had aided The Cobra. The serpenthooded fighter had

been forced to flee The Shadow's might. War had broken between these two whom gangdom feared as grim

Once again, the advantage lay with The Cobra. The Shadow's task was heightened. Yet through his skill, The

Whatever The Cobra's plans might be, The Shadow remained to block them. Until he could fully frustrate

Tonight had brought the two in definite conflict. Their trails supposedly parallel were drawing closer.

That was the reason for The Shadow's laugh. It betokened safety for Cliff Marsland. It presaged another

meeting with The Cobra. It indicated secret knowledge of the hooded fighter's ways and purposes.

The Shadow had good reason to wage combat with The Cobra. The Shadow had divined the hidden goal

The time would come soon when The Cobra would again be forced to match his keen strategy against The

"LAST night, Myland" Commissioner Ralph Weston was speaking "I received another call from The

Cobra. It was as before the hiss the statement that a stroke was to be delivered."

Myland nodded from behind his big table. "Here, then," he said, tapping a newspaper that lay beside him, "is

"Exactly," declared the commissioner. "To The Cobra we owe our thanks for the elimination of King Zobell,

"One might call it crime," he stated, "when three men are slain even though one is a racketeer and the

"Yes," agreed the criminologist. Then, with a slight tinge of doubt: "But they were not engaged in crime,

"That's right, Myland," observed Weston. "Your opinions are important in this case. Personally, I have

"There is no cause to change your idea," interposed Myland. "Consider this point, Weston. The Cobra,

obviously, was there alone. Zobell his henchmen Corbin and Rigler were three against one."

"You can safely give The Cobra the benefit of the doubt. He can be said to have fought in self defense. That,

Caleb Myland smiled wanly. The criminologist seemed pleased. He tapped the table methodically; then

"He was there again!" declared Weston. "The newspapers do not know it but police reports show it. He was

seen outside of the apartment house. Apparently, he was there to interfere with The Cobra."

Babson entered. The servant announced that two visitors had arrived. His manner indicated that they were Joe

CRAWLER GORGAN appeared eager when he entered. He wanted to talk. Weston gave him an immediate

"It was The Cobra, commissioner!" asserted Crawler. "You can bet it was The Cobra that put King Zobell on

"So I have decided," commented Weston, dryly. "I am glad to learn that the underworld shares my opinions.

"The Shadow was there, too," added the undercover man. "Everybody knows it. He had to duck the cops. Say

"Well, he's getting the razz. It don't look so good for him. I ain't convinced that he's gone crooked,

commissioner, like Mr. Myland here says; but if he hasn't, he's gone looney, for fair."

"Listening around the joints. Here's the way they all figure it and those birds are wise. The Cobra's

knocking off the big shots, ain't he? Well what does The Shadow want to butt in for?"

"Listen, commissioner," protested Crawler. "You don't know The Shadow. He didn't used to waste his time.

"He ain't helping The Cobra that's a cinch. So it looks like he's trying to hinder him, don't it? That's why the

"Mr. Myland and myself," declared Weston, "have come to a definite opinion. We feel that The Cobra's

actions are justified. He is worthy of support. We can base all of our findings on the affair at Old Growdy's.

"We find therefore, that he acted in self defense in the other cases, including this one of King Zobell. The

Cobra is deserving of police protection. He shall receive it. Do you understand that, Cardona?"

"As for The Shadow," resumed Weston, "we can only presume that he, by obstructing The Cobra, is trying to

"For what?" questioned the detective. "There's nothing on The Shadow. He made a couple of getaways

"Cardona is right," observed Myland, wisely. "You must use discretion, commissioner."

"Why do you say that?" demanded Weston. "I thought your opinion, Myland, was that The Shadow had

"Indications," returned Myland, "show The Cobra to be working in behalf of justice. They also show The

Shadow in a very unpleasant light. We can say that we have established The Cobra's status, through your own

experience at Old Growdy's. Conversely, you must establish The Shadow's status by a definite observation."

"I understand," nodded Weston. "Cardona, I am ordering a strict watch for The Shadow. Should he be traced

in criminal activity or anything that resembles it we will not stop until we have captured The Shadow,

"At the same time, The Cobra is immune. He is doing splendid work. Perhaps, through his efforts, we may be

"You hit it, commissioner!" The eager statement came from Crawler Gorgan. "You've said just what's going

"HERE'S the lay, commissioner. Understand this ain't all my own idea. It's what I've been hearing

"More than that, commissioner." Crawler was nodding wisely. "He was the only real big shot left. The Cobra

"It looks that way," agreed the detective. "All the other big shots have beat it. Some of the fellows who were

"Say chaos, rather," interposed Myland, sagely. "Mobsters galore but no leader."

"And none of the little guys want to be big," declared Crawler. "That's something, commissioner."

"Good logic," decided Myland. "The Cobra has lopped off the heads. As new leaders rise, he will cut them

down. But apparently, there will be no new leaders. There is opportunity, though." Myland shook his head in

worried fashion. "If anyone should dare to organize those bands, in opposition to The Cobra "

Crawler nodded. Myland did the same. Joe Cardona looked glum. He had faith in The Shadow's integrity.

"Get me right, commissioner," continued Crawler. "I don't want to give you a bum steer and there ain't

"I'm just telling you this: there's plenty of mugs down in the badlands who would follow any guy that they

"They've razzed The Shadow, but he's still got 'em buffaloed. He's played a lone wolf game. There's no

telling what he could do with a mob behind him. So I'm telling you what to watch for that's all."

