THE CRIME MASTER.....................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. THE LAW WAITS...........................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. THE SHADOW ACTS....................................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. TRIGGER TALKS.......................................................................................................10

CHAPTER IV. THE NEXT CLUE.......................................................................................................13

CHAPTER V. THE MASTER MOVES...............................................................................................17

CHAPTER VI. THE ZERO HOUR .......................................................................................................20

CHAPTER VII. A FIEND DELIGHTS .................................................................................................23

CHAPTER VIII. THE SHADOW'S CLUE ...........................................................................................28

CHAPTER IX. THE ULTIMATUM .....................................................................................................31

CHAPTER X. DEATH FROM THE DARK........................................................................................35

CHAPTER XI. BLACK JOINS WHITE ...............................................................................................39

CHAPTER XII. TUESDAY NIGHT .....................................................................................................43

CHAPTER XIII. THE FLIGHT............................................................................................................47

CHAPTER XIV. THE NEW CAMPAIGN ...........................................................................................53

CHAPTER XV. SHATTERED CRIME...............................................................................................58

CHAPTER XVI. THE CAPTURE........................................................................................................62

CHAPTER XVII. THE SHADOW TRAPPED .....................................................................................66

CHAPTER XVIII. ANOTHER PRISONER.........................................................................................70

CHAPTER XIX. FORCES PREPARE.................................................................................................75

CHAPTER XX. MASTERS MEET......................................................................................................80

CHAPTER XXI. BLACK STANDS ALONE .......................................................................................83

The stocky man hung up the receiver of the telephone. Dark eyes peered from his swarthy face as he turned

from the corner of the little East Side store. He stared at the proprietor, a dullfaced old fellow who was

The old man blinked back. He showed no signs of intelligence. The swarthy man grinned. With a shift of his

shoulders, he buttoned his light overcoat and stalked from the dilapidated shop, out into the night.

The old man watched, hands on the counter. He came cautiously forward. He reached the door and peered out

along the street. He could see the striding form of the man who had departed. He went back to the corner of

A voice clicked through the receiver. The old man spoke, in a crackly eager tone:

"He just left here... Yes... Joe Cardona, the dick... No, he ain't going back to headquarters... Going to see the

Clicking ceased. The old man hung up the receiver. He glanced furtively toward the door; then, with straggly

MEANWHILE, the swarthy man had covered a full block. The old proprietor of the store had not been

mistaken in his statement of identity. This stocky strider who was marching through the fringe of New York's

The fact that he had been deceived by the innocuous appearance of the old storekeeper did not prove Joe

Cardona to be unobservant. On the contrary, the star sleuth was remarkably alert as he paced his way along

Though he apparently stared straight ahead, Cardona kept his eyes in constant motion. Peering from right to

The open door of a tawdry barber shop; two Italians gesticulating while one clutched a newspaper Cardona

caught words in a Neapolitan dialect. He nodded grimly as he recognized the topic of conversation.

The detective passed a corner. He went by the door of a pawn shop. Again, he caught snatches of talk these

The bulk of an elevated structure loomed at the next corner. The detective stopped and struck a match against

a pillar beside the station steps. A train was rumbling overhead as Cardona lighted a cigarette. A palefaced,

sweatered fellow shambled from beside a fruit peddler's wagon. He stooped to pick a cigar stump from the

Cardona emitted the growled question without looking toward the stooping man. Rising, the sweatered fellow

looked at the cigar stump; then flung it back into the gutter. His lips moved as though muttering to himself.

"Nothin' doin'," mumbled Squawky. "Just talk but nobody knows nothin'. I'm goin' to the Pink Rat."

Puffing at his cigarette, the detective turned and ascended the elevated steps. "Squawky" slouched back

toward the fruit peddler's wagon; he dug a few pennies from his pocket and handed them to the peddler in

exchange for an apple. Chewing at his purchase, the sweatered man shuffled along the grimy avenue.

JOE CARDONA had reached the elevated platform. A train was coming into the station. The detective

stepped aboard. Standing within the end door, he eyed two passengers who were seated a dozen feet away.

One was tapping the columns of an evening newspaper. The other was nodding in response to a statement

which Cardona could not hear because of the train's rumble. But the detective saw the scoffing smiles which

the two exchanged. Turning, Cardona eyed the tops of old East Side buildings past which the train was

"Luck," he growled, half aloud. "Luck and everybody knows it. If I could guess what's coming "

The train reached Cardona's station. The detective alighted. He was away from the underworld now; his

"Poiper, mister?" The question came from a newsboy who pattered along beside Cardona. "Police stop big

Cardona waved the boy aside. The gamin persisted for a dozen steps; then gave up the idea of a sale as the

A few minutes later, Joe Cardona came into a quiet anteroom. A girl spied him from a desk in the corner; she

motioned for him to enter the inner door. Cardona followed through. He came into a large, sumptuous office

"Hello, Cardona," came the brisk response. "I want to talk to you. Pull up a chair."

The detective obeyed. A few seconds later, he was sitting face to face with Police Commissioner Ralph

Cardona and Weston were men of determination. In that one respect, they were alike. Otherwise, they

differed. In contrast to the stocky, taciturn detective, Commissioner Weston was tall and of heavy build. His

full face, with its pointed mustache, was keen and dynamic. Weston was a pusher who demanded action.

Often, the commissioner had berated Cardona for lack of gusto. On other occasions, he had waxed

enthusiastic while the detective had remained critically silent. This latter mood was present tonight. After a

"You deserve credit, Cardona," he declared, "for your work this morning. I have read your report in detail.

The manner in which you and your squad beat off that raid upon the bank truck pleased me immensely."

The commissioner arose from his chair. He paced heavily across the room; then returned and faced the

"Moreover," added Weston, "the way you used that single clue was excellent. Crime has been rampant of

late, Cardona. You have dealt a decisive blow; the first stroke, I hope, in our campaign against the present

The commissioner resumed his chair. He leaned with folded arms upon the desk. Cardona was about to

"That is why I called Inspector Klein," stated Weston. "I told him to send you here. I wanted to commend you

ORDINARILY, Joe Cardona felt illatease in the commissioner's presence. Weston's manner overbearing

at times was difficult for him to meet. But when Weston loosened and gave commendation, Cardona's

inferiority complex faded. Facing the firmvisaged commissioner, the detective suddenly voiced a challenge.

"You want my opinion?" he inquired. "You want it straight? All right, I'll give it. First of all, you can wipe

out all the credit that you've just handed me. I don't want a boomerang that's going to come back and sock

"You say I did a good job. I didn't. I got a lucky break and even at that I flivved. Listen, commissioner. We're

not the ones who are just beginning to get somewhere. It's the crooks who are making their start. I mean it."

"Read my report again," suggested Cardona, abruptly. "You won't find any frills in it. Listen, commissioner.

There have been three goodsized robberies in quick order. Jobs that left us standing goofy. Last night, I was

"Then came this break. There was a gang fight about three o'clock this morning. A couple of bodies were

lugged to the morgue. I went down to look them over. Up comes a smart reporter fellow named Burke, with

"Persistent bird, this Burke. I knew that everything should already have been taken out of the dead men's

pockets; but just to please Burke, I made another search. You know what I found a folded piece of paper

that was missed before on it the words: 'Manhattan Armored Truck Eighth Avenue ten o'clock.' How it

"But you followed the armored car," inserted Weston, "and you and your squad drove off the raiders in a

"Sure we did," admitted Cardona. "But we were lucky. The holdup gang had three cars, commissioner. By

rights they should have given us a lacing. We hadn't prepared for anything like what we got.

"If that armored car had been standing still, those crooks would have smashed it and taken the dough. But

when we busted in, the guy driving the armored car was smart enough to run for it. If it had been nighttime,

the holdup boys would have smeared us. But they couldn't chance a long fight in broad daylight. That's why

they beat it. We bagged a couple of small fry" Cardona shrugged his shoulders "and I'll take credit for

that. But outside of that, commissioner, we've got nothing. We're back where we were."

"You mean that crime is still rampant? That this ineffectual raid will not deter the plans of other

"I mean just that, commissioner. I figure more jobs are on the way bigger jobs than the taking of an

"You must find clues!" Weston pounded his fist on the desk. "We must anticipate crime before it strikes!"

"I landed one clue," returned Cardona. "This morning by luck that paper in the gorilla's pocket. But

CARDONA placed one elbow upon the desk. Leaning forward, he wagged his forearm in emphasis as he

"Gangland is organized," asserted Cardona. "That's all I've learned, commissioner. Things are tougher there

than ever before. It seems like nearly all the mobs are linked. I came through a tough district tonight. I had a

"Peddlers, loafers, smallfry crooks like pickpockets even storekeepers I suspect them all. Everybody is

answering to some one else. Unless I'm mighty far wrong, it's all part of the same chain. Crooks are lying low

like they're waiting for orders. On the surface, commissioner, the underworld looks tame. Beneath it's

Cardona paused. Weston sat silent. The commissioner was waiting for more. The detective gave it.

"The stool pigeons are scared," declared Cardona. "We've got thirty of them on the job and twentyfive of the

lot are afraid for their dirty hides. They think they're being watched. They won't go near the places where

"Drawing blanks," replied Cardona. "They hear whispers buzzings but no talk. The best of the lot is

Squawky Sugler. I talked to him when I was getting on the el, twenty minutes ago. He says there's nothing

stirring. On his way to a joint called the Pink Rat when I left him. Maybe he'll land something there; but I

"This is serious, Cardona," observed Weston. "Let me commend you again this time for your frankness.

Then let me ask your opinion. What do you intend to do what would you intend to do if left to your own

"Wait," asserted Cardona, summing his chief plan in the single word. "That's the best I can do, commissioner.

I'm going from here to headquarters; then back into the district where I was before."

"No. But to be ready if anything stirs. Some of these stool pigeons may get knocked off. There may be

another mob scrap. There's no telling what may hit. But if you're leaving me to my own plans, commissioner,

"Very well." Weston arose. "Go your way, Cardona. I am relying on your judgment; and I hold the hope that

The commissioner was silent for the moment. When he replied, his tone was grim as he phrased his answer:

WHILE Joe Cardona was in conference with the police commissioner, Squawky Sugler, the stool pigeon, was

slouching his way toward the Pink Rat. Shambling through the baser districts of Manhattan, the sweatered

The Italians in the barber shop; the loungers by the pawn shop; the riders in the elevated car they were but

typical. Members of society's upper crust might share the elation which Commissioner Weston had felt over

the episode of the armored truck; but those who dwelt close to the realm of crime could scent the beginning

Squawky, scruffing along the sidewalk, was watchful. Like Cardona, he suspected spies everywhere. The

detective's movement had been reported from the little shop where he had stopped to phone. Cardona could

Conditions were precarious so far as stoolies were concerned. Ordinarily, an informant might expect trouble

only from the crooks on whom he squealed. But Squawky, tonight, seemed to accept all passers as his

enemies. At times, he paused to raise a knuckle to his nostrils. A sniff and again Squawky was on his

shambling way. Acting the part of a dope addict, Squawky felt more secure in his present venture. Cokers

With shifty strides, Squawky neared his destination. He followed a darkened alley; paused when he reached a

dilapidated doorway; then opened the barrier and took a poorlylit passage that brought him into the dive

THERE was tension in the Pink Rat tonight. Squawky sensed it the moment that he entered the big room

that constituted the major portion of the joint. Men were seated in small groups at scattered tables. Mumbled

Squawky seated himself in a corner. He nodded as a sourfaced waiter approached with bottle and glass. He

pulled a crumpled dollar bill from his pocket and gave it as payment. But Squawky was slow about drinking.

Coke and hooch were not a usual combination. Squawky knew that fact; hence his reluctance with the liquor.

Satisfied that he was getting by, the stool pigeon began a series of furtive glances about the dive.

Hardfaced gangsters prevailed tonight. Among the thugs and rowdies whom he observed, Squawky saw

none who looked like police agents. Stools were keeping clear; Squawky felt sure that he was the only one

Crime was the theme. Squawky knew it, although he could not catch words of conversation. Were mobsters

talking about the episode of the armored truck? Or were they discussing the probability of coming crime?

Squawky did not know. He was sure of but one point: namely, that a shroud of peculiar mystery had lowered

Squawky spied a trio of men seated at a table twenty feet away. He knew their faces. One the most

imposing of the three was "Trigger" Maddock. Squarechinned, bluntnosed, with beady eyes that blinked

with snakelike stare, Trigger was a character highly feared where gun fights were concerned.

The swiftest shooter in the underworld, a gunner who could drill a mark while on the draw, Trigger had

surrounded himself with a band of capable sharpshooters who were equipped for rapid duty. The two men

There were others of Trigger's ilk in the underworld raiding mobleaders like Louie Harger, "Pigeon"

Melgin, or "Turk" Bodell. They either worked swift jobs of their own or sold their talents to big shots who

might need them. Meanwhile, they were clever enough to evade the law. So far, the police had never been

Trigger's presence in the Pink Rat was not unusual. This place was one of his favored hangouts. Others of his

type had their own chosen spots. They, like Trigger, made it a practice to meet their henchmen at appointed

Squawky Sugler became watchful. His furtive glances returned at regular intervals toward Trigger Maddock.

Anxious to gain some information, the stool pigeon was looking for any sign that might indicate coming

HALF an hour passed. Squawky shifted in his chair. He began to feel uncomfortable afraid that some one

might be noting the watch that he was keeping on Trigger. Squawky's eyes roved about the room. They came

In watching Trigger, Squawky had been looking toward the left. For the first time, he observed a person on

the right. Seated at a table not more than a dozen feet away was a lone gangster whose eyes met Squawky's as

Squawky did not recognize the mobster. But he crouched uneasily as he studied the stranger's visage.

Squawky saw an immobile face a countenance as fixed as a statue's. A hawklike nose, from its sides a pair

The focused gaze seemed to burn through the startled stool pigeon. Squawky's clawing hands scratched at the

table beside the bottle. Squawky feared that this strange watcher had spotted him as a police informant.

The stranger was wearing a turtleneck sweater, black in color. Its heavy folds gave him an impressive bulk;

though seated, it was apparent that he must be at least six feet tall. Sinking in his chair, Squawky managed to

wrest his gaze from those weird, blazing eyes. Slowly, the stool pigeon looked toward the floor beside the

There he saw a streak of blackness. It might have been a continuation of the bulky sweater. It loomed wide

upon the floor; and Squawky, staring as he blinked, observed that it ended in a striking silhouette a profile

of the hawklike visage that lay as motionless as though it were etched upon the floor.

Squawky shuddered. He reached for the bottle. His hand shook as he poured himself a drink. Drops trickled

from the lip of the glass; the liquid dabbed Squawky's hand. More spattered on the stool pigeon's chin as

There was reason for Squawky's terror. That silhouette, as formidable as the form above it, brought grotesque

thoughts to the stool pigeon's fevered brain. It reminded Squawky of a dread being whose name he had heard

Big shots had quailed through fear of The Shadow. For The Shadow was known as a superfighter, a lone wolf

who roved the underworld, preying upon all who dealt in crime. A phantom of darkness, a living being who

Dying gangsters had gasped The Shadow's name. Others, who had gained respite through flight, had told of

seeing him. A figure clad entirely in black; his eyes like living coals beneath the brim of a slouch hat; his

form concealed by an inky, flowing cloak; his gloved hands gripping a pair of deadly automatics such was

The Shadow, it was rumored, was a master of disguise. The Shadow, it had been proven, knew much, if not

all, concerning activities in the underworld. He gave no quarter to those who dealt in crime. None were

THIS was why Squawky feared. The unknown gangster; the black sweater; the silhouette upon the floor

The Shadow was independent of the police. Squawky, as a stool pigeon, could gain no immunity should he

incur The Shadow's wrath. The presence of this mysterious stranger kept Squawky in a tremble. Until he

found proof that The Shadow was watching some one other than himself, Squawky was afraid to move.

Wresting his gaze from the floor, Squawky blinked at the bottle as he helped himself to another drink. He did

not dare to gaze to the right. His furtive, timorous glances were all brief ones, toward Trigger Maddock, at the

left. Even these were few. Squawky still feared that The Shadow's eyes were upon him.

Two men entered the Pink Rat. They looked like smallfry mobsters. One came slouching over toward

Trigger's table. He clapped the gangleader on the back and mouthed a friendly greeting. Trigger, apparently

annoyed by the fellow's approach, snarled in reply. The newcomer grinned in apologetic fashion. He began to

For a moment, the pair stood jaw to jaw. Trigger shoved the other man's shoulder. Still snarling, the

Squawky had seen the brief altercation. His eyes naturally followed the man whom Trigger had rebuked. But

there were eyes that followed Trigger instead. Those watching eyes were the optics of the sweatered stranger

The sweatered watcher had seen a shift of hands. He saw Trigger, as he moved away, thrust his fist into his

Neither of Trigger's gorillas had detected the move. Like Squawky, they had taken the affair only as an

unpleasant meeting that had not been to Trigger's liking. But the sweatered watcher was ready for the

Trigger Maddock swallowed a drink. He spoke to his companions. They nodded. Rising, the gangleader

strolled toward the door. Squawky, gripping his bottle, began to pour a third drink.

There was a motion at Squawky's right. The sweatered mobster arose. His trousers, like his sweater, were

black. He strolled toward another exit. No one was concerned with his departure.

When Squawky Sugler had gulped his drink, he gazed unthinkingly toward the floor beside the table on the

right. The silhouette was gone. Squawky looked up; he blinked when he saw that the table had been vacated.

With a sigh of relief, the stool settled back in his chair. Concerned no more with Trigger Maddock, relieved

of the fear which he had felt toward the stranger whom he had suspected to be The Shadow, the stool pigeon

MEANWHILE, Trigger Maddock was departing from the outside alley. The gangleader had reached the

street beyond. He paused to gaze over his shoulder; then resumed his course. He walked rapidly along the

From the darkness of the alley, a pair of keen eyes had seen Trigger's move. A sweater moved upward; from

beneath its bulk came the girdling folds of another black garment. A cloak swished over shoulders.

A flattened hat took shape. It capped the head above the cloak. A form moved forward. Gaining the sidewalk

of the street, a fleeting figure merged with the gloom of a house wall. Burning eyes spied Trigger, less than a

Then began a weird pursuit. One block two three the gliding phantom trailed Trigger. The space was

The gangleader reached a brick building which, though old, was more pretentious than others of the

neighborhood. He stopped just outside the door. The place was a cheap apartment.

Holding his hand in front of him, Trigger spread his fingers, then closed his fist. He repeated the action twice.

It was dark on the other side of the street. Herb did not see the figure that arrived there. He did not catch a

glimpse of the blackened form that moved along toward the corner of the apartment house; nor did he see

those burning eyes that stared upward toward the third floor of the building which Trigger had entered.

A light had appeared in a room on that floor. A soft laugh came in eerie whispered tones. A phantom shape

A squidgy sound occurred. It was made by concave rubber disks, attached to hands and feet. A batlike figure

began its ascent straight up the precipitous bricks. Its goal was that lighted room.

Squawky Sugler had been right in his fears. The mysterious watcher was The Shadow. Like Squawky, the

master of the night had chosen the Pink Rat as a post of observation. But where the stool pigeon had failed to

That was why The Shadow had left the Pink Rat. His disguise covered by his cloaking garb of black, The

Shadow was planning a surprise visit. He was here to learn what Trigger Maddock had received from the

THE Pink Rat was a crossroads of the underworld. Gangsters, con men, dope peddlers the scum of

Manhattan made the place their rendezvous. Two rules governed the patrons of the joint. Men wanted by the

The enforcement of these two provisions kept the Pink Rat unmolested. Although gambling and dope were

ever present in the dive, the law violations were not on a large scale. Technically, the police should have

closed the Pink Rat. They left it open because it drew customers from secret and more dangerous dives; also

because it was a spot where stool pigeons had opportunities for picking up information.

TRIGGER MADDOCK had reached his apartment. The place was a tawdry, tworoom affair. Both rooms

had windows on the side. It was the first room the living room that The Shadow had observed from

Trigger had closed the door behind him. Standing just inside the room, he was tearing open an envelope that

he held in his hands. Trigger had lost no time. This was the object that he had received in the Pink Rat.

Paper crinkled as Trigger opened a note. He scanned the lines hastily. A match crackled. The flame caught

the paper; Trigger tossed it, burning, into a wastebasket. Again reaching into the envelope, he brought out an

inner envelope. Stepping to the inner door of his apartment, Trigger rapped. A muffled voice responded.

"Come on, Greasy." Trigger spoke in a growl. "Hurry up. I've got a job for you."

The door opened. A sleepylooking mobster appeared. "Greasy" was the counterpart of the two mobsters

"Take this envelope." Trigger handed the man the inner packet. "You know what's to be done. Slip it along.

Greasy nodded. He held the envelope between his big paws. It was a plain, white envelope; it crinkled as

Trigger was scowling as he eyed his henchman. Greasy shrugged his shoulders and grinned.

"All right, Trigger," he responded. "I didn't know you was in a hurry. Leave it to me. I'll pass it along in a

Greasy was looking toward Trigger as he spoke. Hence neither man was gazing toward the window. Neither

The Shadow had reached the window. He had seen Trigger deliver the inner envelope to Greasy. More than

Trigger nudged his thumb toward the door. Greasy nodded. Shoving his packet in his pocket, the bigfisted

IT was then that Trigger looked again toward the opened envelope which he held in his own hands. It bore his

name upon the face; that was all. Trigger tore the envelope into four pieces. He went to the metal

wastebasket. The flames had subsided. Trigger dropped the fragments of the envelope in with the ashes of the

Bringing a cigarette from his pocket, Trigger lighted it. He blew out the flame of the match and tossed the

burnt stick in the wastebasket. He laughed in growling fashion as he puffed the cigarette. He turned toward

A sudden, blurted oath came from the gangster's lips. His fingers dropped the lighted cigarette. His right hand

shot toward his pocket; then stopped midway. Thinking better, Trigger let both hands come up toward his

Trigger Maddock was staring squarely into the muzzle of an automatic. That was a factor in itself; but

Trigger had faced too many guns in his time to quail at the sight of a new one. What brought Trigger to

The automatic was projecting from a blackgloved fist. Above the gun, peering from between the upturned

collar of a cloak and the brim of a slouch hat were a pair of fierce, relentless eyes.

Trigger's voice was an awed gasp. The whispered laugh that came in return was proof of the arrival's identity.

"The message." The Shadow's tone was a hiss. "Give me the information you received at the Pink Rat."