"Gorgan," decided Weston, "this is the best report you have produced. There is our task, Cardona. The Cobra,

alone, is stronger than The Shadow. If mobs reorganize, there can be but one answer. The Shadow will have

THE commissioner turned to Caleb Myland. The criminologist was sitting with his hands upon the table. His

"I can predict it now!" he declared, with emphasis. "Chaos always produces a leader. Contact with crime

"I can see but one course for The Shadow. He has lost credit. He has behaved in a suspicious manner. His

power has waned; but it can be regained. He has seen a way to take advantage of The Cobra's deeds. That is

"The Shadow has failed; but in failing he has won. The Cobra still remains as an avenger; but mobsters, far

and wide are looking for a leader. Petty crime may exist for a short while; after that will come a masterstroke.

"Backed by a supercrew of ruffians, The Shadow will deliver crime. The law will find it difficult to thwart

"I believe you, Myland," declared Weston, soberly. "Nevertheless, we are handicapped for the present. We

need proof!" The commissioner thumped the table. "Proof! Cardona has shown that. I believe that The

Shadow will appear with dangerous men at his heels but until he has done so, we cannot act with surety.

"Captured now, The Shadow could not be held. We must wait, Myland wait in watchful readiness, to see if

"It looks like something is due to happen soon, commissioner," asserted Crawler Gorgan. "Still, I ain't saying

"On Wednesday night," said the commissioner, rising, "we shall meet here again. Is that all right with you,

"You be here, Cardona," ordered the commissioner. "If Gorgan is available, bring him with you. If it is unsafe

"Perhaps, by Wednesday night, we may have evidence of the sort that we are seeking. At any rate, I shall

The criminologist nodded to close the conference. There was something in his knowing smile that made the

observers feel that he was sure his convictions would be proven when that next meeting took place within this

THE police vigil had been raised from the apartment house where King Zobell and his two bodyguards had

been slain. The smashed window in the big shot's apartment had been attributed to a wild bullet dispatched in

that direction. Hence all investigation had been directed to the elevator shaft, which now was barred shut.

The lobby was deserted near the closed shaft. Hence, when a long streak of blackness appeared upon the

cracked marble floor, there was no one present to view its strange, creeping motion.

Blackness that moved like a living thing a streak of inkiness that terminated in a hawklike silhouette. There

Into the sphere of light glided a tall, cloaked form. A swish sounded softly as The Shadow's garment swung

to reveal a flash of its crimson interior. The Shadow had returned to the spot where The Cobra had eluded

The keen eyes beneath the hat brim were peering along the lobby. Their gaze was searching. They spied the

A tiny flashlight glimmered. Its small circle of bright light focused upon the door of the deserted barber shop.

The Shadow entered the unused room. His flashlight glimmered about the walls. It centered on the telephone

The light moved closer. A blackgloved hand rested upon the coin box. The Shadow's keen eyes studied the

object before them. Long fingers, prying here and there, reached the mouthpiece and turned it a scarce quarter

A laugh whispered gloomily through the room. The Shadow had found the clew he wanted. Working on the

report received from Burbank the contact man's account of the last call from Cliff Marsland The Shadow

Cliff, in his call had stated that Diamond Rigler had called The Cobra from downstairs. That was why The

Shadow had come to investigate. To an ordinary sleuth, the card on this telephone would have cleared the

instrument from suspicion. To The Shadow it denoted that this must be the telephone that Diamond Rigler

Further, The Shadow had quickly detected that the phone, to serve The Cobra, must actually be out of order

so far as the public was concerned. Eying the instrument, The Shadow had noted finger marks upon the

THE SHADOW made no attempt to use the telephone. That would have warned The Cobra. The light went

out; a laugh again sounded, this time in darkness. The Shadow had solved the riddle of The Cobra's fangs!

Throughout the decadent district which represented the badlands of Manhattan, there were other telephones

like this one. When such instruments went out of order, they were seldom replaced. Every pay phone marked

The Shadow glided from the apartment building. He reappeared, near the side door of an old garage, on the

very fringe of the underworld. Entering the door, The Shadow found a telephone in an obscure corner. He put

Sometime later, a young man appeared strolling along a side street of the Tenderloin. He walked into a cigar

store and purchased a pack of cigarettes. As he strolled out, he spied a telephone in a corner and noted that it

This quietly dressed, cleancut young chap was no stranger to the badlands. He had been here before at The

Shadow's bidding. He knew the district well. The young man was Harry Vincent, a trusted agent of The

In another quarter, another keeneyed young man was making rounds of his own. Like Harry Vincent, he

knew the underworld. Clyde Burke, police reporter of the New York Classic, was a frequent visitor to

With the aid of his two agents, The Shadow was checking up on the location of potential calling stations.

Following his first clew, he was tracing The Cobra's operatives to learn the workings of those secret helpers

IN a gloomy room where only a single lamp was glowing, a man was seated facing a small switchboard. In

response to a glimmering bulb, he pushed in a plug. This man had earphones and mouthpiece attached to his

"Report from Burke. Gangster identified as Gringo Volks made a call from Cobra booth one block west of

the Blue Crow. He received no reply. Burke tracked him. Gringo is at the Blue Crow."

Fifteen minutes later, a blackgarbed form moved silently along the street where the Blue Crow was located.

Stealthily, The Shadow lowered himself into a small pit outside a grimy window. His keen eyes peered

Gangsters were assembled, talking in low, confiding tones. The Shadow recognized faces that he had seen

before. Among them was the one The Shadow sought. Gringo Volks, formerly chief henchman of Deek

Gringo was the one who had spilled word of The Cobra on the night when Deek Hundell had died. This was

tribute to The Cobra's craft. It proved how The Cobra had learned of the meeting which Deek had called.

Gringo, Deek's most trusted henchman, a minion of The Cobra. Thus had The Shadow learned from Clyde

Seated apart from other mobsters was a visitor who had been in the Blue Crow when The Shadow had come

The Shadow knew the palefaced undercover man for who he was an agent of the police. He watched

Crawler rise and slouch from the dive. This was sufficient proof that no conversation of importance was

Crawler reached the street and shambled along past the spot where The Shadow lurked. The undercover man

had no suspicion of the blackgarbed watcher's presence. The Shadow paid no attention to Crawler's

departure. His keen eyes, still close to the smudgy window, were fast on the thug called Gringo Volks.

The hardfaced mobster seemed restless. He pushed back his chair and took the path to the door. Coming

from the Blue Crow, he, too, went by the spot where The Shadow was in readiness. This time, The Shadow

Gringo had no idea that he was being followed. He did not glance behind him; had he done so, he would have

failed to see the form the followed him. When The Shadow stalked prey through the underworld, his stealth

Not even a swish of the black cloak betrayed his presence. Like Gringo's own shadow, he followed silently

until the gangster came to a disreputable dwelling which appeared to be unoccupied. Gringo opened a

THIS was the spot where Clyde Burke had watched one block west of the Blue Crow. A pile of barrels,

near the opened door, showed where Clyde must have stationed himself. The Shadow avoided this hiding

place. Stealthily, he moved to the door and listened less than a dozen feet from Gringo.

The gangster was fumbling with the mouthpiece of a telephone. A buzzing sound was audible. There was no

further response. Gringo grunted impatiently and turned toward the door. The Shadow moved back into

This time, however, Gringo did not move back to the street. Instead, he lighted a cigarette and stood smoking

it in the shelter of the basement. When he had reduced the cigarette to a tiny butt, he flicked the lighted end

Again, the twisting of the mouthpiece. This time the reply came. A hissing sound from the receiver was plain

"I get you... Yeah... That's tomorrow night... Outside the Black Ship... You're putting me in charge... Nine

The call ended. Gringo stalked from the basement. He passed The Shadow in the darkness. His footsteps

clicked on the sidewalk as he headed back toward his favorite hangout, the Blue Crow.

A whispered laugh sounded softly after Gringo's footsteps had faded. The tall figure of The Shadow glided

mysteriously from a spot beside the door. Gringo Volks had finally reached The Cobra. From his chief he had

Tomorrow night. That was Wednesday night. The Cobra was planning some action with the aid of fangs

whom he had used before. From a hidden lair, the unknown chief had issued an important order.

The laugh of The Shadow! Soft, but weird, it seemed to echo from the walls past which The Shadow moved

with gliding pace. Whatever The Cobra's scheme might be, The Shadow would be concerned in its result.

Much was to be done before tomorrow night. Yet The Shadow's tone of mirth betokened confidence. For by

watching through the window of the Blue Crow; by trailing Gringo Volks and observing the man's actions,

CLIFF MARSLAND opened his eyes. He was lying on a cot, in one of the strangest rooms that he had ever

seen. Near him was a table and a chair; beyond that, a large cabinet projecting from the wall. Cliff blinked as

Cliff could not see the visitor's face. The man was dressed in dark clothes and his back was toward The

Shadow's agent. He was stepping toward another door, which he opened to reveal a closet.

Cliff saw the man take down a garment. Stooping; he slipped trousers over his legs and drew a sort of cowl

up over his back. Groggy, Cliff did not realize what this meant until the man turned and stepped from the

A hiss came from the painted, hooded face. It was the warning of The Cobra. Cliff stared as the brownclad

"You have slept well," hissed The Cobra. "You will sleep again for long intervals while you remain my

There was a forced tone to The Cobra's voice. It was that of a speaker who chose his words in an effort to

"There are not many," went on The Cobra, "who have become my prisoners. You are lucky. I am keeping you

"His time is up. Tonight, he will be outlawed. The police will be on his path. So will The Cobra. That is why

Cliff's head was aching. The Shadow's agent sank back upon the cot. The Cobra laughed in snarling fashion.

Cliff's eyes were closed, but he could hear The Cobra talking. Dully, Cliff heard the instructions which The

Crackling through his brain was the thought that these words would be information for The Shadow; with it

Cliff knew that he had been drugged. He had lain here probably for days and the effect of the dope had not

worn off. Cliff's hands were trembling; at moments, they seemed to regain their normal strength, but when

THE COBRA had finished speaking. He arose and again turned to look at the helpless form of Cliff

Marsland. Again, his hissing tone delivered insidious words. Cliff's ears were pounding. He caught only

"Tonight... The Shadow... a fugitive... the law will seek him... when I have done..."

Cliff closed his eyes in bewilderment. He was trying to connect these utterances. They were ringing in his

brain words that he half understood. The Cobra's voice ceased with a hiss. Cliff could hear his footsteps

Something was happening, but Cliff had only a hazy idea of what it was. He could hear The Cobra's hiss,

coming as though far away. Once Cliff opened his eyes; he stared in total amazement; then closed his lids and

Wild visions gripped him. The Cobra's hiss it seemed to bring The Shadow's laugh. Hope became despair.

All was absurd and fantastic. Frenzied desire for The Shadow's aid was racking Cliff's brain.

Opening his eyes again, Cliff stared, glaring at the ceiling. It seemed to be whirling; as in a cloud, Cliff

The Cobra's hood The Shadow's eyes then ugly faces of scowling mobsters. Steadiness came back only

when Cliff closed his eyes and gripped the sides of the cot. He heard The Cobra's hiss. Then came the reply

The lights went out as Cliff reopened his eyes. Complete darkness was the result. Cliff could hear The Cobra

moving toward the door. He heard the barrier open; then close. A bolt shot. Muffled footsteps clicked from

Cliff's voice ended in a gurgle. Weakly, the deluded man sank head back upon the cot. Darkness seemed to

grip Cliff by the throat. He moaned piteously amid these moments of awakened fantasy. The clicking of The

YET The Cobra's ascent had required less than half a minute. At the top of the stone steps, The Cobra was

opening a door. He moved into the darkness of the ground floor. In pitch blackness, The Cobra hissed.