Trigger hesitated. The Shadow's gaze meant business. Trigger knew his eyes could see the opened window

"There's nothing here," protested Trigger. "I got an envelope down at the Pink Rat. Yeah I'll admit that. But

"I saw the inner packet." The Shadow's interruption was cold. "I saw you tear the outer envelope. I also saw

Trigger had no answer. The wastebasket, in the center of the floor, gave its own mute testimony. The ashes

showed along with the fragments of the envelope that Trigger had thrown there also.

"It wasn't much," growled Trigger, finding his voice at last. "It just told me to have a few guys ready that's

Trigger knew that he could not stall. He shifted as his eyes met The Shadow's gaze. His lips were dry as he

"It's some kind of a job," admitted Trigger. "A big shot wanted me and my crew. Say suppose I tell you all I

THE SHADOW'S laugh came in a whispered taunt. The shuddered mirth seemed to fill the room. It

The terms were unconditional. Such was The Shadow's way. Trigger blinked; then, in a voice that showed

"I'll talk," he said. "I'll tell you what the lay is. But I'll do more than that. I'll tell you everything else I know.

Trigger paused. His snakelike eyes continued their blinking. For a moment, they wavered as Trigger glanced

"It's the Titan Trust Company," he announced. "The big shot's going to crack it tonight. Don't ask me how

I don't know. The orders I got were to be in the parking lot across from the door on the side street. He wants

"I'm talking straight. It's set for eleven thirty to the dot. That's the time I'm to get there. That's all I know

about the job. But if you'll listen" Trigger paused earnestly "I'll give you an idea of what you're up

Again, Trigger shifted. He glanced about in half scared fashion. He seemed to fear consequences should he

talk. Then came the dominating whisper of The Shadow. Trigger stalled no longer.

"I don't know who the big shot is," declared the trapped gangleader. "All I know is he's got everybody

working for him. All except a couple of gangs and if they don't join up, it'll be too bad for them.

"I had to get in the game. It would have been curtains if I hadn't. He moves me around like he does the rest of

them. Maybe you saw me get that note at the Pink Rat. That's the way I get all my orders. Some guy comes

"What's more, I pass them on the same way. You saw that envelope I gave to Greasy? Well, Greasy slips it to

any mug he meets. The guy opens it I figure he finds some dough inside it and along with it an envelope

"You get it, don't you? The mug that brought me my envelope don't know where it came from. The guy that

Greasy hands the envelope to don't know that it came from me. That's the way we've got to work."

Trigger stopped. He had told all. He had mentioned The Crime Master. He had divulged the big shot's

THE SHADOW saw the efficacy of the plan. Mobleaders like Trigger apparently formed an endless chain,

with Greasy and smallfry denizens of the underworld serving as carriers. A single packet, thrust into a

The Shadow knew that Trigger had spoken the truth. Thus The Shadow had scored an important start against

this supercrook called The Crime Master. The Shadow had let Greasy go. The Crime Master's orders were

still being passed along. The overlord of crime would not know that The Shadow had learned his plans for

Trigger began to speak again. His tone was pleading. Yet it carried a surety that it had not held before. The

"I know you're working to get The Crime Master," declared Trigger. "Joe Cardona queered that raid on the

"Gorillas don't carry The Crime Master's messages. Somebody wised up to that raid. Somebody planted that

note on the dead gorilla. A wise guy told me he bet it was The Shadow. I know he was right."

Trigger moistened his lips. He was staring toward a little clock that was ticking on a table in the corner of the

"I guess you trailed me here," declared Trigger. "I guess you saw me talking to Herb at the front door. Maybe

you saw me wiggle my fingersthree times making fifteen. Maybe you didn't see me it don't make any

"You know why?" Trigger's voice became suddenly confident, also louder. "Because that meant fifteen

minutes and the time is up. That's why I told you all I knew because you'll never have a chance to tell "

Trigger had made three sidewise shifts. These nervous actions had taken him away from the direction of the

door. Trigger's blinking eyes had gained a glance toward the portal. Now, as he delivered the challenge,

As he spoke, Trigger stared quickly toward the door; then, as The Shadow's gaze shifted, the gangleader

made a backward, sidewise leap toward the inner corner of the room, to avoid the line of The Shadow's

Trigger's cry had served as a signal. The door shot open as The Shadow swung. Herb and the gorillas from

the Pink Rat sprang in view. Trigger Maddock had placed keen reliance on his henchmen.

In one brief moment, the tables had been turned. Trigger, wary for his own safety, had called The Shadow's

attention to the menace, that he might escape the first shot from the looming automatic.

In a twinkling, The Shadow, master of the situation, had been placed against unexpected odds. To use the

knowledge that he had gained of coming crime, he must save himself from the danger which had so suddenly

HAD Trigger Maddock been willing to sacrifice his own life for the fame of bringing doom to The Shadow,

he might have gained success by his stratagem. Trigger had played his game well. He had gained The

But Trigger, like all men of crime, placed his own self first. He did not care for the safety of the men who had

come to save him. He was willing to throw them as bait to The Shadow, in order to save his own hide.

Through his eagerness, Trigger gave The Shadow a much needed break. Knowing that danger at the door

would compel The Shadow to drop him for the moment, Trigger had grabbed opportunity as soon as it

Herb and his two companions had not reckoned with The Shadow. They knew that Trigger was in trouble.

They were ready to combat the enemy who had trapped them. But they had expected an ordinary foeman.

Three guns were flashing as the door swung inward. They were guns wielded by sharpshooters who were

peering for their mark, guiding their aim by the direction from which Trigger's voice had come.

Trigger, springing toward the corner, was a plain object to his henchmen. Their eyes swung back the other

way, with gun muzzles following. But The Shadow, better than Trigger, was a master at the fadeaway. As

Trigger sprang backward toward the corner, The Shadow, whirling, spun in the opposite direction, toward the

Herb saw a twisting mass of blackness. He fired a split second late. His bullet pounded the wall on the near

side of The Shadow. A booming report came in answer. The Shadow, in his whirl, had loosed a shot straight

Herb crumpled. Above him, the other mobsters aimed to kill. But that one shot was but the first blast of The

Shadow's rapid fire. Zimming bullets came with bursting flame as The Shadow spat quick shots to the source

One mobster toppled forward; the other dropped back, with a cry of anguish. Five bullets, drilling in quick

Trigger and The Shadow had reached corners simultaneously. While The Shadow's automatic was spelling its

rattattat, Trigger's right hand was starting for his pocket, ready for its famous draw. It was to be a match

for quickness: Trigger, aiming as he pulled his gun from his pocket; The Shadow, swerving after his quick

Then came the unexpected. The Shadow, in his fading drop, had reached a chair beside the wall. Even as his

right hand delivered its thundering reports, his left had seized the light piece of furniture.

The Shadow's left arm swung as his right hand dispatched its swift shot. The chair came hurtling through the

air, a flying missile that preceded The Shadow's aiming swing toward Trigger Maddock.

IT was a move of perfect execution. The chair was hurled in Trigger's general direction. It was in midair as

Instinctively, Trigger ducked to the left; then frantically regained his aim, just as the chair crashed close to

A roar from The Shadow's corner. Trigger's aim faltered. In the split second whereby he had diverted the mob

leader's aim, The Shadow had fired one quick shot. Snarling, stopped by a bullet in his shoulder, Trigger

managed to fire in reply. His weakened aim was wide. Trigger steadied for another shot. The automatic

roared before the gangleader could deliver a second shot. Trigger sprawled on the floor.

The Shadow's form rose like a specter from its corner. Keen eyes looked toward the door. Herb was lying

motionless. One mobster, beside Herb, raised his arm weakly and tried to fire. The effort was too great. The

The second gangster the one who had staggered from the door had managed to reach the stairs. The

echoes of his scrambling footsteps could be heard from below. The Shadow, ghostly amid the echoes of his

Slumped in a heap, the gangleader looked up and snarled at the sight of the blackgarbed enemy. Trigger had

dropped his revolver. Vainly, he reached for it. The Shadow stooped; his gloved hand whisked the weapon

Then, with iron grip, The Shadow raised Trigger's limp form. Dragging the wounded gangleader forward, he

slumped the man's helpless body in a chair beside the table. Odd scraps of paper were upon the table; a pencil

stump lay in view. The Shadow picked up the shortened pencil and placed it in Trigger's right hand. His

Then came a weird scene. Trigger, choking, lay slumped upon the table. His right hand, forward, was in The

Shadow's grasp. Like a spirit hand guiding the fingers of a medium, The Shadow was forcing Trigger to make

WHISPERED words came to Trigger's ears. Those were commanding words. Weakly, Trigger followed

them. Letter by letter, the words of a message appeared. When Trigger's hand faltered, the guiding fist of The

The shrill blast of a whistle came from the street. A distant blare like an echo was the answer. Still, The

Shadow persisted in his task. Then came the faraway whine of a siren. Trigger was motionless, save for his

Shouts from below. The sound of footsteps at the bottom of the stairway. Trigger's hand, enveloped by the

black glove of The Shadow, came to the end of its scrawl. The black fist slowly released its grip. Trigger

One last cough had spelled the end of the mobleader's useless life. Mortally wounded by The Shadow's

second shot, Trigger was dead. His hand, tightened by the final rigor, clutched the pencil stump. A soft laugh

Pounding footsteps. The police had reached the second floor. The Shadow turned toward the door of the inner

room. He swished from view and closed the door behind him. Three seconds later, a uniformed officer

The policeman hesitated on the threshold. The Shadow had counted on such action. Within the inner room,

the victorious fighter was adjusting his rubber suction cups. A window opened softly. A few seconds later, it

closed. Squidging downward, The Shadow began his descent, invisible against the blackened side wall of the

More footsteps. Another policeman had arrived. The first officer crossed the living room, took a look at

Trigger's body, then opened the inner door. He threw the gleam of a flashlight into the second room. The

"Nobody here," said the officer. "They must have cleared out. Here comes a car" he nudged his hand

toward the window as a siren's whine sounded from the street "so we'd better wait."

A patrol car had arrived below. A moment later, another car pulled up. Out jumped Detective Joe Cardona.

Striding forward, the headquarter's man barked orders to the policemen. They started into the apartment

THE street was practically deserted. Trouble in this district dispelled crowds instead of attracting them. Joe

Cardona, glancing about, spied only one man close by. A shambling figure was stealing furtively in his

direction. Joe heard a plaintive whisper. He stepped away from the door of the apartment building.

"It's me," came a low voice. "Me Squawky. The trouble's up there, Joe. Trigger Maddock I seen him at

"Two of 'em. One came fluking out. He'd been shot up. Looked like he was goin' to cave in before he got far.

Squawker shifted away along the street. The stoolie was making for a hideout. Cardona entered the apartment

building. He shouted from the foot of the stairs. Answers came from the police above. Joe hurried upward.

"Three of them got it," informed one of the patrol officers as Cardona reached the apartment. "Looks like a

fight started while one of the bunch was writing out a note. Guess he was going to send it along by one of his

Cardona nodded. He entered the apartment. He glanced at the bodies of Herb and the other mobster. They

looked like Trigger's men. It was the body of the gangleader that attracted Cardona's chief attention.

Striding to the table, Cardona stared at the scrawl that showed on the piece of paper beside Trigger's

pencilclutching fingers. Though roughly formed, the letters appeared to have been written by a steady hand.

Parking lot across from side door. Titan Trust. 11:30. Will cover for outfit coming from bank.

The policemen had approached. Cardona made no comment as he pulled the paper from beneath Trigger's

dead hand and folded it into quarters. Then the detective turned to the officers.

"No," replied one. "I didn't know what it was just going to take a look at it when you came in "

"All right," broke in Cardona. "Keep it mum. Pry that pencil out of Trigger's fingers. Get the bodies to the

"This" Cardona paused to explain as he showed the folded note and thrust it in his pocket "was a note

Trigger was going to send out. It may be a clue to some job that's coming off. That's why I want it kept quiet.

With that, the detective left the apartment. His footsteps sounded in rapid tattoo as he pounded down the

Like the note planted in a dead gorilla's pocket, this sheet of paper from beneath Trigger's hand was a tipoff

to coming crime. Joe Cardona had time to prepare for the thrust before half past eleven.

Once again, Joe Cardona thought that he had gained a lucky clue. He did not know that both notes had been

Clyde Burke, reporter who served as secret agent of The Shadow, had pointed Joe the first note which the

This new clue had needed no suggestion for its finding. The Shadow had left it convincing to its every

The name was uttered with a chuckle. It came from the lips of a grayish face that peered toward the surface of

a table, where knobheaded cylinders of wood were set on squares, like chess men.

The peering face was that of an elderly man. Thin lips were spread in an evil smile. Discolored teeth were

revealed like insidious fangs. Above the face, a shock of pure white hair topped off the visage of a fiend.

Alone in a room with paneled oak walls, sitting in a corner where light showed the checkered table, this

grinning creature was engaged in a most amazing game. The squares of his board were etched on transparent

glass. Beneath the transparent surface, set on the wooden top of the table, was a large scale map of a portion

of Manhattan the district that included the location of the Titan Trust Company.

There were many more squares than on an ordinary chess board. The pieces, too, were different from those

used in the famous game. They were all alike in pattern cylinders like chess rooks, but with the knobby

heads of pawns. These pieces were all alike in shape; but they were of three sizes. Moreover, they varied in

The Crime Master! Alone in his chosen room, this fiend of evil was setting his pieces for tonight's game. A

The map below the square showed no more than a few blocks of Manhattan. Every building was defined in

Again the chuckle. It was obvious that The Crime Master still regarded the dead gangleader as a living

henchman. A scrawny, clawlike hand was holding a green piece above the board. The fingers set the cylinder

upon a square. That spot indicated the exact location of the parking lot across from the side door of the Titan

The hand moved away. On the top of the knobby piece appeared the letters MK the abbreviation for

Red men for crime workers; blue for hidden watchers and snipers; green for fighters these were the

symbols that The Crime Master used. The sizes of the pieces determined their strength. The small ones

Hence the piece that represented Trigger Maddock was green in color and of the largest size. It was one of the

THE board was set; the hands, however, were not finished. They produced white pieces of a different shape

cones with square tops. These were also of different sizes; yet The Crime Master used them indiscriminately.

He was playing a game against himself. The white pieces represented the forces of the law.

One by one, the man with the shock of hair used the cones to attack the impregnable positions of his minions.

His chortling tones came with convulsive regularity. Each gambit of the whites was futile. Moving from any

The old man began to shift the reds. He was comparing their positions with the greens and blues, showing

himself how his bankcrackers could come in and out under perfect cover. At intervals, he rested one finger

upon the large green piece marked MK. Though he did not move it, his actions showed that he considered it

A buzzer sounded behind the table. The Crime Master did not notice the sound until it occurred a second

time. Then he stretched out a talon and pressed a button on the side of the table. A click came from the

A smug man came into the light. Of middle height, solemn in demeanor, this individual was as curious as the

old man at the desk. The arrival was of middle age, quietly dressed and almost prim in his appearance.

"I have finished, Henley." The old man's voice was almost sneering. "See my plans are as perfect as they

Henley leaned over the board. He shook his head as he placed a pudgy finger upon the green piece marked

"What is the matter?" The Crime Master's quiz was a snarl. "Try to move the whites against it "

"It will not do, Master," inserted Henley. "I have received a bad report. It went through two hands to reach

"Details are meager," reported Henley. "Some of his henchmen were killed with him. There was only one

"Yes. Through emergency delivery with return signal ordered. The check was made promptly."

"Good." The Crime Master leaned back in his chair and cackled in satisfaction. "That is all that matters,

Henley. What is one man, in our game?" He waved his hand toward the board. "Any one of these puppets can

"Very well." The Crime Master picked up a box from beside him. He opened it. From an assortment of

"Louie Harger," decided The Crime Master. "I have been holding him in readiness. Emergency measures,

The solemn man hastened from the room. The Crime Master picked up the piece that represented Trigger

Maddock; in its place he put the one that stood for Louie Harger. A new mobsman and his minions would

As Henley was returning, a few minutes later, The Crime Master took the discarded piece with the letters

MK. With a strong twist of his scrawny, wiry fingers, he snapped the green man in half. That symbolized the

passing of Trigger Maddock. The Crime Master tossed the broken pieces back into the box.

HENLEY laid a typescript note upon the checkered table. Orders to Louie Harger. The Crime Master read

them. He produced a metal seal; he clipped the note between its halves and pressed the handles. Withdrawing

Embossed at the bottom of the orders was the head of a skeleton; crossing behind it, a scimitar. This was The

Henley folded the note and sealed it in a small envelope which bore the name of Louie Harger. He placed the

envelope with a banknote in a larger wrapper which bore no name. He sealed the outer envelope.

"Send it by Woodling," ordered The Crime Master. "Tell him to pick a man near the Black Ship some small

Henley nodded. The Black Ship was the dive where Louie Harger spent his hours of leisure. The gangleader

The clock was pointing to eleven as Henley departed for the second time. The Crime Master chuckled. Half

an hour was sufficient. At most, it could mean but a short delay past the appointed time of Harger's arrival

Yet the old man calculated upon this. He took the green piece marked HR and moved it, square by square, to

the limit of the board. Then he retraced the moves. He was contemplating the approach of Harger's mob,

assuming that the crook and his crew would still be short of their destination at half past eleven.

Again, the moves. This time, the wizened criminal took white pieces into consequence. Once more he was

satisfied. So long as Harger's crew was approaching the Titan Trust Company, all would be well for his

schemes. Troubles with police, a block or two away, would help, rather than hinder, the retreat of the red men

In fact, when he had set his green piece on its appointed square, The Crime Master began a series of short

moves, all starting from that point. These showed how Harger and his outfit could move forth to meet any

The board was set; yet still, The Crime Master sat in contemplation. His thin, snarly lips were moving. His

scrawny hand fumbled in the box. It brought out a white piece that differed from the others. It was the same

THE CRIME MASTER repeated his police moves, using this one white piece at every strategic point. He

There was reason. This one piece represented Detective Joe Cardona. The Crime Master had recognized the

Yet even with the exaggerated advantage that he gave to Joe Cardona, The Crime Master was satisfied. His

own men, red, blue and green, formed a cordon about the Titan Trust. Wherever he allowed attack by the

whites, The Crime Master could muster a prompt defense on the part of his own pieces.

Playing his strange game, the old man showed the complete progress of the colored pieces. He moved the

whites, made jumps, retreats and captures. At the end, he had removed men of both sides; but meanwhile, his

Satisfied, he replaced the pieces in their original positions. He settled back in his chair. The Crime Master's

game was no longer play. Actual events would tell the story; afterward, the old man could move the pieces to

The buzzer. The Crime Master pressed the button. Henley entered from the clicking door. A smile showed on

The Crime Master chuckled. His eyes shone through slitted lids as they turned toward the clock upon the

table. Twentyfive minutes after eleven. The zero hour for crime would arrive within three hundred seconds.

Again, a fiendish chuckle came from snarling lips. The Crime Master was confident that his minions would

TWENTYFIVE minutes past eleven. Men were already huddled together within the confines of the parking

These watchers, however, were not the ones indicated on the checkered board. Whites, instead of green, had

arrived at the appointed spot. Detective Joe Cardona, with a squad of efficient workers beside him, had

Louie Harger and his crew were on their way. Cardona did not know that they would figure in the coming

crime. At the same time, Harger and his outfit were approaching in total ignorance of the fact that a stealthy

"Easy, men." Cardona's growled whisper came from beside a parked sedan. "Remember we're filling in

where a coverup crew was due. We don't know who may be watching us. Hold everything until I give the

"Psst!" The warning whisper came from a detective at Cardona's side. In the gloom, Joe could see the man

"Looked like it," whispered the other detective. "Kind of a streak of black. Moved along in front of the white

Cardona stared. He could see a glistening portion of the white wall; past that, darkness. But there was no sign

"Guess I was seeing things," admitted Murph. "Anyway, it couldn't have been more than just one guy."

Murph continued to stare. His eyes discerned nothing. Yet the detective had been right in his observation. He

In the darkness close beside the Titan Trust building, The Shadow was crouched, on watch. He had expected

Joe Cardona's maneuver. He had detected the presence of the star detective's squad. Trouble was due within

HALF past eleven. The zero hour had arrived. The detectives were waiting, tensely. Then came the sign of

From deep within the walls of the Titan Trust Company came a muffled explosion. Some crew of sappers had

let loose a charge. Entering from underground, they had blown their way into the bank building.

"Hold it!" ordered Joe Cardona. "Be ready. They'll be coming out this way! We're here to block them!"

One minute two alarms were ringing merrily within the whitened walls. Then came a clang. The side

door of the bank swung outward. A pair of mobsmen, revolvers in hand, came into view.

Cardona was on his feet. His revolver blazed the opening shot. A zipping bullet smashed from his weapon

and plastered itself against the wall beside the mobsmen. Other detectives opened fire. With a round dozen at

Shots came in return. One mobster fell. Others were firing from within the bank. The odds were with the

police. Pounding across the sidewalk, Cardona and his detectives were bound for what seemed positive

Then came sudden shots from the right. Bullets whined past the advancing detectives. Two men wheeled.

They cried to their chief as they saw the approaching menace. Louie Harger and his underlings had arrived.

In a trice, detectives broke. Dropping for cover, retreating toward the parking space, they were trying to avoid

this murderous fire that was coming in enfilade. With mobsters ahead, with mobsters at their right, Cardona

The darkness at the wall of the bank was formed by a flat, projecting pillar. Beside that spot, to the left of the

door where mobsters were massed, the depression of the wall formed a natural shelter. It was from this

Louie Harger and his men were shouting in triumph as they came dashing up the street. They were counting

on a hand to hand fight with the retreating detectives. A hidden power, however, was to stay them.

Barks came from the niche beside the pillar. Tongues of flame spat in quick succession from a mammoth

automatic. A mobster staggered and sprawled. Another toppled beside him. The Shadow, sniping with

Louie's crew broke for cover. Their leader dived for safety with them. Two mobsmen, caught flatfooted,

sent chipping shots that cracked the marble pillar. Deflected, these bullets failed to reach The Shadow.

The response, however, did not cease. A second automatic had replaced the first. Two quick shots accounted

for the firing gangsters. One gunman slumped in the middle of the street; the other, hand pressed to shoulder,

Again, Cardona's leadership prevailed. The flanking fire ended, the detectives sprang forward en masse.

Blistering shots came from their revolvers. The defending gangsters ducked inward from the door.

DISTANT sirens were whining. Shots came from other streets. The Shadow, watching from his post, knew

what was happening. This battle at the side door was but a portion of the entire scheme. Agents of crime,

scattered throughout the vicinity, were blocking the approach of the police from all directions.