An answering response came in a crackling whisper. It was Fang One the guardian of The Cobra's lair.

"The side door," hissed The Cobra. "I shall be gone at least two hours. Wait here until I return."

Footsteps thudded softly on a thin rug as The Cobra crossed the room. A door closed. Faint footsteps from a

Fang One chuckled in the darkness. He seemed to like its atmosphere. Then, a full three minutes after The

Cobra's departure, a light came on as Fang One's hand pulled a cord. The illumination, shaded in a table

Fang One was an old, wizened man. His hair was thin and gray on his crown he wore a little rounded cap of

black. Many denizens of the underworld would have recognized that face, with its wrinkled, toothless smile.

The old man was "Crazy" Lartin, a recluse whom all regarded as almost penniless. Crazy had been a beggar

in his time. Whatever hoardings he owned could not be large. This was the humble room of Crazy Lartin's

A humble, crumbling old house in an illkept district. Such was the place that The Cobra had chosen as his

headquarters. Crazy Lartin served as the guardian to the way below. He held the title of Fang One!

This was a room with many doors. One was the way by which The Cobra had come from his lair. There were

four others. The old man was staring significantly across the room; his gaze indicated the direction which The

Hands clasped and rubbing; lower lip protruding above the upper in a fiendish leer Crazy Lartin seemed to

enjoy the prospect of The Cobra's return. It was plain that he took pride in The Cobra's deeds. Fixed was

One of the other doors was opening. Upon the floor stretched a long, thin streak of blackness that crept

forward in ominous fashion. Then came a figure from darkness; that of a being clad in black. The Shadow!

The old man turned too late. He gurgled as he caught a flash of blazing eyes from beneath the brim of a

Fang One writhed with surprising strength. He was overpowered. The Shadow, stooping, trussed the old man

with remarkable swiftness. He raised Lartin's body with one arm and dropped the old man on a couch in the

Leaning forward, The Shadow held a gag above the old man's face. Before applying it, he put a stern,

"Below," gasped Lartin. "Down the stone steps. The middle door the light beside it "

The gag wedged its way between the old man's gums. As he twisted the ends into a knot, The Shadow

CLIFF MARSLAND blinked. The light had come on again. The period of darkness had broken his dizziness.

In the dim glow of The Cobra's lair, Cliff felt a returning strength. Surging through his mind were thoughts

The Shadow must be reached! That was Cliff's one realization. Could The Shadow hear Cliff's story, he

would know amazing facts! With that thought, Cliff Marsland flung himself sidewise from the cot and

The room spun. With crazy, whirling gait, Cliff plunged toward a wall as though his steps were taking him

down a ramp. He slipped as his fingers failed to hold the cracks which they sought. Slumping, Cliff sprawled

Half rising, Cliff stared in the direction of the sound. A new creature of fantastic appearance was before him

a living snake a cobra! Cliff uttered a gasp as he saw the venomous serpent lift its hood. This deadly

creature pet of The Cobra was about to strike. It could deliver venom more potent than that of its master!

Cliff did not hear the click of the bolt behind him. He did not feel the swish of air that came from the opening

door. The cobra's hood was poised to strike. Cliff was staring, powerless to move.

Suddenly the gleam of a flashlight was reflected in the wicked, beady eyes of the reptile. Blinded by the light,

A terrific shot reechoed in Cliff's ear. It was the discharge of a heavy automatic; caught by the stone walls,

the report was cannonlike. Hood and head were blown from the cobra's body. The writhing length of the

Amid the repeated echoes of the pistol shot came the strident tones of a sardonic laugh. The fate of this real

cobra was an omen. It was The Shadow's challenge to The Cobra. Slumped by the wall, Cliff Marsland

KEENLY, The Shadow discerned his agent's plight. With strong arm, he gripped Cliff's body and raised the

halfdrugged man from the wall. He carried Cliff to the cot and placed him there.

From beneath his cloak, The Shadow produced a small vial filled with a purplish liquid. He uncorked it and

placed the little bottle to Cliff's lips. Cliff dropped back as a pungent odor filled his nostrils. Firmly, The

The room whirled. Cliff collapsed upon the cot. Yet as he lay there, he could feel a potent fire that seemed to

bring new life through his veins. The Shadow's keen eyes watched the blood creep to Cliff's forehead. Then

Choosing plugs with care, The Shadow inserted them in the board. He spoke, in low, whispered tones. Cliff

Marsland raised himself on one elbow and stared, despite his dizziness, as he heard a voice reply:

"Men assembled outside the Black Ship," came Harry's voice. "Cars waiting in an alleyway."

The gloved hands were busy with the plugs. Again, the whisper. Another voice sounded from the plug box.

"Await Vincent," ordered The Shadow. Then a pause: "Also wait fifteen minutes after his arrival, Marsland

A soft laugh rippled from The Shadow's lips as the black hands pulled the plugs. Cliff stared steadily now; his

The Shadow had solved The Cobra's system. More than that; from The Cobra's lair he was using The Cobra's

own equipment in order to instruct Harry Vincent and Clyde Burke on the work they were to do!

The Shadow arose. He approached the cot and stood above Cliff Marsland. The agent looked squarely into

"He gave orders," declared Cliff, as he strove to remember. "Orders to men whom he called fangs."

Cliff paused; then, mechanically, he repeated disjointed phrases. There was not a full sentence among them.

They were not in the order that The Cobra had uttered them. Yet The Shadow seemed to understand. More

"Yes," returned Cliff. "He he came in here alone. I could not see his face. He went" Cliff paused to point

to the door of the closet "over there. He he came out as The Cobra. I was dizzy."

The Shadow moved toward the closet. He drew out garments among them two long, wrinkled garbs of

brown. He held them up to exhibit painted hoods. Cliff shuddered at the recollection; then steadied.

"He he put on one of those," gasped Cliff. "It it was after that he spoke. He he said he would outlaw

Cliff was weakening. He sank back on the cot. He felt what he was sure could be no more than a last spell of

dizziness. After that, he would have his strength. He was sure of it; but for the moment, he could not speak,

"The Cobra!" blurted Cliff. "He he went back to the closet. I I saw him. I I was dizzy. I I thought that

A WHISPERED laugh came from The Shadow's hidden lips. Cliff Marsland had settled back upon the cot.

The Shadow's laugh was the sign that he had learned all that he needed to know. He had divined the full

meaning of Cliff's disjointed statements. He had formed a complete report from wandering utterances.

Cliff lay quietly upon the cot. The Shadow moved about the room. Time was floating leisurely in Cliff's

mind, although moments only were passing. With eyes still closed, Cliff felt himself raised up from the cot.

Cliff's footsteps clicked on stone. The dampness of the stairway revived him. Urged onward by The Shadow's

In the furnished room, he saw the old man prone upon the couch. Cliff could see a fearful look in the bound

prisoner's eyes. The man was staring at the figure of The Shadow. The glimpse ended as Cliff reached the

door toward which The Shadow aided him. Then came the darkness of the passage; after that an outer door.

Through a blackened alleyway, Cliff Marsland still felt The Shadow close beside him. Across a street;

another narrow way. Night air was reviving. It added the final touch to the potent liquid which Cliff had

swallowed. They reached a street. On the other side, Cliff saw a parked car. He heard The Shadow's whisper.

"I have placed an automatic in your pocket," declared The Shadow. "Join Vincent and Burke in the car. They

Cliff nodded. With firm footsteps, he moved from the alleyway. He paused a moment to grip the wall and

steady himself. He did not see The Shadow in the darkness. Turning, momentarily, he realized that his chief

Cliff grinned. He was ready now. He headed across the street, steady and alert. As he advanced to join the

It was the laugh of The Shadow! From The Cobra's lair, the master fighter had rescued his agent and had

The laugh faded, with echoing mockery. That was the token of The Shadow's departure. The Shadow,

himself, had started on his way. He had appointed work for his men; for himself, a lone game.

This night would bring the climax. The meeting between The Shadow and The Cobra was due to come! Like

CALEB MYLAND'S Long Island home showed dimly in the night. Only a few windows were aglow. The

quiet place seemed far away from the teeming slums of Manhattan. Yet this secluded spot bore a close

This was where Caleb Myland, criminologist, was to hold another conference with Police Commissioner

Ralph Weston. For this was Wednesday night the evening set for the appointed meeting.

Myland's estate was skirted by a hedge. Beyond that clumpy barrier, three rakish automobiles slid into line.

Lights out, men clambered to the road. They stood silent, listening to the low growl of one man who was

"Lay low, you fellows." The voice was that of Gringo Volks. "Ease in from the hedge I'll lead you back to

"Keep the front clear. There's a big driveway there; we're not stopping people from driving in. There's bushes

"The Cobra's coming in tonight." Gringo's voice was still a low tone. "Maybe he's in already. Maybe he's

coming later. We took our time getting here. It don't matter either way. Pass The Cobra in or out. You get

"When he comes out," resumed Gringo, "that's when the fireworks start. You won't see him at first. His signal

will be a shot. That's when we cut loose. High and wide. To cover The Cobra in his getway.

"Crowd close to the house. Raise a big row. Then back here to the cars, shooting all the way. Plaster the front,

"We're working for The Cobra. But we're mum. This is the job that fixes things the way he wants it. From

now on, we're in the money. And remember" Gringo's tone was final "pass The Cobra!"

Slouching gangsters grunted their understanding. A squad of more than a dozen, they filed toward the

opening in the hedge. Spreading upon the darkened lawn, they edged away at Gringo's order.

THESE mobsters represented a picked crew. Never before had such a capable outfit ventured from the

underworld. They were not ordinary gorillas. Each was a fang of The Cobra. Each could have told his own

Gringo's tale would have been typical. The former aid of Deek Hundell had been cornered by The Cobra. In

return for life with the added promise of remarkable gain Gringo had worked from then on for The

Among the others who were in Gringo's squad were the ones who had crossed other big shots. Only one was

lacking: Diamond Rigler had been slated for a lieutenancy higher than the one which Gringo Volks was

The nearer mobsters had reached the bushes on the close side of the drive. Others had circled the house and

were reaching a similar position on the other side. Gringo had taken a vantage point close to the near side of

Fangs of The Cobra formed an armed circle! Steady hands with potent trigger fingers, these aids were ready

A car came up the drive. Gringo eyed it from a distance. The night was still; he could hear the door slam; he

An interval; then came another car. Like the first, it remained in the driveway while an occupant alighted to

In accordance with instructions from The Cobra, Gringo had brought his crew hither with no haste.

Assembled at the Black Ship, he had waited until the appointed time to start. Then he had gone from car to

The Cobra was coming here tonight. It was probable that he had arrived before his crew. At the same time,

there was a chance that The Cobra had chosen to wait until visitors had reached Myland's home.

The big house, as Gringo viewed it, would make a good lurking spot. Gringo, had he been in The Cobra's

place, would have chosen to come ahead of the mob. Nevertheless, he saw merit in the other course, and

Somehow, Gringo began to lean to the belief that The Cobra had remained outside. Had he chosen this latter

plan, he would be able to see how well the gang stationed itself under Gringo's order.

The night had been cloudy. The overcast sky was clearing. Gringo was glad that the fangs were stationed.