Louie Harger and his thinned ranks had scattered. Sniping shots were all that came toward the advancing

detectives. Cardona and his men dashed into the bank. The Shadow waited, listening to muffled shots from

Shouts from the front street. There was activity there. Then came gangsters, creeping forward. Members of

Louie's crew were closing to block off Cardona's retreat, should he and his detectives reappear.

The Shadow stepped from his niche. Still in the gloom, he opened sudden fire, with a pair of fullyloaded

automatics. Shouts sounded as the mobsters again scattered for cover. Weaving swiftly toward the door, The

The interior of the bank was filled with smoky fumes from the explosion. Stairs showed dimly; The Shadow

knew that the detectives had taken that route. Springing forward, the master fighter descended. He stopped

Lights were on in a stonewalled strongroom. There, The Shadow, as he watched from the darkened steps,

could see four cowering mobsmen, covered by the guns of Cardona's detectives. Beyond was a gaping hole at

The Shadow knew the answer. A squad of mobsters had been sent through the side door, to open the way and

form contact with Harger's crew. The robbers were to follow with the swag. But The Crime Master had been

The repulsion of the vanguard had caused the bank crackers to depart by the way which they had come

through the gaping hole which they had blasted in this lower room. That piece of strategy, worked with

design, was proof to The Shadow that something else was due to happen. The Shadow watched.

Cardona barked an order. Three detectives sprang toward the gaping hole. Their leader was dispatching them

to follow the escaping robbers. The Shadow's automatics came upward. The weapons were none too soon.

Shots burst from the gap in the wall. One detective staggered; the others dropped away. As Cardona swung to

see the source of trouble, a pair of mobsters sprang from the hole with leveled guns. They were the first of a

Cardona and his men were caught flatfooted. But for The Shadow's presence, their doom would have come.

The cornered mobsters, acting with the tribe from the broken wall, were yanking guns. The odds were all

Automatics blazed. Roars that echoed from the stairway were the markers of spraying shots with which The

Shadow peppered The Crime Master's men. The detectives, caught in the open, were firing to save their lives.

One detective sprawled; then another. Joe Cardona staggered and fell. But for every one of these losses, three

casualties resulted among the mobsmen. Scampering like rats, sprawling mobsmen dived for the hole that

One mobster, alone, fell crouching beyond two fallen forms that cluttered the gap. Snarling, he fired toward

the stairway. His first bullet clipped the stone work at the corner. He aimed for a second shot. An automatic

That was the end. A stillness followed barking echoes. Then came choking gasps within the smokefilled

room where the smell of powder had blended with the fumes. Detectives, still unscathed, were rising to aid

THE SHADOW'S form faded. Pursuit was futile, now. The fight had allowed the robbers time to make a

getaway. Outside at the front of the bank that was the spot where the crooks could be blocked. Had

The Shadow, though alone, could have caused trouble at the front. But he had sensed the trap into which

Cardona was descending. He had come to save the lives of the star sleuth and his men. He had deliberately

passed up the chance to deal with the escaping robbers when they reached the open.

The Shadow gained the top of the stairs. There, he paused. He could hear the clumping tread of detectives at

the bottom of the steps. He could hear distant shots, whistles and sirens from spots outside.

With a weird laugh that shuddered through the upper room, The Shadow strode toward the broken side door.

This time, he was the force that came to clear the way. He knew that a new menace lay ahead.

Cardona and the detectives, saved from their trap, were coming, crippled, toward vengeful enemies who

LOUIE HARGER was crouched beside a bulletriddled car in the parking lot. Before him, the remnants of

his crew were ready, like entrenched fighters. They were grumbling as they heard the approach of sirens.

"How about it, Louie?" came a question, "What're we waitin' for? The bulls is comin' "

"Yellow, eh?" snarled Louie. "Well, keep sittin' tight. We can run for it in a couple of these buggies. What

The gangleader pressed the button of a powerful flashlight. He sent the beam straight toward the open door.

Then, before his startled eyes could take in the form that the light revealed, a bursting shot came in response.

The Shadow had opened fire. Gangsters, their guns idle, were caught unaware. Louie Harger, as surprised as

the rest, hurled his flashlight from him and dove back among the cars. Two of his men fired. Then came the

The mobsters were leaping for the safety of the cars which Louie had chosen for flight. Motors roared. The

cars shot from the parking space. Louie, leading the way, was heading for an outlet at the far side of the

Gangsters were firing from the windows still aiming at the door of the bank. The Shadow, however, was no

longer there. His next shots came from darkness. They were aimed for the automobiles as the two vehicles

Luck was with Louie Harger. His car was beyond the other. The Shadow's firm hand loosed a shot that drilled

the driver of the nearer car. The speeding auto wavered; it whirled across the street and smashed a wall. As it

Louie's car, however, gained the corner, protected almost all the way by the erratic course of the second

machine. Safe from The Shadow's shots, the gangleader met with new danger, less than a block away. A

Gangsters fired. The chase began. Louie Harger was in flight. Speeding through this vicinity, off on a mad

The Shadow heard the firing. His laugh rippled in the darkness of the street beside one bank. Approaching

police had been diverted by Louie's flight. The Shadow stood alone. Turning, he made off through the

The Shadow's work was ended. It was his part to leave this beleaguered vicinity before the police closed in.

Distant shots showed that The Crime Master's minions were scattering, now that their crime had been

DETECTIVES were emerging from within the bank. Burdened by their wounded comrades, they would have

been soft targets for Harger's lurkers. But The Shadow had dispelled that menace. The only members of

Louie's crew that remained were the sprawled, groaning fellows who had hit the sidewalk from the

A detective blew a whistle. There was no reply. A second blast; an answer from the block along which

Louie's car had sped. A further signal, from a greater distance; then came a whining siren.

The detective persisted in his signal. A police car shot up beside the bank. Its searchlight revealed the

detectives, who were supporting their crippled comrades. An officer leaped from the police car and dashed

Another siren. A car veered from the corner. It was an ambulance. Two interns piled out; stretchers were

brought to carry the wounded men aboard. Flat on his back, Joe Cardona managed to form a grim smile as he

"They they plugged me," gasped the sleuth. "But but I'll pull through. How how are the rest of the

Cardona subsided as the ambulance backed from the narrow street. Whining its warning as it speeded toward

the nearest hospital, the rescue car carried its quota of wounded detectives from the scene of battle.

IT was half past twelve when a big car pulled up in front of the ravaged Titan Trust Company. Commissioner

The commissioner's face was stormy. He followed the inspector to an old house across the street. There, in

the basement, he was shown the tunnel which crooks had dug through the front wall of the bank.

"They had cars on the street," informed the inspector. "They made a break out through the side; then doubled

"Cardona and his squad were waiting at the side," stated the inspector. "They drove the burglars back into the

bank; then they were outnumbered. Meanwhile, we were coming up with reinforcements. But we couldn't get

"Every approach was covered. Snipers were firing from windows. Gangsters were there in cars. When they

finally began to break, it was too late. The cars that held the swag shot through before we could form a

Weston nodded. He realized that supercrime had taken place tonight. Scattered minions of evil had played

their part. They had delayed the arrival of the police who had responded to the signal of Cardona's firing

"What about Cardona?" demanded Weston, suddenly. "I was informed that he was taken to the hospital "

"Seriously wounded," interposed the inspector, solemnly. "I just received a report that he is past danger. But

he'll be crippled for a while, commissioner. You won't be able to use Joe Cardona for a couple of weeks, at

The commissioner clenched his fists. The temporary loss of his ace detective was as great a blow as the

success of the robbers. Weston had banked heavily on Cardona. He didn't know how Joe could be replaced.

It was Cardona who had gained a clue to this night's episode. Twice in two days, the ace had produced a

counterthrust at crime. The police department was faced by organized gang warfare. Weston recalled his

When the commissioner returned to the street, he met officials of the robbed bank. Their losses, in cash and

negotiable securities, was estimated at a quarter million. The first blast had been followed by minor

explosions. The vault had been rifled while the advance squad had been advancing toward the side door to

The majority of the attackers had eluded the grasp of the law. While there was proof of this in the

neighborhood of the Titan Trust, there was greater evidence in another section of Manhattan.

The underworld was seething with suppressed excitement. In every dive where gangsters gathered, the news

of the successful raid was going the rounds. None present in any joint admitted their connection with the

While bottles clattered and glasses clinked about the tables of the Pink Rat, raucous voices rose in jeering

elation. Gangdom was enjoying a prompt celebration. Crime had risen in open defiance of order. Snatches of

Squawky Sugler was not here to listen. The stool had ducked for a hideout after the affray at Trigger

Maddock's. But there was one who heard a quiet, solemn listener who sat alone in a corner of the dive.

This was the sweatered mobster with the hawklike nose. The Shadow, having played his part against hopeless

odds, was back at the spot where he had gained his first inkling of coming crime. In all the buzz of

Thin lips wore a slight smile. The Shadow knew why his part had not been discovered. He had fought from

darkness. Those with whom he had waged battle were not here to tell the tale. Louie Harger had escaped; the

gangleader had been forced to flight. Harger, alone, could have seen The Shadow. The gangleader was not

USUALLY, the buzzings of gangland were not heard beyond the confines of the underworld. But such was

not the case on this occasion. Elsewhere, the details of the robbery were under close discussion.

Seated in his paneled room, The Crime Master was grinning gleefully as he read a report which Henley had

brought to him. Details, passed along by prompt informants, had come to the headquarters of evil.

"The profits are here, Master," Henley was saying. "They were left at cache C, in accordance with your

"Count them up, Henley," ordered The Crime Master. "Bring me a full accounting. Place the spoils in the

As Henley departed, the old man surveyed his board. The colored pieces were as he had left them prior to the

advent of the crime. With the detailed report beside him, The Crime Master began to move the wooden

He started with the reds. Square by square, he converged them to the spot that indicated the Titan Trust

Company. He followed with shifts of blues. Then he brought a large green, indicating Louie Harger and his

The Crime Master shifted the whites. He paused. His white eyebrows bulked as he scowled. He was looking

at an unoccupied square the spot where Louie Harger and his crew should have been stationed in the parking

With an angry gesture, The Crime Master picked up the white piece that bore the letter C. He set it

emphatically upon that open square. He had learned, through the report beside him, that Joe Cardona had

A hissing, venomous snarl came from the old man's lips as he shifted the white piece toward the square that

indicated the side of the bank building. His scrawny hand moved reds in retreat. It brought back the white;

In miniature, The Crime Master was reconstructing the fight as he had heard of it. His reds were away; his

green was gone; for a final detail, he moved odd blues and small greens from other points. The board cleared.

All that remained was that damaging cone of white, with its cubical top the piece that represented Detective

Crime had succeeded; yet the law had remained upon the field. The Crime Master's hands were clenching in a

fury. Then his eyes turned to the report. A scrawny finger ran along the final line. It bore the statement that

Joe Cardona was lying, seriously wounded, in the hospital. The detective was incapacitated for active duty.

A chortle from the snarling lips. The old man seized the white piece with the letter C. With a gesture of

triumph, he seized the bit of wood and snapped it into two pieces. He flung the portions to the floor.

With a new gesture of impatience, The Crime Master raised the glass sheet that covered the table. His hands

were sinewy as they lowered the heavy plate and rested it beside the table. His claws pulled away the large

From beneath the table, the old man drew forth another spreading sheet. He flattened it on the table a new

map that showed another section of Manhattan. He raised the glass and set it in position. Its griddled lines

From his box of pieces, The Crime Master began to draw forth reds, blues and greens. Like a general

mapping a field of battle, he was planning a new campaign of crime. One by one, he massed his forces, in

THE CRIME MASTER paused. He chuckled as he surveyed the beginnings of a coming battle field. Colored

pieces, splotched upon the board, brought joy to this creature of evil. The Crime Master settled back in his

chair. His gaze lowered as he shifted from the table. His eyes stared to the floor; his lips spread as he emitted

The Crime Master was looking at the broken cone and the cube that bore the letter C. White upon a

maroonhued rug, they made a tiny, pitiable sight. That broken piece was out of the coming game.

Joe Cardona, the only instrument of the law whom The Crime Master had considered worthy of individual

distinction, would not be present at the next affray. The ace detective could make no thrust against The Crime

That fact was the cause of the fiend's delight. Confident because of success, the plotter could see no block to

trouble him. His hands went back to the pieces on the board. Among them, he scattered cones of white

To The Crime Master, all was clear ahead. He trusted in the reliability of the report. What if gangsters had

been slain? What did it matter that Louie Harger was in flight? More minions could be had. Louie Harger

The Crime Master thrust the scanned report away. He had digested all its contents. He thought that he knew

all. In that supposition, however, he was incorrect. Neither The Crime Master nor his informants had learned

No report had been made about The Shadow. Nothing told of the weird presence that hovered in the

background. Nothing had been said of a mysterious, hawknosed stranger who had appeared among the

Exhaustive though The Crime Master's plans might be they were lacking in one vital point. Those colored

pieces on the board; the white ones that opposed them were of little consequence.

For The Crime Master had neglected the greatest factor in the game. Until he took cognizance of it, his

Among those blocks that rested upon checkered squares was none to represent the king piece of them all. The

IT was the second night after the raid upon the Titan Trust. Crime was in abeyance. Newspapers screamed

the news of the successful foray. The underworld was still troublous beneath its calmed surface. Tension

In all the dives of the badlands, there were no signs of the mysterious mobster who had been garbed in black

sweater. The strange observer had disappeared as mysteriously as he had arrived.

The Shadow had sensed the coming situation. He had gained inkling of the methods whereby The Crime

Master was controlling forces of the underworld. He knew that a big job like the robbery of the Titan Trust

The Crime Master, no matter how great his hidden power, would be at fault in his strategy should he strike

again while turmoil still persisted. Though the supercrook might actually govern an invisible empire of crime,

One stroke; then plans for new evil, while weak points were being strengthened such was the invariable law

that ganglords must obey. The Crime Master, whose giant intellect had accomplished a merger of gangland's

Hence The Shadow had departed from the underworld. He had no need to be there, while speculation, alone,

was the talk in gangster hangouts. Stool pigeons, recovering from their temerity, were back on the job, trying

to glean information for the police. Their task would be a futile one, since crime had already been

The Shadow, when he mapped campaigns against crime, chose measures which matched those of his hidden

foemen. This was the work that engaged him for the present. On this night, fortyeight hours after his

encounter with Trigger Maddock, the master sleuth was contemplating a stroke of his own.

A light was burning in a blackwalled room. Bluish rays shone on the polished surface of a table. White

hands, living things that extended from blackness, were at work. A glimmering gem The Shadow's girasol

sparkled from a tapering finger. Its iridescent hues, changing in constant procession, seemed to reflect the

The Shadow was in his sanctum. While his hand inscribed names upon a sheet of paper, his eyes, peering

from darkness, studied the written columns. A soft laugh came in sibilant tones from the gloom on the near

A STRANGE contrast! Somewhere in Manhattan, secluded in his paneled room, The Crime Master, wizened

and grayhaired, was placing pawnlike pieces upon a manysquared board. Meanwhile The Shadow, within

Hidden foemen! The Shadow, lone wolf of action, who used but a handful of trusted agents; The Crime

Master, generalissimo of evil, relying upon massed hordes organized into a mighty fighting body!

Could The Shadow, by his daggerlike thrusts defeat this genius who could order forth a phalanx of fighting

gunmen? Or would The Crime Master, precise in his maneuvers, prepared for all emergencies, down the

The answer lay in the balance. Never before had The Shadow encountered an enemy who had risen to such

swift prominence. Never before had either The Shadow or the law been faced by an organizer who had

The Shadow had observed The Crime Master's strength. He was reckoning it upon the sheet before him.

Names of gangleaders, small and large, were in The Shadow's list. Through observation in the underworld,

The Shadow had gained the names of all whom he suspected as members of The Crime Master's huge

Often had The Shadow battled with powerful mobleaders. Sometimes, he had thrown opposing bands into

conflict. He had also indicated courses which the law had followed. Unwittingly, police had often taken The

Shadow's lead. But here, The Shadow saw the futility of former measures. Should he attack any point of The

Crime Master's organized structure, the rest would come battling down upon his head. Secrecy, to date, had

The Crime Master's strength could not be discounted. The Shadow's hand had completed its listing. Dozens

of names those of dangerous underworld characters were before The Shadow's eyes. Yet the whispered

laugh came shuddering through the sanctum. In strength, The Shadow had spied weakness.

Rapidly, his hand began to form another list. This one, in a column of its own, was brief. It carried the names

of half a dozen mobleaders of considerable repute. These, to a man, were not members of The Crime Master's

This name was The Shadow's key. "Eagle" Tabrick was a crafty big shot. He was one who had long played a

cagey game. Crime, racketeering, shady, crafty swindles these were the triangle of Eagle Tabrick's career.

Shifting from one practice to another, allowing intervals between his thrusts, Eagle Tabrick had long baffled

the law by his cleverness. It was known that he ruled certain factions in the underworld; yet nothing had been

definitely pinned upon him. The police had suspected six mobleaders to be lieutenants under Eagle. The

These aids of Eagle Tabrick were represented by the six name list which The Shadow had formed. With

Eagle as their chief, they formed a band which was unique; hence The Shadow's laugh. Not one of the seven

This was important. The Crime Master, to control the underworld to perfection, must hold complete sway.

Yet it was evident, from The Shadow's findings, that he had not yet gained Eagle Tabrick as a vassal.

Six mobleaders all would follow Eagle's word so long as he commanded them. Hence, during this lull in

the underworld, The Crime Master had a task which must be performed. To be secure, he would have to gain

Two methods were possible. They represented extremes of action. One would be for The Crime Master to

treat with Eagle. The other would be to eliminate Eagle. By either system, The Crime Master could force the

In either plan, one fact was obvious. Through some agency, The Crime Master must reach Eagle Tabrick.

Whether by friendly approach or by malicious action, there would be contact. To The Crime Master, the

Through his display of strength, The Crime Master had subjugated the underworld. He had won a mighty

victory against the law. The capitulation of Eagle Tabrick would be an unparalleled triumph that would

A TINY light glowed suddenly from the wall beyond the table. The Shadow's hands moved forward. They

produced a pair of earphones. The instruments moved upward, toward The Shadow's head. His whispered

"Report from Marsland. Back from a round. No sign of Eagle's men. All keeping under cover."

A pause. Through Burbank, his contact man, The Shadow had gained word from Cliff Marsland, an agent

who patrolled the underworld. Cliff's report meant that none of Eagle's six lieutenants had been in evidence at

any dive frequented by crooks of their importance. This was significant. More was to follow.

"Eagle Tabrick has not left his apartment. Constant observation by Burke since noon. No one has entered."

The earphones clattered across the table. The little bulb went out. The hands moved from beneath the bluish

The swish of The Shadow's cloak came faintly through the solid blackness. A whispered laugh rose to a

weird crescendo. It broke; then ended abruptly. Echoes came in answer, gibbering mockery from shrouded

The ghoulish reverberations ended. The room was silent. Those echoes, dying into nothingness, had marked

The Shadow's departure. The sanctum was empty. Its sole visitant had fared forth into the night.

The Shadow had foreseen a move of The Crime Master. He knew that Eagle Tabrick must have reason for

laying low. There was only one person whose opposition could keep Eagle under cover. That one was The

The Shadow was planning to attack the emperor of evil. He wanted evidence that would point to coming

Following the clue which he had sifted, The Shadow was bound on an important mission. He was on his way

SITUATED on a secluded uptown street, an edifice of ornate structure rose, like a looming sentinel, amid an

array of lower, unsightly buildings. This was the Mid Gotham Hotel; it specialized in suites and apartments.

Surrounded by garages, antiquated theaters and abandoned warehouses, the Mid Gotham had been erected as

a pioneer in this locality. Other building operations had been delayed; hence the ornate hotel with its fancy

After a brief period of failing business, the hotel apartment had gone into receivership. It was at present but

half filled with guests; the elite who had been expected to patronize it were missing.

The Mid Gotham's loss had been Eagle Tabrick's gain. Tabooed from entry into other pretentious hotels, the

notorious racketeer had found a welcome at the Mid Gotham. Here, in a sumptuous apartment on the sixth

Clyde Burke had been right in his report that Eagle was at home. At the very minute when The Shadow was

departing from his sanctum, Eagle was pacing back and forth across his luxurious living room.

Tall, ferocious of countenance, Eagle Tabrick was wellnicknamed. His eyes were sharp; his parted,

downward curving lips gave him an insidious expression. His nose was a veritable beak.

Eagle was worried. He paused at times to stare between the side curtains of a wide, opened window. The

railed top of a decadent warehouse showed white from across the street. The rumbles of the thoroughfare

After each prolonged pause, Eagle would turn and pace impatiently across the purplish, tufted carpeting.

Closed doors showed at two sides of the room; the third wall was marked by a curtained opening beyond it,

Every action showed that Eagle was expecting some one. His paces toward the window were most indicative

of that fact. The big shot, though he favored the seclusion of the apartment, seemed anxious to know what

THERE was a small restaurant caticornered to the Mid GothamHotel. There, seated in plain view at a table

just within the plate glass window, was a young man who seemed in no hurry to finish the meal that lay

before him. He was reading a newspaper as he ate; but all the while, his eyes were keeping intermittent watch

This was Clyde Burke, reporter of the New York Classic, secretly an agent of The Shadow. The table at

which Clyde was seated had three chairs; its fourth side was drawn up against a ledge within the window.

A thickset man stopped at the entrance of the Mid Gotham. His face, though dark and thick of features,

showed shrewdness, even at this distance. Clyde could not identify the fellow; yet he felt sure that the man

was of the gangster type. He watched the thickset arrival glance about; then he saw the man walk through

Clyde Burke reached beneath his chair. Methodically, he produced his felt hat and laid it on the table at his

right. He reverted to the reading of his newspaper, still making short, brief glances through the window.