Faint moonlight was now upon the lawn. Creeping men would have been visible. As it was, all were in their

THE lawn stretched out in back of Myland's house. A clear space showed a dull, silvery surface instead of

blackened grass. Gringo turned. His ears had detected a faint sound that seemed familiar.

Staring, Gringo saw a wrinkled shape, like a dark smudge on the silvered lawn. A bulky, stalking body, it was

topped by a strange, outlandish hood. Upon that masklike headpiece glowed a luminous, painted face.

Circled eyes. Straight lines that tapered like chevrons to form a false face of venomous appearance.

Gringo growled a low order. It was heard by a fang stationed closer to the house:

Murmurs from the waiting fangs murmurs no louder than a passing breeze. Awed eyes watched while lips

were silent. Like a triumphant general passing beneath a bridge of swords, the figure of The Cobra stalked

The browngarbed figure reached its goal. The Cobra had advanced to an obscure side door of the house. His

snakelike form was swathed in darkness. The back of his hood was toward his men. The luminous face could

The watchword had been obeyed. From now on, visitors could enter Caleb Myland's only by the driveway in

the front; but none would be permitted to leave. The bars would not be lifted until the waiting fangs would

Then, amid the barrage of a besieging horde, The Cobra would depart, while his waiting fangs once more

Commissioner Weston put the question. He was asking it of Babson, Caleb Myland's servant. Babson had

ushered two visitors, Commissioner Weston and Joe Cardona, into Myland's study. They were awaiting the

"Mr. Myland should be here, sir," informed Babson. "He was out of town. I fancy that he missed his train and

"Humph," grunted Weston, as Babson left. "This is maddening, Cardona. We need Myland's advice at once. I

"It is still incomplete," reminded Joe. "Gorgan is going to call by telephone before "

"That's just the trouble," interrupted the commissioner. "Myland should be here before Gorgan phones.

The commissioner looked glum. He sat in meditative silence and Cardona did not disturb him. Then came the

click of the opening door. Weston uttered an exclamation of satisfaction as Myland appeared.

"Sorry, gentlemen," remarked the grayhaired criminologist. "I was detained in Philadelphia. It meant only

one hour's delay in reaching here, so I did not call by long distance. I came by taxi from the Pennsylvania

"I didn't hear a cab drive up," observed Weston. "If I had, I would have come to the door to meet you."

"This study is secluded," was Myland's rejoinder. "One cannot hear automobiles when they arrive in the

"We have news for you, Myland," declared Weston, suddenly. "It is important news from Gorgan. Tell the

"CRAWLER GORGAN phoned me," asserted Cardona. "He was near a dive known as The Black Ship. He

"Crawler could not recognize them in the dark. They were getting into parked cars; and to all appearances

"It was too late for me to reach Commissioner Weston by telephone, for I was at the place where I meet

Crawler and I was ready to start here. I ordered Crawler to slide back to the Black Ship to see what else he

"I have used your telephone to call headquarters," said Weston, to Myland. "Inspector Klein has sent two

capable men down to the vicinity of the Black Ship. They have instructions to be cautious."

"A mob assembling," remarked Myland, thoughtfully. "A mob despite the unsettled conditions in the

The telephone bell rang. Myland picked up the receiver and handed the instrument to Weston. The police

commissioner heard the voice of Inspector Timothy Klein. He held a short conversation; then hung up.

"The men have reported to Klein," informed Weston. "There are no cars near the Black Ship. All is quiet

"Crawler may be on his way here," interposed Cardona. "If he found out what the mob is doing, and had time

"A mob assembling." Caleb Myland was repeating his interrupted statement. "That means leadership.

Someone is reorganizing the forces of the underworld. Shattered hordes have been assembled by a mighty

"Listen, commissioner!" Joe Cardona was on his feet. "This thing is coming to a showdown. I think you're all

"I don't agree with you, commissioner." Cardona was blunt. "He could have made the opportunity. I've got a

"Who's been knocking off the big shots? I'll tell you. The Cobra! Why? Because by clearing them out, he's

left the very opening you've talked about but it's an opening for himself! The Cobra's the one that's ready to

"Preposterous!" exclaimed the indignant commissioner. "Cardona, such remarks at this critical time come

"You'll hear me out!" insisted Cardona. "You accuse The Shadow of having tried to block The Cobra's work.

All right suppose he has. Maybe he knows that The Cobra is actually a smart crook maybe he knows

"Take it from me that gang that Crawler's been watching don't belong to The Shadow. He doesn't deal with

"No more!" Weston drove his fist against the table. "Cardona, you will answer for this absurd talk. The Cobra

has proven his worth. The Shadow has shown his questionable tendencies. Tonight, let us hope, we will gain

positive facts. Perhaps this crook, The Shadow, will become too bold. Your theory, Cardona, is outrageous "

"One moment, commissioner," Caleb Myland was speaking with a placid smile. "We must not curb Cardona's

statements. Any theory given honestly is worth consideration. Why not plan what should be done

tonight? We need further word from Gorgan, but in the meantime, we can be discussing matters.

"I, like you, believe that The Shadow is a menace. But why mince words when the proof is probably in the

making? Perhaps from Gorgan perhaps from detectives perhaps from crime itself, we shall know the

"Let the crook reveal himself, as I believe he will somewhere in New York. Speculation as to his identity

Mollified by Myland's words, the commissioner subsided. He knew that the criminologist was right. Myland,

like Weston, held the theory that The Shadow had yielded to the lure of crime; yet Myland was content to

The door opened. It was Babson. The servant seemed nervous. He approached and spoke to Caleb Myland.

"Things aren't right outside, sir," he declared. "I was looking from a front window. I thought I saw a man

Weston looked up in surprise. Cardona became alert. Myland held up his hand to ease them.

"Babson is imaginative," he declared. "He knows that I have a large amount of cash in my vault here in this

"There may be a man outside; perhaps someone from the underworld. I have feared this, but not on my own

account. I have been worried about Crawler Gorgan. His job as undercover man is a precarious one. Perhaps

"I shall take a look, gentlemen, at the place which Babson has mentioned. It is better that I should go alone. I

can peer from the window without being observed. Come, Babson show me the window "

Myland was smiling serenely as he moved from behind the table. He was heading toward the door of the

study, with Babson at his heels. Weston was watching the criminologist depart. So was Cardona. Both could

Then came simultaneous gasps. Weston and Cardona leaped to their feet as Myland staggered back. Babson

uttered a hoarse scream of terror. All hands went up at the sight of the threatening form that stood within the

Armed with two automatics, a blackclad form was covering the four men. Tall, menacing in appearance, his

features were completely hidden by the bundled collar of his black cloak. The broad brim of a slouch hat was

An ugly laugh came from unseen lips. The automatics moved forward in the gloved hands that held them.

A cry of outraged recognition came from Commissioner Weston, as the official voiced the identity that was

COMMISSIONER RALPH WESTON scowled as he backed toward the wall in response to the gesture of the

automatics. Myland showed a worried, bewildered countenance. Babson was terrified. Cardona's face was

"You asked for crime." The words came in a harsh sneer from the lips that watchers could not see. "You shall

Glumly, Joe Cardona stood with upraised hands while Caleb Myland turned to follow the bidding. Joe had

staked all on the integrity of The Shadow. This turn of events was wholly unexpected to the detective.

Joe had seen The Shadow in the past. Always he had arrived as a grim avenger, to fight on the side of right.

Babson had reported a lurker outside. It must be one of a mob. The Shadow's mob! Joe could not have

believed it, but for the presence of the blackclad intruder now engaged in deliberate crime.

A sneering laugh. It was like the laugh of The Shadow that Cardona had heard before; but it held a new tone

one that was ugly in its jeering. Joe Cardona glanced toward Ralph Weston. The commissioner's face was

"You have looked for crime." The sneer of The Shadow seemed a snarl as it was addressed to Weston,

Caleb Myland had opened the vault beyond the panel. Without awaiting bidding, the criminologist removed

stacks of banknotes and placed them on the table. Thousands of dollars all the wealth that the strong box

"Death!" The word was ominous, as the blackgloved hands turned automatic muzzles toward Caleb Myland

Weston and Cardona stood helpless. They knew that they could not save the criminologist and the menial.

The money lay where the blackgloved hands could pluck it. Quick death to Myland and Babson that,

Weston took, was the intent of The Shadow. Then the money unless Weston or Cardona should attempt to

intervene. If they did, those automatics would bark new shots to end the lives of commissioner and detective.

WESTON could not watch. He heard the taunting laugh, delivered in spiteful hatred. He turned his eyes

toward the door, to avoid a view of Myland's death. Cardona, glancing toward Weston's face, saw a sudden

At the same instant, Weston's lips blurted forth a cry of hope. The words swung Cardona's eyes in the

Framed in the doorway was the fantastic figure that had rescued Ralph Weston and Joe Cardona from a

former plight like this. The folds of the dark brown garb seemed almost black against the gloom of the hall

The moment that followed Weston's involuntary gasp seemed like a lifetime. Four men those with upraised

Weston's gasp had been an alarm. The blackcloaked figure of The Shadow whirled rapidly toward the door.

Both automatics swung to cover the browngarbed form of The Cobra. At the same instant, a long brown arm

shot up from the folds of The Cobra's brown attire. A revolver flashed as the quick hand took aim!

A hiss came from the doorway. It was answered by a scoffing laugh. Then came the conflict.

Three shots resounded with a deafening roar. To the listeners, they came as a single, prolonged outburst. In

this instantaneous duel between The Shadow and The Cobra, both mighty fighters had launched their lead

But in that mighty burst of gunfire, one trigger was pulled a split second before the others. A quick, but

perfect shot accomplished both vengeance and salvation. Brown finger, pressed to revolver trigger, had

Turning, Joe Cardona saw the figure of The Shadow as it wavered. The arms had swayed in firing. A bullet to

the body beneath the black cloak had caused the automatics to falter in their aim.

The blackcloaked form crumpled. It sprawled on the floor, a helpless, inert mass, while clattering

automatics dropped beside it. The black hat, toppling forward, completely obscured the face beneath.

At the door stood the hooded figure of The Cobra. The painted face seemed to represent a gleeful smile. The

Eyes behind the painted mask saw that the shot had gone home. The figure of The Cobra faded beyond the

"The Cobra!" exclaimed Ralph Weston. "He has saved us all. He has killed The Shadow!"

THE commissioner was pointing toward the motionless figure on the floor. Caleb Myland, leaning

palefaced on the table, nodded, as his hands pressed the stacks of rescued banknotes.

Joe Cardona was stunned. The Shadow slain in the act of crime by The Cobra! Mechanically, the

detective moved forward from the wall. Stooping, he fumbled as he plucked up one of the automatics. A

sudden stare came to Cardona's eyes. He grabbed for the other gun and stood, gaping, with one weapon in

These were not the famous .45s those mammoth weapons with which The Shadow had mowed down many

fiends of crime. They were .38s powerful, but of lesser caliber than The Shadow's mighty guns.

As Weston stepped forward, Cardona stooped again. He dropped the automatics to the floor. With sudden

inspiration, he seized the black hat and whipped it from the face that was beneath.

Ralph Weston and Caleb Myland obeyed Cardona's cry. Like the detective, they registered amazement.