The reporter had set a signal. This center chair in which he sat was indication that Eagle Tabrick had not

The hat, placed upon the table, meant that a suspected visitor had entered to call on Eagle Tabrick. The signal

was plainly in view to passers. In fact, a few minutes after Clyde had set the hat in place, it was observed by

The Shadow had arrived. Secluded in the darkness in front of the Mid Gotham Hotel, the blackgarbed

visitant caught the word he wanted. There was a delivery passage at the side hotel. It was through this that a

Not long afterward, a phantom shape appeared within the hallway on the fifth floor of the hotel. A spectral

form approached the door of the front apartment. A gloved hand thrust a thin, blackened tool of metal into the

THE SHADOW had arrived in an empty apartment. Swishing through the darkness, he reached the front

window. He raised the sash and stepped out to the balcony. Projecting, ornamental stones showed against the

darkened wall. Using them with marked agility, The Shadow ascended to the balcony outside of Eagle's

Less than one minute later, his keen eyes were peering through the darkness from the side of the opened

The Shadow's gloved hand had opened a space between curtain and window frame. Unseen, unheard, the

Clyde Burke was again correct. Eagle Tabrick had a visitor. Like a fierce bird of prey, the big shot was

glowering at the thickset man whom Clyde had seen entering the hotel. Eagle was pacing back and forth; his

visitor, calmly smoking, was seated in an easy chair. His thickfeatured visage was toward the window. The

The man was "Talker" Grube. A slick worker of confidence games, Talker had frequently acted as advance

man for notorious racketeers. His presence here would have indicated that he was planning to enter Eagle's

employ; but the big shot's scowl belied that normal theory. It was plain that Eagle resented Talker's presence.

"You've heard me, Eagle." The words came in glib, purring tones, as Talker spoke emphatically. "This is your

last chance. You've got to come in with your outfits before ten o'clock tonight."

"Yeah?" Eagle scowled. "So there's no buts about it, eh? Well, Talker, you may be hot when you deal with a

lot of halfscared laundry owners; but I'm telling you one thing straight. You or nobody else can pull any

"That's why you'll listen," challenged Talker. "I'm working for the biggest boy there is and he means

"The Crime Master!" Eagle snarled derisively. "You're his mouthpiece, eh? Well who is he? Spill it

"I can't tell you, Eagle." Talker spoke persuasively. "I don't know who he is. Every now and then some

"So that's the stall, eh? This is the second time you've been here, Talker. How do I know you aren't handing

In response, Talker pulled a watch from his pocket. He tapped the dial significantly, as he looked toward

"It's getting close to ten," announced the mouthpiece. "You haven't long to make up your mind, Eagle. You

The big shot looked worried as he stared at Talker's thick, steady face. Then, with a sour expression, Eagle

"If I knew you were on the level, Talker," he said, "I'd chance it. You say The Crime Master wants me to

bring in my crews. You say that if I don't, he'll wipe me out and make the crews come in. That's the kind of

"I told you the other side," reminded Talker. "If you do join up, you'll get your fair return. I know that for a

Eagle Tabrick pondered. He thrust his hands in his coat pocket. His eyes lighted as he looked toward Talker

"Count me in, Talker," declared the big shot. "I'm with The Crime Master. That's settled. What next?"

"I'll make a phone call," announced Talker. "Not to The Crime Master just to some palooka who will pass

"I'll spill some news that will make your eyes pop open. You'll find out what you want to know. You'll be in

Talker was rising. He was reaching for the French telephone that lay on a table close beside him. Eagle

"Wait a bit." Eagle's tone was eager. "You've got until ten to make this call. I've told you I'm in. I'm with The

"Maybe I may want to tell him something? When I work with anybody, I work all the way. See? Hold that

call. Tell me what you're supposed to give me now that I'm in. Then pass the word along."

Talker deliberated. This, apparently, was a suggestion upon which he had no instructions.

IT was evident that his report was essential; inasmuch as it depended on Eagle's verbal agreement already

"All right." Talker nodded as he settled back in his chair. "Here's the lay. Did you ever hear of the Associated

"In the Fergis Building? Sure. They handle jewel shipments but they've got a strongroom like a fort; and

"Their strongroom is no tougher than the Titan Trust. What's more, you're wrong when you say we can't tell

what's there. Right now, the Associated Importing Company is holding nearly half a million dollars' worth of

Eagle's eyes opened. The big shot could see that Talker was stating facts. He listened while the mouthpiece

"Tuesday night," resumed Talker, in a methodical tone, "The Crime Master is going to bust that place wide

"There's the story, Eagle. Take it from me you're getting a great break. All you've got to do is pass the word

to Pigeon Melgin and the rest of your lieutenants. Tell them who's their new boss. They'll get orders from The

"Why didn't you tell me this in the first place?" questioned Eagle, in a mollified tone. "What was the idea of

"Because that's the way The Crime Master wanted it," asserted Talker. "He doesn't make terms with anybody.

Rising from his chair, Talker drew a packet from his inside pocket. He held the envelope in his left hand.

"Hold on to this," he said. "It's from The Crime Master. Don't open it. I may have new instructions when I

come again tomorrow night; if so, I'm to take this envelope back. Otherwise, you can open it."

Talker drew his watch from his pocket. It showed seven minutes before ten. As Eagle drew closer, Talker

"Just a minute." Eagle was suave as he rested his long hand on Talker's bulky shoulder. "Wait'll you hear

As he spoke, Eagle pressed the other man's shoulder. Talker shifted slightly backward, toward the curtained

archway behind him. Eagle stopped; a curious gleam appeared upon his face as he stepped away, like a

Talker stared. He wondered what was coming. He had not long to wait. Eagle Tabrick raised his hand, with a

sweeping signal. The response was a muffled burst from the curtain in back of Talker.

The shot was dulled. A revolver, handled from the folds of the curtain, revealed itself by the scorching tongue

of flame. Talker Grube doubled backward, a sickly expression showed upon his face as a choke came from

Like a toppled dummy figure, The Crime Master's mouthpiece crumpled to the floor. He rolled upon his

From the trembling curtain leered a rough face. A wiry man stepped into view, pocketing his smoking

revolver. He, like Eagle Tabrick, was known to The Shadow. He was Pigeon Melgin, most notorious of

Eagle Tabrick was holding the envelope in his left hand; with his right, he clapped Pigeon Melgin on the

Together, gloating, Eagle and Pigeon surveyed the corpse of Talker Grube, while The Shadow watched from

the curtained window. The assassination of Talker Grube was Eagle Tabrick's final answer to The Crime

"Ten o'clock." The big shot's statement was disdainful. "That's the time he gave me, Pigeon. You heard?"

"Sure." The lieutenant nodded. "I knew he was stalling you, Eagle. Only thing bothered me was why you

"I wanted him to spill something," growled Eagle. "He did, all right. Say if that dope of his was straight,

we've got until Tuesday night to beat The Crime Master to a big job. What do you think of it, Pigeon?"

"Sounds good." The came doubt in Pigeon's tone. "Just the same, Eagle, you can't be taking no long chances

"You're buffaloed, too eh?" quizzed Eagle, with a snarl. "Say maybe this hokum of Talker's had something

to it. How about it suppose I was blotted out. Would you join up with the Crime Master?"

"How do I know?" Pigeon shrugged his shoulders. "You ain't been put on the spot, have you? Anyway I

"They're hiding out, ain't they? That shows they're with you. Why get goofy, Eagle? We're all with you. I've

"You're right, Pigeon. I've got nothing to squawk about. If somebody should get me, things would be

different, of course. But until then, I can rely on your mob and the others. Nobody's going to get me, though.

Eagle chuckled as he finished his decisive statement. He glanced at the envelope that he still held in his hand.

"Talker turned out to be a sap," he asserted. "Handed me my instructions. Right from headquarters. Let's see

Ripping open the envelope, Eagle drew forth a folded sheet of thick paper. He spread it. His eyes took on a

puzzled stare. Pigeon looked over his chief's shoulder. He saw the reason for Eagle's surprise.

"It looks like The Crime Master figured what might happen," he said, seriously. "Talker was to come again

tomorrow. Like as not, he would have brought a new envelope with a real message and asked for this

"I don't like it, Pigeon. It's a funny kind of bluff. If there was a phony message on that paper, it wouldn't be so

"Why does that worry you?" questioned Pigeon. "It looks kind of dumb to me. Like the guy didn't know

"You're wrong." Eagle spoke with assurance. "Figure it this way, Pigeon. Nobody could tell who sent this

blank sheet of paper. That's why I don't like the look of it. Suppose somebody should plug me suppose the

"I get you," nodded Pigeon. "It's a bluff that can't come back on the guy who pulled it."

Eagle responded with a nod of his own. His tone became more serious than before.

"It's after ten o'clock," he mused, aloud. "We didn't give Talker a chance to put that call through. We've got to

work from under cover, Pigeon. If The Crime Master means business, he'll be out to get me.

"Talker wasn't stalling when he told me about that swag up at the importing company. That's what The Crime

Master's after, sure enough. He pulled a good job at the Titan Trust; but he'll be cagey about using his regular

"There's the lay, Pigeon. Talker talked too much. The Crime Master needs my outfits. He figures that with six

new mobs, another robbery would be a cinch. Well" Eagle paused confidently "my crews are going to

pull that job. But it won't be for The Crime Master. It'll be for me before Tuesday night "

Eagle was standing in the center of the rooms. His profile showed clearly to The Shadow, as the hidden

watcher clung beside the window. Pigeon Melgin was standing directly in front of Eagle when the

A sizzing whistle whined inward from the window. Something, traveling at high speed, plastered itself

against the side of Eagle's face. The big shot staggered; something exploded with a puff; Eagle's head was

smothered in a blanketing cloud of greenish vapor that dispelled like the spray from an atomizer.

A snarl ended in convulsive chokes as Eagle Tabrick slumped to the floor. Hands clawed the carpet; the

There was an instant's pause on the part of Pigeon Melgin while the lieutenant stood horrified at the fate

which had come to his chief. Then, with a venomous oath, Pigeon leaped toward the window, yanking his

Against the glow of the Manhattan sky, Pigeon saw the railed top of the warehouse opposite. Picking that as

his objective, he raised his revolver and fired two defiant shots. They found no mark, for Pigeon had no

target. But the mobleader, in his mad spring, had placed his own form in open view.

A second whine came through the outside air. Pigeon stumbled as a projectile smashed against his chest. A

puff; the gangleader's head was enveloped in a noxious cloud of green. Coughing in agony, Pigeon staggered

forward. His wild hands clutched the curtain beside the window. It gave. Enveloped in a fold of cloth, the

The fall of the curtain revealed The Shadow. Like a grotesque silhouette, the blackgarbed watcher was

shown in outline by the new light from the room. He had seen the fate of Eagle Tabrick; he had witnessed the

death of Pigeon Melgin. He was open to the same menace that had dropped the evil pair!

THE SHADOW, however, had turned. Swinging toward the warehouse opposite, he poised upon the window

ledge. He saw what Pigeon Melgin had failed to find. Rising over the rail on the warehouse roof was the

outline of a man's head and shoulders. Against the whitened surface, The Shadow saw the aiming barrel of a

A burst of flame came from The Shadow's automatic. Aimed with quick precision, the bullet did its work.

Skimming just above the rail, it found its mark in the shoulder of the snipping killer. The rifle barrel wavered;

A whizzing projectile plastered the wall, above and to the right of the window. A puff; greenish gas formed a

nebula upon the surface of the bricks. Diving inward, The Shadow escaped the deadly spray. His tall form

reached the floor of Eagle Tabrick's living room. The Shadow swung quickly out of sight along the inner

On the roof opposite, a huddled form was crawling away from the rail. Dragging his powerful air rifle with

him, The Crime Master's henchman was panting as he sought to gain an opening in the roof.

He had fired three grenades from the muzzle of his weapon. Two had delivered death. The third, which he

had fired while wounded, was one for which he could not account. Escape had became his one objective.

Amid the shots that had been delivered against the killer two by Pigeon Melgin, one by The Shadow the

raucous sound of horns and the impatient bursts of motors had formed a symphony from the street below.

A traffic jam, with its attendant noise, had drowned the sounds of shots from above. Yet it was possible that

some one had heard at least one of the three reports. Any one other than The Shadow would not have

The master fighter knew that he had winged the marksman who had sent the gas grenades from the opposite

roof. He expected no further menace from that quarter. Moving like a spectral shape, The Shadow reached

There was no sign of the projectile that had caused the big shot's death. The Crime Master had plotted well.

The projectile, evidently of some thin substance, had been shattered to bits when it had reached the mark. The

Shadow knew that the same must be true concerning the grenades which had followed.

The Shadow picked up the telephone. He spoke, in a voice that was strangely like Eagle Tabrick's. He told

the operator to connect him with detective headquarters. Then another voice responded. The Shadow asked to

"Hello..." The Shadow's tone was Eagle's nasty snarl. "Inspector Klein?... Good. This is Tabrick... Eagle

Tabrick... Yeah, in my apartment at the Mid Gotham... Listen, inspector, I've got a friend here with me...

We've just handed the bump to Talker Grube... I'm not kidding. It was selfdefense. That's why I'm calling

you... Listen, I'm slated for the spot. Talker came here to get me... Yeah, that's why I can't scram. I'm

counting on you to get some men up here before they blot us out me and my pal..."

The Shadow's feigned speech ended. His gloved hand hung up the telephone. A soft laugh came from the lips

that were unseen behind the upturned collar of the cloak. The Shadow's keen eyes spied the envelope that lay

Picking up the torn wrapper, The Shadow withdrew the folded paper from within. He produced a pen; in

Tuesday night. Raid at Fergis Building. Pickets on watch. All off if police enter. Word will be passed along.

The Shadow folded the note. He replaced it in the envelope and tucked the wrapper under Eagle Tabrick's

arm. The distant siren of a police car was whirring from a block away. The Shadow laughed.

Turning, the blackgarbed investigator strode swiftly to the door. He reached the hallway and closed the door

Again, The Shadow had planted a clue at the scene of death. He knew whom this note would reach

Commissioner Ralph Weston. The Shadow also knew that the very vagueness of the note and the

circumstances under which it would be discovered would cause the commissioner to preserve secrecy and to

The Shadow knew more. He knew that The Crime Master would have no way of learning that Talker Grube

had talked too much. He also knew that The Crime Master would believe that the police had found nothing

This was the cause of The Shadow's sinister mirth. Crime was set for Tuesday night. The deaths of Talker,

The Shadow, through his cunning, had driven a wedge into The Crime Master's cunning game!

IT was Monday, midnight. The Crime Master, seated at his checkered table, was studying the set array of

pieces on the board. The map beneath the squared glass showed the complete detail of the Fergis Building as

Reds, greens and blues all were arranged for attack and defense. White pieces, scattered here and there,

seemed hopelessly lost. The Crime Master was giving the police every advantage that they might possibly

The buzzer. The old man chuckled as he placed a scrawny finger on the button. Henley entered from the

clicking door. The Crime Master's secretary was carrying a sheaf of reports. Approaching the table, Henley

"Good." The whitehaired man chuckled, as he perused the paper. "So we have lined up the five mobleaders

who worked for Eagle Tabrick. I have only one regret, Henley. It is too bad that this fellow Pigeon Melgin

"Melgin's men have joined with the other groups," remarked Henley. "That fact is clearly stated on the report,

"I see it," interposed the old man, in a querulous tone. "But that does not make up for Melgin's loss. One

New sheets followed. The Crime Master chuckled as he read their details. The thoroughness of the reports

"Crime is a business, Henley," announced the old man, dryly. "It needed some one of my ability to make it

Reluctantly, the solemnfaced secretary passed the final sheet to his chief. Fierce eyes sparkled though slitted

"The Shadow!" The old man spat the name. "That spook that scarecrow! So these fools think that he has

been the cause of the trouble they encountered. Bah! It is their pretext to cover their own stupid mistakes."

"Louie Harger is a capable fighter, Master," reminded Henley. "He made a remarkable escape after his fight

THE CRIME MASTER made a new study of paragraphs to which Henley pointed. His snarl, though vicious,

was impersonal. It was plain that on second reading, he had decided that his criticism of Louis Harger had

"Bullets from the bank building, eh?" The Crime Master contemplated the statements. "A black figure in the

doorway. These could account for Harger's failure to wipe out Cardona and his men. At the same time,

"I have a previous report, Master," interposed Henley, drawing a paper from his stack, "The raiders the reds

stated after the robbery that shots increased as they fought with the detectives. They saw no one and yet

"It could have been The Shadow. I agree with you, Henley. I thought they, too, were presenting an alibi. But

none of them have had contact with Harger. This begins to appear important, Henley."

"Here is another old report, Master. It relates to the death of Trigger Maddock. We have been unable to trace

"A good point, Henley. Wait. I shall read the rest of this present report. It interests me, now."

The Crime Master scanned the typewritten lines. His lips moved in snarling fashion, though no sound came

"You are right." The old man settled back in his chair as he spoke. "This matter of our appointed killer the

man on the warehouse roof is of vital consequence. He escaped, though mortally wounded. This delayed

"Eagle Tabrick could not have slain him. We thought, logically, that Pigeon Melgin might have fired the

bullet. But now that we knew he fired at a third enemy this from his own statement we can presume that

Henley nodded. He studied his chief. The Crime Master formed a grotesque sight as he rested in his chair.

His scrawny fingers were clasped beneath his chin. His grayish face, thin nosed, with scowling lips and

fanglike teeth, was as terrible as his fiendish eyes. The mass of white hair added to his insidious appearance.

He looked like a portrayal of the figure of Death, ready to hew down victims with a sharpened scythe.

THE secretary went to the wall. He produced a bulky book which proved to be a file. From it, he drew a

folder which he brought to the old man. The Crime Master opened the folder. He plucked forth a stack of

Sheet by sheet, the old man began his study. Here in his files, the creature of crime had data concerning every

individual who roamed the underworld. More copious than police records for The Crime Master's

information came from the inside these files were remarkably complete. Even The Shadow had been listed.

Yet in these pages from a single file, The Crime Master could find nothing more than rumor. Here were the

deeds of The Shadow as chronicled by crooks. One mobleader so the records said had met The Shadow.

The man was not alive to tell his own story. Another, like the first, had died in battle with The Shadow. A

The schemes of cunning crooks; these, rumor had it, had been balked by The Shadow's power. Mysteries of

the underworld; stolen pelf reclaimed; rogues captured redhanded by the law such were the reputed results

The Crime Master fumed. With an angry sweep of his arm, he sent the folder across the room, its contents

scattering as the binder struck the wall. On his feet, the old man clenched a clawlike fist and pounded the

"The Shadow!" The old man spat the challenge. "Who is he? What is he? Where is he? Nobody knows. He is

a being of mystery a chimera that frightens stupid gunmen out of their superstitious senses.

"Now they say The Shadow seeks to balk me. We shall see" the old man was chortling "yes, we shall see.

If The Shadow is merely a phantom, he is nothing. But should he be the reality that these informers claim, he

"What is The Shadow's game? To ruin crime. What is his method? To find the heart of danger. He was on his

way to the most menacing zone when he approached the Titan Trust if we can believe Harger's story. The

Shadow learned facts to guide himself that night. Perhaps he has learned new ones concerning tomorrow's

The old man paused. Henley was nodding, half afraid, as he faced his maddened master. The Crime Master

was a fiend incarnate. Gloating, fuming, his face had changed from gray to crimson. Then came the

"Let us hope," he worded, "that The Shadow has learned facts. Let us hope that he will seek the central zone

of crime. I see now that he has hitherto played a hidden part. It was through his doing that Joe Cardona

"Cardona is out of the battle. He is a broken white piece. He no longer belongs upon my board. His departure

is doubly satisfactory. I see him Cardona not only as a minion of the law, but as the unwitting instrument

"Who can replace Cardona? No one. Therefore, The Shadow must play a stronger part. He must seek to

thwart my crimes in person. By doing so, he thinks that he has increased his importance.

"He has not. That, Henley" the old man was leering "is where The Shadow has erred. By planning to

The Crime Master grinned and waved his hand above the board with its colored pieces. Turning, he stalked to

a small bookcase. He opened a lower drawer and drew out a box. He returned, while Henley stared. Opening

the box, the old man produced a tapering wooden cone with a cylindrical knob, like the king from a set of

"I have foreseen this, Henley," cackled the Crime Master. "I am ready. This" he held up the black man "is

With an emphatic sweep of his hand, The Crime Master set the black piece upon the central square of his

board an unoccupied space in the midst of surrounding pieces. That square indicated the unbroken

"There he stands," gibed The Crime Master. "The Shadow, in the heart of danger, waiting to surprise my

legions. He knows that it is futile to attack me from without. He seeks to battle from within.

"What can he do? Look closely, Henley! You see this weak avenue? It would fail against an attack from

within." So speaking, The Crime Master pointed to an irregular formation of open squares. "Very well, we

Chortling, the old man brought new pieces from the box beside the table. He plugged the weak spot that he

"I have a small green on this square." He shook his head. "It is not enough. A middle sized one this piece

"Another red over here blues at these vital points." Square by square, The Crime Master was strengthening

his board. "That will do no if the whites are strong here at the left, we must be prepared. A blue will do it.

SITTING down in his chair, The Crime Master surveyed the board with gleaming smile. Henley, peering as

he made notations on a sheet of paper, was preparing to issue new instructions. Orders had already gone to

those who were to participate in The Crime Master's original plan of action. Further commands were needed,

There were changes, also. Henley noted all. His task completed, the secretary gathered reports and left the

paneled room. Long minutes passed. It was half an hour later when Henley returned.

The Crime Master was still studying the board. He had not changed a single piece. The black marker in the

vital square was totally surrounded by pieces of varied hues. Beyond those were the whites, blocked at every

Henley placed the papers on the table. The old man brought out his stamping seal. As he read each set of

instructions, he pressed the seal to emboss his certifying signature. When he had finished, The Crime Master

"This is final," he declared, with fiendish emphasis. "It is a double cordon. Where one may fail, another will

Henley nodded as he took the orders. He left The Crime Master staring in elation. Gibbering sounds were

coming from the old man's lips as the monster continued to survey the merits of his game.

Until tonight, white pieces alone had constituted The Crime Master's opposition. A new factor had entered;

the old man was prepared. The Shadow, like the law, was to be his foe. Black had joined white!

ON the following evening, Commissioner Ralph Weston left his office after working late. His austere

features were firmly set as he reached the street and looked about for signs of a signal. A hand was raised

Weston crossed the street. He stepped into the car. At the wheel was Grady, the commissioner's confidential

man. Grady shoved the car into gear. They rolled along the street and turned a corner northward.

"A good car, Grady," observed the commissioner. "I am playing a cautious game tonight. I should not like

to be seen where we are going either in my regular car or with my usual chauffeur at the wheel."

The car rolled along. It finally made a westward turn. Weston pressed Grady's arm a signal to slacken

speed. The coupe was in the block where the Fergis Building was located. All was quiet.

Weston nodded to himself. His orders had been followed. No officer was in sight along this block. He knew

that detectives had long since stationed themselves in buildings opposite. They would be on watch. Open

The coupe took the next corner. It went one block, then veered left. Here, Weston, shrewdly peering, saw the

signs that he wanted. A few extra officers were on duty. As the car turned right, continued a few squares and

kept on skirting the vicinity of the Fergis Building, the commissioner became more satisfied than before.

Everywhere added men. Scattered detectives. Patrol cars a few blocks further away. At no one spot was

their indication of police activity. Nevertheless, a powerful array of the law could close in at short order. All

The coupe rolled past the Fergis Building for a second time. Weston noted a trio of parked cabs; a fourth

came up behind them as the coupe passed. These meant nothing to the commissioner, however. He ordered

NOT long after the coupe had departed from the block, a figure appeared a few doors below the main

entrance to the Fergis Building. Its form was hazy; its motions swift and shifty. Stopping by the closed

entrance of a ground floor shop, the figure merged with blackness. A pick clicked in the lock.

A minute later, The Shadow was inside the deserted shop. Here he found a more formidable barrier; an

entrance to the building itself. In the darkness of the store, concealment was an easy task. The Shadow

worked with precision. He forced the barrier. He reached the deserted lobby of the building. His form moved

The big building was empty. Moreover, its doors were firmly closed. Only The Shadow could have made an

unseen entry. So far, the place seemed immune from attack. The Shadow knew well that a search must have

Reaching the third floor, The Shadow made his way to the front. Here he found the dim panel in a glass door;

The pick began to work. The door opened. The Shadow entered the office and closed the door behind him.

This was obviously the way to the strongroom. Again, The Shadow set to work. The locks of this heavy door

were formidable; yet it required only a few minutes for The Shadow to unloose them. The blackgarbed

investigator entered a room that was windowless. Its furnishings consisted only of table and two chairs. In the

After a brief inspection, The Shadow returned to the outer office. He left the door of the strongroom ajar. He

reached the windows and peered to the street below. There, he observed the taxicabs that Weston's coupe had

A soft laugh came from The Shadow's hidden lips. He saw significance in those cabs. He watched while

another drove up and joined the line. Softly, The Shadow raised a window and peered directly below.

He could not see the sidewalk. This office was directly above the entrance to the Fergis Building. A marquee

extended over the sidewalk just above the door. It was thirty odd feet to the street; the projecting surface of

Like a slightly sloping roof, the marquee consisted of a heavy metal frame in which were set a grillwork of

thinner metal, filled with panes of glass. The Shadow's inspection ended. The black form moved into the

Apparently, the Fergis Building had entrances only in the front. Old, but wellbuilt, it was set between a

smaller and more ancient office building on the left; a low garage on the right. The strongroom was built

against the left wall. Narrow and with open stairway from ground floor to the top the tenth the Fergis

Could The Crime Master's workers enter from the front? The Shadow had done so; but crews of marauders

would surely encounter trouble. The Shadow, as he waited, sensed that the unusual was due to occur. Then

MUFFLED clicks. The noise of chipping stones. Softly, The Shadow stole to the outer door. He peered

At the end of the hallway from the side where the other office building was located pieces of plaster were

A gaping hole was coming. Workers from the other side were finding an easy way into the Fergis Building.

The Shadow closed the door of the office. He moved back to the strongroom. He worked upon the locks of

There was not long to wait. Lurking in total darkness, The Shadow heard slight clicks from the other side.

The Crime Master's men were here. They were trying to break in. They were going to succeed without much

He had loosened the locks to make their progress easy. The Shadow was anxious to lose no time in meeting

The Crime Master's horde. He was ready with a surprise that they could not anticipate.

The door swung open. Creeping men moved forward. Then came a weird sound that chilled them to

immobility. With eerie mockery, The Shadow's laugh burst from the strongroom. Members of the advancing

mob halted. A flashlight gleamed from a gangster's hand. The answer was the thunder of an automatic.

The Shadow had chosen a danger spot. He was opposed to criminals potential murderers the flower of

The Crime Master's cohorts. This was no time for parley. Bullets were the arguments that counted. Tongues

of flame spat from The Shadow's guns, squarely into the ranks of the massed raiders.

Gangsters broke for cover. Leaving their companions sprawling, those in the rear dashed for the outer door of

the office. Reaching the hall, they turned to give battle. Until then, they had not fired a shot.

But The Shadow was still prepared. Firing with one hand at the fleeting mobsters, he had yanked the metal

door almost shut. A gun wedged in the crack between door and frame, he was ready for those who turned to

Gangster bullets smashed against the metal door. The Shadow answered, directing each shot toward spots

where revolver flashes had shown. Gangsters fell, groaning. The remainder turned in final flight. It was then

that The Shadow issued forth. He headed for the outer door to take up the chase.

As he reached his goal, The Shadow paused. He was allowing one short interval before he resumed the

pursuit. It was in that space that an event occurred which totally changed The Shadow's plans.

AN explosion came with a mighty roar, back in the strongroom! The entire building seemed to shake. The

Shadow caught his footing, as he wheeled. Smoke was pouring from the strongroom. The Shadow realized

New marauders had blown through the wall from the garage! The first attack had been no more than a

preliminary sortie. Here were the real raiders, coming through into the strongroom itself!

The Shadow pounced to the open door. Defying the stifling fumes, he peered toward the corner where the

blast had shattered a jagged opening. His automatics dropped beneath his cloak. His gloved hands swept out a

A light glimmered from the broken wall. The Shadow loosed a shot. The light fell. Then came the responses

of revolvers. Men from the opening were aiming to give battle. The sides of the hole were their cover; The

Bursts of a single automatic thrust past the edge of the door. These timely shots were keeping the new forces

at bay. The Shadow was expecting a mad rush. He was equipped to handle it. All was going well for the time;

then, while the expected attack still held back, a new onslaught opened from another quarter.

A whistling bullet flattened itself against the metal door, a scant inch from The Shadow's head. The cloaked

warrior whirled. The shot had come from the outer door. A new mob, held in reserve to replace the outfit

which The Shadow had put to flight, was on hand to battle with the lone fighter!

The opening shot, had it been less hasty, would have settled The Shadow once for all. Swinging from his

narrow escape, The Shadow aimed toward the outer door and opened fire as a deluge of mobsmen sallied into

Amid the smoke that still hovered from the explosion, swift fight was waged. The Shadow, had he remained

at the door of the strongroom, would have been quick prey for his opponents. But he shifted as he fired. He

Amazingly, The Shadow seemed to precede the enemy's aim. Spattering bullets followed him while the men

who fired were diving away to avoid return shots. It was the swiftness of the struggle that aided The Shadow

A mobleader Harger was at the heels of the crowd that had sallied through the door. More deliberate than

his hurried henchmen, Louie aimed for the blackened target that he could barely see. He fired. The Shadow

Wounded, the superfighter staggered at the window sill. A single automatic loosed flame toward the door, A

mobster, his body protecting Louie, began to sink as his leader was aiming above his shoulder. Harger dived

THE door of the strongroom swung open. A light glimmered full upon the window. The Shadow, barely

freed from the menacing mob which had attacked from the hall, was forced to turn and fire singlehanded at

The Shadow's right arm was limp; his left, however, loosed a pair of final shots with deadly precision. The

light went out; a staggering mobster screamed. A gunman's hand yanked the metal door shut.

The Shadow's triumph was brief. Before the cloaked fighter could make another move, three men surged

inward from the hall. Louie Harger, behind another pair of underlings, was coming back to fight.

One mobster fired. His bullet singed The Shadow's wounded arm. The second man was aiming; The Shadow

flung an empty automatic squarely in the fellow's face. Louie Harger loosed a shot. The Shadow toppled.

Backed against the window, his only refuge, the trapped warrior sprawled sidewise on the sill. Louie fired

again, as The Shadow's form went outward. His bullet clipped The Shadow's thigh.

Then the form was gone; the window clear save for a clutching hand of black. A dozen feet away, Louie

aimed point blank for those clinging fingers, which he could see upon the white surface of the woodwork.

Before the mobleader could pull the trigger, the fingers loosened. The Shadow's form was plunging toward

Louie heard the crash as he sprang for the window. The shattering of glass the snapping of metal these

were the sounds that had marked The Shadow's vertical plunge. Reaching the window, the mobleader looked

downward. Spread upon the broken surface of the marquee lay the cloaked figure. The Shadow seemed to be

Louie Harger aimed. The Shadow was helpless. Here was his chance to finish the archenemy of crime.

Despite his belief that The Shadow must have already suffered mortal wounds, Louie was determined to gain

As Louie's hand steadied on the trigger, The Shadow seemed to hunch together. Then, to the gangleader's

amazement, the blackened form dropped. In his fall, The Shadow had shattered the center of the marquee. He

The Shadow had chosen the hard sidewalk a dozen feet further down in preference to the lead which he knew

was coming from above. From his angle of vision, Louie could see but the fringes of the black cloak as The

Viciously, the gangleader fired through the gap that showed in shattered glass and twisted metal. His zipping

bullets smashed against the cement sidewalk. Changing his aim, Louie shattered another pane of glass, in

Bursts of flame whining bullets crackles from below then the click of Louie's emptied weapon. The

Shadow, wounded by gun shots, crippled by two successive plunges, had crawled toward the protecting

The Crime Master's moves had been well planned. The Shadow had been trapped within the central square.

Eliminated from the fray, he had taken a desperate measure to avoid certain death in the face of

Even yet, he was not clear. Louie Harger knew that fact as he stood snarling by the window. Guns were

The Shadow had moved from one square to another. Unarmed, incapable of fight, he was still within the

WHILE The Shadow had been waging battle in the offices of the Associated Importing Company, strife had

broken loose upon the street below. The gunfire from above; the explosion which had followed it these had

Prompt with the beginning of the upper fray, men had issued from buildings across the street. Half a dozen in

These men had sent the alarm before they appeared in view. The distant police who surrounded the district

were notified that crime had struck. The half dozen detailed to watch were then ready to force their way into

But where Weston had relied upon a slim vanguard, The Crime Master had placed full crews of fighters.

Hardly had the detectives appeared before the doors of parked taxis opened. Armed gunmen tumbled into

Thus, while The Shadow had fought furiously above, shots had been ricocheting along the street below.

Weston's men, hopelessly outnumbered, retreated to the buildings from which they had come. Of the six

During the last phases of The Shadow's upstairs battle, taxis were swinging along the street. These cabs were

moving fortresses in The Crime Master's scheme. Each contained its quota of mobsters.

Three cabs shot ahead; the gangsters who had fired at the detectives were on the running boards. Three made

sharp, quick turnabouts in the center of the street and rolled toward the opposite end of the block.

One at each corner; second cabs in reserve behind them; third cabs further back such was The Crime

Master's blockade. Mobsmen some in cabs, some on the street were ready with their guns to ward off any

The Crime Master had designed the front street as one possible outlet for a getaway. Weston, in opposition,

had picked that block as the converging point for the police. As The Shadow, backed against the window in

the office, was poising for his wild plunge, heavy gunfire broke from both ends of the beleaguered block.

LOUIE HARGER, after emptying his revolver through the hole in the marquee, stared savagely out into the

street. For the first time, the gangleader realized that a furious fight was under way below. Glancing hastily to

left and right, he could see the flashes of guns from the ends of the street. He spied revolver bursts from the

Wildly, Louie leaped back into the office. He snatched up a fallen mobster's gat. Springing to the window, he

leaned forth and fired three quick shots above the heads of two retreating mobsmen. The gangsters looked up,

Louie waved his arms. The men stopped. They recognized an ally. In the lull that hung in the center of the

block, Louie's voice barked its message, as the gangleader motioned straight downward with his gun.

The mobsters were across the street. They looked toward the door of the building. One clutched the other's

The front of the Fergis Building formed an alcove. Set on each side of the entrance were pillar bases; above

them, fluted, ornamental columns. Further away, on each side, were inset basement windows, fronted with

The columns showed white; their bases formed ledges upon which a person could recline. The first mobster,

looking toward these conspicuous spots, had spied the object that he wanted. A huddled, pitiful form black

cloak with topping hat formed a grotesque splotch at the base of the right column.

Viciously, the mobster fired. His shot cracked against the fluted pillar. His companion leveled his gun and

loosed a bullet. The figure did not move. Snarling their triumph, the two hoodlums dashed straight for the

One stopped short. Taking no chance, he fired three quick shots at a range of a dozen feet. The other man,

seeing the gun lower, sprang forward and seized the folds of the black cloak. He yanked it away.

The slouch hat rolled to the sidewalk. Beneath was the whiteness of the bulletcracked column. The mobsters

had spent their fire to no avail. Crawling to this spot, The Shadow had managed to cast off his black

garments. In the precious seconds that had followed, he had moved to some other spot.

The savage mobster flung the cloak to the sidewalk. He kicked the slouch hat toward the gutter. He stared at

his companion; then pointed to the right. The inset window black could be a hiding place. Together, the

They found no one. One mobster kicked against the grated bars. Snarling an oath, he turned to his

"He's somewhere near," growled the gunman. "Maybe he ducked the other way. The window on the other

Before the second gangster could respond, both were forced to heed an interruption. Amid the sounds of

gunfire came wild shouts. Mobsters at the wheels of taxicabs were calling to their scattered fellows. The

There was no time for this pair to resume their hunt. Sensing that they would be trapped, they dashed madly

away from the front of the building. They reached the last cab and leaped on the running board. The cab did

Slumped behind the wheel was the mobster driver, dead. The cab ahead was moving. Abandoning the

motionless car, the two gangsters dashed for the one ahead. They gained the running board just as the car shot

LOUIE HARGER, standing by the window, saw the dash. He grinned. He was sure that the men whom he

had summoned had clinched The Shadow's death. He had heard their shots from beneath the marquee.

Leaning from the window, he saw the onslaught of the cabs. Two were hurtling forward at one end of the

block. Looking the other way, Louie saw a trio of cabs speeding in formation. Then came a fury of fire.

Police, dropping to cover, were giving the cabs a gantlet of bullets. The mobsmen in the cabs were firing in

Whistles sounded. Pursuing shots came to Louie's ears. Then the gangleader heard the whine of sirens as the

Louie turned. He found silence. Dimly, the excited gangleader recalled a muffled blast while he had been

standing at the window. He went to the door of the strongroom. He flashed his torch through heavy smoke.

The door of the vault was blown. The raiders had left by the hole in the wall. Mobsters lay motionless upon

the floor of the office and in the strongroom. Louie realized that his small crew of sharpshooters had been

practically eliminated in the battle with The Shadow. The few who remained had followed through the hole

DOWN on the sidewalk, something moved from blackness. A figure crawled out of the inset window on the

left side of the building entrance. Like a mammoth beetle, this shape reached the spot where the cloak and hat

were lying. Half rising, The Shadow slipped cloak upon shoulders and planted the hat at an angle on his head.

Wisely, The Shadow had crawled to the window on the side away from the pillar where he had doffed his

garb. The two mobsters had searched at the right a natural procedure while The Shadow was at the left.

Again, precious seconds had served The Shadow well. The mobsters had fled when he was almost in their

Gloved hands clawed at the base of the nearer pillar. The crudely cloaked form rose upward. Stooped, The

Shadow staggered across the sidewalk. He nearly fell as he stepped from the curb. Then, with hands clasped

LOUIE HARGER had returned to the window. The gangleader wanted one last look at the deserted street. He

noted the cab standing in the thoroughfare. Beyond it, he saw policemen edging in from the corner. Louie

For a moment, the gangleader was astounded. The door of the taxi had opened. He saw a mass of black lurch

The Shadow had reached the cab! With a final effort, he had thrust the dead driver from the wheel. As Louie

Cursing, Louie aimed. He fired at the moving target. The range was too great. Going into high, the cab was

zigzagging toward the corner, straight into the zone where police were ready to advance.

Like the mobsters who had fled ahead of him, The Shadow was running the gantlet. Revolvers barked; the

cab swept on at a dizzy, swerving speed. Louie saw it careen almost to the opposite curb; then it was jerked to

Louie could linger no longer. He heard police whistles; a dozen officers were dashing from the opposite

direction, bent on reaching the Fergis Building now that the coast was clear. Louie headed for the

Below, Louie found a rakish touring car on the garage floor. Four mobsters were in the machine. The driver

"Waitin' for you," were his words. "The others made their getaway. The swag went first. Anybody else

Louie delivered a negative response as he leaped into the car. A gangster yanked a lever near the garage door.

The barrier swung open; the man jumped aboard the touring car as it passed. The escaping mobsters were

leaving by the rear, through a door that led to the street in back of the block where the Fergis Building was

A whistle sounded. Police had arrived in this block. Too late to flag the previous cars, the officers were

determined to stop this machine. They fell back, however, as shots came from the guns which bristled at the

Mobsters were benefiting by The Crime Master's strategy. In forming his game, the cunning supercrook had

counted on the flight of the taxis to draw police away from this rear exit. The gangstermanned cabs had

Swinging along the nearest avenue, Louie Harger and his companions gloated on the fact that their own

escape must be proof that the men with the swag had made a clear getaway. Such was the case; Louie's crew,

As the car reached a corner four blocks from the scene of crime, a siren sounded up ahead. Commissioner

Weston was maneuvering his forces like fire engines after the third alarm. For each police car that had headed

The driver cursed as he swung the touring car down a side street. The rakish machine roared through a

canyon of silent buildings. It crossed another avenue. As it reached the next broad thoroughfare, the driver

The right wheels took a low curb. Louie Harger, staring from the rear seat, saw the reason for the unexpected

maneuver. A taxicab, coming at a breakneck, rolling speed, was skidding past the crossing. The driver of the

"Smash him!" shouted Louie, as the touring car bounded from the curb toward the center of the avenue.

The order was too late. The taxi had careened past. As the touring car finished the crossing and came to a

jolting stop with its nose down the side street, Louie was spending futile shots after the fleeing cab.

Louie's startled companion joined in the fire. They, like the driver, had taken the taxi for a vehicle that

contained escaping mobsters. Louie's blazing shots, however, seemed to indicate a purpose. The surprise of

the sudden meeting rendered bullets futile. The Shadow's lurching cab had reached a point more than half a

An oath came from the driver. The man shot the touring car into reverse. The machine swept backward into

THE chase never began. Just as the driver was shifting to low gear, a siren whined. From a corner one square

below, a police car appeared upon the avenue. It was in chase of The Shadow's taxi.

The driver of the gang car sensed the menace. To pursue the taxi would mean a course squarely in front of the

police car. He yanked the wheel and headed toward the direction from which he had backed along the side

Anxious gangsters fired from Louie's side. Bullets whistled toward the police car. At sight of this new foe,

the officers slackened speed. As the touring car sped down the side street, they forgot the cab that they were

Block after block a twisting, tortuous chase. The swift touring car outdistanced its pursuer. Louie and his

Not only had they failed to stop The Shadow; they had also diverted the police chase from the cab which the

wounded warrior had commandeered. Far up the avenue, the taxi was whirling along, unmolested. Then, as it

Coasting crazily, the taxi continued for another block. Behind the wheel lay a limp, helpless form. The

Shadow had weakened. His foot no longer pressed the accelerator nor did his hands control the steering

The cab climbed a curb. Pedestrians scattered as the vehicle jounced tilting toward the corner. A black glove

gripped the steering wheel and gave it a twist. The cab rolled caticornered into a side street, bounced down

from the near curb, climbed the sidewalk opposite and came to a crashing stop against a high stone steps.

A door wrenched open. The Shadow sprawled against the steps. Contact with the stone seemed to bring him

to a revived state. Spontaneously, the blackcloaked form arose and went tottering, with a flash of its

Pedestrians who had fled from the path of the taxi came rushing over to give rescue. They came from the

direction of the avenue. They found the cab empty. During their approach from the near side of the smashed

Then he faltered. His form collapsed beside a pair of steps further down the street. The shouts of the persons

Feebly, the cloaked fighter pressed his left hand to his side. Dripping blood smeared the black glove. From

beneath the black cloak, fumbling fingers drew forth a tiny vial. The hand rose to the lips beneath the hat

The vial was corked. The Shadow bit the stopper free with his teeth. A pungent odor came from the vial.

With an effort, The Shadow swallowed the contents. The bottle made a tiny tinkle is it fell and broke upon

Clutching the stone beside him, The Shadow arose. The elixir had given him a new taste of life. Though he

limped and staggered, while his right side drooped, the game warrior began to cover the remaining distance

The next crossing marked a quiet uptown avenue, for The Shadow had arrived far north of Times Square. The

blackclad figure wavered as it reached the far side of the crossing. Then came two dozen steps away from

the corner. After that, The Shadow paused; he swayed and crashed upon the sidewalk.

A minute passed. No one chanced to come along the sidewalk while The Shadow lay there motionless. The

figure moved again, with pitiful weakness. The power of the elixir had ended; its passing had brought an

Crawling foot by foot; dragging himself by the sheer strength of his left arm, for his legs were weakening,

The Shadow reached the white wall of a low apartment building. The entrance showed ahead. The Shadow,

The left hand crept upward. Fingers, moving spiderlike, gained the knob. The hand drew the form below

close against the door. Then the left arm drooped; once again, fingers fumbled. The hand came up, carrying

Faltering fingers probed the lock. One click failed another had a like fate. The Shadow's hand persisted.

The lock yielded. The pick dropped; the hand clutched the knob. A final twist; the door opened inward and

Barely across the threshold, The Shadow made a last motion of his arm. This action closed the door not

quite tight. The hand sought to finish the work. It failed. A sigh came from The Shadow's lips; his form

Stretched prone upon the floor, The Shadow lay motionless. Slow, labored breathing such was the only sound

that came from the spot where he had lost all consciousness. The folds of the bloodsoaked cloak lay like a

Ten minutes fifteen twenty. All was silence where The Shadow lay. Occasionally, the rumble of a

passing car sounded from the street outside; at other intervals, clicking footsteps of pedestrians came from the

Then came a different noise from without. A cab had pulled up in front of the door through which The

Shadow had entered. A seriousfaced young man alighted. He paid the driver; the cab rolled away.

The man turned to the door in the building. He pressed a key in the lock. He was surprised as the door

yielded. He entered and stopped short to keep from stumbling over the form that lay on the floor.

This arrival had found The Shadow. Stooping in the gloom, he bent over the blackgarbed figure. A surprised

The Shadow had escaped The Crime Master's trap; yet his flight had left him on the verge of death. Upon one

ONE week had passed. A light was burning in the groundfloor room where The Shadow's flight had ended.