The lifting of the hat had revealed an unexpected sight. The painted hood of The Cobra! An exact duplicate

Again, Cardona stooped. He seized the hood by the knot at the top. He yanked it clear of the head that wore

It was Caleb Myland who saw the light. Blurting, the criminologist gave the facts as he perceived them.

"Gorgan The Cobra!" exclaimed Myland. "He turned to crime. He came here as The Shadow to lay crime

As in corroboration of Caleb Myland's finding came a weird, chilling token from beyond the door. It was a

whispered, creeping laugh, that broke with shuddering echoes the laugh of the one who had slain The

OUTSIDE of Myland's home, Gringo Volks was tense as he whispered orders to his men. The fangs had

heard dull, muffled reports of gunshots within the house. They were waiting for another signal.

It came. From the side door which the fangs had seen The Cobra enter, a burst of flame appeared

accompanied by the bark of a revolver. Fangs of The Cobra fired in return. High shots smashed against the

Into a patch of moonlight appeared the figure of The Cobra, moving forward. A brown hand flung aside a

glittering object a revolver. The hand descended; two arms swung upward, holding blackened objects: huge

A peal of weird laughter. Strident, unrepressed, the battle cry of The Shadow struck the ears of the fangs as

they paused in their fire. Wild exclamations followed. Before them stood The Cobra but his weird call was

Then came bursts of flame from The Shadow's automatics, followed by screams about the lawn. Guiding his

shots by the flashes of revolvers, The Shadow was aiming for The Cobra's henchmen.

The order came from Gringo Volks as The Cobra's chief aid leaped from the bush where he was waiting.

Flashing a revolver, Gringo sought to meet the challenge. Cobra or Shadow, this hooded figure was an

Gringo was aiming again. He was in full view of the house. An automatic barked. Gringo sprawled. His

finger slipped from the trigger. His revolver bounded in the dirt beside a bush.

Staring fangs had seen the lieutenant's fall. With one accord they broke into frenzied flight. Cutting across the

lawn, they fired hasty shots as they fled. They could no longer see the form at which they aimed. They could

Crouched behind a little wall that was beside stone steps, The Shadow was picking off the fleeing fangs.

Responding bullets chipped off fragments from the wall; but the ricocheting shots missed the living target.

Fangs from the other side of the mansion were heading in a wide circle to escape The Shadow's fire. The

automatics stilled. A weird laugh broke as five escaping crooks drove madly toward the opening in the hedge.

A searchlight's beam came flooding through the opening. The loud, eerie laugh had been a signal to men

stationed in a car that had pulled up beyond the break in the hedge. Five fangs stopped blinded as they faced

Shots from beyond the hedge. They were delivered by The Shadow's trusted men, Clyde Burke and Harry

Vincent with Cliff Marsland revived to aid them and broke the headlong retreat of the survivors who had

Two fangs fell. A third remained firing, while his companions cut at an angle toward the house. The lone man

aimed for the searchlight and missed his target. A burst of return shots dropped him.

RISING from his protected spot, The Shadow took longrange aim. One shot clipped the foremost fang; the

next bullet sent the second sprawling. The last of the fangs had fallen. The Shadow's laugh rose triumphant;

then faded as the master fighter still garbed as The Cobra turned to enter the house.

The Shadow's agents drove away from beyond the hedge as men appeared from Myland's. The fray outside

had been furious, but fast. Not until its quick action had terminated did Joe Cardona appear, followed by the

Moonlight showed sprawled and writhing forms upon the lawn. Cardona and Weston, carrying guns for

protection, rushed forward to corral the dead and wounded mobsters. Aided by Myland and Babson, they

Placing the crippled fangs in the front living room, Cardona and Weston hurried to the study to call for

ambulances and reinforcements from headquarters. Joe Cardona was speaking as they moved along.

"These men will talk," said the detective. "The Cobra is dead. The Shadow spotted his game and picked off

"How The Shadow did it is a mystery!" exclaimed Weston. "Commendable! Most commendable!"

Little did either realize the details of the work which The Shadow had accomplished as a sleuth in the

underworld. They did not know how The Shadow had spied on Gringo Volks in the Blue Crow; how he had

noted that while Crawler Gorgan was present, calls which henchmen sent could not reach The Cobra.

That was the clew which The Shadow had followed. He had trailed Crawler to his abode this very night.

There, from Cliff Marsland's disjointed phrases, he had divined The Cobra's game. The Cobra had departed,

attired as The Shadow! Cliff had taken it for a fantastic dream; The Shadow had understood all!

He had chosen the attire of The Cobra for himself. He had taken one of the additional garbs when he had left

The Cobra's lair. Moving to the Black Ship, he had heard Gringo's final instructions to his men

It was The Shadow who had entered as The Cobra, passing through the lines of watching fangs; while The

Cobra, wearing a cloak and hat to impersonate The Shadow, had been lurking within Caleb Myland's home!

"The Cobra would have slain Myland and Babson," said the detective, solemnly. "Then, with the money, he

"Yes," agreed Cardona. "They would have held us back. We would have blamed The Shadow for the crime

"We would have hounded The Shadow," admitted Weston. "Captured him or driven him to hiding

"Those men of his," assured Cardona, "were lieutenants of the big shots that The Cobra killed. Each would

They had reached the study. Cardona uttered an exclamation as he pointed to the body of The Cobra,

sprawled upon the floor. The black cloak and slouch hat were gone. Both Cardona and Weston knew the

The Shadow had returned. He had taken away these garments in which The Cobra had masqueraded.

Imitations of The Shadow's own guise, they belonged to The Shadow now not to Crawler Gorgan, the

Commissioner Weston stood still as Detective Cardona raised his hand for silence. Far away, barely audible

Ghoulish, chilling mockery, it faded from its strange crescendo. Yet the recollection of that bursting cry could

not be forgotten. It was the note that sounded final victory over The Cobra and his evil minions.