Revealed by the illumination, the place showed as a small waiting room. Beyond it was the open door of a

A soberfaced young man was seated at a desk. He was making a telephone call. His voice was quiet and

"Yes," he was saying. "I shall be here to receive the delivery. At once that is right... Be sure of the name

His call finished, the young physician arose. He crossed the office and opened a rear door. He stepped into

A door was ajar near the end of hall. Sayre went in that direction. He stepped into a dimly lighted room where

a tall form lay propped in a bed. Doctor Sayre stood looking at the pale face which showed upon the pillow.

The visage was a remarkable one. Its present color was almost the whiteness of marble. This was appropriate;

for the countenance looked like a chiseled face of stone. Firm, steady features were predominated by an

In repose, the countenance seemed weary. This impression changed as the eyes opened. From the sides of the

hawkish nose blazed orbs that seemed to sparkle fire. They were eyes that bespoke unquenchable power and

The dominating gaze exerted a command. Doctor Sayre drew up a chair and seated himself beside the bed.

He detected an inquiring look in the burning eyes. Quietly, the physician spoke in answer.

"Your strength is returning," asserted Sayre. "All delirium has passed. Conversation will not exhaust you."

A thin smile appeared upon the lips which had hitherto been straight beneath the hawklike nose. The

"Perhaps," suggested Sayre, as he viewed the smile, "it would be wise for me to talk at first. Would you like

"Very well," resumed Sayre. "One week ago tonight, I happened to return home a bit earlier than usual.

That, I may remark, was a most fortunate occurrence. When I opened the door of my office, I found a body

upon the floor. It was that of a man wearing a black cloak and a slouch hat. He was alive but his heartbeat

"Imagine my amazement when I discovered who this personage was. Beneath the slouch hat, I found the

features of Lamont Cranston, a prominent New Yorker who has long been a friend of mine. Cranston"

Sayre's tone was impersonal, although he gazed directly at his patient "was in a most serious condition. He

had three bullet wounds; he had evidently suffered gashes by falling through glass; between loss of blood and

heavy bruises, it was a miracle that he had managed to reach my office under his own locomotion."

The smile still showed upon the thin lips. The head upon the pillows delivered another nod.

"What surprised me most," declared Doctor Sayre, "was the garb which Cranston had been wearing. Your

cloak and hat, my friend, are hanging in this closet. It was because of them that I kept you here, instead of

sending you to a hospital. It occurred to me that you might wish to preserve your condition a secret."

So speaking, Rupert Sayre approached the closet and opened the door. Eyes from the bed surveyed the

"ONCE not so very long ago" Sayre paused reminiscently as he, too, studied the hat and cloak "my life

was saved by the timely efforts of a being who wore this very garb. Since then, I have had occasional contact

"I may say that I have two powerful friends. One is a multimillionaire a famous globetrotter named

Lamont Cranston. The other is a miraculous being known as The Shadow. Sometimes, I have wondered. I

have identified the two. I have thought that Lamont Cranston might be the person who poses as The Shadow.

On further deliberation, I have decided that it is The Shadow who sometimes chooses to play the part of

"This belief" Sayre swung toward the bed as he spoke "has been mentioned to no one. I am a man who

believes in loyalty. I shall always show that trait to its fullest whenever I have dealings with either friend:

There was a table by The Shadow's bedside. Sayre opened a deep drawer and made a gesture.

"Here," he declared, "are weapons which I take it are your property." The Shadow viewed the automatics that

lay in view. "This telephone" Sayre raised the instrument from the floor and rested it on the table "is for

your sole use. As your physician, I recommend only that you do not attempt to leave your bed for at least

Turning toward the door, Sayre stopped just before he left the room. He viewed the appreciative smile that

"I can obtain copies of newspapers," said the physician, "dating from Tuesday last. Would they interest you?"

"Yes." The reply came in a quiet tone the voice that characterized Lamont Cranston. "How soon can you

"Within an hour," promised Sayre. "I am waiting for the delivery of some medicine; after that, I have an

The door closed, marking Sayre's departure. Lamont Cranston's face seemed to lose some of its pallor. The

bed spread moved a long, pajamagarbed arm came into view. This was the left arm; the right, heavily

The stretching hand picked up the French telephone and carried it toward the bed. Cranston's quiet tones gave

"Report." The voice was Cranston's no longer. It was the weird whisper of The Shadow.

For a moment, there was no reply. Evidently Burbank had been startled by the return of his missing chief.

The Shadow listened. As Burbank's voice continued, the blazing eyes seemed to sparkle with new splendor.

When the contact man's statements had ended, The Shadow's whisper again sounded in the room:

The Shadow's voice continued. Heartened by Burbank's opening report, the recovered fighter was starting his

new campaign. Even though helpless, so far as his own individual action was concerned, The Shadow was

ONE hour later, Doctor Sayre, returning with the promised newspapers, found his patient slumbering

peacefully. The physician placed the journals on the table beside the bed; he arranged bottles of medicine, left

At that precise time, Cliff Marsland, agent of The Shadow, was making a telephone call from a phone booth

in an East Side drug store. Through Burbank, he was receiving orders from The Shadow.

A grim smile showed on Cliff's face as the agent left the store. Keen of visage, square of chin, Cliff was a

young man of predominating vigor. They called him a killer in the underworld. Cliff had never denied the

reputation. Recognized as a free lance mobster of high skill, Cliff was able to serve The Shadow and at the

There was a reason for Cliff's smile. Cliff had accomplished something during this week that he had been

working on his own. Like other lone hands like himself, he had joined the parade. Cliff Marsland had become

The Shadow had assigned Cliff to this duty prior to the battle of last Tuesday. But The Shadow had added the

proviso that Cliff must delay the action until opportunity arose for association with important members of

Cliff's chance had come within the last few days. Louie Harger, his forces depleted after the fight at the

Associated Importing Company, had been looking for new sharpshooters. Cliff had learned of this; he was

Louie's mob had its hangout at the Black Ship, a dive as notorious as the Pink Rat. Here, Cliff had noted

single members of the mob stroll out; one had left two nights ago; one had gone last night.

This evening, a call had come for Cliff. It was Louie; the gangleader had ordered his new henchmen to come

over to his room at the Hotel Spartan. On his way to the appointment, Cliff had called Burbank. By a stroke

This had been the opening of Burbank's statement. Cliff was puzzling over the words as he paced along

beneath the high structure of an East Side elevated. It was apparent that The Shadow must have gained some

THE Hotel Spartan was a decadent structure that fronted on the elevated. Cliff Marsland reached the

building; he entered the frowsy lobby and inquired of the suspicious looking clerk if Louie Harger happened

Cliff reached the room. He rapped at the door; a growl sounded. Cliff entered to find his new boss, Louie

The greetings were terse. Though their motives and principles differed widely, Cliff Marsland and Louie

Harger had certain characteristics in common. Both were men of determination. They possessed a

hardboiled manner that made them contemptuous of the smallfry denizens of the underworld.

It was plain that Louie was pleased with his new underling. The gangleader wasted no words as he handed an

"I want this passed along," he declared. "Give it to some heel. Tell the mug to open it, take the dough inside

"Be careful about the bird you pick," added Louie. "Grab some mug who's easy to scare. Tell him to move

Cliff thrust the envelope in his pocket. He smiled grimly as he left the hotel room. He knew the import of this

envelope. It was a message from The Crime Master, passing through the hands of Louie Harger, for delivery

Leaving the Hotel Spartan, Cliff started briskly toward the Black Ship. Making sure that he was not followed,

he suddenly changed his course; doubling through an alleyway, he turned back along another street. He

entered a blind alley; at the end of the culdesac, he entered a doorway. Up one flight, Cliff came into a

The Shadow's agent produced the envelope. It was sealed; but that meant nothing. Cliff lighted a tin of

canned heat and placed a tiny kettle over the flame. Soon water began to boil. Steam issued from the kettle's

Holding the envelope in the vapor, Cliff loosened the flap. He found a tendollar bill inside the envelope;

Cliff grinned. It was a certainty that any smalltime skulker of the badlands would certainly deliver this note.

Turk Bodell was head of a most insidious outfit. Safe blowers, pineapple throwers, men who handled

explosives and stirred "soup" these were the kind of minions whom Bodell governed.

Cliff steamed open the inner envelope. He found a folded sheet of heavy paper. Opening the message, he

stared at the peculiar signature an embossed seal that showed a scimitar behind a skull. Then Cliff read the

NODDING thoughtfully, The Shadow's agent replaced the paper in the envelope. He sealed the wrapper

carefully; added the banknote and placed both in the outer envelope. Cliff Marsland was in on the know. He

had learned the vital point in The Crime Master's newest scheme a stroke that was due to arrive tonight!

Cliff extinguished the flame beneath the kettle. He turned out the gas light. He was stealthy as he left his

room. Reaching the alleyway, he headed westward. Soon he was clear of the badlands. Cliff arrived at a

"Turk Bodell..." Cliff was terse in his report. "One o'clock... Wingroft Jewelry Store... Blowing the outer door

"It looks like The Crime Master is stealing an idea from Weston. No mobsters will be near there at one. The

note tips off Bodell... Yes... Squads will move in at the zero hour... That's the idea; they're coming up just

"Cars will pick up the burglars... Running fight all along... No concentration."

Cliff paused. He heard Burbank's voice telling him to stand by. Cliff hung up the receiver. He waited for five

minutes. The telephone rang; Cliff was prompt in his answer. He had given Burbank the number of the pay

"Hello... Yes..." Cliff grinned as he listened. His replies were brief affirmations until Burbank completed the

The Shadow's agent left the telephone booth. Clutching the sealed envelope in his pocket, he started back on

his eastward journey. It was not yet ten o'clock; three full hours remained in which to forestall crime.

From the note in his pocket, with its complete orders to Turk Bodell, Cliff had given The Shadow a perfect

picture of tonight's lay. There would be others in The Crime Master's game besides Turk Bodell; but the

Orders from The Shadow! They were instructions that Cliff could follow promptly. The new campaign had

come into its own. The envelope that Cliff carried would go to its destination; but it would not further The

Simply, but effectively, The Shadow had decided on a counterstroke. The disabled warrior was counting

ELEVEN thirty. Squawky Sugler was sitting in a corner of the Pink Rat. The beadyeyed stool was watching

those about him. His right hand clutched a bottle that was nearly full; his left kept making gestures toward his

Nothing new tonight. Moreover, Squawky was becoming nervous. He did not like to remain too long in any

dive. He had been here nearly an hour; again, his quest for information seemed hopeless.

Squawky poured himself a drink; he gulped the liquor, then arose and shambled from the dive. At the other

side of the room, another man arose and took a different exit. It was Cliff Marsland. The Shadow's agent had

On the street, Squawky was pursuing his shambling way. He threw a furtive glance over his shoulder; that

was all. Conversant with the ways of the badlands, Squawky knew that it was poor policy to keep on the

Two blocks three Squawky entered a ramshackle building and ascended a dimly lighted pair of stairs. He

reached the darkness of an upper hall. He unlocked the door of a room. This was his abode.

The stool pigeon groped his way toward a gas jet. Squawky had taken his time in coming here; always, the

stoolie shambled in his course. He felt positive that no one had been on his trail; it did not occur to him that

A frightened, ratlike squeak came from Squawky's lips as something thrust against him in the dark. A firm

hand had gripped his shoulder; the muzzle of a revolver was jammed against the stoolie's chest. A growling

Squawky nearly slumped to the floor. His captor thrust him backward. Squawky sat down suddenly upon the

tumbledown cot that he used for a bed. He could sense a man standing above him; the point of the gun still

"No squawk out of you." It was Cliff Marsland's growl, but Squawky did not recognize the voice in the dark.

"Unless you keep your trap shut, there's going to be one less stool pigeon working. Get that?"

CLIFF'S harsh laugh ended Squawky's protest. The shambler subsided, gasping from sheer fear. He expected

"Get this." Cliff's growl was emphatic. "I know you for what you are a stool. You worked for Joe Cardona;

"But that's not going to hurt you. Not if you listen to what I've got to say. I want you to do some squealing. If

Cliff's statement ended with an emphatic pressure of the gun muzzle. Squawky whined. His captor laughed.

"You were at the Pink Rat," asserted Cliff. "All right. You heard something there. Get that? You heard a

couple of mugs talking you don't know who they were and you wised to what's coming off.

"Somebody's going to get into the Wingroft Jewelry Store on Sixth Avenue. Who how you don't know.

It's happening after midnight. Word has been passed along. You've got a hunch a good one that there's

"That's a bunch of cops to be inside the joint, all ready. There's got to be a break in that's the only way to

beat it. You're afraid the crooks will wise up if the bulls are hanging around outside but you know they can

"If you're not one," scoffed The Shadow's agent, "you're going to be tonight. There's an old store down at the

corner. A telephone in the back room. That's where you're going and I'll be on your trail.

"One peek over your shoulder one sneaky move it's curtains. Get that? You're going to call Police

Commissioner Weston. You're going to tell him your name and you'll say you're one of Cardona's stools. If

"I ain't no stool," were his words, "but if I've got to squeal, I'll go ahead. Don't plug me I'll do anything you

"You'd better." Cliff was gruff. "There's a couple of heels that I want to get. They're going to be in that raid

tonight and I'm letting the bulls get them. That's why I'm using you, understand? Now get going."

Prompted by the gun muzzle, Squawky arose. The stool went through the hall; he descended the stairs. He

could hear Cliff's footsteps behind him. He did not dare to turn around. Along the block, Squawky shambled

with the knowledge that a gat was ready in back of him. He entered the store and went into the rear room.

Outside, he could hear the growl of the man who had forced him here. Cliff was buying cigarettes; he was

talking with the old storekeeper. At times, Squawky felt sure, the man with the gun would edge toward the

A brisk voice over the wire. Squawky knew it must be Weston. In a plaintive whisper, the stool pigeon

announced his identity. He gave the information as Cliff had ordered. He could hear Weston's excited

Shambling from the back room, the stoolie found the old storekeeper alone. Squawky kept on his way. His

captor had left, confident that Squawky would obey. Furtively, the stool pigeon drifted back to his abode.

MEANWHILE, Cliff Marsland was leaving the vicinity. He had given The Crime Master's envelope to a

smallfry crook. He knew that the message had reached Turk Bodell. He had handled Squawky Sugler. Word

had gone to the police commissioner. No one was the wiser The Crime Master least of all.

Cliff did not know the identity of the mobleaders who had been assigned to cover up and aid Turk Bodell. He

knew only that Louie Harger's outfit was out of it tonight. That was logical, since Louie's crew was

Numbers, positions such factors did not matter now that the law could strike from the vital spot. Cliff

Marsland sauntered toward the Black Ship to convene with other members of Louie Harger's gang.

ONE o'clock approached. At the table in his paneled room, The Crime Master was chuckling as he pointed to

pieces arrayed upon the checkered board. A new map was underneath the squared sheet of glass. Henley was

"Here, Henley, is the center." The Crime Master indicated an empty square; then placed his scrawny hand

squarely in the middle of the board. "All these squares a dozen are empty. This game, Henley, is a

Again pointing, the old man motioned toward pieces of various colors that formed a widecircled fringe

about the vacancy. At one spot, he stopped and tapped red men that were on the squares.

"The raiders," he stated. "They are moving. Square to square, toward the center! They arrive" the first red

Leaving the center, The Crime Master began to move blues and greens. Into their spread ranks, he brought

whites. He indicated skirmishes while he moved. The greens and blues were cutting inward, blocking the

"That will take time," cackled the old man. "Meanwhile, the reds again!" He retreated the raiders. Thanks to

the interference of the blues and greens, a path was open. It divided into two sets of diagonal squares. "Either

Henley nodded. There seemed no flaw in The Crime Master's procedure. The old man chuckled as he

"This center," declared The Crime Master, "is the only spot of danger. But the whites could never be located

there. Only that black piece the one that I discarded could be a menace to my plans.

"I did not break the black piece, Henley. We have eliminated The Shadow for the time, according to the

reports that we received. Let us hope that he is dead; yet we have no proof of it. We know only that he is

disabled. He may return to annoy us later on. Tonight however, we need not worry."

THE red moves made by The Crime Master were being enacted while the old man talked. Near the vicinity of

the Wingroft Jewelry Store, men were approaching in the manner of chance idlers. While some stationed

themselves at the corner of Sixth Avenue, others approached a doorway on a side street.

Preparations followed. They were skillfully done. Less than a dozen seconds after one o'clock, a mighty

boom reechoed in the side street. A heavy door was shattered. Raiders sprang to life.

Into the smoky opening they dashed. Jimmies wrenched open an ordinary door. Bull'seye lanterns threw

their powerful rays into the jewelry store. Eager rasps came from gangster lips.

Suddenly, revolvers answered. From counters, niches and ledges of barred windows sprang officers of the

law. Outnumbering the bombers three to one, they had the strength to back their surprise attack.

Bullets pumped into the mobster ranks. Curses mingled with groans as hoodlums sprawled upon the tiled

floor. Turk Bodell, squatty, vicious chieftain of the blasters, fired venomously from behind the men who had

preceded him. Then, as bullets zipped in his direction, he broke and fled with the remnants of his shattered

Whistles sirens police and patrol cars were approaching. Shots broke out from blocks close by. A touring

car shot up with two police machines in pursuit. Turk and four henchmen sprang for the running board.

Bullets from police cars flattened two of the underlings. Officers coming from the shattered door of the

Only Turk, on the far side of the running board, was making a getaway. A powerful band of The Crime

Master's raiders had been overwhelmed by the terrific odds mustered by the police.

Half a dozen detectives and policemen were on the sidewalk, with guns ready as they watched the police cars

continue the chase. From the shattered door came an imposing figure. Police Commissioner Ralph Weston

had taken personal charge. He was the commander of the thirtyodd officers who had been waiting within the

Elsewhere, scurrying minions of The Crime Master were presenting useless interference. Thanks to the

readiness of the law, they were unable to beat the arriving police. Guided by sounds of gunfire, members of

Weston's legion spread out through the neighborhood. Soon all of The Crime Master's minions were in flight.

TWO o'clock. The Crime Master, his fists crumpling the papers which they held, was reading reports that

Henley had brought. The superfiend had met a Waterloo. Failure had followed previous successes. Beaten,

scattered, the escaping minions who served him had sought the safety of the East Side.

Turk Bodell's outfit had been eliminated. Mobs were depleted. Snipers and cover up men had been slain or

captured. Disaster had befallen all the forces that The Crime Master had used tonight.

A THIN smile showed upon a pale face that lay pillowed on a bed. Lips were moving as The Shadow spoke

to Burbank. Already, Cliff Marsland, lingering late at the Black Ship, had heard reports of The Crime

Master's failure. Clyde Burke, on late shift at the Classic, was relaying facts that the newspaper had gained

The Shadow had used the forces of the law to make a counterthrust. With Cliff Marsland's aid, he had sent

the precise type of information that had encouraged Commissioner Weston to proper action.

Yet The Shadow was thinking of the future not of the present. He knew the power of The Crime Master.

Deeds of evil would be abated, thanks to this victory for the side of justice. But one defeat could not damage

The hidden overlord of evil still had hundreds of mobsmen at his beck. New minions would be groomed to

replace those who had fallen. Craft not brute power was the only means by which the final curtain could

While the supervillain made new plots, The Shadow would be planning. While The Crime Master schemed to

Eventually, these two must meet. Such accounting was inevitable. The Crime Master superman of evil; The

Theirs would be the final conflict. Mobsters and police, no matter how fierce their battles, were but ordinary

ONE week had passed. All was quiet in scumland. Yet there was something ominous in the placid situation.

The Crime Master had declared an armistice. Save for his message passers, none were performing active

work. The generalissimo of evil was waiting until the triumph of the law had been forgotten.

Crooks, still in awe of The Crime Master's power, were doing no jobs of their own. Gorillas who needed

funds found money from their leaders. Cash was plentiful in the underworld. It was advance payment of

Since that one night when he had acted so efficiently, Cliff Marsland had not been called upon to serve as

courier. This was a disappointment. Cliff knew through advice received from Burbank that somewhere

among the string of message bearers, envelopes must come directly from The Crime Master.

Could Cliff discover one of these points where messages were infused into the underworld, he would be

accomplishing the vital result that The Shadow sought. Cliff knew that his chief was recovering from

grievous wounds. He was anxious to serve The Shadow to the utmost during this emergency.

All the while Cliff sensed that spies were at work. The Crime Master had stool pigeons more capable than

those of the police. Cliff was sure that they had ferreted out all informants who worked for the law. He felt,

The police not The Shadow had smashed the raid at the big jewelry store. The Crime Master's chosen

It was up to Squawky Sugler to take care of himself. Cliff had seen the furtive stool on several occasions

since the big night. Each time, Squawky had been at the Pink Rat, feigning the part of a hophead. Cliff

could see through the pretense. He suspected that others would do the same, if Squawky were not careful.

TONIGHT, Cliff was at the Black Ship. He was chatting idly with members of Louie Harger's gang, when

another of the outfit entered. The fellow an ugly faced rowdy dropped into a chair beside Cliff.

"Louie wants to see you," informed the newcomer. "Up at the hotel. Says to be there inside an hour."

Cliff arose and left the Black Ship. There was no need to call Burbank until after he had seen Louie. Twenty

minutes later, Cliff was knocking at the door of the gangleader's room in the Hotel Spartan.

Cliff responded to the growl. He found Louie seated at the corner table. The gangleader produced one of The

Cliff nodded. He left with the envelope in his pocket. He made for his own place the little room in the

Here, by the vapor from the kettle spout, Cliff steamed open the outer envelope. He found a tendollar bill;

an inner envelope, sealed, addressed to Turk Bodell. Cliff steamed the second wrapper. He unfolded a sheet

A sudden suspicion rankled Cliff's brain. He turned toward the door. Paper and envelope fluttered from his

hands as they moved upward. Covering him, Cliff saw a pair of revolver muzzles. Looming smokewagons,

they were formidable weapons. The men who bore them were members of Louie Harger's crew rowdies

Cliff expected death. It did not come. The entering men had been waiting behind a door at the other end of

the hall; they were still silent as they backed their prisoner toward a corner of the room. Cliff realized that

they were expecting some other arrival. One minute later, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Louie Harger

The gangleader nodded. He motioned to his underlings to bring Cliff through the door. With the muzzles of

.45s jostling against his ribs, Cliff descended the stairs. He was forced into a car that Louie had brought into

Cliff found himself between two mobsters in the rear seat. He made no move. The car followed a circuitous

course, avoiding busy thoroughfares. It pulled up at the rear of what appeared to be an abandoned garage.

Cliff was dragged out, shoved through a door and cornered in a room where only the glare of Louie's

A growl from the gangleader. Cliff's captors set to work. In a few minutes, The Shadow's agent lay bound and

gagged upon the floor. The light clicked out. Helpless, Cliff heard the rumble of Louie's motor. The

Ten minutes passed. A smooth motor purred from in back of the garage. Footsteps clicked on the stone floor.

The rays of a flashlight were focused upon Cliff. The new light went out; powerful arms raised Cliff and

hoisted him like a sack. Out through the doorway, Cliff was tumbled into the broad tonneau of a limousine.

THE big man who had come to get the prisoner took the wheel and the large car moved forward. Jolts rolled

Cliff to the floor. Trussed, he had no way of telling where the car was going. When it finally stopped, the

driver came to get Cliff. Hanging from the big man's shoulder, Cliff's only impressions were those of a paved

Through passages then a doorway. Cliff tumbled from his carrier's shoulders and plopped helpless in a

large arm chair. Blinking in the mellow light that pervaded a paneled room, he found himself staring at one of

An old man, his grayish countenance topped by a shock of white hair; sharp eyes, with slitted lids that

flanked a thin, peaked nose; lips that showed fangs as they formed a snarling smile these were Cliff's

No further explanation was needed. The Shadow's agent knew that he was face to face with the evil genius

who dominated all the underworld. He had been brought to The Crime Master's lair; the gloating fiend before

"Henley!" A solemnfaced man stepped forward as the old man spoke. "Bring me the bottle the cloth and

The objects appeared. With an evil glare, The Crime Master soaked a rag with a brownish liquid. He applied

the cloth to Cliff's face. A nauseating odor stifled the prisoner. Cliff felt his senses swimming.

It was not chloroform that The Crime Master had used, yet it was something even more potent. Though Cliff

retained consciousness, he felt a helpless weariness. He knew, dully, that The Crime Master was cutting his

Again the soaked cloth; this time, Cliff felt strangely detached from his body. All was like a dream; this

The Crime Master had seated himself at a table which Cliff had not previously noticed. On the level from

which Cliff observed it, the board showed odd pieces that looked like chess men: red, blue, green and white.

Though his vision was blurred, Cliff could make out the colors. He saw The Crime Master add a large, black

"The Shadow!" The old man's lips formed a venomous snarl as The Crime Master turned toward Cliff. "He

has sought to thwart me, even since my cunning eliminated him from the game. While I am planning, he is

"It is well." There was a sudden easing of the old man's tone. "Since The Shadow wishes to move upon my

board, he shall have the opportunity. Through you the one who served him I shall bring The Shadow back

THE CRIME MASTER motioned to Henley. As the servant approached, the old man also arose; together,

they advanced to Cliff's chair. The prisoner raised his hands in feeble opposition; then came the sopping rag

The Crime Master and his minion slid Cliff's chair forward to the table. Cliff's weak hands rested on the edge

of the checkered board. When his eyes reopened, Cliff found himself staring, dazed, at the map beneath the

"Here" The Crime Master pointed with a bony finger as his lips formed a honeyed purr "is a problem for

The Shadow. This square represents the side of the Apex Silk Warehouse. Here, in this square, is the rear of a

"My men can move from square to square. There is a secret tunnel, hollowed by my workers, beneath the

street. Once, not long ago" there was sarcasm in The Crime Master's tone, an irony which Cliff was too

groggy to detect "you intercepted one of my messages. You sent information to The Shadow. That, I

"You have new information which I have just given you. The Shadow, tonight, can find my tunnel. Tonight,

Slitted eyes were glaring at Cliff Marsland. Ruled by The Crime Master's new tone, Cliff could only nod.

Woe to the Shadow! That was the point which the old man was impressing. The voice seemed to carry a

"Listen to me." The Crime Master's tone came as a suggestion, not as a threat. It was artfully designed to

sway Cliff's groggy brain. "You will send word to The Shadow. You will tell him of The Crime Master's

scheme. Do not say that you are a prisoner; that would divert him from the great work that he can

accomplish. Do not think of yourself. You will be safe. You must tell The Shadow how he can thwart The

Venom had ended. Cliff, staring at the board, heard the voice, but no longer looked toward the old man's face.

By adopting an impersonal speech, by appealing to Cliff's loyalty, The Crime Master had forced one thought

Dully, Cliff realized that he had learned something. Under the influence of the powerful drug which The

Crime Master had used, Cliff could think of but one basic matter, the discovery that had been revealed to

The Crime Master motioned. Henley brought a telephone and placed it on the table. The Crime Master stared

keenly as Cliff's hands fumbled with the dial. Then, as Cliff held the receiver to his ear, a voice clicked over

"Marsland reporting." Cliff's tone steadied, mechanically. "Old house opposite side of Apex Silk Warehouse.

The Crime Master was whispering in Cliff's ear. Automatically, Cliff repeated the words that were thrust

"House number seventeen eleven. Tunnel from rear of cellar. House empty. Will be occupied at midnight..."

Abruptly, The Crime Master took the receiver from Cliff's yielding hand. He ended the conversation by

hanging up. Cliff stared; a sudden flash of antagonism showed upon his face. Then Henley bobbed forward

and thrust the soaked rag over his mouth and nose. Cliff gasped and sank back in his chair.

THE big man who had brought Cliff appeared at Henley's call. A powerful ruffian, he looked the part of a

servant. Obediently, Woodling gathered up Cliff's collapsed form and carried it from the room.

The Crime Master chuckled. He carefully placed blue pieces on the board, surrounding the square that

"I suspected that The Shadow had an agent," he declared. "Turk Bodell encountered trouble; therefore, I

chose to have Harger watch the man who had relayed the message. It was this fellow Marsland.

"Through him, I have reached The Shadow. The man to whom Marsland has just spoken was not The

Shadow. That was another agent; and he means nothing to us. The Shadow has had time to recover from his

"Look at this trap!" The Crime Master was gleeful as he swept his hand toward the board. "It will imprison

"Midnight! That is not the time my agents shall occupy the old house. That story was a blind. At midnight,

The Shadow will be a helpless prisoner. It is better to bottle him, rather than to fight him. I can hold him as

long as I please. Then, after tomorrow night, I can deal with him like a rat in a trap!"

The Crime Master studied the board; then, from a box he drew out a white piece. He pointed to its knobbed

"This stands for Commissioner Weston," scoffed The Crime Master. "He has taken personal supervision of

"I believe that The Shadow gave Cardona clues. I believe that Weston also received a tip. Very well; he shall

have another one that he will follow one that will make him my helpless hostage.

"Your last report, Henley, tells of a stool pigeon named Squawky Sugler a sneak whom one of my spies has

placed under suspicion. We shall use him as the bait, Henley. Take this new order to Louie Harger."

Henley nodded. He brought out a pad and pencil. While The Crime Master dictated, the secretary wrote in

The fiend was plotting at his best. By a double stroke of preparation he had paved the way to nullify the only

Such was the advice of Doctor Rupert Sayre. He was giving it to his patient, who lay quietly in bed, with

halfclosed eyes. Sayre looked for a response. There was none. He feared that his patient had overtaxed

himself. He knew that Lamont Cranston had been making telephone calls a short while before.

Thinking that the wounded man had gone to sleep, Sayre left the room. Immediately, the eyes of The Shadow

opened. His left hand stretched forward and plucked the telephone from its hook. The voice of Cranston gave

A pause. The eyes of The Shadow flashed. Burbank had informed his chief of the abrupt ending which had

followed Cliff Marsland's call. The Shadow was pondering upon the circumstances.

"Orders to Vincent." The Shadow's voice began anew. "He must find a suitable place in the block where the

The telephone clattered on its hook. The Shadow rested against the pillows. Minutes passed ten fifteen

then, as though strengthened by the interval, the tall form moved. The left hand pressed the light switch by

Doctor Sayre, passing in the hallway, noted the darkness at the bottom of the door. He decided that his patient

had decided to go to sleep. He failed to hear the faint sounds of motion that came from within the room.

The Shadow was preparing for a journey. Dressed, he was at the door of the closet. His one hand brought out

the bloodclotted cloak. It followed by removing the hat. The table drawer slid open. One by one, The

Sayre, in deep concentration at the desk in his office, failed to witness the phenomenon which occurred

shortly afterward. Like a materializing thing of night, a tall figure came softly from the darkness of the

corridor. The Shadow, equipped for battle, stood gazing at the physician's back.

Stealthily, The Shadow moved across the office. His tall form paused, wavering; then regained its glide.

Noiselessly, The Shadow reached the waiting room. The click of the outer door a sound so slight that Sayre

THE house with the number 1711 was an unpretentious building in a secluded block. Many of the old

residences on this street were vacant. Harry Vincent, trusted agent of The Shadow, had gained access to an

Harry had noticed no one in the street. Informed of all facts, he was keenly observant. He noted that the old

house was dimly lighted. Evidently, it had been arranged to appear like an occupied residence.

Other eyes than Harry's were upon that house. The Shadow had arrived in the darkened street. He noted the

gloomy glow that came from windows on both the first floor and the second. He, like his agent, watched for

Midnight! That was the hour when crooks were supposed to occupy this place. There was an hour yet until

The door of the house was dark. The splotch that The Shadow's figure formed was something that Harry

Vincent did not detect. The door opened; yet the skill of The Shadow was still in action. No gleam escaped

The Shadow had picked the lock. It had not been formidable. Nor was the second lock that of the inner

door a problem. In the hallway, The Shadow paused. Then, with a soft laugh, almost inaudible, he moved

From room to room, the cloaked investigator made a brief inspection of the poorly furnished second floor. He

descended and went through the rooms of the ground floor. Nothing escaped his notice. The house looked

like a special setup the very spot from which a tunnel would be made beneath the street.

A projecting portion of the wall attracted The Shadow's attention. It was the indication of an old fireplace,

now walled shut. The Shadow tapped; he could tell from the sound that his surmise was correct.

Moving to the hallway, The Shadow discovered a stairway leading to the cellar. His flashlight glimmered. He

descended into a stonewalled basement, like a strongroom ceiling reinforced with metal sheathing. This

made The Shadow pause. It showed that this portion of the house had undergone reconstruction that fitted

The Shadow's light, its glare a tiny, circular beam, was cutting a swath to the rear of the cellar. Beyond a

narrow archway, The Shadow's keen eyes saw a heavy door that evidently led to a rear compartment. This

The Shadow reached his goal. His hand tried the knob of the door. It refused to yield. The pick replaced the

An odd click. Like a flash, The Shadow sprang backward. His quickness would ordinarily have saved him

from the trap that he had struck, for it was but a single leap to the archway through which he had come.

The sudden strain, however, was too great for his injured body. The Shadow's leg gave; his body crumpled on

the floor. Then came the smash as a steel curtain crashed downward in the archway. The Shadow was

THE flashlight glimmered from the floor. While its rays circled, The Shadow surveyed his prison. He was

caught in a space less than a dozen feet square. The steel curtain was formidable. The door ahead offered the

Rising weakly, The Shadow limped toward the door. He worked with pick. The door was a tough obstacle,

but it gave. The Shadow forced the barrier with his left shoulder. He staggered into a larger compartment.

Except for a disused furnace, an empty coal bin, a few lengths of pipe and a switchbox for electric lights,

the place was deserted. The walls were irregular; one showed a bulge, the other an alcove; but all were of

There was no sign of a tunnel. The Shadow realized that such talk had been a hoax. He saw the purpose of

The Crime Master. New deeds of evil were coming; rather than risk men and cause commotion by an open

The flashlight's beam began to waver. The Shadow's strength was on the wane. The light steadied. Seizing a

piece of pipe, The Shadow approached the protruding portion of the wall. He delivered half a dozen strokes

against the mortar. Cracks showed bricks beneath. Then the pipe clattered to the stone floor. The Shadow was

Sinking downward, The Shadow laid his flashlight on the floor. His hand raised the fringe of his cloak toward

the slouch hat. His teeth ripped at the lining. Powder black in color sifted into The Shadow's glove.

The same process was repeated, at a different spot along the hem. This time a grayish powder appeared. The

grains mixed. The Shadow let the powder trickle by the spot where he had hacked away the mortar.

Together, those powders formed a powerful explosive. Moistened by a liquid from a vial which The Shadow

carried, they could cause much damage. The vial appeared. Its precious drops fell. Then, with a final effort,

It came, but with fizzing, deadened noise. There was a clatter of falling mortar that seemed louder than the

squibby explosion. The Shadow's form arose from the floor. With flashlight showing the way, the trapped

Some bricks had crumbled. A small hole showed; the cavity was but inches in diameter. Weakly, The

Shadow laughed. He knew the reason for the unexpected failure. The powder had been soaked by blood,

The explosive had lost its efficacy. There was the beginning of a break through this portion of the wall.

Possessed of his accustomed strength, The Shadow could have used a piece of pipe to batter away at the

That was impossible at present. With one arm alone; with legs that were exhausted, The Shadow lacked

strength for heavy effort. His left hand seemed weary even as it swept the light about the stonewalled room.

Out went the flashlight. The Shadow's form moved wearily. It staggered forward in the darkness. The

extended left hand stopped the body as it struck the further wall. Groping as he managed to maintain his

The gloved hand alone seemed possessed with life as it pulled the switch down; then pushed it up. Again that

motion; but with different interval. Then the hand apparently became intrigued with this new work.

DOWN up; down up; down a pause then up. The process continued while seconds ticked onward.

Grimly, The Shadow seemed intent upon his work. Silently, he steadied in the effort as though utilizing every

At last came the finish. The switch clicked upward and stopped, after the long succession. The Shadow had

The gloved hand relaxed. The black cloak swished as The Shadow sprawled to the floor. The tall figure

stretched upon the stone floor. A weary gasp came from invisible lips. As he had settled upon the pillows at

Minute followed minute. Midnight arrived. On the street outside, prowling figures approached the old house.

Cautious men unlocked the door that The Shadow had closed behind him. They entered and descended to the

Harry Vincent had seen the prowlers enter. They were the first whom he had observed. Still watching, he saw

the lights of the old house click off one by one. Then he noticed that the men were coming down the steps.

Five minutes later, Harry left his observation post. He hurried along the street until he reached a small corner

lunch room. He entered and went to a telephone in the corner. He called Burbank.

Harry's mouth was close to the receiver. Only Burbank, at the other end of the line, could hear the low words

Satisfied that none of The Crime Master's minions were stationed here, The Shadow's agent departed.

Crossing the street, he slackened his pace and moved with caution as he proceeded in the direction of the old

BACK in the office. Doctor Rupert Sayre had finished his work. Entering the corridor of his apartment, he

paused at his patient's door. He heard no sound; he smiled, satisfied that his convalescent visitor was asleep.

Doctor Sayre was correct in that assumption. The Shadow was asleep. His resting place, however, was not a

comfortable bed. It was the stone floor of the old cellar which The Crime Master had provided as The

"At this hour?" Commissioner Weston looked up from the desk where he was working. "What does he want,

Commissioner Ralph Weston was in the little office which formed a room of his apartment. It was one

o'clock in the morning; yet he was still at work on problems of crime. There was a reason.

Earlier, there had been a slaying in the underworld. The police had found the bulletriddled body of a

scrawny mobster in a slovenly room of an old house. Inspector Klein, covering the case, had recognized the

On Sugler, Klein had found a crumpled sheet of paper. It was this penciled slip that puzzled Weston. It bore

Weston was sure that this chart was a clue to coming crime. During the past week, the police had confirmed

their belief that a supermind was controlling gangdom. The law had come to recognize the existence of an

Did this penciled scrawl represent information that Squawky Sugler had gained? All stools had been ordered

to learn whatever facts they could concerning the master mind who controlled the underworld. The Crime

Master's previous efforts had been wellmapped attacks upon buildings where wealth was stored.

Yet a single paper with plan alone meant nothing. Weston continued his hopeless study of the chart; then,

suddenly, his curiosity began to act. He wondered about the visitor who was waiting. Thrusting the penciled

Grady went out; he returned with a solemnfaced chap who wore an overcoat buttoned around his neck and

THE visitor was perhaps fortyfive years of age; his appearance was unimpressive; but he stood with worried

expression until Grady had left at the commissioner's order. Then he approached.

"I have come from Mr. Dagron, sir," he announced, in a polite and methodical tone, "From Mr. Ganford

"Ganford Dagron," interposed Weston. "You mean the famous financier who retired a few years ago?"

"Yes, sir," replied the visitor. "Mr. Dagron gave up active interests after the government ruled against further

"He is in great fear, sir," declared the visitor, in an awed tone. "He has received some strange warnings. He

has not told me the nature of the message; but it worries him. He stays in his library, sir, at night; he does not

retire. This evening, he was very troubled. At midnight, he called me and ordered me to come to you. He says

that he must see you, commissioner, at once; he added that your visit must be made with strictest secrecy.

"I came in the limousine, sir; but I left it around the corner, at Mr. Dagron's order. He did not wish his car to

be seen in front of this apartment. He was afraid, even, to telephone to you. He asks that you come with me;

"Wait a moment!" snapped Weston. "What does Ganford Dagron mean by giving all these instructions? He

must be a doddering old fool, to think that he can impose all these conditions without explanation."

"He is quite alert, sir," assured the solemnfaced visitor, as he leaned forward on Weston's desk. "You see, he

has many valuables in the house. I think that he fears his protective measures are not sufficient. Some one I

A pen projected from an inkwell on Weston's desk; near it was a pad. Dagron's secretary reached for these;

"The house is like this, sir," explained the secretary. "The living room is here; the library where Mr. Dagron

An exclamation burst from Weston's lips. The commissioner's eyes were staring. Line for line, room for

room, Dagron's secretary was drawing a replica of the plan which had been found on Squawky Sugler!

"Stop!" Weston opened the desk drawer. He drew out the penciled sheet. "Is this the complete plan of the

The standing man nodded. He appeared dumfounded. Weston tore away the sheet on which the secretary was

Summoning Grady, Weston called for hat and coat. He spoke terse words to his man:

"I'm going to the home of Ganford Dagron. I shall probably be late returning. Don't wait up for me Grady."

WESTON left with his visitor. They found the limousine waiting around the corner. A man was at the wheel;

he drove northward and finally reached a street where an old mansion showed among smaller buildings. The

chauffeur drove to the rear; the car rolled through a gate and stopped in an oldfashioned courtyard. The

They went through a passage. Weston's conductor rapped upon a door. A cracked voice responded:

Henley opened the door. Weston stepped into an oldfashioned library, where rows of towering bookcases

lined the walls to the ceiling. An old man, with shocky white hair, was seated at a chess board. He waved

"I understand that you are worried," remarked Weston. He had recognized Ganford Dagron immediately

"I am greatly worried," admitted the old man, in a crackly tone. "I have enemies terrible enemies men

who seek my life, as well as my treasure. This" he pointed to the chess board "is my solace. Only by

"Crime threatens, yet I play a game." Dagron chuckled. "You think that is odd? Not at all, commissioner. Not

at all. Crime is a game." The old man's eyes were flashing through their slitted lids. "A great game,

commissioner greater than chess. Yet" Dagron paused thoughtfully "chess and crime have much in

Rising, the old man stalked toward the bookcase. He opened it inward, like a door. He motioned to Weston to

follow him into a lighted room that adjoined the library. Intrigued, despite his perplexity, the commissioner

followed. The door swung shut after they had entered. They stood in a room with paneled walls; looking,

"Look at this board, commissioner." Dagron pointed to a table with a glass, checkered surface. "Here take

The commissioner surveyed the board before him. He was puzzled as he noticed the map beneath the glass.

He realized that it showed streets and buildings. He was also astonished by the array of pieces on the board.

Reds, blues and greens all were of a shape. But among them were white men of a different formation.

"Interesting, eh?" Dagron chortled. "It should be to you, commissioner. There in the center is the vault

room of the Impregnable Trust Company. Three weeks ago, a shipment of Colombian platinum was stored

there. The value of the metal I believe I am correct is four million, seven hundred and fifty thousand

Weston looked up. He stared at Dagron's face. It seemed gray and fiendish in this light. Weston wondered if

the old man were insane. He looked at the board again, as Ganford Dagron pointed.

"The reds are prepared to move," crackled the old man. "They are raiders swift and certain. They are

"Against them" Dagron paused in sneering fashion "are the whites pitiful whites who represent the

The fascination of the board had caught Weston unaware. The commissioner was studying the obvious

perfection of the game before him. It was only of a sudden that he realized who must be its author.

DAGRON leered. Weston's hand shot toward his pocket. It stopped at sight of Dagron's eyes. Turning,

Weston saw that the door had opened. Henley and another man Weston recognized the chauffeur were

"I have capable assistants," snarled Dagron. "Henley my secretary was the one who hoaxed you here.

Woodling who serves as my chauffeur is equally able. He, my dear commissioner, will be your jailor."

The men approached. Woodling thrust his revolver into the small of Weston's back while Henley calmly

"I am The Crime Master." Ganford chuckled gleefully. "My aim in life is wealth possession. Once I was

"Then my practices were declared illegal. Why? Not justly, but because my ways of accumulating wealth

were too gigantic. In five years longer, I would have become the overlord of merged industries. I would have

"I was prevented. So I went back to millions. Preposterous laws had been passed to stop my plans for

pyramiding wealth. So I resolved to proceed in defiance of the law. The barriers were down, so far as I was

concerned. I spent thousands upon thousands in organizing crime. Today, I am The Crime Master!"

The old man was approaching Weston as he spoke. He fairly spat the final words into the commissioner's

face. Then, with a sweep of his hands, he ordered Woodling to new duty as he pointed a scrawny finger

"Take him away!" shrilled Dagron. "Take him away! Keep him safely, Woodling. He is my hostage."

The old man's mirth trailed into a maddened cackle. Derisively, The Crime Master voiced the triumph of his

capture. The chief official of the law was in his power. Already, minions had sent in the report of The

AFTER Woodling had marched Weston from the room, Ganford Dagron settled in his chair behind the

checkered table. As he surveyed the layout for his coming game, he spoke aloud to Henley.

"The police may visit us," chuckled The Crime Master. "But what if they do? You, Henley, will remain out of

sight. I shall tell them that I have no secretary. They will believe that my name was used as a lure.

"That is the advantage, Henley, of my reputation. The police! Bah! Outside of Cardona, who is still disabled,

and this man Weston, who is my prisoner, there is none among them who would have brains enough to doubt

my integrity. The proof? We had it tonight when Weston, himself, came to visit me.

"As for this crime" the old man waved his hand above the board "the very stupendousness of it serves as

a protection. Compared with the Impregnable Trust Company's vault room, that of the Titan Trust was a toy

bank. Moreover, we are dealing with heavy metal, Henley. The very weight of those platinum bars should

Again, the old man cackled. He tapped the white pieces on the board; the reminder caused him to loose final

"Fools!" he exclaimed. "They know that The Crime Master is mighty that he must possess a wizard's brain

such as my own. Yet they will not suspect me. They know that The Crime Master pursues mighty schemes;

but they will overlook the one opportunity for unparalleled robbery that wealth in the vault of the

"No one would suspect either fact!" The Crime Master paused; a cunning smile showed on his evil face. "Yes

there is one who would suspect. One The Shadow. But he is helpless within my mesh!"

While Henley, first of The Crime Master's own aids, was harkening to the babbling of his chief, Woodling,

the second trusted servant, was listening to palaver of a different sort. Woodling had imprisoned Weston in a

Behind a wicketed door, the commissioner was speaking to his jailer. He was studying the hard face of the

servant while he presented persuasive argument. Weston had classed Ganford Dagron, The Crime Master, as

"Here is a check" Weston paused to draw book and pen from his pocket "that will be cashed without

"I do not ask to be released tonight," resumed the commissioner. "Tomorrow will be soon enough after

you have obtained your money. Take it to the bank; they will pay you five thousand."

"Then return," ordered Weston. "I shall have another check the next one for ten thousand. It will be yours

"Keep me here until late tomorrow afternoon. That will lull this fiend you call your master the man whom

you must cease to serve. Remember, I guarantee you immunity from the law, if you will do your part to aid

"Tomorrow." Woodling nodded. "I cash this check. I receive another. Ten thousand. I understand."

The Crime Master's minion departed. Commissioner Weston seated himself on a small cot. A smile appeared

Weston was confident that he had succeeded with his bribe. By tomorrow night, he felt sure, he would be

SHORTLY before five o'clock the next afternoon, a quiet, chubbyfaced man was seated by the window of

an inner office. High above uptown Manhattan, he was gazing complacently at the hazy skyline of the great

A stenographer had entered. The chubbyfaced man nodded. He ordered the girl to admit the visitor. A

keenvisaged chap of wiry build appeared. He nodded to Mann and took a chair beside the desk.

Men of a totally different type, these two were in the same service. Rutledge Mann, easygoing investment

broker; Clyde Burke, enterprising reporter of the New York Classic both were agents of The Shadow.

Where Mann served in passive capacity, as information gainer and contact maker, Burke, like Marsland and

Vincent, belonged on the firing line. Each, however, was important. This fact was about to prove itself.

Rutledge Mann produced an envelope. He handed it to Clyde Burke. The reporter opened it to find a message

in code. He read the blueinked lines; then the writing faded. Such was the way with The Shadow's

Clyde Burke nodded as he looked toward Rutledge Mann. It was plain that the investment broker had

"These clippings impressed me." Mann drew printed items from his desk. "They are duplicates of the ones I

forwarded. That Colombian platinum, Burke, offers great opportunity for criminals."

"Provided they can get it," agreed Burke, grimly. "I have made a final search of the back files at the Classic. I

find as I intimated in my last report through you that the shipment from Colombia was arranged several

"Yes. Here is the situation, Mann. Certain European governments require platinum. Russia controls almost

the entire European output. Purchasers in the countries that have no trade agreement with the Soviet

"Colombia produces platinum. A New York Syndicate arranged to purchase this vast supply. They are

holding the metal to sell in Europe. Most of it is already ordered; small shipments are to begin before the end

Mann smiled. He and Burke, as agents of The Shadow, had been trained to look for situations such as this.

They had both been informed by The Shadow of The Crime Master's power and ways. Separately, they had

been seeking to find indications of crime possibilities. Millions in platinum, despite the supposed security of

THE telephone rang on Mann's desk. The investment broker raised the receiver. He spoke quietly; then

handed the instrument to Burke. It was Burbank on the wire. The call from this contact man indicated orders

"Yes..." Clyde acknowledged Burbank's statements. "Yes... Vincent... I shall go there right away..."

Hanging up, Clyde took his leave without a statement to Mann. The reporter's face wore a puzzled

expression. These new orders were both brief and odd. He was to report to Harry Vincent, at an obscure store

known as the Century Accessory Exchange. Clyde had never heard of the place before; but the location was

significant. The Century Accessory Exchange was situated in the same block as the Impregnable Trust

As Clyde neared his destination, he saw that the accessory shop was caticornered to the Trust Company

building. The block was unpretentious except for the Impregnable Trust Company, which towered, solid and

There were garages in the block; perhaps this was why the accessory store had been opened there. Clyde

noticed that truck supplies predominated, as he stared at the display on the sidewalk and in the window. Piled

Clyde spied Harry Vincent in the shop. He entered. Harry turned to shake hands; then introduced Clyde to a

"I'm buying the place, Clyde," said Harry, with a smile. "This fellow the present owner seems glad to get

"Things are slow," explained the weary man. "But a young fellow like you ought to make a go of it. Well,

The man strolled from the store. Harry motioned to Clyde. The two walked out to the sidewalk. Harry pointed

"This fellow Chalmers whom you just met," stated Harry, "tells me that he has to bring in those stacks every

The reporter walked to the nearer stack. Heavy truck tires, of large diameter, they formed a cylinder nearly

"I told Chalmers," resumed Harry, in a dry tone, "that I might keep the tires out. He said they would be

stolen. I decided that I would risk it for a night. I picked a new spot for them over here."

He pointed to a spot close by the show window. Clyde saw the opened doors of a small delivery elevator. The

"No," returned Harry. "I'm going to remove the doors entirely. That's your job, Clyde. Take these pliers and

CLYDE complied, wondering. Just as he had finished the task, Harry appeared, carrying four flat bars of

heavy iron. Kicking the discarded doors aside, he arranged the long bars in crisscross fashion over the top of

"There's the support," remarked Harry, "just in case the car won't hold the weight of the tires. Help me set the

He shifted one of the flat metal pieces so that it projected slightly inward from the left side of the elevator

opening. Clyde did the same with the door on the right. The result was a makeshift grating, open in the center

"Now for the tires." Harry approached the nearer stack. Clyde aided him. They shifted the top tire and carried

it to the improvised grating. They continued with the other tires. When they had finished with the stack,

Harry, puffing, suggested that they add more. It was with considerable effort that they finally raised the stack

While Clyde stood puzzled, Harry went into the store and returned with two metal wedges and a small hand

sledge. He inserted the point of one wedge between two tires near the top of the stack and drove it home. It

"I thought that would happen." Harry inserted the second wedge further to the left. Again, he hammered. The

The stack of tires formed an irregular cylinder that had a slight forward tilt until it reached the wedges. There,

a slight gap showed between two tires, six feet above the base of the stack. Above that, the tires were level.

"We'll roll these extras into the store," suggested Harry. "After that, we're through. How do you like my idea,

Clyde Burke smiled. He was mystified. Harry's actions seemed nonsensic. Nevertheless, Clyde knew there

must be a purpose. He asked no questions. He merely helped Harry with the extra tires; then agreed to his

IT was six o'clock. Inspector Timothy Klein entered Commissioner Ralph Weston's outer office to find two

persons there: a stenographer and a young man who served, on occasions, as Weston's private secretary.

"Bad business," muttered Klein. "I can't understand why we haven't heard from him."

The door opened. Klein turned. He recognized the tall, impressive form of Commissioner Weston. The

Weston was garbed in gray hat and overcoat. In his left hand, he carried a briefcase. He swung the bag toward

the inner office. Klein opened the door; the commissioner went through and the inspector followed.

"Where have you been, commissioner?" questioned Klein. "We have been trying to locate you all day. People

"I know it." Weston's tone was dry; his lips formed a smile beneath his pointed mustache. "In fact, I called

here myself; and also called my apartment, just to hear what would be said. In other words, I inquired after

myself disguising my voice of course and I learned that I was out but would return later."

"That was my order," declared Klein. "We couldn't let it out that the police commissioner had disappeared. It

"Because of the circumstances. Grady told me where you had gone; when I learned that you weren't there "

Weston's left hand was raised in interruption. Klein paused. Studying the commissioner across the

flattopped table, the inspector noticed that his chief seemed pale. Weston's full face lacked a bit of its usual

"Tell me," came the commissioner's brisk order. "Just what did Grady say? When where how did I

"At one o'clock last night," explained Klein. "A man came to see you then you went away with him. You

"You did not return. I called you this morning. Grady told me the circumstances. I called Ganford Dagron."

"That he did not send for you. He was willing to see me, so I went out there and took Grady along. We found

that Dagron lives alone with one servant a fellow named Woodling, who admitted us. Woodling was not

"Possibly. I hoped, however, that you had merely decided to mislead Grady. I could not see what the purpose

"All right, inspector." Weston's smile was stern. "The latter surmise is correct. I wanted no one to know

where I was. I shall visit Ganford Dagron later, in person, to explain the matter to him.

"I was engaged in special work last night, inspector. My efforts are completed. Call in my secretary. I wish to

Klein obeyed. The secretary seated himself by Weston's desk. While Klein listened, Weston's voice began to

"Coming robbery of the Impregnable Trust Company," were the words. "Scheduled for tonight. Detail

Tersely, the orders continued. Patrol cars, detectives, squads of policemen the commissioner was arranging

them in methodical precision. Concentrating powerful forces at strategic points, he was forming an array of

USUALLY, Klein knew, Weston deliberated upon such courses. This afternoon, his method differed. Never

before had the inspector listened to such perfected plans. Handling hundreds of men, forgetful of no detail,

Weston was presenting a system of police deployment that outmatched anything that Klein had ever known.

Secrecy seemed linked with strategy. Yet the plainness of the details impressed themselves firmly upon the

inspector's brain. As the secretary arose to take the orders for triplicate typing, Klein gasped in admiration.

"Deductively speaking, yes," asserted Weston. "Tonight is the logical time. Should there be postponement,

we shall repeat our plans tomorrow. You will notice, inspector, that my orders leave nothing to chance.

Followed perfectly, even our own forces will not know the nature of the crime which we are seeking to

"There can't be a leak," admitted Klein. "You handled that part of it perfectly, commissioner."

"You will notice, also," declared Weston, "that I have provided for all movements to be guided by one

Minutes passed while the commissioner gave verbal instructions to the inspector. The secretary entered. He

"Follow my orders," was the commissioner's statement. Then to the secretary: "You and the stenographer

Five minutes later, Commissioner Weston's tall form was standing by the desk, alone. One hand moved the

left. The overcoat, which was now unbuttoned for the first time, dropped to the floor.

With the doffing of that garment, the tall form seemed to lose its bulk. The single hand opened the briefcase.

A laugh came from the lips beneath the mustache. The face of Commissioner Weston, suddenly relaxed,

seemed to lose its contour and become masklike. The free arm raised the cloak; it settled over shoulders. The

The transformation was complete. Commissioner no longer, this personage who had directed the perfect

The Shadow, his face disguised in perfect fashion, his clothing padded to give it proper bulk, had taken the

Somehow, The Shadow had escaped. Divining the crime that loomed, he had sought to reach Weston

anonymously. Scenting that the commissioner's absence was due to some action of The Crime Master, The

First, as Commissioner Weston, he had arranged the law for action. That task completed to a perfection

As The Shadow, he was ready to deliver telling strokes of a sort that he, alone, could make!

TEN o'clock. All was quiet on the street in front of the massive Impregnable Trust building. Then came a

rumble as a truck rolled along the thoroughfare. Stopping, a hundred feet past the bank, the big vehicle

A second truck arrived. Like the first, it performed the turntable maneuver. A third truck came a few minutes

This machine stopped abruptly. Squarely in front of the Impregnable Trust Company, the driver alighted and

went to the rear. He opened a door. From inside the truck came a dozen men. They approached the big

These arrivals worked rapidly. Their task completed, they scrambled back into the truck. The lumbering

With a flare that was followed by rocketing echoes, the entrance of the Impregnable Trust was blown clear.

A gaping hole replaced metal doors. The truck moved backward. It stopped short of the smashed entrance. A

dozen men sprang to the street. At the same time, three trucks came rolling from the garage. One faced in the

Alarms were clanging. Massed raiders seemed disdainful. Waiting for a signal, they were ready to advance.

These were The Crime Master's reds. They knew that greens and blues were everywhere about. They did not

An order. Men moved forward. Their next work, in the bank, would be to blow the vault. Then the platinum,

A muffled shot. A zimming bullet winged the gangster who had given the order to advance. While the

underlings stared, their leader collapsed at their feet. Astounded, the ruffians paused. One man, turning, gave

The others wheeled. They were at the mercy of the hidden sniper. They saw whence the shots had come. A

wreath of smoke was curling from between two tires in a stack that stood before a store across the street.

Zipping bullets seared through the rubber tires. The leaden messengers were flattened by the thick rims

within. An automatic responded. Shots came in quick precision. As mobsters dropped, their fellows dashed

SAFE in his improvised pillbox, The Shadow had covered the center zone of crime. Once again, he was

defying The Crime Master's hordes; this time from a security which they could not shake.

The stack of tires a natural sight in front of any store had completely passed suspicion. Through the

narrow slit, on a level with his eyes, The Shadow could spy forth while he fired with his single hand. His

right arm, resting at his side, was not needed. New automatics were within reach of his left hand; at any time,

a lowering of his body could bring him beneath the space that served as loophole between the steel rims of

Whistles blaring, sirens shrieking gunfire roared from blocks around. Police, held in readiness at distant

The Shadow had arranged their attack. They were breaking down The Crime Master's blockades. In a few

minutes, they would be here, in this very block, where impotent raiders were unable to rush the door that they

Suddenly, one of the trucks by the garage lumbered forward. It was moving away from The Shadow. From its

interior came the rattattat of a machine gun. The truck stopped at the far end of the block. Like an armored

The blocking truck was beyond The Shadow's range. But as the hidden fighter watched, impervious to

scattered shots that struck his pillbox, a second truck came rolling toward the corner.

Police cars were coming from the distance. As the truck rolled up to meet them, the first rattle of its machine

gun began. The men in this truck knew nothing of The Shadow's presence. They did not know why the raid

An automatic spoke. The gunner of the machine gun dropped. Another leaped to take his place. The

automatic snapped forth new reports. Savagely, a gangster leaped to the gun and swung it toward the stack of

Bullets sped from the belching muzzle of the machine gun. Lead rattled against steel tire rims. The pillbox

was withstanding the fire. Crouched low, to avoid the danger of the loophole, The Shadow waited. He had

Sharp cries: gangsters turned their rapidfire weapon on the law. They thought that they had quelled the

sniper. They were mistaken. Again, The Shadow's automatic blazed from the opening. The new gunners fell.

A roar. The last truck, its driver informed of the trouble, was moving from the front of the garage. The man at

the wheel was crouched as he drove his big machine toward the stack of tires where The Shadow lurked.

The Shadow saw the move. The truck had a hundred feet to come. The automatic ceased its fire. Unhindered,

the mammoth truck lurched forward. Its front wheels jounced upon the curb. It smashed into the stack of

tires; hurtling onward, it carried them through the plate glass window of the accessory store.

Glass woodwork bricks all went with a crash as The Shadow's pillbox was scattered. Clear into the

building; the truck flung tires before it as it came to a stop inside the store. It had passed the spot where the

pillbox had been set; in the wake of the truck, a dozen mobsters were coming forward.

They stopped short. They saw the rising floor of the elevator car, coming up beneath Harry Vincent's

improvised grating. The foremost mobsters were too late. As the opening closed, they heard the weird cry of

The moment that the truck's attack had started, the fighter in the pillbox had released the car on which he

stood. His body, passing between the bars, had descended to the safety below the level of the street.

Mobsmen were doomed. Police cars had arrived. Vainly, gorillas leaped to the machine gun. Bullets stopped

them. Speeding onward, two police cars approached the distant truck from the rear. They arrived while the

machine gun was being twirled toward them. They silenced the gunners before the men had time to open with

The Crime Master's minions had failed. Flanked, scorched with enfilading fire, blocked on all sides, they had

no chance. Inspector Klein had set the machinery in motion. The Shadow's strategy had guided the law to

THE CRIME MASTER was in his paneled room. Seated at his checkered table, he was chuckling expectantly

as he studied the pieces which he had not yet moved. Groggy, in chairs close by, were Cliff Marsland and

Ralph Weston. Old Ganford Dagron had ordered them brought here, halfdrugged, that they might witness

The Crime Master's question was an eager snarl. Henley, who had entered a moment before, shook his head.

"Half an hour has elapsed," croaked Dagron. "I shall not have long to wait." He turned and leered toward

Chortling, The Crime Master produced a slip of paper and wigwagged it in front of Weston's halfclosed

eyes. It was the check that the commissioner had given Woodling the night before.

"You are a fool," sneered Dagron. "To think that you could bribe one of my trusted men. My servants like

myself love crime. Money! Bah! I have all the wealth I need. They are entitled to their share."

The old man tore the check to bits and threw the pieces on the floor. A buzzer sounded beside his table.

"Woodling has returned!" he exclaimed as he pressed the button to unlatch the door.

With Henley, The Crime Master gazed toward the clicking barrier. It opened. A snarl came from Dagron's

It was not Woodling, returning with news of triumph. It was another, whose very arrival was proof of

disaster. Caught unaware, The Crime Master and his servant could not make a move.

There, in the doorway, stood a figure cloaked in black. A raised left fist held a looming automatic. Burning

It was The Shadow. Following the clue of Weston's disappearance; knowing that Ganford Dagron might well

Victor in the fray against The Crime Master's minions, The Shadow, master foe of crime, had trapped The

A WEIRD laugh crept through the paneled room. Dagron and Henley, staring; Cliff and Weston, motionless

in their chairs the four formed a strange tableau before The Shadow's burning gaze.

As the blackgarbed arrival moved forward, leaving the door ajar behind him, his keen eyes centered upon

The hand with the automatic made a wide sweep. Its swing cleared the board. The pieces in The Crime

Master's game went scattering across the darkhued rug. Swinging, The Shadow came to a stand at the side

of the room. From this point, he controlled both Dagron and Henley with the aim of his single gun.

"Your game is ended." The Shadow's sinister whisper was addressed to Ganford Dagron. "Your minions have

The old man snarled. Again, The Shadow laughed. He recognized the burden of The Crime Master's

"Your trap" The Shadow's voice was a sardonic sneer "failed in its purpose. I lacked the strength to break

it; but I found another method. Your one mistake was the light switch in the cellar."

The Shadow's tones were bitter gibes that brought a fiendish scowl to Dagron's face. The old man's claws

"Through that switch," jeered The Shadow, "I operated the lights upstairs. My agent, stationed across the

street, caught my coded signals. He waited at my order until your men had come and gone.

"Then he arrived. He waited long until I had revived from weariness. Then, by taps, he signaled. He broke

into the walledup fireplace. I had gained entry to the ash pit beneath. He lowered tools and explosives that I

"I have been free since noon. I divined the crime you scheduled for tonight. I took measures to prevent it.

The police moved under my direction. I was at the heart of crime this time encased by rings of steel that

The Shadow's words ended with a startling hiss. A shuddering laugh; Dagron, like Henley, quailed. The

"The police are coming here." The Shadow's words were mocking. "They will rescue their captured chief, as I

shall first aid my captured agent. Your game will be exposed when they have reached this lair."

The Shadow paused. The echoes of his words lingered in Dagron's ears. There was a sinister note of doom in

all that the avenger had said. Yet Ganford Dagron, fiend to the end, managed to regain his evil snarl.

HALF rising, the old man spat venomous words. It was a futile act; yet the fierceness of the challenge came

as a warning to The Shadow. Realizing that Dagron might have some purpose in his action, The Shadow

The door was swinging open. Woodling, returning with reports of failure, had heard the tones of The

Shadow's voice. Hoping to deliver a surprise attack, he was entering by stealth. Ganford Dagron had spied the

The instant that The Shadow wheeled, Woodling, peering from the side of the door, came upward with a gun.

His hurried finger pressed the trigger of the revolver just as The Shadow fired with the automatic.

Woodling's bullet whistled past The Shadow's shoulder. The shot from the automatic, however, was loosed

with sure delivery. It found its mark in Woodling's body. With a frenzied scream, the servant sprawled

Ganford Dagron shrilled an order. Henley, bounding forward, yanked a gun to cover The Shadow. Before the

secretary could loose his shot, The Shadow's turning automatic barked its interruption.

Henley staggered. He dropped his revolver. He gasped as he clutched his chest. Then, like Woodling, Henley

rolled upon the floor. The second of The Crime Master's aids had felt The Shadow's wrath.

Had Ganford Dagron joined in the fire, he might have gained belated triumph. Though prompt, The Shadow's

shots had required an interval for action. The Crime Master was drawing a revolver at the moment of The

Dagron was springing backward. He timed the raising of his right hand with its weapon to a clawing

A panel shot upward behind Dagron's retreating form; with the way to escape opened, the fiend pressed

finger to the trigger of his revolver. The Shadow was already turning. As Dagron fired, the cloaked form

The action was timed to Dagron's shot. The old man's bullet grazed The Shadow's shifting shoulder. It did not

stop the completion of The Shadow's aim. The automatic spoke before The Crime Master could fire again.

THE SHADOW'S form rose slowly upward. In the same tempo, Dagron's body slumped. The revolver rattled

from the old man's hand. Clutching claws failed to break the fall. They only turned the drooping body so it

Cliff Marsland was trying to gain his feet. The shots had aroused him from his lethargy. He saw The Shadow

standing by the checkered table. He saw a gloved hand dip into a box. He heard The Shadow's laugh as

The Shadow turned. He viewed Commissioner Weston, still groggy. He saw Cliff's feeble efforts to leave his

chair. With a sweep of his arm, The Shadow raised his weakened agent. As Cliff stumbled forward, The

A throbbing, outlandish laugh broke through The Crime Master's lair. It rose to a pitch of strident mockery.

Sardonic echoes answered. The Shadow's triumph! Weston, aroused by that ghoulish cry, came to his startled

The panel closed with a click. Weston stared as he heard the sound. Then came muffled shouts the tramp of

feet Inspector Klein, at the head of four detectives, came bursting into the room through the outer door.

The commissioner was raised to his feet. Bewildered, he shook his head as Klein made inquiry. Ralph

Weston could not recollect what had happened. He could only point to the floor to the body of Ganford

Weston nodded. His eyes turned toward the board. They remained there, transfixed by the object that they

saw. Upon the board rested a single piece one that had replaced all others a man of jet black color.

Dazedly, Weston saw the symbolism of that single block of wood. Out of the chaos in his mind, he realized